Harlequin American Romance November 2014 Box Set: The SEAL's Holiday Babies\The Texan's Christmas\Cowboy for Hire\The Cowboy's Christmas Gift (45 page)

“Then what...?”

For once, Emerson didn't hide his meaning behind incomprehensible rhetoric that left the listener baffled for days—because he wanted to be certain that she was aware of what was going on. It was one thing for him to catch her off guard, and another to have some stranger do it.

“Your foreman looks at you as if you were a tall, cool drink of water, and he had just come crawling in on his chafed hands and knees across the length of the desert.”

Connie stared at him in bewildered disbelief. “What does that even mean?” she asked. Finn had been nothing if not polite. If anything, she had been the one who'd stared at him that first day.

Emerson grinned. “That means, don't work any long hours alone with the man or you might find something besides this building being created.”

What would Stewart say if he knew that she'd spent the night in Finn's house? Connie couldn't help wondering. She was fairly confident that Stewart would ultimately believe anything she would tell him. However, she was also certain that he'd worry twice as much as before—for no reason.

She shouldn't worry. She trusted Finn implicitly—and more important, even though she was admittedly more than just mildly attracted to Finn, she trusted herself not to jeopardize the project.

That was what was important here. Not the blush of a possibly fleeting romance, but the project.

The hotel.

Winning this invisible wager with her father and being assured that her career with the company was a done deal.
Anything else came in a distant second—if that.

“I never knew you had such a rich imagination, Stewart,” she said, grateful that her cheeks hadn't suddenly rebelled and given her away. “Finn only thinks of me as his boss. There are plenty of women around for him to choose from if he has other inclinations,” she added innocently.

“I think he's already made his choice,” he told her pointedly.

“And I think you're being way too protective of me—not that I don't appreciate it,” she added, lovingly patting the man's cheek. “So, how long do I have you for?” she asked, effectively changing the subject.

In response, Emerson looked at his watch. “Just another couple of hours, I'm afraid. I'm flying back to Houston at four-thirty,” he told her. “Your father's looking into acquiring another company to extend his domain, and I told him I'd be there to sit in on the meeting.”

“Extension? Again?” she asked with a shake of her head. Wasn't it ever going to be enough for him? she wondered.

Emerson raised his wide, wide shoulders and then let them fall in a vague shrug. “Your father does have the resources.”

Connie sighed and shook her head. “That's not the point. Is it really a smart move to spread himself so thin? What if he suddenly experiences a cash-flow problem? What then?”

Emerson laughed at the objections she raised because those were the exact same ones he'd raised with his employer. “And that's one of the reasons he has his suspicions that you're more mine than his.” And then he went on to say what they both knew to be true. “Your father doesn't think that way, and ultimately, he's the boss.”

“Still doesn't make him right.”

“No,” Emerson agreed. “It doesn't. But it also doesn't give us anything to fight with, either. He does what he wants to when he wants to.”

Truer words were never spoken, Connie thought. She picked up a clipboard from the table. The next week's schedule was attached to that, as well.

“Well, I've got to get back to work.” She paused and then quickly kissed the older man's cheek. “Thanks for coming to check up on me.”

“Wouldn't have missed it for the world,” he told her in all honesty. “And Connie?”

At the door, about to step out, she paused to look back. “Yes?”

“For what it's worth, I like him. Your foreman,” he specified. “I like him.”

She hadn't expected that warm feeling to go sweeping through her. It threw her for a second.

“Good. I'll let him know. Maybe the two of you can make an evening of it sometime,” she said with a straight face.

The sound of Emerson's booming laugh followed her out of the trailer.

It was, for her, the most heartwarming sound she knew.

Chapter Twelve

Connie looked up from the wide drawing board in her trailer, startled to see Finn walking in. She knew the broad-shouldered man was only six-one but somehow, he just seemed to fill up the entire trailer with hi presence. Given the size of her trailer, that was saying a lot.

“I knocked,” he told her. “Twice.”

She had no doubt that he had. She'd been lost in thought, oblivious to her surroundings, for the last half hour or so.

Connie merely nodded at his statement. “Is there a problem?” she asked, ready to send him on his way if there wasn't. She was having trouble concentrating, and the schedules were overlapping in areas where they really shouldn't.

He and Connie had been working closely now for the past four weeks, and he'd gotten somewhat accustomed to her being braced for something to go wrong. Thus far, nothing had. If anything, it had been the complete opposite since they'd started work on the hotel.

But that still didn't change her attitude.

“No, no problem,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, it's going pretty damn well, don't you think?”

It did look that way, she had to silently concede. Working in what amounted to two complete shifts, utilizing whatever daylight was available and relying on strobe lighting that she'd had brought in less than six days into the job, Connie had to admit that Finn and the crew had made tremendous headway. The two backhoes were kept humming sixteen hours a day until the excavation was completed.

