A Bravo Homecoming Read Online Free PDF Page A

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
     
    T hat 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