Heart of Hurricane (5 page)

"Tell me you're kidding, Althea. Please. Tell me this is all just a big joke."

"I wish I could, but I'm afraid it's true." Althea gave Judy a regretful look before jabbing her weeding fork at a sprout of nut grass. She lifted the loosened weed, shook the soil from its roots and tossed it into the gardening basket with the others, then methodically attacked the next offender.

"But what happened? What did he say?" Judy had stopped the porch swing and now sat forward on the slatted seat, her eyes as big as a young owl's.

Althea sank back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. She met her friend's worried gaze and sighed heavily. "Nothing much happened, actually." Ignoring the tiny stab of guilt, she deliberately pushed away the memory of that searing kiss, of the blatantly seductive way Ward had held her in his arms. Judy was her best friend, yet not even to her could she recount that disturbing encounter. "As you can imagine, Mr. Kingman was furious. He ordered me to report to his office the first thing Monday morning."

"I knew you shouldn't have pulled this crazy stunt!" Judy wailed. "Now he's probably going to fire you!"

"Ssshhh. Keep your voice down." Althea tipped her head toward her brother, who was clipping the hedge that separated her yard from the Brewsters', next door. "I don't want Greg to know about this. There's no point in his being upset too."

"Oh, for pity's sake, Al, when are you going to quit sheltering Greg?" Judy questioned in a rare spurt of annoyance.

Giving her a censuring look that told her the subject was not open to discussion, Althea snapped back, "Never," and bent once again to her task, jabbing the weeding fork into the loamy soil of the flowerbed with a vengeance.

Althea was convinced that if Judy knew the kind of childhood Greg had had, she wouldn't question Althea's desire to make life easier for him, but she simply couldn't bring herself to talk about those horrible years. Greg's disposition was different from hers. He had never developed the ability to hide his true feelings, as she had. Whenever Bill Holland had taken his spiteful temper out on Greg, he had flared back, which had only made matters worse. The first time it had happened Althea had rushed to Greg's defense, but that had been a grave mistake, because their uncle had taken great delight in meting out double punishment to her brother for her interference. After that Althea had been forced to stand stoically by and watch whenever he had disciplined Greg. She had vowed then that when she could she would do everything within her power to protect him.

And that's exactly what I'm going to do, she told herself determinedly, ripping a stubborn weed out of the ground and tossing it into the basket. No matter who disapproves!

Gardening was Althea's favorite method of releasing tension. Since inheriting her house four years before, she had buried many a problem in the rich earth of those flowerbeds, just as she had while tending the vegetable garden at her aunt and uncle's, years ago. Developing a passive, compliant facade had, to a degree, shielded her from her uncle's vicious temper and had helped her to achieve her goals, yet not without a price. There were times when Althea positively seethed with frustration and bottled-up anger. Vigorously attacking the soil with a pronged cultivating tool was a harmless, but effective, way of working off those hostile, disturbing feelings.

"Look, Judy, I'm going to have to explain to Mr. Kingman why I did what I did," Althea said in a softer tone, wrapping a string of Bermuda grass around her fingers and tugging the long runner free of the soil, section by section. "I'm not going to tell him where I got my information, but if he cares to check and find out that we live at the same address, he's bound to put two and two together. I thought I'd better warn you."

Judy picked up her glass of lemonade from the wicker table and set the swing into motion once again. "Oh, don't worry about me," she said, patting her swollen abdomen. "I was going to quit in a couple of months anyway. As soon as 'junior' arrives I'm going to become a full-time mommy, and I plan to enjoy every moment of it."

A trace of cynicism and pity flickered in Althea's eyes when she glanced at her friend. She had no doubt that Judy would make a wonderful mother, but somehow she just couldn't visualize Dan Fisher, Judy's airline-pilot husband, adjusting to the role of doting father. He'd never fully accepted the role of husband. Good-looking and personable, Dan was quite happy flying off to far-flung points on the globe for days on end, leaving Judy to keep the home fires burning. And, unlike Judy, Althea harbored no illusions that he remained faithful to his wife during those jaunts. Once, when the couple had first moved into the downstairs duplex, he had even tried his luck with her. Althea had given him a verbal blistering which had put a halt to that nonsense, but she had never liked the man since. The only reason she had let them stay was her friendship with Judy. Though the Fishers could well afford a place of their own, with Dan gone so much, Judy preferred the present arrangement, rather than being left completely alone.