In addition, the weather had been incredibly cooperative. They had no
rain days
to interfere with the schedules she'd so carefully drawn up. All that had put them ahead of schedule, something she was not about to take for granted.

“We still have a long way to go before we're done,” she pointed out.

Despite everything he had said to her at the outset, he noted that the woman just did not know how to relax or even coast along for a minute. He was just going to have to keep at her, Finn decided.

“But not as long as when we first got started,” Finn countered.

“No, of course not. The double shifts have gotten us ahead of schedule—but all it'll take is a few rain days and we'll backslide.”

It had to be really taxing, he thought, anticipating the worst all the time. She needed to break that habit—or he had to do it for her.

“Weatherman says no rain for the next week,” he told her mildly.

Connie stated what she felt was the obvious. “Weathermen have been wrong.”

“Look on the positive side,” he coaxed.

Easy for him to say, she thought. He didn't have everything riding on this the way she had. Connie glared at him, debating just murmuring some noncommittal thing, then decided that after the way he'd gotten the crew to operate like a well-oiled machine, maybe she owed him the truth.

So, in a rare unguarded moment, she admitted, “I'm afraid to.”

“Nothing to be afraid of,” he told Connie. “As a matter of fact, I was going to suggest that maybe, for once, we could keep it down to a single shift and even have everyone knock off early.”

“Early?” she echoed. “Why?” Her voice instantly filled with concern as she assumed the worst. “
Is
something wrong?” she asked again.

“No, nothing's wrong,” he assured her again in a soothing voice.

“Then why would they want to stop early?” she asked. The crew was being paid, and paid well, to work. She didn't understand the problem.

He crossed to her, gaining a little ground. He glanced at the papers she had spread out over the large drawing board. It was a wonder she didn't have a constant headache, he marveled. He got one just glancing at it.

The scent that he was beginning to identify with her—lilacs and vanilla—began to slowly seep into his consciousness. He assumed that it was a cologne, but maybe it was her shampoo. Whatever it was, he found it both pleasing and arousing—a little like the woman herself, he couldn't help thinking.

He'd come here with an ultimate goal in mind, and he forced himself to get back to it.

“Maybe because all work and no play...you know the old saying.”

Connie laughed softly to herself. “In my house, we weren't allowed to mention that old saying,” she told Finn. “My father did
not
believe in ‘playing.' Or smelling the roses, or anything that didn't have goals and work attached to it.”

He'd thought he and his brothers had had it rough as orphans. Despite certain financial hardships, their life seemed like a positive picnic in comparison to the one she must have had.

“Your father's not here,” he tactfully reminded her, then quickly added, “and Brett and Alisha are having their engagement party at
Murphy's
tonight, so, if it's okay with you, everything's temporarily on hold until tomorrow morning.”

She looked at him for a long moment. He wasn't challenging her, she realized. If he was, then her reaction would have been completely different. Still, she wanted to push the imaginary envelope just a little to see what would happen.

“And if I say that the work has to go on?”

He didn't look away but continued to meet her gaze head-on. “You'll generate a lot of ill will, and you don't want to do that,” he said quietly.

Connie suppressed a sigh. No, she didn't. While she wanted to continue meeting and even surpassing her deadlines, the way her father's crews all did on their construction sites, she really did not want to maintain the kind of tense atmosphere that always existed on one of those work sites.

So, after another moment's debate, Connie nodded and gave her approval. “Fine, tell the men they have the rest of the evening off—but I'll expect them in on time tomorrow,” she added, wanting to make sure that Finn didn't lose sight of the fact that she and not he was the one in charge.

“They will be. By the way, you're invited, you know.”

She'd already turned her attention back to the schedules, which, in light of the lost shift, now had to be revised.

“To what?” she asked absently.

“To the engagement party.”

That had her looking up at him again. “Oh. Well, thank you.” She reached for a fresh piece of paper. Instead of using a laptop, she always liked to write her first draft of anything in pencil. “But I think I'll pass.” She expected that to be the end of it.

It wasn't.

“Mind if I ask why?”

She indicated the drawing board before her. “If I'm losing an entire eight to ten hours of work, I've got to find somewhere to make it up.”

To her surprise, rather than just go along with what she was saying, the way he had been since they had begun working together on the site, Finn took her hands in his and drew her away from the drawing board, saying, “No, you don't.”

Stunned at the apparent mutiny, she blinked and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he told her amicably. “No, you don't,” he repeated, then added, “you don't have to do it tonight. Connie.” He went on patiently. “It can't always be all about work.”

Somewhere in the past few weeks, they had gone from his calling her Ms. Carmichael to using her first name. She wasn't sure exactly when, only that it had evolved rather naturally. She supposed that should have concerned her, but it hadn't.

However, she didn't appreciate being lectured to—especially when she knew in her heart that he was right. “Is this the
look up at the stars
speech again?”

“Think of it as the
let me take you to a party because life is more than just one big work schedule
speech,” Finn told her, an amused smile playing along his lips.

