An Indecent Proposal

by Sandra Marton

  At first, things had gone as she’d expected. Her foreman had greeted her with polite resignation when she’d stepped down from the pickup truck.

  “Miss Angelica,” he’d said, “I mean, A.H. What a nice surprise. We had no idea you were comin’ to visit.”

  Angelica had smiled as she offered her hand. “I brought someone with me, Tom,” she’d said. “He represents Landon Enterprises and he’d like to take a look around.”

  It had been hard not to laugh at the look that had come over Tom’s weathered face.

  “That’s just what we need, on top of everything else,” he’d muttered. “A guy who don’t know oil wells from inkwells, come to tell us how many drill bits we should use and how many feet of pipe—”

  “Hey, man, you’ve got it all wrong.” Cade’s voice had been as cheerful as his smile as he’d stepped past Angelica, his hand outthrust. “You guys are the experts here. You’re gonna have to explain things to me.”

  Angelica ground her teeth in frustration as she remembered the look—part shock, part quizzical recognition—that had come over her foreman’s face.

  “Don’t I know you?” he’d said, and Cade had grinned modestly, all but scuffed his toes in the dust and said, well, maybe, considering that he’d spent his life—his life, damn him!—in the oil business, yeah, maybe Tom just might have seen him around.

  “I’m Cade Landon,” he’d said, and Tom had gone white.

  “Cade Landon? That’s the Landon Miss Angelica— I mean, A.H.—brought us?”

  “Yeah,” Cade had said, while Tom pumped his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Cade Landon,” Tom had repeated, still stunned. “For crissakes, A.H., why didn’t you tell us… Oh. Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to cuss, Miss Angelica, I—shit! I mean—”

  Cade had slapped the man lightly on the back. “The lady understands, Tom. In fact, she wants you to forget about calling her by her initials. Isn’t that right, Angelica?”

  By then, Angelica had been incapable of saying anything. Not that it had mattered. Tom was too busy. He’d called the other men over and soon the whole bunch had been clustered around Cade as if he were either the patron saint of oil exploration or the latest incarnation of Elvis Presley, and from that point on it had been all downhill.

  A hard male arm came looping around Angelica’s shoulders. She stiffened, looked up into Cade’s smiling face and whispered a word that made his eyebrows lift toward his hairline.

  “Why, sugar,” he said softly, “I’m shocked! I never dreamed they let you talk that way at Miss Palmer’s.”

  “You—you liar,” she said. “You cheat! You no-good, miserable son of a—”

  “Miss Angelica?”

  Angelica looked around, glowering. Her foreman was standing at the center of a little group of roughnecks, beaming at her.

  “Yes?” she snapped. “What is it?”

  “We just want you to know—the boys and me, that is—look, maybe we ain’t always done things the way you’d have liked. It wasn’t nothing personal, Miss Angelica, it was—the thing is, you don’t know this business.” He shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other, looked to Cade for a nod of approval and cleared his throat. “If only you’d said it was Cade, here, who’d be okaying your orders—”

  “She’s speechless,” Cade said quickly, as Angelica drew in her breath. “Isn’t that right?” His eyes flashed a warning as he drew Angelica to her feet. “Just give us some room, boys. I want to walk Miss Angelica around, explain some of what we discussed.”

  When they’d put some distance between themselves and the crew, Angelica jabbed her elbow into Cade’s ribs.

  “Let go of me,” she snarled.

  “Only if you promise to behave.”

  “Why should I? You’re a lying, cheating, no-good-”

  Cade laughed softly. “What’s that old saying about the pot calling the kettle black?”

  Angelica flushed. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ll just bet you don’t. Anyway, you wouldn’t want to upset the guys, would you?”

  She swung to face him, bracing her hand on a pump jack for leverage.

  “The guys,” she said through her teeth, “can go to hell.”

  “You don’t mean that. They’re a damned good bunch. I even know a couple of them, had them working for me in the Gobi—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were an oilman?”

