Roughneck Cowboy

by Marin Thomas

  “I love my hair and the nails are perfect.” Sara admired the tiny white flowers Mazy had drawn on each toenail, then she removed her wallet from her purse.

  “This one’s on me,” Mazy said. “Neither of us has had a date in eons.”

  “At least let me leave a tip.” Sara set two twenties on the counter.

  Before she opened the door, Mazy said, “Hey, Sara.”

  “What?”

  “If you get the chance, have wild, crazy sex with Travis tonight so I can live vicariously through you.”

  The outlandish comment replayed in Sara’s mind all the way home. Back in her bedroom she decided to try her gown on to see which lipstick went better with the olive-green. The fit was a little tight. When she tugged hard to close the zipper in the back of the dress, the sharp sound of material tearing echoed through the room.

  She spun in front of the mirror and gasped. The material had torn away from the zipper. Now what? She had three hours before Travis arrived. She picked up the phone and dialed a friend and fellow schoolteacher.

  Kathy arrived at Sara’s house ten minutes later and pronounced, “It’s ruined.” She studied the torn material. “The rip is too large. People will notice if you try to sew the ends of the material together.”

  “What am I going to do? There’s no time to buy another dress.” Sara felt a migraine coming on.

  “Go have a glass of wine while I make a few calls.”

  Fighting tears, Sara left the room and headed for the kitchen. She’d guzzled half the wine in her glass when Kathy entered the room. “Okay, here’s the plan. Beulah’s going to let you borrow one of her mother’s dresses.”

  “Beulah’s mother was a prostitute.”

  “No, Viola was a madam.”

  Madam, prostitute—what’s the difference? “I can’t.”

  “Do you have a better plan?” Kathy quirked an eyebrow.

  No.

  “Viola was one of the most respected madams back in the day, and rumor has it, her dresses were the envy of every madam west of the Mississippi.”

  Oh, brother.

  “At least go out to Beulah’s and look at the gowns,” Kathy said.

  What other choice did Sara have? There was no time to drive into Tulsa to shop and there was no one her size in town to borrow a dress from. “Fine. I’ll head over there now.”

  Kathy walked to the front door. “Let me know how things go.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sara entered the pink Victorian and Beulah met her in the foyer. “Wow. Mazy did a heck of a job on your hair and makeup.”

  “Maybe now isn’t a good time to try on dresses.” Sara noticed the place was packed.

  “Don’t worry about the customers. They’re too busy shoveling food into their mouths to pay attention to us.” Beulah escorted Sara to the second floor—her private living quarters. “I set out Mama’s prettiest dresses. Try one on, then come to the top of the stairs and call for me.” Beulah opened a door at the end of the hall and ushered Sara into the turret room.

  Decorated in pink and black, the walls were covered in fabric wallpaper—pink background with a black velvet fleur-de-lis pattern. Pink and black feather boas hung from crystal doorknobs mounted on the wall. Antique hat and shoe boxes littered the floor, and three gowns lay across the black satin comforter on the four-poster bed.

  “They’re stunning.” Sara fingered a crystal bead on the sapphire-blue gown.

  “Mama had style. Holler when you’re ready.” Beulah left, closing the door behind her.

  All three dresses appealed to Sara, but she selected the least-revealing dress to try on first. The burgundy off-the-shoulder gown had two draped panels of black lace across the front of the skirt and a huge bow with black lace accents covering the bodice. The dress was suggestive yet elegant.

  The dress, however, was a bit tight around the waist and she feared she’d pass out if she had to suck in her stomach the entire night. Maybe Beulah had a girdle she could borrow. The narrow skirt made long strides impossible, so she waddled like a duck to the top of the stairs. She hesitated calling Beulah’s name, hoping to catch the woman as she passed through the foyer. No such luck. Sheriff’s Deputy Ronny Dunlap noticed her and let out a wolf whistle.

  “Is that you, Sara Sanders?” He grinned. “That dress suggests you’re participating in an activity I might have to arrest you for.”

  “Go on with you now and leave Sara alone.” Beulah paused at the foot of the stairs. She eyed the dress, then shook her head. “Nope. Try the next one.”

