Not Just a Cowboy (Texas Rescue)

by Caro Carson

  “You’re quite amusing.” She didn’t answer his question as she moved to the next line. “Once it’s up, I want to be able to pull the roof taut. There’s more rain in the forecast.”

  And since she wanted it taut, she did the work. Patricia Cargill, with diamonds in her ears, didn’t stand on the sidelines and giggle and point at shirtless men. She worked. Luke thought he might be a little bit in love. He’d have the chance to explore that over dinner. They had half the tent up already, and only ten minutes had passed.

  The spikes on the other side of the tent, however, had to be driven into asphalt. Although they adjusted the lines to take advantage of any existing crack or divot in the asphalt, their progress slowed painfully as every spike took a dozen hard strikes or more to be seated in the ground. The sun cooked them from overhead, the asphalt resisted their efforts, and then Patricia’s walkie-talkie squawked.

  “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’m needed elsewhere. You’re free to leave when you’re done. I’ll come back to check on things later.”

  “Doesn’t trust us to put up a tent,” Murphy grumbled.

  Patricia was a perfectionist, Luke supposed, a usually negative personality trait, but if she wanted a job done just right, it seemed to him she had good reason for it. When she’d told him rain was in the forecast, she hadn’t needed to say anything else. A tent that sagged could hold water and then collapse, injuring those it was supposed to shelter. Luke understood that kind of perfectionism.

  He stepped closer to her. “Just take care of your other business. Don’t worry about this shelter. That roof will be stretched as tight as a drum. I’ll check all the guy lines before we go.”

  She looked at him, perhaps a bit surprised.

  “In other words,” he said, “I’ll fix Murphy’s knots.”

  She almost smiled. Luke decided it counted as a smile, because it started at her eyes, the corners crinkling at their shared joke, even if it didn’t quite reach her perfect, passive lips.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and she started to walk away.

  “I know it’s been more than twenty minutes,” Luke called after her, “but you could still eat dinner with me.”

  She kept walking, but tossed him a look over her shoulder that included—hallelujah—a full smile, complete with a flash of her pearly whites. “A deal is a deal. No welching, no cheating, no changing the terms.”

  Zach interrupted Luke’s appreciation of the view as Patricia walked away. “Hey, Romeo. It’s not getting any cooler out here. How about we finish this up?”

  Luke peeled his shirt off to appreciative cheers from the almost entirely female crowd that had gathered, then spread it on the ground to dry. Without cell phones, TVs or radios, Luke supposed he and Zach and Murphy were the best entertainment around.

  For all his talk about hurrying, Zach was going all out for the onlookers, striking body-builder poses and hamming it up for the ladies for the next quarter hour as they finished the job.

  Luke double-checked the last line, then bent to swipe his shirt off the ground. The sun had dried it completely. He stuck his fists through the sleeves, then raised his arms overhead to pull the shirt on. Some sixth sense made him look a little distance away. Patricia was leaning against a tree, eyes on him, watching him dress, not even trying to pretend she was looking at anything else.

  She was caught in the act, but long, gratifying seconds ticked by before she realized it. She was so busy looking at his abs and his chest, she didn’t realize he was looking back until her eyes traveled up to his face.

  Bam. Busted.

  She ducked her head and stuck her nose in her clipboard instantly, as if the papers there had become absolutely fascinating.

  Luke pulled on his shirt, tucked it into his waistband, picked up his sledgehammer and walked toward Patricia, who was conveniently standing in the path he needed to take to get back to the fire engine. Her paperwork was so incredibly absorbing, she apparently didn’t notice that a two-hundred pound man had come close enough to practically whisper in her ear.

  “That’s all right, darlin’,” Luke said, giving her a casual pat on the arm as he continued past her. “I enjoy looking at you, too.”

  * * *

  Patricia could not look up from her clipboard. She was simply incapable of it. A coward of the first degree, humiliated by her own weakness. She was so grateful she could have wept when Luke kept walking after telling her it was all right.

