Miner's Daughter (19 page)

Then he’d escorted her to dinner at a
restaurant so fancy, Mari’s heart had quailed even as they’d walked
up to the door, arm in arm. Tony had been sweet to her, too,
anticipating her anxiety and trying to put her at ease. He did a
fair job, handling the snooty maitre d’ with his own superior brand
of snootiness, and securing them a table in a tucked-away corner.
The table sat next to a gorgeous palm tree, and from their vantage
point, they could see everyone entering and leaving the
restaurant.

Tony had pointed out several local, even
national, celebrities. She’d seen Mr. Huntington, the railroad
magnate, and a newspaper man whom she’d never heard of, but who
Tony said had all but started the Spanish-American War a few years
back. He’d indicated a burly fellow he called Lucky Baldwin and
told her a number of stories about him, too, until she began to
wonder if all rich men were unscrupulous vultures.

Vultures or not, Mari had been pop-eyed with
fascination. Until Tony’s civics lesson, imparted at that classy
little tucked-away table, she hadn’t understood how great an
influence other people’s money, and other people’s newspapers,
could have on politics. Tony reinforced Martin’s lectures on the
potential power of the motion-picture industry. And she was part of
it. In a way.

Dinner had been superb. Mari ha- never before
tasted half the stuff she’d eaten last night. Heck, she’d never
even heard of scallops or endive or of the process Tony called
sauteeing. She’d always called it frying, but he’d explained the
subtle differences between the processes to her. She wasn’t
altogether sure, she understood them yet, but she was willing to
take what he said on faith.

And that was a revelation, too. She trusted
him. Tony Ewing, who had grated against her pride from the moment
she’d first seen him, she saw now as a friend and adviser. Perhaps
not a friend. In truth, Mari feared her feelings for Tony Ewing
went far deeper than friendship.

But that was nonsense. Nothing in the world
was greater than friendship. She’d be greatly honored if Tony were
to consider her his friend.

Opting to forget about her feelings in favor
of savoring her memories, Mari ran over her own personal menu in
her mind so she wouldn’t forget anything she’d eaten. She aimed to
impress the tar out of Judy Nelson the next time she saw her.
Judy’d probably never heard of a scallop either, and Mari would bet
her boots she’d never heard the word sautee.

The dinner and the fancy surroundings were
only a lead-in to the main event, however. When they’d entered the
restaurant, Marie had observed an area devoid of tables in the
center of the room. The dark crimson carpeting ended at the edges
of the round, polished wood flooring. Tony told her that was the
dance floor, and that they were going to dance after they ate. He
pointed out the band to her then, its members sitting on a platform
at one end of the room and looking every bit as dressed up as the
diners.

The very idea of dancing in those
cosmopolitan surroundings alarmed Mari. And that was putting it
mildly. Heck, she’d only danced once or twice in her whole life,
and that had been at square dances at outdoor picnics with other
yokels like herself.

She’d told Tony so and begged to be excused.
“Can’t I just watch this time?” she’d asked, trying to keep the
quake out of her voice.

He’d laughed at her. For the first time, his
laugh didn’t make her want to slap his face, probably because he’d
reached for her hand, held it gently in his own, and patted it
tenderly. “Don’t worry, Mari. By the time we’re ready to dance,
you’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

She hadn’t believed him, but he’d been right.
This morning, the fact astounded her.

“Must have been the wine,” she muttered at
her empty room.

But it hadn’t been only the wine. It had had
more to do with Tony’s kindness and gentle instructions. The
delicious food had helped, of course, as had the hour or so they’d
sat at the table dining, talking, and watching others dance.

By the time Tony held out his hand for her to
take and led her to the dance floor, Mari’s heart had hardly
hammered at all. And even that small remaining trepidation had
faded quickly, because he’d started out with a simple two-step. By
the time Mari’d graduated to the turkey trot, she was completely
relaxed and having more fun than she could ever remember
having.

It didn’t hurt that she looked better than
she ever had, up to and including her footwear. A pair of evening
slippers had mysteriously appeared at her hotel doorway earlier in
the afternoon, wrapped in a beribboned box and held out to her by
one of the upper-crust uniformed bellboys. Apparently Tony had
decided she needed a flower in her hair, too, because he’d arrived
at her room with a real one, a red rose. Mari felt very stylish as
they swept into the restaurant, and, wonder of wonders, the feeling
stayed with her all evening.

