King of the Mountain (5 page)

His top-of-the-line work boots still bore a shine; the heavy-duty pants legs hugged his muscles like a wanton lover; and the double-sewn seams of his shirt barely contained his broad shoulders.

“Why are you dressed like that?” she blurted out, for the moment forgetting entirely about the Blazer.

He cooled his blood to a slow simmer and grinned invitingly. “Come in, and I’ll tell you over a cup of coffee.”

Realizing this might be her only chance to see how the other half lived, she said, “Fine” and followed him into a high-ceilinged reception hall that could have held her whole house.

A king’s ransom, of Oriental rugs covered highly waxed parquet floors. The theatricality of dark walls and light moldings provided the perfect backdrop for museum quality paintings and living room furniture, while the rock crystal chandelier in the dining room simply took her breath away.

When he led her through the library she thought she’d died and gone to heaven. A wall of books—some of them first editions, most of them hardbacks, and all of them lovingly worn—promised hours of pure reading pleasure. Only later did she realize she hadn’t even looked at the other furnishings.

The combination European-style kitchen and
glass-walled sun room had every modern convenience anyone could want. But the room still had a centuries-old charm that remained in keeping with the rest of the house.

“I remodeled in here after my parents died,” Ben explained. “I never liked eating all my meals in the dining room.”

“They were killed in an airplane crash, weren’t they?” Kitty remembered because she’d been recovering from her miscarriage when she’d heard about it. She found it ironic now that they’d both suffered such life-changing losses at the same time.

He nodded curtly and gestured her toward the suede wraparound sofa in the sun room that bore scant resemblance to a ordinary couch. “That’s where I ‘potato out’ when I’m home.”

“I can see why.” She stepped to the sun room windows, which faced west and commanded a breathtaking view of the valley. White mist rose from the creek and the hollows far below, while blue-green pines marched in grand and glorious precision across the razorbacked ridges of distant hills.

She crossed back to the kitchen, and could picture him relaxing on the sofa, brandy snifter in hand, enjoying a spectacular sunset or watching a television show on the built-in entertainment center.

He poured two cups of coffee, handed her one, then lazed back against a center island brightly
christened by a skylight. “Cream and sugar are on the table.”

She passed on those but took both a seat and a sip of her coffee before getting down to business. “Okay, what gives with the coveralls?”

Folding his arms over his impressive chest, he eyed her steadily. “You said some things last night that really made me think.”

Hot color climbed her cheeks as she remembered what she’d said. But she waited wordlessly for him to elaborate.

“I finally decided that a mine engineering degree is no way to learn coal mining.” He paused, letting that sink in for a second. “If I want to understand the miners’ demands, I have to go underground.”

Coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, and she reached for a napkin. “You mean—”

“I’ve postponed the bargaining talks for a couple of weeks so I can go to work in the mine,” he confirmed. “And I want you to show me the ropes.”

“Me?” She swabbed up her spill, hoping he wouldn’t think she was a complete klutz. “Why me?”

“Why not?” He set his cup down, picked up the soggy napkin, and tossed it in the trash. “I made some phone calls last night, and aside from the fact you’re considered something of a rabble rouser, you’re known as one of the best when it comes to training the new miners.”

She shrugged off the left-handed compliment. “I’m not sure how well you’ll be received.”

“Let me worry about that, okay?”

“Okay.” What else could she say?

He sat down across from her, all but demanding, “You’ll do it, then?”

She stared down into the dregs of her coffee, stalling for time. “It’s kind of hard to say no to the owner.”

“Don’t think of me as the owner.” He reached over and slid a gentle finger under her chin, urging it up. “Think of me as another trainee.”

They were opposites in every sense of the word. Owner and miner. Management and union. Rich and poor. But when his gray eyes met her blue ones, each discovered the most exquisite difference of all.

A tension as old as time invaded the contemporary kitchen.

“Please.” Even as Ben played his trump card, he savored the realization she hadn’t cringed at his touch.

“All right.” Even as Kitty caved in, she knew the memory of his caressing finger would stay with her forever.

The tension retreated. Ben retracted his hand and reached for her empty cup. “So, where do we start?”

