Praise for Award-Winning, National Bestselling Author
JOAN HOHL

“A compelling storyteller who weaves her tales with verve, passion and style.”

—New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts

“Joan Hohl is a top gun!”

—New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter

“Writers come and writers go. Few have the staying power, the enthusiastic following, of Joan Hohl. That’s talent!”

—New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels

Don’t miss Mitch’s story—he’s the brother of Adam Grainger, the hero from Joan Hohl’s A Memorable Man (Silhouette Desire #1075)

Dear Reader,

Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.

The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.

First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.

So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

The Dakota Man
Joan Hohl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my dear Melissa, the editor from…heaven.

JOAN HOHL

is the bestselling author of almost three dozen books. She has received numerous awards for her work, including the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Medallion award. In addition to contemporary romance, this prolific author also writes historical and time-travel romances. Joan lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her husband and family.

Dear Reader,

Twenty years!

Can you believe it? It seems impossible that twenty years have passed since Silhouette burst onto the publishing scene, astounding the industry with its immediate success, thrilling readers, like you and me, with fresh, absorbing and exciting love stories from the different lines—Special Edition, Desire, Intimate Moments—that evolved from the original Silhouette Romance.

And over these past twenty years, Silhouette has given its thousands—no, millions—of readers such gifted writers to craft those wonderful stories: Nora Roberts, Linda Howard, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Lowell, Annette Broadrick, Kasey Michaels, Heather Graham Pozzessere and so many, many more.

I am both proud and honored to be counted among the numbers of Silhouette writers. And I sincerely hope you enjoy my offering to the celebratory year, The Dakota Man.

Twenty years! I still can’t believe it.

It has been a spectacular twenty years.

Thanks for the great books, Silhouette.

And thank you, loyal readers, for making it all possible. We owe it all to you.

All my best,

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

One

His brow furrowed in a frown, his square jaw clenched and his lips sealed in an anger-tight thin line, Mitch Grainger sat at his desk and stared at the object cradled in the palm of his broad hand. He could only scowl at the brilliant, multi-faceted engagement ring of clustered pink diamonds, encircled by smaller rubies.

Less than an hour ago, Mitch had retrieved the ring from the floor near his desk. Which is where the object had landed after bouncing off his chest, hurled at him in unreasonable fury by Natalie Crane, the beautiful, cool, usually unemotional woman who had been his fiancée mere moments before.

The flawless gemstones caught the afternoon sun rays slanting through the window blinds behind him. Mitch made a soft sound that was part rude snort, part unpleasant laugh.

Women. Would he ever understand them? Had any man ever understood them? More to the point, Mitch mused, closing his fingers around the bauble, did he give a damn anymore?

Not for Natalie Crane, certainly, he thought, answering his own question. Without allowing him the courtesy of offering an explanation for the scene she’d witnessed, she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Coldly calling him a cheat and telling him their engagement was over, she had thrown the ring at him.

Fortunately, Mitch had never deluded himself into believing he was in love with her; he wasn’t and never had been. He had simply decided that, at the age of thirty-five, it was time to choose a wife. Natalie had appeared eminently suitable for the position, being from one of the most wealthy and prestigious families in the Deadwood, South Dakota, area.

But now Natalie was history. With her precipitous accusations, she had impugned his honor, and he forgave no one for that.

Honor, his personal honor, was the one standard Mitch held as absolute. He had believed Natalie knew the depths of his sense of honor. Apparently, he had been mistaken, or she never would have misconstrued the situation she had happened upon, immediately leaping to the erroneous conclusion that he was playing around behind her back with his secretary, Karla Singleton.

Poor Karla, Mitch thought, recalling the stricken look on his secretary’s face after the scene. Shaking his head, he slid open the top desk drawer, carelessly tossed the ring inside and slammed it shut again. He had never really liked the token, anyway. The concoction of pink diamonds encircled by clustered rubies had been Natalie’s choice; his preference had been a simple, if large, elegant two-and-a-half-carat, marquis-cut solitaire.