When she swung her legs over the side of the
bed and stood up, her feet ached. She smiled what she imagined was
a silly smile as she limped over to the dressing table. Her feet
were sore from dancing the night away, and she’d never felt so
good. Ever.

When she took a hot bubble bath in the
Melrose Hotel’s magnificent bathroom, using toiletry products she
had a sneaking suspicion Tony had purchased and made available for
her, she felt even better. There was a lot to be said for luxurious
living; even she had to admit it.

Her ecstatic mood began its slide back to
normal when she donned her mother’s old dress, preparatory for the
trip back to Mojave Wells. And the heat. And the shabbiness of her
cabin. And that empty mine.

And Tiny. She shouldn’t forget Tiny, the
thought of whom made her happy again. She loved her dog very
much

Still, she knew she looked less than
glamorous when she answered Tony’s knock at her door, clad in her
and-me-down dress and clunky shoes. She’d polished the shoes, but
it hadn’t altered their disreputable condition noticeably. She’d
tried to improve herself by tucking one of her crepe-paper flowers
behind her ear—and it did help a little bit. It made her feel
slightly perkier, even if her perkiness didn’t show.

Tony didn’t glower, though, which she took as
a good sign. In truth, he didn’t seem to notice her much at all,
except as a being he had to transport from one location to another.
He said, “All ready?” in a businesslike voice as soon as she opened
the door.

It took her only a second to regain her
balance, which teetered precariously at being so abruptly
confronted with reality. But she’d lived nineteen years as an
impoverished nobody. One evening of grandeur couldn’t wipe out a
lifetime’s worth of nobodyhood. She swallowed hard and said, “Sure
am. Let me get my bag.”

“I’ll get it.”

She wasn’t surprised when Tony barged past
her, grabbed her shabby carpetbag, and hefted it up. Rather weakly
she said, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

At least he honored her with a sort of cocky
grin. Evidently, he hadn’t retreated altogether into his former
aloof pose as king-of-the-world.

But that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t assumed the
position on his own. Mari’d put him there because she’d felt so
inferior to him. Bother. Sometimes she absolutely detested her
penchant for recognizing her own shortcomings. She’d established
him on the blasted pedestal, and it wasn’t his fault, but hers.

She followed him out of her room, still
starry eyed, but trying to hide her condition. She did venture to
say, “Um, I had a real good time last night, Tiny. You were right.
It wasn’t so scary after I got used to it.”

He cast a brilliant smile at her from over
his shoulder. “See? I told you I was a good teacher.”

She silently thanked her Maker that Tony had
opted to ignore her slip of the tongue. She really wouldn’t have
blamed him for not wanting to be called by her dog’s name. “Right.
You sure are.” And she was an idiot for wishing he could see
himself as something more than her teacher.

“And you’re a terrific student, too.”

It was nice of him to say so. Mari didn’t
respond.

“Say, are you hungry, Mari? If you can wait
for an hour or so to eat breakfast, we can stop at a little place I
know on the way to Mojave Wells. It’s in the community that calls
itself Arcadia. Lucky Baldwin has a big ranch there, and there’s a
place called Baldwin’s that serves great food.”

She hadn’t yet taken the time even to think
about food because she’d been so busy reliving the night before.
Now, she realized she was a little hungry. But she could wait.
Heck, she’d been waiting all her life, hadn’t she? What was one
more hour?

Telling herself to cease being irrational and
dismal this instant, she brought herself up short and said, “Sure.
That sounds nice.”

“It’s a great little village, Arcadia. I wish
we had more time. I’d take you to Lucky’s place. He throws some
pretty good parties.”

Must be nice. Mari wasn’t sure what to say to
an unproffered invitation, so she remained silent. Tony didn’t seem
to notice, which was par for the course.

Tony told himself he felt particularly well
today because he’d come to an understanding with Mari. She’d
finally recognized his superior knowledge of the world, and he’d
agreed to be gracious and introduce her to it. He wasn’t floating
on air for any other reason.

