Magdalene (31 page)

A small tributary caught my eye, and I
pointed to it. “What’s that?”

“That’ll go to the mixing bucket for my
dad’s alloy.”

“The one he wants to make high-end domestic
products with.”

“For starters. High-performance engine
blocks, bridge trusses and cables, rails. Other stuff. Medical
instruments and prosthetics, joint replacements. Racing bikes.
Jewelry. Stuff like that.”

Would I
ever
get a handle on this
man?

Suddenly a siren blared. Trevor started and
looked around him, his easygoing face suddenly intense. Its pitch
and volume shattered the nearly deafening clatter of the mill,
which came to a sudden halt all at once, ladles swinging
pendulously from the momentum. I whirled in confusion as men began
shouting and running.

Mitch vaulted out of his cab and sprinted
down the fairway at an impressive speed, Trevor hot on his heels,
then outpacing him—the only one who could. Panic seeped through the
building and I began to run, too, to follow them, to see what had a
foundry full of men frantic.

I gasped when I saw it.

A man sprawled unconscious on a set of metal
stairs, his leg almost completely severed at mid thigh. Mitch and
another man a generation older than he worked determinedly to stem
the blood flow with makeshift tourniquets torn from the man’s
severed pant leg.

It wasn’t working. There was no give to the
cloth and it wasn’t long enough to get a good, tight knot. The best
they could do was pull the ends against each other and hold the
position to keep him from bleeding out.

The blood, the gore... I swayed a bit. No,
it was all I could do to stay upright and watch without puking.

I’ve always been squeamish about bodily
fluids of the thick red variety.

The dangers of a steel mill hadn’t really
settled into me, even when Trevor had pulled me out of the way of
the ladle. He’d seemed so nonchalant about it at the time, but this
place was a death trap, I saw now. Mitch bellowed commands
rapid-fire while he held his end of the tourniquet.

Rescue sirens screamed through the night
almost immediately and an ambulance raced through the concourse
toward the gathered men, who scattered.

Mitch and the old man held the tourniquet as
well as they could until the EMTs could take over with the rubber
ones. It took both EMTs, Mitch, and his compatriot to get the man
and his leg onto the gurney. Without a word, Mitch bounded into the
ambulance and caught the gurney as one paramedic rolled it in and
the other rushed to the driver’s seat. The second paramedic leapt
into the back of the ambulance and the doors slammed shut. The
ambulance shot out of the mill.

“Get back to work,” barked the old man. His
gaze flicked over me before he turned to Trevor. “Go call his wife
and get me the paperwork. You,” he said to me as Trevor broke into
a run to obey. “The hospital’s six miles west of here. Can you find
it?”

I nodded numbly, understanding somewhere in
the back of my mind that he had just ordered me to go to Mitch.

He needs someone to take care of him...
If they were just playing some kind of
game
and ditched him
when they were done with him... That would really suck.

I found Mitch in a dark, private corner of
the nearly empty emergency waiting room. He was sitting on a couch,
slumped over, his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms. I
sat beside him.

“I brought you some food,” I whispered,
hesitant to intrude on him, not knowing how he dealt with such
things. He didn’t respond, and I began to babble. Sheer nerves, I
knew, but I couldn’t help it. “Um, I got you some root beer. And
Sprite, some water. Maybe food wasn’t such a good idea, but you
need to drink something, Mitch.”

He said nothing for a moment. “Sometimes...”
he muttered out from under his hunch, “I really hate that
foundry.”

My mouth dropped open.

“I know what it’s like...uneducated, working
at a filthy dead-end job because you have no other options. You’re
thirty-two, you’ve got nine kids—”

I stared at the plastic tops of the
Styrofoam cups that held the drinks I’d chosen for him, and
offered, “But it’s a well-paying job. Nine kids? That’s
expensive.”

“So what? You’re a little boy, you want to
be a fireman
because
it’s dangerous. Heroic.
Romantic
. You aren’t dreaming about being a peon steel
worker, where your life is at stake because you can’t do anything
else.”

There had never been any trace of young
steel worker Mitch in our relationship, and now it disturbed me to
think he could have been the one to have his leg severed once upon
a time.

