Texas Wildcat

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Trucked in. It took Pete four days to make the drive.”

  Kelly nodded. It was August and it must have been warm even up in Canada at the time. “Do you remember the temperature on the day our pipe failed?”

  He shrugged one broad shoulder. A shoulder that looked as though it could carry the weight of the world on it. Kelly found herself wishing she could simply lay her head on it for just a moment…to find a moment’s peace. Her rambling thoughts surprised her. Sam Tyler was a complete stranger to her! Wearily, she touched her brow, confused by her own chaotic emotional reaction.

  “It was eighty-two degrees Fahrenheit, but near the blowout it was close to twenty-five hundred degrees. We worked under a galvanized roof while welding the blowout preventer to the pipe. With the shielding of the roof plus the water fog, it was a livable two hundred degrees underneath.”

  “Were you aware of a front coming through? What was the weather situation at the time?”

  He gave her an intent look. “What are you getting at? You think high temperature and high barometric pressure might have had something to do with the pipe failing?”

  Kelly felt her stomach tighten. “I don’t know. All I want are the facts. We’ll have our lab analyze this pipe. The lab people will have to have all available data in order to make a correct analysis.” Her voice sounded just as clipped as his. But she didn’t want to fight. She wanted peace. She wanted to be held by strong, protecting arms. And there had been no one for the last year of her life. No one who would allow her to lean on him for a moment to try to gather her emotional strength.

  “I’ll also need to know how many thousands of pounds of pressure were being pumped through the pipe.”

  “I don’t remember right offhand. Pete was our pressure specialist on that job. A full report is logged in on every blowout we cap. It might be better if you come over to the office at Port Neches tomorrow and read through it. Coots will be finishing it tonight.”

  Kelly allowed the pencil to slip from her fingers. She gazed across the room at Sam Tyler. She didn’t blame him for his anger over their injuries. “When will they be flying Slim back here to Houston?”

  Surprise flared briefly in his eyes. “Why?”

  “Because, Mr. Tyler, I want to see him and personally apologize. Here at my father’s company we’re used to keeping oilmen safe, not maiming them.” Her voice broke and Kelly felt the tears rush into her eyes, blurring her vision. She got up and turned, walking resolutely to the window. Her jaw was clenched and rigid as she fought back the deluge that threatened to overwhelm her. She heard Sam get up, heard the soft brush of his boots against the carpet.

  “I’ll be over at Boots and Coots tomorrow morning at nine A.M., Mr. Tyler,” she forced out in a brusque manner to hide her tears. Drawing her shoulders up, she silently willed him not to touch her.

  Sam halted a few feet from where she stood. Her clean profile was silhouetted against the bright blue of the Texas sky. It was a face filled with stubbornness and pride. But he also saw sensitivity and gentleness there. Her lower lip trembled, and Sam sensed that she was very close to tears. His natural reaction was to reach out and comfort her. But the angle of her tense body warned him off. Dropping his gaze, he said, “Okay, we’ll see you tomorrow morning, Ms. Blanchard. And I’m sorry about your father’s death….”

  Kelly waited until she heard the door close before burying her face in her hands. She took several deep, ragged breaths, controlling her anguish. The sudden tenderness and concern that Sam Tyler had displayed had nearly broken her in two. She had had a wild urge to turn and throw herself into his arms. Instinctively, she knew that he would have allowed her to cry freely without demanding an explanation. Groaning softly, Kelly walked back to the desk. Opening the drawer on the right, she grabbed a handkerchief and blotted her eyes.

  The buzzer rang and Kelly picked up the phone.

  “Yes, Susan?”

  There was hesitation in the secretary’s voice. “Ms. Blanchard, a Mr. Gage Wallace of Wallace Steel is here to see you.”

  Kelly stood frozen. No! Not now! And not him! Pursing her lips, she said, “Tell him I’m busy, Susan. He made no appointment and I don’t feel up to seeing anyone else today. Whether he likes it or not, he has to make an appointment like everyone else.”

  She hadn’t meant to slam the phone down, but she did anyway.

