Mail-Order Millionaire (3 page)

“I’m going to deliver the boots to the customer I was telling you about yesterday. Donna’s covering for me.”

Ariel rubbed her hands together in excitement. “How far south is it?”

“He’s from the South, not in the South. He works on top of Mount Henry, in the world’s worst weather, which is why he needs the boots so badly.”

“How old is this man?” Ariel asked with a puzzled frown.

“I don’t know, and I’m afraid I never will because I will leave the boots at the ranger station and the ranger will take them up the mountain with the mail in a Sno-Cat and unless there’s an avalanche the boots will be delivered and I’ll never ever hear from Maxwell Randolph Carter again.” She drew a deep breath while Ariel directed a customer toward a rack of quilts.

“Keep this to yourself,” Miranda cautioned. “I don’t want this to get back to the management.”

Her sister raised her right hand. “On my honor. But couldn’t you just ask the ranger how old Mr. Carter is and if he’s married?”

Half exasperated, but knowing her sister would never give up, Miranda set her package on the counter and buttoned her jacket. “I’ll see what I can do— Oh, my Lord, I forgot the long underwear again. Have you got a pair of men’s extra large back there?”

Ariel turned to the shelves behind her. “I think so, but are you sure that’s the right size?”

“That’s what he said.”

Ariel held the underwear up, her arms stretched out as wide as they’d go. Miranda’s eyes moved from shoulder to shoulder, across the itch-free cotton. “Could he be that large?” Ariel asked, biting her lip anxiously.

Miranda threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know. Maybe he looks like the Incredible Hulk. Put it in a bag. I’ve got to get going.” She waved to her sister over her shoulder, left the building, got into her truck and headed onto the Interstate. The weather stayed clear and cold, just as he’d said, and she arrived at the ranger station with minutes to spare. There was a Sno-Cat parked outside the door and she ran her gloved hand over the treads.

“How do you like her?” A male voice came from behind her. She turned. A man in a down jacket and a hat with flaps over the ears smiled proudly at the shiny machine.

“Great. I’ve got a tractor at home. A little older and a little worse for wear. The clutch went out last summer.”

“They do that when they get old. This one here’s probably a lot like yours, just newer.”

“Are you the ranger? I’ve got a package for Mr. Carter, the meteorologist.”

“Yep. You can put it inside with the food and the rest of the mail. He’ll be glad to see you. Nobody’s been up for a week, and he’s running low on fresh food. I started up last Monday, but had to turn back because of the fog.”

“Oh, no, I’m not going up. I’m just delivering the package. Mr. Carter said to leave it here.” She glanced up at the snow-packed road that wound up the mountain.

“Up to you.” The ranger looked her over. “Can’t believe he told you just to leave it. Does he know you very well?”

“Not at all. I mean, just on the phone.” She pulled her hat down over her ears. “Have you worked here long?”

“Me? About five years. Max has only been here over a year. Came up from someplace in Georgia.”

“I thought maybe he’d be retiring soon,” she said, feeling shameless.

“Because of the inheritance he got from his uncle? Not him, he loves his job.”

“Of course he does,” she said, idly wondering just how much was this so-called inheritance. “I was thinking more about his age.”  Now it was his turn to say….

“He’s only thirty-two,” the man said. “And he’s in good shape, so I don’t see him retiring any time soon.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “But it must be hard on wives being separated from their husbands. . .”

Fred nodded vigorously. “You can say that again. My wife doesn’t even want me driving up there, for fear I might get stuck and not get down, especially now— Is that the phone?”

He turned and disappeared into the small concrete structure that housed the station. Miranda opened the door to the tractor and climbed in. She put the box in the back of the vehicle, and then, unable to resist, sat on the comfortable padded seat, pushing the gas pedal and working the gearshift through its four positions. As soon as she had the money, she’d get her tractor fixed, before summer, if possible, so she could put in some barley.

She looked up to see Fred knocking frantically on the windshield. “Oh, miss, I’ve got to go. My wife’s in labor. Could you just slide the keys in the ashtray?”

Miranda opened the side window to answer, but he was gone. Somewhere in the distance she heard a car start, wheels squeal and then she saw him drive past her, waving with one hand and steering with the other. For several moments she sat staring out the windshield at the mountains in front of her. She’d been driving tractors since she was fifteen, but never a Sno-Cat. She’d always wanted to drive one, but never had the chance. She had no doubt she could drive it on open flat ground, but up a snow-covered mountain road?

She could see there were markers on either side of the road, and she wouldn’t run into any traffic. On the other hand she had fulfilled her responsibility. She’d delivered the boots to the ranger station. It wasn’t her fault if the ranger had a more important delivery to attend to. Max Carter couldn’t blame her this time. Or could he?

She looked at the boxes behind her in the cab. Cartons of groceries, and a shoe box full of mail. No packages from Green Mountain. Where were all those boots? Was it true he was running out of supplies? Was he irritable because he was hungry? Miranda pressed her hand against her stomach and heard it growl in sympathy.

She turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Her pulse quickened. It might be her only chance to ever drive a Sno-Cat. She’d deliver the goods and come right back down, and she’d still be home this evening. Fred would understand. He might have even suggested it if he hadn’t left so suddenly. And Maxwell Carter would be grateful to her for life. She’d not only save him from wet feet, but she’d also save him from starvation.

She smiled to herself and eased the big tractor onto the steep road. The wide cleats gripped firmly and she took the first turn with ease. She laughed aloud. This was fun. She took the next turn and the next, hardly noticing the small wisps of fog that swirled by the windows.

With one final roar, she reached the summit and saw a small concrete building built on a platform above her. She cut the engine and jumped out, so flushed with exhilaration she scarcely realized that the fog was thicker now, cold and damp and blowing in her face.

The dark form of a man came toward her, shouting Fred’s name.

“I’m not Fred,” she shouted back.

He loomed over her, a shock of dark blond hair blown across his forehead, and gripped her tightly by the arms. “Get inside. We’ll get the boxes later.’’

She shook her head and her teeth chattered. “I can’t stay. I’m going back.”

He pulled her toward the building, now barely visible in the icy fog. “No, you’re not. Whoever you are, you’re not leaving.”

Miranda was never sure how she got up the stairs to the one-room observation tower, but she knew she’d never been happier to be inside anywhere in her life. It was warm, it was bright and it was dry. She pulled her hat off and her hair tumbled to her shoulders. She stood in the middle of the room, panting from the climb up the ladder, and stared at the man across the room who was staring at her.

“You certainly aren’t Fred,” he said.

“Miranda Morrison, from Green Mountain.”

His eyes traveled the length of her black stretch pants to her lined boots and back up to her face. “I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

She felt the heat rise to her face. “I brought the boots. They’re in the tractor.”

“Where’s Fred?”

“He couldn’t make it. His wife’s having a baby.”

“So he told you to drive up here by yourself?” Max was still staring at her as if she’d materialized out of the mist, although he was quite sure she was flesh and blood.

“It was my idea,” she confessed. “You said you needed the boots. He said you needed food.”

She looked as if she needed food herself, this woman who’d just driven a two-ton tractor up a mountain in the fog. She looked as if she were going to keel over if he didn’t do something fast.

“Sit down.” He pointed to the daybed in the corner and he was glad he’d taken the time to drape it with the brown plaid cover it came with. She sat down gingerly, as if she were afraid it would collapse under her, and he saw her gaze sweep over his desk in the corner, scattered with papers, books and, in the middle, the Green Mountain catalog. She turned her head toward the window that faced east and regarded what would have been an awesome view of the White Mountains if it hadn’t been for the fog.

He crossed the room and went to the built-in shelves above his desk, casually shoving the catalog under a stack of papers. “What can I get you, a brandy, some sherry? I usually have a drink before dinner. It’s a little early, but under the circumstances...”

“Nothing, thanks,” she said, straightening her spine. “I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”

With a glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, he paused. “No, you don’t. I thought I mentioned that you couldn’t leave. Not tonight. There’s fog out there so thick you could cut it with a knife.”

“Oh, but I have to leave tonight. Right now, before it gets dark.”

“Is someone expecting you, your husband?”

“No.”

“No, you don’t have a husband, or no, he isn’t expecting you?”

“I don’t have a husband, but there are people who will worry if I don’t get back.”

He poured two glasses of an old mellow sherry he’d been saving for some special occasion. “Who?”

“My sister.”

He handed her the glass of amber liquid. “You can call her. Tell her there’s zero visibility and that you’re safe.” He watched her eyes narrow as she looked him over. “You are safe,” he assured her, taking the swivel chair and straddling it. “I’m not a sex maniac or a serial killer.”

A nervous smile played at the corner of her mouth. “How do I know that?”

“I’ve got letters of recommendation from respectable scientists and even one from the president of the American Chess Association.”

She pulled the zipper of her jacket up to her chin. “Some of the most devious people in the world are chess players.”

“Are you?”

“What, devious?”

“No, a chess player.”

“Yes, but I’m not very good at it.”

He felt the sherry slide down the back of his throat. “We’ll see after dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“You didn’t think I’d let you starve, did you?” He stood up and handed her the phone. “Call your sister and I’ll go get the stuff.”

“You have a service all the way up here?”

“If not, we’ve got a shortwave radio for emergencies. All the comforts of home.”

Miranda held the telephone in her hands. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Max’s dark blond head bending over to snap his boots on, his old worn rubber boots. She wanted to wait until he left to call, but she had nothing else to do, no reason to put it off except she didn’t want him listening in on her conversation.

She punched in the numbers slowly. “Listen, Ariel, I’m stuck in some bad weather so I won’t be back till later.”