by Janet Dailey
"It's the government." The hint that his skill was being questioned forced Bruce into supplying the reason.
"What? Taxes?" She couldn't imagine her father getting into a position where he was delinquent in employee taxes.
"Nothing so simple," Bruce replied in a scoff-ring breath and pushed to his feet. He shoved his hands into the hip pockets of his slacks, an action that pushed his shoulders back and stretched the material of his blue shirt across the sinewed width of his chest. "The mine failed its safety inspection."
"How bad is it?" Glenna heard the dullness in her voice, the feeling of dread sweeping over her.
"They are issuing an injunction to shut the mine down within thirty days if the necessary steps aren't taken immediately to correct the situation," he announced in a voice as leaden as her own.
"Surely you can appeal the ruling—gain more time," she argued.
"That's what I've been doing for the last year and a half," he snapped in a sudden blaze of temper. "We ran out of time. There won't be any more postponements."
Parallel furrows ran across her forehead. "If you knew, it was coming, why didn't you take steps to correct the problem?" Glenna challenged in a spate of responding anger. "Why did you leave it until the last minute? I suppose you just dumped this all on dad this afternoon—when it's practically too late to do anything to stop it. No wonder he acted so defeated. He isn't well. He trusted you to—"
"Orin has known from the start!" Bruce interrupted sharply. "If I'd had my choice, I would have begun implementing and installing new safety measures. But I didn't have any say in the matter."
"Are you implying that my father knowingly endangered the lives of the miners?" The accusation brought a pronounced silver glitter to her eyes, making them icy and more gray than green.
"For God's sake! He had no more choice in the matter than I did."
He turned away to rest an arm on the mantle of the fireplace, bending his head to rub his hand over his mouth and chin in a gesture of exasperation and futility.
Her anger dissipated at his attitude of helplessness. "What do you mean? Why didn't he have a choice?" Glenna frowned. "You said yourself that the solution was to comply."
"That costs money, Glenna," Bruce sighed and straightened to look at her. "That's why the initial ruling was appealed to gain time to raise the capital to make the changes and install the necessary devices."
"He could borrow it. The bank would loan him the—"
"No. Orin took out second and third mortgages on everything he owned to pull the mine through the strike we had two and a half years ago. Once he could have borrowed on his reputation alone, but after these last two heart attacks he's had—" Bruce filled the pause with an expressive shrug of his shoulders "—the lending institutions regard him as an uninsurable risk with overextended credit."
Dark clouds of despair began to enfold her in their arms. Glenna felt chilled and struggled to elude their murky envelopment. Her gaze clung to Bruce's handsome features.
"Surely there has to be someone who will help dad." She tried to sound calm, and not nearly as desperate as she felt.
In her mind the thoughts kept turning over and over. If the mine was closed it would ultimately mean bankruptcy. They would lose the house and everything of any value. The effect such a situation would have on her father was something Glenna didn't want to contemplate. She barely succeeded in suppressing a shudder.
"On your father's instructions, I sent out feelers to see if Coulson Mining would be interested in a merger with your father's company—on the chance they might see some tax advantages." Bruce shook his head grimly. "Their reply was a flat 'not interested.'"
"Coulson Mining," Glenna repeated. "Jett Coulson's company? The coal magnate."
"Coal, gas, you name it and he's rolling in it—including gold," Bruce nodded.
With startling clarity Glenna recalled the mental picture of a grainy newspaper photograph she had seen of Jett Coulson when she had been reading a trade journal to her father shortly after his first heart attack. The man's hair and eyes had appeared as black as the shining coal that had built his fortune. At the time of the photograph he had been in his mid-thirties, yet his features had been lined with a toughness beyond his years.
To Glenna, Jett Coulson had seemed all rough, raw manhood. Yet her father had spoken of him with respect, she remembered. What she had viewed as ruthlessness in his features, her father had regarded as strength. Jett Coulson's lack of polish and refinement made him a man the miners could understand and believe, even when they disagreed. It was said that Jett Coulson never lied. The standing joke was that a lot of people wished he would.
