Roughneck Cowboy Page 10

  “Hey, Dad! I’m riding all by myself!”

  “Hold on tight!” Travis grinned. Since he’d met his siblings, Travis’s conversations with them had been more formal than familiar. Maybe it was time to move forward. “Has Dominick ever told you or Matt why our mother left him?” Travis was eager for any information that would help him understand his mother’s actions.

  “Matt and I have asked about Charlotte through the years, but Dad doesn’t go into detail. He sticks with the same answer—‘your mother wasn’t happy, so she left.’” Samantha nodded toward the pen. “What does Dad think about you hanging around Sara?”

  Obviously his sister didn’t care to discuss their mother. Travis didn’t want to upset her, so he went along with the change in subject. “It was Dominick’s idea that I get closer to Sara. He wants me to convince her to negotiate a business deal with him.”

  Samantha sucked in a quiet breath. “You’re leading her on?”

  “No one’s leading anyone on.” Travis ignored the twinge that pricked his conscience. He had more than friends on his mind when he thought of the schoolteacher these days.

  “Is Sara coming around to Dad’s way of thinking?”

  “She’s considering negotiating a lease with Cartwright Oil if the price is right, but I haven’t had a chance to speak with Dominick about how high he’s willing to go.”

  “After you come to an agreement, what then? Do you plan to go public with your relationship?”

  “Relationship? We’re not even dating.”

  Samantha laughed. “You can’t stop staring at her.”

  Travis didn’t have an opportunity to respond before Sara led Snickers in their direction. “Isn’t Charlie doing a terrific job?” she said.

  “Yeah, I’m terrific, aren’t I, Aunt Sam?”

  “You sure are, honey. Hey, Uncle Wade and Luke are home.”

  All eyes shifted to the gravel driveway, where a cloud of dust rose in the air. “I wanna play with Luke,” Charlie said. Sara helped Travis’s daughter down from the horse. “Thanks for teaching me to ride, Ms. Sanders.” Charlie squeezed between the pen rails and raced across the yard, waving to her cousin.

  “If you two want to go for a horseback ride, Wade and I will watch the kids,” Samantha said.

  “Ever ridden a horse?” Sara asked Travis.

  “No, but I hear you’re a pretty good teacher.”

  “That’s the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard.” Samantha walked off, shaking her head.

  Travis caught the scent of Sara’s perfume as she edged closer to the rails. “Are you up for a riding lesson?” she asked.

  “I’m up for any lesson you have in your planner.” One day he’d love to show Sara exactly how good a student he could be.

  HORSES GRAZING NEARBY, Sara and Travis lounged in the sun near the bank of a small pond on his sister’s property.

  “This is nice.” Sara stared at the cloudless blue sky.

  Travis rolled to his side, wincing.

  “Sore?”

  “Yeah, the rump’s a tad tender.”

  Travis had been a quick study when she’d demonstrated how to use the reins. He might be a roughneck but he rode like a real cowboy—slouched low in the saddle, lean hips swaying to the rhythm of the horse’s gait. “You’re a natural.”

  His lazy grin sent her heart stumbling.

  Don’t even think about it. Startled by the voice in her head, she dropped her gaze to her lap. Something about Travis—his smile, the soft glow in his eyes when he watched his daughter, that same glow intensifying when he stared at her—begged Sara to allow him to get closer to her. She’d trusted a man once before and had been fooled by his handsome face and purple prose. She’d rather be alone than risk heartache again.

  Josh was four years ago. You’re wiser. Stronger. A better judge of character.

  Maybe she should consider an affair—no expectations. No messy emotions. Females all over the world engaged in sexual flings and one-night stands and survived the experience. The idea had merit, but Sara was too old-fashioned. She didn’t want to give herself to a man unless she was certain he loved her and she loved him. After her experience with Josh, she’d lost confidence in her instincts where men were concerned.

  Travis isn’t Josh. She feared the more time she spent with Travis, the more she’d find to admire, respect and appreciate in him. Before long she’d find something to love about him and then she’d be in big trouble.

