Roughneck Cowboy (10 page)

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.”

Feeling 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.”

O
nce 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 been 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?”

Sara swallowed too quickly. The food lodged in her throat, cutting off her airway.

“Allow me.” The gentleman snatched a champagne flute from the tray of a passing waiter.

She downed the drink in one gulp, then gasped, “Thank you.”

His gaze roamed unapologetically over her body. “I don't imagine a beautiful woman such as you is here without a date.”

Was the coot hitting on her? He was at least sixty-five—handsome yes, but old enough to be her father. “I came with Travis Cartwright. Dominick's—”

“Ah, yes. The black sheep of the family.” He sipped his drink. “We were all shocked to learn Charlotte had kept Travis from his rightful place in the Cartwright empire.”

Empire—oh, brother
. “I'm afraid I didn't catch your name.”

“Allow me to introduce myself.” He held out his hand. “Benjamin Reynolds.” Sara offered her hand and the geezer boldly kissed it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Reynolds.”

“Benjamin. Please.”

“Benjamin. I'm Sara Sanders. I teach second grade in Tulapoint in addition to being Dominick's arch enemy and royal pain in his arse.”

“Well, it's a relief to discover I'm not the only thorn in Dominick's backside.”

“Really? What have you done to get on his bad side?”

“I outbid him on a well a few years back and it turned out to be quite profitable.”

“Well, that wasn't very nice.”

He chuckled. “And you?”

“Dominick wants the oil on my family's ranch and is threatening me and my brothers with a bogus lawsuit.”

“Doesn't sound like Dominick.”

“What doesn't sound like me?” Dominick joined them, and Sara held her breath, wondering if she was about to be tossed out of the soiree on her head.

“Had I known you invited such visions of loveliness to your annual ball, I would have shown up at the event before now.” Benjamin winked at Sara.

“This
vision
—” Dominick nodded to Sara “—happens to be my neighbor.”

“Yes, I know. What's this I hear about you harassing her with a lawsuit?”

“I'm bidding top dollar for their property.” Dominick's eyes narrowed.

Sara snatched a second flute of champagne from a waiter. She'd need a few drinks before the night was over. “What Mr. Cartwright refuses to acknowledge is that I made a promise to my father and—”

“You're father's dead.” Dominick glared.

Sara gasped. “How dare—”

“No, young lady. How dare your father.”

Stunned, Sara watched Dominick walk off and join a group of conversing men. What in the world did Dominick have against her father?

Benjamin nodded toward the dance floor. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Sara allowed Benjamin to twirl her around, but after two songs the codger became bold and slid his hand over her fanny. “Oh, no,” she said, placing his fingers against the small of her back.

Benjamin threw his head back and laughed. “Can't blame an old man for trying.”

“You're very charming, Benjamin. Why aren't you married?”

“I've made the infamous trip down the aisle four times.”

“And none of your marriages has worked out?”

“Bit of a problem with infidelity.” He shrugged. “I bore easily.”

The song ended, but Benjamin tightened his hold on her waist and continued dancing. “Have you retained a lawyer to protect you from Dominick's threats?”

“My brothers and I can't afford a lawyer,” Sara answered honestly. “Even if I allow Cartwright Oil to drill on our property, I don't trust Dominick not to keep harassing us until he owns our ranch lock, stock and barrel.”

A gentleman tapped Benjamin's shoulder. “May I cut in?”

“Good evening, Howard.” Benjamin bowed. “May I present Sara Sanders. Sara, Howard Barker. He owns Tulsa Savings and Loan.”

“And five other banks.” Howard bowed. She could get used to old-fashioned gallantry.

“Pleasure to meet you, Howard.”

Benjamin transferred Sara's hand to her new dance partner's, then warned, “Mind your manners, Howard. Sara's a schoolteacher.”

“Schoolteacher?” Howard's eyes rounded. “I thought you were a…a…”

Sara smiled. “A what?”

Howard leaned in and whispered, “An escort, my dear.”

A hooker?

“I recognized your dress. Viola wore that for me. It was a favorite of mine.”

Howard had known Viola when she'd been a madam. “Didn't Viola eventually retire from the business?”

