Safari Moon (2 page)

She giggled. “So I thought...why not be the
first in line and give poor, needy Solo what he wants?”

“My imagination is working overtime.” He
groaned. “Where did you find the want ad?”

“In the office at the Bend Bulletin. All the
secretaries ooed and aahed over the little thing when I came into
advertise for my garage sale. One of them told another that the
grapevine had the story, by way of Colonel St. John, that you
burned for a wife.”

“Burned? My grandfather let the staff know I
needed a wife. I burned? What the devil did that mean?”

“He meant desperate. At least that’s what I
thought.”

He should have figured this out. A naked
woman in his living room. Midnight, or it had been at his last
calculation, and his grandfather knew he’d be at home. He sent her,
or as good as suggested she come at this hour.

What kind of ad had his grandfather
substituted for the one he’d taken out? Solo didn’t want to wait
until the morning delivery to find out. Obviously the news spread
faster than the paper.

His grandfather was incorrigible. The
Colonel had been after him for the last seven years to provide an
heir to his newspaper dynasty. A dynasty that stretched from New
York to D.C. and headed west to Los Angeles. Colonel St. John
didn’t own any papers in Oregon but he had clout. His grandfather
had been hot and heavy on his heels ever since he discovered that
he, Solo St. John, had no intention of following in his
grandfather’s journalistic footsteps.

“So when I heard how much you needed
someone, I came on the run.” Kitty grinned coquettishly at him.
“After all, I could do all the things in the want ad better than
anyone else.”

From what he’d heard and what he’d been able
to piece together, that didn’t bode well for the want ad. “I’m
sorry you drove all the way out here and put so much effort into
this interview, but you’re not what I need. I’m going to photograph
wolves in Alaska. The wilderness is no place for someone so tender
and fragile as yourself.” He scanned the floor in an attempt to
locate her clothes. She could not have hiked all the way from the
road to his cabin in her bikini. “And--my grandfather is mistaken
if he thinks he can choose a wife for me. I am not in the market
for a wife.”

“But--” she began, as he pointed to the
front door.

“I want you out of here in the next five
minutes.” He said each word distinctly and so clear there could be
no misinterpretation.

“I’ll have to walk down the mountain in the
dark.”

“You should have thought of that when you
walked up. If you don’t have a flashlight, I’ll lend you one. You
can leave it in the mailbox at the end of the trail. Just don’t
leave the skunk.”

He shoved the jeans and T-shirt he’d found
on the couch at her. “I assume these are yours.”

“Mine...”

A poignant silence
followed. “Have a nice hike,” he offered for lack of something else
to say.
Hope I never see you again
didn’t seem an appropriate good-bye at the
moment, although those words were definitely on his
mind.

“W-Well...” she stuttered once then stopped
abruptly. “You’re the most impolite man I’ve ever run across.”

Even though it seemed politically correct to
point out there was nothing polite about breaking into someone's
home in the middle of the night, he stopped himself. But he
couldn’t help a mutter-or-two under his breath. “Don’t ever come
back,” as he watched her close the door behind her.

His only prayer at this point was that she’d
march back to his grandfather’s office in Bend and tell everyone
how rude he was, and that he was not in the marriage market. It was
only a prayer though, and he didn’t have much hope in its
fulfillment.

Solo still couldn’t believe his grandfather
had doctored his ad--an ad he’d withdrawn--to imply he needed
eager, willing, and able female company. Even for his grandfather,
this pushed the edge of acceptability.

Maybe she wasn’t smart enough to understand
the requirements for the job, or perhaps she’d misunderstood. Solo
slipped between the cool, crisp sheets of his bed. He had two hours
sleep left to him before he had to make the thirty minute drive to
Bend.

What could the ad have said? After all,
Kitty thought she qualified for the job. Yet there was no way that
woman could have any requirements he might need to work alongside
him as a wife or as an assistant--then to imply that he was
needy--that he burned.

He was in the process of acquiring help for
his trip to Alaska. He had a contract for pictures of wolves and
first hand observations of their daily routines.

To be eligible took time and he wasn’t
needy.

But, he acknowledged gravely, that was not
what his grandfather wanted. Colonel St. John wanted him to follow
in the paper mogul’s footsteps. But an office man Solo was not. He
loved the outdoors too much to allow himself to be confined in an
office day-in-and-day-out. So, his grandfather had given up one
objective but might be going after another one as ferociously and
furiously as he did everything else. This meant he had better hide
fast.

By the time Solo hit adulthood, all he
wanted was to photograph the wild outdoors. His most avid desire
was to see every spot on earth. From the North to the South Pole,
from the tropical rain forests to the top of the Himalayas, he
wanted to record the beauty of the world.

Solo had been pleased with his efforts. He
attended college, managed his master’s degree in another year then
headed to the wilds of Africa to research the rhino. In the next
five years, he’d had adventures he’d never forget and learned more
from them than any of the college courses he’d ever taken.

By his own admission he was a workaholic. So
why would anyone want him?

With a little grunt of discontent, Solo
pushed the sheets off. He showered and without the benefit of
breakfast, he began the long hike down the trail, praying Kitty
hadn’t stopped somewhere along the way with plans of an ambush.

Kitty and Juniper weren’t lying in wait for
him, and his mood became more cheerful. He drove the thirty minutes
to Bend, hoping the nightmare was over. His hopeful mood didn’t
last long. Not even long enough to step inside the building that
housed his office. Three women waited to attack the minute he
walked into the elevator. As if they’d planned ahead each had a
sign. Willing. Eager. Able. They must have been riding the elevator
up and down all morning.

He detoured to the stairs and raced up the
three flights to his office. When he stepped inside, he was nearly
scorched by six fire-breathing women.