  The door to her office opened moments later and Kelly looked up from behind the desk. Gage Wallace slipped in, quietly shutting the door.

  “I’ve come to extend my condolences, Sam.”

  A surge of emotion rose in her. It took the last of her efforts to remain calm. At age forty-two Wallace was a slender man with prematurely graying hair. Like most image-conscious businessmen, he was impeccably dressed in a dark, pinstripe suit. His brown eyes were narrowed upon her face. “Forgive an old friend for disregarding your secretary’s orders.” He walked up to the desk and handed her a bouquet of tiger lilies, pink tea roses and purple iris.

  Kelly stared at the flowers. Her emerald eyes darkened. “You’re a little late with funeral flowers, Gage.”

  A slight smile drifted across his lean face. “These are for you, Kelly. I thought they might brighten up your day.”

  Her glare was frosty and laden with contempt as she rose from her chair. “The only thing that will brighten up my day is for you to get out of here!”

  Gage casually dropped the bouquet on the desk. He seemed completely undisturbed by her outburst. It was as if he were waiting for a child to tire of her temper tantrum. “I was out of the country at the time of your father’s death. Otherwise, I would have attended the funeral and given you moral support.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Take your lies somewhere else, Gage! You never cared for anyone longer than it took you to take their money!” Kelly choked back a sob. Oh, God, she couldn’t cry! Not in front of this man who had been like an evil shadow in her father’s life and her own.

  “Look,” he continued smoothly, “I know you’re terribly upset by what happened. It’s all over the industry that Blanchard pipe has failed on several blowouts.” He gave a practiced smile that was supposed to win her over. “Sure I can’t interest you in using Wallace Steel Mills? I can assure you our formulas are up to the best standards. Why not switch? Now would be a perfect time. You can’t afford to buy any more pipe from R and B Steel. It will ruin your company’s reputation if another pipe blows under stress. You could lose the whole business, Kelly.”

  She was trembling. In an effort to hide her distress, she leaned forward in an aggressive stance. “We have nothing to discuss, Gage. Not a damn thing. It’s typical of you to take advantage of a traumatic human event and try to make a buck out of it. You figure if I’m grief-stricken, I’ll just fall for your plan.” Her eyes sparked with disgust. “I may be upset but that doesn’t interfere with my business sense! Now get out!” She marched to the door and jerked it open.

  He watched her for several seconds. “I’ll call on you sometime early next week. We’ll have dinner—”

  “You don’t run my life, Gage. You never did. Just because you and Todd were partners once, that doesn’t give you access to me. I watched you run my ex-husband out of the business. I know your kind even if he didn’t.” Her voice shook. “Next time, you make an appointment. This is the last time you take advantage of me, my father’s business or anything having to do with us.”

  Gage gave her a chilling smile as he hesitated at the door. “Someday, Kelly,” he began softly, “some man will break that fiery spirit of yours and put you in your rightful place. You’re one hell of a strong-willed woman. You need a strong man. Todd was too weak for you.”

  Kelly smiled grimly. “And you can take your opinions with you, too. The man I love won’t want to ‘break me,’ as you put it, Gage. But then, that’s all you know: smash and destroy.”

  Gage smiled steadily, his eyes opaque. “You know, there are some parts of your spirit I like.”

  “Get
out.”

  “I’ll call on you next week.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  Two

  “Sam!” Boots Hansen thundered. Unable to sit still longer than two minutes at any given time, Boots got up from behind the desk in his spacious office. Like all his employees, he wore white coveralls. Just as he came around the desk, Sam appeared at the door. “There you are. Come on in. You finally get cleaned up?”

  Sam nodded. After leaving the office of Blanchard Pipe, he had gone home to shower, shave and change clothes. Trying to shave with his left hand had proved disastrous. Right-handed by nature, Sam had nicked himself more than once.

  Boots’s blue eyes twinkled. “What the hell happened to you, boy?” A wide grin spread across his full face. “Remind me not to let you use a razor anymore.”

  Sam took the teasing in stride. He touched his jaw where one of the several cuts had occurred. “I’m tempted to rip this sling off my arm and say to hell with it. I don’t think I can wait a week to get this damn thing off,” he growled. Making himself comfortable in one of the leather chairs, he waited for Boots to sit down.

