When Tomorrow Comes Read online

  “Señora,” he replied in poor English, “everything is fine in my department. You have no need to worry. All is well.”

  “Do you have a scheduler, Señor Cirre?” she demanded, stung by his implied suggestion that his department need not be investigated.

  “Of course not! I have served as the chief purchasing agent on ten other projects for the Miron Corporation, and never once has my decision been questioned…” His voice trailed off as he saw the anger in her eyes.

  “I’m not questioning your wisdom, Señor Cirre,” Cait remarked coldly. “Despite your experience, I have had a scheduler on every project I’ve been on.” She wrote the name “Louie Henning” on her pad.

  Cirre’s coffee-brown face turned deep plum, and he struggled to retort. But Campos placed a warning hand on his arm, and Cirre released a long, exasperated breath of air and sank further down into his chair, glaring at the table.

  Much relieved to have avoided an even more heated confrontation, Cait reminded the rest of the men that she would be speaking to them individually on the site over the next few days. With a weary sigh, she adjourned the meeting.

  Chapter Three

  It was late afternoon by the time Cait was able to pull free of her office and get Pedro to drive her down to the bridge-construction area. She had rolled up her long-sleeved shirt in an effort to cool off. To her disgust, Patagonian dust gathered on every paper and object. The windows had to remain open, and the screens did nothing but invite the reddish-yellowish film indoors.

  Picking up her white hard hat, she threw it on her head and left word with her Italian secretary, Filipo, as to where she would be. Filipo was sulking after having been told in no uncertain terms that he and all other office personnel would have to be at work at eight, not nine, from now on. Banker’s hours were for those who could afford them.

  As she descended down the wooden dusty steps, Cait was sure everyone was silently cursing her. Schedules were a bitch to make, and superintendents were thoroughly disliked for enforcing them. But then, Cait reasoned, climbing into the battered white pickup, she didn’t get paid to be nice.

  The silence was a friend, in comparison to the ringing of the telephone, the constant influx of people to her office and the squawk of radios as the different supervisory personnel paged one another or sent instructions over the crowded airways.

  Contentment stole over Cait as she observed the activity at the bridge-crossing site. A crane with one hundred and eighty feet of boom was sitting solidly on a barge anchored in the Rio Colorado. She watched the graceful arc as it swung its main lift hook block from the cofferdam to the shore to pick up another load of formwork. Somewhere in her wandering thoughts, Cait was aware of being glad Dominic had gotten his barge crane back into operation.

  She studied the greenness of the lush growth bordering both sides of the lazily moving Rio Colorado. The water was a dirty jade color, and sunlight danced off its surface. Pedro slowed the truck as they entered the bridge-crossing supply and materials buildings area—shacks of galvanized steel coated with a permanent layer of yellow dust.

  Cait’s brows drew downward as she spotted at least ten laborers languishing in the shade. “What are they doing?” she asked Pedro as he braked the truck to a halt.

  Her driver shrugged eloquently. Cait’s anger soared. Leaving the truck, she walked toward the men.

  “What’s going on here?” she demanded, stopping in front of them. She recognized by the gray color on their hard hats that they were ironworkers, not laborers. The gang boss, a hulking man stripped to the waist, stood up, glaring at her.

  “Who the hell are you?” he retorted in a thick German accent.

  “That’s my question, mister,” she snapped back. “Are you in charge of this crew?”

  The German’s meaty red face became set. He squinted his blue eyes, reading the title that Pedro had painted on her hard hat. His expression slowly changed, and he resumed chewing a huge wad of tobacco lodged in his protruding right cheek.

  “I’m in charge,” he rumbled.

  “Your name?”

  “Dolph.”

  “Why are you standing around, Dolph? It’s past siesta and well past union coffee break.”

  “Boss told us to take it easy for a while. We’re just trying to stay outa the sun.”

  It was hot. She was thirsty, and her throat was tight with tension. “Who’s your boss, Dolph?”

  “Herr Tobbar.”

  Her eyes lowered and she retreated a step, pushing the hard hat back and rubbing her forehead. “All right. Where can I find him? Or is he on a break, too?”

