King of the Mountain

by Fran Baker

  Dottie applied blusher to her cheeks with a practiced hand. “Why do women always feel responsible for making relationship work?”

  “Beats me.” Carol realized what she’d said and sighed. “Listen to me—practically asking for it.”

  The whistle blew, signaling the end of lunch break.

  “Already?” Dottie had finally gotten around to unwrapping her sandwich.

  “Time flies when you’re having fun,” Carol quipped as she headed for the exit.

  Dottie took a fast bite of her sandwich before rewrapping it and tossing it back into her lunch box. “You comin’, Kitty?”

  “I’ll be along directly,” she promised, waving them on.

  Kitty was usually the first one back to work, but she dragged her feet today. Carol’s remark about the Blazer—and by inference, Ben—stung.

  Visions of his back and shoulder muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he shoveled coal rose unbidden to her mind. Closing her eyes, she recalled the feel of his finger tipping her chin up, his gentle touch eliciting a tingling sensation in her throat and breasts and lower body.

  His words the other morning in the café had touched her in a different way. A deeper way. His tone hadn’t held even the slightest suggestion of self-pity, but ever since, she’d been haunted by the idea of him eating alone.

  Granted, she and Jessie didn’t have dinner together every night. But they did share their hopes and dreams for the day, as well as a laugh or two, over breakfast every morning, and she couldn’t imagine—

  Kitty came out of her reverie with a bang. The blasting had started again, which meant she had a job to do.

  And just as well, she thought, picking up her pit helmet and lunch box. She’d spent almost half her life paying for one mistake. The last thing she needed was another man.

  * * *

  “Missed you at lunch break.”

  “Maybe you weren’t shooting straight.”

  Ben didn’t catch up with Kitty until the end of the shift, when she was running to catch the mantrap. He’d wanted to tell her about his car being ready, but her acerbic reply to his affable remark only fanned the coals of his frustration.

  A group of miners boarded the mantrap.

  He had forgotten now why he’d been looking for her and swung her around by an elbow. “Is it men in general or me in particular?”

  She didn’t bother to pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. “We’re going to miss—”

  The door to the mantrap clanged closed.

  “I want to talk to you.” He still grasped her elbow—not hard, but with just enough pressure to keep her from getting lost in the new crowd gathering near the mantrap.

  She looked down at her arm, imprisoned by those sun-browned fingers that kept invading her dreams, then up at his incisive gray eyes and said calmly, “Let go of me.”

  The tension between them mounted to flash point—as dangerous as the swirling dust particles that could be ignited by a single spark.

  Peripherally aware that they were attracting attention, Ben dropped her arm, angry at himself now for letting his temper get the better of him.

  She backpedaled a step, out of arm’s reach. “What do you want?”

  “To tell you that my car is ready.” Shadows settled in the creases around his expressionless eyes and mouth. “And to tell you that I won’t be needing a ride anymore.”

  “Oh … well—” She swallowed hard to dislodge the sudden lump of disappointment in her throat. “That’s great. I hope it runs all right.”

  The mantrap returned for the remaining miners.

  To keep the conversation going, Ben said the first thing that came to mind. “The mechanic said he had a hell of a time finding me a new hood ornament.”

  Kitty stepped aside as the other miners boarded, finding that she was in no great hurry to leave. “I’ve heard there’s been a problem with people stealing them.”

  The door closed, leaving them alone in the mine.

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” His voice echoed resonantly in the empty cavern. “Who’d want a hood ornament?”

  “Someone who’s building a Cadillac a piece at a time?” she ventured with a smile.

  His answering smile died quickly. His gray eyes dropped to her lips, making her emotions veer between the fear that he was going to kiss her and the fear that he wasn’t. She searched for something to say, anything to get her back on an even keel, but her vocal cords seemed to be temporarily out of commission.

  The silence swelled with serious life questions that remained unasked; the lanterns at their belts glowed serenely; their shadows danced on the dark tunnel walls.

  Ben reached out to her.

  Kitty’s heart revved up for his kiss.

  His thumb glided across her cheek, removing a smudge of coal dust and leaving a trail of fire in its place. A fusion of regret and relief slowed her racing pulse.

  “Well,” he said huskily, dropping his hand, “I’d better let you go before you stick me for overtime.”

  “Aren’t you going up to see how your car looks?” she asked, her voice a whisper of flower and fog as she pressed the button to bring the mantrap back down.

  “The mechanic’s not coming till six.” He set his lunch box on the nearby tool shelf. “Besides, I heard a noise in one of the ventilating fans that I want to check out.”

  The mantrap came—too quickly!—and she stepped on board.

  “Speaking of cars,” she said, holding the door open with her free hand, “I need to talk to you about the Blazer.”

  He groaned. “Not again.”

  “I can’t keep it.”

  “I’m not taking it back.”

  “People are talking.”

  “About what?”

  “About us.”

  A rueful smile hiked up one corner of his tempting mouth. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I know that, and you know that,” she said softly. “But they don’t know that.”

  “Tell you what,” he said, “we’ll talk about the Blazer tomorrow.”