Poor, foolish Karla, he amended, heaving a sigh raised by both sympathy and impatience.

Mitch could understand passion, he had experienced it himself…quite often, truth to tell. But what he couldn’t understand, would never understand, was why in hell any woman—or man, either, for that matter—would indulge their passions to the point that they’d risk their health as well as pregnancy through unprotected sex.

But believing herself in love, and loved in return, Karla had risked all with a man who had taken his pleasure…then taken off. He had supposedly left to find a job with a future, but nonetheless leaving Karla devastated, pregnant, unwed and ashamed to tell her parents.

Not knowing what else to do, Karla had turned to her employer, sobbing out her miserable tale of woe on Mitch’s broad shoulder. Of course, Natalie had picked that moment to pay a visit to his office. She had witnessed him holding the weeping young woman in his comforting arms and heard just enough to erroneously conclude that, not only had he been fooling around with Karla, but that he had impregnated her, as well.

As if he would ever be that stupid.

In retrospect, Mitch figured it was all for the best, since he certainly didn’t relish the thought of being married to a woman who didn’t trust him implicitly. From all historical indications, marriage could work without depthless love, but in his considered opinion, it couldn’t survive without trust.

So had ended his brainstorm of acquiring a wife, setting up house and having a family.

On reflection, Mitch acknowledged the niggling doubts he had been having lately about his choice of Natalie, not as a wife—he felt positive she would make an exemplary wife—but as the mother of his children. And Mitch did want children of his own some day. While he had admired Natalie’s cool composure at first, he had recently begun to wonder if her air of detachment would extend to her children…his children.

Having grown up with two brothers and a sister, in a home that more often than not rang with the sound of boisterous kids, controlled by a mother who had always been loving, even when firm, Mitch desired a similar upbringing for his own progeny.

In all honesty, Mitch admitted to himself that he was more relieved than disappointed by the results of Natalie’s false assumptions.

But he still had Karla’s problem to contend with, for she had asked for his advice and help. Mitch had always been a sucker for a woman’s tears, especially a woman he cared about. His own sister could give testimony to that. The sight of a woman he cared for in tears turned him, this supposedly tough, no-nonsense C.E.O. of a gambling casino in Deadwood, South Dakota, into the stalwart protector, the solver of feminine trials and tribulations…in other words, pure mush.

And Mitch did care about Karla, for her sake, because she was a genuinely nice person, and for his own sake, for she was the best assistant he had ever employed.

He had made some progress with Karla after calming her down following Natalie’s dramatic little scene. With some gentle probing—in between dwindling, hiccuping sobs—Mitch had learned that Karla was determined to have and keep her baby. Not for any leftover feelings for the father, because she had none, but simply because it was her baby.

A decision Mitch silently applauded.

Still, Karla had maintained that she felt too ashamed to go to her parents, who lived in Rapid City, to ask for their financial or moral support. Karla was an only child, so there were no siblings to apply to for assistance. And, though she had made some friends in the year and a half she had been in Deadwood, she felt none were close enough to dump her problems on.

That left him, Mitch Grainger, the man with the tough exterior, surrounding a core of marsh-mallow in regards to weeping, defenseless females.

Helluva note, for sure.

An ironic smile of acceptance teased the corners of his sculpted, masculine lips. He’d take on the combined roles of surrogate father, brother and friend to Karla because of his soft spot…and because, if he didn’t, and his sister ever found out about it, she’d have his hide.

His humor restored, Mitch reached for the intercom to summon Karla, just as a timid rap sounded on his office door, followed by the subdued sound of Karla’s voice.

“May I come in, Mr. Grainger?”

“Yes, of course.” He sighed; despite the numerous times he had asked her to call him Mitch, Karla had persisted in the more formal address. Now, after the emotional scene enacted mere minutes before, the formality seemed ludicrous. “Come in and sit down,” he instructed as the door opened and she stepped inside. “And, from now on, call me Mitch.”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly, crossing to the chair in front of his desk and perching on the edge of the seat.