"Still, I'll do my best to see that you don't get into trouble over this."

The crunch of tires on the paved drive brought a gasp from Judy, and Althea looked up in alarm. "At this point," Judy choked, "I think it's a little late for that."

Following the direction of her friend's apprehensive stare, Althea looked over her shoulder just in time to see Ward Kingman climbing from a sleek metallic-bronze Continental.

Althea's chest tightened painfully and her heart began to pound. What was he doing here? Couldn't he even wait until Monday to fire her? She rose slowly to her feet, embarrassingly aware of the mud caked on her knees, the scantiness of her old cut-off jeans and bandanna-patterned halter top, of the sweaty sheen of her bare skin, all of which Ward's eyes were cataloging as he drew steadily nearer.

He stopped just a few feet from her and stood with his feet braced apart, his fingers splayed across his hipbones. He was wearing casual cream slacks that hugged his strong thighs and trim waist and a coffee-colored short-sleeved shirt, the top three buttons of which were undone. Althea's heart was booming like a kettledrum and her throat was dry. Even in the midst of her panic the feminine part of her noted and responded to the sight of his bare muscular arms and the thick pelt of dark, crisp chest hair revealed by the partially unbuttoned shirt. She tried to tell herself that her reaction was due merely to the fact that she was unaccustomed to seeing him dressed so casually, but deep down she knew that wasn't quite true. Memories of being held against that powerful body flitted tantalizingly through her mind.

"Good afternoon, Miss Winters." The greeting was accompanied by a curt nod; then almost immediately Ward's gaze swung upward to the young woman sitting on the porch swing. His eyes narrowed in sudden recognition. "It's Mrs. Fisher, isn't it? I didn't realize that you and Miss Winters were friends."

"I, uh . . ." Judy stopped to clear her throat and cast Althea a helpless look. "That is . . . Althea and I have been friends for years. My husband and I are also her tenants." She gestured vaguely over her shoulder toward the house. "We lease the downstairs from her."

Ward ran an assessing eye over the huge old Victorian house, noting its interesting turret and many gables. The intricate gingerbread work on the wraparound porch, painted a pristine cream, resembled starched lace against the Williamsburg-blue structure. Black shutters flanked the enormous triple-hung windows whose wavy hand-blown glass sparkled in the afternoon sun like hundreds of mirrors. Ward's eyes held surprise and speculation when they swung from the ornate old home to Althea. "Nice place," he said laconically as his eyes made a sweeping inspection of the yard. They narrowed sharply when they encountered the brawny young man striding toward them.

Greg came to a halt beside Althea and draped a protective arm over her shoulders, eyeing the older man with undisguised suspicion. He was shirtless, and his muscular torso gleamed with a sheen of perspiration. "Everything okay, sis?" he asked in a tone that reeked with male aggression.

"Yes. Fine," Althea assured him with a wan smile. "Mr. Kingman, I'd like you to meet my brother, Greg. Greg, this is Mr. Kingman. My boss."

Greg's whole attitude underwent an immediate change. Extending his hand, he leaned forward and shook Ward's vigorously.

"So you're the one who's studying to be an engineer," Ward said conversationally.

"Yes, sir."

Ward's gaze swept over the manicured yard once again, taking in the neatly trimmed hedge, the carpet-smooth grass, the rioting flowerbeds that surrounded the house and the base of each huge oak tree. "You've done a good job on the yard," he complimented, and in the next breath added, "I take it you don't have a summer job?"

"No, I—"

"Jobs are scarce and hard to find," Althea broke in defensively. "And Greg was too busy with his studies this spring to get out and look for one."

