Miner's Daughter (10 page)

Where had his brain gone begging? Why, why
did he care what the ridiculous chit thought of him? Why did it
gall him so to know that she despised him? She despised
him
,
for the love of God! She didn’t have two cents to rub together.
Why, Tony Ewing could buy her precious mine right out from under
her, and she wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing to stop him

Except bash him with a rock.

Which made him want to laugh out loud. And
then turn her over his knee and spank her the way her father should
have done.

And that was another thing. Her loyalty to a
man who’d obviously been deranged irked Tony. It wasn’t a quality
with which Tony was familiar, loyalty. He could recall his father,
many times, cutting men off at the knees who’d been his staunchest
supporters only a short time earlier.

That’s the way Tony had been taught to
believe the world worked.

Until he’d met Mari Pottersby, who seemed
willing to undergo the torments of hell out of loyalty to a dead
father who didn’t deserve such reverence. Shoot, if it had been his
father—but Tony, shocked by the turn his thoughts had taken,
desisted. His father might be a bastard, but he was a shrewd
businessman, and Tony honored him for it.

Not for Maurice Ewing the mawkish
sentimentality displayed by Mari for her dead parent. If old
Maurice had met Mari’s father, he’d have set him straight with one
or two painful home truths. Then he’d have taken the Marigold Mine
and done something with it, sending Mari to the poorhouse along
with her old man.

“Do you need another rag?”

Tony’s troubled thoughts had led him away
from the damage Tiny had done to his formerly immaculate summer
suit. Mari’s snappish question dragged him back again. “What? Oh.”
He glanced down to see that he’d been rubbing one dirty patch of
his left shoulder for several seconds without paying attention to
his job. “Yes, I guess so.” Because she irked him so damned much,
he frowned at her.

She frowned back. “Here.” She thrust a rag at
him.

“Watch out!” He jumped back too late to avoid
soapy water dripping onto the knee of his trousers. “Damn it, are
you determined to drown me today, or what?”

“Oh, stop whining. Anybody with an ounce of
sense knows better than to wear light colors out here in the
desert.”

Tony practically threw his old rag at her as
he grabbed the wet one out of her outstretched hand. “That’s
nonsense. Light colors reflect the sun. You’re wearing white.” So
there.

She lifted that stubborn chin of hers and
glared into his eyes. Her own eyes looked large and luminous in the
blazing sunlight. How did she always manage to look so clean and
cool in this ghastly climate? She was probably used to it. Tony
started in on his other shoulder. When he squinted down at the one
he’d just scrubbed, his temper spurted up again. These rags of hers
were doing no good.

“I may wear white, but I’m not silly enough
to wear a fancy city suit out here,” she retorted.

“Of course not,” Tony growled through his
teeth. “You don’t have one.” He added furiously, “Drat, this will
never come clean.”

“Fiddlesticks.”

Nevertheless, she appeared doubtful as she
viewed his jacket. She even tutted softly. “Take it off, will you?
Let me look at it. Maybe I can soak it clean or something.”

“I don’t trust you,” he said nastily.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!”

“Listen, Miss Pottersby, it isn’t my dog that
attacks visitors and mauls them—and don’t tell me he doesn’t maul
people, either. Your dog’s a menace. It ought to be destroyed.”
Tony would never, ever destroy a dog for being friendly, even if it
was too large and too exuberant. His annoyance with Mari, however,
was so great that his tongue ran away with his better sense. He’d
seldom spoken rashly to anyone either, because he’d always been a
prudent man. Until now.

Mari drew away from him as if his very
presence offended her; as if he were a monster out of her worst
nightmare. Her lower lip trembled. Tony watched fascinated.

“You-you wouldn’t.” The words were only a
hoarse scrape against the blistering air.

Good God, she was going to cry. Tony couldn’t
believe his eyes.

“You beast.” She swiped a hand across her
cheek as if she were mad at herself for succumbing to tears. “You
can’t hurt Tiny.”

Probably true. Hell, he didn’t even want to.
He was only peeved with himself for allowing the dog to get the
better of him. He actually kind of liked Tiny. He was a good dog.
And friendly. A little too friendly, given his size.