She didn't want to be rude, but she couldn't go—for more than one reason. “Finn, I appreciate what you're trying to do—” she began.

“Good, that makes two of us,” he replied. “Now, you're coming with me to this thing, and I'm not taking no for an answer.”

Connie stared at her foreman in utter wonder. “You're actually going to give me a hard time about this?” she questioned.

“I'm going to
hog-tie
you if I have to,” he corrected, “but you are definitely coming to the party.”

She didn't understand what difference it made. “Why is it so important to you?”

He never hesitated. “Because you're important to me.”

Her mouth dropped open. Did he just say what she thought he said? “What?”

Finn had no doubt that she had heard him the first time. Nonetheless, he went through it again.

“You heard me—and I
am
prepared to hog-tie you if I have to,” he said with finality. “Now, are you going to sacrifice your dignity, or will you come along with me quietly?”

She looked into his eyes and had her answer. He wasn't kidding. She definitely didn't want to put him in a position where he had to carry out his threat.

“I guess I don't have a choice in the matter,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. “You don't. Besides, seeing you join the party will make the men respect you even more.”

She was certain that if her work ethic didn't do it, it would take more than just joining in a toast to make her become one of the crew
.

“I really doubt that,” Connie told him.

She meant that, he realized. Finn shook his head, feeling genuinely sorry for her. “Then you have a few things to learn about the men who you have working for you.”

But as he drew her over to the trailer's door, Connie suddenly looked down at what she was wearing. Jeans and a work shirt. She definitely wasn't dressed for any kind of a party.

“I can't go like this,” she protested, digging in her heels.

He gave her a quick once-over. She looked fine to him. Better than fine, actually, though he didn't say so out loud.

“Why?”

“Because I'm not dressed for a party.”

“You might not be dressed for one of those fancy parties your father throws in Houston,” he told her, “but trust me, you'll fit right in here.”

Connie looked at him, surprised at his assurance. “How do you know about my father's parties?” she asked.

Rather than take offense, Finn merely grinned at the woman's question. “Oh, it's amazing what you can find on the internet when you know where to look. We're not nearly as backward here as you seem to think.”

Color flashed across her cheeks. She hadn't meant to insult him. It was just that Forever seemed so self-contained and removed from the world she was familiar with.

“I never thought you were backward,” Connie protested.

“Sure you did. But that's okay. You can make it up to me by coming to my brother's engagement party,” Finn told her. “C'mon, let's go, boss lady. We're wasting time here.”

To emphasize his point, he pulled the trailer door closed firmly behind him then immediately turned around and took her arm. Smiling, Finn guided her over to his truck. As he did so, he waved to the men, who appeared as if they were all looking in his direction, and called out, “She says it's okay!”

Instantly, a cheer went up.

Finn grinned in satisfaction. “See? You're responsible for instant happiness. Feels good, doesn't it?”

She had to admit that it did.

* * *

T
HE
ENTICING
SOUND
of laughter coming from
Murphy's
reached them even before they ever pulled up before the saloon.

There were only a few vehicles, trucks like Finn's for the most part, that were actually parked near the saloon. It appeared that most of the people attending the engagement party that Finn and Liam were throwing for their older brother and his fiancée had walked to the saloon. That way, driving home would not be a problem or hazardous to anyone in the vicinity. The town jail was not built large enough to accommodate more than four offenders at a time.

Connie wasn't sure exactly what she expected to find once she walked into the saloon—maybe seeing the patrons line dancing—but what she did see wasn't all that different from other parties she'd attended. The clothes were definitely not as fancy, but there was live music, thanks to Liam and his band, and appetizing food arranged on side tables, buffet style, courtesy of Angel, Gabe Rodriguez's wife and Miss Joan's resident chef.

It was, all in all, a combined effort with everyone, first and foremost, wanting the future bride and groom to have a good time.

The warmth within the saloon was unmistakable.

Connie fully expected to feel awkward and more than a little out of place at such a gathering. She was afraid she'd be regarded in much the same light as a parent who was looking over their child's shoulder on the playground during recess.

But to her surprise, she wasn't. She was not only greeted by everyone she walked past, but she was also swiftly made to feel welcomed, as if she
belonged
here with the others, celebrating the fact that two very special people had managed to find one another against all odds.

Connie would have been content to sit on the sidelines, quietly nibbling on the fried chicken that Angel had painstakingly prepared and listening to people talk.

But she quickly realized that Finn apparently had other ideas for her. He waited until she'd had a beer to toast the happy couple—who she confided looked absolutely radiant—and had finished the piece of chicken he'd gotten for her.

Once she had put the denuded bone down on her plate, Finn took the plate from her and put it down on the closest flat surface. She looked at him in confusion. Had she done something wrong without realizing it?

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“You can't dance with a plate in your hands,” he told her simply.

Dance? He couldn't be serious. “I can't dance without one, either,” she informed him.