Page 21 of You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
“Boyfriend?” Teague asked mildly, his voice full of amusement.
“No,” she said, irritated. Then she lifted her chin. “Not yet.”
He smirked, then walked over to the kitchen bar, leaving a trail of mud on the white carpet. Oblivious to the havoc his boots were wreaking on her floor, he spread the blueprints on the stainless steel surface and set four of her collectible (and pricey) crystal miniatures on each corner to keep the sheets flat. “He looks like your type,” he muttered.
She followed, frowning at his audacity. “What’s that supposed to mean—my type?”
“You know. Pristine.”
She blinked. “Pristine?”
“You like complete order in your life,” he said, then gestured to the stark white decor. “You want everything clean and in its place. It makes you feel as if you’re in control.”
She crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with wanting to be in control?”
“It’s boring. And it’s unrealistic. You’ll live longer if you learn to appreciate spontaneity.” He gave her a look that said he was remembering their kiss.
Flustered, she willed away the heat that climbed her face. “You had no right to kiss me today.”
He laughed. “You weren’t exactly fighting me off.”
“You…took me by surprise,” she said, toying with the zipper pull on her velour top.
“And that makes you crazy, doesn’t it?” His eyes mocked her.
She hugged herself harder. “Teague, I can’t…we can’t become involved—we work together.”
“No. I workforyou,” he corrected.
She shrugged. “Whatever. I have a lot at stake here. We both need to stay focused on the job.” Samantha was glad that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. And it was doubly hard to concentrate considering the hard hat that hung from his belt—the one she’d fantasized about in the shower. Having him and his hard hat mere steps away from her shower was a strain on her willpower.
His mouth tightened as he turned back to the papers. “How did it go with your father today?”
She considered lying—her relationship with her father was no business of his, but it almost seemed more of an effort to make up something that sounded good. Besides, she felt a strange compulsion to share with Teague. No one else among her acquaintances had been privy to the rise of Packard Stone in Gypsum and could appreciate the power that he wielded over those close to him. In hindsight, that night in the guesthouse she might have shared with Teague too much about her conflicts with her father. “It didn’t go well. My father still thinks I’m a little girl.”
“Fathers are like that.”
“I suppose.”
“I’m sure it’s extra hard because you’re in the same industry.”
She sighed. “I have two college degrees, yet my father will never concede that I might know something that he doesn’t.”
“I think it’s nice that you have so much in common.”
“Do you and your father have a lot in common?”
He shrugged. “I guess we do. We both work with our hands. We both like the same things.” He grinned. “Blondes.”
She blushed, glad for the break in the tension. “Your mother is a blonde?”
He nodded. “She still turns my Dad’s head. They never had two extra nickels to rub together when all of us kids were in school, but they toughed it out.”
Envy pulsed through her chest that he had parents who were so in love. “I think that’s…nice. Do your brothers and sisters still live in Gypsum?”
“Some of them. Some have scattered. I have a bunch of nieces and nephews.”
She smiled. “Sounds like fun during the holidays.”