The fact that last night had been almost
perfect, and that he’d never had a better time with a woman, out of
bed, didn’t have anything to do with his mood of good cheer. Not a
bit of it. He was only pleased that Mari was proving herself to be
an apt student of the finer things. Why, she’d become a gracious
lady in no time at all at this rate.

She could dance, too, which had surprised
him. It was true he’d had to demonstrate the steps to her, but
she’d learned quickly. And no amount of instruction could impart
the natural grace she’d then demonstrated.

Now wasn’t that a funny quirk of nature?
Imagine a girl like Mari Pottersby, who’d been wearing britches and
grubbing in a filthy mine all her life, having all that natural
grace and talent. He breathed deeply of the fresh morning air and
started whistling. The tune that came to his tongue was one they’d
waltzed to last night: “Beautiful Dreamer.”

The appropriateness of the selection made him
interrupt his merry whistle with a chuckle.

“What?”

Mari’s one-word question prompted him to turn
and gaze at her. Her gorgeous brown eyes were wide upon him, and
the blue flower she’d selected to stick behind her ear set off the
ivory of her skin to admiration. She was quite a looker, Mari
Pottersby. Tony couldn’t understand why he hadn’t noticed her
intrinsic beauty in the beginning of their relationship. No, not
relationship; business partnership. Yeah, that was better. Business
partnership. It didn’t feel like quite the right phrase, but Tony
felt sure it was.

“What what?”

She smiled slightly at his silly question.
“What’s funny?” she elaborated. “Why are you laughing?”

“Ah. I see. I was only thinking about the
tune I was whistling. It seemed appropriate, somehow, what with us
being associated with the pictures and all. If ever there was a
dream-making business, the pictures are it.”

“I see. Yes, I guess you’re right.”

Tony’s gaze kept sliding over to Mari. He
could hardly feature this lovely young lady—shabbily clad this
morning, to be sure, but she was still lovely—digging in the dirt
in search of nonexistent silver. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t proper.
She belonged in much more refined circumstances. He frowned. Life
played some mighty unpleasant tricks sometimes. Tony didn’t
approve.

Mari deserved better than that played-out
mine. She deserved—well, hell, she deserved money. A nice home.
Pretty clothes. A good man to take care of her.

The notion of a good man taking care of Mari
didn’t sit well, and Tony discarded it roughly.

All right, so she got along quite well
independently. She didn’t need a man. But she sure deserved an
easier life than the one she had now.

He wondered if she’d let him help her out.
Just a little bit. He could show her around, introduce her to
people, get her settled into a job where she didn’t have to work so
hard.

The notion of Mari working at some plodding
job didn’t sit well with him, either. Dammit, there must be
something she could do that he’d approve of.

She could go to bed with him. He’d approve of
that.

The truth hit him so hard, he nearly drove
off the road.

“Oh, what is it?” Mari cried, clinging to the
hand grip of the Pierce Arrow. “Did you hit something?”

Tony cleared his throat. “Ah, no. I, ah, had
to swerve to avoid hitting a rabbit.”

“Oh,” Mari let go of the hand grip and
relaxed in the seat. “I guess I didn’t see it. I was looking out at
the orange grove. Don’t the blossoms smell heavenly?”

Sweet-smelling orange trees grew on both
sides of the road, and Tony blessed them for it. “Yeah,” he said,
his mouth gone dry. “Those little critters are quick.”

Good God, was he really in lust with Mari
Pottersby? He sneaked a peek at her from out of the corner of his
eye. She sat erect on the motorcar’s buttery leather bench, her
head turned so that she could watch the scenery as they sped past
it. She had an elegant carriage, vivid features, splendid hair, and
a shape any man would lust for. She was smart and quick and funny,
when she wasn’t being defensive. She could dance. She was
ambitious, foolishly so, since her ambitions centered around an
unproductive hole in the ground. She had honor and integrity by the
ton.

And he really, really wanted to make love
with her. He wanted to carry her off to somewhere private—maybe an
island in the South Pacific replete with palm trees and coconuts
and dusky natives serving them iced drinks—and teach her more than
how to behave in society. He wanted to teach her the pleasures of
the flesh. He already knew she had a passionate heart. He’d like to
redirect her passion toward him.