Wild and Wonderful (12 page)

"Yes," Glenna whispered as she began to shake with the sobs she could no longer hold back. "I'm sorry, dad, but I just couldn't stand by while you lost everything." It seemed to take him a long time to cross the room to where she stood. Intense sadness gleamed in his eyes. Quietly he studied her wretched expression.

"What happened, baby?" he asked with grim concern.

"Nothing," She shook her head in a mute kind of pain and shuddered when his arms went around her to comfort her. "He insists that he isn't in a position to help you."

"Then he didn't—" Her father paused, not needing to finish the sentence.

"No." It was a rasped answer as Glenna began to cry softly. "I wanted to make things right for you. Instead I've hurt you more, haven't I?"

He gathered her into his arms and hugged her close. "This is all my fault," he murmured.

"No. You aren't to blame." She refused to let him take that burden as she rested a wet cheek against his flannel robe. "It was all my idea. I was so desperate that I didn't stop to think how embarrassing it might be to you. On top of losing everything you have worked all your life to build, now I've let you down."

"I'm afraid I let you down," he sighed heavily. "I had given up because I thought I had lost everything in life that mattered. But I still have you, Glenna. I should have remembered that."

She closed her eyes. "Can we leave first thing in the morning? I can't face Jett again."

"You were beginning to like him, weren't you?" He drew his head back to look at her.

"I could have, if he had been different." But that wasn't exactly the truth. "If circumstances had been different," she corrected.

He patted her gently. "You climb into bed. Maybe tomorrow morning things won't look as bleak as they do now." With an arm around her shoulder, he urged her toward the bed.

"Are you all right?" Self-consciously she wiped at the tears on her cheeks and lifted her head to study him.

"I will be," he promised, but he looked exceptionally tired when he smiled to reassure her.

After she was in bed he tucked the covers around her and bent stiffly to brush a kiss on her forehead. Before he left the room he turned off the light. Lying beneath the covers in the dark, Glenna thought about the episode with Jett and how much worse it could have been. He hadn't carried out the deception to its final conclusion. Her anger had been a face-saving device to salvage her pride. Knowing that did not improve Glenna's opinion of herself.

A HAND shook her awake. She groaned a protest, weighted by some sleepy depression that she didn't understand. But the hand on her shoulder was insistent that she should wake up. Finally she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. Memory rushed back with the sunlight flooding the room. First, Jett's announcement that there would be no merger, then her father's despondency, followed by her disastrous attempt to appeal to Jett to reconsider. Pain sawed on her nerve ends.

"Good morning." Her father was standing beside her bed, smiling down at her.

Glenna blinked and tried to refocus. Her father looked so different from the man she had seen last night. He was dressed in a bright sport shirt anti blue slacks. There was color in his freshly shaved cheeks and a twinkle in his eye.

"Come on. Get up," he coaxed. "It's a new day outside and I'm hungry for breakfast."

Confused, she pushed herself into a sitting position and stared at this cheerful replica of her father. Her expression drew a hearty chuckle from him. That only deepened her frown.

"What reason do you have to be so happy?" She shook her head in total bewilderment.

"Why are you so glum?" he grinned.

Her mouth opened, but all she was capable of doing was releasing a short incredulous breath. Her reasons were so obvious that there wasn't any need to list them. Helplessly she searched for some explanation for his attitude.

"How can you say that?" she said finally.

"Because I've just spent a night counting my blessings," he informed her.

"I know we have some, but…have you forgotten that we're losing the company, our home, everything?" It wasn't that she wanted him to become depressed again, but the change in his attitude was so drastic that Glenna was worried.

"And that's blessing number one," he stated with a brisk nod of his head.

"A blessing?" she echoed.

"Yes, because now we know it's a fact, so we can stop wondering and worrying whether we're going to find some way or someone to bail us out of our mess," Orin Reynolds explained as if his reasoning was perfectly logical.

"Dad, are you feeling all right?" Glenna eyed him warily.

"I'm fine. A good dose of optimism will cure what's ailing you, too. Hop out of bed and I'll give you your first injection over breakfast." He glanced at his watch. "I'll give you twenty minutes to get dressed and meet me downstairs at the restaurant."

As he moved toward the door Glenna protested, "But dad, I don't want to meet Jett again. He might be there—"

"That's blessing number two," he winked. "He's already checked out of the hotel and gone."

The vision of his beaming smile stayed with her after he had disappeared into the outer hallway. Driven by curiosity Glenna climbed out of bed. Her own low spirits had been overwhelmed by her father's ebullience. His sunny disposition was forcing her to venture out of the darkness whether she wanted to or not.

Exactly twenty minutes later she joined him in the restaurant. He'd already taken the liberty of ordering for her. She stared at his choices that were so indicative of his mood. First, a glass of orange juice—liquid sunshine—two eggs sunny-side up, a rasher of snapping-crisp bacon, and golden brown toast with orange marmalade.

"Dad, I'm not hungry enough to eat all this." Actually she wasn't hungry at all.

"You'd better eat it," he shrugged good-naturedly. "After all, we can't be sure where our next meal is coming from."

"And you're smiling about that," Glenna accused, quickly swallowing the sip of orange juice she'd taken. "I don't understand because last night—"

"Last night I was selfishly looking at all I was losing instead of what I was gaining," her father interrupted.

"What are you gaining?" She couldn't see where there was anything. "We are going to lose our home."

"We're going to lose a house," he corrected with gentle patience. "It's just walls, ceilings and windows. It's too big for us and costs too much to heat. What do we need all those rooms for? And look at how many things we've accumulated over the years. We can sell two-thirds of the furniture and still have enough left over to furnish a small house. What we do sell, we can call them antiques and make a handy sum."

