by Janet Dailey
"Don't you go trying to force your charity on me, Orin Reynolds." Hannah pulled her hand from beneath his, rejecting his apology, but the gruffness of her voice revealed how deeply moved she was by his remarks. "I can look out for myself. I always have, haven't I?"
"Of course," he smiled benignly.
"The mine isn't shut down, and we haven't been turned out of this house yet." Glenna felt the need to point that out. "So let's concentrate our attention on trying to prevent it, instead of deciding what we will do if it happens."
"Any suggestions?" It wasn't a taunting request from her father, merely an acknowledgment that he could think of no more avenues to explore.
"Aren't there other mining companies that might be interested in a merger besides Coulson? Just because Coulson isn't interested doesn't mean another company might not be," she reasoned.
"Considering the mine's indebtedness and the investment capital needed to bring it up to standard, only a large corporation could absorb us—a company that could take advantage of the tax benefits. The only company that fits that bill is Jett Coulson's. And you know what his answer was," he murmured dryly.
"It wasn't his answer," Glenna remembered. "It came from one of his underlings. Bruce said so."
"But I'm sure it came down from him."
"You don't know that."
Her father studied her for a minute, silently following her train of thought. "You think I should get the answer straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak."
"Why not?" she shrugged. "You haven't personally spoken to him. Neither has Bruce. As competent as Bruce might be as a manager, that doesn't mean he's equally as competent to present your merger proposition." She watched him mulling over her comment.
"You could be right," he conceded thoughtfully. "Maybe I should arrange a meeting with Jett Coulson."
"Absolutely," Glenna nodded as she watched the hope being reborn in his gray eyes. "What have you got to lose?"
"Absolutely nothing." He spooned some homemade soup into his mouth and tasted its flavor for the first time. His bright gaze darted to the housekeeper, a smile of approval curving his mouth. "This is delicious, Hannah."
"Of course it is," the housekeeper sniffed, as if there could be any doubt she would serve less than the best.
LATE THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Glenna was in her bedroom. One corner of the room was a miniature study, a small desk cubbyholed amid the bookshelves. A portable typewriter sat in the center of the orderly chaos, a sheet of paper in its carriage, and her notes from the previous day's outing scattered around the desk top.
A knock at the door intruded on Glenna's frowning concentration, turning her head from the scribbled handwriting she was trying to decipher. Before she could respond to the summoning knock, the door opened to admit her father.
"We're in luck," he announced, entering the room with more buoyancy to his stride than she had seen in a long time.
She pushed all thoughts of the article she was trying to write from her mind and directed all her attention to him. A faint smile touched her mouth as she studied his jovial mood.
"What kind of luck are we in?" Glenna joked and tucked the thickness of her auburn hair behind an ear. "Good or bad?"
"Anything would have to be an improvement over what we've had so it must be good." Despite his surface vigor, he sought out the plump armchair covered in toasted-gold corduroy. It was an indication of how fleeting his strength was, his lack of stamina.
Glenna was careful to ignore it. "Are you going to tell me what this good luck is, or keep me in suspense?"
"I just found out in a roundabout way that Jett Coulson is going to be entertaining some of his lobbyists at Greenbrier this weekend." His smile fairly beamed from his face.
His announcement merely drew a frown from Glenna. "And that is the good luck?" She failed to see what was so wonderful about it.
"It certainly is. Meeting him there will allow a casual approach," he explained. "If I made an appointment to see Coulson at his office there would undoubtedly be a hundred and one interruptions, and his time would be limited. At the inn, I'll have more than one chance to discuss it with him."
It sounded very logical but Glenna saw a problem. "But if he's entertaining, won't he—"
"It's only an excuse to party. Coulson will have plenty of free time," her father assured.
"Are you sure this is the course you should take?" She wasn't convinced. "Wouldn't it be wiser to meet him in an atmosphere more conducive to business?"
