athlete’s body, real working muscles for swinging a hammer or an ax with force. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like, having that kind of strength, that kind of physical power, to be able to push an obstacle out of the way at will.
And yet, he shook hands like a gentleman.
What an irrelevant thing to think about.
The distinctive sound of an emergency vehicle’s horn sounded in the near distance, three distinct tones that were repeated almost immediately. It must have been a signal from their particular fire engine, because Luke and the other two men broke into a jog. Luke slowed enough to look over his shoulder at her, catching her staring, again. He tipped the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat, then turned away to run with his crew, answering the emergency call.
Patricia had to admit it was all so appealing on a ridiculously primitive level. It was too bad she needed a husband, and soon, but a deal was a deal, and her father would never let her change the terms now. She couldn’t attract the right kind of husband while she kept a pool boy, so to speak, which was her loss. Luke Waterson would have made one hell of a pool boy.
Her last lover, a Frenchman who’d sold yachts, had been less than satisfactory. Easy enough on the eyes, somewhat knowledgeable about sailing and a fair escort in a tuxedo, he’d nevertheless been easy to dismiss once she’d needed to set her sights on a suitable husband. She hadn’t missed Marcel for a moment.
But Luke...
Luke, she had a feeling, would not be a lover one took lightly.
And so, physique and handshake aside, she couldn’t afford to take him at all.
Chapter Six
L ess than a minute after Luke’s chief had used his engine’s siren to call his crew back, another fire engine sounded three notes in a different sequence. Patricia guessed it was the larger ladder truck from Houston that was also stationed by her mobile hospital. Somewhere in town, a situation required urgent attention.
Patricia scanned the horizon, turning in a slow circle, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Three days after the storm, floodwaters were subsiding. People had settled into shelters where necessary and repairs were underway, so Patricia doubted it was any kind of storm rescue. They still had a huge line of patients waiting to be seen at the hospital, but the life-threatening injuries of the first twenty-four hours had given way to more conventional complaints.
She heard the massive engine of the ladder truck as the Houston firefighters pulled out of their parking spot by the hospital building. Perhaps a car accident required a fire truck’s Jaws of Life tool to get an occupant out of a car.
Patricia’s staff were lining up folding chairs in the new tent, so more of the waiting line could be moved out of the sun. All the fabric walls had been rolled up so that any passing breeze could come through. Patricia walked around the outer edge, inspecting the set up. She ran her fingers over the ropes, testing their tension. They were all correct, each and every one.
She paused on the last guy line, envisioning Luke’s hand on the rope she held. She’d been watching him long before he’d caught her, mesmerized as he’d tightened this very rope. For once, his nonchalant grin had been replaced by concentration as he’d kept his eye on the roof, hauling hard on the rope until the fabric had been stretched perfectly taut. The muscles in his shoulders and arms had been taut, too, as he’d secured the line to its spike without losing the tension.
Then, shirtless in the Texas sun, he’d walked exactly as she just had, touching each line, checking every knot while she’d watched from a distance. He’d understood why it mattered to her. She’d known he was doing it because he’d given her his word that he would.
It was the sexiest sight she’d ever seen.
She let go of the rope. It was stupid, really, to take a volunteer fireman’s attention to detail so personally, but an odd sort of
And yet, he shook hands like a gentleman.
What an irrelevant thing to think about.
The distinctive sound of an emergency vehicle’s horn sounded in the near distance, three distinct tones that were repeated almost immediately. It must have been a signal from their particular fire engine, because Luke and the other two men broke into a jog. Luke slowed enough to look over his shoulder at her, catching her staring, again. He tipped the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat, then turned away to run with his crew, answering the emergency call.
Patricia had to admit it was all so appealing on a ridiculously primitive level. It was too bad she needed a husband, and soon, but a deal was a deal, and her father would never let her change the terms now. She couldn’t attract the right kind of husband while she kept a pool boy, so to speak, which was her loss. Luke Waterson would have made one hell of a pool boy.
Her last lover, a Frenchman who’d sold yachts, had been less than satisfactory. Easy enough on the eyes, somewhat knowledgeable about sailing and a fair escort in a tuxedo, he’d nevertheless been easy to dismiss once she’d needed to set her sights on a suitable husband. She hadn’t missed Marcel for a moment.
But Luke...
Luke, she had a feeling, would not be a lover one took lightly.
And so, physique and handshake aside, she couldn’t afford to take him at all.
Chapter Six
L ess than a minute after Luke’s chief had used his engine’s siren to call his crew back, another fire engine sounded three notes in a different sequence. Patricia guessed it was the larger ladder truck from Houston that was also stationed by her mobile hospital. Somewhere in town, a situation required urgent attention.
Patricia scanned the horizon, turning in a slow circle, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Three days after the storm, floodwaters were subsiding. People had settled into shelters where necessary and repairs were underway, so Patricia doubted it was any kind of storm rescue. They still had a huge line of patients waiting to be seen at the hospital, but the life-threatening injuries of the first twenty-four hours had given way to more conventional complaints.
She heard the massive engine of the ladder truck as the Houston firefighters pulled out of their parking spot by the hospital building. Perhaps a car accident required a fire truck’s Jaws of Life tool to get an occupant out of a car.
Patricia’s staff were lining up folding chairs in the new tent, so more of the waiting line could be moved out of the sun. All the fabric walls had been rolled up so that any passing breeze could come through. Patricia walked around the outer edge, inspecting the set up. She ran her fingers over the ropes, testing their tension. They were all correct, each and every one.
She paused on the last guy line, envisioning Luke’s hand on the rope she held. She’d been watching him long before he’d caught her, mesmerized as he’d tightened this very rope. For once, his nonchalant grin had been replaced by concentration as he’d kept his eye on the roof, hauling hard on the rope until the fabric had been stretched perfectly taut. The muscles in his shoulders and arms had been taut, too, as he’d secured the line to its spike without losing the tension.
Then, shirtless in the Texas sun, he’d walked exactly as she just had, touching each line, checking every knot while she’d watched from a distance. He’d understood why it mattered to her. She’d known he was doing it because he’d given her his word that he would.
It was the sexiest sight she’d ever seen.
She let go of the rope. It was stupid, really, to take a volunteer fireman’s attention to detail so personally, but an odd sort of
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