A Man of His Word

by Merline Lovelace

  Eyes narrowed to glittering slits, he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips to guide her. His breathing grew harsh, ragged, picked up the same fast tempo as Sydney’s. His hips came up to meet hers, his thighs twisted like steel under hers. She felt each slide, each thrust, each clench of her muscles and his.

  “Did I say…you were a woman…of remarkable intelligence?” he rasped.

  “I believe you mentioned it, yes.”

  “Make that…just plain…remarkable.”

  At the ragged edge to his voice, a thrill of feminine satisfaction pierced the silky curtain of pleasure wrapping itself around Sydney. The wanton, wicked urge to shatter Reece’s control into a million tiny pieces spurred her. He looked so determined to hold back, so unused to relinquishing command of any situation.

  She leaned forward, planting her hands on his shoulders to give her additional leverage. He didn’t hesitate. With swift, unerring skill, he took the tantalizing target she offered. When his mouth fastened on her breast, needles of pure sensation shot from her nipple to her chest to every part of her body. Gasping, writhing where their bodies locked, Sydney rode him.

  He climaxed first, shooting up under her, wrapping an arm around her waist to thrust her down, down, until she felt herself splintering.

  Reece possessed, Sydney mused lazily some time later, a scent all his own—one she suspected she’d never forget.

  She lay sprawled beside him, her cheek on his ribs, her nose tickled by the curly hair on his chest. With each breath, she drew in the tang of soap mixed with sweat, of healthy male. A smile tugged at her when she spotted the thin film of gray dust rimming his belly button. Evidently he’d missed that vital spot in his hurried shower.

  Sydney felt the craziest urge to slide down and swipe it clean for him. Funny how she’d developed a taste for cement all of a sudden. She was contemplating what else she’d developed a taste for when a long, low growl rumbled just under her ear. She lifted her head to find Reece grinning sheepishly.

  “Was that you or me?” he asked.

  “You.”

  “Are you as hungry as I am?”

  “Hungrier,” she replied, matching his grin with one of her own. “I did all the work.”

  “Is that right?” Giving her hair a playful tug, he eased her onto her back. “Then I guess it’s only fair for me to do the catering. Stay right where you are”

  As if she could move! Sydney couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so totally boneless. In fact…

  She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. She owed this silly, satisfied sensation in part to the burst of splendor she’d just experienced, and even more to the man now zipping up his jeans.

  He dropped a kiss on her nose. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared through the connecting door. A moment later Sydney heard the door to his room slam shut. Sighing, she dragged up the spread and tucked it under her arms. Reece’s scent came with the well-washed chenille, as masculine and vital as the man himself.

  Okay. All right. She might as well admit it. Despite her earnest promises to the contrary, despite her determination not to make a fool of herself by tumbling head over heels in love with a man she’d met little more than a week ago, she was teetering on the edge and about to go right over.

  But this time was different, her heart whispered. As Reece had pointed out so fiercely, he wasn’t Jamie. He wouldn’t play with her, tease her into loving him, then walk away and leave her burning with humiliation. He was like the dam he worked on. Strong. Solid. Built on a foundation of solid bedrock.

  More than ever she wanted to see him in action, understand the project that took him out before dawn and brought him back late at night. They were so alike in their drive to succeed, each in their differing fields and disciplines. Eager to learn more about him and his milieu, Sydney made a mental note to ask him when he could take her down into the Chalo River Dam.

  The opportunity came sooner than she expected. Cross-legged on the bed, she felt her own stomach rumbling as Reece handed her a plastic bowl brimming with pinto beans. Sopped up with huge chunks of Lula’s crusty corn bread and washed down with beer, the beans made for a succulent feast. She’d gobbled down a good portion of her share when Reece brought up the forecast for tomorrow.

  “There’s another front moving in,” he said between bites. “A big one. They’re predicting severe thunderstorms for the next several days.”

  A big chunk of sopping corn bread froze halfway to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

  “They’ve had some flash flooding north of here. We’re watching the river levels closely.” His eyes grave, he delivered the blow she’d been expecting. “It doesn’t look like you should go down into the canyon for another two, possibly three days.”

  Sydney took a quick gulp of her beer to hide her dismay. She’d shot most of the interviews she wanted, and racked up enough exterior footage to recover from the damage done by the slasher. What she needed now were the interior shots of the ruins, particularly interiors of the stone tower the Weeping Woman of legend threw herself from.

  But she couldn’t afford to keep her crew twiddling their thumbs for two or three days, not at union scale. Given the prospect of additional delays, her most sensible option was to terminate the on-site shoot. She could shoot the rest of the interiors herself, as well as the final sequence when the reservoir filled and the ruins slowly disappeared beneath the water once more.

  Surprisingly, the idea of finishing the takes herself didn’t disturb her as much as it might have. When she’d first started out in the business, she’d shot all her own footage. She knew how to handle a mini-cam.

  Added to that was the fact that she’d have time on her hands to explore Reece’s world. Besides getting to know him better, she might come up with a different angle on her story, or germinate ideas for a whole new documentary.

