DrillingDownDeep Page 5

  Since Reynolds was still on board, the timing of this was perfect. And the fact that this here little present had come on the very flight that had brought the CEO out to the rig, in a package he’d sent himself, was an added irony he figured his employer, his real employer, would get a kick out of.

  As for himself, he had nothing against Reynolds Industries one way or the other.

  His hates went deeper than that and were much, much older…

  * * * * *

  “Mr. Reynolds, your office is calling for you. Skyping I mean. You can take it right in here.”

  When Michael sat at the desk in the windowless room cluttered with papers and stared at a computer screen much smaller and less sharp than he was used to, his father barked at him, “What the hell are you doing there?”

  Nice to see you too, Father.

  “I’m getting a tour of one of Transcoastal’s deep-sea oil rigs. The Treasure Driller.”

  “What the hell for? We got more due diligence on that transaction than we’ve had on the past five acquisitions combined.”

  “I wanted to see a rig for myself. I couldn’t get out on one before the deal for scheduling reasons, but I promised myself I’d do it as soon as I could once we closed. So here I am.”

  His father harrumphed and abruptly changed the subject. “You hear from your sister?”

  “Why would I hear from Samantha? She’s on her honeymoon.”

  “They have phones in Tahiti. You’d think she’d call once or twice.”

  “What do you want, Dad?”

  The sigh on the other end was so uncharacteristic of Damien Reynolds that Michael said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m just…”

  “What?”

  “Too old to get married, I guess.”

  Amen to that. After his father’s sixth or so attempt at the altar, he’d stopped trying to replace Michael’s long-dead mother.

  “You’ll get no argument from me there. Why? Has some lucky girl suddenly taken it into her head that she’s in the running?”

  “No. It’s not that. Are you coming back to Houston this evening?”

  He hesitated. “No,” he settled on. “I’ve decided to spend some more time here. At least one night.”

  After a few more items of business, he and his father signed off.

  Mick O’Malley was waiting right outside the door when he opened it. Too bad. He was sort of hoping Miss Donald would have returned. She had given him a tour of the mechanics of the rig with brisk efficiency, hard hat firmly on. He found it surprising that a woman only in her mid-twenties or so he’d guess would know so much about an oil rig. He remembered O’Malley’s comment up on deck.

  “Where to now, Mr. Reynolds?”

  “Actually, I’d like something to eat, if you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t mind at all. Lunch’s already wrapped up and it’s too early for dinner, but I think I can scare something up from the galley for the CEO.”

  Michael looked at his watch in surprise. It was early evening.

  Reading the look, O’Malley explained, “Remember about that shift thing. Twelve hours on, twelve hours off. Our times are all out of whack because of that.”

  When they got to what was apparently the cafeteria, the tables were all empty. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mick disappeared behind a swinging door.

  “You shouldn’t wander around on your own. It could be dangerous.”

  At the sound of Miss Donald’s reproving voice, he swung around with a smile to see her in the same jumpsuit, but without the hard hat.

  He glanced around conspicuously at the Formica tables with the bottles of ketchup and napkin stands. “It looks about as dangerous as a local diner.”

  “Clearly, the diners you go to aren’t in the kind of neighborhood I grew up in or you wouldn’t be so dismissive.”

  He laughed. “You got me there, I guess. So where did you grow up?”

  Before she could answer, Mick came back with two plates of food. “Hope this measures up, Mr. Reynolds. Oh hi there, Vanny. Going to join us?”

  “No, I was just looking around for you. I thought Mr. Reynolds was still busy talking to his office.”

  Michael took one of the plates, a surprisingly aromatic slab of what looked like steak and potatoes.

  “Food’s the best part of life on a rig,” Mick said, ushering him to a table and handing him his set of utensils before taking a seat opposite. “Go on, Vanny. Get yourself something.”

  “No thanks,” Vanny said. “I’m not hungry. Just find me when you have a minute.”

  “Will do, hon.”