  “Nein. No. He’s down by the blueprint shack.”

  She gritted her teeth and turned away, walking quickly between the buildings. She had gone no more than two hundred feet when she spotted him coming out of a print shack, with a roll of blueprints under his arm. “Señor Tobbar!” she yelled.

  As he turned and looked in her direction, Cait saw that his face was lined with fatigue. An unreadable mask settled over his features as she approached, her heart pounding in her dry throat. He waited for her, one hand resting lazily over his hip as she halted a foot from him.

  “Is that shack empty?” she demanded coldly, pointing to the one he had just left.

  His expression lightened. “Yes.”

  ‘“Good. Come inside. There’s something you and I need to discuss immediately.”

  His expression remained curious as he obeyed. Cait turned on her heel, her green eyes glinting with barely contained anger. He appeared to barely notice as he set the prints down on a table.

  “What’s on your mind, Señora?” he asked softly, his gaze moving recklessly over her body.

  Cait shivered. Her anger evaporated under his inspection, and to her dismay, she felt her body tremble into awareness. Doggedly, she said, “I just ran into one of your ironworker gangs. Dolph and his men are sitting around as if they don’t have a thing in the world to do.” She swallowed, her throat scratchy and her heart pulsing erratically as he raised his gold eyes to her face. “I find it hard to believe they have been instructed to take it easy, when we’re so far behind schedule. Are they still on siesta or is this an unscheduled coffee break?”

  Dominic folded his arms across his chest. “Neither,” he snapped.

  Cait removed her hard hat, wiping her brow with the back of her arm. “Unless you have a good excuse, I—”

  His nostrils flared and his arms tightened. “Señora Monahan,” he whispered throatily, “I can’t use them this instant, owing to the crane failure this morning. I can’t send them home, because I’m going to need them in another hour. They’re ironworkers and they won’t do laborers’ work, because of union laws. What do you suggest I do with them? Hang them on sky hooks?”

  Her fingers dug into the hat in reaction to the vehemence in his voice. Her palms were wet with perspiration, and she fought back from mouthing a curse. “I don’t care what you do with them, as long as they aren’t standing around! Why do you think this project is behind? It couldn’t be because your men are standing around, could it?”

  His eyes glowed with a terrible darkness, and Cait shuddered as he stepped toward her in one swift motion. He was so close, she could smell the raw masculine scent of his body, and she felt dizzy.

  His hand shot out, closing around her upper arm, drawing her harshly against his hard, unyielding chest. Cait inhaled a sharp breath and tried to push away. It was impossible. It was as if his wind-and sun-hardened flesh had been fashioned out of tempered steel. Her senses reeled.

  “I see they’ve got to you already,” he whispered hoarsely, the quiver in his voice making her wince. “Start your investigation back among the paper pushers in the office!” His lips curled as he moved an inch closer. “If you really care about the truth, search there! Don’t come out here and get on my back about a few workers standing around for an hour or two. It’s my job to get a bridge built with secondhand equipment, lousy-fitting spare parts and back
orders that are six months old. What the hell are you doing? It’s your job to make sure I get the things I need, so my men don’t have to stand around!”

  He jerked away so suddenly that Cait had to catch herself. He strode away, jerked up the blueprint roll and slammed the door behind him.

  She trembled, closing her eyes and fighting back tears of rage. Campos was right. Dominic Tobbar was nothing but a troublemaker who was always ready to foist the problems back on upper management. Grabbing her hat from the table, she walked stiffly out of the shack.

  Cait lost track of time as she continued to cross check records of when materials had been bid, purchase orders issued, equipment finally delivered and spare parts reordered. By the time she looked up to get a cup of coffee, night had thrown its black cape across the desert. Pushing a thick strand of hair from her temple, she threw another pile of purchase orders on the table. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. The clash with Dominic had destroyed her appetite completely.