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “I give up, call me anything you like. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” She managed a tremulous smile. “Thank you…for the use of your shoulder to cry on.”

He smiled back. “I’ve had plenty of practice. Years back, my younger sister went through a period in her teens when she was a regular waterworks.” His wry confidence achieved the desired effect.

She laughed and eased back in the chair. But her laughter quickly faded, erased by a frown of consternation. “About Miss Crane… I’d like to go see her, explain…”

“No.” Mitch cut her off, his voice sharp.

Karla bit her trembling lip, blinked against a renewed well of tears. “But…it was a misunderstanding,” she said, her voice unsteady. “Surely, if I talked to her…”

He silenced her with a slashing movement of his hand. “No, Karla. Natalie didn’t ask for, or wait long enough to hear an explanation. She added one and one and came up with three—you, me and your baby. Her mistake.” His tone hardened with cold finality. “It’s over. Now, let’s discuss another matter of business.”

She frowned. “What business?”

“Your business.”

“Mine?” Karla’s expression went blank.

“The baby,” he said, nudging her memory. “Your baby. Have you made any plans? Do you want to keep working? Or…”

“Yes, I want to keep working,” she interrupted him. “That is, if you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” He grinned. “Hell, you’re the best assistant I’ve ever employed.”

“Thank you.” A pleased glow brightened her brown eyes, and a flush colored her pale cheeks.

“Okay, you want to continue working.”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“How long?”

“As long as I can.” Karla hesitated a moment before quickly adding, “I’d like to work up to the last possible minute.”

“Forget it.” He shook his head. “I don’t think that would be good for you or the baby.”

“But the work’s not really physical,” she insisted. “Having a baby is expensive today, and I’ll need every dollar I can earn.”

“I provide excellent health insurance coverage for you, Karla,” he reminded her. “Including maternity benefits.”

“I know, and I appreciate that, but I want to save as much as I can for afterward,” she explained. “I’ll need enough to tide me over until I can go back to work.”

“Don’t concern yourself with finances, I’ll take care of that. I want you to concentrate on taking care of yourself, and the child you’re carrying.” He held up a hand when she would have protested. “Five more months, Karla.”

“Six,” she dared to bargain. “I’ll only be seven-and-a-half months by then.”

He smiled at her show of temerity. “Okay, six,” he conceded. “But you will spend that sixth month training your replacement.”

“But it won’t take me a whole month to train someone,” she exclaimed. “I won’t have anything to do!”

“Exactly. Consider it a small victory that I’m allowing that much.”

She heaved a sigh of defeat. “You’re the boss.”

“I know.” His grin lasted all of a few seconds before turning into a grimace. “Damn,” he muttered. “When the time comes, how in the hell are we ever going to find someone suitable to replace you?”

A little over a month later, and many miles distant to the southeast, an individual ministorm raged beneath a sun-drenched corner of Pennsylvania….

“Rat.” The scissors slashed through the voluminous skirt.

“Louse.” A seam tore asunder.

“Jerk.” The bodice was sheared into small pieces.

“Creep.” Tiny buttons went flying.

“There…done.” Her chest heaving from her emotion-driven exertions, Maggie Reynolds stepped back and glared down at the ragged shards of white watered taffeta material that had formerly been the most exquisite wedding gown she had ever seen.

With a final burst of furious energy, she gave a vicious kick of one bare foot, scattering the pile of material into large and small pieces that glimmered in the early June sunlight streaming through the bedroom window.

Tears pricked her eyes; Maggie told herself it was the glare of sunlight, and not the fact that she was to have been married in that designer extravagance in two weeks’ time.

The sting in her eyes grew sharper. Just two days before, Maggie’s intended groom had thrown her a vicious curveball right out of left field. After sharing her apartment and her bed with him for nearly a year, and after all the arrangements for their wedding had been in place for months, she had come home from work to find all of his belongings gone, his clothes closet empty, and a note—a damned note—propped against the napkin holder on the kitchen table. The words he had written were imprinted on her memory.