Her father chuckled. "More business deals are consummated at social gatherings than are ever accomplished in a corporate office. Once an agreement is reached, it's up to the attorneys to work out the fine details. A handshake from Coulson over the dinner table is as good as cash in the bank."
"You certainly know more about such things than I do," Glenna conceded and shifted in her chair to hook a leg beneath her.
"How long do you think it will take to drive from here to White Sulphur Springs? I'd like to arrive around noon on Friday."
"It shouldn't take more than two or three hours," she guessed.
"You will be my chauffeur, won't you?" her father asked, well aware that his doctor would be against him driving that distance alone.
"I'm certainly not going to let you go by yourself." Then she hesitated. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have Bruce with you?"
"That would be much too obvious." He shook his head, rejecting her suggestion. "I want it to appear to be a father-daughter outing, all very casual. A weekend vacation will be good for you anyway. Besides, you can pick up a lot of material for your writing."
"I'm sure I could, but—" Glenna paused uncertainly, eyeing her father with concern. "Dad, do you think we can afford this?"
"At this point a few hundred dollars isn't going to keep us out of bankruptcy court." His expression became serious. "This is the last roll of the dice. We might as well shoot our whole wad and go out in style."
"You have always been a first-class gambler, dad." She observed with a faint smile that held warmth but no humor.
"Be sure to pack our best clothes." Her father stood up, the decision made and irrevocable now. "We don't want to look like a pair of beggars when we meet Coulson."
THE WHITE MAGNIFICENCE of the Greenbrier was nestled in an upland Allegheny valley. Its forested lawns and mountain backdrop provided the beauty of natural surroundings. The famed spa and its predecessor, Old White, obtained its initial notoriety from the soothing mineral waters that smelled like an egg that was half boiled and half spoiled. Yet its guest register over the years included an impressive list of celebrities.
This was not Glenna's first visit to the famous West Virginia resort, but she was still awed by its stately elegance and aura of steeped tradition. The many-storied facade was pristine white with a columned portico entrance worthy of the grandest and noblest of guests.
After they had registered and been shown to their adjoining rooms, she and her father had split up. Glenna had wanted to do some exploring and familiarize herself again with the hotel complex while her father wanted to make inquiries and learn the most logical place to "bump into" Jett Coulson.
Her wandering walk brought Glenna into the facility housing the indoor tennis courts. She paused to watch a match being played on the near court, two couples playing a game of mixed doubles. The good-natured ribbing that was exchanged back and forth between the pairs brought a smile to her face.
A shouted reference to the time directed her glance at her watch. It was a few minutes past three o'clock. By the time she returned to her room and changed into her swimsuit, she would have an hour to swim before meeting her father. The fairness of her skin, the complexion of a true redhead, forced Glenna to avoid the sun during the middle of the day when its burning rays did the most damage.
As she started to move away from the near tennis court, a hoot of laughter attracted her attention. Turning her head, she glanced over her shoulder. In the split second when she was
n't watching where she was going, she nearly walked into another player. Her forward progress was halted by a pair of hands that stopped her before she ran into him.
Her attention was jerked to the front; a hurried apology forming on her lips. It froze there for a full second as Glenna stared at the tall sun-bronzed figure of a man in white tennis shorts and white knit top. A black pair of eyes were returning her stunned regard with a shimmer of bemusement as he removed his hands from her shoulders.
Glenna was struck by the irony of the situation. She had accidentally run into the man that her father was contriving to bump into. A smile played with the corners of her mouth, attracting his interest.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Coulson," she apologized smoothly. "I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."
An eyebrow flicked upward at the use of his name. All the toughness was there in his features, just as she had remembered from the photograph she had seen. But the photograph hadn't captured the perpetual gleam in his dark eyes—the gleam of a rogue wolf.
"Have we met before?" Like his gaze, his voice had a certain directness to it. Glenna was subjected to the boldness of his sweeping glance. "I can't believe I would have forgotten meeting you."
