Texas Fire

by Gerry Bartlett

  “Whatever you want.” Rowdy took the trash can out of the room and she heard running water again. He came back and set it close beside the bed.

  He stood there for a minute. “You were brave. Most women . . . Well, you didn’t cry.”

  “No, my go-to is cursing a blue streak. Our housekeeper says I have a potty mouth. No apologies for that.” Megan had to point that out.

  “I would have done the same.” He reached down and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “Rest up. If you want that shower, I’ll help you when I get back.”

  Megan heard him talking to Lucky as he snapped on his pitiful rope leash, then left the room, the door clicking closed behind him. He’d help her with that shower? The thought should not, absolutely should not, make her feel warm in all the wrong places. Her stomach rumbled and she closed her eyes, willing the nausea away. Tequila. It had never been good to her. But she couldn’t blame the tequila for the mental picture she was drawing in her head of Rowdy stripping her down and standing her in the shower stall. Then she’d lose her balance and he’d have to come in to help her stay upright. Oh yeah. The water would be warm, he’d be hot, and there would be a lot of touching, getting all the sand out of the places where it still made her itch like crazy.

  Restless, Megan forgot that her right hip was on fire and rolled over. She screamed when she landed wrong. Shit. She settled on her stomach again but that was a mistake, too. The room swirled and her gut jerked. Trash can.

  Oh God. Had she ever been so miserable before? Yeah, once. At that bitch Robin’s reception. Megan had been forced to wear a strapless lime-green taffeta number that had made her look like a bowl of guacamole. Then she’d made a speech as maid of honor, toasting the happy couple. That night daiquiris had dulled her pain. Damn and double damn. When would she learn? Alcohol might work temporarily, but the payback was so not worth it.

  Chapter 4

  The loudest country song she’d ever heard jerked Megan out of bed. She’d been sleeping hard. She looked around the room. What the hell? She was alone. Oh yeah. She must have conked out after Rowdy left to get food and slept straight through until . . . five thirty in the morning? What an ungodly hour. She smacked the radio silent and fell back on her pillow.

  A quiet knock on the door was her only warning before she heard an old-fashioned key turn in the lock. Rowdy peeked inside, bringing with him an exuberant Lucky and the smell of coffee.

  “Time to get up.” Rowdy had the nerve to look wide awake and freshly groomed.

  Megan just stared at him while Lucky bounced around the side of the bed, trying to get to her.

  “Coffee?” He stayed well back. “Or is your stomach still upset?” He glanced at the trash can next to the bed and shook his head. “That’s not a good sign.” He set the Styrofoam cup on the dresser across the room and picked up the can. “I’ll just wash this out.”

  “Thanks,” Megan managed to say when she really wanted to dive under the covers again. Her head hurt, along with her hip, and a squirming, happy-to-see-her puppy who finally managed to get up on the bed and throw himself on her uneasy stomach just made everything worse.

  “Lucky, get down.” She gave up and patted him. “I stink.”

  “Yes, you kind of do.” Rowdy set the clean can beside the bed again. “I’d like to get an early start. That’s why I set the alarm. If you feel like it, hit the shower and change clothes. What do you say? Then we can go get some breakfast.” He smiled, unaware that she really, really wanted to throw that clock radio at his head. “Nice little diner attached to the motel. Homemade biscuits, the waitress said.”

  Megan’s stomach rumbled. “Give me a minute.” She crawled out of bed, noticing that she’d lost the jeans and wore only her panties and T-shirt. Whatever. He’d seen her butt. And she wasn’t eager to put anything heavier than nylon over it just yet anyway.

  “You going to make it? Need help in the shower?” He said it matter-of-factly.

  Megan stopped feeling her way to the bathroom and held on to the door frame.

  “Seriously? You offering to hose me off?” Megan stared at him over her shoulder. He didn’t look excited by the prospect. Which was a good thing.

  “It would be better than riding with you for a hundred miles like you are.” He stayed well back. “Hate to hurt your feelings, but you have sand in your hair and I can smell vomit from here.”

