Angie had stood her ground for a while, but proved no match against Geneva and Jenny united. In spite of her attempts to be practical, the years of her mother's nagging reminders of the importance of social position took root in Angie, too. But Angie still tried to cut costs—when she remembered.
Holly thought of the ruined boots, charged to a store account she would have to pay. Paying for gifts she received from her sisters and stepmother dampened every holiday’s pleasure. She sighed.
Trent's voice cut through bitter memories of her own battle about a career. "So, you're allowed to work, but they're not?"
She tilted her head and gave him a rueful smile. He would have been aghast at the lengthy battle her decision had waged. "I pled my case years ago. Since I'm the oldest and there are no male heirs, I convinced Geneva and Dad I needed to carry on in the family business. Besides, Dad needed my help."
"Only now it's no longer just a family business, is it?" He finished his last bite of toast and leaned back.
She rose and stacked the plates. "No, but I'm still a part of the company. I own fifteen percent and, unless you've decided differently, I'm still the VP of Human Resources."
Due to inheriting part of her mother’s shares, Holly thanked heaven she owned an additional ten percent instead of only the five she and each of her half-sisters inherited from Grandfather Tucker. Voting with Grandpa Grayson’s thirty-five percent gave the two of them controlling interest. She didn’t understand why Grandpa wasn’t with her on this project of Trent’s. She’d tried to convince her grandfather, but he insisted he wanted to see how Trent worked out as CEO.
Trent stood and stretched like a small child just rising from bed. "You'll have to be as resourceful as humanly possible today. The furnace is my first priority. The animals have to be cared for soon, but heat for us is first."
She turned on the spigot, relieved when cold water flowed. "At least we have water. I suppose the thermostat on the water heater is electric?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll heat some water on the stove to wash the dishes. Later, I'll do the same for us each to have a sponge bath." And he could shave.
A glance at the dark stubble that made him look even more like a brigand made her wonder how it would feel to have his face against hers. Would the stubble scratch or merely titillate? If he nuzzled her as he had last night, would his day's growth of whiskers create a different sensation?
She’d never kissed a man with facial hair. Her curiosity grew. Would it tickle or prickle? How would he look with a full beard? Probably even more like the pirate of his reputation. A picture flashed into her mind of him swaggering on the deck of a ship with a full black beard, parrot on his shoulder, and a cutlass in one hand.
His voice cut through her thoughts. "Aha, I thought I remembered some tools by the washing machine." He carried a tool chest in one hand. "I saw a box of matches in the cupboard near the stove yesterday." He leaned across her to retrieve the box and his arm brushed against her breast.
His touch caught her off guard and she stepped back. Her gaze met his and she tried to judge if his action had been deliberate.
He appeared frozen in place. “Uh, sorry, Holly, um—“ He shook his head and slipped the matches into his shirt pocket. With that, he grabbed the lantern and hurried from the room.
Her breast tingled and the sensation spiraled to her core. What had happened to her? Needs she’d thought firmly under control had suddenly flared up like a forest fire. Darn the terrible man, he had no right to be so enticing.
CHAPTER FIVE
Trent muttered under his breath as he removed the grate from the floor furnace and propped it against the wall. He sprawled his body across the floor and poked his head down the hole in the floorboards.
He heard Holly. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“No.” The sound echoed so he raised his head. “I’m trying to remember anything I’ve ever heard about furnaces, but the contraption looks as foreign to me as the inside of a jet engine. If memory serves me right, one of the foster homes I was in had this kind of heat. There’s a manual valve for occasions like this.” But where?
While his hands worked, his mind wandered to the woman in the other room. So, Holly was allowed to work, but not her sisters. Definitely not her wicked stepmother. No, that woman was all show and shallow as a dinner plate.
When he had met Holly two months ago, he’d logged her flighty as her stepmother. Surprise. Granted she knew nothing of the strategy of revitalizing a stagnant corporation, but she knew everything about the three hundred employees who worked there. That the benefits package at Marvel far exceeded the norm meant her family made less profit. Apparently she had no objection, since she had negotiated the package. She seemed to genuinely care about the employees’ welfare.
More than once he’d heard her ask about family members who were ill or about kids in school. In fact, her ability to relate to people of all levels in the company amazed him. None of her stepmother’s snobbery tainted Holly’s relationship with co-workers. She worked late many evenings and he heard her exchange conversation with the night guard and the custodians before she left. Employees respected her.
Of course, he worked late, too, trying to familiarize himself with the next day's tasks. He often felt like a kid cramming for tomorrow's exam in school. Hard as he’d worked all his life and in spite of all the research he’d done before sealing the deal with Marvel, the wire and cable business was foreign territory. Already he had established a niche, or he hoped so. Perhaps in time he, too, would actually be accepted.
Here and now, Trent wanted Holly more than he’d wanted any other woman. Desire consumed him. She’d haunted him nights since he’d met her two months ago. Last night he came very close to acting out his erotic dreams. This time, at long last, he had been able to hold her.
Having her in his arms was even sweeter than he had imagined. No matter how perfect holding her seemed, she wasn't for him, or he for her. She’d made that all too clear. Even if they didn't work together and even if they were not from totally different worlds, he could never surmount her irrational dislike of him. He had to quit thinking of her as his own special "Princess."