"Did you talk to Jett Coulson?" she asked, clinging to the one tantalizing straw Bruce had offered.
"Are you kidding?" he laughed harshly. "I'm nothing but a manager—a mining engineer. I talked to one of his underlings."
"There wasn't even a crumb of interest," Glenna persisted.
"Be realistic, Glenna," Bruce sighed. "Why should Coulson agree to a merger when he'll probably be able to pick the mine up for nothing in a few months. Why should he bail your father out of this mess? He's never had a reputation for being a good samaritan. It's unlikely he'll have a change of heart at this late date."
"No, I suppose not." Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She turned away to walk to a front window to gaze sightlessly at the shadows gathering on the lawn. "What's going to happen to daddy?" She wasn't aware she had murmured the aching question aloud.
Approaching her from behind, Bruce rubbed his hands over her arms. "Glenna, I'm sorry. I wish there was some way I could help…something I could do to prevent this."
She heard the echo of futility in his voice, the forlorn emptiness of his offer. When his arms curved around her and his jaw rested against her hair, there was no comfort in his embrace.
"I haven't got much money, but when the mine closes—" he began.
"If the mine closes, not when, Bruce," Glenna quickly corrected him and moved out of his arms and away from the window. Her back was ramrod straight when she turned to regard him. "It will be thirty days, you said, until the injunction takes effect. A lot can happen in thirty days."
"You sound like your father." He eyed her sadly. "Don't be a fool, Glenna."
His remarks only served to make her more determined. If her father hadn't given up hope yet, neither would she. Her patrician features took on an air of resolve. The sunlight glinting through the window set the deep auburn hue of her brown hair afire, as if reinforcing her purpose.
"A Reynolds doesn't give up without putting up one helluva fight first. Dad isn't the type to lie down and let the world step on him. And neither am I."
"I don't think you understand what you are up against." Bruce shook his head, but didn't attempt to argue too strongly. "There is a time for pride…and a time to be sensible. I should know, Glenna. I've fought this day for a year and a half. You can think what you like about me, but after a year and a half of butting my head against a stone wall, I know when to quit."
"Is that what you are going to do? Quit?" Her lip curled in a contemptuous challenge.
"Not literally. No, I'll see this thing through to the bitter end." There was absolutely no doubt in his expression about what the end would be. Turning, he walked to the desk and picked up the briefcase lying atop it. "I think it would be better if I took a rain check on the dinner invitation tonight. I don't think either of us would be very good company. Make my apologies to Orin, will you?" he murmured quietly.
"Of course." Glenna accepted his decision with a curt nod and made no attempt to walk with him to the front door.
His glance was faintly mocking when he crossed the room and paused at the sliding oak doors. "I'll show myself out," he said, taunting her lack of courtesy.
"I know you will," she replied coolly.
Chapter Two
THE TINGLING SHOWER SPRAY drummed out some of her tension. The raking wire claws of the hairbrush eliminated
more of it while untangling her wind-snarled hair. Makeup and a floral, silk shirtwaist bolstered her spirits.
When she met her father in the dining room she felt capable of taking on any obstacle—including the stone wall Bruce had referred to. Which was just as well because she was subjected to her father's sharp-eyed scrutiny the minute she entered the room.
"Hannah tells me Bruce decided not to stay for dinner. Did you two have a lover's quarrel?" He sat in his accustomed chair at the head of the claw-footed dining-room table.
"We aren't lovers so that isn't possible," She pulled out the chair on his right and sat down. She denied his allegation with ease, not at all upset by the presumption he had made concerning her relationship with Bruce.
An iron-gray eyebrow was raised. "You obviously had a difference of opinion about something."
