by JoAnn Durgin
Lexa relaxed her grip and tried not to stare. “Thanks.” With his strong jaw line, defined cheekbones and those smile lines, Sam bore an uncanny resemblance to the rugged cowboy on the cover of the romance novel stashed in her purse. Her pulse picked up speed. Making a difference in the world should keep her busy enough for the next eight weeks. TeamWork expected her to work hard, and that’s what she intended to do. Closing her mouth and not staring at the man like a lovestruck schoolgirl might be a good start.
“Hop on in.” Opening her door, he removed his hat and parked it on the backseat with the reverence befitting a native Texan. Next came her suitcase, and Lexa was thankful he indeed treated it with equal care. When Sam raked a hand through his thick, dark waves, a few tinges of silver peeked out at the temples. In that total injustice that favored the male species, the silver only made him more attractive.
“Thanks.” Good grief. Politeness aside, he’d think her only capable of mumbling one word or abbreviated sentences. Climbing into the car, she tossed her braid behind one shoulder and settled herself on the seat. Time to say something intelligent or witty.
“You look familiar. Have you ever modeled before?” She bit her lip. That sounded ridiculous, but making small-talk with a handsome cowboy wasn’t a skill she listed on her professional résumé. She hoped he’d take it as the compliment she intended and move on. Judging by Sam’s easy laughter, she needn’t worry.
He closed the car door and leaned closer. “I’ve never been accused of that, no. How about you?”
That grin of his was pretty infectious.
Lexa inhaled a quick breath. Surely he noticed she wasn’t exactly beautiful and barely tall enough to ride an adult roller coaster. Her mind sought a reply. “Well, then, I won’t ask what you have been accused of since you’re my ride to the TeamWork camp. You seem nice enough, and promised to take care of my suitcase.” Not great, but hopefully it sounded halfway witty. She had to cool it, though, or he’d think she was flirting.
A wide grin slanted his lips, the smile lines deepened. As he slid behind the wheel, his long legs buckled at the knees, even though the seat was pushed all the way back. “Welcome to our TeamWork mission.”
“Are you the leader of the camp?”
“I’m the director of this mission, yes.” Sam waited until she buckled her seat belt before starting the car.
“How long have you been with TeamWork?” The rumble of the engine drowned out her words.
“Hang on.” He gestured to the front of the car. “It’ll calm down in a minute or two.” They drove in silence a couple of miles until the engine quieted. “I’m hoping this car will get us through the next eight weeks, and then I’ll put it out to pasture. It’s old, but solid as a tank and loyal as anything.” Sam patted the dashboard like a protective papa and readjusted the rearview mirror. “Now, let’s try that again. What was your question?”
“I asked how long you’ve been with TeamWork.” Lexa fanned her cotton blouse for a few seconds before she understood it was an exercise in futility and gave up.
“I’ve worked with TeamWork as a volunteer off and on since I was eighteen, and as a full-time summer director for seven years. Mostly in the United States, but I’ve also worked a couple of foreign missions. In my other life, I’m also an independent financial planner in Houston.”
Small world. “Well, in my other life, I’m also a financial consultant with Alamo World Financial. In Houston.”
“Did you feel the need to escape the financial planning world for a while?”
That question threw her a bit. Not sure how to answer, Lexa drummed her fingers on the open window. “I wouldn’t exactly call it an escape. More like a break.” If she told this man the truth, he’d think her misguided at best. Better to keep that little tidbit to herself.
“I completely understand the need to get away.” Sam grinned. “After all, TeamWork is what I do for fun.” He negotiated a turn. Other than a sparse scattering of trees, the narrow roads were flat, dusty and nondescript. Most didn’t have posted signs. A couple of small, wooden shacks dotted the landscape. “What got you interested in financial planning?”
That one was easy. “I love working with numbers. It’s that simple. I’m sure you can identify.”
“I can. But I think the more important question is, do you like working with the people behind those numbers? The way I look at it, they put their trust in us, and we can’t let them down.”
“I like people, yes.” Lexa shifted on the seat. “But numbers are easier.” She’d never looked at it from that perspective before.