Kitty breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed his purpose really was learning about the mine. “By taking off your watch.”

“My watch?” He crooked his arm and glanced down at his hair-dusted wrist.

She didn’t know a Rolex from a Timex, but she recognized real gold when she saw it. “The machinery we use will ruin the mechanism.”

“I never thought of that.” He removed the watch and set it on the center island with their dirty cups, then rubbed his hands together. “What next?”

“A lunch.” She stood, prepared to help him make one.

He removed a black metal lunch box that was identical to hers from the refrigerator and opened it for her inspection. “A sandwich, an apple, and the piéce de résistance”—he poked at the plastic-wrapped package as he spoke—“Twinkies.”

“Twinkies?” An indulgent smile tipped her lips.

“Man does not live by bologna sandwiches alone,” he deliberately misquoted.

Laughing now, she pointed him in what she thought was the direction of the front door. “You’d better get moving or you’re going to be late.”

Grabbing the pit helmet he’d stashed in a cabinet, he executed a courtly bow and said in mock servility, “After you, boss lady.”

“But of course.” She sniffed in playful hauteur, picking up one pant leg as if it were the skirt of a ball gown and preceded him out of the kitchen.

Kitty found herself enjoying their repartee so much, she forgot—again!—to check out the library furnishings. Ben simply enjoyed the view,
his eyes following the subtle sway of her hips every step of the way.

When they reached the driveway, she stopped dead in her tracks, finally remembering what had brought her here in the first place. “About the Blazer—”

“Like it?” He squelched his disappointment that the show was over and, taking his cue from the pugnacious tilt of her chin, prepared himself for a battle royal.

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly. “But I can’t keep it.”

“Why the hell not?” He’d called the dealer at home last night and promised him a bonus if he had it in her driveway before dawn.

She climbed into the Blazer. “It’s too expensive.”

He cut around behind it. “I can afford it.”

“What are you doing?” she demanded when he parked his imposing carcass in the passenger seat.

He set his helmet and lunch pail on the floor between his feet, then fastened his seat belt. “Catching a ride to work.”

“What’s the matter with your car?”

“It’s in the shop.” He eyed her meaningfully. “Seems the front bumper and most of the grillwork—not to mention the hood ornament—are embedded in the back of your car.”

That beautiful black Cadillac, ruined! And she hadn’t even noticed!

“I feel terrible,” she admitted as she started the
Blazer. “I assumed because it was still running, it was all right.”

“It’s nothing that can’t be fixed,” he assured her.

“That’s a relief.” She shifted into drive and started down the hill, then got back to the business at hand. “Now, about the Blazer—”

“It’s a real beauty, isn’t it?” He opened the well between their seats and peered inside, smiling when he saw her helmet and lunch box stowed side by side. “Where’s your billfold?”

“In the glove—” She broke off in exasperation when he boldly transferred her billfold from the glove compartment to the well. “Would you please leave my things alone?”

“It’s safer there.” Still holding the lid up, he reached down with his free hand. “I think there’s room to store my stuff in there too.”

“I don’t care if there’s enough room to store the entire state of Kentucky,” she grated out through her teeth, “I am not keeping this car.”

“It’s already titled in your name,” he reminded her.

“I’ll just sign it over to you,” she retorted.

“You really don’t want the Blazer?”

“You got it.”

“Then tell me what you do want.”

“Another car like the one I lost.”

He shot her an impatient glance. “A clunker.”

She counted to ten in an effort not to shout at him. “It drove like a dream.”

“The guy who towed it said you didn’t have a plug wire worth a plugged nickel.”

“What does he know?”

“He runs a salvage business on the side.”

Kitty scoffed. “He was just trying to keep from paying you top dollar for it.”

“That’s what I thought until I inspected it myself.” Ben shook his head in disbelief. “Your brake drums and shoes were shot to hell, and your muffler was hanging by a piece of solder.”

“I know it needed some work.” Stubborn pride kept her from telling him there wasn’t room in her budget for repairs. “But it always started on the first turn of the key and it always took me where I was going.”