  “Yeah, I see how much you hated to say that.” Megan knew she was a mess. At least he’d stopped short of saying she was disgusting. “I’ll manage. Where’d you get clean clothes? Last I knew you were stuck with what you had on you.”

  “Tow truck driver helped me pry open our RV. I salvaged what I could of my stuff. Now that heap is on its way to a junkyard.” He settled in the room’s single chair. “I’ll wait here. You can’t go back to bed, Megan. We’re way behind schedule. Got to get moving.”

  “Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute, then slammed the bathroom door before leaning against it. It took a lot out of her, but she did manage to get showered, using the generic products provided by the motel to wash her hair. The jumbo Band-Aids on her hip actually survived the water. When she turned off the shower, Megan realized she hadn’t brought clean clothes in with her. Obviously her brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet. She was just about to risk stepping out in nothing but a flimsy towel when there was a thump on the door.

  “Megan! I put some clothes on the bed. Lucky and I are going for a walk. We’ll meet you in the diner. It’s at the end of the sidewalk. You have ten minutes or I’m coming in after you.” Rowdy gave the bathroom door one more brisk knock before she heard him leave the room.

  “Ten minutes?” Megan wiped off the steamed-up mirror over the sink and stared at her reflection. An hour wouldn’t make her look any better. He’d left her toothbrush and toothpaste next to her makeup bag on the bathroom counter. The unexpected kindness brought tears to her eyes, which she quickly blinked back. Kindness? No, he was in a freaking hurry. So she slapped on minimum makeup, slicked back her wet hair and clipped it, then threw open the door and saw a pair of loose yoga pants on the bed. Thank God. Those she could tolerate over her throbbing wounds.

  Then she noticed the underwear. If that wasn’t a typical guy thing. Rowdy had found a pair of black thong bikini panties and a matching push-up bra. For a car ride? Megan threw the bra back into the duffel and pulled out a sports bra. A big T-shirt that showed absolutely none of her figure went over it. The thong, at least, was great because it didn’t press against her sore hip.

  She stuffed her feet into flip-flops and threw all her stuff back into her duffel, glad to find a plastic laundry bag in the closet for her sandy clothes and shoes. With that bag over her shoulder, she did a room check, then headed out the door and down the sidewalk. A glance at her watch showed she had hit the ten-minute mark on the dot as she limped into the diner. What should have delicious smells hit her as soon as she opened the door. Too bad they were making her stomach twitch instead of making her mouth water. She spotted Rowdy at a corner table. When he saw her, he jumped up to grab her duffel and the laundry bag.

  “I’ll put these in the car. Lucky’s out there with the windows down. The morning breeze is cool enough that he’s okay.” Rowdy looked her over. “Feel better?”

  “Not sure. Maybe almost human. What’s all this?” Megan saw the table loaded with food—bacon, eggs, pancakes, and those famous biscuits, along with a bowl of gravy. Oh God, the smell. She was relieved to see a glass of water among the clutter and grabbed it. A long swallow helped.

  “I ordered us both a big breakfast. Eat what you can. We have a long drive ahead of us, and I’m not stopping for anything.” With that Rowdy stalked to the door.

  “Dictator.” Megan sipped more water. She bet he’d stop if she puked all over the front seat of the rental car.

  “Coffee, hon?” A waitress with a pot in her hand stopped at the table. “Nice-looking man. Is he single?”

  “Yeah, but he’s a t
yrant and my boss.” Megan gingerly sat in a chair, very careful of her hip. “Coffee, lots of cream and artificial sweetener.”

  “You got it.” She filled a cup in front of Megan and gestured to a pitcher and container of sweeteners on the table. “You should see my boss. Five feet tall and three hundred pounds. Voice like a hog caller. Which he is when he competes at the state fair.” She laughed and glanced toward the door again. “I’d be tapping that if my boss filled out a pair of jeans like yours does.”

  “It would complicate things.” Megan stirred cream into her coffee. “But he does do his jeans proud.” She frowned. “He doesn’t like me, though.”