Maggie, I’m sorry, I really am, he had scrawled on the lined yellow paper she kept for grocery lists. But I can’t go through with our marriage. I have fallen in love with Ellen Bennethan, and we are eloping to Mexico today. Please try not to hate me too much. Todd.

The thought of his name brought his image front and center in Maggie’s mind. Average height, sharp dresser, attractive, with coal-black hair and pale blue eyes. And, evidently, a class-A cheat. A sneer curled her soft lips. Hate him? She didn’t hate him. She despised him. So, he had fallen in love with Ellen Bennethan, had he? Bull. He had fallen in love with her money. Ellen, a meek, simpering twit, who had never worked a day in her life, was the only child and heir of Carl Bennethan, owner and head honcho of the Bennethan Furniture Company, and Todd’s employer.

Dear Todd had just taken off, leaving Maggie to clean up the mess after him. Which in itself was bad enough. But the thing that bit the deepest was that they had made love the very night before he split.

No, Maggie corrected herself with disgust. They hadn’t made love, they had had sex. And it hadn’t been great sex, either. Great? Ha! It had never been great. Far from it. From the beginning, Todd had been less than an enthusiastic lover, never mind energetic.

Or was she the less-than-energetic one?

How many times over the previous year had she asked herself that question? Maggie mused, self-doubt raising its nasty little head in her mind. In truth, she acknowledged, she had never become so passionately aroused that she felt swept away by the moment. Perhaps there was something lacking in her….

The hell with that, Maggie thought, anger reasserting itself to overwhelm doubt. And, to hell with Todd, and men in general. In her private opinion, sex was highly overrated, a fictional fantasy.

Outrage restored, Maggie made a low growling sound deep in her throat, and gave the rendered sparkling white pieces another scattering kick.

“Bastard.”

“Feel better now?”

Maggie spun around at the sound of the smoky, dryly voiced question, to glare at the young woman leaning with indolent nonchalance against the door frame. The woman, Maggie’s best friend, Hannah Deturk, was tall, slim, elegant and almost too beautiful to be tolerated.

Maggie had often thought, and even more often said, that if she didn’t like Hannah so much, she could easily and quite happily hate her.

“Not a hell of a lot,” Maggie admitted in a near snarl. “But I’m not finished yet, either.”

“Indeed?” Hannah raised perfectly arched honey-brown eyebrows. “You’re going to take the scissors to your entire trousseau?”

“’Course not,” Maggie snapped. “I’m neither that stupid nor that far gone.”

“Could’a fooled me,” Hannah drawled. “I’d say, any woman who’d tear apart a gorgeous three-thousand-dollar wedding gown in a fit of rampant rage is about as far gone as is possible for a woman to be.”

Just as tall as her friend, just as slim, and no slouch herself in the looks department, with her long mass of flaming-red hair and her creamy complexion, Maggie gave Hannah a superior look and a sugar-sweet smile.

“Indeed?” she mimicked. “Well, there’s possible, and then there’s possible. Stick around, friend, and I’ll demonstrate possibilities that’ll blow your mind.”

“You almost scare me,” Hannah said, a thread of concern woven through her husky voice. “But I will stick around…just to ensure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m already hurt,” Maggie cried, a rush of tears to her eyes threatening to douse the fire of anger in their emerald-green depths.

“I know.” Hannah relinquished her pose in the doorway to go to Maggie. “I know,” she murmured, drawing her friend into a protective embrace.

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Maggie muttered, sniffing. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore.”

“And you shouldn’t,” Hannah said, her voice made raspy with compassion. “That son of a bitch isn’t worth the time of day from you, never mind your tears.”

Maggie was so startled by Hannah’s curse— Hannah never cursed—she stepped back to stare at her friend in tear-drying amazement.

Hannah shrugged. “Occasionally, when I’m seriously upset or furious, I lose control of my mouth.”

