A Bravo Homecoming by Christine Rimmer Page A

Deepwater Venture and is planning to look for a new job on land now. I want to be the girl who’s had you for a friend ever since she was a lonely, oversize eighteen-year-old hayseed.”
    “Sam.” He reached across the table. And when Travis reached out, she couldn’t help but respond. She gave him her hand.
    Instantly, something deep inside her went all soft and mushy. He wrapped his fingers around hers and the feel of his skin touching hers was so perfect, so comfortable and yet thrilling at the same time, so absolutely right.
    He said, “You were no hayseed.”
    She allowed herself a hint of a smile. “Oh, yeah, I was. And I’m proud of who I was—of who I really am. We don’t need to go into all that’s happened in the past week, into my big makeover. We can just tell them we’ve known each other for years and suddenly, since we’ve been working on the Deepwater Venture together, we realized that it had been…” She hesitated over the scary word. And then made herself say it. “…love all along.”
    “That sounds good to me.”
    “You proposed a couple of weeks ago, the day before you talked to your mom and agreed that you’d ask me to the ranch for Thanksgiving.”
    “Okay, that’ll work.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. Her skin seemed to heat beneath that simple brush of a touch. “Did I say something to make you think I wanted you to pretend to be someone else?”
    “No, you didn’t.” It seemed dangerous, somehow, to sit here with him like this, their gazes locked together, holding hands across the table. Gently, she eased her fingers free of his. She picked up her wine again, sipped, set the glass down, each movement smooth and deliberate. Jonathan had said that a fine meal in good company should never be rushed. “I just wanted to be sure we understood each other, that we’re on the same page about how it’s going to be.”
    He hadn’t moved since she pulled her hand from his. He was watching her, his gaze shadowed and yet so intent. “We’re in agreement, Sam,” he said at last. “You can stop worrying.”
     
     
    After dinner, they went upstairs to visit the Colombe d’Or art gallery. Sam knew zip about art and recognized none of the artists’ names or the paintings on display. Still, it was fun to walk around the beautifully decorated rooms and admire the bright pictures, her hand tucked companionably in the crook of Travis’s arm.
    Outside, the parking attendant had Travis’s Cadillac waiting. He held her door open for her, and she slipped into the plush embrace of the soft leather seat without a stumble in her four-inch heels, without letting her tight skirt ride higher than mid-thigh.
    “Thank you,” she said as the attendant closed the door. Travis pulled away from curb. She turned to him. “What next?”
    He sent her a quick glance, and then turned his gaze to the street ahead. “Depends on what you’re up for. We can go to a party. Or walk around downtown. Or go see a movie…”
    “Whose party?”
    “Oh, just the CFO of STOI.” South Texas Oil Industries. It was the company Travis worked for. She knew he got invited to a lot of fancy parties, partly because he was well-liked by the people he worked for. And partly because he was one of the San Antonio Bravos. She was quiet, considering. After a moment or two, he sent her another glance. “Sam?” He said her name softly.
    A shiver went through her, to hear him say her name so low and intimately—and also because she was actually considering choosing the party over the safer activities of a movie or a walk downtown. To hold her own among the management people, the white-collar types. That would be something. As a rule, oil workers and upper management lived in separate worlds. If they went to the party, it would be a true test of all that Jonathan had taught her.
    “No pressure,” Travis reminded her. “Wherever you want to go…” He eased the car to the curb again and parked, but left