  Sara returned to the bedroom, where she put on the gold-and-brown gown with a full skirt, pleated bodice and a stylish twist at the waist. When she practiced walking around the room, she noticed the hem of the skirt ended an inch above the top of her foot. She’d have to wear flats with this dress.

  When Sara returned to the stairs the foyer was packed with men.

  “Hey, sweet thing, you can be my date tonight!” a voice in the crowd called out.

  “I saw her first,” the deputy shouted.

  Beulah pushed her way through the men. “Twirl around.” Sara obeyed. “Nope.” Beulah shook her head. “Try the last one on.”

  Face flaming, Sara retreated to the turret room and studied the sapphire-blue gown that screamed siren. The dress was by far the sexiest of the three and one a schoolteacher would never buy in a million years.

  Tonight you’re not a teacher—you’re Travis’s date.

  Made of silk taffeta the gown cinched at the waist. Silver rhinestones dangled from the plunging V-neck halter, which pushed Sara’s breasts together, creating eye-popping cleavage. She shoved her girlfriends every which way but there was no making them less conspicuous. The flowing skirt draped gently over her hips and swirled around her legs when she walked.

  Taking a deep breath, she left the room.

  Dead silence greeted her at the top of the stairs.

  “No?” she whispered, studying the slack-jawed gapes in the foyer.

  Seconds ticked by, then a resounding “Yes!” exploded from the group.

  “That’s the one,” Beulah said. “There’s a pair of shoes dyed the exact color of the dress. Wear them, even if they hurt your feet.” Beulah turned to her customers. “You morons quit gawking and go back to your tables.”

  Grinning like a brainy teenage girl who’d been asked to the prom by the quarterback of the football team, Sara returned to the bedroom and spun in a circle in front of the mirror. Hopefully the dress would have the same effect on Travis as it had had on the morons.

  “HOW COME ICAN’T GO?” Charlie sat on the bathroom counter watching Travis shave for the Oilmen’s Christmas Ball.

  “The dance is for adults only and it won’t end until way past your bedtime.” He stroked the razor along his cheek, removing the last bit of shaving cream, then he wiped his face with a damp towel.

  “I like to dance.”

  Since when? “Remember the dance lessons you had a few years ago?” Charlie nodded.

  “Grandma took you to three sessions, then you quit.”

  “The pink tights itched me.” She wrinkled her nose. “What’s Ms. Sanders gonna wear?”

  “A pretty dress.” Travis ignored the nervous twinge gripping his gut at the idea of dancing a waltz, fox-trot or the box step.

  “Does Ms. Sanders like to dance?”

  Travis slipped on his dress shirt, buttoned it, then tucked the tails into his pants. “I don’t know.” Maybe Sara had a pair of left feet, too. He’d prefer to hold her close and sway in one spot to the music.

  “Dad?”

  “What?” He rummaged through the vanity drawer, searching for the single bottle of cologne he owned.

  “After the dance, are you gonna marry Ms. Sanders?”

  The bottle slipped from his grip and banged against the counter. Luckily it didn’t break. “What makes you ask that question?”

  Solemn blue eyes studied him. “I think I want a mommy now.”

  Feeli
ng as if he’d been whacked across the back of his head with a two-by-four, Travis was too stunned to respond.

  “I didn’t want a mommy when Grandma Charlotte was alive but…”

  He tweaked Charlie’s ponytail, hoping to tease the sadness from her eyes. “But what?”

  “I miss Grandma.” Charlie’s lower lip wobbled.

  “I know, honey.” Travis hugged his daughter. “How would you like to tag along with me when I check on an oil derrick near Muskogee on Monday?”

  Charlie’s nose curled. Okay, so she wasn’t keen on riding around in the truck with him all day. “I’ll ask Aunt Sam if you can hang out at her house on Monday.” Samantha had invited Charlie over to play with Luke anytime during the kids’ winter break.

  “I like Luke. He’s really smart.”

  Sara had told Travis that the boy’s I.Q. was near genius.

