eye, Lee watched him pluck the mike from the dash. His index finger curled around the call button and the mike almost touched his lips. “Unit one, Sam here. Go ahead, Rachael.”
“I’ve got a long-distance call from Denver. It’s Tom Weatherall returning your call, so I thought you’d want to know.”
“It’s nothing important, just an inquiry I made about an equipment auction that’s coming up. Tell him I’ll get back to him on Monday.”
“Right, boss . . . base clear.”
“Thanks, Rachael. Unit one clear.”
The white shirtsleeve strained diagonally across Sam’s upper arm as he replaced the mike, and Lee turned her eyes resolutely away, again resisting the urge to study him. But to her chagrin, she found she need not look to remember. He was dressed in blue jeans, white shirt, and leather boots—no different from what a thousand laboring men wore every day. Yet he looked better than a thousand men, the basic no-nonsense work clothes lending him a magnetic sex appeal totally different from the dress slacks and sport coat he’d worn the first few times she’d seen him.
Keep your mind on your map, Walker, he didn’t even kiss you.
They turned off 291 at her directions and took increasingly smaller roads until they came to a gravel road that led out into the country. “I think this is it.” Lee pointed to an abandoned farm off to their right.
The pickup swerved to the side of the road to idle again while Sam hooked his left elbow over the steering wheel, rested his right hand along the back of the seat, and peered out her window. She was served up a tantalizing whiff of his aftershave as his knuckles passed before her face and he pointed.
“Looks like it’ll start just this side of those trees and move off across the edge of that field. We might as well get out and walk it.”
Lee was only too glad to escape the close proximity to Sam Brown, and she jumped from the cab with a shaky, indrawn breath of relief. She sat down on the running board to untie her tennis shoes and replace them with the olive drab waterproof boots, conscious now that Sam was standing with his hands on his hips watching her. She tucked her pantlegs into the boot tops, but left the yellow strings dangling. Still he stood, his weight balanced evenly on both feet, making her skin prickle with awareness. It had been a long time since a man had watched her change her clothes, even any as impersonal as shoes, and this man seemed to be studying the process all too closely. She straightened, got to her feet, and gave her ribbed waistband a businesslike tug to pull it back into place. His face wore a disturbingly appreciative half grin, his gaze centered on the thin band of skin at her waist, which quickly disappeared as she adjusted her shirt.
“What are you staring at, Brown?” she demanded.
He seemed to shake himself back to the present. “Estimators look different than they used to,” he teased.
Keep it light, her saner self warned as his comment aroused a small thrill. She displayed one foot, lifting it before her. “Same as you, jeans and boots.”
But as his eyes traveled down to her boots, she realized that instead of minimizing her femininity, they accented it. To her relief, at that moment Sam’s hand slapped at his neck, then he made a grab at the air, missing the mosquito that had just bitten him.
“Come here, I’ll give you a spray.” Lee picked up the can from the floor of the truck.
With a grin, he noted, “You come prepared, don’t you?”
“In Missouri, in August, the morning after a healthy rain?” she asked pointedly. He came to stand before her while she shook the can and sprayed the front of him in long sweeps from neck to boots, noting even in that quick journey certain spots where his jeans were more worn. Damn you, Walker, what’s the matter with you? “Turn around, I’ll do your back.” But his back presented as enticing a set of muscles as his front. His shoulders were wide and firm
“I’ve got a long-distance call from Denver. It’s Tom Weatherall returning your call, so I thought you’d want to know.”
“It’s nothing important, just an inquiry I made about an equipment auction that’s coming up. Tell him I’ll get back to him on Monday.”
“Right, boss . . . base clear.”
“Thanks, Rachael. Unit one clear.”
The white shirtsleeve strained diagonally across Sam’s upper arm as he replaced the mike, and Lee turned her eyes resolutely away, again resisting the urge to study him. But to her chagrin, she found she need not look to remember. He was dressed in blue jeans, white shirt, and leather boots—no different from what a thousand laboring men wore every day. Yet he looked better than a thousand men, the basic no-nonsense work clothes lending him a magnetic sex appeal totally different from the dress slacks and sport coat he’d worn the first few times she’d seen him.
Keep your mind on your map, Walker, he didn’t even kiss you.
They turned off 291 at her directions and took increasingly smaller roads until they came to a gravel road that led out into the country. “I think this is it.” Lee pointed to an abandoned farm off to their right.
The pickup swerved to the side of the road to idle again while Sam hooked his left elbow over the steering wheel, rested his right hand along the back of the seat, and peered out her window. She was served up a tantalizing whiff of his aftershave as his knuckles passed before her face and he pointed.
“Looks like it’ll start just this side of those trees and move off across the edge of that field. We might as well get out and walk it.”
Lee was only too glad to escape the close proximity to Sam Brown, and she jumped from the cab with a shaky, indrawn breath of relief. She sat down on the running board to untie her tennis shoes and replace them with the olive drab waterproof boots, conscious now that Sam was standing with his hands on his hips watching her. She tucked her pantlegs into the boot tops, but left the yellow strings dangling. Still he stood, his weight balanced evenly on both feet, making her skin prickle with awareness. It had been a long time since a man had watched her change her clothes, even any as impersonal as shoes, and this man seemed to be studying the process all too closely. She straightened, got to her feet, and gave her ribbed waistband a businesslike tug to pull it back into place. His face wore a disturbingly appreciative half grin, his gaze centered on the thin band of skin at her waist, which quickly disappeared as she adjusted her shirt.
“What are you staring at, Brown?” she demanded.
He seemed to shake himself back to the present. “Estimators look different than they used to,” he teased.
Keep it light, her saner self warned as his comment aroused a small thrill. She displayed one foot, lifting it before her. “Same as you, jeans and boots.”
But as his eyes traveled down to her boots, she realized that instead of minimizing her femininity, they accented it. To her relief, at that moment Sam’s hand slapped at his neck, then he made a grab at the air, missing the mosquito that had just bitten him.
“Come here, I’ll give you a spray.” Lee picked up the can from the floor of the truck.
With a grin, he noted, “You come prepared, don’t you?”
“In Missouri, in August, the morning after a healthy rain?” she asked pointedly. He came to stand before her while she shook the can and sprayed the front of him in long sweeps from neck to boots, noting even in that quick journey certain spots where his jeans were more worn. Damn you, Walker, what’s the matter with you? “Turn around, I’ll do your back.” But his back presented as enticing a set of muscles as his front. His shoulders were wide and firm
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