"But—"

"I know what you're going to say," her father interrupted again with a knowing smile. "What about all the memories? Happy memories are stored in your heart, not in a house. They are something you can never lose."

"And what about the mine?" Unconsciously Glenna found herself eating the breakfast her father had ordered.

"Ah, yes, the mine. What a responsibility—what a burden has been lifted from my shoulders," Orin Reynolds sighed in contentment. "No more worrying about payrolls, insurance, unions, contracts, taxes, regulations, deliveries, and the hundred and one other things that are part of running a business."

"But what will you do?" she frowned.

"Do you know what I remembered last night?" he asked rhetorically. "Do you know I never wanted to run the mine? But it was the family business, so when it came my time I took over for my father."

Glenna never knew that. She had never even suspected it. "What did you want to do?"

He paused for a minute, considering her question. A sudden gleam sparkled in his gray eyes, dancing and mischievous. Chuckling laughter flowed, its contagious amusement making Glenna smile.

"I remember when I was a teenager I always wanted to make moonshine." He laughed louder. "Maybe that's what I should do, take what little money we get from selling the furniture and buy a patch of ground back in the hills and brew up some moonshine."

"Dad, you can't be serious!" She was amused, astonished, prepared to believe almost anything after the revelations of the last few minutes.

"Why not?" His expression continued to be split by a wide grin. "I've heard that there's still money to be made in it. If any revenuers come around, we can dress you up in a Daisy Mae outfit and you can try a little of your friendly persuasion on them. You might improve with practice."

Her cheeks burned at his teasing reference to her attempts last night to get Jett to change his mind. She hastily lowered her gaze to her place setting.

"How can you joke about that?" she murmured tautly.

"You've got to learn to laugh about it, Glenna." His voice was softly insistent, gentle in its understanding. "What else can you do? Are you going to hide your eyes every time you think about it?"

All the logic in the world didn't make it any easier for Glenna to bear the knowledge of what she'd done. It would be a long time before she could laugh about it.

"I admit," he continued, "that when you first told me, I was outraged…shocked. Then I was flattered that you cared so much for me to go to him. Flattered, and a little proud. I guess there are some people who wouldn't understand that. They would say that the best of intentions wouldn't excuse a wrong. But I don't think that is what's making you hang your head. Do you want to know what I think it is?"

He waited until Glenna asked, "What?"

"It's because you were beginning to like Jett Coulson. When he didn't accept your offer and its conditions, you felt that you had cheapened yourself in his eyes. You're afraid that if he'd look at you now he wouldn't see a lady of strong principles, but a woman who's an easy make. Am I right?"

His accuracy strangled her voice, forcing her to nod in admission. There was a fine mist of tears in her gray eyes, enhancing their greenish cast. Her father reached over to crook a finger under her chin and lift it.

"You hold your head up," he ordered with a smiling wink. "If he's so dumb that he doesn't see what you're made of, then he isn't worth your tears."

She smiled, a little tightly, but the warmth and adoration shining in her eyes wasn't forced. "How do you do it?" There was a thread of amazement in her emotionally trembling voice. "I was feeling so terrible this morning. I still hurt, but—" There was an expressive shake of her head as she paused.

"That's what fathers are for." He leaned back in his chair, a touch of smugness in his look. "To bandage up their daughters' wounded hearts and make them feel better. Clean up your plate," he admonished with paternal insistence. "We have to get packed and make the drive back. There's a lot of things that need to be done, plans to be made. Instead of sitting back waiting for things to happen it's time we started making them happen."

"You make it all sound like an adventure," Glenna murmured wryly.

"It's going to be."

It was difficult not to believe him. Glenna hadn't seen her father this carefree and lighthearted since her mother was alive. Perhaps the mine and all its problems had been too much of a burden for him. She knew it had taken its toll on his health. Without the pressure and stress of the business, he was like a new man. His mood was infectious.

Chapter Nine

IT WAS LATE in the afternoon before they finally arrived home. The housekeeper, Hannah Burns, had evidently been watching for their return, because she was out of the front door before Glenna turned off the car motor. She came puffing down the steps to help with the luggage.

"It's about time you got here," the woman rushed the minute they were out of the car. "Don't keep me in suspense. What happened? Did you see that man Coulson?"

Her father glanced across the top of the car at Glenna. "Whatever happened to 'Welcome home?' I'd even settle for a plain 'Hello.'"

"Hello and welcome home. Now tell me what happened," the housekeeper demanded. "Was he there? Did you talk to him?"

"Yes, he was there, and yes, we talked to him." He nodded his head with each answer. "But he turned us down flat."

Hannah stared at him. Glenna could appreciate the housekeeper's confusion. How could a man look so cheerful when he had just announced—for all intents and purposes—that he was going broke?

"You're pulling my leg," she accused.

Her father assumed an expression of shocked innocence. "I haven't even laid a hand on you, Hannah. How can you say that?"
 

"Orin Reynolds, you know precisely what I mean," the housekeeper scolded him impatiently and turned to Glenna. She was having trouble hiding a smile as she unlocked the trunk to remove their luggage. "You tell me what happened, Glenna."

"Dad told you the truth, Hannah." There was an instant's hesitation before she added, "Mr. Coulson wasn't interested in dad's proposal."

"Would I lie about something like that, Hannah?"
her father chided.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect you to be smiling about it," the woman retorted. "Don't you realize that you're going to be losing the roof over your head? Where are you going to get the money to put food on the table? Providing, of course, that you still have a table. And—"