  Changing the subject, Charlie said, “If you married Ms. Sanders, I could live with her and then Juanita wouldn’t have to watch me when you go to work or Grandpa flies out of town.”

  The past week Travis had done a lot of thinking while driving from one derrick to the next. He’d believed it would take time to determine if he and Charlie belonged in Tulapoint, but with each passing day he was more convinced this is where they were meant to be.

  He hadn’t expected to like working on the mainland as much as he did. He had trouble picturing himself back on the Hoover Diana. Travis wasn’t under any illusions that he and Dominick would always see eye-to-eye on work-related issues or personal matters, but with time Travis hoped they’d develop a mutual respect and affection for one another.

  Think about what’s best for Charlie. He might be away from his daughter during the day but he enjoyed coming home at night and spending time with her. If he returned to his old job, then Charlie would need a full-time nanny and he wanted to do better by his daughter.

  Travis wasn’t an overly emotional guy. If he’d worn his feelings on his sleeve while working on an ocean rig, he’d have had been laughed right off the platform. Still, he admitted Sara made him feel things a roughneck shouldn’t—tenderness. Compassion.

  Sara was independent. Sensible. She had a fulfilling career and didn’t need a man to take care of her. And she was loyal to those she loved. If he and Charlie made Tulapoint their permanent home, then his friendship with Sara would continue to grow.

  “Dad?” Charlie tugged his sleeve.

  “What?”

  “Do you like Ms. Sanders?”

  “Yes, I do, Charlie. She’s a nice lady.”

  “Does Ms. Sanders like you?”

  “I believe she does.” Travis was eager to convince Sara to sell Dominick the drilling rights to the Bar T, then the way would be cleared for him and Sara to focus on their personal relationship.

  “If you marry Ms. Sanders, will I get a brother or sister to play with?”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, kiddo. Sara and I are just friends.”

  At the sound of a car door slamming, Charlie hopped to the floor. “That’s Juanita. She said Luke and I can stay up late and watch a movie.” His daughter’s shoes clunked against the steps as she raced downstairs to meet the housekeeper.

  Earlier in the week, Samantha had suggested that Luke and Charlie have a sleepover the night of the ball, since she and Wade planned to attend the party, too. Juanita had agreed to bring Luke out to the Lazy River and spend the night with the kids.

  Travis finished dressing, said his goodbyes to the kids and headed into Tulapoint. Less than a half hour later, he parked in front of Sara’s house and donned the black cowboy hat he’d purchased for the occasion. He checked his watch—ten minutes early. He climbed the front steps, then paced the length of the porch. Though he anticipated seeing Sara in an evening gown, part of him wished they were heading to a drive-in movie. Not even his Armani tux made Travis feel as if he belonged with the wealthy crowd.

  The curtains in the front window fluttered. Walter. The ugly cat sat on the windowsill, stubby tail twitching as he gave Travis a one-eyed evil glare.

  Don’t worry, bad boy. I won’t hurt your mama.

  A movement in the room behind Walter caught Travis’s attention. Holy smokes. A vision of stunning perfection waltzed through the foyer. Nose pressed to the windowpane, Travis watched Sara apply her lipstick in the hall mirror. Arousal shot through him when she pursed her lips in a fake kiss. Sara’s transformation from small-town schoolteacher to goddess stirred his blood. Before she caught him ogling, he rang the bell.

  Sara opened the door. “Hello, Travis.”

  Good God. Where did all that cleavage come from? He couldn’t find the strength to look away from the silver rhinestones dangling off the bodice. “Wow.”

  “You like the dress?”

  He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets to keep from fingering one of the dangling jewels. “You’re stunning, Sara.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “I like your hat.”

  “We’d better hit the road.” Or else he’d give in to temptation and behave like a true roughneck—toss Sara over his shoulder, haul her up to the bedroom and have his way with her.

  When Sara stepped from the house and turned to lock the door, a whiff of perfume floated beneath his nose and he leaned in to nuzzle the back of her neck. “You smell nice.”

  “Thank you.” The words escaped in a soft sigh.

  “You should wear high heels more often,” he said when she faced him.

  “Why?”