  “Honey, you can do something about that.” She glanced at Megan’s outfit. “Show him the goods. What man doesn’t like that? I’d wear a shirt about three sizes smaller if I was you. V-neck. And a smile.” She winked as Rowdy came back through the door. “Know what I mean? Might make your job go smoother.”

  “Not sure it would be worth it.” Megan added sweetener and stirred some more. But she had to admit she was attracted to Rowdy, physically anyway. Big man, football player shoulders. She’d always liked the type. And he’d been decent when he wasn’t focused on his time management. The spoiled rich kids she’d grown up with acted entitled. The men were the worst. They expected women to fall at their feet, or somewhere a little south of their belt buckles. She’d grown tired of their games a long time ago.

  Rowdy had the tough, self-made quality like her daddy had worn proudly. It made a man sometimes difficult but always interesting. A challenge. She realized she was smiling before she looked down at her loaded plate.

  “You’d better eat. I’m warning you. I want to leave here in fifteen minutes.” Rowdy drizzled maple syrup on his stack of pancakes, then cut a wedge out of them.

  “You and your time limits.” Megan picked up a piece of bacon and took a careful bite, not sure it would stay down. “I’ll be ready, but don’t make it so hard. You start putting an egg timer on everything I do and I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” She sipped her coffee. “It’s just not in my nature to be ordered around like I’m in boot camp.”

  “You need to get over your ‘nature,’ Megan.” Rowdy frowned as he picked up a biscuit. “I’m pretty sure your father set up these strange tests in his will because he wanted his kids to learn something this year.” He frowned. “But . . . when did he make his will?”

  “Why?” Megan set down her cup. There was something in his tone that made her worry.

  “It must not have been recent. Because this job has changed since the price of oil started going down.” Rowdy stuffed another huge bite into his mouth.

  “I guess he made the will a year or so ago. I know that’s when his heart trouble started.” She sighed. She and her father had been close, even after she’d made it obvious that the oil business wasn’t exactly in her wheelhouse. She’d realized Daddy was slowing down and looking tired, not like himself. She’d blamed it on Alexandra, Daddy’s third wife, and their marriage falling apart. Alex had been a bitch on wheels and made the divorce messy, even with a prenup in the equation. Daddy had moved back into the house with his kids. They’d been happy to have him. But he hadn’t looked well.

  “That was when the price of oil was still high. So, putting you out in the field was no big deal. Now . . . This job is about shutting down wells. More than half of them are already idle. It causes problems. We’re announcing layoffs and letting the royalty owners know the money is no longer going to be coming in.” Rowdy signaled for more coffee. “Tension will be high where we’re going. Seems like all I do these days is bring bad news. You have no idea what we might run into. That’s why I carry a gun. It’s no place for a spoiled rich girl, Megan.”

  The waitress filling his coffee cup gave Megan a wink before she walked away.

  “Excuse me? You don’t know me. You have no idea whether I’m spoiled or not.” Megan waved her fork at him. “I can shoot. Buy me a gun. I’ll watch your back.”

  “That’s all I need. You think I want you armed and possibly dangerous?” He picked up his biscuit.

  Megan could almost see him thinking: She couldn’t handle a little trouble, because she was pampered and entitled. Damn it. This was one of her hot buttons. People took a look at her “profile” and pegged her. Father a billionaire and her mother . . . Well, she really didn’t want to be classed with her mother who was batshit crazy and still in a mental health facility that the family euphemistically called “rehab.” If only what was wrong with Missy Calhoun could be fixed with a twelve-step program. Her mother had problems distinguishing right from wrong. She’d recently gone too far doing what she thought was right for her kids. Mom was lucky she wasn’t locked up in a prison instead of a cushy hospital.

  If he’d heard how her mother had gone on a rampage with her own gun and almost killed someone, he’d never trust Megan with a weapon. Especially since that someone was Cassidy.

  I’m not my mother. But she didn’t say it out loud. Because inside she was terrified she might be someday. Megan took a steadying breath when tears suddenly threatened. Her stupid, crazy mother. She should have quit loving her a long time ago, but Megan was a little too much like Missy—acting, then trying to talk her way out of the mess she’d made. Megan stabbed at her eggs, aware of Rowdy’s thoughtful gaze on her. He probably saw her blink back those tears.

