Mail-Order Millionaire (5 page)

She tucked her legs under her in the wide comfortable chair. “I don’t think so. I can’t really remember much except that you’re supposed to capture the king.”

He placed the board on the table. “Very good. It’s called checkmating.”

She fingered the white ivory chess men with her long tapered fingers, setting them up on the two rows nearest her in perfect order.

“It looks like it’s coming back to you,” he said with a half smile. Was she the kind of player who acted dumb, then wiped up the board with her opponent? If she was, he was ready for her. “Would you like some coffee?”

Absently she lifted one of her knights off the board. “Coffee? Sure.”

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew, watching the light shine on her hair and turn it to gold. The smell of the coffee and the picture of her ensconced in the armchair made him think of a home and someone to come home to. Treacherous thoughts. He moved to the table with cups in his hand and cautioned himself not to get carried away. “Your move,” he said.

Hesitantly she moved a pawn to King Four. He nodded approvingly. He moved his pawn to Queen Three and immediately wished he hadn’t. He wasn’t thinking very straight. She propped her chin in her hand and made another move. A very good move. “Who taught you to play?” he asked.

“My grandfather. He and my grandmother raised us. When his old friends died or moved away he taught me to play.”

“He did a good job.” He stared at the pieces. Rooks blended into pawns and pawns into knights and his mind went blank. He should be taking control of the board, but he couldn’t. All he could see was her hands spread flat on the table, her unpolished nails, her only jewelry a plain gold watch with a leather band. He pulled back and surveyed the board from a different angle.

She sipped her coffee. “What about you, how did you learn?”

“I broke my leg in my senior year in high school and I had a lot of time on my hands.” Too much time. Time when other guys were hanging out talking to girls with an ease he envied.

“Playing football?”

“No, skiing. So I got a book and taught myself chess. It’s hard to find anyone to play with. So I play against the computer and it always wins. Are you sure you haven’t played recently?”

She shook her head. “My grandfather left me the chessboard along with the farm, but I don’t have any time to play.” She stared off in the distance. “I told him I didn’t want the farm. I had my own plans. I wonder what he’d think if he could see me now.” There was a long silence.

He leaned back in his chair and studied her face, forgetting the game on the table. “He’d probably think you were doing just fine.”

“Maybe,” she said and the worry lines between her eyebrows disappeared. He wished they could stay that way, with the tension gone between them, until sunrise. He was so relaxed he didn’t ever want to move again. But he had to move. In a few minutes he had to check the instruments.

He stood and stretched. “While you’re thinking over your next move, I’m going to try my new boots.”

She looked up, her eyes slightly unfocused. “In this weather?”

“This weather is what they’re for. I have to take readings outside every three hours, night and day.”

Her mouth fell open. “When do you sleep?”

“In three-hour segments. I’ll drag a sleeping bag out and sleep on the floor. I hope my alarm won’t wake you.”

She got out of her chair. “I can’t let you sleep on the floor because I came up here uninvited.”

“Invited or not, you’re a guest. Haven’t you heard of Southern hospitality?”

“Haven’t you heard of Yankee determination?” she countered.

For a long moment they stood staring at each other, neither one willing to back down. Finally she gave in. “Okay,” she said and stretched, giving him a too-clear picture of the curve of her hips under the snug stretch pants. He tore his gaze away and ripped open the Green Mountain cardboard box and lifted the boots out. They had thick soles and a soft fleece lining.

“They look just like the picture in the catalog,” he said, holding them up. But you don’t, he wanted to say. Not with the clothes over the underwear and your hair framing your face as if it were silk. He bent over, pulled the boots on and tried to get a grip on himself.

“I hope they fit,” she said anxiously.

“They’re fine.” He reached into the bottom of the box. “This must be the underwear.”

Miranda scooted forward in her chair and reached for the package. For all she knew he might try it on right here and now. “You said extra large, but I think they’re too big. Extra large is really large,” she stammered. But he opened the bag before she could stop him and held the underwear up to his body. It wasn’t hard to imagine the gray cotton knit molding to his broad shoulders and tapering to his flat stomach.

“They’ll do,” he said and sat down to lace his boots. She moved backward into her chair again and took a sip of wine. When he went outside she looked at her watch. So many hours before she could go home. If the weather cooperated. Restless, she got out of her chair and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

She was up to her elbows in soapy water when he came back, knocking the snow off the boots just outside the door. She wiped her hands on her pants and watched him remove his down vest. “What’s it like out there?”

He shook his head and drops of water flew. “It’s snowing.” Her heart fell. When he approached, she could see the flakes in his eyebrows. “But there’s a break in the altostratus clouds,” he announced. Her mouth curved into a relieved smile. “You’ll be glad to get out of here,” he observed.

She went back to the sink. “You’ll be glad to have me gone.”

He found a towel and began drying the dishes she set in the wooden rack. “Not until I beat you at chess.”

“That’ll never happen. Not if we stay up all night.”

From behind her he said, “Want to try?” in a lazy drawl that turned her knees to jelly.