  It wasn’t all right.

  He’d caught her looking. Caught her, and loved it, no doubt, as much as he’d undoubtedly loved that crowd of women feasting their eyes on him with his shirt off. Was every man on earth a show-off, so eager to be adored that they had to flash their cash or their fame or their looks—whatever they had that foolish women might want?

  She forced herself to look up from the clipboard. The other two firemen had their shirts on now, too. Their little audience had dispersed and the men were headed her way, following Luke. She smiled thinly at them and said her thanks as they passed her.

  Every man in her world certainly was after as much female attention as he could get, even her father, who’d long ago let himself go to flab once he’d realized his money would keep women hanging around. He wore tacky jewelry encrusted with diamonds as he drove a classic Cadillac convertible with a set of longhorns, actual longhorns, attached to the front. The sweet young things of Austin fell all over themselves to hitch a ride around town in that infamous Cadillac. It was revolting.

  Now Patricia had been just as bad as Daddy’s bimbos. She hadn’t feigned a giggling interest in a fat tycoon, but she’d been ready to drool as a man showed off his body. And dear Lord, what a body Luke had. Not the lumpy muscles developed out of vanity at a gym, but an athlete’s body, real working muscles for swinging a hammer or an ax with force. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like, having that kind of strength, that kind of physical power, to be able to push an obstacle out of the way at will.

  And yet, he shook hands like a gentleman.

  What an irrelevant thing to think about.

  The distinctive sound of an emergency vehicle’s horn sounded in the near distance, three distinct tones that were repeated almost immediately. It must have been a signal from their particular fire engine, because Luke and the other two men broke into a jog. Luke slowed enough to look over his shoulder at her, catching her staring, again. He tipped the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat, then turned away to run with his crew, answering the emergency call.

  Patricia had to admit it was all so appealing on a ridiculously primitive level. It was too bad she needed a husband, and soon, but a deal was a deal, and her father would never let her change the terms now. She couldn’t attract the right kind of husband while she kept a pool boy, so to speak, which was her loss. Luke Waterson would have made one hell of a pool boy.

  Her last lover, a Frenchman who’d sold yachts, had been less than satisfactory. Easy enough on the eyes, somewhat knowledgeable about sailing and a fair escort in a tuxedo, he’d nevertheless been easy to dismiss once she’d needed to set her sights on a suitable husband. She hadn’t missed Marcel for a moment.

  But Luke...

  Luke, she had a feeling, would not be a lover one took lightly.

  And so, physique and handshake aside, she couldn’t afford to take him at all.

  Chapter Six

  Less than a minute after Luke’s chief had used his engine’s siren to call his crew back, another fire engine sounded three notes in a different sequence. Patricia guessed it was the larger ladder truck from Houston that was also stationed by her mobile hospital. Somewhere in town, a situation required urgent attention.

  Patricia scanned the horizon, turning in a slow circle, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Three days after the storm, floodwaters were subsiding. People had settled into shelters where necessary and repairs were underway, so Patricia doubted it was any kind of storm rescue. They still had a huge line of patients waiting to be seen at the
hospital, but the life-threatening injuries of the first twenty-four hours had given way to more conventional complaints.

  She heard the massive engine of the ladder truck as the Houston firefighters pulled out of their parking spot by the hospital building. Perhaps a car accident required a fire truck’s Jaws of Life tool to get an occupant out of a car.

  Patricia’s staff were lining up folding chairs in the new tent, so more of the waiting line could be moved out of the sun. All the fabric walls had been rolled up so that any passing breeze could come through. Patricia walked around the outer edge, inspecting the set up. She ran her fingers over the ropes, testing their tension. They were all correct, each and every one.

  She paused on the last guy line, envisioning Luke’s hand on the rope she held. She’d been watching him long before he’d caught her, mesmerized as he’d tightened this very rope. For once, his nonchalant grin had been replaced by concentration as he’d kept his eye on the roof, hauling hard on the rope until the fabric had been stretched perfectly taut. The muscles in his shoulders and arms had been taut, too, as he’d secured the line to its spike without losing the tension.