  Mick cut into his steak as Michael did the same, watching the tall, slender figure depart.

  “So what’s the deal with Miss Donald?”

  “Vanny?” Mick glanced at the door she’d gone out in. “She’s all right.”

  “No, I mean you referred to her as practically growing up on a rig. What was that all about?”

  “Her daddy was a roughneck from way back. A real cowboy. Big Quinn we called him. You see all this fancy safety stuff now. Well, it wasn’t always like that. Back then, in the late seventies and eighties I’m talking about, Big Quinn and his gang would be out pumping with no shirts and in shorts and sometimes not even a hard hat. It was the wild, wild west back then, Mr. Reynolds.”

  Michael took his first bite of the slightly rare steak. Delicious and almost as tender as he liked it. “I’m surprised there weren’t more accidents.”

  “Oh there were a few of ’em, let me tell you. But there weren’t all these environmentalists and politicians around to make such a stink. Mostly, something went wrong, drillers just went on about their business.”

  “No matter the effect on the environment, I assume.”

  O’Malley raised a bushy eyebrow, dumping a load of ketchup onto the side of his plate and dipping a forkful of the baked potato in it. “Pardon me for saying, Mr. Reynolds, but I wouldn’t think you’d be falling for what all those do-gooders are always spouting about poor little birdies got oil in their beaks or hurting fish or some other such thing. If you were on their side, buying an oil company’s a funny way to show it.”

  Michael shrugged. “It’s not an either-or thing these days, Mick. Being pro-environment is good business sense. We’re all citizens of the world, no matter whether we like it or not.”

  “Well, I don’t see what the fuss is about.” Mick got up and went to a refrigerator Michael hadn’t noticed in the corner. “Beer?” At his nod, Mick brought him one, taking a long swig of his own as he sat back down. “Men died, and I’m sorry for that, but if it weren’t for twenty-four-hour news coverage of the, er, the accident, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal.”

  Michael made a mental note to check O’Malley’s file when he got back to the office. This conversation wasn’t exactly reassuring him on the safety front. But that wasn’t what he was interested in exploring further now. “So Miss Donald’s father was a driller, you say.”

  “One of the best.”

  “She learned a lot about oil drilling from him?”

  “And all the rest of us too. Now, this may seem funny these days, but remember what I was saying about not having all these rules back then. Well, the fact of it is when Quinn was on a rig, he brought Vanny with him.”

  Michael practically choked on the beer going down his throat. “You’re kidding? What did her mother have to say about that?”

  “Her ma, Vanessa, died right after Vanny was born,” he said shortly.

  “He brought a baby on the rig?”

  “No, not quite that early. But by the time Vanny could talk and twirl those long yellow curls around her fingers, she had her daddy just about wrapped around them as well. So she bunked in a cabin with him and wandered around the rig while he was working. Soaked up about everything, she was so darn smart. And pretty as could be too.”

  The mental picture of a little girl wandering around an oil rig was disturbing. Not lett
ing a kid play with Legos was one thing, but this was on a whole other level. The things some parents would do in the name of what they considered love.

  “What about school?”

  “Yeah, well, Vanny likes to say she was homeschooled before they even had homeschooling. Eventually the state of Texas caught on to them and made Quinn send her to a real school during the year—she stayed with an aunt I think—but every summer she was back on the rig. The fellas all treated her like she was their own.”

  Michael thought of the exchange he’d witnessed between Vanny and Kenny in the control room. “Maybe while she was a child. But when she got old enough, I imagine that must have changed. She’s, ah, well, she’s very, er…”

  They were both eating as they talked and Mick was mid-chew at Michael’s observation. When he was done, he finished it for him. “One hot babe.” Mick laughed. “Yeah, roustabouts started giving her the eye when she was no more than a teenager. So about that time, Quinn tried to keep her off the rig, and when that didn’t work, he beat the shit out of more guys than I could count. After a while, it just sorted itself out. Vanny may have looked like her ma, but she was all Quinn when it came to taking care of herself. Nobody gives Vanny shit, I tell you that. And after a while, Quinn calmed down about it.”