“They’ll reattach it,” I said, which was an
utterly stupid thing to say. “At least you kept him from bleeding
to death.”

He glared at me from under his brows. “Six
men have died in my mill,” he growled. “This guy’s leg is just the
latest in a long line of serious injuries. Safety measures— Nothing
guarantees a hundred percent safety.”

My mouth tightened. “Nothing guarantees your
employees won’t be stupid, either.”

He blinked.

“Don’t forget. I know the Steelworks’s stats
inside and out. I know what happened in every case, and I will
not
let you blame yourself, especially after you saved that
man’s life.”

It happened so quickly.

One second I was beside Mitch, snuggling
against him in an inadequate attempt to comfort him, and the next
his big hand was gripping the back of my head, and he was kissing
me.

Hard, harsh.

Urgent.

I opened my mouth instinctively, my tongue
meeting his in a mating dance of adrenaline, testosterone, and
guilt. His cheek was scratchy under my palm, warm, sweaty, and I
sighed into him, closed my eyes to capture more of his taste, his
scent, part sweat, part grease, part expensive cologne—my senses
perfectly attuned to each detail of this moment.

We kissed for long minutes, his mouth on
mine, his tongue sliding along mine—

The perfect kiss from the perfect man.

I pulled away from him slowly to speak, but
he dragged me into his lap and kissed me again. I wrapped my arms
around him, pressed my hip hard against his arousal.

I knew nothing but Mitch.

Nothing but his hands on my body and his
tongue in my mouth.

His body trembling with need.

Mine, too.

The kiss softened into a series of lingering
strokes. “Let me take care of you,” I whispered against his mouth,
as I caressed his face. “Please.”

He stilled. He shifted his hips closer to
mine, closed his eyes, and groaned softly, so softly, against my
cheek. His hand crept up under my sweatshirt and caressed my belly
and torso. Oh, how I ached for him to touch my breast, my nipple...
I shuddered with desire, my pussy wet and ready for him.

I knew what he wanted. I knew how badly he
wanted it. And I knew he would refuse to take any more than he
already had.

But that wasn’t what I offered him now.

“Marry me, Mitch.”

I hadn’t really said that, had I?

He opened his eyes and stared at me,
incredulous. I could feel warmth flooding my face. Of course he
wouldn’t want to marry me, whore that I was and am.

“I’m sorry,” I said and cleared my throat.
“I don’t mean to put you on the spot.” I shifted to leave his lap,
but he held me tight.

“Yes,” he said, hoarse.

I stiffened and looked at him. “Trevor said
you’re a master liar. Are you sure?”

He laughed a laugh completely without humor
and ran his hand down his face. “Am I sure? I’ve wanted it since
New Year’s, but I didn’t expect to get it so fast or without a
fight.”

“I don’t love you.”

“I know what you want. I’m okay with that.
For now.”

“And on your terms.”

He inclined his head. “On my terms.”

“Mr. Hollander!” The voice was female,
panicked, and not quite as loud as the incessant crying of three
children under the age of five. “What happened? Where’s
Johnny?”

Suddenly, Mitch disappeared and CEO
Hollander took his place. Somehow I understood and I slipped off
his lap as discreetly as I could to let him work his magic on this
woman whose husband had had his leg cut off.

There would be legal consequences; it went
without saying. But Hollander Steelworks was nothing if not
cash-rich and well managed by a man who wanted to serve people. He
and his insurance company would do right by this man.

I corralled the children—it seemed my day
had been overrun with the little things—plopped one on each knee
and handed the third the Sprite. “What’s your name?”

He gulped at my boardroom voice, but he
answered anyway. “Wally.”

I gestured to the sofa beside me with my
head. “Sit. Drink. There are burgers in the bag there if you’re
hungry.”

It was a long night.

I didn’t awaken until eight, when my cell
phone rang. I couldn’t get to it because I half sat, half lay on
the sofa, a sleeping child curled up in each arm and the third
sleeping on the other end of the sofa, his legs wrapped around and
over mine.

Didn’t matter, though. I knew who it was by
the ringtone: “Money’s Too Tight to Mention.” I sighed.

