Giant of Mesabi

by Janet Dailey

  "Why not?" He tipped his head to the side, trying to read the expression she veiled with her lashes.

  Alanna couldn't find the words to tell him she was meeting Rolf or the explanation such an announcement would require. "It's a family thing." She seized on a half-truth since the only reason she was meeting Rolt was because of his insinuations that he knew something about her parents. "If I could, I'd break it, but—"

  "That's okay," he interrupted. "We'll celebrate tomorrow night."

  "Yes," she agreed, relieved that he didn't press her for a more definite explanation.

  "I suppose I'd better get back to work before brother Rolt sends out a search party," Kurt sighed reluctantly.

  "He is back, then, from out of town," Alanna commented.

  "He got back just before noon, which is part of the reason for my late lunch break." He bent his head and kissed her. "Till tomorrow night."

  Alanna waved to him as he reversed his car out of the driveway. Her interest in the garden had vanished, and her spirits were ridiculously low as she turned toward the house. She blamed it on Rolt. Just the mention of his name succeeded in spoiling her pleasure.

  As she entered the house, her mother was just going up the stairs. She paused. "Was that Kurt I saw drive in?"

  "Yes, it was." Alanna ran a nervous hand through her tawny hair.

  "Isn't he working today?" Elinore Powell asked curiously.

  "He was on his lunch break."

  "Was it important? I mean, he usually doesn't come by during the day," her mother said, explaining her curiosity.

  Alanna walked toward the living room. "He had an errand to run and stopped to say hello."

  "I see. I'm going upstairs now to lie down for a little while, dear."

  "All right, mother," she acknowledged.

  As her mother disappeared up the staircase, Alanna suddenly felt slightly sick. Why hadn't she told her mother about the engagement ring? For that matter, why hadn't she mentioned the engagement before now?

  It wasn't as if she was afraid her parents wouldn't approve of her choice. They liked Kurt. She had known since Saturday night that he wanted to marry her. Why hadn't she told them, or at least hinted about it? She should be deliriously happy at this moment instead of fighting waves of nausea. Why wasn't she?

  It would be all right, she assured herself. Everything would be as it should be just as soon as she had that dreaded meeting with Rolt tonight. She was letting it worry her unnecessarily.

  Chapter Five

  SLOWING THE CAR, Alanna turned it into the plant entrance which was blocked by steel gates. A security guard stepped forward as she stopped. There were nervous tremors in her hands, and she clutched the steering wheel to hide them.

  The guard bent down to peer through the opened car window. "Can I help you, miss?"

  "Yes, I'm Miss Powell. Mr. Matthews is expecting me," she answered with a stiff smile.

  The man paused to check his clipboard and nodded confirmation. "Mr. Rolt Matthews is expecting you." After clarifying to his own satisfaction which Matthews she was seeing, he signaled a second guard to open the gate and waved Alanna through.

  Her face was warm as she drove in. She guessed that there were a great many workers, in high and low positions, who were familiar with the fact that she was dating Kurt steadily. Her appointment to see his brother was something that would not go unnoticed. She wished she had mentioned it to Kurt. She made a promise to herself to do it tomorrow evening before the gossip reached him and made her meeting with Rolt sound like an assignation. Parking her car in the empty space beside the black Mark V, Alanna picked up her bag from the seat and stepped out.

  She hesitated outside the car, staring at the building door. Her fears that she was on a fool's errand returned. The impulse was there to leave without seeing Rolt, but she would never be certain whether he knew anything or not if she did.

  Her legs felt weak as she walked to the door. Fleetingly she regretted not eating dinner with her parents before coming, but it would have made her late. Considering the state of her nerves, the food would have probably been an uncomfortable ball in her stomach instead of providing her the strength she felt had deserted her at this moment.

  Inside the building, her footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty hall leading to Rolt's office. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in a glass partition. The dusty rose of her slightly flared skirt ended at the knees, showing off the shapely curve of her calves. The silk print of the complementing blouse clung to her breasts as it tapered to her slender waist. A scarf of the same dusty rose shade as her skirt was around her throat.