“Oh.” Maggie blinked away the last of the moisture blurring her vision and swiped her hands over her wet cheeks. “Well, you must be seriously one or the other, because I’ve known you since soon after you arrived here in Philadelphia from flyover country, and this is the first time I’ve ever heard a swear word from you.”

“Actually, I’m seriously both,” Hannah drawled, her tone belying the glitter in her blue eyes. “It just fries me that you’re tearing yourself apart over that…that…slimy, two-timing, money-grabbing slug.”

“Thanks, friend,” Maggie murmured, moved by Hannah’s concern for her. “I appreciate your support.”

“You’re welcome.” A smile curved Hannah’s full lips. “And it’s Nebraska.”

“What?”

“The flyover country I come from is the State of Nebraska,” she answered.

“Oh, yeah, I knew that,” Maggie said, interest sparking in her green eyes. “What’s it like there…in Nebraska?”

Hannah frowned, as if confused by both the question and her friend’s sudden show of interest on a topic she’d never before evinced any curiosity over. “The section I came from? Mostly rural, kind of placid, and at the time I decided to move to the big city, I thought, pretty dull.”

“Sounds like just the ticket,” Maggie mused aloud in a contemplative mutter.

“Just the ticket,” Hannah repeated in astonishment. “For what? Being bored silly? What are you getting at?”

Maggie’s smile could only be described as reckless. “You know those possibilities I mentioned?”

“Ye-e-es…” Hannah eyed her with budding alarm. “But now I’m almost afraid to ask.”

Maggie laughed; it felt good, so she laughed again. “I’ll tell you, anyway. Come with me, my friend,” she invited, turning away from the room and the scattered debris that had once been her wedding gown. “Venting my spleen in here made me thirsty. We’ll talk over coffee.”

“You can’t be serious.” Her half-full cup of coffee—her third—in front of her, Hannah stared at Maggie in sheer disbelief.

“I assure you I am. Dead serious,” Maggie said, her features set in lines of determination. “I have already started the ball rolling.”

“By slashing your gown to ribbons?” Hannah asked, her tone reflecting the hope that her friend hadn’t done something even more drastic.

“Oh, that. That was symbolic.” Maggie dismissed the act with a flick of her hand. “I couldn’t stand looking at it another minute. No,” she said, shaking her head. “What I have done to get the ball rolling was to spend this lovely Sunday morning composing notes to all the guests invited to the wedding, informing them that there would be no wedding, after all, e-mailing those on-line, and preparing the rest for snail-mail delivery.”

“If you’d given me a holler, I’d have gladly helped you with that,” Hannah said, heaving a sigh of exasperation.

“Thanks, but, well…” Maggie shrugged. “That chore is done.”

“You didn’t e-mail your parents….” Hannah’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you?”

“Well, of course not. I telephoned them.” Maggie sighed. “They were understandably upset, insisted I go spend some time with them in Hawaii.”

“Good idea.”

Maggie gave a quick head shake. “No, it isn’t. They both took early retirement and moved to Hawaii to relax after Dad’s mild heart attack. If I went there, in the mood I’m in, Mom would probably knock herself out to fuss all over me. Dad would likewise fret, curtail his golf games and try to distract and entertain me. And I’d feel guilty as hell because of it.”

Hannah frowned but nodded. “I suppose.”

Maggie soldiered on. “I also drafted a letter to my superior at work, giving my one-month notice of my intention to leave the firm.”

Hannah’s eyes widened with alarm. “Maggie, you didn’t.”

“I did,” Maggie assured her, raising a hand to keep her friend from interrupting. “What’s more, I faxed a Realtor I know, asking him if he’d be interested in listing my apartment for sale.”

Hannah jumped from her chair. “Maggie, no.” She shook her head, setting her sleek, bobbed honey-brown hair swinging. “You can’t do that.”

“I damn well can,” Maggie retorted. “My grandmother left this place to me, I own it free and clear.” She rolled her eyes. “And the forever taxes that go with it.”

