F
or Mitch, those days dragged much too slowly.
Like an animal’s instinctive restlessness before an approaching storm, Mitch felt an inner expectancy, as if something momentous was about to happen. He felt charged, wired, restless, and the feelings were centered around one Maggie Reynolds.
It was the damnedest sensation, unlike anything Mitch had ever felt before in connection to any woman. It bothered him to the point where it interfered with his concentration on his work, and that bothered him even more.
What was it about this particular woman? Mitch asked himself at least two dozen times during those seemingly endless three days.
Unlike his former fiancée, with her near-perfect, symmetrical features, Maggie Reynolds was decidedly not a classical beauty, he continually reminded himself. Yeah, yeah, Maggie was striking, with that tall, slender but curvaceous body, that mass of red hair, those flashing green eyes, those full kiss-me-if-you-dare lips.
Well, Mitch dared, but why the hell should he want to? he wondered, too often. Yes, she was bright, and quick, and cool…oh, so cool.
And yet, her coolness of manner was different from the remote and off-putting detachment that had been integral to Natalie’s personality.
In Maggie, Mitch sensed a coolness based on confidence, not instilled by growing up rich and pampered, but earned by intelligence and competence.
But Mitch instinctively felt there was even more to it than that. There was a wariness within the depths of Maggie’s cool green eyes that spoke of something, he suspected, having to do with men in particular, and not simply reserve or even arrogance. What that something might be teased and tantalized him.
So then, a challenge? Was that her unusual appeal?
Mitch spent an inordinate amount of time mulling that one over. It was possible, he conceded, since a sense of challenge in regards to a woman was a new and novel emotion for him. By and large, Mitch knew he was rather blasé so far as women were concerned, simply because he had never had to go out of his way to attract any woman he had ever shown the slightest interest in, as well as those he had not.
But Maggie Reynolds was different. She had revealed not the slightest interest in him, nor so much as a hint of feeling a bit intimidated by him.
An image of Maggie slipped in and out of his mind at unexpected, inconvenient intervals. Always the same, the image of her was as she had looked while seated across the width of his desk from him. And she had looked anything but a nervous supplicant, anxious about an interview for the employment position she obviously needed.
The picture of self-containment and confidence, Maggie had met and maintained his deliberate and steady regard with a cool composure bordering on detachment.
A challenge? Oh, yeah, Mitch concluded. Maggie Reynolds presented a challenge he couldn’t wait to accept.
By Sunday evening, the sensation of simmering expectancy inside Mitch had ratcheted up to rioting anticipation. Unused to the unfamiliar feelings, he prowled the confines of his spacious apartment two floors above the casino, disgusted and amused in turn by the novel, disruptive emotional, physical and mental effect of the inner heightened eagerness.
It was a relief when his private phone line rang, simply because of its distraction value. Mitch snatched up the receiver on the second ring. The sound of his brother’s voice centered his attention.
“How are you, ole son?” Justin drawled in his usual low, sardonic tones.
“Compared to whom?” Mitch drawled back, a warm smile curving his lips and coloring his voice.
Justin chuckled. “Me, for one.”
Despite his brother’s soft laughter, Mitch frowned with sudden concern. “There’s something wrong with you?”
“Now, Mitch, don’t go tying your guts into
protective big-brother knots,” Justin said. “I’m fine.”
Mitch snorted at the big-brother reference. Less than two years separated them. But he was protective, he acknowledged. He always had been, not only of Justin and their sister, Beth, the baby of the brood, but of Adam, the eldest, who was even more protective of the rest of them. Come to that, a tightly knit group of four—rowdy angels, as their mother had lovingly called them—they were all protective of one another.
“But I do have a problem,” Justin continued, “and I need a favor.”
“Name it,” Mitch said at once. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s Ben.”
“Daniels? He isn’t working out at the ranch?” Mitch asked in surprise.
Though the varied business enterprises of the Grainger Corporation had been headed by Adam since their father’s retirement, Mitch still kept tabs on everything concerning his family. He knew full well the story of Ben Daniels. It had begun the year he turned twenty-two, two years before he had been given control of the Deadwood casino.