“Why do you think numbers are easier?”
Lexa sighed. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?” She heard the edge of irritation in her voice, but it was way too hot for an inquisition.
“Sorry.” Sam swiped a hand across his forehead. “My curiosity sometimes gets the best of me.” The dark waves were tousled from the wind, his brow damp with beads of sweat.
Removing the sunglasses, he graced her with a direct glance. When intense, piercing blue eyes met hers, a tightness squeezed Lexa from the inside out. Her breath caught in her throat as she gulped dust blowing through the open window. It escalated into her second coughing attack of the day. Not so good. Lexa thumped a rapid staccato against her chest, as if that would help anything.
“Are you okay?” Concern laced Sam’s voice. He replaced the sunglasses. “Do you have asthma?”
“I’m fine.” Lexa forced a few slow, deep breaths. “Just inhaled . . . some . . . dust in my lungs.” More like Sam in her lungs, but best to push that thought out of her head right now. This man was the leader of the camp, a man of God. The heat must be getting to her, seeping into her brain and muddling her mind.
“I’ve got water bottles in the back. Let me stop and grab one for you.”
She waved her hand. “Don’t bother. I’ll be okay.”
He still looked concerned and waited a few minutes before resuming any conversation. “So, feel like getting back to the whole number versus people discussion?”
Lexa sighed. “Let’s stick with numbers. Remember, they’re safer.”
Sam looked her way, but he wasn’t smiling. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. You don’t believe people are safe, Lexa?”
She shook her head, the grin fading. “Are you sure you’re not the TeamWork shrink?” Even the TeamWork interviewer didn’t ask such probing questions. Most people would ask what she liked to do, what she considered her strengths, or even her weaknesses. Sam wasn’t like most people. He wanted to know her opinion of people and numbers. Sliding on the seat, Lexa anchored one foot on the floorboard and pushed herself higher on the leather seat.
“We’ve got some time until we get to the camp, and I’d like to find out a little about you. That way, I can better understand where you’d best fit in at the camp.”
Lexa couldn’t resist the bait. “Based on our discussion so far, do you have any suggestions?” Even with the windows open, it was stifling. Grabbing a tissue from her purse, Lexa blotted it across her forehead.
“I’m working on it.” Slanting another glance her way, Sam grinned. “You’ll get used to no air conditioning, believe it or not. Eventually you forget about it, and the constant heat becomes a state of being.”
How comforting. Lexa pressed the tissue against her neck. “You’d think I’d be used to it, living in Texas my entire life. I suppose one takes modern conveniences for granted after awhile.” She raised her face to the rush of warm wind caressing her cheeks, fully aware those blue eyes watched.
“Yes, I suppose one does.” Amusement tinged Sam’s chuckle.
Lexa tucked the tissue in the pocket of her capris. She’d have to watch the formal talk. Her grandmother coached her to speak properly, so it came naturally. It also came across as snobby.
A loud, sharp popping noise rang out somewhere nearby. Lexa jumped and a small squeal escaped. She slid down further in the seat. “What on earth was that?”
Oh dear God, please don’t let that be a gunshot.
CHAPTER 2
Lexa’s heart thundered in her chest. This was just great. She’d traveled to San Antonio only to come under attack on the way to the TeamWork camp. Surely, her life wouldn’t end this way. First, she needed to find her life. Then, she’d take it from there.
It wasn’t like she was the damsel in a stagecoach, Sam her heroic driver, and a rogue bandit with a sawed-off shotgun lurked on the side of the road. Although it wasn’t the 1800s, it was Texas. Lexa darted a quick glance in every direction and blew out a sigh of relief.
“We’ve got a flat.” Sam’s jaw tightened, but his hands on the wheel remained steady as he steered the station wagon to the side of the road. Sure enough, the telltale thump . . . thump . . . thump shook the car everywhere and sent Lexa sliding across the leather seat toward the door. She grabbed onto the inside door handle as the car lurched to the right.
Shutting off the engine, Sam whipped off his sunglasses and tossed them onto the dashboard. A deep frown creased his brow as he looked at his watch. “I can use your help, if you don’t mind.” Without another glance in her direction, he flung open his door.