  It was nearly eleven-thirty when she laid her head down on the stack of pink-and-white documents to doze for a few minutes. A noise, a door opening, made her jerk up. She looked toward the entrance, her eyes large and dazed with tiredness. It took two full seconds to realize she had given a small cry of alarm. Dominic Tobbar stood in the doorway, filling it with his bulk, back lit, making him look like a nightmarish shadow.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Cait rubbed her eyes, fighting off grogginess. His field boots sounded hollowly in the trailer as he walked over to the table. She looked up at him guardedly, feeling vulnerable from waking, without the facade of her supervisory functions to mask her mobile features. He set a green bottle down and placed two white foam cups in front of her. Grasping a chair, he sat down opposite her, his arms draped casually on the table.

  The silence deepened. Cait felt an almost tangible friction beginning to build between them. “Look,” she began, her voice husky, “I’m—”

  “I owe you an apology,” he interrupted softly, his mouth quirking at one corner. “I deserve your anger. I shouldn’t have lost my temper out there this afternoon. It isn’t your fault this site is a mess.” ‘He gestured toward the bottle. “Wine from Mendoza. Best burgundy in the country. A peace offering after today’s events.” His eyes were hooded as he continued to stare at her. “I’d like to apologize for being so forward, if it offended you.”

  She stared at him, not quite able to cope with his change in attitude. This could not be the Dominic Tobbar she knew. No, this man was speaking in an even, conciliatory tone, his face mirroring the sincerity of his words. Cait shivered. His voice—made her feel as if a cat were caressing her flesh with its rough tongue. Gone was the stone-like rage from the sculptured planes of his face. Instead his eyes were warm and—did she see hesitancy? Why? It certainly wasn’t fear. Dominic was afraid of nothing and no one.

  The sound of the cork popping and the gurgle of wine hitting the bottom of the cups drew her back to the present. He offered her a drink. “Truce?”

  Cait took the cup. Their fingers touched, and a jolt of electric shock flowed up her arm. She froze for only a second, caught off guard by the coaxing tone in his voice. Taking a quick swallow, she nodded.

  “Fair enough,” she agreed, her voice suddenly low.

  The friction that had bound them disappeared like fog struck by the sun. The wine was sweet and delicious, and Cait felt its warmth spreading through her entire body. She fell back against the chair, her head tilted, her eyes meeting his golden gaze.

  A smile edged his mouth. “You don’t trust me, but then, I don’t blame you.”

  She managed a sour grimace. “Some people just don’t make good first impressions.” How vividly she remembered her powerful reaction to his weathered features and the grace of his hard, muscled body.

  Dominic gauged her in silence, his fingers lightly smoothing the edge of the purchase orders. “Despite my reputation and the last twenty-four hours, you’re still holding off on a final judgment?” Her brows rose in curiosity, and she met his eyes fearlessly. “Frankly, Señor Tobbar, I don’t know what to feel about you.” She was lying. She knew very well what she was feeling, but she quelled the hollow ache deep inside and motioned toward a pile of documents. “Because you’re right about supplies being delayed an inordinately long time. There’s no excuse for it that I can find so far.”

  He drained his cup and leaned back in the chair. For the first time Cait saw exhaustion in his face. It was evident in the slouch of his body and the lines furrowing his brow. So, she thought, he hid his tiredness just as much as she did. She was delighted. She was beginning to understand him.

  “How many hours have you put in today?” she asked.

  He snorted softly. “I should ask the same of you.”

  “It’s my job,” she retorted, keeping her voice even.

  “Mine, too.”

  Cait managed a sour grin, setting the half-empty cup back down on the desk and moving the stack of documents in front of them. “Well, you look as exhausted as I feel at this moment.”

  “On the contrary,” he said softly, “his voice a caress that made Cait tremble. “You look lovely.”

  She colored fiercely. “I look like hell and I feel like hell, so let’s let it go at that, shall we? In the meantime give me the benefit of your concern, and pick out which ones apply most seriously to the bridge-building effort.”

  Dominic straightened and dutifully began riffling through them. In a matter of minutes, he had sorted them. Cait closed her eyes for a moment, the letters blurring on the pink paper. Forcing herself to ignore the momentary cue that her body was ready to fold, she concentrated on each word.

  “Your crane sheaves.”

  “Yes, six months late.”

