Читать книгу The Dakota Man - Joan Hohl - Страница 10

Three months later

The redhead knocked the breath out of him. A jolt of energy, physical and sexual in nature, made the body-blow a double whammy.

Mitch was both shocked and confused by his reaction to the woman Karla ushered into his office. It certainly wasn’t that she was a stunning beauty; she wasn’t. Oh, it wasn’t that she was not attractive; she most definitely was, very attractive. But he knew many attractive and even a few stunning women, and yet he had never experienced such a strong and immediate response to any one of them.

Strange.

Baffled, yet careful not to reveal his condition, Mitch studied the woman as she crossed the room to his desk. On closer inspection, one might even concede she possessed a particular beauty…if one had a weakness for tall, slender women with creamy skin, a wide mouth with full lips, slightly slanted forest-glen-green eyes and long, thick hair of a deep shade of flaming red.

Apparently, Mitch wryly concluded, he did have such a previously unrecognized weakness.

At least, his knees felt a little weak; he felt the tremor in them when she drew closer.

Up close, she looked even better…damn the luck.

But, one thing was for certain, Mitch mused, she sure as hell hadn’t dressed to make an impression. Her casual attire made a silent declaration of her utter disregard for conventional, or his personal, opinion.

She came to a stop next to a chair in front of his desk.

Mitch came to his senses.

Cursing his uncharacteristic distraction, he made a show of perusing her application.

“Ms. Reynolds?” Raising his gaze from the papers in his hand, he offered her a faint smile.

“Yes.” Her attractive voice was soft, modulated, neutral, her return smile a pale reflection of his own.

He leaned forward over his desk and extended his right hand. “Mitch Grainger,” he said, amazed by the tingling sensation caused by the touch of her palm to his in the brief handshake. “Have a seat.” He flicked the still-tingling hand at the chair beside her.

“Thank you.” With what appeared to be relaxed and effortless grace, she stepped in front of the chair and lowered herself into it. Settled, she met his direct stare with calm patience.

Watch it, Grainger, Mitch advised himself. This is one woman determined not to be intimidated.

He arched a brow. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, while I give your application a quick once-over?”

She deigned to nod her permission.

Cool? Mitch speculated, unlocking his gaze from the brilliant green of hers to skim the application. Or was she, like Natalie Crane, just plain glacier-cold, through and through?

To his astonishment, after the fiasco of his engagement, Mitch found himself anticipating the opportunity to discover the answers to his questions about this particular woman.

Speed-reading the forms, Mitch quickly concurred with Karla’s enthusiastic opinion; Maggie Reynolds’s credentials were very impressive. A fact that had been pleasing to them both as Karla had been thus far unsuccessful in finding a suitable replacement.

Lifting his head, Mitch tested her with a piercing stare and his most forbidding tones. “You can produce references to confirm the information provided?”

“Not at hand,” she said, her voice as cool and unruffled as her demeanor. “But I can obtain them.”

He nodded; he had expected no less. “You appear to be well qualified for this position,” he admitted, unfamiliar excitement quickening inside him at the idea of her working for him, at his beck and call, five days a week. But his hidebound sense of honor insisted he be completely honest. “In fact, you are overqualified. A bigger city would offer you much better opportunities for corporate advancement.”

She smiled.

His blood pressure rose a notch.

“I’m aware of that,” she said. “But, while I appreciate your candor, and advice, I’ll pass on it.”

Too cool, Mitch reiterated…and just a hint of condescension. The woman had guts to spare; not many dared to condescend to him.

“Why?” He shot the question at her.

She didn’t shoot back. Then again, maybe she did, only she fired with a flashing, mind-bending smile.

Mitch felt the hit…and rather enjoyed it.

“As I explained to your assistant, and as my application attests, I’ve been there, done that,” she said. “I’m tired of the struggle.” She shrugged. “I suppose you might say my edge got dull.”

Mitch wouldn’t have said there was a damn thing dull about her. At any rate, he wasn’t prepared to say it to her, not at this point of their association. And, for some reason, or quirk in his own nature, he was determined on their having an association.

“I see” was all he would say.

“Besides,” she continued, “I like the look of this town, the Old West ambience. It’s quaint.”

Quaint. Mitch nodded. It was that. “When did you arrive? Have you seen much of the town?” He had to smile. “Not that there’s much to see.”