"We did." Glenna agreed with a quick smile as she spread the Irish-linen napkin across her lap. "It was over the closing of the mine. He regarded it as inevitable. I didn't." She saw the look of consternation spread across his face and turned her attention to the housekeeper entering the room with a tureen of soup. "Hmm, that smells good, Hannah." She sniffed the air appreciatively, the warm aroma of chicken stock wafting from the china serving bowl.
"Homemade, I spent all afternoon fixing the noodles," the plump woman retorted with her usual sassy spirit. "And you'd better do more than pick at my food tonight, Orin Reynolds, or else I'll stick you in a high chair and spoon-feed you. If you think I can't do it, you just try me," she threatened and set the tureen on the table near Glenna with a decisive thump.
Her father barely noticed the housekeeper, who had practically become an adopted member of the family. Aware that his silence was generated by her reference to the trouble at the mine, Glenna took over the task of ladling the homemade chicken soup into the individual bowls.
"Dad loves your homemade egg noodles, Hannah," Glenna assured the woman sternly eyeing Orin Reynold's bowed head, "Don't you?" she prompted and set a bowl of the steaming soup in front of him.
"How did you find out about the mine?" He lifted his gaze to her face. His expression was a little stunned, a little disbelieving and tinted with relief.
"Did you really think you could keep it from me?" she chided and dished a bowl of soup for herself. "I simply asked Bruce outright what the problem was at the mine. I saw how worried you looked when I first came in. Bruce isn't as good a poker player as you are. It was a simple deduction that whatever was bothering you, it had to do with the mine. After that it was a simple matter of putting a few pointed questions to Bruce." She shrugged her shoulders in an indication of how easy it had been to get the answers from him.
The curving line of his mouth held faint bemusement. "I doubt if it was hard to get the answers from him. You have Hawkins wrapped around your little finger. He'd do or say anything to please you, you know that, don't you?"
It wasn't really a question so much as it was an observation. Glenna flicked him a dry glance, reading between the lines of his comment.
"Don't decide to try any matchmaking, dad." She filled the last soup bowl and leaned across the table to set it where Hannah would be sitting. "I'll choose my own future husband, thank you." Moving the soup tureen to the center of the table, Glenna returned the conversation to its original topic, the coal mine and its problems. "Why didn't you tell me about the trouble you were having?"
"I didn't want to cause you any needless worry." He picked up his soupspoon and dipped it into the bowl, but made no attempt to lift a spoonful to his mouth. "I never thought it would come to this point," her father admitted as Hannah returned to the dining room with a basket of homemade saltine crackers to go with the soup. "I was positive that between us, Bruce and I would come up with a solution that would keep the mine from being shut down. I wasn't really trying to keep it from you. I just didn't want you worrying over something you couldn't do anything about. You have enough on your mind."
"What's this about the mine being shut down?" Hannah demanded. A frown of concern narrowed her eyes. "When did all this come about? And eat your soup. Stop playing with it," she ordered without a pause.
"The mine doesn't meet the safety standards. Unless it complies, the government is shutting it down," Glenna explained quickly and a little absently since it was old news to her. She barely noticed the faint shock that spread across Hannah's face as the plump woman sank into the chair opposite her. Challenge glinted in the look Glenna cast at her father. "So what are you going to do? Quit? That seems to be the opinion Bruce has."
"We have exhausted just about every avenue of hope," Orin sighed. Leaving the spoon in the bowl, he rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together to form an upright triangle with the table top, pressing his fingers to his mouth. There was grim resignation in his features. "I'm at a complete loss to know which way to turn."
The housekeeper glared at him. "Orin Reynolds, I have never known you to give up."
He lifted his head, sending the frazzle-haired woman an irritated look. "Who said I was? I just don't know where to go from here."
Glenna sniffed at the fighting spirit displayed by that response. It was reassuring, and reinforced her own determination. To her father the future wasn't as dark and foreboding as Bruce regarded it.
"Bruce indicated that was the way you felt," she said. "So do I."
They exchanged glances. The underlying strain that had tautened his features faded at her supportive remark. His expression became touched with a reminiscent warmth and affection.
