“Darling, I read somewhere it wasn't good for a man to do it so many times.” Her hand wandered down across his flat belly.
He laughed and hugged her hard. “Oh, princess! You're priceless! If you weren't so damn sweet, I'd think you were dangerous!”
T
HE MOTOR STRAINED
, and the back tires skidded on the wet grass as Chip brought the Jeep up out of the woods and onto the road at the top of the ridge. It was almost noon.
Margaret had opened her eyes to see him leaning on one elbow looking down at her, his other hand playing with her, touching, stroking, caressing. His eyes were clear. He had been awake for some time. She closed her eyes and then opened them again, floating, drifting, lost in feeling. She lifted her arms and encircled his neck. She saw love and passion in his eyes, and infinite tenderness.
“It's magic. I feel like a princess in fairyland.”
“Hi, princess,” he murmured before lowering his mouth, his lips brushing hers, kissing her with teasing slowness. A restless urgency surfaced, and she clung to him in response, overwhelmed by a primitive hungry yearning.
“I love you, love you.”
A quiver ran through his body, and he began to make slow, tender love to her. Passion came sweeping in like a tide, carrying them on its tumultuous journey until all need, all sensation erupted in physical release.
Now, sitting beside him in the Jeep, Margaret inched closer and slid her hand over his thigh and pinched him. The foot on the gas pedal lifted, and the truck slowed.
“What was that for?” he demanded.
“For not telling me about your house upriver, or about Boozer. And for taking me on that long, cold boat ride. And for not turning the heat on in the house, thinking if I was uncomfortable I'd leave. You're a real…nerd, Chip Thorn!”
He grinned down at her unrepentantly. “You figured that out, did you?”
“About your being a nerd?”
“That and other things. You turned the tables on me, princess.”
Margaret pressed her cheek against his shoulder. He called her princess now as if he were saying,
darling,
or
sweetheart.
She wished they could be alone together for a little while longer. What would all those people out there do to them?
They came upon the camp from above, emerging out of the forest to look down on several prefabricated buildings and a water tower raised on stilts. Some machinery stood about, but there were no signs of people.
“The boys, except for Virgil, will be out,” Chip said as they came down into the flattened dust patch in front of one of the buildings. “Virgil is cook, camp boss, and radio operator. I hope he's got something left to eat. Are you hungry?”
“I'd rather have a bath.”
“Then our timing is just right. Come in and meet Virgil, and then I'll take you to the shower house. The facilities are primitive, but they serve the purpose.”
After a bath and a meal of hotcakes and eggs, Margaret wandered about the camp while Chip talked with Virgil.
“Howdy, gal,” he'd said when Chip introduced her. “Ain't you taking a risk strayin' 'round with the boss here?” He grinned and screwed his baseball cap farther down on his head. “Ain't many bears out there meaner'n him when he's riled.”
Margaret laughed warmly at the small Chinese man who spoke like a northwestern logger. “Thanks for the warning. I'll try not to get him riled.”
There had been another fire reported across the river in forest leased by Anthony/ Thorn. Messages had been going back and forth all day from headquarters in Aaronville. Virgil wanted to hear all the details of the first fire, so Margaret explored the camp while Chip did the telling.
The men returned at sunset. All were wearing the white hard hats Margaret had always associated with miners. To say that they were surprised to see her would have been an understatement, she decided. Some looked at her and then quickly looked away, while others blatantly stared. Several young men let out whoops and dashed for the bathhouse.
The evening meal was a huge communal affair relished with great gusto by the hungry lumberjacks. Margaret sat at a table with Chip and four others, the constraint caused by her presence quickly subsiding once it became apparent that she enjoyed the talk—which was chiefly about lumber. The men lived and breathed for lumber: it was their way of life.
Margaret knew the men were curious as to why she was here in the camp with Chip. He had introduced her simply as Maggie, and she wondered if they would be as friendly if they knew who she really was. Her curiosity was soon to be satisfied.
“You didn't bring this pretty thing all the way up here to talk lumber, did you, Chip?” The question was from Jim Logan, the camp foreman.
“I sure did,” Chip said, the familiar grin tilting his mouth. “This pretty little thing happens to own half the company you're working for.”
Margaret swallowed the bitter taste of fear that rose in her throat. There it was, all out in the open. She felt every eye in the cookshack focused on her, and she bit down hard on her lower lip. Darn you, Chip Thorn, she fumed silently. Why didn't you give me some time to prepare myself before springing this? She shot an inquisitive look about the room and worked at keeping her composure. Nerves were jumping inside her stomach and refused to settle down.
Then the unexpected happened. Jim Logan laughed loud and long. “Well, glory be!” he exclaimed. “Why, she ain't no bigger than a minute, Chip. We could stuff 'er down a hollow tree and the bear'd think she was honey.” His weathered face was creased with a grin, and he ran work-roughened fingers through graying hair. “I guess we're all dumbfounded, Maggie. Guess we thought you'd be one of them glittery, spruced-up gals, since you come from the city and all.”