She swallowed hard and handed him another plate. Their hands met and her heart stopped. His eyes weren’t really blue, she realized, they were the dark blue-gray of the winter sky. “Try what, staying up all night?” Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. It would solve the problem of who was going to sleep on the cot. And she was just competitive enough to want to win.

“It was just a suggestion.”

She shrugged and dried her hands. “I’m game.”

They went back to their places at the table. He checked her king, but she moved it out of the line of attack. While she waited for his next move she studied his hands, wide and strong and capable, and wondered why his wife hadn’t missed him when he was gone. He had the kind of thick straight hair a woman might want to run her hands through, he was a great cook and then there was the Southern accent. He looked up and caught her staring at him and she felt the heat rise to her face.

If she wasn’t careful she was going to lose her advantage. In fact she might have already lost it. She wondered when the caffeine would kick in and stimulate her defense system. She was so relaxed she felt spineless. She watched him capture her white pawn and all she could do was snuggle deeper into her chair. He gave her a cocky grin and she smiled back.

“Your casual attitude doesn’t fool me,” he warned. “Underneath it all there’s a killer instinct.” He stood. “When I come back in I’m going to show no more mercy.”

She nodded and tried to focus on the board.

Outside the snow was letting up but the winds were gusting up to eighty miles per hour and visibility was around fifty feet. With the new boots he was able to walk through snowdrifts without slipping while his feet stayed completely dry. Automatically he went through his routine but his mind was back in the building. What would she do next? Check his king? Capture his knight? Disturb his hard-won tranquility? She’d already done that. The cold air had a sobering effect on his daydreams.

He knew he couldn’t have the job he wanted as a weatherman and a woman, too, so he’d chosen the job, or the job had chosen him. And his wife had chosen someone else. It was understandable. What surprised him was the way Miranda had walked into his life and filled a space he didn’t know was empty. He’d dealt with loneliness before, it was always there, waiting to gain a toehold, and he’d deal with it again. Tomorrow.

He studied the sky. Tomorrow the fog would dissipate and she’d leave. But tonight there was no harm in sharing some food and wine and a game together, as long as they both knew that’s all it was. She certainly did. She could hardly wait to leave. He made some notations in his log and went back inside.

Instead of making a brilliant move on the board, Miranda Morrison had fallen asleep in the deep armchair, her golden hair spread across the back of the chair like sunshine on a rainy day. He took his boots off and tiptoed across the room, his eyes never leaving her face. He took a wool blanket from the daybed and carefully draped it over her, tucking it around her feet. She stirred and he had an overwhelming desire to scoop her up into his arms. But he didn’t. He knew better. He let go of the blanket and went back to his chair, swiveling back and forth, watching her sleep and thinking thoughts he usually kept in his subconscious.

The work he loved was on the front line, catching the weather where it started, just him and the elements. And that was the way he wanted it. Not for him an office downtown where they analyzed the data he sent. Down there you had people to talk to, regular hours but no excitement. No unexpected whiteouts or spectacular views of the white mountains with the moonlight on them. Up here you had to be more than a meteorologist. You had to be a welder, photographer and rescue worker. It was his kind of job and his kind of place. He didn’t know why he had to remind himself of this, but he did.

When the fog disappeared at daybreak he woke her. She looked around as if she didn’t know where she was. “Mount Henry, 6,000 feet,” he reminded her. “You delivered a pair of boots.”

She nodded and looked at the blanket he’d wrapped around her. Her gaze dropped to the chessboard on the table. “Who won?” she asked.

“Let’s call it a draw.” He went to the window. “Come here.”

She tossed the blanket to one side and padded over to join him. It was one of those unusual days when it was possible to see all the way to the ocean, where the rising sun was reflected in the silver of the Atlantic on the horizon. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Do you see this every day?”

He shook his head. “It’s rare.” Even rarer was sharing it with someone else. He was glad she liked it almost as much as he did.

She turned and sat on the day bed to put on her boots. “I appreciate your arranging the weather so I could leave today. I may even get to work on time.”

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. “That’ll be a first.”

She knotted her laces and shot him a withering look. “It may not be the greatest job in the world, but I can’t afford to lose it, and whether you believe it or not, I usually get there on time.’’

“I believe it,” he said, holding her jacket out for her as she slid her arms into the sleeves. For just an instant he kept his arms on her shoulders, then he dropped them, watching as she slipped on her gloves. “What if I need to order something else?” he asked.

“There are operators on duty twenty-four hours a day.”

“That’s good to know.”

She stood at the door, her gloved hand on the doorknob. “Thanks for everything, the food, the game, the sunrise. I’ll leave the Sno-Cat just where I found it, with the keys in the ashtray. I hope Fred isn’t too upset.” Outside the wind and the fog had transformed the rocks and the vegetation into a fairyland of white lacy shapes. “Did you arrange this, too?” she asked.

He nodded and she got into the tractor. While he watched, she skillfully backed it up and headed down the mountain. He thought she waved before she made the first turn, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d meant to tell her to drive carefully, but he didn’t have a chance. She was gone.