“Yes, but she continued to entertain a few select clients until shortly before she succumbed to a heart attack.”

“How old are you, Howard?”

“Eighty-two.” His expression turned dreamy. “Viola initiated me into manhood on my eighteenth birthday.” Sara blushed.

“I must say, you do the gown justice, dear.”

“I promise you, I'm a schoolteacher. There was a problem with the original dress I bought for the ball and Beulah—” Sara waved a hand in the air. “Never mind.”

“I'm not the only gentleman here who recognized Viola's dress.”

Oh, dear
. “Dominick isn't one of them, is he?”

“No. Dominick was a child when Viola bought
the old Victorian and had it painted that awful pink.” Howard motioned to Travis and the ever-growing circle of females surrounding him. “Are you and Travis…”

“Friends. His daughter is a student in my class.”

“Friends you say?” Howard pulled her closer. “Let's see if we can make him jealous.”

Sara didn't know whether to stomp on the old man's foot or laugh. “Are you married, Howard?”

“I'm a widower.” He dipped Sara low—so low her breasts threatened to spill from the gown.

“Here he comes. Now, play along, dear.” Howard pulled Sara upright.

“Pardon me.” Travis's voice carried over Sara's shoulder.

Howard swung her the opposite way. Travis followed them across the floor. “May I cut in?”

“Not now, son. Can't an old man live out his fantasy?”

Travis continued to stalk them. “You've had my date as your dance partner for the past three songs.”

“Keeping count, are we, young man?”

Sara swallowed a giggle.

“Damn right, I'm keeping count. Now, give her back before—”

“Before what? Are you challenging me to a fistfight?”

“Oh, for God's sake,” Travis grumbled.

“All right, you two. Enough is enough.” Sara pulled away from Howard. “Travis, this is Howard—”

“I know, the man who owns all the banks.” Travis scowled. “My father told me to be nice to you.”

Howard hooted. “Dominick has his hands full with
you.” Howard nodded to Sara. “Don't let her get away. She's a gem.”

Travis crushed Sara against him, forcing the air from her lungs.

My, oh my
. She could get used men fighting over her.

 

T
RAVIS TWIRLED
S
ARA
through the throng of dancers. He yearned to take her somewhere—preferably a hotel room—where he could ditch his tux and gentlemanly manners. “Are you ready to blow this party?”

“What will your father say if we cut out early?”

“Nothing. I've met all the important people on his list, so the rest of the evening is mine to do with as I please.”

Sara's wistful expression as she looked around reminded Travis that his date had few chances to attend fancy balls. “Unless you want to stay,” he added. For Sara, he'd suffer through another few hours of socializing with the rich, famous and annoying.

Her brown eyes darkened and the corner of her mouth tilted in a come-hither smile. “I'm ready to leave.”

His pulse accelerated, pumping blood through his veins at breakneck speed. “Good. Your evening gown has endeared you to every man in this room.” He softly nipped her neck, and she shivered. “But I'm the lucky guy who gets to take you home.”

When the song ended, Travis led Sara off the dance floor, but Dominick thwarted their escape. “You're not leaving, are you?”

“Sara and I are heading back to Tulapoint,” Travis said.

Dominick motioned to the women gathered near the
buffet table. “Your sister and Wade arrived over an hour ago and she's been waiting for a chance to speak with you.”

Travis hadn't noticed Samantha or her husband—he'd been too busy keeping track of Sara and her lecherous fan club. Right then, his sister waved. Travis made a gesture with his hand that he'd phone her later.

“I hope to hear from you soon, Sara.” Dominick's eyes narrowed.

“I'll need an official offer before I agree to discuss anything with you.”

“You'll have the paperwork within twenty-four hours.”

“This isn't the time or place.” Travis leveled his best back-off glare at his father. He respected Dominick's business acumen, work ethic and general devotion to family, but his father didn't know when to quit pushing his agenda.

After a strained silence, Dominick said, “I trust you both enjoyed yourselves tonight.”

“Very much, thank you,” Sara said.

“Drive safely.” Dominick walked off to join the men at the bar.