shook her head, not an ounce of regret registering on her face. “Sometimes, yes, but for the most part I enjoyed it all. Appreciated every job I had. Without them, I wouldn’t have gotten my degree.”
“Your family wasn’t in a position to help?” He broke off a chunk of bread and picked up his butter knife.
What little reserve she’d let down jumped back up with a vengeance. Instead of answering, she asked her own question. “And what did you study in college? I don’t recall ever seeing any courses in oil-well firefighting on any course catalogs.”
All righty, then. Talking about her family was off-limits. Since she’d struggled to make her own way through college, he had to figure one of two reasons was the cause. Either her family was very poor and she felt self-conscious about it or she was estranged from them, and that just made him more curious about what had precipitated the break.
Regardless, it explained—at least in part—why she was such a serious Sara all the time. She knew hardship. She knew if not poverty, at least slim pickings. He supposed if he’d had to work as hard as she had to get his education, he’d have a tendency to take life a little more seriously too.
He would have liked to press a little harder about her family, but he took his cues from her and let it drop. “Actually I majored in business management with a minor in accounting.”
“Oh, well,” she said, buttering a piece of bread, “I can see how that would make a natural transition into fighting oil-well fires.”
His smile at her little joke was slow. “So she does have a sense of humor.”
“When motivated, I can be funny,” she said, sounding a little defensive.
“Well, then, I’ll have to see what I can do to motivate you more often.”
Yeah, he thought when she gave him a wary look. That means exactly what you think it means. We are going to do this again. This is not a one-time deal, so get used to it, sweetie. I plan to see more of you.
He wasn’t sure when that intention had become apparent to him or why he was so certain he wanted to see more of her. For that matter, he didn’t understand the edgy sense of calamity that accompanied his thoughts. He shook it off and rationalized the situation instead. Why did some men find it impossible to resist the lure of Mount Everest? Why did some risk their lives jumping out of planes? Why did he make a living with men who marched into the jaws of oil fires risking everything, including their lives, in the process?
Sometimes the why wasn’t nearly as important as the want itself. And right now he wanted to get to know this woman better.
“This bread is delicious.”
Nice table talk, but the segue wasn’t going to work. “So is the view.”
She actually looked behind her to see if she’d missed seeing something. When she turned around and correctly read the look on his face, she didn’t exactly roll her eyes, but he could tell she wanted to.
“That was a compliment, Christine.”
She set her knife on the edge of her plate, propped her forearms on the table and took his measure. “You don’t have to flatter me, Jacob.”
He wagged his knife at her. “Jake. And I’m just calling it like I see it.”
Oh, that long-suffering look. Oh, that heavy sigh. She was just too much. Was she really that naive?
“You don’t really think that tonight is just about Jess Golden’s things, do you?”
Now she looked wary again. Maybe not naive. Maybe it was more a question of distrustful. Again. His fault.
“I want to get to know you, Chrissie.”
“For what possible reason?”
From any other woman he’d consider the question coy. From her it was exactly what it appeared to be: utter puzzlement.
“I’ve been giving that some thought.” He shrugged. “Maybe because you intrigue me. Maybe because I find you a contradiction. Or maybe because the way you look tonight only increases my curiosity about something that’s got me wondering.”
She’d grown very still. Even her eyes didn’t so much as flicker, although they were wide with the unasked question, What have you been wondering about?
“I’ve been wondering,” he said, responding to both the wariness and the anticipation revealed by the accelerated pulse thrumming at the base of her throat, “why you normally go to such lengths to hide the fact that you are a very beautiful woman. And why it embarrasses you to be told that you’re beautiful.”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
Yet she was flushing pink—something he chose not to point out. “What, then?”
“Uncomfortable,” she finally said. “I could do without the scrutiny.”
He laughed. “Then you shouldn’t have worn the dress.”
“My thoughts exactly,” she grumbled under her breath.
“Okay, look,” he said after a moment of her looking as though she wished she was anywhere else but here with anyone else but him, “just lighten up a little. You’re taking yourself way too seriously.”
“Right. Something you’re an expert on.”
“Hell, no.” He grinned, appreciating her sarcasm. “That’s the point. Life’s too short to take so dismally serious. You, sweet woman, need a few lessons in loosening up.”
“And I suppose you’re just the man to teach me.”
“There you go. I am definitely the man. And starting tonight, I’m leading the class in the education of Christine Travers, good girl with a yen to go bad.”
She smiled. A full-out, bona fide, no-holds-barred smile. Okay. So it was laced with the same sarcasm that sometimes put a bite in her words, but it was a smile. The first one. It felt like a major victory.
“You are so full of it, Thorne,” she said, sitting back in her chair when the waiter brought her salad.
“I am, for a fact. Full to bursting with possibilities on how we can loosen you up.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Because?”
“Because,” she said on an exasperated breath, “this is a ridiculous conversation.”
He couldn’t resist baiting her even more. “Scared?”
Her head snapped up. “Scared? Of what?”
“Of letting go, sweet cheeks. Of living life.”
“Just because I’m cautious, just because I’m discriminating, doesn’t mean I’m scared. Believe me, I know what scared is…it’s something I no longer choose to be. No matter what you think.”
Whoa.
