The Dakota Man. Joan Hohl
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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