the world.
Placing a slender hand on her brow, she massaged her temples. She had to think coherently regardless of the circumstances. Boots and Coots were one of their major buyers. They used Blanchard pipe at oil and gas well blowouts to spray water on the raging inferno while their men worked to put the fire out.
“Who spoke to you, Jake?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Boots Hansen did.”
“What happened?”
Jake released a heavy sigh. Coots Matthews and Sam Tyler were up on a call in Canada. They trucked in a load of our pipe for the job. Their men had set up the unmanned water monitors close to the gas fire to protect the crew working beneath it. When Sam went in to help with the welding on the blowout preventer our pipe failed on two out of the six water monitors.” Jake shook his head, stealing a glance over at Kelly. “That type of fire can reach temperatures of twenty-two hundred degrees Fahrenheit. A heavy water fog pattern is used so the men can work at the mouth of the well.”
Kelly’s full lips thinned. “Don’t tell me they were injured?”
“’Fraid so, Kelly. They put Slim Hudson in a burn unit up in Canada. Tyler was burned too, but apparently not as badly. The team just landed at the airport and he’s on his way over here right now.”
It was far more serious than she had first thought. Blanchard pipe was designed to withstand thousands of pounds of water pressure hurtling through it for months on end without failure. This was the third time within a month that their pipe had buckled during a critical phase. Word was getting around. The business her father had started twenty years ago was in danger of failing because of it.
Tears glittered in Kelly’s green eyes as she lifted her chin. “Okay, Jake, bring Mr. Tyler to me when he gets here. I want to deal with this one personally. Boots and Coots have been good customers for too long. This has to be investigated.”
“Man, you’re telling me. I feel bad about this one.”
“Is Slim going to be all right?”
Jake managed a sliver of a smile. “You know Texans, Kelly. We’re all tougher than horseshoe nails. Yeah, he’ll make it.”
“Have Susan get more information. I want to know when they’ll transfer Slim back to Houston,” Kelly ordered.
Walking dejectedly back to the leather chair, Kelly stared at the floor. Normally, her shoulders were straight and proud. Today they slumped. The guilt bore down on her. Why hadn’t she gotten more involved in her father’s business this last year before his death? The answer was simple: her crumbling marriage had finally fallen apart. This past year she had been picking up the bits and pieces of her psyche and she had thought it best not to return to the business world full time until she had her life under control.
Todd, her ex-husband, had always opposed her working. He wanted no wife of his to be a corporate executive. Kelly had relinquished her position as vice-president when she left Houston to marry, but she had insisted on helping her father as a regional director. Her involvement with the business had led to one horrible argument after another. After five years of quarrels, Kelly had given up on the faltering marriage, unwilling to suffocate beneath Todd’s restrictions. But she was still suffering from the effects of the divorce.
Before she had time to consider all those effects, the door of her office was jerked open. Kelly’s eyes widened as she met the angry blue gaze directed at her. She froze, fingers resting on the desk, facing her adversary. He wore the white coveralls that were synonymous with Boots and Coots Company. Over the left pocket was the name, Sam, in blue embroidery. Kelly’s heart leaped. He wasn’t a huge man, but the animal power within him took her breath away. She had never met him before, yet her senses were instantly affected by him. His blue eyes narrowed on her. The face, darkly tanned by the Texas sun, was square, the jaw uncompromising. His black hair was neatly trimmed and hidden beneath a white baseball cap with the Boots and Coots symbol upon it. Involuntarily, Kelly took a step back, her legs brushing against the chair. If it weren’t for his mouth, she would have been completely intimidated by him. But it was a kind mouth, though it was drawn now into a thin line.
“I’m Sam Tyler. Where’s Blanchard?” he ground out. Sam Tyler was feeling irritated with the fact that his left arm had to remain in a sling for the next week. He glared at the woman in front of him. “We’ve got a score to settle with him.” He halted at the desk and unceremoniously dropped a piece of aluminum pipe on it. “Blanchard integrity!” he snarled. “Take a look, honey. The old man’s company can go to hell for this,” he continued, jabbing his square index finger down at the pipe. One end was blown completely apart, its normally smooth exterior now jagged, razor sharp splinters.
The smarting pain of the burns on his shoulder and upper arm fueled Sam’s anger. The woman standing before him appeared as tired as he felt. Her eyes were the color of dark emeralds. Was she Blanchard’s secretary? Despite the pallor of her face and the darkness beneath her large eyes, she was damn good looking. Sam squelched those thoughts. “Where is the old—”
“Dead.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? I just talked to him two weeks ago.”
Kelly’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I said he’s dead. Does that compute? He was killed last week in an automobile accident.”
Sam swallowed his anger. A frown formed on his forehead and he reached up, taking off the cap. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Then who are you? His secretary?”
“I’m his daughter, Mr. Tyler. Look,” she began, in a strained voice, “sit down. I’ll have Susan bring us some coffee. I just heard about the pipe blowing. I need more information.”
Sam’s mouth softened and he took a step back. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice losing its hard edge. “I guess we could both use a cup of coffee.”
Kelly tried to still her racing heart. This man was a stranger to her, so why was she responding to him so strongly? I must be closer to exhaustion than I thought. She had to get some sleep soon or…Kelly brushed her thoughts aside and called Susan to bring coffee. Sam had seated himself in the chair before her desk. Her gaze settled on his heavily bandaged left arm and the sling.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Jake told me you and Slim got burned.” She regarded him gravely. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
Running his strong-looking fingers through his dark hair, Sam held her gaze. In that instant she looked so damned fragile; a china doll that had been fractured. The anger he had carried all the way home on the plane dissipated. He judged her height around five feet nine. Thick, auburn hair tumbled in graceful abandon around her shoulders, barely brushing her breasts. The simple black dress with its white collar and french cuffs increased her look of vulnerability. Her complexion appeared washed out. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. Why hadn’t he seen her around Houston? Where had Blanchard been hiding his daughter? She appeared to be almost ethereal. At that moment he wanted to reach out and touch her to see if she was real. Would she disappear like a cloud on a scorching Texas day?
“I shouldn’t have come barging in here like a steam roller, either,” he apologized. “It’s just that we’re all pretty upset by Slim’s injury.”
Susan entered, interrupting the tense conversation. With their respective cups of coffee in hand, they waited until the secretary left the office. Kelly
