King of the Mountain (3 page)

“No,” he said then, straightening and looking directly at her. “More annoying than serious.”

That did it. By the time he hung up the phone Kitty was fit to be tied. And she intended to prosecute him to the limit the law would allow.

From the fully stocked gun rack by the front door to the cross-barred hotel in back, the office fairly reeked of truth and justice the Cooperville way.

“Now,” the sheriff said, plopping his bulk into the swivel chair behind his scarred oak desk. He eyed them one after the other. “Would someone mind telling me what in the name of tarnation’s going on here?”

They both spoke at once.

“She was poking along like Mr. Magoo’s twin sister—”

“He came barreling toward me at about warp seven—”

“One at a time, please.” The sheriff held up both beefy hands as if to stop traffic, then pointed at Ben. “You first.”

Kitty clammed up and crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself for the biggest con job on record.

“It was all my fault,” Ben admitted to Kitty’s total surprise. “I was going too fast and I didn’t see her until it was too late to stop.”

The ceiling light glinted on the sheriff’s badge as he swiveled his chair toward Kitty. “Then what happened?”

“After he hit me, my car started sliding toward the edge. I slammed on the brakes, but all that did was make it slide sideways.” Her blood curdled in her veins as she verbalized that nightmarish moment. “I thought I was a goner.”

“And then?” the sheriff prompted, looking at Ben.

“When I saw what was happening, I threw my car into park and ran to help her.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, making light of his own heroics. “Fortunately I was able to get her out before her car dove over the edge.”

A dreadful silence enveloped the room. Each of them contemplated what might have happened had Ben not run to Kitty’s rescue. Like a gentle,
generous thief, the memory of his sheltering arms and shared coat stole through her thoughts, robbing her of her resolve.

The sheriff cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “It doesn’t sound like attempted murder to me. Careless and reckless driving maybe, but not—”

“I’m sorry.” Kitty turned her dark-fringed eyes to Ben’s. “I was upset about my car and—”

“Forget it.” He all but drowned in the shimmering blue depths of her eyes, and at the moment he could have forgiven her anything.

“You suppose there’s anything left that’s worth salvaging?” the sheriff asked then.

“Not of the car.” Ben took off his tie and put it into the pocket of his sharply creased trousers. Kitty couldn’t help noting how they showcased his fluid thigh and leg muscles before falling to a stylish break upon his polished Italian loafers. “I thought I’d go back and check on the contents, though.”

The sheriff stood. “I’ll go with you.”

“Is there anything in particular you want us to look for?” Ben’s question caught Kitty completely off guard.

Her startled eyes flew to his, and she saw by the lazy smile that curved his lips that he knew she’d been staring at his well-dressed body.

“My pit helmet,” she said quickly, trying to cover her consternation. “And my lunch pail.”

“What about your coat?” the sheriff asked.

“That too,” she confirmed.

“And your purse?” he queried.

“I don’t carry it to work,” she said, then remembered with a sigh. “But my billfold was in the glove compartment.”

The sheriff whipped out his notebook. “Any money in it?”

“No. Just my driver’s license and”—sudden tears spiked her lashes—”and my daughter’s baby pictures.”

Ben placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and felt the delicacy of her bones through the rough fabric of her coverall. “If it’s humanly possible, we’ll find them.”

She nodded her appreciation but flinched away from the too-familiar hand. “I hope so.”

He took her rebuff in stride. “Well, we’d better get moving if we’re—”

“Not so fast, Mr. Cooper.” The sheriff didn’t sound quite so deferential now as he reached into the desk drawer for his ticket book. “About that charge of reckless and careless—”

“Please, Sheriff.” Kitty felt honor bound to intervene on Ben’s behalf. “Can’t we just forget that?”

“You’re dropping the charge?” The sheriff let his ticket book lay.

Kitty nodded, ashamed now of her earlier claim. “Yes, sir.”

“No complaining witness, no case.” The sheriff closed the drawer and donned his ten-gallon
Stetson. Then he ushered Ben and Kitty out the door and locked it behind them.