"Perhaps I can help you there. I have an interest in an oil company that's drilling off the coast of Louisiana, and I'm sure I can get you on as a roustabout. It's a great job for a young single man. You live and work on the rig for two weeks, then you're ferried back to shore for two weeks off. And the pay is excellent."

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Kingman. I appreciate th—"

"But that's dangerous work," Althea protested, her voice tinged with alarm. "Greg could get hurt. And anyway, there's no need for him to work."

Ward gave her a long, hard look. "It's no more dangerous than a dozen other jobs I could name. If he follows the rules, he shouldn't have any problem." Ignoring Althea's panicked expression, he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pad and pencil. He quickly scribbled a name and number, then tore the page off and handed it to Greg. "I'll set it up for you tonight. You call Sid Monday morning and he'll tell you when and where to report."

"Thanks, Mr. Kingman," Greg replied heartily, raking a hand through his sweat-darkened blond hair. "I don't know what to say."

Althea wanted to scream. What was he doing, coming here turning her life upside down? She didn't want Greg working on some oil rig out in the Gulf, and she had a sneaking hunch Ward knew it. Yet she couldn't light into him the way she wanted to, not as long as there was a faint chance that she would be able to hold on to her job. And surely he wouldn't have bothered to offer Greg a job if he were going to dismiss his sister. Would he?

"Was . . . was there something you wanted to see me about, Mr. Kingman?" Althea asked unsteadily, torn between anger and fear.

"Yes. I want to speak with you privately for a moment." He glanced briefly at the other two. "I won't take more than a minute of your time."

"Greg, would you mind helping me inside for a few minutes?" Judy asked, grasping the swing chain and clumsily hoisting herself to her feet. "I dropped an earring behind my dresser the other day and it's too heavy for me to move."

"Sure. Be happy to," Greg replied, taking the porch steps two at a time.

When the front door had shut behind them, Althea looked at Ward warily and waited for him to speak, but he seemed to be in no hurry. A strange smile tilted his mouth as he studied her smudged face and the thick golden plait that lay over one shoulder.

Althea squirmed. She was hot and sticky and caked with dirt, and felt distinctly uncomfortable standing before this man in her skimpy attire. Why didn't he just say what he had to say and go?

She felt a bead of sweat form on her temple. Avidly Ward's warm brown gaze tracked the tiny droplet as it trickled down to her neck and slid over her collarbone, gaining momentum as it made a curving path around the top of one rounded breast before entering the shadowed cleft and disappearing from view. Slowly Ward lifted his eyes from her cleavage, and Althea caught her breath when she saw the desire blazing in their brown depths.

Then the shutters came down and his face was once more chiseled granite, his eyes hard and cold. "I just wanted to tell you that when you come in on Monday, leave your disguise at home. The masquerade is over. I don't ever want to see any of those god-awful drab suits on you again."

"Oh, but—"

"I mean it, Althea. If you show up in one of those ghastly outfits, so help me I'll send you right back home."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his car, leaving Althea standing there with her mouth open. She winced when he slammed the door, and again when he sent the car shooting out of her drive and took off down the street amid squealing tires and the roar of the powerful engine. One thing was certain: his temper hadn't cooled down by so much as a degree.

Althea didn't know what had surprised her the most, his order or the fact that he had called her by her first name. She was surprised he even remembered it.

And how had he known that she intended to resume her dowdy disguise? Of course, it seemed only common sense to her that one didn't just change one's appearance overnight, not without setting off a storm of office gossip. She had planned, provided he allowed her to keep her job, to make the change gradually, over a period of several months. Angrily Althea kicked a clod of dirt, breaking it into a dozen pieces that rolled and bounced over the grass like tiny boulders. Blast Ward Kingman! Thanks to him, the office gossips were going to have a field day—at her expense! "Sis?"

Althea looked up to find Greg regarding her through the screen door, the worried look on his face making her instantly apprehensive. "Yes? What is it? What's the matter?"