Cathleen Galitz - The Cowboy Takes A Bride

A shiver raced through Caitlin at the thought. “I can take care of myself,” she retorted, not bothering to explain about the defense class she had taken in college for physical education credit. If the need were ever to arise, she knew how to fell a man like a tree.

Grant rolled his eyes at this assurance. “I’m sure you can—at a sorority party or a poetry reading. But we’re not talking about the latest trends in social awareness here. This is an oil rig, not a library or an office. You can’t protect yourself here with a thick book and that withering look you’ve perfected.”

A degree in geology hadn’t prepared her for dealing with such hardheadedness. “Maybe I should have majored in archeology,” Caitlin murmured sweetly.

Grant’s eyebrows arched into question marks.

“That way I would have been better prepared to deal with such an archaic male attitude. I don’t know why you have a chip on your shoulder the size of the state of Wyoming, but it seems like you’re just afraid that I might be good at what I do.”

“What I’m afraid of,” Grant clarified with an angry jab at the air, “is that your father won’t be able to let his own daughter go when the time comes.”

Paddy started to point out that he was in the room and capable of speaking for himself, but Caitlin cut him off before the first syllable was out of his mouth.

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you are the one in charge of hiring and firing. If in a month’s time you haven’t changed your mind about me, I’ll abide by your decision. Daddy won’t have anything to say about it.”

“Sounds more than fair to me.” There was a hint of admiration in Paddy’s voice.

Grant’s groan was of theatric proportions. “I don’t like it.”

“What you mean is that you don’t like me,” Caitlin observed. “You don’t have to. You just have to work with me.”

She stuck out her hand and forced a decision, one way or the other. “Do we have a deal?”

Thinking he’d rather kiss a rattlesnake than shake her hand, Grant’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Like I have a choice.”

He looked to Paddy for support but instead found a happy smile of anticipation plastered on his old friend’s face. This little vixen had indeed positioned him upon the horns of a dilemma. Either way he jumped, he could expect to be gored. Grant considered the small, manicured hand dangling in the air in front of him. He shook his head in disgust. As Paddy had pointed out earlier, such hands were not intended for the kind of hard work to which this woman was so blithely pledging herself. Grant hoped she understood that on this rig she would be asked to pitch in and do more than what might fall into the scope of a written job description. Real life wasn’t as orderly as college professors were apt to lead one to believe.

Damned if he didn’t feel the strongest urge to bend his lips to those clean, polished fingertips and kiss them. He shook his head at the medieval image that evoked. Both Paddy and Caitlin were looking at him, waiting for his response.

Reluctantly he took Caitlin’s hand in his.

He was not prepared for the impact her touch had on him. A thousand volts of electricity surged between them. Grant knew that Caitlin felt it too by the way her eyes grew wide, exposing her shock for the length of two full seconds.

Sheer willpower alone gave him the strength to pull his hand away from hers.

A telltale blush stained Caitlin’s cheeks as she looked straight into his eyes and told the most prodigious lie he’d ever heard. “You won’t be sorry.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience anyone,” Caitlin insisted. “Really.”

Grant tried not to gag as he watched her work her father over. The little lady had perfected the art of female persuasion with an adoring look that had Paddy doing back flips to accommodate her. It didn’t take an enormous stretch of the imagination to envision a horde of pimple-faced, preppy schoolboys falling all over themselves for a chance to carry the Princeton Princess’s books across campus. The poor suckers.

Grant’s observation that their small trailer was going to be mighty cramped, considering the fact that there were only two bedrooms available didn’t seem to faze Caitlin in the least.

“I’ll just have to sleep on the couch then,” she responded with the kind of magnanimous sincerity Grant considered worthy of Hollywood’s recognition.

“Fine with me,” he grumbled. He saw no reason to give up his bed for this spoiled college brat. The least a man should expect after putting in long, demanding hours of physical labor was a firm mattress. The very least.

His words were drowned out by Paddy’s firm protest.

“Absolutely not,” he declared. “If anyone’s going to sleep on the couch, darlin’, it’s going to be me.”

Grant groaned. Paddy had no more intention of sleeping on that couch than he did of using a rock for a pillow. Greatly amused by the older man’s grandstanding, he watched him forage helplessly in the closet for bedding, one hand pressed dramatically to the small of his back. Grant was tempted to applaud the performance.

“Don’t even think of it, Dad!” Caitlin exclaimed, successfully wrestling him away from the closet and into the easy chair.

“I won’t have you sleeping on the couch and that’s all there is to that,” her father puffed chivalrously. “It wouldn’t be right for a beautiful young lady to be without her privacy.”

Had Paddy’s pallor not been of such real concern to him, Grant might have enjoyed the show a good while longer. As it was, he was too fond of the older man to ever actually allow him to jeopardize his health by sleeping on a sagging sofa. It would not, however, have bothered him in the least to save the privilege for Caitlin. As far as he was concerned, a bed of nails would be good enough for her Royal Eminence.

In the midst of their argument, Grant slipped away unnoticed. When he returned a few minutes later carrying enough heavy suitcases to tax his considerable muscles, father and daughter were still engaged in a rousing game of martyrdom.

“Enough already,” Grant groused on his way through to deposit Caitlin’s luggage in his room. “Think you packed enough for what promises to be a short stay?”

Caitlin refused to dignify his sarcasm with a response. Instead she merely stepped out of his way, “I had every intention of doing that myself, and I hope you know it wasn’t my idea to put you out of your room.”

“Save it for the Academy Awards,” he grumbled, not even bothering to slow down.

Caitlin hated letting such an odious man do her any favors. Having fought hard for the right to be treated as an equal, she preferred carrying her own baggage around—so to speak. She did not want to begin this particular job in debt to Grant Davis for anything as chivalrous as opening a door or carrying in her belongings. She was keenly aware that he wasn’t doing this out of fondness for her but rather out of respect for her father. Antipathy emanated from every pore in his body. Since he’d made it abundantly clear that he took affront to her college degree, Caitlin made a mental note to downplay her education in his presence. Seeing how they were going to be roommates after all, she saw no sense in borrowing trouble.

“He’s a good man,” her father assured her.

Caitlin remained unconvinced as the sound of suitcases being dumped onto the floor resonated through thin walls.

She smiled weakly. “A regular knight in shining armor.”

A minute later he was back, crossing the room in a few long strides. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, pointedly checking his watch.

Opening the trailer door, Grant let in the light and the heat from outside. Caitlin was struck by the way the sunshine glowed about his body, giving the momentary illusion that she was in the presence of an angel. Not some cute little Cupid, but rather an angel warrior. Rugged St. Michael entering a fray without benefit of sword or shield.