by Joan Hohl
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.
They didn’t go through the casino to the front entrance. Instead, at the base of the narrow stairway that led to the second floor, Karla turned to traverse another narrow hallway, leading to a steel door at the rear of the building. A burly uniformed guard stood posted next to the door.
“Hi, Karla, late lunch?” The guard smiled and gave Maggie a curious once-over.
“No.” Karla grinned and shook her head. “The boss gave me the afternoon off.” She turned to smile at Maggie. “Maggie, this is Johnny Brandon.”
“Mr. Brandon,” Maggie said, extending her right hand to be swallowed up in his.
Karla switched her glance back at the guard. “Johnny, this is Maggie Reynolds. She’ll be working here starting Monday.”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Reynolds…and please, call me Johnny.” The guard gripped her hand for a second, inclined his head, then shot a grin at Karla. “You’ve finally found someone to suit Mr. Grainger, huh?”
“Yes.” Karla heaved a dramatic sigh, but ruined the effect with a giggle. “Finally. And now we’re outta here, before he changes his mind about the afternoon off.”
Chuckling, Johnny moved to open the door for them. “I can’t see that happening. Nice to meet you, Ms. Reynolds.”
“Maggie, please,” she said, smiling as she followed Karla from the casino.
The exit led directly onto a parking lot. Trailing Karla, Maggie glanced around at the number of trucks parked in neatly aligned rows. The vehicle Karla stopped next to was not what Maggie had envisioned as a “truck,” but a large dusty sports utility vehicle. But what a sports utility vehicle. Even with the coat of dust, the black behemoth fairly shouted expensive.
“Isn’t it super?” Karla said, smiling at what Maggie knew must have been her bemused expression.
“And big,” Maggie said, nodding. “No, huge.”
Karla shrugged, and pushed a button on the key case, unlocking the doors. “These vehicles are almost a necessity in this mountainous terrain.”
“What does it get, five miles to the gallon?” Circling the monster, Maggie slipped into the plush passenger seat, noting that plush described the entire interior.
“A little more than that,” Karla said, grinning as she carefully slid behind the wheel. “But it drives like a dream,” she continued, giving evidence that she had driven the vehicle before. “Like a luxury car, really.” Firing the engine, she proved the claim by smoothly maneuvering the purring beast out of the parking lot.
“You know, I really don’t need help moving my stuff, if I decide to take the apartment. We wouldn’t have had to waste Mr. Grainger’s fuel.” Maggie turned her head to smile at Karla. “We could have used your car.”
“No, we couldn’t,” Karla said, laughing. “Because I don’t have a car.”
“Then how do you get around—to shop, to work?” Maggie asked. “Is the house within walking distance?”
“Well I have walked, and I still could, if I wanted, which I don’t, at least not anymore.” Karla smiled and shook her head. “No, Mitch drives me in to work.”
Uh-huh, Maggie thought, growing more convinced about an intimate relationship between the two. Unbidden, and shocking, a vision rose in her mind of the bedrock-hard Mitch Grainger and the soft, puppy-friendly Karla, locked and writhing in a lovers’ embrace. She immediately blanked the image. For some strange, confusing reason, she felt upset, almost hurt by the very thought of him making love to Karla.
Another thought rushed in, nearly as upsetting as the first, a horrifying thought that required immediate clarification.
“Does Mr. Grainger live in the house?” she asked, hearing the ragged threads of strain in her voice.
“Oh, no,” Karla answered. “He has an apartment on the third floor of the casino, above the office.”
Relief washed through Maggie, only to be followed by an odd and unwelcome sense of dejection at this further proof of their relationship. Why else, she reasoned, would he put himself out to fetch Karla back and forth?
Three
The house was beautiful.
Maggie fell in love with it on sight. It reminded her of the lovely old Victorian houses that had been converted into bed-and-breakfast inns in Cape May, Ne
w Jersey. But this house had been built on an even grander scale, and was a true mansion. It had a deep-roofed wraparound porch, intricate and lacy-looking decorative gingerbread and a copper-roofed tower on one corner.
Gazing up at the distinctive bell-shaped roof, Maggie quivered with anticipation at the realization that there were windowed tower alcoves on all three floors of the building. Having lived all her life in modern, boxlike apartments, first with her parents, then in the similar flat her grandmother had willed to her, Maggie loved old-fashioned places with nooks and crannies.
“So, what do you think?” Karla asked, breaking into Maggie’s bemused near-trance.
“It’s…magnificent,” Maggie murmured.
“Big, too.” Karla laughed. “Do you want to come in, or just stand here and stare at the outside of the place?”
“I want to come in,” Maggie answered, grinning. “I can’t wait to see the inside.”
On entering the foyer, Maggie felt a pang of disappointment at the obvious but necessary changes that had been made to convert the once-gracious private home into apartments. Still, quite a bit of the former beauty remained in the original woodwork, including the hardwood flooring and the wide staircase attached to one wall. A hallway ran next to the stairway to the rear of the enormous house.
“As you can see, it wasn’t at all difficult to section off for separate living accommodations,” Karla said, motioning to the closed doors facing each other across the foyer. “This is my apartment.” She moved to the door set into the stairway wall and inserted a key in the lock. “Come on in.”
“Oh, you do have a tower alcove,” Maggie said, eagerly following the younger woman. Once inside, she caught her breath on a soft “Oh…it’s beautiful, like stepping back in time.”
“Yes. I love it.” Karla smiled.
“I can see why.” Glancing around the generous-size living room, Maggie feasted her eyes on the period furniture and the curved, deeply padded window seat in the alcove.
The Victorian motif was carried through the rest of the apartment, even the small bathroom. Karla led the way into the kitchen at the back of the house. There, everything was bright with ultramodern white appliances.