Not Just a Cowboy. Caro Carson

can stop fanning him,” she said. “Rest. I’ll take over. You need to cool down, too.”

      Aw, yeah. Talk to me some more. Her voice fit her looks, sophisticated, assured. She had the faintest accent, enough to identify her as a Texan, but she was no cowgirl. She had the voice of a woman raised with Big Money, the kind of woman who’d gone to college and majored in art history, he’d bet.

      She started fanning Zach with her clipboard, so Luke put his helmet down and studied her profile until she glanced at him. She had eyes as dark brown as her hair was pale blond. She didn’t drop her gaze this time. Luke was torn between admiring her self-control and wishing she’d act flustered once more.

      She kept fanning Zach with her clipboard in one hand. With her other hand, she handed Luke another bottle of water. “Here, drink this. You’re as hot as he is.”

      He nearly laughed at that. Maybe she wouldn’t flirt back with him in front of her staff, but he couldn’t resist such an easy opening. “Well, ma’am, I’d say thank you for the compliment, but only being as hot as Zach isn’t truly that flattering. He’s just your average-looking slacker, laying down on the job.”

      Zach grunted, but didn’t bother opening his eyes. Zach had always been a good wing man.

      Luke gestured toward him with the bottle of water. “That eloquent grunt means Zach agrees.”

      Patricia looked away again, but not in a flustered way. Nope, now she just raised one brow in faint disgust and turned away, the princess not lowering herself to comment on the peasants’ looks.

      Luke chuckled, enjoying this brush with a Texas beauty queen, even if it led nowhere. It was something else to be in the presence of royalty.

      She pointed toward the unopened bottle in his hand, but before she could repeat her order, he raised his hand in surrender.

      “I’m drinking. I’m drinking.” He had to stop chuckling in order to down the second bottle of water.

      Princess Patricia stood abruptly, but she only stepped a foot away to grab a metal folding chair and then place it next to him. “Here, you’ll be more comfortable.”

      Not quite royalty, then. Or at least, she was hard-working and considerate royalty.

      “Thank you, ma’am.” Before rising, he clapped Zach on the shoulder. “How ’bout you sit up and drink some water now?”

      “I’ll get another chair,” Patricia said.

      Then it happened. She turned away for a chair. He turned away to extend his hand to Zach. He hauled his friend to his feet; she set a folding chair next to the first. They finished at the same second, turning back toward each other, and collided. He steadied her with two hands. Her elegant fingers grasped the edge of his red suspender for balance. The rubber edge of her boat shoe caught on the rubber of his fireman’s boot, tripping her, and she clung a little tighter. She was tall, but he was taller, and into the side of his neck she exhaled a single, awkward, warm and breathy “oh.”

      In that moment, as he stood solidly on his own two feet and held Patricia in his hands, Luke knew that a slender, soft woman had just knocked all two hundred pounds of him flat on his back.

      She looked away, then down on the ground, flustered again. The diamond stud in her delicate ear lobe grazed his chin. She let go of his suspender and pushed back a half step, turning to collect her clipboard off the chair she’d placed for him. “Stay as long as you need to,” she said without making eye contact. “I’ll let the fire chief know where you are.”

      She left, pushing the tent flap out of her way as impatiently as Luke had when he’d been coming in.

      Luke sat heavily where her clipboard had been, frowning as Zach guzzled his water next to him. Patricia had felt every bit of electricity he had, he’d bet the ranch on it. He’d never had a woman who was so attracted to him be so eager to get away from him. There had to be a reason, but damn if he could guess what it might be.

      Zach finished his water and started a second bottle. Halfway through, he stopped for a breath. He jerked his head toward the door flap. “Give it up now, rookie. You aren’t getting a piece of that action. Ever.”

      “Not here,” Luke silenced him tersely. There were too many people listening to the firemen who’d landed themselves in the middle of a bunch of paper pushers. Luke sat back against the cold metal of the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

      So, Patricia didn’t want to flirt. He could understand that on one level, but he felt instinctively that it went beyond being on duty or in charge. She’d hightailed it out of there, if such an elegant woman could be said to move so hastily, yet they’d just experienced chemistry with a capital C. Chemistry that couldn’t be denied. Chemistry that Luke wanted to explore.

      “You ready?” he asked Zach. Without waiting for Zach’s grunt of agreement, Luke stood, then started picking up coats, gloves, and his helmet. As the men headed toward the exit, they passed Patricia’s table. Luke dropped one glove, kicking it mid-stride to land precisely under a chair. Her chair.

      Zach noticed. “You gonna get that now or later?”

      “Neither,” Luke said under his breath. When they reached the door, he bent to scoop up Zach’s helmet. They stepped outside, into the blinding Texas sun.

      Luke handed Zach his coat and helmet. “I’m gonna let her bring that glove to me when she’s ready.”

      “You never leave your equipment behind, rookie.”

      “True enough.” Luke wasn’t going to argue that point. He was a rookie for the fire department, but he was a twenty-eight-year-old man who’d been running a cattle ranch for seven years. No cowboy worked without gloves, so he’d known to bring more than one pair. He could leave that one for Patricia to find. To find, and to decide what to do with.

      Zach smacked dirt and grit off the polished black surface of his helmet. “For future reference, rookie, throwing a helmet on asphalt scratches it all to hell.”

      “Battle scars, Zach. We’ve all got ’em.”

      Luke didn’t mind his engine’s tradition of calling the newest member “rookie” for the first few months of service, but Zach was laying it on a bit thick, considering they’d gone to school together. They’d played football, suffered through reading Melville and handfed goats in 4-H together.

      Zach shook his head. “You may have a way with the fillies on your ranch, but that woman isn’t a skittish horse. She runs this whole place, whether it’s official or not. I worked with her last summer after those twisters in Oklahoma. If you think she just needs patience and a soft touch and then she’ll follow you around like a pet, you’re wrong.”

      “We’ll see.” Both men started walking toward their fire engine, taking wide strides out of necessity in their bulky turnout pants and rubber boots.

      “You’re too cocky, Waterson. Go ahead and ignore my advice. It’ll be good for you when she shuts you down before you even make it to first base.”

      “First base? A kiss? High school was a long time ago, Zach.”

      “You won’t get that much, I promise you. You aren’t her type.”

      Luke remembered that moment of impact. Chemistry with a capital C, all right. He smiled.

      Zach shook his head. “I know that smile. Tell you what. You manage to kiss that woman, and I won’t make you repaint my helmet.”

      Luke’s smile dimmed. On the surface, Zach’s casual dare seemed harmless enough. They’d been through plenty of dares before. You buy the beer if I can sweet talk that waitress onto the dance floor while she’s still on the clock. But this was different. Somehow.

      “You’re forgetting two things,” Luke said. “One, my mama raised me better than to kiss a girl for a dare. Two, my daddy raised me that if I broke it, I had to fix it. I’ll paint