  With that thought in mind, she was able to swallow her disappointment with her beer and shift the conversation from her project to his.

  “What will the rain delays do to your repairs?”

  “We’ll still pour. We have to. Like you, we only have a designated window of opportunity to complete this project.”

  “How will you keep the wet concrete from getting, er, wet?”

  She braced herself for another physics lesson. Instead, she got a quick grin and a simple layman’s explanation.

  “We’ll erect more scaffolding and use plastic sheeting to shield the fresh-poured concrete.”

  “When does this production begin?”

  “The contractor will have a good-size fleet of cement trucks rolling in here from Phoenix in the morning.”

  Her ear attuned now to the voice she still wanted to capture on audiotape, Sydney detected a small sting in his reply.

  “Are you being pushed?” she asked curiously.

  “You might say that.”

  “Who by?”

  He hooked a brow. “You want the whole list or the abbreviated version?”

  “Start at the top and work your way down.”

  “At the top is the secretary of the interior, who’s determined to keep his department in line with the budget cuts announced by his close buddy and golfing partner, the president.”

  “Of the United States?”

  “Of the United States. Then there’s the commissioner of the Bureau of Reclamation, who’s promised his counterpart in the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service that we’ll get the reservoir refilled and restocked as soon as possible.”

  He stretched out on the bed, the bowl of beans balanced on his stomach. Sydney found her concentration wavering between that lean, flat plane and the list of officials watching over Reece’s progress on the repairs to the Chalo River Dam.

  “Let’s not forget the head of the Arizona Electrical Co-Op, which purchases about half of the electricity the dam generates,” he said with a grimace. “Or the presidents of the Arizona orange and pecan growers associations, who are worried about irrigat
ion for their commercial farms in the area. Then there’s Western Region EPA office. They’re monitoring the impact on the riverine environment every day we keep the dam down.”

  Sydney gave a long, slow whistle. “And I thought I was under pressure.”

  “I won’t go into lurid detail about the letters we got from the Bass Anglers Sportsmen’s Society, Trout Unlimited, and Outdoor America,” he said dryly. “They had to cancel annual sporting events in the area. Or about my meetings with the local ranchers and farmers. Or the lectures I get every day from Lula, who reminds me every day about the business she and Martha are losing each hour the dam is down.”

  “Good grief! How do you sleep at night?”

  “I manage.” He stretched out a hand, brushed a knuckle down her cheek. “Something tells me I’ll manage even better tonight.”

  The look in his eyes curled Sydney’s toes. The corn bread fell apart in her hands, the crumbs falling unheeded to the spread.

  Uh-oh! She was in trouble here. Serious trouble.

  She didn’t realize how much, however, until Reece took her into his arms once more. And down into his dam the next afternoon.

  Chapter 13

  S ydney woke the first time when Reece brushed a kiss on her cheek and told her to call him later at the dam. Prying one eye open, she peered at the clock beside the bed, saw that it was 4:20, mumbled a response, and burrowed into the covers.

  She woke the second time to a distant growl of thunder. Grimacing, she lay amid the tangled sheets, listening to the rumble. Why the heck did the forecasters have to be so darned accurate in recent days, when they missed so many other predictions? Could she take another extended on-site delay?

  Wide awake now, she debated once again the pros and cons of shutting down the shoot and sending the crew home early. She’d pay Albert and Tish and Katie for the sound and videotape they’d shot, as well as the standard early-wrap-up bonus. Albert had another job waiting for him, she knew, and Tish’s husband would no doubt be happy to see her come striding in the door with that long-legged gait of hers. Zack… Zack, she’d start on the postproduction work. Torn, she finally admitted she had no choice. She couldn’t afford to keep the crew idle.

  The rain started just before nine, confirming her decision to shut down operations. Sydney spent the rest of the morning going over the postproduction schedule with Zack while Albert and Tish loaded their equipment into the van. By noon they were packed up for the hour-long drive to Phoenix, where they’d catch a flight to L.A. Several wrapped and sealed cases of videotapes would go with them. With rain splatting down on the oversize red-and-green golf umbrella Zack insisted on leaving with her, she saw the crew to the van.

  “Guard those originals with your life,” she warned her assistant.

  “I will, I will.”

  “Make two copies of the window-print.”

  “Got it covered, Syd.”

  She knew he did. She’d trained him herself. Still, she preferred to personally oversee even this grunt-work part of the process. According to her best estimates, it would take Zack a day at least to make the window-print dubs…copies of the picture and sound from the original videotape with an electronic window inserted that displayed the running time in hours, minutes, seconds, and frames. Another couple of days, she knew from long experience, to label all the originals and dubs, sort through the background information they’d collected, and file and label that as well.

  When those tasks were completed, Sydney could begin the arduous task of logging all the footage with the time code of each shot, scene numbers, a brief description of what happened in that scene, and notes about how the shot could be used in the final mix. Only after all that material had been entered into the computer could she use the data to begin the editing process that translated raw footage into a visual statement.

  “I’ll go over the dub log with you as soon as I get back,” she told Zack.

  “Which will be, like, when?”

  “I don’t know. Three days, maybe four. Everything depends on the weather.”

