he’d warrant an entire chapter entitled, “Real Men with Honorary Degrees from the School of Hard Knocks.” He wanted no more part of such psychological pity patter than he did the kind of superficial chatter he supposed Caitlin had perfected at sorority parties.
Despite the blood tie connecting Paddy to his daughter, Grant couldn’t bring himself to believe his friend would circumvent his authority by hiring Caitlin without so much as asking him first. Even as softhearted as he was, surely Paddy had sense enough to know that a drilling rig was no place for the daughter he was certain was as pure as virgin falling snow. A likely story, in Grant’s opinion, only if she went to college at a convent. The probability of any woman who looked like that remaining chaste into her twenties was even slimmer than his chance of hitting that deep pocket of oil and salvaging this godforsaken company any time soon.
Grant wiped the back of his neck with a red bandanna and considered the scene playing on the ground below him. It appeared his hellish day was about to get even hotter. From Caitlin’s animated gesticulations, he imagined she was at this very moment describing to her father just how “beastly” his hired hand had treated her. A smile played upon Grant’s lips. He wondered how she would react to the news that he was more than just some menial hireling. If it weren’t for the fact that her certain histrionics might well drive a wedge between him and the man he had come to think of as a father, Grant would have looked forward to the performance. The Blue Blood and the Redneck.
No doubt it had a certain Hollywood ring to it.
Stuffing his bandanna back into his hip pocket, he decided it was pointless postponing the inevitable. As hesitant as he was about breaking up this touching family reunion, it was time to officially make the formal acquaintance of Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Petulance.
Caitlin was so moved by the sight of her father that she momentarily forgot all about those odious men and their Viking leader, Redneck the Terrible. Safe in her daddy’s arms, her only thought was of how glad she was to be with him again. For so many years, distance and her mother’s judgment had kept them apart. Now at last a college graduate, Caitlin was free to do with her life as she wished—and what she wanted more than anything else in the world was to make up for lost time with the father she adored.
Oh, she had taken Psych 101 and knew that most girls idolized their daddies. She also knew that eventually the harsh light of reality shattered their childish beliefs that their fathers were invincible. But what she could never get her professor to understand was that her father really was that which John Wayne personified in all those wonderful old movies: the most honorable, kindhearted, heroic man who ever lived.
Tears filled her eyes as she pressed her ear against his heart and took comfort in its steady beat. She felt all of ten years old again in her father’s arms. Safe, secure, and happy. Caitlin was determined not to let anything pull her from the refuge of those arms ever again.
“As much as I hate to interrupt this touching moment, we really do have work to do around here.”
Grant’s voice sounded like the gravel crunching beneath his feet as he approached. He moved slowly, hoping to give them enough time to disengage from the tearful embrace that twisted his guts into a tight, tangled knot.
God above, what he would give to hug his own father one more time!
Taking the pained look on his face for disapproval, Caitlin gave him a disdainful once-over. Her voice was laced with righteous indignation when she turned back to her father. “Daddy, I’d appreciate it if you would tell this, this…two-bit tool pusher just who is in charge around here.”
The self-satisfied smirk she tossed Grant’s direction indicated a little groveling to keep his job was in order.
“Yeah, Daddy,” Grant mimicked, disregarding her haughtiness with a sarcastic grin that deepened the dimple in his chin. Crossing his muscled arms across his chest, he continued as if she weren’t there at all. “Since your daughter isn’t inclined to listen to me, would you mind telling her exactly who is responsible for the hiring and firing of personnel in this company?”
Paddy was grinning as he shook his head. “If you two kids would stop fighting long enough, I’d like to introduce you to one another. Maybe then we can go about getting things squared up to everybody’s satisfaction.”
Though that seemed highly unlikely, both Caitlin and Grant felt duly chastised by Paddy’s use of the word kids. Instead of grown-up men and women, independent and capable in their own right, they may as well have been errant siblings squabbling in the back of the family vehicle on one of those interminable vacations that tests a parent’s sanity.
Eager to be the first to appear reasonable and adult, Caitlin patted her father’s arm soothingly. “You’re right, of course. And if somebody would just calm down for a minute, I’m sure you can straighten him out in no time flat.”
Ignoring Grant’s pointed glare, Caitlin focused her attention upon her father’s pallor. He looked older than she remembered. It was no secret that Paddy scorned diets devoid of meat and potatoes, and according to him, exercise was just for people who didn’t have real jobs that demanded physical exertion. Winding her arm through his, Caitlin scrutinized his features more closely. The broken blood vessels in his nose and the sweat on his brow made her nervous. Excessive heat and stress was a bad combination for a man of his age and temperament.
“Are you trying to give my father a heart attack with all your theatrics?” she hissed at Grant.
“Me?” he gasped in disbelief. “You come flouncing onto this rig like the Queen of the Nile, prancing around in front of the crew in those tight jeans acting like you own the place, and I’m the one who’s upset your father?”
Caitlin’s mouth flew open. “Flounced!” she repeated, taking obvious exception to his choice of words. “Pranced!”
Grant cupped a hand to his ear. “Do I hear an echo?”
“Now, now, children…” Paddy’s sigh bespoke a weariness that was bone deep. “It wouldn’t do to have us airing out our family laundry in front of the crew, now would it? I suggest we take our differences inside the trailer away from prying eyes, and sift this all out over a nice, cold beer.”
Caitlin pressed her lips together in a disapproving line. “You know what the doctor said about your triglycerides.”
“You’re not about to start that nonsense again, are you?” Paddy asked. He glanced toward Grant and explained in a note of exasperation. “She likes to nag me about my diet. Says my cholesterol, triglycerides, and conglomerates are all too high.”
The misapplication of his words brought a smile to Caitlin’s face. Despite his grumbling, she knew that her father loved the way she fussed over him.
“You know it’s for your own good,” she persisted.
“Piss-h, posh.” Paddy quickly amended the intended oath and shot Grant a warning glance. Clearly he didn’t want his lily-white princess discovering her daddy had the vernacular of a seasoned drill sergeant.
Grant rolled his eyes. As far as he could tell, this little gal’s power was nothing short of amazing. In less than fifteen minutes, she had his crew acting like wild, hormone-imbalanced adolescents and Paddy like a sainted father straight off some serial from the early days of television. It was sickening to watch and reason enough to reinforce Grant’s resolve to harden his heart against all women. Those like Paddy’s Laura Leigh and his own mother only desert you when times get tough. Those like Aunt Edna use trickery and guile to get what they want. Suspecting that Caitlin straddled both categories, Grant wanted nothing more from her than distance.
He certainly did not want to be trapped in close quarters with her. Those cat-green eyes studying him as if he were her next meal made him way too nervous. Grant suspected that if she were to ever train those phenomenal eyes on him the way she did her father, as if he were the best thing God ever created, he would crumble into pieces like the proverbial Gingerbread Man. And like that desperate little cookie in his favorite children’s story, Grant was determined to run,