“I’m coming.” Lexa almost tumbled headfirst out of the car. “Whoa!” Feeling silly, she steadied herself and took a few cautious steps along the uneven pavement as she cast a wary eye at the remains of the shredded right rear tire.
“We probably hit a nail or broken piece of glass. On this road, anything’s possible.” Sam pulled out a metal contraption Lexa assumed was a jack and knelt down in the dirt beside the car.
“Whatever it was, it did a thorough job on the tire. I need something fairly heavy. There’s a stack of bricks in the back of the car. Please go find one and anchor it against the front tire for me.”
Sam was in full boss mode now, his good humor blown along with that tire. But he said please, and his irritation was understandable, given the heat and humidity. Lexa resisted the urge to salute as she found a brick in quick order and carried it to the front right side.
“This tire?” It was a guess.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
As Sam positioned the jack, Lexa lodged the brick. She was about to offer the use of her premiere auto club card, but he seemed more than capable. Not knowing what else to do, she leaned against the passenger door and watched.
“Please don’t lean against the car.” His exertion surfaced in his voice, but he didn’t stop. Sam lifted the jack up and down with practiced ease, revealing mighty impressive upper arm muscles. Damp ringlets curled at the base of his neck. Even sweaty and covered in dirt, the man looked like he stepped from the pages of some western wear catalog.
“Oh. Sorry.” Lexa wandered to the side of the road. One foot kicked pieces of asphalt, and they skidded a haphazard path across broken pavement. She shielded her eyes with one hand and squinted. Not a cloud in the sky, no breeze stirring, no birds anywhere. Texas backcountry at its best. At least it was daylight.
Sensing he watched, Lexa turned. Sure enough, Sam peered at her from behind the car. His eyes narrowed, and he grunted. “If you’re looking for another ride, it’s not gonna happen out here on this road. Afraid you’d be standing there a few days without seeing another soul. I’ve changed enough tires on this car that I can do it in my sleep. I’ll get us on the road again soon enough.”
He looked pretty sweaty. Maybe she should fan him or something. Hoping it wouldn’t disturb his work, Lexa opened the back door and plucked the police union newsletter from the outside pocket of her suitcase. It was already coming in quite handy on this trip. She moved over to Sam and feverishly fanned the top of his bent head. Whoosh!
His hands paused their work, and Sam glanced up at her. “I appreciate your efforts to keep me cool, but it’s pretty much a lost cause at this point. What I need most now is the tire iron. It’s in the toolbox in the back.” One brow raised and he swiped a hand across his forehead. “Interesting reading material. Are you an undercover cop in your spare time?” Sam’s tone was teasing and implied he didn’t believe it for a second.
“My dad was.” Lexa folded and tucked the newsletter in her pocket. Poking around in the toolbox a few seconds later, she hoped she’d recognize the tire iron. If only her dad allowed her to help with his projects, maybe she’d know what it looked like. It wasn’t like they routinely taught girls these things in school.
“Is there a problem?”
Lexa peeked around the corner of the car. “Um, which thing is the tire iron, exactly?”
“I’ll get it.” Removing the hub cap, Sam lowered it to the ground. Rising to his imposing height, he dusted his hands together and headed her way.
“Is it this thing?” When she pulled out the tool, it was heavier than she anticipated and her hands were clammy from all the humidity. Lexa watched in horror as it flew out of her grasp and slammed against Sam’s denim-clad lower legs. It fell with a heavy thud in the dirt between his boots. Wary of another coughing attack, Lexa waved her hand in front of her face. She trained her eyes on the ground, afraid to meet his eyes. She hoped he wouldn’t bark like her dad when she tried to help.
“Yep. That’s it.” He didn’t even flinch as a small cloud of dust swirled around them. Sam’s voice sounded tight with frustration. Crouching down, he retrieved the tire iron.
“I’m so . . . sorry?” Lexa finally dared to look up at him, one hand covering her mouth, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Surely he understood it was an accident. She wished his smile would return. She liked it a whole lot better.