“I don’t believe this.” But one glance at
his secretary’s scowl convinced him he was in for more of the same
feather-brained confrontations he’d had earlier this morning.

“My portfolio is right here!” A curvaceous
brunette who had three cameras hanging around her neck sidled
closer. She wore khaki brown shorts and a camouflage shirt two
sizes too small.

“Get in line, honey. I was here first. Don’t
you know nothin’ about protocol?” cried a plump, short redhead who
at least had the decency to look intelligent though her diction was
sadly lacking.

After that they all started to shoot
pictures, flashes going off, blinding him on the spot. He pushed
his way through the women and escaped into the inner sanctum of his
office.

Solo slammed the door shut then leaned
against the wood as if the pressure of his body against the door
would fend them off. Not one qualified applicant among them, he was
sure of that without a look at any of their resumes. As for the
lady’s portfolio, he’d caught a glimpse of the pictures spread out
on the table before a blond elbowed him in the stomach during her
over-exuberant efforts to get his attention. Photographers--not one
among them. He’d bet his next month’s income not one of them knew
how to compile research data either.

He could hear them talk to his secretary,
could hear the eager enthusiastic voices plead with her, and even
if his secretary cut and run, he wasn’t going to open his door.

He pushed the sofa in his office in front of
the door just in case then retreated to the window that looked
toward Pilot Butte. It struck home suddenly that he had no idea how
to extricate himself from this problem. And if he knew anything
about want ads, this was bound to get worse before he saw any
improvement. A retraction in the paper would take time and his
grandfather had enough influence in Bend to keep it out of
print.

Solo had no idea how to proceed. But he’d
always managed to get out of sticky situations before, just nothing
quite so sticky. He didn’t like scenes, and if he were to go out
there and confront them in mass, or let them in one at time, there
were bound to be scenes. He couldn’t hold his temper through six
interviews or perhaps nine if he counted the women in the
elevator.

There was always the fire escape but it was
three windows away from this one. He was on the third floor without
a parachute.

Absorbed in his own musings, Solo jumped
when the private door to his office opened. It was Thelma, his
secretary, waiting for directions.

“Damn,” Solo said. The noise in the
background had escalated to extreme decibel levels.

“Is this Solo’s madhouse, sir?” she began in
a stiff no-nonsense voice. “I hoped you could shed some light on a
little problem I’ve had with my zoom.”

“I haven’t a clue.” He wanted to laugh at
her, but he reminded himself they shared a grave problem. “I guess
I could grant each one an interview. Perhaps one has some
qualification I’ve overlooked. I...”

“Are you crazy?” Thelma closed the door
behind her. “Don’t. You’ll regret it the minute you open that door.
They’ll have their claws out and you won’t stand a chance.”

“Then you think I should tell them all at
once that I don’t want an assistant?”

“No way!”

Solo raked his hand through his hair. He
looked out the window, still contemplated sliding along the outside
ledge to the fire escape. “How long do you think they’ll stay?”

“Until you make an appearance. They won’t
settle for anything less than you.”

This had gone past sane. He might starve
locked up in his office before anyone could come to help.

“Have you seen that ad? You didn’t place the
darn thing did you?” she asked. “Really, Solo, I thought you had
more sense.”

“My grandfather got a hold of the original
ad and changed the words,” Solo said. “I’ll print a
retraction.”

First Kitty and now nine more just like her.
What had his grandfather thought? They were all out for blood. The
Colonel couldn’t think he’d hire any of them. Could he?

The worst part was the newspaper had only
been on the stands for a couple of hours. What would his office
look like by lunch?

He swore out loud.

Meanwhile, he had layouts to get ready and
an itinerary to plan. One way or the other, with or without an
assistant, he would go to Alaska, and he would study wolves. If his
luck held, the next few weeks would generate a cover story that
would knock the socks off his competitors.

If there was one thing he couldn’t tolerate,
it was public embarrassment. Bend was still a small town. If he
left his office with a string of ladies behind him, the video would
be on the six o’clock news that same day.

He could hear the headlines already.
Willing, eager, and able, Solo St. John takes no prisoners. No,
Solo, grandson of wealthy newspaper tycoon, Colonel St. John, takes
all women any way and every way he can get them.

So what now?

“I don’t suppose,” he mused, “we could shout
fire and they’d all vacate the building.”

“Brilliant.” Thelma whispered, even more
quietly than before. “I’ll shout right away. But what do I tell
them when one of them wonders why I haven’t called the fire
department.”

“Don’t worry. Not one among them is bright
enough to figure it out.”

“What about the paramedics?”

He groaned inwardly. The headlines were
growing by leaps and bounds. “No, Thelma, don’t call anyone. There
has got to be a better way. I’ll figure something out. Maybe
they’ll just wear out and leave.”

“Don’t bet on it. But I’ll keep
thinking.”

He heard the click as the door closed then a
long silence. He drummed his fingers on the little white phone that
sat on top of his desk and once again contemplated the fire escape.
The window ledge looked better and better.

“Grandfather, your timing couldn’t have been
worse.”

You never listened to me.

The slight Irish lilt to her voice was
crystal clear. No, she wasn’t in the room with him, but he could
hear her, see her. His best buddy, Nyssa Harrington, could have
been sitting right here in his office telling him that he should
heed her words--that he should listen to her.

She’d always had advice for him and true
enough he’d always shrugged the suggestions off, assuming nothing
bad would ever happen to him. Not that she was a doomsayer, but she
did have an uncanny habit of noticing the women he surrounded
himself with and informing him that one day he’d regret his
nonchalant attitude. Someday he might want someone who had a few
more brains, character beneath the surface of the great body Nyssa
had thought he'd always been more interested in. He'd always
surrounded himself with air-heads because he couldn't have Nyssa.
Well, her words haunted him now.