  “Is her father still alive?”

  “Yeah. He’s in a wheelchair now, but he lives on a little ranch outside Houston.”

  Michael nodded. “And Vanny’s still on the rig.”

  “It’s all the girl knows.”

  The girl showed up again at the doorway.

  “Still need a few minutes here, hon.”

  “Actually, Mick, what I wanted to talk to you about can wait till tomorrow. I’m beat. If Mr. Reynolds doesn’t need me anymore, maybe you could shepherd him around and I’ll turn in.”

  Michael stood up, even though he hadn’t made much headway on his steak, good as it was. “Don’t go to any trouble on my account,” he told Mick. “I’ll go back to the cabin with Miss Donald and turn in myself.”

  She looked at him blankly. “Vanny,” she finally said, turning her back.

  When he followed her to the cabin and she shut the door behind them, he finally acknowledged uncomfortably how very small the quarters were. He didn’t think he even had a bathroom in any of his apartments or houses that was this small. At the level of the rig they were on, there were no windows either.

  And he didn’t really want to sleep on a bunk bed. One look at it and he should have been calling for the helicopter. Surprisingly, the plaid-covered surface didn’t even look long enough for him. There were some tall guys on board—that Kenny from the control room for one—what did they do?

  He glanced at her, aware she was watching him.

  “Need some help getting up on that?”

  “Look, I may have been born to money—”

  “But, don’t tell me, let me guess, you’re really a simple guy. Simple tastes.”

  He considered it. “No. I guess not.”

  She laughed. “Jim comes back all time of night and day. You want somebody to send for him?”

  “Jim? The helicopter pilot?” All night and day. He remembered the smile she’d shared with Jim. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

  She kicked off her boots and started to unsnap her jumpsuit.

  Whatever look he had on his face, watching her fingers on the snaps, made her mutter, “Don’t get all put out. I got clothes on underneath.”

  Don’t go to any trouble on my account, he wanted to respond, but stopped himself. He was aware enough of her as a woman as it was. No need to throw flirting into the mix.

  When she stepped out of the jumpsuit and threw it in some hamper thing, he saw she had on a T-shirt and shorts.

  And not much of a bra by the looks of it. Full, perky breasts tested the fairly thin navy-blue cotton, and he could see the outline of her nipples through the shirt. Man, that was sure to inspire some fantasies.

  He swallowed and looked away. Christ. What the hell was he doing here?

  Turning to his bag, he rummaged around for the pajama bottoms he’d brought. Luckily, he had thrown some in, although he generally slept naked.

  “I’ll change in the, ah…” He gestured toward the small, attached closet.

  “The head,” she supplied. “The rig is sort of considered like a ship so we use nautical terminology more often than not.”

  “Yes, I believe I read that.”

  “Do you want to take a shower first or should I? As I said, we usually don’t run into this because bunkmates aren’t in the cabin at the same time.”

  Good thing in her case too. If he was having trouble not noticing she was a gorgeous girl, he wondered what a bunch of drillers would do when confronted with the prospect of her taking a shower two feet from them and sleeping so close.

  “Actually, you go ahead,” she urged while he was trying to not look at her tits. “I’m going to go up top for a breath of air first.”

  In that? He stopped himself from saying it and just nodded as she pulled her boots back on.

  When she was gone he stripped and stepped into the shower, finding it every bit as small and utilitarian as the rest of the cabin. Turning on the nozzle, he almost felt as if he were taking a shower in a coffin. At least it was well lit and the door to it was glass and the hard spray hot and soothing to his muscles. He ran the soap across his chest and dipped his head to take the water face-on. Closing his eyes, a sudden picture of Vanny Donald—well, her tits anyway—flashed through his mind.