If only Tucker had not been so stubborn, the man could have held on to his job—but with Trent as his supervisor. Then maybe Holly would have given him a chance to prove himself. Damn Tucker for being a loser, for gambling everything he had on a dream.
Despair swept over Trent. And how am I any better? Although he had no family to consider, he had risked everything he’d accrued in almost twenty years on the meeting he would miss in a few hours. Overwhelming panic consumed him and, for a few moments, he had to put his head on his arms and give in to the terror.
"Trent, what are you doing, sleeping on the job?"
He hadn’t heard her approach and jumped. "I, um...I need something to clean the furnace burner openings. Can you find me some toothpicks or broom straws?" When she turned back to the kitchen, he calmed himself. Everything would work out. It had to.
He pulled himself up and sat with his back against the wall, legs stretched beside the furnace opening. One glance at his watch told him he should wait a couple of hours before trying to reach his assistant again on the cell phone.
He called to her, “Hey, with the wind letting up, maybe the phones service will be restored soon.” Unless the isolation of this godforsaken wasteland ruled out cell phone contact. In the meantime, his only chance of sanity lay in believing the meeting had been successfully postponed.
In less time than he expected, Holly handed him broom straws and toothpicks. “Here. Let me know if you need more.”
He sighed and returned to his task.
Peripherally, he saw Holly move through the dim glow of the lantern toward the photograph of a young couple with their children. Yesterday, she and he decided it must be the Martins. Mrs. Martin, a tiny woman except for the very pregnant bulge of her stomach, held a child no more than a year old. Mr. M
artin held a boy of about two or so. The photograph presented a happy family, for all the apparent young age of the parents.
Holly hugged her arms. "How on earth do those babies stand this house? Even when the furnace was on yesterday, this floor was too cold for children."
"Martin said that if they can make it through this winter, they'll have enough saved to start a home improvement project. They plan to build two more rooms, another bathroom, and install central heat. I think the kids mostly stay with their grandparents in cold weather, especially with their mother having trouble with her pregnancy."
She turned toward him. "You didn't mention pregnancy problems."
Without looking up he shrugged a shoulder. "Yeah, well, I was a little upset at the time Martin told me. They were in town to see the kids at her parents’ and then the Martins were coming back here."
"So, it's even more important that the animals do well to pay for the new baby and a home loan. Would the cattle have died without us here?"
He paused to consider a moment, then resumed tinkering. "No, probably not. Maybe a few who were separated in isolated pens. Those in the big pen would have bunched together." He looked up at her and smiled. “You know, shared warmth.”
With a shake of his head he added, "I don't pretend to understand Martin’s system for cattle, but they're all together now and appear none the worse for the experience." He struck a match as he turned the manual override key and all the furnace burner jets burst into flame.
She applauded. "Thank goodness. At least now the house will be a little warmer."
He replaced the grate and stood. "A lot warmer. About half the jets were stopped up and not taking flame. This place will probably seem toasty warm when I get back from the barn. At least compared to yesterday."
"I'm going, too." Holly retrieved her coat.
Socks, with the benefit of a litter box by the back door, remained curled on the chair.
"There's no need for you to go." Trent saw he wasted his breath because she’d donned her coat and had the muffler wrapped around her head. As she put on her gloves, he reached for his own jacket. "No playing matador this time, okay?"
The searing look she sent his way only made him laugh. Lord, he was sliding out of control. Why worry about losing every dime he owned? At this rate he would be stark, raving mad by the time they returned to Dallas.
Blue burst from the porch. In direct contrast to the docile animal they had found yesterday, the dog cavorted, sliding this way and that. He seemed intent on marking every post or tree between the house and the barn.
Beside Trent, Holly stood on the tiny back porch and stared. He shared her awe. A crystal glaze covered everything. Every twig, every shrub lay encrusted in a sheet of ice. Branches of trees drooped under the weight of their heavy burden.
Nothing moved. No birds chirped; no animal made a sound. Only the crack of contracting and expanding ice broke the quiet. Then, a rooster's crow shattered the air. Though clouds hid the sun, a few rays of feathered light peeped through to prove morning had arrived.
"It's so beautiful." Even with the cover of clouds the icy glare made them squint. He watched her breath escape like puffs of smoke in the frosty air.
"If you insist on coming, you're on your own. Hold to the cable so you don't fall." Trent contradicted his words by bracing her waist as she edged her borrowed boots warily down the slick steps.
Icicles hung from the cable, and their gloves were stiff with ice by the time they reached the barn. The smell of so many large animals in a confined space hit them in a wave.
Holly shook her head and pursed her mouth. "Whew. It smells like a feed lot in here."
Trent put his hands on his hips and cocked his head at her. "It is a feed lot in here, Princess." With strident purpose, he went into motion. "Don't worry, with all the animals penned, it won't take as much time today."
She reached for a pitchfork, but Trent stopped her.
"You take care of the chickens. You saw where I got their feed yesterday?"
Holly went to the correct bin. "Do we have to do this again later today?"