“I…er, strolled around this morning,” she answered, her hesitancy and obvious reluctance revealing her first signs of uncertainty.

Mitch decided to probe for the reason for her reticence. “You didn’t take a ride on the Deadwood Trolley?”

She shook her head, setting her hair swaying around her shoulders like living flames…and kicking his imagination into high gear.

“No.” Her full, tempting lips curved into a faint smile; his imagination soared off the gauge. “My father always said that shoe-leather express was the best way to see any city,” she explained. “I can ride the trolley another day.”

As fascinated as Mitch surely was by her mouth, he didn’t miss the fact that she had answered only part of his two-part question. Naturally, he wondered why.

“And when did you say you arrived?” he asked, with gentle persistence.

A spark flared to life in the depths of her fabulous green eyes. Annoyance, anger? Mitch mused.

“I didn’t say.” Her voice held an edge.

Good, Mitch thought. He wanted her on edge, off balance, her cool composure rattled. In his experience, he had found he learned more that way.

“I know.” He smiled…and waited.

She sighed, clearly losing patience with his persistence. “I arrived yesterday,” she finally admitted.

Mitch wasn’t through yet. “From where? Philadelphia?”

She gave him a level look, as if taking his measure. Mitch felt that tingly sensation again, this time throughout his entire system. He liked it. Once more, he merely smiled and waited, returning her measuring look.

“No.” She didn’t smile; she met his look with green fire. “I left Philly months ago, on an extended vacation tour of the country. I arrived here via a small town in Nebraska, where I had stopped for lunch.”

“But you were originally headed for Deadwood?” Mitch thought it a reasonable question. Evidently, Ms. Maggie Reynolds did not, if her fleeting expression of exasperation was anything to go by.

“No.” She shook her head, setting the red strands swirling once more.

Mitch’s fingers itched to delve into the fiery mass, just to see if it burned him. When she didn’t continue on with an explanation, he raised a nudging eyebrow, determined now to hear the whole of her story.

Silence stretched between them for several seconds, then she capitulated with a the-hell-with-it shrug. “While waiting for my lunch, I checked my finances,” she said grittily. “The bottom-line balance indicated that it was time for me to go back to work—” she shrugged “—and here I am.”

She had managed to surprise him, a rare accomplishment for anyone; he had long since been surprised by much of anything. Mitch glanced down at the bona fides on her application. A frown creased his brow when he looked up at her. “I don’t get it,” he admitted. “With your credentials, you could have secured an excellent-paying position in any major city.” He refrained from adding that he was glad she hadn’t. “Why Deadwood?”

She shifted in her chair, revealing her mounting impatience. “I think I’ve already explained that.”

He agreed with a slight nod. “Been there, done that, tired of the grind. Right?”

“Yes.” Her smile had a hint of smugness.

“But, if you’re running out of money…” Mitch let his voice trail off, not yet ready to let her off the hook by quoting the salary he was prepared to offer her, for he definitely was going to hire her.

“I’m not running out of money,” she corrected him. “I’m running a bit low. There is a difference.”

“Point taken,” he admitted, deciding he liked this woman’s style. “But…why Deadwood?” he repeated, now merely curious about her choice.

She smiled.

His stomach muscles constricted.

“Believe it or not,” she said, “I overheard the men seated in the booth behind me talking about it.” She shrugged. “So, I figured…why not?”

Guts, style and insouciance. Some combination, and, thankfully, not in the least similar to Natalie, Mitch thought, tamping down an urge to laugh. He was looking forward to working with, matching wits with and, hopefully, gaining a more intimate relationship with this woman. But he didn’t want to appear too eager or show his hand too soon.

“As I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice, my assistant is in her third trimester of pregnancy,” he said.

“It is pretty hard to miss,” she responded dryly.

“Yes.” He paused, allowed his concern for Karla to show on his expression. “I’m growing anxious about finding someone to replace her, she needs to rest more.” He paused again, pursed his lips, just for effect.

She didn’t betray knowledge of his “effect.” She held his steady gaze with cool green eyes.

His admiration for her expanding, Mitch silently applauded her display of composure. “That being the case, the position is yours…if you still want it.”

“I do.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

Then he quoted a salary figure.

That got a reaction from her. It was quick, but there, in the slight flicker of surprise in her eyes, her expression. She controlled it just as quickly.

