Miner's Daughter (26 page)

“I don’t hate you, either,” she said
quietly.

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love, but
it was a start. And Tony didn’t know if he wanted any declarations
of love. He didn’t think he was ready for them. He was certainly
ready to know Mari, though, both in the intellectual and the carnal
sense. Since he knew that he probably couldn’t get the latter
without some kind of commitment, he wasn’t pushy. This was a
preliminary investigation, sort of a trial run.

“I’m glad,” he murmured against the skin of
her throat. She had an elegant neck.

He kissed her lips again, caressing them with
his own, gently teasing her mouth open. Taking care not to frighten
her, he allowed his tongue to play against her full lower lip. She
gasped but didn’t draw away from him. His hands finally wandered to
right beneath her breasts, and he let them rest there, where he
could barely feel the softness of her curves heavy against them. He
wanted to cover them and feel her nipples pebble, to taste her, to
let his tongue work magic on her.

But that would have to wait. He didn’t want
to frighten her more than he wanted most things in life. The
knowledge came as a surprise to him; almost as much a surprise as
his urge to protect her and make her life easier.

She murmured his name so softly he almost
didn’t hear it, and in a tone that thrilled him. “You’re a
beautiful Mari,” he responded, then deepened the kiss so that his
tongue barely penetrated her open mouth. She tasted like
heaven.

He wanted her to explore his body with her
hands, too, but she was shy. He didn’t push her, although the ache
in his groin was so strong, he had to restrain himself from
grabbing her hand and pressing it to the bulge in his trousers.
Lord, he wanted her. He couldn’t recall wanting another woman as he
wanted Mari, although he’d had women before.

Tony’s list of conquests wasn’t long. They
consisted primarily of society dames who were bored with their
husbands. He wasn’t proud of himself for playing that game,
although he’d done it. The notion of loving a woman and of having
her bed another man had stopped him from seeking pleasures of the
flesh far more often than he’d succumbed to his carnal urges.
Which, he supposed, made him rather like Mari in that regard. He
possessed a trace of honor, if no more than that.

He had no earthly idea how long they’d sat on
those two hard chairs of hers, kissing and exploring each other in
the desert darkness. He’d become sidetracked somewhere in a sensual
haze and lost track of time, when a sudden noise brought them both
to attention.

Tony’s arms still held on to Mari, and hers
were still wrapped around him, when all at once Tiny bounded into
the scene. Tony muttered, “Good God,” when the gigantic black shape
showed itself against the grayer blackness of the night. “He could
pass for the Hound of the Baskervilles without half trying,
couldn’t he?”

Mari giggled. “Except he’s not a hound.”

“Whatever he is, if you didn’t know it was
him, you might be scared.”

She sighed, which Tony took for agreement. He
didn’t want to do it, but he released her, figuring it would be
better for both of them to have hands free in order to fend off
Tiny’s loving advances should he make any. He wanted to inspect
Mari, to see if she was reacting negatively to his caresses. He
hoped not. He wanted to love her, not scare her.

Shoot, did he mean that? How very
frightening, to be sure.

His thoughts scattered like chaff when Tiny
loped closer to the cabin, his tail aloft and waving proudly, not
unlike a celebratory banner. Leaping up to them in a swirl of dust,
he dropped a parcel on their feet and let out a huge “Woof!”

“Oh, dear,” Mari murmured, pressing her hands
to her cheeks. Her nose wrinkled as she stared at her feet.

Tony looked, too. “Good God.”

The dog had dropped it right smack on top of
their shoes: a big, floppy, very dead jackrabbit. Tony burst out
laughing. He couldn’t help it. This girl and her dog and her cabin
and her mine composed the most outrageous set of theatrical
paraphernalia he’d ever seen, and he’d seen Broadway productions
aplenty.

“Oh, Tiny, I wish you wouldn’t do things like
this.” But Mari smiled, too. Hearing his name, Tiny wagged more
ferociously still, lowered his big torso until his head was between
his front paws, his rump stuck up in the air, and his tail whipped
back and forth like a crazed metronome. Then he let out a series of
thunderous barks.

Tony shook his head. The beast wanted to
play. “Does he want us to throw the rabbit for him to fetch?”
Ew.