  “But tomorrow is Saturday,” she reminded him.

  “Right.” He selected the tools he needed to work on the fan.

  “So—”

  “We’ll go on a picnic and talk about it.”

  “A picnic!” She laughed, not taking him seriously. “I’ve got too much to do to go on a picnic.”

  “You want to talk about the Blazer?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning.”

  “Jessie’s got a dental appointment at ten.”

  “No problem; I’ll just pick you up at eleven.”

  “And then I have to go to the grocery store.”

  He shot that argument down too. “I’ll bring the food.”

  She tried again. “The weatherman forecasted rain.”

  “For Sunday.”

  “I’m not going,” she said decisively.

  “Give me one good reason,” he demanded.

  Because she didn’t trust her feelings for him. Or his for her. Because she was afraid of making another mistake, one she might never recover from. Because … “I’m just not.”

  “See you at eleven tomorrow.” He spun on his heel, adding over his shoulder, “Jessie’s welcome to come, too, if she wants.”

  The buzzer sounded from aboveground, telling her that the night shift was waiting to use the manshaft.

  Kitty let go of the door but edged the last word in before it closed. “I am not—repeat not—going on a picnic with you tomorrow, Ben Cooper.”

  Six

  It was a perfect day for a picnic: amber-aired and spicy as cider. Autumn leaves had spread a colorful crazy quilt over the land, and the aroma of hot dogs and roasted marshmallows lingered long after they’d been devoured.

  “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Kitty shook her head in disbelief as she set the coo
ler on the redwood table and began clearing away the plates and plastic utensils they’d used to eat lunch. Since Ben had brought the food, she’d insisted on cleaning up.

  “Talked you into it, hell.” He plucked a maple leaf out of her lustrous hair and held it to his nose, inhaling the apple scent of her shampoo that lingered on the leafs drying veins. The juices pumping through his body told him it might as well be spring. “Jessie and I practically had to kidnap you to get you to come.”

  “Kidnapping … contributing to the delinquency of a minor—” She slid him a sidelong glance, smiling as she listed his crimes. “You’re in big trouble, Ben Cooper.”

  From his vantage point on the bench beside her, he watched with growing interest as she stood and reached across the table. Beneath the vibrantly patterned Fair Isle sweater she wore, her full breasts swayed like two ripe pears.

  “It’s worth it,” he admitted, his gaze skimming down the black jeans that cupped her shapely bottom, “just to see you dressed in something besides those damn coveralls.”

  She snagged the bean pot she was reaching for, then straightened and returned the compliment. “Frankly, you look better out of uniform, yourself.”

  Better was an understatement, she decided on closer inspection. Even a Donegal tweed crew neck and casual cords, he was the best-dressed man she’d ever laid eyes on. Not to mention the best-looking …

  The fall sun shone down on the top of his head, mingling the black and the gray into a silvery mixture. His face bore the rugged hallmarks of power, and after a week in the mine his nonchalant tan made her realize that that perfect bronze just came naturally.

  Her eyes drifted to the stem of the maple leaf he was twirling hypnotically between his large thumb and long forefinger, and senses that had lain dormant for seven years sprang to life deep inside her.

  Autumn had never been her favorite season: The leaves falling and the fields browning had always made her sad. Autumn always reminded her of endings, not beginnings. So it was strange that she should experience this rebirth of feeling in the dying of the year.

  “Need some help?” he asked.

  Kitty snapped out of her trance and shook her head fiercely, both in answer to Ben’s quiet question and to deny the sensations rioting inside her. She tore her eyes away from the twisting leaf and put the empty bowl in the cooler, then closed the lid.

  “All done,” she announced.

  “Great.” He stood, looking so windblown and sun-baked that her mouth went dry.

  She moistened her lips with a nervous tongue. “What do you want to do now?”

  The slow heat that permeated his pewter eyes told her she shouldn’t have asked. Everything inside her stilled as emotion arced between them like an electric current.

  Girlish laughter coming from the creek bank broke the charged silence.

  “Thanks for letting Jessie invite Jamie today.” Kitty gratefully seized the chance to change the subject. “They’re having a ball with those cane fishing poles you brought.”

  “I figured she’d have more fun with a friend along.” Ben smiled his wonderful smile, and she felt as if she’d just been dipped in melted butter. “Us too.”

  “Well then,” she said briskly, trying to maintain her slipping control, “let’s do something fun.”

  “Like what?” He reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers, drawing her closer by heart-stopping degrees.

  “Like—” She pulled out of his grasp before he could pull her into his arms. “Go for a walk.”

  A walk wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. But renewing his determination to go slow and easy with her, he settled for what he could get.

  They headed in the opposite direction from the creek.

  “It’s hard to believe this used to be a spoil bank,” Kitty said as they climbed the clover-covered slope that had resembled a moonscape in her youth.

  Ben looked at the land critically. He couldn’t begin to guess how much money the company had sunk into its reclamation efforts these past twenty-five years. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

  “I grew up in a company house not a stone’s throw from here. On rainy days we used the spoil bank for a mud slide.” She smiled, thinking of how simple life was back then.