He gave her a long, measuring look, but let it go at that.

Silence sat between them like an extra passenger, growing rife with unsaid things as the winding mountain road loomed into view.

The sun came over the mountain, burning away the mist and brushing the trees with the fiery orange and gold and red of autumn. The scene looked so tranquil in the morning light, it was hard to believe that tragedy had been narrowly avoided the night before.

Rounding the curve where they’d collided, their thoughts ran a similar but silent course. Kitty realized how secure she felt in the bigger, better-equipped Blazer; Ben realized that money was no object where her safety was concerned.

The argument wasn’t over, simply deferred by tacit agreement as they turned into the mining camp.

“You can park in my spot if you want.” Ben pointed to the empty space conveniently located near the entrance to the mine.

Kitty pulled into her usual parking place, next to the women’s trailer, and killed the engine. “You can walk like the rest of the trainees.”

“Touché.” A shaft of mischief glittered in his flint-gray eyes as he removed their pit helmets and lunch boxes from the well. “Last one there is a rotten egg.”

“Hope you brought gloves,” she said when they were halfway across the parking lot.

“Sure did.” Without breaking his long-legged stride, he produced a brand-new pair from his back pocket.

The whistle blew just as they reached the main shaft.

“Made it,” Kitty said breathlessly. She timed in, then grabbed two small lanterns off the shelf by the clock and handed one to Ben.

“What’s this for?”

She hooked the one she’d kept to her belt. “If the flame flares up, you’ve run into methane gas.”

He followed suit. “And if it goes out?”

“You’ve run out of oxygen.”

The other miners had gone on down, so they had the mantrap to themselves.

Ben stood aside while Kitty boarded. She caught
a whiff of bay rum and the subtle essence of male, the former already too familiar to her and the latter reacquainting her with feelings better left forgotten.

He stepped on behind her, his shoulders practically spanning the steel cell, and punched the button. The door closed, the gears squeaked, the trap shuddered. She stared at the ceiling as they began their descent.

“Let’s stop somewhere for breakfast,” Ben suggested his second morning on the job.

“I ate with Jessie.”

“All right.” He rephrased his suggestion. “Let’s stop somewhere so
I
can have breakfast and you can watch me eat.”

Kitty laughed and shook her head, but she pulled in at the next place they came to, a small café halfway between the mansion on the hill and the mine. “How’s this?”

“Great.” His stomach grumbled, seconding the motion. “I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”

“We’ve only about forty minutes before the whistle blows.” After she’d dropped Jessie off at school, she’d gone directly to Ben’s. He’d been waiting for
her in the driveway, lunch box and pit helmet in hand.

“I’ll eat fast,” he promised, climbing out of the Blazer and coming around to open her door.

A rush of warm, savory odors greeted them as they stepped inside and took the bottle-green-vinyl booth near the picture window. They’d missed the early morning truckers, and since most of the miners ate at home, they had the café all to themselves.

“Let me know when you’re ready to order.” A young waitress in a pink uniform slid two menus across the Formica table that separated them.

“Just coffee for me,” Kitty said.

Ben ordered two eggs over easy, a slab of hash browns, and a cut of ham.

“Is that all?” The waitress held her pencil poised above her pad.

“Does it come with toast?”

“Does if you ask for it.”

“Toast and coff—no, wait.” Ben spied the peppermint-green mixer behind the counter and changed his order. “Make that a chocolate milk shake instead of coffee.”

“For breakfast?” Kitty asked in disbelief.

“Any time is chocolate milk shake time.” He hadn’t had a real old-fashioned one in years.

The waitress didn’t bat an eye as she snapped her pad closed and went to pass Ben’s order along to the cook. She brought Kitty’s coffee, then began making the milk shake.

“Hear that?” Ben cocked his head toward the counter.

“Hear what?” Kitty didn’t notice anything unusual.

“The beaters hitting the cup.”

She heard it then, the soft clank of metal on metal.

“That’s what puts the flavor in.”

“Pretty poetic for a playboy.” She meant it in a teasing fashion, so she was surprised to see his gray eyes go dark and his black brows draw together in a frown.