“But…” Her hair swung again, wildly. “Why? Where will you go? Where will you live?”

“Why? Because I’m tired of the treadmill, nose to the grindstone, following the rules.” Maggie shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I’ll join the circus.”

“I don’t believe I’m hearing this.” As if unable to remain still, Hannah began to pace back and forth in front of the table. “To give up your job, sell your apartment…” Hannah threw up her hands. “That’s crazy.”

“Hannah—” Maggie came close to shouting “—I feel crazy.”

“So you’re just going to take off?”

“Yes.”

“For how long, for Pete’s sake?”

Maggie hesitated, shrugged, then answered, “Until I’m broke, or no longer feel crazy enough to break things and hurt people… Todd what’s-his-name in particular.”

“Oh, Maggie,” Hannah murmured in commiseration, dropping onto her chair. “He’s not worth all this anguish.”

“I know that,” Maggie agreed. “But knowing it doesn’t help. So I’m cutting out, cutting loose.”

“But, Maggie…” Hannah actually wailed.

Maggie shook her head, hard. “You can’t change my mind, Hannah. I’ve got the itch to run free for a while and I’m going to scratch it.”

“But you must have some idea where you’re going,” Hannah persisted, always the one for detail.

“No.” Maggie shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I’ll wind up in Nebraska.”

Two

Three months later

The redhead knocked the breath out of him. A jolt of energy, physical and sexual in nature, made the body-blow a double whammy.

Mitch was both shocked and confused by his reaction to the woman Karla ushered into his office. It certainly wasn’t that she was a stunning beauty; she wasn’t. Oh, it wasn’t that she was not attractive; she most definitely was, very attractive. But he knew many attractive and even a few stunning women, and yet he had never experienced such a strong and immediate response to any one of them.

Strange.

Baffled, yet careful not to reveal his condition, Mitch studied the woman as she crossed the room to his desk. On closer inspection, one might even concede she possessed a particular beauty…if one had a weakness for tall, slender women with creamy skin, a wide mouth with full lips, slightly slanted forest-glen-green eyes and long, thick hair of a deep shade of flaming red.

Apparently, Mitch wryly concluded, he did have such a previously unrecognized weakness.

At least, his knees felt a little weak; he felt the tremor in them when she drew closer.

Up close, she looked even better…damn the luck.

But, one thing was for certain, Mitch mused, she sure as hell hadn’t dressed to make an impression. Her casual attire made a silent declaration of her utter disregard for conventional, or his personal, opinion.

She came to a stop next to a chair in front of his desk.

Mitch came to his senses.

Cursing his uncharacteristic distraction, he made a show of perusing her application.

“Ms. Reynolds?” Raising his gaze from the papers in his hand, he offered her a faint smile.

“Yes.” Her attractive voice was soft, modulated, neutral, her return smile a pale reflection of his own.

He leaned forward over his desk and extended his right hand. “Mitch Grainger,” he said, amazed by the tingling sensation caused by the touch of her palm to his in the brief handshake. “Have a seat.” He flicked the still-tingling hand at the chair beside her.

“Thank you.” With what appeared to be relaxed and effortless grace, she stepped in front of the chair and lowered herself into it. Settled, she met his direct stare with calm patience.

Watch it, Grainger, Mitch advised himself. This is one woman determined not to be intimidated.

He arched a brow. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, while I give your application a quick once-over?”

She deigned to nod her permission.

Cool? Mitch speculated, unlocking his gaze from the brilliant green of hers to skim the application. Or was she, like Natalie Crane, just plain glacier-cold, through and through?

To his astonishment, after the fiasco of his engagement, Mitch found himself anticipating the opportunity to discover the answers to his questions about this particular woman.

Speed-reading the forms, Mitch quickly concurred with Karla’s enthusiastic opinion; Maggie Reynolds’s credentials were very impressive. A fact that had been pleasing to them both as Karla had been thus far unsuccessful in finding a suitable replacement.