“You want me to get that?”

I looked up at Mitch, still filthy, haggard.
I’d lay heavy odds he hadn’t slept at all. “It’s Jack, wanting to
know why I haven’t shown up for work yet.”

Mitch’s lip curled. “I’ll deal with him,” he
said curtly.

“He doesn’t know about you and me.”

He grunted and sat down on a chair across
from the sofa, a coffee table between us. “He annoys me,” Mitch
said, as if he had nothing better to say.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. I like him in
small doses, but a little bit of Blackwood goes a long way.”

I could respect that, particularly since it
was true. “Sebastian seems to be the only one who can really handle
him.”

“Sebastian understands him. I don’t. It’s as
simple as that.”

“I can’t imagine you not understanding
anyone,” I said.

A corner of his mouth quirked. “You have no
idea how much I don’t understand.”

“Like?”

“Like why you persist with that stupid
reason for going into prostitution.”

I felt as if he had slapped me. “Are you on
that
again
?” I snapped. “I’m a bulldozer, not a sneak. If I
say I was bored, that’s what I mean.”

“You’re a bad liar,” he returned. “Does
anybody
believe that?”

I was fuming. “I thought you said this
family had nine kids in it. Where are the other six?”

Suddenly, he grinned and I knew I had
betrayed something significant, but I didn’t know what. What I did
know was that he wasn’t going to leave this alone until he had
pulled out of me whatever it was he wanted me to say.

“Decker sent Trevor out to their house to
take care of them so Kathy could come here. These three,” he said,
gesturing to the ones that slept on top of me, “wouldn’t leave
their mother.”

“How’s Johnny?”

“Well, he could be better, but he’s alive,
his leg’s back on with all the nerves attached, and he’s on good
drugs.”

That would have pulled a smile out of me
except for the creeping wetness I noticed against my leg. “Oh,
shit,” I breathed as I looked down. “The girl peed on me.”

Mitch had the gall to laugh. “Is she still
in diapers?”

I glared at him as I plucked the waistband
away from the two-year-old to check. “Yes.”

He stood then, but listed to his right.
“I’ll get the biggest size they have,” he rasped, his humor gone
and exhaustion etching his face—and he didn’t think twice about
pushing himself beyond his limits to keep the situation under
control.

“You will not,” I snapped. He looked at me
uncertainly, so I used my boardroom voice. “Mitch. Sit. Now.”

He sat. Slowly, watching me warily.

“I’ll clean her up and beg diapers from the
nurses.”

I pointed to the coffee table with the
carcasses of cheeseburgers and French fries. “Eat. There’s nothing
wrong with it except it’s cold and has cooties.”

“Bossy,” he muttered, but did as I said
while I roused the children.

After descending upon the nurse’s station to
demand the diapers and the other accoutrements I needed, then
herding the children into a large family restroom, they were at
least clean, dry, and presentable. I had shucked my own jeans and
cleaned the pee spot as well as I could, but it would take a while
to dry; I had to resign myself to the fact that everyone who saw me
would think I peed my own pants. The two-year-old twirled in her
makeshift skirt of a receiving blanket held together with safety
pins as if she were a princess. The cafeteria people acted suitably
impressed with her outfit.

I sat all three of them down at a table to
eat. They chattered like magpies and I was hard pressed to keep up
with all the “Oh really?”s and “Uh huh”s and “Wow”s the
conversation required, not to mention the “Don’t you dare do that
again”s and the necessity for leveling the evil eye. My evil eye
had worked on more adults than I could count and worked quite well
on children I had not borne. “Miss Cassie?” said the oldest.
“Where’s my mom?”

There was a beat of silence before the
clamoring and crying started, which only grew in intensity. It was
as if they’d forgotten her for a short period of time during their
little adventure, though why they found me comforting I didn’t
know. It took some doing before I’d hunted the mother down,
sleeping in a chair beside her husband’s bed. He was awake and his
face lit up when he saw his children, who squealed with delight and
rushed to him.

My head hurt.

I left once I was assured the father was
okay and the mother was in a position to be able to take over, but
I couldn’t forget the way the children had run to him.