"There are times when you remind me so much of your mother. God bless her soul," he murmured. "She always stood beside me no matter what." After a touching pause he added, "I miss her."
The sighing comment was a needless admission. The love her parents shared had been one of the greatest securities of Glenna's childhood. She was aware how keenly her father had felt the loss of his wife to cancer three years ago. It had been mercifully swift, but Glenna suspected that her mother's death had precipitated his heart attack a short year later. For a while she had feared he had a subconscious death wish to join his beloved Mary, but his will to live was strong.
"What on earth are you going to do?" the housekeeper questioned, then grimaced. "The soup is getting cold. If you had terrible news like this, why did you wait until I had food on the table before bringing it up? It would have been so much easier, Orin, if you had talked about this before dinner…or afterward, but not in the middle of a meal." She sent him a disgruntled look. "You haven't answered my question. What are you going to do?" Hannah ignored the fact that she hadn't given him an opportunity to reply.
"I don't know." He shook his head and reached for the spoon resting in his soup bowl. "We seem to be up against a brick wall."
"If you can't knock it down, there has to be a way to go around it, under it, or over it," Glenna reasoned.
"I thought we had a way around it," he agreed with her logic, his mouth twisting ruefully. "Unfortunately it turned out to be a dead end."
"You are referring to merging with Coulson Mining?" she guessed.
The spoon he held was poised in midair, halfway to his mouth, the broth dripping off the edge into the bowl as Orin shot her a quick look, "You know about that, too?" he said with faint surprise. "It doesn't sound like Bruce left anything out."
"Not much," she admitted.
He carried the spoon the rest of the way to his mouth and swallowed the soup broth it contained. Returning the spoon to the bowl, he reached for one of Hannah's crackers and began buttering it, as if he needed something to do with his hands.
"Did Bruce also tell you that he suggested a meeting with the miners to let them know about the situation and the possibility the mine will be closed in a month?" His gaze slid from the cracker to Glenna.
She attacked her soup, angered again by Bruce's defeatist attitude. "I certainly hope you put him straight on that score," she stated in a vigorous rejection of the plan.
"I agreed w
ith him." Her father didn't meet her stunned look as he took abnormal interest in evenly spreading the butter over his cracker. "He's setting the meeting between shift changes tomorrow afternoon."
The announcement shocked Glenna. It seemed to indicate a surrender to the inevitable, which was a direct contradiction to all of his previous statements. She returned the soupspoon to its place beside the rest of the silverware, mindless of the broth stain it made on the tablecloth.
"You aren't serious," she protested incredulously.
"It is the only fair thing to do, Glenna." His voice was patiently reasoning. "If—" He paused to reemphasize the qualifying word. "If the mine is going to be closed, the miners should know about it before it happens so they have a chance to prepare for the layoff."
"But you are going to try to find a way to keep it operating, so why tell them?" She didn't understand.
"I feel we should prepare them for the worst that could happen." It was an unequivocal statement of his belief. Put that way, it didn't sound quite so bad. A heavy sigh brought an air of sadness to her father. "It wouldn't be so tragic if I was the only one who would suffer from the closing of the mine, but so many people's lives are involved. The economy of this whole community revolves around the Reynolds Mine. We'll have our own miniature depression in this valley."
"It isn't as if you aren't trying to do something to prevent it." Glenna refused to let him blame himself for any repercussions that might occur.
"I know." He smiled at her encouragement. "I'm fighting just as hard for myself as I am for them. After all, I stand to lose everything including this house where Mary and I spent so many wonderful years—" The tightness in his throat cut the sentence short as his gaze made a sweep of the room. It ended its arc to linger on the housekeeper. "Even you would be affected by the closing of the mine, dear Hannah." He reached out to cover the housekeeper's hand with his own, a gesture that revealed the affection he felt toward the irascible woman. "You would be out of a job and a place to live. I had always intended for you to have a tidy pension to retire on, but I doubt if I could afford to give you severance pay."
