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?
T
he 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, New 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.
“This room was originally the pantry and laundry room,” Karla explained, moving to the sink. “Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?”
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” Maggie said, then qualified, “But could I see the third-floor apartment first?”
Karla laughed. “Of course you can see it.” Turning, she led the way back into the living room. “You might want to go on ahead,” she
said, grinning as she opened the door. “I’m a little slow lately going up the stairs.”
Maggie’s gaze rested on Karla’s extended belly. “You don’t have to go upstairs. I can go up alone. That is, if it’s all right?”
“Oh, sure it’s all right.” Taking a key off the case Mitch had given her, Karla handed it to Maggie. “When you get to the top of the stairs, follow the hallway to the door at the back. Oh, and by the way, there’s another enclosed staircase at the rear of the hallway, with an access door to the back parking area. I’ll start the coffee while you have a look at the place.”
At the second-floor landing Maggie found the door to the stairway leading to the third level. It was also enclosed, much narrower, but lit by a ceiling light and by the sunlight pouring in through lacy curtains at a window at the top landing.
Not knowing what to expect…a big old storage attic, or perhaps a large room sectioned off for servants’ quarters, Maggie mounted the stairs. A wide hallway with sloping ceilings to either side ran to an enlarged room at the front. While she had expected the sloping roofs, she hadn’t expected the storage cabinets built into
the spaces beneath—nooks and crannies—or the size of the apartment beyond.
It was spotlessly clean, huge and wonderful and completely furnished, again with the same Victorian motif. To one side, the bedroom and bath were both sectioned off and private. To the other side one large room made up the kitchen and living area. A small round dinette table sat in the tower alcove, and a lace-curtained window overlooked the front of the house.
A strange sense of excitement stirred inside Maggie, a feeling almost as if she had found exactly what she had spent months unknowingly searching for.
A home…or a hideaway? Maggie didn’t know, nor did she care. It felt right, and that was enough, enough even to put up with the bedrock-hard Mitch Grainger.
Picturing herself seated at the table, gazing out at the world while eating a meal, sipping a cup of hot chocolate on a cold night or a glass of iced tea on a hot afternoon, Maggie decided on the spot that she had to have the apartment, regardless of cost, or her new employer. With the salary figure he had quoted, she knew she could afford it, even though she had immediately
thought of finding an inexpensive place and hoarding most of her money away.
Oh, well, she mused, slowly looking around, already feeling at home. She had to have it, and that was that.
Anxious to lay claim to it and move in her things, she gave a final longing glance at the alcove, then retraced her steps down to the ground level.
As promised, Karla had the coffee ready, along with a plate of packaged cookies.
“So, what did you think of it?” Karla asked, nibbling on a cream-filled sandwich cookie.
“I love it. I want it,” Maggie answered, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid. “How much?”
Karla shrugged. “I don’t know.” She popped the last morsel of cookie into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “You’ll have to take that up with Mitch.” She reached for another cookie, paused, sighed and pulled back her hand. “Better not.” She sighed again. “I love sweets, but at my last doctor visit, I had put on five pounds. The doctor was not happy.” She grinned. “She told me to lay off the junk.”
“Must be rough when you have a sweet tooth,” Maggie commiserated. “I don’t, never
did.” She rolled her eyes. “My downfall is pasta…with rich sauces.”
“Really?” Karla laughed. “I was planning to make a pasta dish for dinner. Why don’t we move your stuff as soon as we’re finished here, then have dinner together?”
Maggie frowned. “Are you sure Mr. Grainger won’t mind if I move in before paying the rent?”
“I told you he said I should use the truck to help you move your stuff,” Karla reminded her.
“Well…all right. But I have a better idea,” Maggie countered, mindful of Karla’s condition. “Most of my stuff is still in my car, as I only took two cases into the hotel and didn’t even fully unpack them. If you’ll run me into town, I’ll grab my cases, check out of the hotel and follow you back here. Then you can rest, put up your feet, while I lug my stuff up to the third floor.”
“Oh, brother, I’m not an invalid,” Karla protested. “You sound just like Mitch.”
“God, I hope not,” Maggie said fervently.