Lifting his head, Mitch tested her with a piercing stare and his most forbidding tones. “You can produce references to confirm the information provided?”

“Not at hand,” she said, her voice as cool and unruffled as her demeanor. “But I can obtain them.”

He nodded; he had expected no less. “You appear to be well qualified for this position,” he admitted, unfamiliar excitement quickening inside him at the idea of her working for him, at his beck and call, five days a week. But his hidebound sense of honor insisted he be completely honest. “In fact, you are overqualified. A bigger city would offer you much better opportunities for corporate advancement.”

She smiled.

His blood pressure rose a notch.

“I’m aware of that,” she said. “But, while I appreciate your candor, and advice, I’ll pass on it.”

Too cool, Mitch reiterated…and just a hint of condescension. The woman had guts to spare; not many dared to condescend to him.

“Why?” He shot the question at her.

She didn’t shoot back. Then again, maybe she did, only she fired with a flashing, mind-bending smile.

Mitch felt the hit…and rather enjoyed it.

“As I explained to your assistant, and as my application attests, I’ve been there, done that,” she said. “I’m tired of the struggle.” She shrugged. “I suppose you might say my edge got dull.”

Mitch wouldn’t have said there was a damn thing dull about her. At any rate, he wasn’t prepared to say it to her, not at this point of their association. And, for some reason, or quirk in his own nature, he was determined on their having an association.

“I see” was all he would say.

“Besides,” she continued, “I like the look of this town, the Old West ambience. It’s quaint.”

Quaint. Mitch nodded. It was that. “When did you arrive? Have you seen much of the town?” He had to smile. “Not that there’s much to see.”

“I…er, strolled around this morning,” she answered, her hesitancy and obvious reluctance revealing her first signs of uncertainty.

Mitch decided to probe for the reason for her reticence. “You didn’t take a ride on the Deadwood Trolley?”

She shook her head, setting her hair swaying around her shoulders like living flames…and kicking his imagination into high gear.

“No.” Her full, tempting lips curved into a faint smile; his imagination soared off the gauge. “My father always said that shoe-leather express was the best way to see any city,” she explained. “I can ride the trolley another day.”

As fascinated as Mitch surely was by her mouth, he didn’t miss the fact that she had answered only part of his two-part question. Naturally, he wondered why.

“And when did you say you arrived?” he asked, with gentle persistence.

A spark flared to life in the depths of her fabulous green eyes. Annoyance, anger? Mitch mused.

“I didn’t say.” Her voice held an edge.

Good, Mitch thought. He wanted her on edge, off balance, her cool composure rattled. In his experience, he had found he learned more that way.

“I know.” He smiled…and waited.

She sighed, clearly losing patience with his persistence. “I arrived yesterday,” she finally admitted.

Mitch wasn’t through yet. “From where? Philadelphia?”

She gave him a level look, as if taking his measure. Mitch felt that tingly sensation again, this time throughout his entire system. He liked it. Once more, he merely smiled and waited, returning her measuring look.

“No.” She didn’t smile; she met his look with green fire. “I left Philly months ago, on an extended vacation tour of the country. I arrived here via a small town in Nebraska, where I had stopped for lunch.”

“But you were originally headed for Deadwood?” Mitch thought it a reasonable question. Evidently, Ms. Maggie Reynolds did not, if her fleeting expression of exasperation was anything to go by.

“No.” She shook her head, setting the red strands swirling once more.

Mitch’s fingers itched to delve into the fiery mass, just to see if it burned him. When she didn’t continue on with an explanation, he raised a nudging eyebrow, determined now to hear the whole of her story.

Silence stretched between them for several seconds, then she capitulated with a the-hell-with-it shrug. “While waiting for my lunch, I checked my finances,” she said grittily. “The bottom-line balance indicated that it was time for me to go back to work—” she shrugged “—and here I am.”