  He was probably one of the rare members of his gender, either gender actually, who had never gotten the hang of masturbation. The truth was he’d never needed to. Women were as plentiful as he could want from almost the very first moment he knew he wanted them. Jerking off by his own hand seemed such a bloodless exercise after that.

  But with his recent celibacy, he had been giving it the old college try once again, more often than not to the thought of his night with Shelly. The surprisingly sexy Miss Donald would make a refreshing change.

  He took his rapidly hardening cock in hand and thought about…well, about her.

  Vanny had been sitting staring at the setting sun and the waves for a while when she saw a figure approach.

  “Hey, Vanny.” Harry Gomez plopped onto the makeshift swing next to her. It was a porch swing as far away from any porch as one could imagine.

  “Hey yourself.”

  Harry was a good guy, a wife and two babies at home to support on the relatively hefty pay of a driller. “I hear the big boss is bunking in your cabin tonight. Is that true?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t let Len get jealous.”

  “Fuck you,” she said without heat. “He says he wants the whole experience. Sharing a cabin and everything.”

  “Every guy wants the whole experience with you, baby, but you keep saving it for the guys on shore.”

  “I doubt that’s what Reynolds has in mind. I don’t think I’m his type.”

  “He like girls?”

  “How the fuck would I know?”

  “He likes girls, then you’re his type, Vanny.”

  She scoffed. “I don’t have hair down to my ass and smell of some fancy-ass perfume.”

  “I’m allergic to most perfumes actually.”

  Harry popped up from his seat at the voice behind them. “Mr. Reynolds. I’ll just be on my way.”

  “Coward,” she muttered to his fleeing form.

  Michael Reynolds, in drawstring pajama pants and a plain white T-shirt, looked down at her. At least he’d had the sense to put his deck shoes on. If he’d come out here bare footed, she would have read him the riot act. He sat down next to her.

  “Porch swing. Nice touch.”

  She shrugged. “Somebody put it up. I don’t remember when. I like to sit out here at dusk.”

  With a subtle move of his feet, he got the swing swaying slightly.

  “What was all that about?” He jerked hi
s head in the direction Harry had gone.

  “Nothing. He was ribbing me for having you bunk in my cabin.”

  “Why? I thought your regular bunk mate was a man.”

  “He was just having some fun. Saying Len would be jealous. You know.”

  “Hmm. Would he be? Jealous?”

  “Len? Fuck no.” She saw him flinch slightly. “Oh sorry. I guess I should watch my language around the boss.”

  He gave her a wry look. “I’m not quite as sheltered as you keep hinting, Vanny.”

  “Well, I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  “Except when you are being disrespectful.”

  She smiled. “Except then, I guess.”

  As he smiled back at her, she let a wisp of the thought she’d been fighting since he got on this rig into her brain. Fuck, he was gorgeous. That black hair and blue eyes and buff bod. Just like she remembered him. He’d be lucky if she didn’t jump him tonight. Unfortunately, what she’d been saying to Harry was probably the truth. Compared to the women Michael Reynolds hung around with, she was probably as plain as your average dog, even if she was hot shit among a bunch of roughnecks and roustabouts. When she’d been all dressed up as Shelly in makeup and wispy black underwear, he probably didn’t notice much. But now…

  Besides, despite that she’d had her share of one-night stands when she came into her own sexuality, just to prove she could more than anything else, sex for the sake of sex hadn’t held much appeal for her these last few years. She’d made an exception when she was filching the reports from his iPad, not that it did her much good. The iPad if not the sex.

  She was as good as a man in any number of areas, including most anything on a drilling rig, but they won hands down when it came to heartless no-holds-barred no-consequences fucking. She found, whether it was because she was a woman or because she had more of her long-dead mother in her than she’d ever suspected, she couldn’t go about it the same way they did.

  So although she bragged about her sexual exploits off the rig just like the guys did, she was making most of it up these days. And she sure as hell didn’t publicize the one that really had happened. Her night with him.

  “How old are you, Vanny?” he asked unexpectedly.