“Probably.” Mari sighed heavily. “I’ll get it
out of the way and bury it in the morning.”

“If you leave it, won’t some animal come by
in the night and eat it?”

“I don’t know. Probably, but I don’t want to
attract coyotes, because they’re sneaky and might get into the
chicken coop.”

“Ah, I see.” Good grief, it seemed like every
three or four minutes, Tony endured another shock over the way Mari
lived her life. She shouldn’t have to. Things oughtn’t to be this
hard for her. It wasn’t fair. He took her hand and lifted it to his
lips. He saw Mari watching her dark eyes wide and luminous. Warmth
pervaded his body, from his heart to his groin.

“Well,” he said. “I suppose I’d better get
back to the Mojave Inn. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay
here, in this disreputable cabin, with this astonishing girl and
her incredible dog. He knew he couldn’t.

“Yes,” she said. “I know you need to get
back. We all need our rest, I guess.”

“Right.” She had no idea, he perceived, how
very much he wanted her. Why should she? Until he’d kissed her,
he’d tried hard to resist. Unfortunately, Mari was irresistible.
She was like Circe to his Ulysses.

She turned away and sighed deeply “Thank you
for walking me home. I, ah, suppose something might have happened
to me if I’d been alone.”

Something had happened to her, although she
didn’t appear inclined to admit it. “Right,” said Tony. He forced
himself to rise. “I suppose the crew will be at work bright and
early tomorrow. I guess tomorrow’s your first scene, if the
insurance folks don’t take too much time.”

“Oh, my God, that’s right.” Her face fell
ludicrously.

Tony grinned, not entirely happy to have the
former seductive mood dispelled, but understanding it was for the
best. Damn it. “Try not to worry too much. You’ll be great.”

“I doubt it. I’m scared to death.”

“We’ll all be there to help you. Martin’s a
great director. And he’s also a very understanding and kind man.
He’s not like me.”

She looked up at him quickly and looked away
again. “Oh, you’re not so bad.”

“I’ll send a car for you.” He hoped he’d be
able to come himself.

“There’s no need for that,” she muttered.

“I don’t care if there’s a need or not. I’m
sending a car. And you can bring that big lug with you.” He
gestured at Tiny, who had tired of acting cute since no one was
paying attention to him, and was snuffling the ground where Tony
had shoved the rabbit with his foot.

“All right,” Mari said, sounding
resigned.

He had to kiss her again. He knew he
shouldn’t. Everything in his life and nature rebelled against the
attraction he felt for her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He lifted
her chin with his finger. “You’ll be fine,” he said softly.
“Fine.”

Hell’s bells, she already was fine. He kissed
her once, tenderly, and let his hand fall. “See you tomorrow,
Mari.”

She nodded. He leaned cover to give Tiny a
last pat and turned to walk back to the Mojave Inn He still carried
the lantern to light his way, and he turned once before he’d gone
very far. He could scarcely discern Mari and her dog standing
there, but he distinctly saw her lift her hand in a salute of
farewell. He waved back, continued his walk, and didn’t turn around
again.

The most unsettling combination of emotions
roiled in, his breast as he trudged back to the hotel. He felt good
and bad and heroic and cad-like and brilliant and stupid and happy
and sad and exhilarated and depressed.

Could this possibly be love?

It was, Tony decided grimly, something to
think about.

Mari faced the morning with heavy eyelids and
a headache. After Tony’d left her the night before, she hadn’t been
able to get to sleep for hours. She’d even gone outside and buried
that stupid rabbit carcass sometime past midnight, hoping the
exercise would help her sleep.

It didn’t, she didn’t, and now she felt
terrible. Faced, however, with the prospect of ten thousand dollars
for a week or two’s work, she wasn’t going to shirk.

Ten thousand dollars. The notion of sinking
all that money into her father’s unproductive mine, no matter how
many deathbed promises she’d made him, sat like lead on her
heart.

“I’m so darned tired, Tiny,” she murmured to
her wagging dog. “I’m sure I’ll feel more cheerful after I rest
up.”

She wasn’t sure though. She feared all of the
dogged determination that had kept her going for so long was being
seriously eroded now that she’d experienced a little bit of life
from a different perspective.