  She made an attractive picture, the color setting off the blond of her hair. She wished she hadn't taken such pains with her appearance. She didn't want to appear attractive for Rolt; she would rather have looked like some nonentity. It was too late to think of that now. She walked through his secretary's office to the interconnecting door. Her hand clenched once, nervously, then she knocked.

  "Come in," was the muffled response.

  Her stomach fluttered as she opened the door. Rolt was sitting at his desk, his head bent in an attitude of concentration over the papers spread before him. Alanna closed the door and waited just inside the room for him to acknowledge her presence.

  At the click of the door, he glanced up absently, then almost immediately the indigo darkness of his eyes narrowed for a piercing second. Her heartbeat quickened under the penetrating look. Then his gaze moved to the watch gleaming goldly on his arm, as if confirming the time.

  "Take a seat." He was already bending over the papers again as he spoke. "I'll be through here in a few minutes."

  Alanna hesitated. A white-hot urge rose to walk over to his table and scatter his precious papers to the floor and demand that he tell her whatever it was that he was supposed to know. She had waited three days for this moment. Surely that was long enough!

  No, her common sense told her. Losing her temper would only give Rolt an added advantage. This meeting was going to be strictly formal and polite. They would discuss the subject and not go into the personalities involved, his or hers. Cooling the brief surge of anger, she walked toward the half-circle of the sofa.

  "There's a bar on the far wall. Ice is in the refrigerator below. Help yourself," Rolt told her.

  Alanna glanced at the bar briefly and sat down on the sofa. "No, thank you." The last thing she needed was to have her thinking muddled with alcohol.

  Instead she reached into her bag for a cigarette, an occasional habit she had acquired at college and one she was trying to break. But, at that moment, she was more interested in the possibly soothing effect of the nicotine on her taut nerves, especially now that her interminable wait was being lengthened still more.

  Leaning against the sofa back, she exhaled a thin trail of smoke. The silence in the room was unnerving, broken only by the rustle of papers from the desk and the occasional scratch of a pen on paper. Rolt worked on, completely ignoring her presence in the room—something Alanna couldn't do as she openly gazed at him.

  His expression was closed, uncompromising. He concentrated on his task and let nothing interfere. The blue drapes at the window were not completely closed. The shaft of sunlight from the window streamed over the desk, casting a golden hue on the camel tan suit he wore and shimmering over the silk of his brown tie. The angle of light brought out the amber sheen of his coffee-brown hair.

  The sunlight wavered as if a filmy cloud was drifting in the way of its source. It intensified the tan of his skin until it appeared bronze, a marked contrast to the white of his shirt. The uncertain light, hovering. between bright and dim, highlighted the craggy planes and angles of his masculine features. The impression Alanna had was of something savage and noble, inherently male and proud. The cloud passed and the light was steadily bright. His features again became uncompromising and closed.

  She had forgotten her cigarette during her unobserved study of him, and the ash was threatening to fall as she qui
ckly leaned toward the ashtray on the large coffee table in front of the sofa. When she straightened. Rolt was watching her, his gaze alert and inspecting. There was a mirthless curve to the molded line of his mouth. He laid the pen down with an air of finality and rose from the straight-backed chair.

  "Sorry to have kept you waiting," His words were without genuine meaning, phrased in politeness and lacking in sincere apology.

  "Of course," Alanna answered coolly.

  Strong fingers closed around the knot of his tie, loosening it and starting to pull it free. "Do you mind?" Rolt paused.

  She doubted that it really mattered to him if she gave her permission, but she did. "Not at all."

  The tie was removed and stuffed in his jacket pocket. The camel tan jacket he negligently shrugged off and draped over the chair he had vacated. Alanna was gripped by the sensation that she was watching him shed the trappings of civilization. He became primitively male and somehow dangerous.