The line was delivered smoothly, so smoothly that Glenna found it hard to question its sincerity. "We've never been introduced. I recognized you from a newspaper photograph," she explained and felt warmed by the slow smile that spread across his mouth.
"You must have a very good memory. It's been some time since there have been any articles about me, Miss—" He paused deliberately to invite Glenna to fill in the blank.
"Reynolds. Glenna Reynolds." She found herself becoming intrigued by this man that she had once labeled as ruthless. There was a reckless gambler's charm about him that she hadn't expected. This, plus the unwavering determination etched in his craggy features, made a potent combination. She began to feel the force of it exerting its influence on her. She hadn't anticipated being sexually disturbed by Jett Coulson.
"That name sounds familiar to me. Glenna Reynolds." He repeated it as if to jog his memory, his eyes narrowing faintly.
"Perhaps you have—" She started to explain who her father was, but Jett Coulson interrupted her with a snap of his fingers in recollection.
"Glenna Renolds was the by-line on an article that was in the magazine section of the Sunday paper. Was that yours?" His look became thoughtful, a degree of aloofness entering his expression.
"Yes, it was," Glenna admitted with faint astonishment. "I'm flattered that you read it…and remembered it."
"I remembered it because of the way you managed to take a boring subject and made it appear interesting," he replied diffidently.
"Thank you…I think." She qualified her statement because she wasn't sure that his remark hadn't been a backhanded compliment. It irritated Glenna to think he might be mocking her behind his poker-smooth exterior.
"Is this a business trip or pleasure?" His observing gaze seemed to take note of the turbulence clouding her gray green eyes, yet he had shifted the subject so smoothly that Glenna wondered if she hadn't imagined the gibe in the last.
"Both," she admitted.
"The Greenbrier has been written about many times."
"Then my challenge will be to do it differently." There was a defensive tilt to her chin, elevating it a degree. She became conscious of his superior height and his unshakable self-assurance.
"I enjoy a challenge myself," he murmured. Then he inclined his head in a slight nod. "Excuse me, but I have a tennis date to keep."
His comment prompted Glenna to move to one side as if she had been blocking him, which she hadn't. His tanned and sinewed legs carried him past her with long strides. Her gaze followed him for several seconds, taking note of the narrowness of his waist and hips tapering out to the breadth of his ropy shoulders. There was little doubt in her mind that Jett Coulson was a breed of man she had never encountered before—and was unlikely to meet again. He was one of a kind.
Chapter Three
ORIN REYNOLDS was at the poolside when Glenna climbed the ladder out of the swimming pool. She sensed an air of urgency about him as she walked, leaving a trail of water behind her, to the deck chair where she'd left her towel and flowered robe.
"Hi!" When she greeted him, she was slightly out of breath from the swim, but exhilarated by the activity. Within seconds after leaving the pool, the evaporation of water cooled her skin and began raising goosebumps. Glenna shook out the towel and began briskly rubbing herself down. "What's up? I thought we were going to meet in the room."
"I tipped the bellboy. He told me that Coulson usually has a cocktail in the lounge before dinner. I wanted to be sure we got there before he did so we could spot him coming in."
Unsnapping her bathing cap, she took it off to let her auburn hair tumble free. "I bumped into him—literally—at the tennis court this afternoon."
"Coulson?" Her father appeared to need reassurance that they were talking about the same person.
"The one and only." She used the towel to blot the excess moisture from her swimsuit, a sleek one-piece suit of sea green.
"What did he say?" Her father was keenly alert, studying every nuance of her expression. "Does he know who you are?"
"He doesn't know that I'm your daughter—at least I didn't tell him I was. But he had read one of my articles and remembered my name from that." Which was something she was still a little surprised about. "That was just about the extent of our conversation."
"Mmm." Orin Reynolds seemed to digest that information while Glenna slipped into the loose-fitting floral robe and hooked the wide belt around her slim waistline. "Do you have shoes?"