  “Easier to kiss you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Once Travis and Sara were on the road to Tulsa, he turned on the radio. Country music filled the cab as he concentrated on corralling his wayward hormones. At the moment he was incapable of conversation—all his senses acutely attuned to the woman riding in the front seat with him. Sara’s dress was made to seduce a man and it was doing a heck of a job on him.

  Up until now his feelings for Sara had been mostly platonic. He liked her. He thought she was smart. Funny. Loyal. Tonight, he’d add sexy and desirable to her list of admirable qualities. He’d believed the few kisses he’d shared with Sara had been the result of having gotten caught up in the proverbial moment with her—not anymore.

  Damn, he hadn’t seen this coming. He stared at her profile. He couldn’t believe the transformation in her. He’d always considered her attractive in a girl-next-door way, but there was nothing plain about the woman sitting two feet from him. By the time they reached the outskirts of Tulsa, Travis had succeeded in convincing certain parts of his anatomy to behave like a gentleman.

  When he drove down Brady Street, Sara asked, “Isn’t the ball being held at the Crowne Plaza Hotel?”

  “Samantha said they changed the venue this year to the Brady Theater. Something wrong with the theater?”

  “No, it’s wonderful. The building used to be called the Tulsa Convention Hall. It was built in the early 1900s. Back in the 1950s, the hotel went under a massive renovation.”

  “Thanks for the history lesson, teach.” Travis grinned, yearning to pull her close and make history with her mouth. Instead, he parked outside the theater and a valet attendant opened the passenger-side door.

  “Good evening.” He helped Sara from the truck, then caught the keys when Travis tossed them across the hood.

  “Enjoy the ball, sir.” The attendant hopped into the truck and sped off.

  Travis placed his hand against the curve of Sara’s lower back and escorted her into the building. Camera flashes and instrumental music greeted them when they walked through the doors. Ignoring the curious stares of the partygoers, they joined the reception line, where his father and several members of Cartwright Oil’s board of directors greeted guests.

  “I hope your father doesn’t make a scene when he sees me,” she said.

  “If anyone is making a scene, it’s you in that dress.” Travis noticed several men stare at Sara. He slid his arm around her waist and whispered in her ear. “I’ve never b
een the envy of every man in a room. Stop worrying and let me enjoy the moment.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I know.” When their turn came to greet the host, Sara spoke first. “Hello, Dominick.”

  “Sara.” Dominick waved his hand toward the couples on the dance floor. “These kinds of social events could become commonplace for you if we can come to some sort of agreement about your ranch.”

  Sara ignored his father’s comment, but it reminded Travis to keep his eye on the goal. He was so distracted by Sara tonight that business was the furthest thing from his mind.

  Dominick turned to Travis. “I’d like to introduce you to my colleagues this evening.”

  “I won’t be difficult to spot—find the most beautiful woman in the room and I’ll be at her side.” With a bounce in his step, Travis led Sara to the buffet table filled with lobster, crab puffs, fondues and exotic cheese and fruit sculptures.

  Before they had a chance to fill their plates, an elderly woman grasped Travis’s elbow. “Young man, I’ve been a friend of your father’s since my daddy first struck oil in Arkansas.” The elderly woman smiled at Sara. “You won’t mind, dear, if I introduce Travis around?”

  Sara searched the partygoers and found Dominick watching her. The oil baron had sent the old biddy to steal Travis away. Fine. She’d show Dominick she could hold her own with Tulsa’s elite society. Sara nodded. “By all means, take him.”

  “But—”

  “You know—” The older woman cut Travis off “—you’re the spitting image of your father when he was younger.”

  Fearing she’d laugh, Sara pressed her lips together and ignored her date’s pleading expression. “I want you to meet Patrice Gallwinger. Her great-granddaddy fought off the Osage Indians back in…”

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Sara added a few hors d’oeuvres to her plate. She’d been too nervous to eat lunch before Travis had picked her up this evening, and she was famished. No sense allowing good food to go to waste. The moment she popped a crab puff in her mouth, a finger tapped her shoulder.

  An older gentleman bowed. “Caught you with your mouth full, did I?”