Tony didn’t want to admit it. Let the
insufferable woman worry for a while. He said coldly, “The animal
is a menace. If you can’t control it, it ought to be put away.”

“No.”

If her eyes got any bigger, Tony might just
fall into them and drown. She was going to be spectacular on film.
Magnificent. The public was going to fall in love with her. She’d
have all the men in the United States wanting to many her.

For some reason, Tony’s temper erupted again.
“If you want to keep that monster dog, Miss Pottersby, I suggest
you figure out how to control it.”

“If you so much as lay a finger on my dog, I
swear, I’ll-I’ll—” Her voice started shaking as if it were being
disturbed by a strong wind, and she had to stop and clear her
throat. “I’ll shoot you.”

Tony scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only
a dog.” He’d never been allowed to own a dog. His father didn’t
like them.

For some time now, Tony had wondered if his
father’s distaste stemmed from the possibility that a dog in the
house might garner attention, thus deflecting it from Maurice. Tony
prided himself on being a realist. He knew his father’s ego needed
constant pampering.

“Tiny is all I have, you horrid man.”

Good Lord, her voice had gone positively
lethal. Miss Marigold Pottersby could be a volatile female without
half trying, couldn’t she? “I thought your precious mine was all
you had,” he said, feeling spiteful as he did so.

“It is. The mine and Tiny. If you do anything
to either one of them, I’ll—” She stopped speaking abruptly.

Tony thought he knew why. He sneered down at
her. “You’ll what? Kill me? Don’t be silly. You signed a
contract.”

“There’s nothing in the contract that says
you get to do anything bad to my dog,” she snarled. “And you’d
better not.”

This conversation was becoming more
preposterous by the second. Tony would never hurt an animal for no
better reason than that it got his clothes dirty. He couldn’t
understand why he’d threatened Mari with the destruction of Tiny.
Such tactics were underhanded and mean; they made him sick.

He wouldn’t admit as much to Mari in a
million years. He yanked his jacket off. “Here. You said you might
be able to clean this.” He shoved it at her.

“Not until you promise me you won’t hurt
Tiny.”

She hugged his jacket to her bosom, and her
face held a combination of terror and defiance that made Tony feel
unpleasantly guilty

“Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not in the habit of
hurting dogs.”

“That’s not what you said. You said—”

“Damnation, I know what I said!” He hated
getting trapped in situations of his own making. His father never
got tangled up like this. Of course; his father was the meanest son
of a bitch on the eastern seaboard. “I promise I won’t hurt your
damned dog. Are you happy now?”

She sniffed. “No.” Her eyes went slitty. “And
I’m not sure I trust you. I’ll talk to Mr. Tafft about it. Maybe he
can write an amendment to our contract or something.”

“For the love of—” Tony sucked in a couple of
bushels of air. He leaned over and thrust his face close to Mari’s.
He awarded her a mental gold star for not flinching away from him.
Rather, she stood her ground and glared back at him, although she
still held his jacket the way she might hold a shield. “I will not
hurt your dog. I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. There.
Are you satisfied now? You don’t need to talk to Martin.”

“Well . . .”

“I swear it.”

Mari held her rebellious pose for- another
second or two, then gave it up. Tony felt an irrational surge of
triumph. It really wasn’t much of a victory to manage to intimidate
an impoverished girl. He was ashamed of himself.

With a toss of her head, Mari turned. “I’ll
see what I can do for this jacket”

“Fine.” Tony propped his fists on his hips
and glowered after her. “You do that.”

Damn, she had pretty hair. It shone like the
richest mahogany in the fierce sunlight. Today she’d brushed it
back from her face and knotted it at the nape of her neck, a
practical style for the place she lived in and the kind of work she
usually did. She wore no hat, which didn’t amaze him. She was
absolutely devoid of any sense of propriety. Any proper female wore
a hat outdoors. It was de rigueur. Expected. Polite. Not to mention
necessary in this hellish desert.

Not Mari Pottersby. Defiant as ever, she.
Tony wished like thunder that he didn’t feel like throwing his head
back and laughing—and then thanking God he’d met her.