Sam’s hands found his hips. “Miss Clarke . . .” The words were slow and measured. “I’m sure you understand we’re going to be using tools for the next eight weeks.” Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his damp hair. “Never mind. I’m sure I can find a way for you to help us out at the worksite.” The encouraging signs of another grin tipped the corners of his mouth. “I suspect something with numbers or measuring things might be best.”
Lexa tried her best to look him straight in the eye. It was rather difficult. When Sam lowered his head, she captured his gaze, holding it steady. The hint of a twinkle in those blue eyes surprised her. “I’m a fast learner. Give me something to do so I can help you.”
Sam nodded, but he looked dubious. “Okay. I know just the thing.”
~~**~~
Standing beside him, Lexa clutched the lug nuts in her tight fists, her expression a study in agitation. Stubborn as all get out, this one. No doubt irritated all he’d asked her to do was hand him lug nuts. But, it was all he needed if they were going to make it to the camp anytime soon.
Sam glanced at her impractical shoes and swallowed his grin. One foot tapped a steady rhythm, kicking up dirt. With her fancy clothes, Lexa looked more prepared to board a cruise ship than build houses. Even with those ridiculous shoes boosting her height, she still couldn’t be any taller than five-foot-three, give or take an inch.
He stole another look as he worked. In odd contrast to the way she was dressed and those pink nails peeking at him beneath her shoe strap, Lexa was one of the most natural women he’d seen in a long time. His eyes followed the long, blonde braid down almost to her waist. That wasn’t something you normally saw outside of a farm in the Midwest. Most career women couldn’t be bothered. Fascinating.
A trail of faint freckles peppered her nose and sprinkled across her upper cheeks. Her features and that pleasing drawl held an inherent sweetness, an innocence all too rare. Guys would line up around the block for a woman like Lexa. But she gave off signals she wasn’t interested. Even though he noticed, he wasn’t looking. Big distinction. The two of them should get along just fine.
Once he was certain the new tire was secure, Sam repositioned the hub cap. “I hope you brought a pair of sturdy work boots. Especially out at the worksite, you don’t want anything falling on those dainty toes.”
If it was possible, Lexa’s foot shifted into overdrive. “I hope that’s not a crack
because I hit you. I assure you, it was completely an accident.” She sniffed and turned her head the other way. “For the record, I’m . . . I’m sorry.”
Bless her heart, she sounded genuinely remorseful.
“Relax. It was simply an observation. And stop tapping your foot. You’re stirring up trouble . . . I mean dust.” Freudian slip. “Besides, I thought women liked being called dainty.” Sam shot another glance at the tiniest feet he’d ever seen on a woman. “Those little wedgie shoes of yours aren’t exactly practical for a work camp.”
A pink flush slowly crept into her cheeks. It was gratifying to see a modern woman could still blush. “I brought steel-toed work boots, yes. And it’s called a wedge heel, thank you very much. Not a wedgie. That’s something else entirely.” Her unexpected smile revealed a glimpse of the humor hidden behind that defensive façade. When she wasn’t tight as a knot, Lexa Clarke was incredibly pretty.
Shrugging his shoulders, Sam gave her a half-grin. “Wrench, please.” He held out his hand, waiting.
“Did you just call me a wench?” Lexa’s voice rose, and the smile faded.
Sam laughed outright. Communicating with this volunteer might prove a challenge in itself. “Of course not. Careful, Miss Clarke. Your hackles are showing. I think that particular term went out with the Middle Ages and is only used at Renaissance Fairs. I simply asked for the wrench. Since the tire iron proved a bit unwieldy, I thought maybe I’d use the wrench this time. You do know what . . .”
“Of course, I do.” Lexa darted to the back and returned in five seconds flat. Without another word, she handed him the wrench. Her look of self-satisfaction said it all. He wouldn’t bother telling her he meant the bigger wrench. He could make do. For a brief second, Sam wondered what her hair looked like loose and flowing. He averted his gaze. Now she really was stirring up trouble, but trouble of an entirely different nature. The kind he was trying hard to ignore and avoid.