  When the top three buttons of his white shirt were unfastened, he stopped. Alanna felt faintly surprised. She had nearly expected him to strip away the shirt as well. Her senses had stirred alarmingly during these electric seconds and she looked away to bring them under control.

  Instead of walking to the sofa, Rolt moved to the window, stopping in the slit of sunlight. He gazed out the dusty panes, his feet slightly apart, a stance that suggested arrogance and power. A giant looking over his domain, Alanna thought. Her impatience grew as he remained silent.

  "What is it you claim to know about my parents?" she challenged finally.

  Rolt sent a long, measuring look over his shoulder, then pivoted. "I'm going to have a drink. Are you sure you wouldn't like one?" he asked, calmly ignoring her question.

  "I'm positive." It was difficult to keep the irritation she felt out of her voice.

  Alanna leaned forward to crush her cigarette out in the ashtray. The bar was on the wall behind her. She listened to the opening of the refrigerator door, the clink of ice in a glass, and the closing of the door. Then there was only silence. She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap, refusing to glance around at him.

  "My parents," she prompted icily.

  Liquor splashed over ice. "What about them?"

  "That's what I want to know." Alanna turned on the sofa cushion, glaring at Rolt. "This is a trick, isn't it? You used my parents as an excuse to lure me here, didn't you?" she accused.

  He met her look with bland unconcern. "Yes."

  "I should have known," she muttered. With jerky, angry movements, she grasped her bag and rose from the sofa. "You know absolutely nothing about my parents."

  A half step toward the door and his quiet voice stopped her. "I didn't say that." Alanna turned to eye him warily. "I only admitted that I used them to get you here. Which is not the same as admitting that I know nothing"

  "Well, do you?" she challenged, tired of the cat and mouse game.

  "Sit down, Alanna." Rolt walked from the bar, a stubby glass in his hand.

  "No," she refused unequivocally. "I want to know about my parents and I want to know now." There was an unmistakable threat in her voice.

  His mouth twitched as though he found her barely suppressed anger amusing, but it was a fleeting movement. He walked away from the sofa, and sauntered back to his desk.

  "You said your father told you that he was concerned about your mother. She has a bad heart, I believe." He paused in front of the table to glance at Alanna.

  "Yes." She volunteered no more than that.

  "Indirectly it's the reason why he's worried."

  Alanna tipped her head to one side, definitely skeptical.

  "What is the direct cause?" she asked.

  "How familiar are you with your father's financial situation?" countered Rolt.

  "I know they're quite comfortably fixed," she said with a haughty coolness. "Between the sale of his stock to your company and the remainder he kept, their future is adequately provided for."

  "It was at the time of the sale."

  That statement drifted in the air before its impact finally settled on Alanna. The haughtiness left as she searched the bronze mask. She was motionless as she tried to read between the lines. His implication sent shivers of apprehension down her spine. Slowly she began walking toward him.

  "What are you saying?" The demand was breathy, lacking in strength.

  "Your father never was a very good businessman or manager. Part of the money from the stock sale he invested in some solid securities. The rest went into some speculative stocks. Unfortunately they were unwise choices and he lost. Trying to recoup his losses, he cashed in the others and invested the proceeds in more risky issues. They were no more successful than the first. To put it simply, Alanna—" Rolt paused for effect "—there's no money from the stock sale."

  "Oh, no, poor daddy!" she murmured to herself. Lifting her gaze, she said, "He still has the income from his stock here in the taconite plant."

  "Yes, he has that, but it isn't large enough to maintain his present standard of living. If your mother had another heart attack, it would probably wipe him out completely. The house is already mortgaged. And he was at the bank this past week to apply for a loan, using his stock here as collateral."

  The color drained from her face. The whole dismal picture, and its horrible repercussions, began to take shape. If her father received the loan and was unable to make the payments, the stock would be taken and his only source of income as well.

