A Bravo Homecoming. Christine Rimmer

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      “Yes, you are. And your height is spectacular.”

      Travis folded his big frame back into the wing chair. He was grinning. “Yep. Absolutely spectacular.”

      She blinked at him. “Uh. It is?”

      Jonathan patted her arm. “You also have excellent bone structure. Fabulous cheekbones.”

      Her sagging spirits lifted. She pressed her fingers to the cheekbones in question. “Well, that’s good.”

      “And I can see you are in prime physical condition. We can use that.”

      “Er…we can?”

      “Oh, yes. Gone are the days when a pretty woman had to be tiny and delicate. It’s okay at last to be a woman of substance. Muscles, wide shoulders, strong calves and hard thighs are the height of fashion now.”

      Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. She dared to grin.

      Jonathan frowned, shook his head and then smoothed his acres of hair carefully back into place. “Don’t become overconfident, my love. You’ve got a lot to learn. And a limited amount of time to do it in.”

      At Jonathan’s request, Travis got up to go a few minutes later.

      “You will not see Samantha until Saturday evening,” her coach announced in what Samantha considered a very grim tone. “For the final test.”

      “Test?” Sam piped up weakly.

      “Don’t ask.” Jonathan remained deadly serious. “Not yet. We are only beginning. And there’s a long way to go before we’re ready to discuss the final test.”

      Travis gave her a hug at the door. That was the second time he’d hugged her that day—first, in the lobby, now here, as he was leaving. As a rule, she and Travis didn’t hug much. Especially the past few months when they’d been working on the rig together. Hugs would not be professional.

      But now, with his strong arms around her, she realized how much she enjoyed getting the chance to lean on him. He was a couple of inches taller than she was, and even broader in the shoulders and deeper in the chest. It felt good to hug him. She knew she could hug him hard and never hurt him. For a girl of her size and strength, that was a rare thing.

      He took her by the shoulders and held her away from him so he could meet her eyes. “You going to be okay?”

      She nodded and forced a smile for him. “Go on. I’ll be fine.” She stepped back from the comforting circle of his hold. He opened the door and went through it.

      Instantly she wanted to reach out and grab him back. She’d always found his presence reassuring—and she could really use some reassurance about now. She took a step out into the hallway and watched him stride confidently toward the elevators.

      It was kind of funny, really. She risked her life just about daily on the job. An oil rig, after all, was a pretty dangerous place. But she’d never been as scared as she was right then, in that hotel suite, watching Travis walk away from her. The very idea of having to learn to get her girly on freaked her the hell out. It would be easier if Travis could stay.

      “Shut the door, Samantha.” Jonathan’s voice was almost tender.

      She stepped back into the room and did what he told her to. And then she leaned her forehead against that door and thought about what a good friend Travis had been to her over the years.

      At the end of the first year of their friendship, just before she turned nineteen, he’d helped her get her start in the oil business. He’d spoken up for her when she tried for her first job as a roustabout on a land rig. They didn’t want to hire her because she was a woman and what woman could hold up under the grueling physical labor that would be required of her?

      Thanks to Travis, she got that job, as what they called a “worm,” the lowest of the low in the rig pecking order. She got that job and she kept up with the men. She did it all. She hauled pipe and dug trenches, cleaned up mud and oil and whatever else got all over the equipment. She cleaned threads, scraped and painted the various rig components. She worked her ass off and she never shirked.

      That first job was where she’d met a certain roughneck, Zachary Gunn. She’d fallen in love with Zach—fallen in love for the first and only time in her life. And when Zach turned out to be a rotten, no-good bigmouth jerk who told everyone what he’d done with her and that she’d been really bad at it, Travis was there.

      Travis beat the ever-lovin’ you-know-what out of that sorry SOB. And then kicked him off the rig.

      As a rule, Sam fought her own battles. But that one time, it meant more than she could ever say to know that Travis Bravo had her back.

      “Time to get started,” said Jonathan. “Tell me you’re ready.”

      Sam straightened her spine and turned to face her coach. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

      Chapter Three

      That first day was really bad.

      Before they did anything, Jonathan took a bunch of pictures of her from different angles, pictures of her standing, pictures of her sitting. Pictures from the front, the back, the side. Full-length pictures and also close-up ones.

      She knew what those pictures were: the “before” pictures. She knew they were awful.

      And she sincerely hoped that the “afters,” days from now, would be a whole lot better.

      Once Jonathan decided he had enough ugly shots of her, he had her sign a paper giving him permission to use the pictures on his website. And then he took her to the hotel spa.

      It was a nice place. Sam loved that it was simple, not froufrou or frilly in the least. It was soothing just to be there.

      Until the torture started.

      Jonathan said her skin needed all the help it could get. There was deep-tissue cleaning and a chemical peel. There was hot mud wrapped all around her in steaming wet towels. There was waxing—of her legs and under her arms. The bikini wax was the worst.

      She’d rather take a bath in drilling mud than get that done again.

      Jonathan laughed when she told him that. “You’ll get waxed, darling. And regularly. A woman should be sleek. Smooth. Excess body hair is not the least bit feminine.”

      She grunted. “Gee, Jonathan. Thanks a bunch for sharing.”

      There was massage. That wasn’t so bad.

      But after that, there was the manicure and the pedicure. Those went on forever and involved soaking and exfoliating and scrubbing at every callous and rough spot, of which there were many.

      Hours later, when they were finished with her for the day, her face was lobster-red from the peel and they’d given her booties and white gloves. She had to slather on this gooey ointment before bed nightly, they had told her at the spa, both on her hands and her feet, and then wear the gloves and booties to bed every night for the whole week.

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