Thirteen years before, Ben, a seventeen-year-old orphan, had hired on as a wrangler on the Grainger homestead in Wyoming, where Mitch and his siblings had been born and raised. All of the Graingers, from Mitch’s father and mother, straight down the line of the kids, even Beth, who was three years younger, had taken the tall, lanky Ben under their protective wings.
Over the years Ben had developed a real ability for handling horses. Although he wasn’t to the level of Justin, whose talent with horses was damn near uncanny, Ben had a solid working ability.
As he matured, Ben’s good looks formed into sheer masculine handsomeness, and he was hell with the women. Three years ago, the eighteen-year-old daughter of an influential banker became pregnant and named Ben as the father. Ben denied it, claiming he had never been intimate with the girl, and insisted on a DNA study. It never came to that for, distraught and terrified of her father, the girl had swallowed a lethal dose of her mother’s sleeping pills.
The traumatic incident had nearly destroyed Ben. Depressed, he began drinking, heavily. Afraid he’d wind up destroying himself, Adam had fired him from the homestead ranch, then
rehired and relocated him to the Montana horse spread Justin managed for the family.
But that had all happened three years before, and Mitch had believed Ben had overcome his depression.
“That’s the problem,” Justin said, breaking in to Mitch’s surprised ruminations. “He’s working out too well. Damned man don’t quit.”
“And that’s a problem?” Mitch asked, thinking he should have that problem with—thankfully—a few of his less-ambitious employees.
“Hell, yes, it’s a problem,” Justin said. “At least in Ben’s case it is. He goes nonstop, seven days a week, from before dawn until after nightfall. I don’t think he’s been off the ranch more than five times in the three years he’s been here. You…”
“Just about the same could be said about you,” Mitch cut in to observe about the brother who had always been something of a loner, but even more so after the breakup of his early, ill-fated marriage. “How long has it been since you left the ranch, had a vacation?”
“It’s my place, Mitch, my home, even if it is a part of the family business,” Justin retorted. “Besides, not that it’s any of your business,” he added in a one-upmanship tone, “but I took a
short vacation last week, spent some time in Wyoming with big brother Adam, his gorgeous bride Sunny and our adorable niece Becky.”
A soft smile softened Mitch’s lips at the mention of the two-month-old baby; Becky
was
adorable. “I took a quick trip down week before last,” he said, laughing. “I’m afraid ole Adam is in for a time of it in about fifteen or so years, because our Miss Becky is going to be a beauty.”
“Yeah,” Justin concurred softly. “Anyway, you should see Ben. He’s honed down to nothing but muscle and bone. The man needs a break.”
“So, give him one,” Mitch said. “Tell him to take a vacation, get a little R and R.”
“I did.” Justin sighed. “He refused at first, but I made it an order and he finally agreed. That’s where the favor from you comes in. Can you arrange a hotel room for him?”
“He’s coming to Deadwood?”
“Yeah. Said if he’s got to take a damn vacation, he may as well go there, hang out with you a little when you can spare the time, and lose some of the money he’s stashed away over these past three years.”
“If he’s hell-bent on losing his money, why not go to Vegas, then?”
Justin grunted. “Ben said it’s too crowded, too high-tech and too glitzy.”
“He’s got a point,” Mitch conceded.
“So, can you arrange a room, say at the Bullock Hotel, on short notice?”
“Sure.” Mitch hesitated. “How short?”
“He’s leaving tomorrow morning, should arrive late afternoon or early evening.”
Mitch shook his head. “That is short notice. Why did you wait so long to call me?”
Justin laughed. “I laid the law down just a half hour ago. Ben was not happy.”
“Tough.” Mitch laughed with him. “I’ll see what I can do about the Bullock.”
“Thanks. Ben’ll contact you when he gets in.”
They talked for several more minutes, discussing family business, ranching business, casino business.
“Oh, and Mitch, keep an eye on Ben for me. He seems okay now, but I’d hate to see him go off the rails again,” Justin said before hanging up.
Wonderful, Mitch thought, frowning at the dead phone receiver. Now he was to play keeper
to a thirty-year-old man. Thinking the role had better not interfere with his plans for Maggie Reynolds, he disconnected, punched in the number for the Bullock and secured a room for Ben without a problem.