  “We bulldozed those houses years ago.” He frowned, wondering how those old eyesores had stood as long as they had. “As I recall, they didn’t even have running water.”

  Now she wrinkled her nose at him. “We had all the water we could run ’n’ fetch.”

  His laughter boomed to the hills and back; hers rang out as crystal clear as the weather.

  “You’re something, Kitty Reardon, you really are.”

  So are you, Ben Cooper, she thought. So are you.

  Leaves crunched underfoot as they approached the old strip mine area that had been returned to woods. Squirrels scampered from oak tree to hickory, gathering their winter’s store of nuts. Autumn sunlight wove its way through the bared branches to the forest’s carpeted floor.

  “I haven’t been back here in years.” Kitty was awed by the transformation. “It’s beautiful!”

  A wry grin twisted Ben’s sensual mouth. “Just goes to show you what time, nature, and a million dollars can do.”

  She made a tsking sound. “This from the man who buys Blazers at the drop of a hat?”

  “More like at the drop off a mountain,” he reminded her dryly.

  They lapsed into a thoughtful silence as they wandered deeper into the woods, pausing to watch a whitetail buck munching on acorns before it caught their scent and bolted away.

  When he reached up and plucked a lone scarlet leaf from a tree branch, she allowed herself a brief survey of his lean, powerful build. Her gaze ranged from a set of shoulders that threatened the seams of his sweater to the narrowness of his hips, then moved down those long athletic legs.

  A squirrel scolded her from on high.

  Ben turned and—not for the first time—caught her staring at him with hungry blue eyes. Slowly then, ever so slowly, he backed her up against the trunk of the tree and raised the hand that held the leaf.

  A crow cried its plaintive alarm.

  Kitty didn’t cringe, but she did keep a careful watch on the hand coming toward her. The striated bark scraped her back through her sweater as memories surged up from the past and walloped her in the chest.

  In a gesture more tender than any she’d ever known, he slid the stem of the scarlet leaf behind her ear. Then he braced his palms on the tree trunk and lowered his gaze to her trembling lips only seconds before he lowered his head.

  She realized he was going to kiss her and went stiff as a board. “Ben—”

  “Don’t be afraid, Kitty,” he whispered against her open lips, then closed his mouth over hers.

  If he’d forced her, she’d have fought him—a conditioned reflex on her part. But he seduced her with brushing and teasing and feathering rather than plundering. The tangy scent of his bay rum enveloped her senses, and in the dim recesses of her mind she realized she was her own worst enemy.

  She kept her arms at her sides and curled her fingers into small fists of resistance, battling a sudden need to reach around his neck and find out if his hair was as thick and springy as it looked.

  How long could she hold out against that masterful mouth and tempting tongue? Heaven help her, how long could she hold out against herself?

  Ben knew the exact moment when he’d broken through her guard and touched off a response. Her jaw lost some of the tension that had prevented his invasion. She raised her arms, bringing the heat and the hardness of him home to her, then half sobbed against his mouth at this betraying weakness.

  His tongue took its natural course, delving into her silken depths, and she knew a treasured feeling she’d never experienced before. She felt her knees weaken as the kiss became a microcosm of the whole sexual act, and she slid her fingers into his hair, seeking a grip on her sanity.

  Like a crisp slap to her s
atiny cheek, the autumn breeze brought her back to her senses.

  She tore her mouth from his and turned her head away, whispering brokenly, “Ben—”

  His lips found the vulnerable pulse point below her ear. “I want you, Kitty.”

  “No!” She gasped as his flicking tongue set off another series of explosions inside her.

  “Yes.” He groaned, his voice and lips like velvet as he sought the vulnerable hollow of her throat.

  Frantic now, she moved her hands from his neck to his chest, holding him at bay as best she could. “Stop it!”

  It finally penetrated his passion-fogged mind that he’d gone too far, that she wasn’t ready for this. He did a slow pushup, feeling the rough scrape of bark against his palms, and looked down at the desperate expression on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She closed her eyes, her long lashes black fans against her pale skin, and shook her head.

  He studied her as clinically as possible under the circumstances, experience telling him that a woman didn’t run hot one minute and cold the next without a damn good reason. But what in the …?

  A half-dozen possibilities struck him at once. He discarded most of them as quickly as they came to mind. The one that remained seemed almost too heinous to consider. But consider it he did.

  He had no proof, but that didn’t keep him from demanding, “Who was it, Kitty?”

  Her eyes flew open and he knew he was right on target.

  “Your father?” It happened in the best of families.

  She looked shocked at the very idea. “Of course not!”

  “One of the miners?”

  “No!”

  “Your ex-husband?”

  She drew in a shuddering breath and ducked under his arm. “I’ve got to go check on the girls.”

  He reached to bring her back where she belonged. “Wait—”

  She broke into a run, her pounding footsteps shattering the stillness as she dodged between the trees and cut toward the creek bank.

  Ben stared at the ground and counted to ten, giving both his ardor and his anger time to cool. Then he shoved his fists into his pockets and followed her out of the woods, wondering where they went from here.