“But that’s silly,” she announced. Tiny
wagged harder. “As soon as all these Peerless people get out of my
life, everything will get back to normal.”

In a pig’s eye. Nothing in Mojave Wells would
ever be the same again. Even if Mari herself went back to life as
she’d been living it for all of her nineteen years, the memories
would persist. And the talk. So little happened in Mojave Wells on
a day-to-day basis that a huge upheaval like a moving picture being
made in town would keep folks yapping for years. Decades, even.

She handed Tiny a huge bowl filled with meat
scraps and vegetables. He ate like there was no tomorrow. He could
probably eat up ten grand in no time at all if she weren’t
accustomed to living frugally.

“Frugally, my foot,” she muttered. “Poorly is
more like it. Stupidly probably describes it, too.”

Good gracious, but she was in an evil mood.
Why should that be?

“Stupid question, Mari Pottersby. You know
darned well why it is.”

That kiss. That wonderful, frightening,
spectacular, luscious, deplorable kiss. She lifted a work-roughened
hand and pressed it to her lips. “He kissed me, Tony. I mean, Tiny.
He actually kissed me.”

Although Tiny didn’t leave off gobbling his
breakfast, he did wag his tail some more. Mari considered it a form
of communication and was gratified. At least her dog didn’t seem
distressed that she’d allowed herself to be kissed by a man so far
above her own station in life.

“Lordy, Tiny, I’m beginning to sound like a
Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.” She and her cousin had seen
HMS
Pinafore
in San Bernardino several years before. Mari had
adored it. She thought she would really like being able to go to
the theater, if she were ever to be, say, rich. Or even comfortably
circumstanced. Fat chance of that ever happening.

Then again, ten thousand dollars could make a
girl pretty darned comfortable if she didn’t have to throw it all
down the gullet of a bottomless, money-eating mine shaft.

“Stop it, Mari Pottersby. You have no choice
in the matter.”

That was a load of junk, and she knew it. The
only thing that kept her working in that useless pit was her
promise to a man whom she’d loved, but who probably didn’t deserve
her devotion.

“Nonsense. Love isn’t something a person
deserves or doesn’t deserve. It happens or it doesn’t. I loved my
dad. He might not have been the world’s greatest father, but he was
the only one I had, and he was good to me.” She had to wipe away a
tear, and swore at herself to stop being sentimental and mushy just
because she didn’t feel well.

Which didn’t solve any of her problems. She
sighed heavily and wished she had some salicylic powders. She’d
heard they were good for a headache. But they cost money, and Mari
didn’t spend her few pennies on luxury cures for headaches. She
didn’t have headaches often, anyway. This morning’s was an
exception, and it was due to not sleeping.

The thrum of a motor penetrated the cabin
walls. Mari’s heart gave a leap that probably dislodged it from its
proper place in her chest cavity, and she raced to the mirror on
the wall to see if she looked as bad as she felt. Thank God, she
didn’t.

Madly patting at her hair, her skirt, her
blouse, and everything else she could reach, she tried breathing
deeply to still the battering of her heart. “I wonder if it’s
Tony,” she muttered, ostensibly to Tiny, but really because she
wanted—needed—to voice her hope, even if she worded it as an idle
musing. She longed to see him. She longed to be in his company. To
talk to him. To walk with him.

To kiss him

Oh, dear, this was awful. She ran to the door
and reached for the knob, then paused. She wouldn’t make a fool of
herself over a man. Any man. Especially a man whom she didn’t even
really trust.

Something in her chest twisted painfully. It
wasn’t so much that she didn’t trust Tony, per se, she amended. It
was the circumstances she didn’t trust. He was as rich as God and
lived in New York. She was as poor as dirt and lived in California.
Under ordinary circumstances, the twain would never have met at
all.

Under the odd and fantastic influence of the
motion pictures, the twain had not merely met, but kissed.

“It was only a kiss,” she growled to Tiny, as
if he’d questioned her on the incident. “I’m sure he kisses girls
all the time

There went the twisting in her chest again,
harder this time. So hard, indeed, that Mari pressed a hand to her
breast in an effort to stop the pain.