  "He wanted to sell the house," Alanna said in a frozen voice. "That's why he was saying all these things to mother. And she wouldn't even consider it"

  "At this point, selling the house would only buy him a little time. He should have done it a year ago," Rolt stated matter-of-factly, "before he mortgaged it."

  "I don't understand." Alanna brushed a bewildered hand across her forehead and eyes. "How could it have happened? Without any warning?"

  "Your father had ample warning," he pointed out dryly.

  "There must be something that can be done," she said desperately, then began listing solutions aloud. "We can sell the house, of course. Mother won't object once she learns the situation. We'll move somewhere smaller, cheaper. I can get a job. For that matter, daddy can probably find something. He's intelligent. He still has his health."

  "He's already tried to find work, but there aren't many positions open to a man of his age. Face it, Alanna, he's only been at the top thanks to his father. Forgetting the age factor, he simply doesn't have the experience."

  "It isn't daddy's fault that he inherited the company," Alanna protested.

  "And as for you working," Rolt continued, "are you suggesting that you'll support them for the rest of your life?"

  She didn't hesitate. "I don't see why not. They supported me."

  "What about marriage? Are you going to forgo that? Your husband might not be so understanding when you take over the responsibility for your parents' debts and their welfare. Your father owes a considerable amount."

  "He'll understand." She was thinking of Kurt, strong, wonderful Kurt.

  "Do you think so?" he mocked.

  "Yes."

  "Your plans are quixotically beautiful, but totally unworkable. You're asking your father to sell his home. To make ends meet, he would also have to give up his membership in the various clubs. The chances of his being able to find a respectable position are virtually nil. Therefore, he would have to sit at home, with nothing to do but wait for you to give him a handout. What about his pride, Alanna? It would break him and in turn it would break your mother."

  Her eyes glazed amethyst-bright with unshed tears. She bit at her lip, knowing what Rolt said was true and loath to admit it. Proud, sensitive Dorian Powell, bred to be a gentleman and the provider of his family. It would kill him to live on her charity.

  Alanna turned away to hide her trembling chin. "What's your brilliant alternative?" Sarcasm trembled in her shaking voice.

  "I could help."

>   "He wouldn't accept charity from you," she flashed tightly.

  "There is a way it could be done without him ever being aware it was charity," Rolt stated quietly.

  "How?" Her breath caught, hope rising.

  "I could arrange for his income from the plant to be increased, if necessary, I can put him in some public relations position, a part-time thing that would supplement his income."

  "Could you?" Alanna pivoted, breathing her question.

  His gaze was level and unwavering, indigo dark and hooded. "Yes, I could, I will help him…if you marry me."

  Alanna stiffened, motionless for a minute. "What?"

  "Marry me," Rolt repeated.

  "It's impossible," she declared with a violent shake of her head. "I'm already engaged to your brother. He bought me a ring today."

  Rolt lifted his glass and downed the rest of his drink. "Engagements have been broken before. That's hardly an obstacle."

  "I happen to love Kurt. Isn't that an obstacle?"

  "Only in your mind," he dismissed it aloofly. "It certainly wouldn't be the first loveless marriage that's taken place."

  "Do you actually think I'll agree to this…this blackmail?" Alanna demanded incredulously.

  "I don't think you have a choice, not if you really care about your parents as much as you claim," Rolt shrugged.

  "It's preposterous!" She spun away, agitated and uncertain. "Kurt will help me. We can come up with some plan where Father won't guess where the money is coming from."

  "Kurt doesn't have the kind of money required at his disposal. He works for a salary, one that would have difficulty stretching to cover two households. In our family, you work your way to the top or you don't make it. It isn't handed on a silver platter at birth." He set the glass on the table, the ice clinking against the sides. "No, Alanna, Kurt can't help you. I can, but he can't."

  "I'll never marry you," she vowed. "Even the thought of it makes me violently ill."

  "I offered you the only other alternative you have," he pointed out.

  "I can't accept that!"