"Nope. The pens should be mucked out, but I'll pass. Maybe we can leave by tomorrow." He wanted to think they would be rescued, but knew no one in this area would travel today. “Think the snowplows will be out by then?”
She looked aghast. “Are you kidding? There are no snowplows. We don’t get snow as often as they do further north. Some years we don’t get much snow at all, but there’s never more than two or three storms a year like this.”
“No plows? How do people get help?”
“Eventually the county grader may clear a path down the road. Sanding crews will cover the worst spots near the bridges. That is, unless the weather changes quickly and the ice starts melting.”
So, they were even more hopelessly stranded than he had realized. Dear God, help us. To fight the despair that threatened to overwhelm him, Trent plunged into forking fodder to the cattle.
After feeding the chickens, she moved to help him with the hay. He waved her away. "We need the eggs, remember? There won't be many in this cold, but maybe you could collect what’s there while I finish with the cattle."
She stared at him, then looked at the floor of the pen. Her gaze returned to his. He didn't think she'd do it and prepared to deliver a smart alec remark about her "set" not soiling their feet.
Grabbing the egg basket, she marched to the pen. He watched her take a deep breath of air and open the screened door. With a final glare directed his way, she stepped into the enclosure. Trent would have sworn she wouldn’t put even one foot inside the pen, much less retrieve eggs from beneath uncooperative hens. Damn, what he wouldn't give for a camera.
When she looked at one egg and scrunched up her face then wiped a dark stain from the egg, he laughed out loud. She made a face and placed it into the basket with the other eggs. Then she wiped her daintily gloved fingers on that expensive coat. An angry hen advanced on her and she stepped back. In her haste, she almost fell.
He turned his back and leaned on the rails of the cattle pen to hide that he shook with mirth. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget that sight.
Blue's bark made him turn. Holly stood by the barn door with the basket of eggs in her hand. Several feathers clung to her coat and hair as she scraped her boots against the floor.
Quickly, he finished his chores with the cattle and joined her. He looked her over from head to toe.
"I sure hope you don't plan on throwing that coat across the bed again tonight."
* * *
Holly emerged from the bathroom carrying a pile of clothing, her overnight case, and a large pan. Trent had carried the pan of hot water into the bathroom for her earlier. His own now heated in the kitchen.
"I wouldn’t have believed a sponge bath and a change of clothes could improve anyone's outlook on life as much as this did." She gestured toward the bathroom. "Your turn, Kind Sir."
"Your boots, Milady." He presented her with the pair of borrowed boots she had left just inside the kitchen door. They now shined with fresh polish.
"Oh, my. You really are a kind sir. Thank you."
He returned to the kitchen to retrieve his own pan of water. His duffle bag waited for him by the bathroom door. Although he recycled the clothes he’d used during his visit to the Grayson ranch, they were still a better choice than those he had worn earlier today.
"While you were cleaning up, I went to the car to see if I could get a radio weather report."
"Any luck?" Suddenly she remembered the sheet of ice sealing the barn doors and wondered about her car doors and their locks. She’d heard how men sometimes melted the ice from a door lock but surely he wouldn't...not the new silver Lexus Grandpa Grayson had given her for her birthday last month.
Trent smiled at her. "No." With that he kicked closed the bathroom door, leaving her to wonder whether he answered her question or read her mind.
Holly retrieved the cell phone from her
purse. She punched the autodial for her grandparents and waited. Nothing. Although she’d called yesterday to let them know she was safe, she knew they’d worry until she returned home.
She rummaged through the cupboards until she found a plastic trash sack for her dirty clothes. No way were those duds touching anything else of hers until they saw hot soapy water. She imagined her stepmother's reaction to the sight of some of those stains. The mental image made her laugh.
Taking a romance novel from her bag, she laid it on the table. With the shades raised, the bright snow reflected enough light into the room for reading, but the confined space left her pacing back into the other room. In this short time she’d learned firsthand what cabin fever meant.
She glanced at her wristwatch. Good heavens, twenty-four hours almost to the minute since they left her grandparent's ranch. It seemed another world ago.
With her customary efficiency, she tidied the small living room and moved to the bedroom. The house was a little warmer now. Whether in contrast to the outside air or because of the refurbished furnace, Holly didn’t know.
By the time Trent emerged from the bathroom, she was mopping muddy paw prints from the kitchen floor. Freshly shaved and with every hair on his head perfectly in place, he looked handsome enough to be a model. Not a high fashion model; his looks better suited an outdoorsman's magazine.
"You're fighting a losing battle," he said. "Blue will have to go out again before night. I'll have to go refuel the generator and check the brazier in the well house this afternoon before four."
"It's not that I'm a compulsive cleaner, but I’m nervous about using someone else's home. Besides, there's not a lot to do here."
"Nora Roberts." He picked up the book she left on the table. "Good author, but I would have pictured you more a non-fiction fan."
She paused and leaned on her mop handle. "You read romance novels?"
"Princess, I have read everything I could get my hands on. If you think there's nothing to do here, you should be off duty on a ship. A good writer is a good writer, no matter what the genre."
SNOWFIRES Page 5