  She put the papers down, rubbing her face. She could feel the grit of Patagonian dust on her skin and had a wild urge to hurry back to her quarters and wash her skin free of the grime.

  Suddenly she found herself wanting to talk with him freely. Lifting her head, she found him watching her. She remembered the color of his eyes that afternoon when he had rounded on her in the print shack. They had turned a raw umber that reminded her of a black cloud laced with lightning. Gold meant that he was more relaxed and more cooperative. She would have to remember that small cue when dealing with him in the future.

  “So what’s the quickest way to get your sheaves?”

  “Get them in Bahia Blanca, from one of the many drilling suppliers. Then have them priority-freighted out here.”

  She rose a trifle unsteadily, dizziness washing over her, which she automatically forced away. “Okay, make up a purchase requisition and have it on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”

  If she had said the sky was falling in, she didn’t think his reaction could be any more obvious. He rose, disbelief etched in the slackness of his square jaw. Again that unspoken tension began to swirl around her, and she pressed her lips together. “Well, what is it?” she demanded, angry.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  Cait sighed heavily. “Of course I am.”

  “Cirre is going to scream at the top of his skinny little lungs tomorrow when he finds out you’ve bypassed purchasing and bought materials outside his suppliers’ list.”

  She made an irritated gesture. It was getting late, and she was becoming snappish and bitchy. “Señor Tobbar,” she began as evenly as possible, “it’s been a long day. We’re both beat. I don’t care, frankly, what Cirre is going to do. I do care what you do about this problem, and I expect my orders to be carried out quickly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try and get a few hours’ sleep.”

  He shook his head, a genuine smile on his face, then opened the trailer door for her. “Let me drive you over. I think Pedro already headed back to camp.”

  They rode along in silence. Cait, having learned years ago to catch naps whenever possible, curled up in a corner, using the hard hat to cushion her head
as the truck jolted over the rutted road. Within seconds, she was spiraling into sleep.

  Groggily she became aware of a gentle pressure on her shoulder shaking her back into wakefulness. Strong, pliant fingers slid along the thin fabric of her shirt with a gentle touch. It was a pleasant, almost forgotten sensation, and Cait turned her head, her eyes half-opened. Dominic’s face showed concern as he leaned toward her, giving her another shake.

  “When you sleep, you nose-dive,” he muttered.

  She managed a vulnerable smile, sitting up in the darkened cab. Her hard hat clunked down on her thigh and then hit the floorboards. As she leaned forward to retrieve it, the pins that had held her mahogany hair in a tight knot at the nape of her neck became loosened, spilling the cascade across her shoulders and down below her breasts.

  “I learned a long time ago to grab a few minutes whenever I could,” she was saying as she straightened back up. With the thick tresses soft around her face, and her eyes wide open, she suddenly felt much less an engineer and much more a woman.

  Dominic’s gaze was riveted on her upturned face. He leaned forward, his fingers slipping behind her neck, drawing her into a vortex of wild sensations. Her lips parted, ready…willing to feel the touch of his mouth on hers. He brushed her lips lightly, and a small moan of pleasure slid from her throat. His fingers tightened, became more demanding, pulling her closer. This time, his strong mouth smothered her lips in a hungry, searching kiss that kindled the banked fires of her body. Cait felt the heat building rapidly, and she fought against the heady urgency forcing her to succumb to his demands. His tongue invaded her mouth, searching the warmth of her, coaxing her own tongue to seek union with his…throwing her into a mindless spin of sensation…of hungry desire on the verge of ecstasy.

  Suddenly he dragged his mouth from hers, his breath ragged, his eyes narrowed with golden fire. Cait could only stare, her bruised, parted lips throbbing. She saw confusion and desire in his burning gaze and was puzzled by his reaction. He moved his hand almost apologetically from her slender neck to her shoulder and finally took it away altogether. Cait looked away,’ feeling the inner ache of what he had coaxed into life. He had already known what she now realized—it was not the time or place, and that revelation hurt. She could barely think—only feel. There were memories of Dave’s kisses…of the way he kissed and the way Dominic had forcefully awakened her desires. Cait slowly met his eyes, needing to see him.