Circle Of Gold. Diana Palmer
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took her hands off the keyboard and looked up at him with wounded eyes. “Why?”
The question surprised him. He scowled, trying to think up a fair answer. Nothing came to mind, which made him even madder.
“I don’t have any ulterior motives,” she said simply. “I like the girls very much, and they like me. I don’t understand why you don’t want me to associate with them. I don’t have a bad character. I’ve never been in trouble in my life.”
“I didn’t think you had,” he said angrily.
“Then why can’t I play with them?” she persisted. “Miss Parsons is turning them into little robots. She won’t let them play because they get dirty, and she won’t play with them because it isn’t dignified. They’re miserable.”
“Discipline is a necessary part of childhood,” he said curtly. “You spoil them.”
“For heaven’s sake, somebody needs to! You’re never here,” she added shortly.
“Stop right there, while you still have a job,” he interrupted, and his eyes made threats. “Nobody tells me how to raise my kids. Especially not some frumpy little backwoods secretary!”
Frumpy? Backwoods? Her eyes widened. She stood up. She was probably already fired, so he could just get it from the hip. “I may be frumpy,” she admitted, “and I may be from the backwoods, but I know a lot about little kids! You don’t stick them in a closet until they’re legal age. They need to be challenged, made curious about the world around them. They need nurturing. Miss Parsons isn’t going to nurture them, and Mrs. Charters doesn’t have time to. And you aren’t ever here at bedtime, even if you’re not away on business,” she repeated bluntly. “Whole weeks go by when you barely have time to tell them good-night. They need to be read to, so they will learn to love books. They need constructive supervision. What they’ve got is barbed wire and silence.”
His fists clenched by his sides, and his expression darkened. She lifted her chin, daring him to do anything.
“You’re an expert on children, I guess?” he chided.
“I took care of one,” she said, her eyes darkening. “For several months.”
“Why did you quit?”
He was assuming that she’d meant a job. She didn’t. The answer to his question was a nightmare. She couldn’t bear to remember it. “I wasn’t suited to the task,” she said primly. “But I won’t corrupt your little girls by speaking to them.”
He was still glowering. He didn’t want Kasie to grow close to the girls. He didn’t want her any closer to him than a desk and a computer was. His eyes went involuntarily to the desk piled high with Pauline’s undone work. The files were supposed to have been converted to computer months earlier, when he’d hired the woman. He’d assumed that it had been done, because she was always ready with the information he needed. He felt suddenly uneasy.
“Check out Black Ribbon’s growth information for me,” he said suddenly.
She hesitated, but apparently she was still working for him. She sat down and pulled the information up on the computer. He went to his desk and pulled a spreadsheet from a drawer. He brought it to Kasie and had her compare it with the figures she’d just put into the computer. There was a huge difference, to his favor.
He said a word that caused Kasie’s face to grow bright red. That disturbed him, but he didn’t allude to it. “I’ve made modifications to improve what seemed like a deficiency in diet. Now it looks as if it wasn’t even necessary. How long will it take you to get the breeding herd information transcribed?”
“Well, I’ve done about a third of it,” she said. “But John has letters and information to be compiled for this new show…”
“You’re mine until we get this information on the computer. I’ll make it all right with John.”
“What about Pauline?” she asked worriedly.
“Pauline is my concern, not yours,” he told her.
“Okay, boss. Whatever you say.”
He made an odd gesture with one shoulder and gave her a long scrutiny. “I told you to let me know if there was too much work. Why didn’t you?”
“I thought I could keep up,” she said simply. “I wouldn’t have complained as long as I could do it within a couple of weeks, and I can.”
“Working fourteen-hour shifts,” he chided.
“Well, work is work,” she said. “I don’t mind. It’s not as if I have an active social life or an earthshaking novel to write or anything. And I get paid a duke’s ransom as it is.”
He frowned. “Why don’t you have a social life?”
“Because cowboys stink,” she shot right back.
He started to speak, burst out laughing and walked to the door. “Stop that and go to bed. I’ll have you some help by morning. Good night, Kasie.”
“Good night, Mr. Callister.”
He hesitated, turned, studied her, but he didn’t speak. He left her tidying up and went upstairs to change out of his work clothes and have a shower.
The next morning, when she went into the office, Pauline was there and so was Gil. They stopped talking when Kasie walked in, so she assumed that they’d been talking about her. Apparently it hadn’t been in a friendly way. Pauline’s delicate features were drawn in anger and Gil’s eyes were narrow and glittery.
“It’s about time you got down here!” Pauline said icily.
“It’s eight twenty-five,” Kasie said, taken aback. “I’m not supposed to be in here until eight-thirty.”
“Well, let’s get started, then,” Pauline said, flopping down at the computer.
“Doing what, exactly?” Kasie asked, disconcerted.
“Teach her how to put information on the computer,” Gil said in a voice that didn’t invite argument. “And while she’s doing that, you can tackle John’s work.”
Kasie grimaced. Her pupil didn’t look eager or willing. It was going to be a long morning.
It was, too. Pauline made the job twice as tedious, questioning every keystroke twice and grumbling—when Gil was out of the office—about having to work with Kasie.
“Look, this wasn’t my idea,” Kasie assured her. “I could do it myself if Mr. Callister would just let me.”
Pauline didn’t soften an inch. “You’re trying to get his attention, playing up to those kids,” she accused. “You want him.”
Kasie just looked at her. “I love children,” she said quietly. “But I don’t want to get married.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” Pauline chided.
Kasie averted her eyes. “I needed a job and John needed a secretary,” she murmured as she turned a spreadsheet page.
“Funny. You call him John, but Gil is ‘Mr. Callister.’ Why?”
The younger woman blinked. “John is just a few years older than I am,” she replied.
Pauline frowned. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
There was a long pause. “Well!” she said finally. She pursed her lips and entered a number into the computer. “You think Gil is old, do you?”
“Yes.” She didn’t, really, but it seemed safer to say so. She did, after all, have to work with this perfumed barracuda for the immediate future.
Pauline actually smiled. But only for a minute. “What do I do now?” she asked when she