After getting directions on where to find Kitty’s car and saying he would see Ben shortly, the lawman took off—red light flaring and siren blaring—toward the mountain.

“Get in,” Ben ordered, his tailored white shirt pulling taut across his wide shoulders as he reached to open the passenger door. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

Wishing she’d thought of asking the sheriff for a ride, Kitty stood pat. “I’ll get in if you’ll promise to observe the speed limit.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, drawing anion his muscular chest with a long, dark forefinger.

Her own heart stopped in mid-beat at the mouthwatering display of black chest hair coiling out of his open white collar. Thinking she must have lost more than her car in the accident, Kitty gave herself a swift mental kick and got into the Cadillac.

Ben closed her door and cut around to the driver’s side.

“I got your jacket dirty,” she confessed as he slid in.

He noticed she’d folded it and laid it between them.

“Send me the cleaning bill,” she added apologetically.

He had no intention of doing that, but he just nodded and asked curtly, “Where to?”

“East on Main,” she said, oddly deflated by his terse tone. “Then left on Maple.”

An awkward silence fell between them as autumn leaves danced in the headlights. Night had risen from the hollow that held Cooperville, smudging the contours of the mountain. The sky was now luminous with emerging moonlight.

“Which house?” he asked after turning onto her street.

“Last one on the right.”

He rolled to a stop in front of a small row house with a washtub hanging on the sagging porch and a light burning softly in the window. It had been years since he’d been in this part of town, and he was surprised to see how little it had changed.

Kitty opened her door, wanting desperately to get out of the car. “Well, thanks for the—”

“Wait.” He reached to detain her, reluctant to let her go in just yet. Then recalling how she’d recoiled from him earlier, he dropped his hand.

“What?” Her eyes were wide and wary.

Ben had been an absentee employer for longer than he cared to admit. He always came back to Cooperville at contract time to oversee the negotiations and to put his John Hancock on the bottom line. But the old hometown had held precious little else of interest to him.

Until tonight …

“Close the door, Kitty,” he said gently.

But she just sat there as if she’d turned to stone.

“Please.”

Maybe it was his newfound politeness. Or maybe it was her own curiosity. For whatever reason, she closed the door and waited for him to go on.

He killed the engine and adjusted the overhead light until only a mellow glow remained. Then he turned to her with deliberate slowness. “I’d like to hear what you were going to say to me at the bargaining session.”

“I don’t remember now.” Strange, she’d rehearsed her speech all day, but her mind seemed to have gone blank since the accident.

“Give me the gist of it,” he suggested.

She did. “Well, if you must know, I was going to call for a strike vote.”

“But the miners haven’t struck in over a quarter of a century.” He was genuinely surprised. He remembered his father ordering a lockout. Remembered, too, what a turning point it had been for him.

“Then they wanted more.” She remembered her father walking a picket line. Remembered, too, the hard-candy Christmas that had followed. “Now we’d settle for status quo.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“Doesn’t look like you’re hurting too badly to me.”

“I think you’re comparing apples and oranges here.”

Kitty fingered the sleeve of his cashmere jacket,
figuring she couldn’t get it any dirtier than she already had. “Pretty nice apples, if you ask me.”

Ben couldn’t believe it. First she’d accused him of never having lifted anything heavier than a pencil or a negligee. An accusation that his military record alone would refute. Now she had him feeling like he owed her an apology for how he spent his own damn money.

“Do you think I enjoy cutting salaries?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you enjoy.” Nor did she care. “I know only that if we’re forced to take a wage cut, we’re going to lose everything we’ve worked for.”

He thought about telling her that expenses were up and profits were down. That he’d been making up the difference out of his own pocket for nigh onto three years now, and that he couldn’t continue operating the mine at a loss. That if the miners didn’t take a pay cut they were going to find themselves standing in the unemployment line.

Then he thought the hell with it and turned his eyes to her semidark house.

“It’s not much,” she said defensively, “but it’s mine.”

He squared himself in the seat and changed the subject. “What made you decide to become a miner?”