“That’s more than generous,” she said. “When would you like me to start?”

Immediately, he thought. “As soon as possible,” he said.

“It’s Thursday.” She raised a perfectly arched, dark red eyebrow. “Will Monday suit?”

“Fine,” he agreed, somehow certain it would be a very long weekend.

Although she had endured the actual torture rather than allow her consternation to show, Maggie exited Grainger’s office feeling as if she had been grilled to a turn by the Spanish Inquisition. She recalled the conversation she had overheard last night in a nearby restaurant. A woman who had interviewed for this position had stated a very adept description of Mitch Grainger. That young woman in the restaurant hadn’t exaggerated; he was every bit as hard as bedrock, maybe harder, hard and tough, intelligent and probing, and physically attractive…devastatingly so.

After that nerve-jangling interview, Maggie felt as if his image was imprinted on her mind, never to be erased. And the image was more than a little disturbing.

The first thing Maggie had noticed about Mitch Grainger, even as he sat behind his desk, was his height. He was tall, at least six two, possibly three. He had the lean, well-toned body of a top-notch, worth-a-bizillion-dollars quarterback. His hair was dark, his eyes a piercing gray. His skin was sun-burnished. His clothes were expensive, impeccably tailored to his broad-shouldered, long-muscled frame.

Yes, indeedy, Mitch Grainger was sexy and good-looking…if one were susceptible to sharply defined features, cool reserve, an air of absolute command, blatant sensuality and quick, intelligent wit with attitude.

Fortunately, for Maggie’s peace of mind, she was not so inclined. Within seconds of entering his office, she had labeled him an arrogant, chauvinistic ram, hiding inside the trappings of civilized clothing.

And she had just signed on to work for the man. The emotional side of Maggie urged her to run for the nearest exit. Her practical side reminded her that she needed the money, or she wouldn’t be running very far for very long.

“How did it go?” Karla asked, equal measures of anxiety and hope in her tones.

Jarred from her less-than-encouraging introspection, Maggie dredged up a smile. “He hired me. I start Monday.”

As if she had been holding it, Karla’s breath came out in a whooshing sound. “Oh, good,” she said, a bright smile lighting her pretty face. “He was driving me crazy.”

Great. Just what she needed to hear, Maggie thought, sinking onto the chair Karla indicated with a wave of her hand. Convinced her initial concern about Karla’s obvious anxiety over finding her replacement was because the man was an absolute tyrant, she was almost afraid to ask “Why?”

“He thinks I should rest more.”

“So he said,” Maggie confided.

“Oh, he’s so-o-o protective,” Karla said, heaving a sigh and rolling her eyes. “This last week especially…just because my ankles have been swelling a little.”

He was so-o-o protective? He noticed a little swelling in her ankles? Well, she guessed she could credit the man’s supposed tyrannical behavior as the reason for Karla’s overanxiousness, Maggie thought, her mental gears beginning to spin.

Why would an employer, a bedrock-hard employer at that, evince such concern…her gears ground to a halt at a sudden, most startling of questions: could Mitch Grainger be the father of Karla’s baby?

Well, of course he could, Maggie chided herself. He was a man, wasn’t he? A blatantly sensuous man.

For some inexplicable reason beyond her comprehension, she suddenly felt queasy.

“Is something wrong?” Karla asked, peering at Maggie with concern. “You’re pale. Are you feeling ill?”

No, not ill, disgusted, Maggie assured herself, working up another smile. “No…” She shook her head and raked her mind for a reasonable response. “I…er, everything happened so fast, you know. It’s exciting but a little unnerving, too.” She managed a laugh, a weak one, but a laugh. Sort of. “I mean, who ever expects to get hired for a job—” she snapped her fingers “—like that?”

“I know what you mean.” Karla laughed, too, for real. “But that’s Mr. Grainger’s way. He is decisive, forceful, and he has a tendency to be a bit overwhelming.”

A bit? Like a bulldozer. Maggie kept her opinion to herself. All she said, dryly and wryly, to Karla was “I noticed.”

The other woman giggled. “I think I’m going to enjoy working with you for the next couple of weeks, Maggie, and—” she paused, suddenly looking very young and uncertain “—I hope we can be friends.”