  “I’m not dangerous. You have no reason to think I would be.” She ground that out, then forced herself to take a bite of the eggs. It almost gagged her.

  “You’re right. All I know is what I see—a woman from a family that owns the company I work for. You think I don’t know how much money Calhoun makes even in distressed times?” He stabbed his fork into his pancakes until he hit the plate with a screech. He dropped the fork and picked up his coffee cup. “I’ve had to work my ass off for everything I’ve ever gotten—school, job, car, all the things that you’ve had handed to you your entire life.” Rowdy leaned across the table, his cup poised like a porcelain Frisbee he’d like to cram down her throat. “You going to deny that?”

  “No, you’re right. My dad paid for all of those things. I never had to worry about getting a car. Even wrecked the first two he bought me and a new one magically appeared the next day. In my favorite color.” Megan was a little ashamed to admit that. “Clearly we’re very different, Rowdy. I can’t change where I came from any more than you can. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together. We have to, whether we like it or not. Now, shut up so I can eat. I’m suddenly starving, and my asshole boss says my time is running out.” She stuffed more eggs into her mouth. Too much, too soon. So she slowed down, chewed, and finally managed to swallow.

  Rowdy gave her a narrow-eyed stare but kept eating. Finally he lifted his hand and signaled for the check.

  “You through?” He glanced at Megan’s plate. She’d put down her fork.

  “Yeah. I’m going to the bathroom.” She got up, still nauseated, and barely made it back there before her breakfast came up. Oh, the misery. There was a knock on the door.

  “Honey, you okay?” The waitress pushed into the two-stall room.

  “Sick. Drank too much last night.” Megan came out of the stall to rinse out her mouth at the sink.

  “I thought you looked a little green when you came in here almost at a run.” She wet a paper towel and handed it to her. “I made you a Coke to go. Take it with you to sip in the car. It’ll help settle your stomach.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.” Megan took a steadying breath. Day two. How the hell was she going to survive a year of this?

  * * *

  Rowdy finished walking Lucky, then stuck him in the backseat of the car just as Megan finally emerged from the diner. Her face was pale and she limped, favoring her hip. He actually felt sorry for her. But when he tried to take her elbow, she jerked away from him and got in by herself.

  “I can make it. Wouldn’t want to slow you down.” She set a drink in the cup ho
lder between the seats, fussing when Lucky almost stepped in it trying to get to her. “Watch it, pup. I need this drink.”

  “And in about thirty minutes you’ll be hollering for a bathroom.” Rowdy pointed that out as he slid behind the wheel.

  “Well, by then the cup will be empty.” She smirked at him. “I can pee in it and you won’t even have to slow down.”

  Rowdy ignored the jab and started the car. “That won’t be necessary. We’re only ninety miles from where we’ll pick up our new rig. Hopefully you can hold it until then.” He knew he’d been hard on her. But, hell, she was a pampered princess. Wrecking cars and rewarded for that by getting a new one? More than once? He shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot. Megan had no idea what it was like to really struggle for every dime. He reached for the radio but hesitated when he saw her rub her forehead. Hangover. No, they’d travel in silence. She buried her nose in Lucky’s fur.

  “You gave him a bath.” She glanced over at Rowdy. “He’s tan, not brown like I thought he was.”

  “Yeah, he showered with me. Had to get the sand and dirt off him.” Rowdy got them on the highway and set the cruise control. The rental car was easy to drive, and they’d make good time. “He took the bath pretty well.”

  Megan smiled and settled the dog in her lap. “He certainly looks and smells better. Thanks.”

  “I did it for me, too. Didn’t want to travel in close quarters with a stinking mutt.” Rowdy leaned back, glad there wasn’t much traffic this early. “So, why do you think your father gave you this particular job to prove yourself?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “He wanted one of his kids to take over Calhoun Petroleum one day. But he could never get any of us to even work in the office.” She sighed. “Oh, I spent a summer vacation with him once, touring some well sites, but couldn’t imagine making a career of it. When a chance to do something else came along, I jumped on it.”