  Needing to lighten the mood she nudged his shoulder. “Tell me more about life on an oil rig.”

  “Why so curious?” he asked.

  “It’s different from my job as a schoolteacher.” All those strong, muscular, tanned men working in rough, dangerous conditions seemed…well, romantic.

  “It’s a lot more dangerous than people realize.”

  “How?”

  “Not a week goes by that one of the crew members doesn’t get hurt. Most injuries aren’t serious, but some are. And there’s always the risk of exposure to chemicals and gas leaks. Once in a while you hear about a helicopter going down in the ocean while ferrying oil workers back and forth between the rigs and the mainland.”

  Until Travis mentioned helicopters, Sara hadn’t given much thought to how the crew members got to and from the oil platform.

  “We work in difficult conditions. High winds and rain. Hands become stiff from the cold and it’s easy to lose our grasp on the equipment. Once, I helped install a length of pipe and the support chain snapped.”

  “What happened?”

  As soon as the question left her mouth, Travis removed his jacket and pulled his shirt tail from his jeans. He turned away and she gasped. “The chain whacked me across the back and knocked me to the deck. I was stunned and couldn’t move out of the way in time to avoid the end of the pipe rolling over my leg. I was out six weeks with a broken ankle and two cracked ribs.”

  Sara caressed the puckered scar that dissected his back. “I’m amazed a blow like that didn’t break your spine.” Realizing how intimately she touched him, she yanked her hand back. His shirt fell into place and she curled her fingers against her palm, savoring the heat from his skin.

  “A couple of years later—” he wiggled the pinky finger on his left hand and she noticed the digit was missing its tip “—this happened.”

  She mentally added courageous to Travis’s list of admirable qualities. “You’re very brave.”

  “My sister’s the one with all the guts,” he said.

  “Samantha told you about her accident?”

  “Yeah, and Dominick filled in the details. He said she’d been hosing down a horse when he spooked and kicked out, catching her in the head.”

  “No one thought she’d live. Her recovery amazed the doctors,” Sara said.

  “It’s too bad Samantha still has trouble with her memory.”

  “The gossipmongers believe—” so did Sara, but she kept her opinion to herself “—that Wade’s the reason Samantha’s memory has improved dramatically these past few months.” The love in Wade’s eyes when he looked at his wife almost made Sara believe fairy-tale endings were possible.

  “Real love heals all wounds, I guess.” Sara studied Travis out of the corner of her eye. What if she and Travis fell in love—could that love heal decades of hurt and animosity between their families? Dream on. There was no happy-ever-after in the cards for the Cartwrights and the Sanders.

  “Everybody’s got their own definition of real love.” Travis stared into the distance. “When I think of Julie walking out on Charlie after she was born and my mother abandoning two of her children and raising me alone…” He frowned. “How is that real love?”

  “Some women aren’t cut out to be mothers.” The possibility of never marrying and having a child of her own bothered Sara deeply. She loved her students and enjoyed nurturing them in the classroom, but she wanted a son or daughter of her own to love. “You’ve shown Charlie real love.”

  “You’re wrong
.” Travis grasped Sara’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve failed Charlie. Before my mother died, I believed I was doing right by my daughter. I brought home a paycheck. Kept a roof over her head. Clothes on her back. Food on the table. But I left the parenting to my mother.”

  Then Charlotte died.

  “I’m winging it with Charlie.” Travis got to his feet and stood at the water’s edge. “I came here with a grudge against my father only to learn he didn’t even know I existed all these years. I don’t have that excuse. I lived in the same house as Charlie and I still spent very little time with her.”

  “You’re making up for that now.” Sara joined him. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Now that your mother’s gone, you and Charlie will form a different, better, closer relationship. Give it time.”

  “Hey, you guys!” Samantha called out as she approached on horseback. Once she dismounted, she said, “Thought I’d find you two here.”

  “Is something the matter with Charlie?” Travis asked.

  “The kids are fine. Wade’s playing Yahtzee with them.” Samantha waved a fancy black envelope in the air.