Maggie felt a tug at her heartstrings. Off the top of her head, she’d guess Karla to be twenty-two, maybe twenty-three, four or five years her junior. Yet the girl appeared so much younger, so vulnerable, she made Maggie feel old, if only in experience.

“I’m sure we will be,” Maggie said, reaching across the desk to take Karla’s hand. “And, as a novice to the gambling business, I’m just as sure I’m going to need all the help you’re willing to give me over the coming weeks.”

Fairly beaming, Karla squeezed Maggie’s hand. “With your experience, I’m positive you’ll do fine.”

Yes, she would, Maggie silently agreed. That is, if she could tolerate the bulldozer. And it was a big if. But, first things first.

“I was hoping you also could help me with something else,” she said.

“Of course, if I can,” Karla said. “What is it?”

“Well, right now, I’ve got a room at the Mineral Palace,” she explained, her smile rueful. “But I can’t stay there. I need to find a place to rent, a furnished room or small apartment. I don’t suppose you’d know of any?”

“Yes, I do, and it’s right in my building!” Karla exclaimed, laughing. “And I can almost guarantee you’ll be able to have it. It’s a bachelor apartment. And it’s fully furnished but…” She hesitated, frowned, bit her lip.

“But?” Maggie prompted, her burst of anticipation doing a nosedive.

“It’s on the third floor and there’s no elevator…would that be a problem?”

“Not at all,” Maggie assured her, laughing in sheer relief. “Where’s the apartment house located?”

“It’s right outside of town, but it’s not a regular apartment house,” Karla explained. “A long time ago, it was a private residence, a large old Victorian house that’s been renovated into apartments.”

Although Maggie immediately envisioned a somewhat shabby old house with mere remnants of its former elegance, she told herself that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Besides, she had always loved Victorian-style houses, even the ones that had seen better days. Deciding to accept circumstances as part and parcel of her crazy adventure, she smiled to set the still-frowning Karla at ease.

“Sounds interesting,” she said, feeling rewarded with the smile that chased the frown from Karla’s face.

“Who do I talk to about seeing the place?”

Karla’s smile grew into a grin. “The boss.”

“The boss?” Maggie’s stomach rebelled. “Mr. Grainger owns the building?”

“Yep.” Karla nodded. “At least, his family does,” she qualified. “His great-great grandfather built the house…oh, somewhere around the turn of the century, I think. It was several years after he had established his bank here and married the daughter of one of the partners or managers or executives or whatever of the Home-stake gold mine.”

“They own the bank, too?”

“No.” Karla shook her head and frowned. “The way I understand it, Mitch’s great-grandfather sold out the business in the twenties, when he got into buying real estate. Then the bank went under when the market crashed. Apparently, it was the land holdings that kept the family from ruin during the depression, for they managed to hang on to everything.”

“Including the house that’s now an apartment,” Maggie inserted.

Karla nodded. “And this property.” She waved a hand, indicating the casino building. “Both of which are under Mitch’s control.”

Wonderful. Maggie was hard-pressed to keep from groaning aloud. What to do? she asked herself, reluctant to go back into Mr. Grainger’s office. While living in the same building as Karla would be nice, Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted to both work for and rent from her employer. Besides, if her suspicions about Karla and him having an affair were correct, even though they somehow didn’t seem to fit together, the idea of being around to witness their “togetherness” didn’t appeal to Maggie in the least. And yet, she needed a permanent address, the sooner the better.

“I’ll go talk to Mitch now,” Karla said, settling the matter for Maggie by pushing herself out of her chair and turning to tap on his door.

Maggie opened her mouth to ask Karla to wait a moment, but before she could utter a sound, Karla had opened the door and slipped inside the office.

To her surprise, Maggie didn’t have time to fume or to fidget, for within minutes, Karla was back, a triumphant smile on her face. She raised her hand to display a key clipped to a case dangling from her fingers.

“We’re outta here,” she said, motioning for Maggie to follow her as she skirted the desk and moved toward the outer hallway.

“But…” Maggie began.

“He gave me the rest of the afternoon off,” Karla cut in breezily. “He told me to take his truck to run you out to have a look at the apartment. I’m to call him from there. If you like the place, I’m to use the truck to help you move your stuff…if you need help.”

His truck? Frowning, Maggie scrambled out of her chair to hurry after the surprisingly agile woman. Should Karla be driving a truck in her advanced pregnancy? Never having been pregnant, she didn’t have a clue.