  Then, shirtless in the Texas sun, he’d walked exactly as she just had, touching each line, checking every knot while she’d watched from a distance. He’d understood why it mattered to her. She’d known he was doing it because he’d given her his word that he would.

  It was the sexiest sight she’d ever seen.

  She let go of the rope. It was stupid, really, to take a volunteer fireman’s attention to detail so personally, but an odd sort of emotion clogged her throat, like she’d been given a gift.

  More sirens, the kind on a speeding emergency vehicle, sounded in the distance. Patricia started scanning the horizon again as she turned her walkie-talkie’s dial to the town’s police frequency.

  Chatter came over the speaker immediately. She couldn’t follow all the codes and unit numbers, but she heard enough to know a large-scale emergency was in progress. All vehicles please respond....

  She’d almost completed her slow circle when she spotted the smoke, an ugly mass of brown and black just now rising high enough to be seen over the trees and buildings. Last summer, as she’d volunteered near the Oklahoma border after some terrible tornados, the dry conditions had caused brush fires all around them. That smoke had been white and beige, a hazy, spreading fog. This smoke was different. Concentrated. The black mass looked almost like a tornado itself, rising higher into the sky with alarming speed.

  Patricia’s stomach twisted. It was a building fire, and a big one. She’d seen building fires before, too. The variety of burning materials, from drywall to shingles to insulation, each contributed their own toxic colors of brown and yellow and black to the smoke. It looked almost evil.

  Charming, carefree Luke was heading into it.

  Clogged throat, twisting stomach—all were signs of emotions she’d prefer not to feel. All of it made Patricia impatient with herself. She had a hospital to run. If the structure that was burning in the distance was an occupied building, then her mobile hospital’s emergency room might be put to use very soon.

  And if it is an abandoned building, firemen could still be hurt.

  A useless thought. Regardless of who might be hurt, the emergency department needed to be put on alert. Patricia started walking toward that high-tech tent, ready to find out if they needed extra personnel or supplies. She’d be sure they got it.

  “Oh, Patricia, there you are.” Karen Weaver stopped her several tents away from emergency. “I couldn’t reach you on the radio.”

  “I’m on the police frequency.”

  “Oh.” For whatever reason, Karen seemed inclined to stand still and talk.

  Annoyed, Patricia gestured toward the emergency facility. “Let’s walk and talk. What do you need from me?”

  “Well, I was hoping you could tell me where I could find—”

  “Wait.” Patricia held the walkie-talkie up, concentrating on making out the plain English amid the cop codes. “Seaside Elementary. Isn’t that the school that was turned into the pet-friendly shelter?”

  “I don’t know,” Karen said, frowning. “Is there a problem with it?”

  Patricia stopped short. “Have you not heard all the sirens?”

  The question popped out without the proper forethought. Fortunately, they’d reached the entrance to the emergency room, so her abrupt halt could be smoothed over. “I’m here to be sure the ER knows there’s a fire. Their tent is sealed, so they may not have heard the emergency vehicles, either.”

  There, she’d given Karen an easy excuse for failing to notice blaring sirens in an otherwise silent town.

  “You think there’s a fire?” Karen asked.

  Silently, Patricia pointed to the north, to the dark funnel of smoke.

  “Oh, I see.”

  Patricia waited, but Karen didn’t seem inclined to say anything else.

  So Patricia did. “This will impact us. We may have injured people arriving with pets in tow. We just put up a new shade tent outside the primary care. That could be a designated pet area. You could assign someone to be there with extra rope in case a pet arrives without a leash. We’ll need water bowls of some sort.”

  “Yes, but we can’t keep pets here.”

  “Of course not.” Patricia tempered her words with a nod of agreement. “The Red Cross has responsibility for relocating the shelter, but expect them to call you for support. Transportation, probably. We could loan the van, but let’s keep our own driver with it. Food, definitely. You may want to head over to the mess tent now for a quick inventory. Better yet, see if there’s anyone in that hospital building at the moment. They’ve been pretty good about letting us raid their pharmacy. There should be usable stores in their cafeteria.”