  “You up to playing messenger boy? Or do you want to rest? You look kinda peaked.”

  Sam grinned. He had been with the oil firefighting company for three years. His employers’ homespun sense of humor and genuine concern were their trademarks in the industry. No one would make an outward fuss over Sam’s burn injuries. But the concern lingering in Boots’s blue eyes told Sam that he was more than a little worried. “No, I’m fine,” he lied. His shoulder hurt like hell.

  With a decisive nod of his head, Boots pushed a set of papers toward Sam. “Good. Coots just finished up with the report on Well Number 561. Kelly Blanchard called and said she wanted to read the report as soon as possible. You mind driving by the Royden Oaks section and dropping this off to her on your way home?”

  Sam reached over for the report. “Royden Oaks, huh? That’s the richest part of Houston.”

  “Yeah. Guess the little gal flew down from Pittsburgh when her father died. She’s staying at his house.” Boots pushed his thinning blond hair off his broad forehead. “What’d she have to say about the pipe failing?”

  Sam wanted to convey her genuine apology. He had silently applauded her courage. There were few women he knew who could handle the death of a loved one and then go to work and keep a multimillion-dollar company afloat. “She’s concerned, Boots. And she wants to get to the bottom of the problem.”

  Boots gave a sigh. “We can’t have it happen again, Sam. We’re gonna have to go somewhere else to buy pipe. I already have five different pipe companies crying to come over and sell us their wares. I feel bad about this. Blanchard was a good-hearted guy and we’ve bought their pipe for years. Damn,” he said, rising. “It doesn’t make sense, Sam. That pipe’s withstood the Canadian winters at sixty below and been tested in the Persian Gulf where it’s a hundred and fifteen degrees in the damn shade.” He scratched his head. “Coots and I are going to have a meeting with her tomorrow morning and give her the bad news.” He shook his head in a mournful gesture. “Get going, son, you’re looking like hell. What you need is two days’ worth of sleep. Tomorrow’s Friday, so don’t bother coming in. We’ll see you Monday unless we’re called in on something big.”

  Sam rose. “Okay, I’ll see you Monday.”

  * * *

  The sun was dipping closer to the western horizon as he drove down the freeway toward the Royden Oaks section of Houston. Sam never tired of the Houston skyline which rose dramatically into the vivid blue Texas sky. Many of the buildings were covered with reflective glass, giving the city a magical quality. It was a city of mirrors. His thoughts switched to Kelly Blanchard. One look at her exhausted features had made him wince inwardly. He felt guilty about barging in and lashing out at her in anger. But he had acted out of frustration over Slim getting injured. Before reaching the Royden Oaks area, he stopped at a florist shop and bought flowers.

  Kelly had just finished a hot bath and slipped into a floor-length muslin robe of pale pink when the doorbell sounded. The bell rang hollowly through the depths of the large, silent house. She had taken the guest bedroom on the first floor, not wanting to sleep upstairs in her father’s bedroom. Padding barefooted down the long tiled hall, Kelly opened the door. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw Sam Tyler standing there with a bouquet of delicate violets in his large hand. He smiled at her hesitantly.

  “Here,” he said, giving them to her, “these are for you. A peace offering for the way I behaved earlier. And here’s that report you asked to see. There are a couple of things Coots wanted me to point out to you before I left.”

  Her lips parted as she took the lovely violets and the report. “Thank you,” she whispered, inhaling the fragrance of the flowers. “Please, come in. You look awfully tired.”

  Sam managed a smile. “You, on the other hand, look better than when I first met you.”

  Kelly returned his warm smile, her depressed spirits suddenly buoyed by his presence. “A bath can do wonders, believe me.” She smelled the flowers one more time after shutting the door. The memory of Wallace’s bouquet came back sharply. With Wallace, there was always an angle, an ulterior motive for everything he did. Looking at Sam Tyler’s broad shoulders and massive back as he walked in front of her, she couldn’t imagine him being like that.