  He smiled. “You didn’t ask.”

  “Ask? What do you mean, I didn’t ask? I didn’t have to ask, dammit. You should have said—”

  “Why would I have said anything?” Cade was still smiling, but his eyes had turned cold. “You’d already made up your mind that you knew everything there was to know about me, that I was a hatchet man, a human calculator—”

  “Isn’t it bad enough you came down here to steal Gordon’s from me? You didn’t have to make a fool of me, too.”

  “Are we back to that? If there’s a thief here, sugar, it’s you. This company is no more yours than it is the man in the moon’s.”

  “And that’s another thing! I hate, abhor and despise being called sugar.”

  “It’s a hell of an improvement over going through life being known as A.H.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being called by one’s initials!”

  “No, not if you’re fat, fifty and you’ve got five o’clock shadow!”

  “Go on, laugh all you like. But for your information, it was the men right here who dubbed me A.H.”

  “Come on, lady! No self-respecting roughneck would ever want to address a woman as anything but miss! If they finally settled on calling you by a pair of initials, they must have been desperate!”

  Angelica flushed. “It was a most satisfactory compromise,” she said stiffly, “one that overcame the formality so out of place in today’s workplace without putting the men in a position that made them feel uncomfortable.”

  Cade shook his head in disbelief. “Is that a direct quote, or did you make it up for my benefit?”

  “Don’t speak to me as if I were stupid!”

  “Look, maybe what you learned in those books of yours might work in some uptight corporate world. But this business is different. Oil crews pride themselves on their masculinity—it’s why they’re called roughnecks.”

  “And don’t patronize me, either!”

  “I’m only trying to make you see reason. Dammit, Angelica, what if it turned out you were telling me the truth, that there was some kind of verbal agreement putting you in charge of Gordon’s—”

  He stopped, but it was too late. Angelica was already smiling.

  “What did you say?”

  “Don’t take that as any kind of acknowledgment,” he growled. “It was just a supposition. It didn’t mean a thing.”

  “Of course it meant something. You just admitted that-”

  “Jesus.” Cade’s face went white. “Angelica,” he said, “shut up!”

  “Shut up?” She laughed. “Listen, Cade, just because these men treated you like some little tin god doesn’t mean—”

  “Dammit, I’m not joking! Stand absolutely still.”

  Her laughter faded. There was something about the look on Cade’s face…

  Something whispered across her fingers. Her heart leaped into her throat. “Cade?” she said, her eyes locked on his.

  “Don’t move,” he said grimly. “Not an inch. I’m going to—”

  A sharp pain stabbed into the tender flesh just below her thumb. Cade cursed, leaped forward and batted a dark, evil-looking creature to the ground.

  “A scorpion,” Angelica whispered, shuddering as Cade ground the thing under his heel.

  “Angelica,” Cade said, pulling her into his arms. “Did it sting you? Let me see your hand.”

  She looked at the dead scorpion and then at Cade, her face as white as chalk.

  “Remember when I said it would be better to trust a scorpion than to trust you?” sh
e whispered. “I was wrong. It turns out you can’t trust a scorpion, either.”

  She tried to smile, but it didn’t work. Instead, her eyes rolled upward and she collapsed in Cade’s arms.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LIGHT. Bright, white light, a blinding circle of it, beaming down from above, and beneath Angelica there stretched a hard, cold surface. There was an acrid, chemical tang in the air…and skittering toward her was something evil and ugly, something that carried its barbed tail upraised.

  Angelica began to struggle. She had to get away before the creature reached her.

  Hands clasped her shoulders, held her fast as she tried to run.

  “Easy, sugar,” a voice whispered.

  “No,” she said desperately, “no! The scorpion…”

  “Open your eyes,” the voice demanded. “You can do it. Come on, sugar. Open your eyes and look at me.”

  She didn’t want to; she wanted to fall back into the darkness. But denying the soft, firm voice was impossible.

  Her lashes fluttered.

  “That’s it, sugar. Just a little more.”