The darned jacket would never be clean again.
Mari had soaked it in water and washing soda, then scrubbed it on
the washboard on which she did her own laundry. “Blast it, Tony—I
mean Tiny—why did you have to take a shine to him? I can’t afford
to replace his expensive clothes when you ruin them.”

Hearing his name, Tiny lifted his ham-like
head, grinned, and wagged his tail. Mari sighed. “Oh, I know. You
were just being friendly. But I wish you wouldn’t jump on
people.”

If she were worth a grain of sand, she’d have
trained him not to leap on people before this. But had she?
Heavens, no. Mari had thought it was fun to have a dog that scared
the bejesus out of people, but was as gentle as a dandelion
puff.

“I can really be stupid sometimes, Tiny,” she
mumbled, scrubbing hard.

When she lifted the jacket out of the soapy
water and inspected it, Mari sighed heavily. “It’s better.” She
hoped it wouldn’t shrink. Then again, if it did shrink, she guessed
it wouldn’t matter much. It was probably ruined already.

On that happy note, she lugged the tub over
to her sparse kitchen garden and dumped it out to irrigate her food
supply. The carrots, cabbages, tomatoes, and onions growing there
were used to being watered with leftover wash water. Everyone’s
garden around Mojave Wells was used to it. People joked about not
having to wash their vegetables because they were already clean
from all the soapy water dumped on them during the growing season.
Soap was supposed to be bad for plants, but Mari guessed it was
diluted enough not to affect these hardy specimens.

She was ashamed of herself for thinking how
nice it would be to have running water and indoor plumbing. That
sort of idle dreaming resulted in nothing but discontent, and Mari
didn’t need it. She had her father’s mine to run. And if some of
that money Peerless seemed to heave about by the truckload landed
on her, that was what she’d do with it.

It was stupid to think about installing hot
and cold running water. Nonsensical. Folks didn’t need such
luxuries, especially around here, where there was hard work to do
and no slacking allowed.

With a sigh, she lugged the heavy tub back
inside the dingy cabin and hung it on its peg above the sink. As
she wiped a hand across her sweaty forehead and scanned her earthly
possessions, she told herself not to waste time in idle
daydreams.

Unfortunately, she spelled the word wrong in
her head, and it came out idyll.

“Blast! Stop it this minute, Mari
Pottersby!”

Tiny lifted his huge head and peered sleepily
at her Mari said, “It’s all right, boy. Only a momentary
aberration. I ought to take lessons from you on how to live. You
don’t crave what you can’t have. All you do is enjoy each day as it
comes.”

And eat. Tiny ate tons, sometimes more than
Mari could easily provide. The Peerless money would come in handy
for feeding Tiny, too.

In order to keep her mind from dwelling on
useless fancies, Mari started singing. She couldn’t carry a tune in
a bucket, but she loved music anyway. The only time she ever heard
music was when she went to church, so most of her repertoire
consisted of hymns.

She sang them loudly until, when she took
Tony’s jacket outside to hang on, the line, she noticed the
Peerless crew who were pounding the mine shaft into shape had all
stopped pounding in favor of looking at her. They were probably all
pausing to be thankful motion pictures were silent, given her
voice. Like a dog with its tail between its legs, she scurried back
into her home, embarrassed and put out.

“Oh, Tiny, I’m not used to people being
around all the time. I’m used to my privacy.” In fact, she felt
invaded and violated. The sensation was most uncomfortable.

Mari also wasn’t used to making painful
confessions and asking for forgiveness. Two hours later, as she
neatly folded Tony’s once-fashionable jacket and braced herself to
take it back to him, she rehearsed the confession she’d have to
make to him She continued all the way to the Mojave Inn.

That was the easy part. The hard part came
next, when she was supposed to ask him to forgive her for allowing
her dog to ruin his clothes.

“Forgive, heck,” she muttered, building up
quite a head of steam as she walked. “What do I have to be forgiven
for? I wasn’t the one who wore a fancy suit to Mojave Wells. It
isn’t my fault my dog likes him.”

This was the first instance since Tiny had
come into her life that she’d looked on him as a traitor. Still,
she’d known for a long time that although Tiny might be very big,
his brain wasn’t. Anyhow, it still wasn’t her fault the silly dog
had taken a liking to the blasted millionaire.