  “Come to the study, Sam,” she invited. “I’m afraid I’m still learning the layout of Dad’s house. He bought it after I left Houston, you see. I get lost in it when I’m not concentrating on where I’m going.”

  Sam gazed appreciatively around the study. It was a huge library filled with leather-bound books, Oriental rugs and expensive antique furniture. He settled on the couch. “It’s quite a place,” he agreed. “Will you be staying here from now on?” It was a thoroughly personal question and one that he probably shouldn’t have asked. Sam noted she wore no wedding ring on her left hand. She turned to him, lifting her shoulders. “I don’t honestly know yet. Would you like a drink?”

  “Yes.”

  “How about some whiskey?”

  He watched as she walked to the liquor cabinet. There was a wonderful gazellelike grace to her walk. He would never tire of watching her. Her dark auburn hair lay thickly on her shoulders, the red highlights glinting like molten fire. “Why whiskey?”

  “You looked as though you could handle it,” Kelly remarked.

  “Oh?”

  “You’re the rugged outdoors type of man.” She gave him a shy look, as if she realized her remark was too personal for the circumstances. “You look as if you could handle anything or anyone.”

  Sam stood and walked over to her. He reached out and took the tumbler from her. Their fingers met for only an instant but he was aware of a pleasant sensation as he touched her flesh. “I damn near blew up at you today,” he murmured, “and I apologize. That’s what the flowers are for. Boots told me you flew in as soon as your father died and began running his company.” He lifted his glass in salute to her as she sat down near him on the couch. “Here’s to a lady with courage when it counts.”

  Kelly felt heat racing up from her neck to her face. She took a sip of wine, wishing she could steady the sudden pounding of her heart. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared over at Sam. He was being so kind, and she’d gone through so much this week.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. But the tears came anyway and she put the drink down on the coffee table. Her insides were quaking and she wanted to release the backlog of grief she had held in abeyance since the funeral. Her vision blurred as she sat there with both hands against her cheeks. Her lashes were thick with tears. Embarrassed, Kelly rose. “I…I…can’t talk just now…”

  He was on his feet in one fluid motion, a huge cat uncoiling from his resting position. Kelly felt the natural warmth of his body as he placed his good arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. His work-roughened hand slid across the muslin, creating a tingling sensation in h
er flesh. The tender look on his face only increased her need to be held. A small cry escaped from her as she buried her face against his barrellike chest.

  “It’s all right,” Sam whispered against her ear. “I’ll just hold you, honey. Go ahead and cry.” She was warm, curving perfectly against the more angular planes of his body. Sam inhaled the fresh, sweet fragrance of her silken hair as he rested his jaw lightly against her head. He felt her body shake with sobs and his grip tightened around her. He wished he had use of his right arm so he could cradle her protectively in his embrace.

  The textured weave of the coveralls pressed against Kelly’s cheek as she leaned her head on his chest. His gentle voice encouraged her to vent the grief. He was a stranger. And yet, her heart opened to him like a flower to the rays of the sun. There were no recriminations from Sam Tyler for her unexpected tears. Somehow, Kelly sensed Sam would take this in stride without being embarrassed. Finally, the tears lessened. She remained against him, aware, for the first time, of the drum beat of his heart. It was a soothing sound and Kelly shut her eyes tightly, needing the strength he was giving her.

  “Better?” he inquired in a hushed tone, his mouth against her hair.

  She gave a convulsive nod of her head, wanting, needing his arm around her body for just one more moment. She felt his fingers tighten momentarily on her shoulder, and unconsciously she nuzzled against his chest.

  “Come on,” he urged, “let’s sit down.”

  She sniffed. Lifting her eyes, she met Sam’s eyes. His blue gaze held a tender light in its depth. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I don’t normally go around crying….”

  A slight smile lifted one corner of his sensual mouth. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who goes around crying on anyone’s shoulder. So I consider it quite a compliment.”

  Her shoulders drooped as she sat down next to him. Kelly buried her face in her hands for a moment. She was grateful for their closeness. “You’ve been through your own personal hell,” she whispered, “I shouldn’t be laying my troubles at your doorstep.”