“The money.” When she’d heard the mine was hiring, she’d quit her low-paying secretarial job
and signed up for a training class. “Where else can a woman make that much around here?”

“Is your husband a miner?” He remembered her mentioning she had a daughter.

“I’m divorced,” she said shortly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lying through his teeth.

“I’m not. And no, he wasn’t a miner. He was an insurance agent.” She reached for the door handle again, wondering what had prompted her to divulge so much personal information. “Good night, Mr. Cooper.”

“Call me Ben,” he said irritably.

“Ben.” She tested his name on her tongue and was alarmed to find that it felt so right. “Thanks for the ride.”

“I’d like to see you again,” he said quietly.

“Look for me at the next bargaining session.” She opened her door and the overhead light came on. “I’ll be the one in the red neckerchief.”

“I mean socially.”

“Socially?” she repeated feebly.

He nodded firmly. “Socially.”

“I—I’m afraid that’s impossible.” She prayed he wouldn’t ask why.

Her prayer went unanswered. “Why?”

“Because—” She struggled to come up with a good reason, but all she could manage was “Owners and miners mix like oil and water.”

“But add the right ingredients,” he countered in a cajoling voice, “and they make a spicy vinaigrette.”

“Save your clever comebacks for someone else,
Mr. Cooper
,” she retorted. “Someone who doesn’t have to get up and go to work in the morning.”

That said, Kitty got out of the car.

“Hey, wait a minute …” Ben reached to keep her from slamming the door. The overhead light limned his masculine features, playing grooves and hollows against prominent cheekbones. “What time do you usually get up?”

“Five-thirty.” She took a step backward, feeling unaccountably threatened. “Why?”

“I’ll have a car in your driveway by five,” he promised, then pulled the door closed and drove off.

As she watched his taillights disappear down the street and around the corner, she felt unaccountably lonely. Confused by all that had happened and wondering what had come over her tonight, she turned to go in the house.

The first thing she did when she got inside was to check on Jessie. As quietly as her work boots would allow, she walked down the hardwood hallway to her daughter’s bedroom door.

It was early, only a little after eight, but Jessie was fast asleep. She lay on her back, one arm possessively clutching a stuffed tiger: the only gift her father had ever given her.

Except for the long legs she’d inherited from him, Jessie reminded Kitty of herself as a child: twelve going on twenty when it came to assuming
responsibility, and when it came to placing her trust, as innocent as a newborn babe.

Kitty turned to leave the bedroom.

She wished that she’d been able to spend time with Jessie tonight, and she felt guilty because she had to work. But she’d feel a lot worse if she quit her job and went on the dole. She felt guilty because her marriage had failed. But she’d tried to stick it out, and what had it gotten her? She shuddered, just remembering.

In the bathroom she averted her eyes from the mirror as she stripped off her work clothes and used an apricot scrub on her face and neck and hands to keep the specks of coal dust from becoming permanently embedded in the pores of her skin. She hated the dirt with a passion, but it was part of the job. Third-generation miner that she was, she’d known that going in.

She usually cleaned up right after work, in the women’s trailer. But tonight she’d been in a hurry to get to the union hall and have her say. No telling what the coal—what Ben Cooper had thought when he’d gotten a good look at her.

Not that she cared, she reminded herself as she adjusted the shower taps. But as her mother used to say, you never got a second chance to make a first impression.

Kitty washed with the dish detergent that removed the black coal dust better than regular soap, then worked a handful of apple-scented shampoo into her hair. The warm water spraying
needlelike on her body was just the ticket for her sore neck and stiff shoulders. She was beginning to feel achy from the accident.

Random thoughts flitted through her mind as she slathered herself with baby oil and blow-dried her hair.

Where on earth would Ben Cooper find her another car by five-thirty tomorrow morning? And where would she find the money for all the other essentials?

Jessie needed braces, and the dentist had already started the preparatory work. But if the miners took a wage cut, she wouldn’t have the money to pay for the part her insurance didn’t cover.

Ben Cooper—there, she was getting better at it—had never married, though rumor had it he’d come close a couple of times.