  Slowly, Angelica’s lashes lifted from her cheeks, and she found herself looking into eyes so darkly blue they seemed like bottomless bits of sky.

  “Cade?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” Cade said. His gaze swept across her face. “How do you feel?”

  Angelica moistened her lips as she considered the question. Her head pounded, her right arm ached, her hand felt as if someone had numbed it and then hung a fifty-pound weight from her fingertips.

  ‘‘Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” she said finally. “Everything hurts.”

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  She nodded. “I—there was a scorpion, and…”

  A shudder racked her body. Cade cursed softly, put his arms around her and drew her close.

  “The damned thing stung you, and it was all my fault. I didn’t get it in time. I was afraid it would get you if I moved too fast, but—”

  “I should have been more careful,” Angelica whispered. “Everybody knows you have to look out for scorpions in this part of Texas.”

  “Yeah, but scorpions aren’t supposed to climb pump jacks.”

  Angelica drew back a little and looked at Cade. “Then, it was the scorpion’s fault,” she said, smiling slightly. “He was in a place he had no right to be.”

  Cade laughed softly. “Now, why didn’t I think of that?” he said, and gathered her into his arms again. She closed her eyes, letting herself take comfort in the steady beat of the heart beneath her ear, in the warmth of the arms that held her, in the clean, male scent that filled her nostrils, and then she drew back.

  “My—my hand?” she asked, her eyes on Cade’s.

  He smiled. “The wound was nasty, but there won’t be any permanent damage.”

  Angelica breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I’ve never been sure what a scorpion can really do to you. I mean, I’ve heard stories, but—”

  “I know. I’ve seen quite a few stings and they’ve ranged from nothing worse than a bee sting to big-time trouble.” He reached out and stroked a tangle of damp copper curls from her forehead. “Thanks to Tom, we got you to the hospital in record time.”

  Angelica looked around her, at the white-tiled walls, the curtain-draped doorway, the glass-fronted cabinet filled with shiny instruments. Needles, she thought, needles jabbing her…

  She shuddered again.

  “What is it?” Cade demanded. “Do you feel ill?”

  “No, no, it’s not that.” A quick, embarrassed smile flashed across her face. “I’m a terrible coward about needles, and that case over there is full of them.”

  He chuckled. “It’s probably just as well you were out cold, sugar. You’ve been poked and prodded and jabbed I don’t know how many times with everything from adrenaline to tetanus antitoxin to an antibiotic to some kind of painkiller—” He smiled. “The important thing is that you’re going to be fine.”

  Angelica sighed and closed her eyes. “I can’t believe how exhausted I feel,” she murmured. “As if I’d been awake for days and days.”

  “Stress,” Cade said softly, “that’s all it is, sugar. You need some sleep.”

  “Mm,” she said, and sighed again.

  Cade held her gently, one hand massaging her back, the other stroking her hair. He shut his eyes, inhaling the scent of it. Roses, he thought, she smelled of roses, even after all the dust and the sweat and the stink of this place.

  His arms tightened around her and he turned his face just enough so his mouth was pressed against her temple. God, she felt so soft. So feminine.

  So fragile.

  He had to get her out of here. She was worn out; he could feel it in the way she lay in his arms. She needed to lie in a soft bed, not on this cold table. She needed to lie back against clean white sheets, to lie in his arms, to—

  “Miss Gordon?”

  Cade sprang back, although his hands still clasped Angelica’s shoulders. He turned to the doorway where a woman in a white trouser suit stood framed before the curtains, a questioning smile on her face.

  “Yes,” Angelica said, “that’s-”

  “Miss Gordon is resting,” Cade said. “May I help you?”

  The woman ignored him. ‘’How are you feeling, Miss Gordon?”

  “OK, I guess.”

  “She’s exhausted,” Cade said, frowning.

  The woman nodded. “I see.” She looked at Cade’s hands, still clasping Angelica’s shoulders, then at him. “If you wouldn’t mind… ?” He hesitated, then stepped back, and she took Angelica’s uninjured wrist between her fingers.