Maggie drove Karla to work on Monday morning, as prearranged with Mitch Grainger when he drove Karla home from work the previous Friday afternoon.
Maggie and Karla had spent so much of the weekend together, their budding friendship had truly blossomed. Which was fortunate, Maggie figured, as her stream of chatter during the drive could be attributed to the easy camaraderie they now shared.
The nervy, almost queasy feeling had been incrementally growing inside Maggie with each passing day until, this morning, she couldn’t seem to shut up.
“Are you feeling all right?”
Well, so much for the cover of easy camaraderie, Maggie thought, slanting a quick glance at Karla and seeing her quizzical expression of concern.
“Oh, sure, I’m fine,” Maggie answered, in forced tones meant to reassure. “I guess I’m a
bit nervous.” A bit? Try a bunch, she thought, swallowing an anxiety-induced bubble of self-derisive laughter.
Karla’s look of concern gave way to a smile. “I suppose that’s understandable, with starting a new job,” she said. “But, trust me, as I told you before, there’s really nothing to be nervous about.”
Trusting Karla was easy, Maggie thought, managing a smile for the cheery woman. During their gabfest over the weekend, Karla had been open and candid about herself, her life, even her reasons for not telling her parents about her pregnancy. She’d been open about everything—with one exception. Not once had Karla mentioned the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy, or the man who had fathered the child growing inside her.
So, of course, in light of Maggie’s suspicions as to the identity of that man, and that tingly, almost electrifying sensation she had experienced while in his company, it was trusting Mitch Grainger she had doubts about. The troubling thing was, she didn’t have anything concrete on which to place any of those doubts. All she had were her feelings, the vibes her senses had picked up while she had been in his office.
Her senses might have been wrong.
Yeah, and she might win a million-dollar lottery.
Maggie sighed as she pulled onto the employee parking lot. Crunch time. She’d soon know if she had been wrong, at least so far as that charged atmosphere was concerned.
“The first day’s always the hardest,” Karla said as she opened the outer office door. “So, the sooner we get started, the sooner it’ll be over.”
“Makes sense to me,” Maggie agreed, catching the scent of fresh-brewed coffee as she followed Karla into the room. She’d skipped breakfast, and coffee, to allow herself more time to choose just the right clothes to wear—she’d tried on and discarded three perfectly suitable outfits before settling on a favorite skirt suit. The distinctive aroma of coffee set Maggie’s senses clamoring for a strong dose of caffeine.
Alas, it was not to be. Karla sent them crashing with the information that, not only had their esteemed employer started the coffee—a cause for speculation in itself—it was decaf.
“Sorry,” Karla said, her smile rueful. “But Mitch insisted we switch to decaffeinated after I
told him I was pregnant…he said the caffeine was bad for the baby.”
Uh-huh, Maggie mused, her suspicions deepening. But she smiled and shrugged. “No problem,” she said. “It wouldn’t hurt me to cut down on the caffeine, either.” Other than to further irritate nerves already jangling like discordant bells.
“Have a cup,” Karla invited as she headed for the door to the inner office. “And a pastry.” A wave of her hand indicated a selection of Danish pastries and sweet rolls arrayed on a tray next to the coffeemaker.
Mouth watering, stomach rumbling, Maggie was perusing the goodies on the tray when she heard Karla tap on the door and speak to “the boss.”
Mitch knew the minute Karla and Maggie entered the outer office. He knew because he had planned it that way, by leaving his own office door open a crack.
Karla and Maggie were chatting. Mitch caught Karla say something about the first day being the hardest. The statement was certainly true in his case: it was his first day with Maggie in the office, and he was already getting hard.
Damn fool, Mitch cursed himself, disgusted with his body’s immediate response to the muted sound of her voice, the mere idea of her presence. It had been years, long years, since his body had broken free of his mental control.
Sitting still, Mitch blanked out the chatter from the other room and drew slow, deep breaths, exerting his considerable willpower over his physical reaction. It required a lot of deep breaths, but he won the battle.
And not a moment too soon, for he had just returned his attention to the printout sheet on his desk when Karla tapped against his door and pushed it open another inch.