  As soon as she said it, Patricia thought of a better idea: put the town hospital CEO and the Red Cross directly in touch with each other, leaving Texas Rescue out of the food supply business altogether. She didn’t suggest it, because Karen was looking overwhelmed already, and Patricia had a feeling Karen hadn’t made contact with the hospital they were temporarily replacing. In Austin, Karen had seemed adequate, pushing paper and calling meetings, but here in the field, it was obvious that she was in over her head.

  “I’ll get you the van driver and someone to act as unofficial pet-sitter,” Patricia said. “I need to take care of the ER now. You get rope and water bowls.”

  “Okay, that sounds good.” Karen turned her walkie-talkie to the police frequency and left to start her assigned task.

  Patricia entered the multiroomed ER tent, stopping in its foyer to pull paper booties over her Docksides.

  Rope and water bowls. Pitiful that a simple task like that would keep a grown woman busy. Patricia couldn’t coach incompetence. It was easier just to handle everything herself.

  She took a breath and composed herself before entering the treatment area that she hoped would not see heavy use this day. At least she could be grateful to her supervisor for one thing: she’d managed to prevent Patricia from thinking about Firefighter Luke Waterson for two whole minutes.

  * * *

  Patricia no longer thought Luke or any fireman had any sex appeal whatsoever. It had been a moment of temporary insanity when she’d had the crazy idea that Luke Waterson could have made a memorable lover.

  Hours had passed. Darkness had settled in. Information was scarce, and the reports they received were inconsistent and sporadic as sooty and smoky patients arrived at her hospital, telling conflicting tales. The school had burnt to the ground; only a small part of the school was damaged; the top story had collapsed into the ground floor. Everyone had evacuated the building on their own; firemen had gone in to carry out injured people; a fireman had died while saving a pet—that one had made Patricia’s heart stop—but no, a pet had died but a firefighter had brought its body out of the building.

  Patricia heard enough. Luke with the sailing-blue eyes and the unfunny wis
ecracks was fighting a fire that could cost him his life. And Patricia cared, damn him.

  She told herself the knot in her stomach wasn’t unusual. She always cared for the people who were her responsibility, and although the fire crews were not technically part of her hospital, they’d made her relief center their home base, and she’d gotten used to seeing them around. Heck, she’d used them to get her extra waiting room erected today. But when she heard a firefighter was injured, she didn’t think of Zach or the Chief or the other guy—was the name Murphy?

  No, she thought of too-handsome, too-carefree Luke.

  She kept her walkie-talkie set to the police frequency nearly the entire time. The fire was burning itself out. Austin Rescue, Luke, was still on the scene, along with the Houston ladder truck, something from San Antonio and the town’s own fire department. Patricia’s emergency room hadn’t treated any life-threatening injuries, thankfully.

  The Red Cross had opened a new shelter—also thankfully, because the patients were starting to hurl accusations at each other about who had been burning forbidden candles. Patricia didn’t want to break up any fights tonight. She just kept loading people in the van, round after round, smiling reassuringly and ignoring her growing ulcer as they were driven away to their new shelter.

  Food might have helped settle her stomach, but she wanted to be sure her staff got to eat first. All of her staff, including the temporarily assigned fire crews. Still, she could get coffee. She refused to have so weak a stomach that she couldn’t tolerate coffee.

  She entered the mess tent just as Karen was scooping mashed potatoes from the steam tray into a portable plastic container. “The Red Cross called, just like you said they would. We’re giving them our leftover food.”

  “These aren’t leftovers. We need this food.”

  Karen stopped in mid-scoop, surprised. “Dinner hours are over. Everyone’s eaten.”

  “No, they haven’t. The fire crews are still out there.” Patricia wanted to yank the giant spoon out of Karen’s hand. She clenched her clipboard tighter instead.