  “Su-u-u-re it does,” Tish put in with a grin as she gave Sydney a quick hug and climbed into the van. “I’m leaving you the Canon two-twelve. Be sure to get some good shots of the dam, girl.”

  “I intend to.”

  “Call me if you decide to shoot that documentary on the harnessing of America’s rivers.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t go, like, driving over any cliffs,” Zack begged, only half in jest. “See you, Henry.”

  Sydney spun around, unaware that her father’s old friend had lingered at the café. She’d informed him earlier that she was sending the crew back to L.A., and promised she’d call him when Reece gave her the all-clear to go down into the canyon again. Henry had simply nodded and told her he would wait for her call. She hadn’t realized that he intended to do his waiting at the café.

  “I have business that keeps me in town,” he said simply when she asked him about it.

  She was too polite to inquire into his business, but she had a good idea that it concerned her. Henry confirmed her suspicion in the next breath.

  “While I’m here, I’ll watch over you.”

  He delivered that pronouncement so calmly, so generously, that Sydney swallowed her instinctive protest.

  “Thank you.”

  Rain dripped from the brim of Henry’s felt hat onto his face. “What will you do now?”

  “Now, I’m going to call Reece. He offered to take me down into the dam. If he’s not up to his ears in wet cement, maybe he could give me a quick tour.”

  He could, he informed Sydney when she reached him a little while later. As long as she got out there within the next hour.

  With Henry dozing in the Blazer’s passenger seat, Sydney made tracks out to the dam. En route, she passed a convoy of dump trucks loaded with rubble heading in the opposite direction. They weren’t wasting any time clearing out the debris from yesterday’s blasting.

  The sun poked out between patches of dark clouds just as she made the final, twisting turn down to the dam, giving her a bird’s-eye view of the site. Scaffolding draped with great sheets of orange plastic covered the western quadrant, from the crest all the way down to the base. She caught only a glimpse of the gaping wound near the bottom.

  Henry opted to doze in the Blazer while one of Reece’s men handed Sydney a hard hat and high rubber boots, then escorted her to the elevator that went down inside the dam to the power plant. En route, her natural curiosity prompted her to ask him about the massive crane in operation at the base of the dam.

  “How did you get that monster down into the narrow gorge?”

  “It was shipped here in sections and lowered piece by piece to the riverbed,” her guide explained. “We’re using it to clear the debris from the blasting so it doesn’t block the inlet channels.”

  Sydney could only marvel at the detailed planning that had gone into this repair project. No wonder Reece got up before dawn and worked late at night to execute the plan, she thought as she stepped into the tiny elevator cage.

  Only eight feet wide at its crest, the dam measured more than fifty-seven feet thick at its base. The deeper Sydney went into its depths, she could feel those fifty-seven feet pressing in on her.

  They stepped out of the elevator in the power plant, a long, low building that housed four massive turbines. Flooded with fluorescent lighting and spotlessly clean, the cavernous chamber echoed hollowly as Sydney and her escort crossed it to join the men at the far side.

  Even if she hadn’t imprinted Reece’s face and form on every cell in her body, she could have picked him out instantly as the person in charge. Tall, commanding, sexy as hell in his hard hat and blue workshirt with rolled-up sleeves, he listened intently to the various players before issuing a series of crisp orders.

  Sydney waited quietly with her guide until he finished. Welcoming her with a smile, he introduced her to those of his crew she hadn’t met, as well as to the con
tractor and a few of his subs.

  “Hey, we’ve heard about you,” one of the subs said. “Are you going to put us in one of your movies?”

  “As a matter of fact…” Pulling the hand-held minicam out of the canvas bag slung over one shoulder, she asked Reece, “Do you mind if I shoot some footage?”

  “Fine by me. If you decide to do anything with the footage, though, we’ll have to run it by the Bureau’s public affairs officer.”

  “Of course.”

  While the others dispersed, Sydney started having second thoughts about her request for a tour. “Are you sure you have time to show me around right now?”

  “This is probably the only time I’ll have for the next few days,” he replied, scraping a hand across a chin that had already sprouted dark bristles. “What do you want to see first?”

  “Whatever you want to show me.”

  “Why don’t we start with the power plant, since we’re right here?”

  With a hand on her elbow, he guided her to the turbines. Round, green and more than two stories high, they looked like giant mandarin hats with little red buttons on top.

  “When these babies are running, you can’t hear yourself think,” he explained. “Combined, they generate a little over 250,000 kilowatt-hours.”

  Sydney looked suitably impressed.

  Grinning, he put the number into perspective for her. “That’s about five percent of all the power generated in the seventeen western states.”

  “Five percent. Got it. How do these suckers work?”

  “They use the simple laws of physics.”

  She groaned. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “They’re nothing more than sophisticated water wheels,” he explained, his grin widening. “Water from the reservoir flows through large tubes called penstocks under great pressure and spins the turbines. They, in turn, drive the generators which produce electricity.”

  Walking her past the towering turbines, he showed her where the water flowing through them would normally empty into the river below the dam. With the reservoir drained and the spillgates fully opened, the Chalo flowed through in a lazy trickle.