Karla giggled. “He’s really quite nice, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” Maggie muttered, reserving her opinion and judgment. “Anyway, I have eyes,
and I couldn’t help but notice your swollen ankles,” she continued, deliberately changing the subject. “So, instead of your standing at the stove and cooking, when I’m finished lugging my stuff, I’d like to thank you for all your help by treating you to dinner at the restaurant of your choice.”
“But…”
“No buts,” Maggie said, cutting her off. “That’s the deal.” She grinned. “Take it or leave it.”
Karla threw up her arms. “You win.” She grinned back. “I’ll take it.”
“Good.” Maggie shoved back her chair. “Then let’s clear away the coffee things and get this show on the road.”
The running and lugging were completed in less than two hours. Of course, Maggie didn’t put a thing away, but simply dumped her four suitcases, a nylon carry-on and one cardboard carton in the middle of the living room. She did take a minute to retrieve her makeup case, though. Zipping into the bathroom, she freshened up, brushed her hair and swiped blusher on her cheeks and lipstick on her lips before dashing back down the stairs to collect Karla.
“Oh, I talked to Mitch on the phone while
you were carting your stuff upstairs,” Karla said as they left the house. “He said you can take care of the rent payment on Monday morning, when you come in to work.”
“Fine.” Maggie masked a grimace with a smile, not wanting to reveal to the friendly and obviously trusting young woman how reluctant she was to face Monday morning, and working for Mitch Grainger.
The next three days flew by in a flurry of domestic activity for Maggie. For the first time since leaving Philadelphia, she actually unpacked every one of her suitcases, the nylon flight bag and the cardboard carton. She stashed foldables into the drawers of an old-but-solid and highly polished wood dresser and, after a brisk shake-out, hung suits, dresses, skirts, slacks and blouses in the roomy bedroom closet.
A soft smile on her lips, Maggie arranged the top of the dresser with the few personal items she hadn’t been able to leave behind: a framed enlarged snapshot of her parents; a small hand-carved jewelry box; the white jade figurine of a tiger that had been the last Christmas gift she’d received from her grandmother; and a small,
stuffed, gaily garbed clown Hannah had presented to her as a going-away present.
Deciding to pick up some groceries, Maggie headed downstairs and out to her car. Once in the parking area, she turned to glance back at the house. A soft ‘oh’ of pleasure whispered through her lips as she took in the beauty of the house once more.
Utterly charmed by the sight of the grand old house, Maggie didn’t allow herself to so much as conjecture on the possible length of her stay in Deadwood. She’d been hired to stay until Karla was able to return to work—some four or five months from now. Perhaps she would stay on a little longer, to experience more of the changing seasons in this part of the country.
But that would depend a lot on Mitch Grainger, Maggie reasoned, suppressing a sudden shiver of indeterminate origin. Why the mere thought of the man should so affect her, she hadn’t a clue. Yet, whenever he came to mind, or Karla mentioned him, a chill trickled the length of her spine.
And he came to mind often throughout the weekend, too often for Maggie’s peace of mind. At odd, disconcerting moments, an image of
him, in full detail and living color, invaded her consciousness. Primarily when she was in bed.
All of a sudden, he’d be there, filling her mind, her senses. She’d experience the weird sensation that she could actually
feel
him, was as aware of him as she had been in his office. She could almost feel the compelling pull of his intent gray eyes, the sensual energy that surrounded him like a magnetic force field.
It was really the strangest sensation, one she had never experienced before, and she didn’t like it. The sensation unnerved her, made her feel chilled, then too warm, tingly and quivery all over.
In a bid to dispel her uneasiness about working closely with him, Maggie conjured defensive images of Todd and every other man she had ever come into contact with who had come on to her.
Her ploy didn’t work; those other images left her completely unaffected. Only the image of Mitch Grainger had the power to make her heart race, her breathing shallow, her nerves twang, as if his long fingers plucked them like guitar strings.
It was all just too ridiculous, Maggie repeatedly chastised herself, firmly, if unconsciously,
entrenched in denial about the root cause of her awareness of him. Still, deep down inside, she knew the energy was sexual, the attraction mutual.
By bedtime Sunday night, to Maggie’s way of thinking, those three days had elapsed much too quickly.