She had managed to surprise him, a rare accomplishment for anyone; he had long since been surprised by much of anything. Mitch glanced down at the bona fides on her application. A frown creased his brow when he looked up at her. “I don’t get it,” he admitted. “With your credentials, you could have secured an excellent-paying position in any major city.” He refrained from adding that he was glad she hadn’t. “Why Deadwood?”

She shifted in her chair, revealing her mounting impatience. “I think I’ve already explained that.”

He agreed with a slight nod. “Been there, done that, tired of the grind. Right?”

“Yes.” Her smile had a hint of smugness.

“But, if you’re running out of money…” Mitch let his voice trail off, not yet ready to let her off the hook by quoting the salary he was prepared to offer her, for he definitely was going to hire her.

“I’m not running out of money,” she corrected him. “I’m running a bit low. There is a difference.”

“Point taken,” he admitted, deciding he liked this woman’s style. “But…why Deadwood?” he repeated, now merely curious about her choice.

She smiled.

His stomach muscles constricted.

“Believe it or not,” she said, “I overheard the men seated in the booth behind me talking about it.” She shrugged. “So, I figured…why not?”

Guts, style and insouciance. Some combination, and, thankfully, not in the least similar to Natalie, Mitch thought, tamping down an urge to laugh. He was looking forward to working with, matching wits with and, hopefully, gaining a more intimate relationship with this woman. But he didn’t want to appear too eager or show his hand too soon.

“As I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice, my assistant is in her third trimester of pregnancy,” he said.

“It is pretty hard to miss,” she responded dryly.

“Yes.” He paused, allowed his concern for Karla to show on his expression. “I’m growing anxious about finding someone to replace her, she needs to rest more.” He paused again, pursed his lips, just for effect.

She didn’t betray knowledge of his “effect.” She held his steady gaze with cool green eyes.

His admiration for her expanding, Mitch silently applauded her display of composure. “That being the case, the position is yours…if you still want it.”

“I do.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

Then he quoted a salary figure.

That got a reaction from her. It was quick, but there, in the slight flicker of surprise in her eyes, her expression. She controlled it just as quickly.

“That’s more than generous,” she said. “When would you like me to start?”

Immediately, he thought. “As soon as possible,” he said.

“It’s Thursday.” She raised a perfectly arched, dark red eyebrow. “Will Monday suit?”

“Fine,” 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 the house that’s now an apartment,” Maggie inserted.

Karla nodded. “And this property.” She waved a hand, indicating the casino building. “Both of which are under Mitch’s control.”

Wonderful. Maggie was hard-pressed to keep from groaning aloud. What to do? she asked herself, reluctant to go back into Mr. Grainger’s office. While living in the same building as Karla would be nice, Maggie wasn’t sure she wanted to both work for and rent from her employer. Besides, if her suspicions about Karla and him having an affair were correct, even though they somehow didn’t seem to fit together, the idea of being around to witness their “togetherness” didn’t appeal to Maggie in the least. And yet, she needed a permanent address, the sooner the better.

“I’ll go talk to Mitch now,” Karla said, settling the matter for Maggie by pushing herself out of her chair and turning to tap on his door.

Maggie opened her mouth to ask Karla to wait a moment, but before she could utter a sound, Karla had opened the door and slipped inside the office.

To her surprise, Maggie didn’t have time to fume or to fidget, for within minutes, Karla was back, a triumphant smile on her face. She raised her hand to display a key clipped to a case dangling from her fingers.

“We’re outta here,” she said, motioning for Maggie to follow her as she skirted the desk and moved toward the outer hallway.

“But…” Maggie began.

“He gave me the rest of the afternoon off,” Karla cut in breezily. “He told me to take his truck to run you out to have a look at the apartment. I’m to call him from there. If you like the place, I’m to use the truck to help you move your stuff…if you need help.”

His truck? Frowning, Maggie scrambled out of her chair to hurry after the surprisingly agile woman. Should Karla be driving a truck in her advanced pregnancy? Never having been pregnant, she didn’t have a clue.

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