  “What’s that?” Travis asked.

  “An invitation to the annual Oilmen’s Christmas Ball in Tulsa.”

  The ball was scheduled for the last Saturday before Christmas—next week. The party was considered the social event of the season in Tulsa.

  “Dad expects you to be there.” Samantha blushed. “I meant to tell you about it last week, but I forgot until Wade asked me a short while ago if you were coming.”

  Travis scuffed his boot against the ground. “I’m not a fan of big shindigs.”

  Sara’s heart plunged at his words. A tiny part of her had hoped he’d agree to go to the ball, then ask her to accompany him. She’d never attended a high-society event and would love to experience a lavish evening of dancing and dining.

  “I’ll sit this one out, Sam,” Travis said.

  “You have to attend.” Samantha slapped the envelope against his chest. “Dad plans to introduce you to all the movers and shakers in the oil industry.”

  Sara held her breath. C’mon, Travis. Say you’ll go. Then ask me to be your date.

  “You work for Cartwright Oil. The company executives will expect you to be there,” Samantha insisted.

  “I won’t fit in.”

  “If you wear a tux, no one will believe you were a roughneck.” Samantha glanced at Sara. “Right?”

  Fighting a smile, Sara said, “Your sister makes a valid point. You’re working for Cartwright Oil now.”

  “Fine. I’ll go. But—” Travis turned to Sara “—you got me into this. The least you can do is be my date.”

  Heart pounding, Sara opened her mouth to accept, then chickened out. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Travis and Samantha spoke in unison.

  “Dominick will be upset if a Sanders crashes his party.”

  “Dad won’t dare make a scene in front of all his business associates,” Samantha said.

  Sara made one last feeble protest. “There isn’t enough time to find a dress before Saturday.”

  “I’ll take you shopping in Tulsa,” Travis said.

  Dress shopping with Travis was out of the question. “I’ll be your date for the ball.” She raised a warning finger. “But I’ll find my own dress.” Sara prayed she’d stumble upon something suitable on a clearance rack for under a hundred dollars.

  Chapter Eight

  “Oh, dear.” Tulapoint’s lone hairstylist chewed her lip as she eyeballed Sara from head-to-toe.

  “Oh, dear, what, Mazy?”

  “We have a lot of work to do.”

  Sara yawned and rubbed her swollen eyes. “I didn’t sleep well.” She hadn’t gotten a wink of rest last night—tossing and turning in bed, fearing she’d humiliate herself tonight at the Oilmen’s Ball.

  She’d spent the week following her visit to Samantha’s ranch attempting to talk herself out of attending the social event with Travis. If not for her busy schedule at school, she might have had time to conjure up a good excuse. But before she knew it, winter break had arrived and here she was expecting Mazy to work miracles and transform her from a plain boring schoolteacher to a stunning debutante.

  Mazy pushed open the screen door and motioned Sara inside. “Hurry, before someone sees you.”

  The enclosed back porch had been converted into a hair studio. Mazy and her fifteen-year-old son lived with her mother, who’d been a widow for as long as Sara had known Mazy. Their white clapboard house sat at the edge of town off the main road.

  “Sit.” Mazy motioned to the salon chair at the far end of the porch, then disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later, she reappeared with two pieces of fresh-cut cucumber, which she laid over Sara’s eyes. “That should help the puffiness. Concealer will hide the dark circles.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to do my hair on short notice.” Sara had booked the appointment an hour ago when she’d faced reality and accepted that she couldn’t back out on Travis at the last minute.

  “No problem. Mom took Billy to that fancy skate-board park in Tulsa. All I had on my agenda was house-cleaning and I’d rather cut hair any day than scrub toilets.”

  Mazy’s ex had left her for another woman two years after Billy had been born. “Is Billy spending Christmas with you or his dad?”

  “Me. Neil’s driving his wife and stepchildren to Arkansas so she can be with her family.”

  Hoping to avoid a drawn-out discussion of Neil’s failings, Sara asked, “Did you finish your Christmas shopping?”