  “What are you doing?” Cade said.

  “I’m taking Miss Gordon’s pulse.”

  “Obviously. But why? She’s already been examined.” He smiled tightly. “By a physician.”

  The woman laughed. “Oh, I know that. But I’m here to examine her again.”

  Angelica cleared her throat. “Cade, maybe you should wait outside. I mean—”

  “For what reason? Miss Gordon has been through a lot the past couple of hours. I see no need to subject her to any more questions.”

  The woman sighed. “I take it you’re Mr. Landon?”

  Cade nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “The gentleman who rode roughshod over our admittance procedures.”

  Cade’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed,” he said dryly.

  “The admitting clerk was only doing her job, Mr. Landon. She has to ask questions.”

  “And I’ll be glad to answer them,” he said, “but not when I’ve got a sick woman in my arms.”

  “Cade?” Angelica said in a puzzled tone. “What’s she talking about? Was there a problem?”

  “No problem at all,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “I just took exception to being stopped at the door by a sycophant with a clipboard full of forms to sign when what you needed was medical attention.”

  “Weil, thank you for that, but if there are forms that I need to fill out—”

  “I’m not here to ask you to fill out forms, Miss Gordon,” the woman said. “I simply want to run some quick tests.’’

  “Why?” Cade’s voice was sharp. “Is there reason to think something’s been overlooked?”

  “No, Mr. Landon, not at all. It’s simply standard procedure.”

  “Cade,” Angelica said quickly, “really, I appreciate your concern but I can speak for myself.”

  “You see, Mr. Landon? Miss Gordon understands that I’ve no wish to bother her.”

  “But you are bothering her. Can’t you see she’s in pain?”

  Angelica gave a weak laugh. “Listen, you two,” she said, “if somebody would just take the time to ask my opinion—”

  “Where is the doctor who examined Miss Gordon?” Cade said coldly. “If she needs to have her vital signs checked, I want a physician to do it.”

  “Hey.” Angelica rose on one elbow
. “Did you hear what I said? Haven’t you forgotten—”

  “I am a physician, Mr. Landon. I’m Dr. Broderick, chief of toxicology.”

  “Oh.” Cade’s cheeks reddened but his grim look didn’t change. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “For God’s sake!” Angelica’s voice rang out sharply in the small room. Cade swung toward her and she shot him a look filled with indignation. “What is the matter with you? My hand was injured, not my head. I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.”

  Cade opened his mouth, then shut it. Of course, Angelica Gordon could speak for herself. She could more than speak for herself. She’d proved that to him half a dozen times already.

  He looked from Angelica to the doctor. Jesus, he thought, and gave an inward groan. He was making an absolute ass of himself!

  He smiled. At least, he tried to.

  “Of course,” he said, very calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened. “I’ll, ah, I’ll just step outside and see about those forms.”

  Damn, damn, damn! he thought as he marched out the door, what a performance.

  All right. So he hated the red tape of bureaucracy. So he despised rules that were imposed for the sake of conformity, scorned people who got their kicks out of enforcing those rules. He knew all that about himself, had known those things for years.

  But he was a little old to still be battling the demons of his childhood. He drew a deep breath, then let it out through his teeth. And, if he forced himself to be honest, what he felt about unnecessary rules had little to do with what had just happened, with what had been happening since he’d come storming through the doors of the hospital with Angelica in his arms.

  It wasn’t officious clerks he was fighting, it was terror—the terror he’d felt when Angelica had collapsed out on the oil field. Holding her still body, he’d been struck by how frighteningly defenseless she’d seemed, like a beautiful rose suddenly stripped of its thorns.

  He looked down the corridor to where the admitting clerk sat. He still wasn’t in the mood to deal with forms and stupid questions, not with a toxicologist in that room with Angelica. Was it really standard procedure, or had they come up with something they hadn’t thought of before?