"Under the chair." She knelt to remove the fashionably heeled slip-ons from beneath the chair. Using his arm for balance, she stepped into first one, then the other.
"Let's go to the lounge." He took her arm arid started to lead her away.
Glenna stopped in stunned protest. "I can't go to the lounge like this."
"Nonsense. It's informal. There will be people there in tennis shorts. You are certainly more fully clothed than that." He dismissed her protest.
Glenna didn't attempt to argue about her wearing apparel. "But I haven't any lipstick—any makeup on." Her fingers touched the damp tendrils of curling hair. "And my hair—"
"Nothing you could do would improve on perfection." Deliberately he was too lavish in his praise, mocking her vanity.
"Dad, be serious," she sighed, unable to stay upset by his high-handedness.
"If you are determined to spoil that fresh clean look, use the powder room to comb your hair and put on some lipstick," he conceded with an indulging smile. "But don't take long. I don't want to miss him."
After Glenna had made the necessary repairs to her appearance she met her father at the entrance to the lounge. It was just beginning to fill with the happy-hour crowd. Orin Reynolds guided her to a table strategically located to permit him to observe the door. Their drink order was served—a glass of white wine for Glenna and a Perrier with a lime twist for her father. She had taken her first sip of the wine when Jett Coulson entered the lounge alone. She touched her father's arm to draw attention to the man inside the doorway, but it was unnecessary. Orin had already spotted him.
Those gleaming dark eyes were making a slow inspection of the room, not in search of anyone as far as Glenna could tell, but simply taking note of who was present. Her father stood up, attracting Jett's attention. His gaze narrowed as it touched Glenna, then returned to her father.
"Mr. Coulson." Without raising his voice from its pleasant pitch, her father succeeded in summoning Jett to their table. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you formally. My name is Orin Reynolds, of the Reynolds Mine."
There was a firm clasping of hands as Jett murmured a polite, "How do you do, Mr. Reynolds."
If her father's name or that of his coal mine, meant anything to Jett, Glenna didn't see any recognition register in h
is expression. But she was coming to mistrust those hardened features to reveal his inner thoughts.
"I believe you met my daughter Glenna earlier this afternoon," her father said, by way of acknowledging her presence.
"Yes, we…bumped into each other." The faint pause carried an inflection of dry amusement as Jett nodded to her. "Hello, again, Miss Reynolds."
"Hello, Mr. Coulson." There was a husky pitch to her voice, and Glenna wasn't sure exactly where it had come from. She seemed to be holding her breath, too, without knowing why.
No longer dressed in his tennis clothes, he had changed into a pair of navy slacks and a silk shirt in a subdued blue design against a cream background. The untamed thickness of his hair held a sheen of dampness, prompting Glenna to surmise he had probably showered. She had been so fully prepared to dislike him; now she found herself wondering why she didn't.
"Sit down," her father invited. "Let me buy you a drink." Then he paused, as if suddenly realizing. "Were you meeting someone?"
"No." He chose to sit in the empty chair beside Glenna, across the table from her father.
"What will you have to drink?" Orin signaled to the cocktail waitress.
"Scotch, neat, on the rocks," Jett ordered and her father passed the information on.
"Who won your tennis match?" Seated this close, Glenna inhaled the tangy scent of his after-shave with each breath she took. It stimulated her senses, awakening them to his rough brand of masculinity.
"I did." The reply was neither a boast nor a brag, merely a simple statement of fact.
"Naturally," she murmured dryly, goaded by the sheer confidence of his statement.
He turned his head to regard her with those gleaming, but impassive black eyes. "I always play to win."
"Don't you ever play simply for the fun of competing?" Even as she asked the question she remembered her first conclusion that he could be ruthless.
"That's the rationale of a loser." A half-smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, taunting her. Then he let his gaze slide back to her father. "I would never have guessed she was your daughter, Mr. Reynolds."