  “Yes, but I need to pick up a few stocking stuffers.” Mazy peeled off the cucumbers and shoved a hair-color chart into Sara’s hands. “Blond or red?”

  “Blond or red what?” Sara stared at the fake hair samples glued to the cardboard.

  “Highlights. I’m thinking blond.” Mazy fluffed the hair along Sara’s jawline. “Blond will frame your face and emphasize your brown eyes.”

  Sara was reluctant to draw attention to any part of her body, but she desperately wanted to make an impression on Travis and if that meant going a little overboard, then she would. “Blond it is.”

  “Next question.” Mazy set aside the hair-color samples. “Conservative or sexy?”

  There was a fine line between sexy and trampy. What the heck. “Sexy.”

  While Mazy mixed the hair dye, she pummeled Sara with questions. “Describe your dress. Is it cut low in the back or the front?” When Sara didn’t immediately answer, Mazy stopped swirling the color cream in the ceramic bowl. “You have a gown to wear tonight, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Mazy propped her hands on her hips. “I can tell by your droopy mouth that you’re not thrilled with the gown.”

  Droopy mouth? Sara made a conscious effort to smile. “I like it just fine.” The olive-green ruffled sheath had been the only one in her size on the clearance rack at Dillard’s. She hadn’t even bothered trying it on, because she knew she’d hate it. But the price fit her budget, so she’d bought the dress. As soon as she returned from the ball, the garment was going into the Goodwill bag sitting in the hall closet.

  Mazy sectioned off clumps of Sara’s hair, then used a small paintbrush to apply the dye before rolling the hair in a piece of foil.

  “What do your brothers think of you going with Travis to the Oilmen’s Ball?”

  “Gabe left town after Thanksgiving and Cole doesn’t know I was invited to the ball.” Travis had yet to bring her an official bid from Dominick, and until he did, she refused to discuss anything related to the Cartwright’s with Cole. She hated to get her brother’s hopes up that they’d come to an agreement with Dominick that would save the Bar T.

  The morning passed quickly. Mazy colored, cut and styled Sara’s hair, then gave her a makeover. “What do you think?” Mazy spun the chair to face the mirror.

  The woman staring back at her was a stranger. Her hair was pinned up in a messy bob that wa
s both sexy and sophisticated. The blond highlights framing her face made her appear younger than her thirty years. “What kind of makeup did you use?” Sara was afraid to touch her skin for fear she’d smudge the blush.

  “Mineral powders. It’s the latest craze.”

  Dark blue eyeliner and a light pink shadow accentuated the size and shape of Sara’s brown eyes. Rose-colored lipstick made her mouth appear fuller. She wondered if Travis would be tempted to kiss her again.

  “Take this with you.” Mazy held out a sample-size tube of lipstick. “Peach might go better with your dress.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mazy grasped Sara’s hands. “Do you have time for a manicure? Won’t take but a minute to put nail tips on your fingers.”

  Sara grimaced at the hangnails and calluses. “Sure.”

  Mazy spent a half hour on Sara’s hands, then glued half-moon tips to the end of her nails and painted them in a French manicure. “Much better. What about your toenails.”

  “I’m wearing close-toed shoes.” She didn’t own a pair of strappy high heels.

  “Do you intend to wear shoes in bed with Travis, too?”

  Face flushing, Sara stuttered. “I’m not…We’re not…”

  “Slip off your socks and shoes. I’d give you a bikini wax but—” Mazy checked her watch “—Doris asked if I could squeeze her in for a haircut after your appointment.”

  Doris got her haircut once a week so she could keep up on the local gossip. News of Sara attending the ball with Travis would be all over town by noon today.

  Mazy made quick work of painting Sara’s toenails, then used a handheld fan to dry the polish before applying a top coat. “Done.” She dug through a wicker basket on the porch and produced a pair of flip-flops, then slid them on Sara’s size-ten feet, leaving her heel hanging off the back. “Don’t put shoes or nylons on for a couple of hours.”