Margaret's alarm was transformed to happy relief.
“I'm sorry to disappoint you, Jim. I'll try and spruce up all glittery before my next visit.”
“Don't go to no bother, Maggie. We like ya just like ya are.” And that's all there was to it.
The cookshack was also the recreation area. After the tables were cleared, the men played cards or gathered in groups to talk. Margaret sat quietly beside Chip while he talked “shop” with Jim. When she put her hand over her mouth to suppress a yawn, Chip's eyes caught hers.
“Are you tired, sweetheart?”
Margaret allowed all the love she felt for him to show in her gaze. The endearment was his announcement to the men that she was more than a business partner, more than a friend.
“A little,” she admitted.
“She can use my place, Chip. I'll bed down in the bunkhouse.”
Chip took her sleeping bag and backpack and walked with her to the door of an old trailer parked under the trees at the edge of the camp. He reached inside and turned on the lights.
“Where will you be?” she asked.
“In the bunkhouse. Are you afraid?”
“Nooooo…but if I said yes, would you stay?” She moved close to him and rested her forehead against his chest. “I wish you could stay here with me.”
“I wish I could, too. But you know I can't.” He ran his hands down over her hair and rested them on her shoulders. “They're all waiting to see if I sleep with you.” His voice was rough as he tightened his hands to bring her closer.
“I suppose. Do you think they liked me?”
“Sure. Are you surprised?”
“Yes. Are you?” she tossed back.
“Not really. I was prepared to fire every one of them if they didn't,” he murmured against her mouth before his tongue and teeth set fire to her senses.
“I love you,” she cried softly, fitting her body to his. She slipped her arms inside his jacket and around his middle and waited expectantly.
Say it, darling! Oh, please say it!
her heart cried out.
“I love you, too.” His lips were against her ear.
In an instant he was kissing her and she was clinging to him, surrendering her mouth, giving more and more until she was limp in his arms.
“Was that so hard to say?” she murmured as the blood drummed in her head.
“It'll take some getting used to. I've never said it before. I'll have to practice. I love you. I love you.” He kissed her quick and hard. “I'd better go while I still can. I'm already going to have to walk around awhile before I go in,” he said accusingly.
“Oh, poor Chip!” she teased, and she slipped inside the door.
They came out of the forest and onto the main road late the next afternoon. Margaret was sorry it was over. She had looked longingly when they passed the place where they had turned off to fight the fire and wondered if they would ever go back so she could see the trees they had saved from the flames. That small burned-out spot in the woods would forever be her special place.
“Maggie, Maggie, guess what?” Penny came bouncing off the porch the instant the Jeep stopped beside the company house. “I did it again. I got a star on my spelling paper.”
“Super!” Margaret caught her in her arms and whirled her around. “You'd better get back into the house, young lady. You're not wearing a sweater,” she chided.
“Go on in,” Chip urged. “I'll unload.” The look in his eyes made her feel suddenly lightheaded and treacherously weak with happiness. It had really happened, everything she had ever longed for.
“Hurry on in here. Supper's ready,” Dolly called from the doorway.
“Hi, Dolly,” Margaret called back. “I hope you've got a lot. We're starving.”
“Somebody else is coming, too!” Penny shouted.
Margaret glanced up and saw a big black car approaching the drive. The instant the car stopped, the door on the passenger side was flung open.
“Margaret!” Rachel, in a teal-blue suit and short mink cape, got out of the car. “Margaret! Are you all right? I've never been so frightened in my whole life!”
A deadly silence followed her words. Margaret glanced at Chip and was stunned by the expression on his face. He was clearly holding his anger on a very tight leash. Tension gripped her.
“Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?” By this time the older woman had stumbled toward her and was hugging her desperately.
“The fire! I called the office yesterday and was told you and Chip were out fighting a fire. I called back and they said another had broken out.” She turned on Chip, angry sparks lighting her usually calm eyes. “What do you mean by taking her into a dangerous area? I thought you more dependable than to let her take unnecessary risks!”
Though soft, the oath Chip uttered was so violent that Margaret shuddered. His temper was about to be unleashed on Rachel, and she didn't know what to do about it.
“It wasn't Chip's fault, Rachel. I was never in any danger.” Margaret's eyes pleaded with her to say no more about it.
“If it wasn't his fault, then whose was it?” a harsh male voice demanded.
Margaret's eyes flew to the man who had come up beside Rachel. Justin had a proprietary look on his face as he stared at Margaret, and it suddenly infuriated her. She drew in a quick, deep breath and flicked her eyes at Chip. He stood with arms folded across his chest, his back against the Jeep, watching her, waiting to see how she handled the situation. His stance was loose, but she knew his temper was boiling just below the surface. His eyes were narrowed, and his mouth twisted in disgust. Was it for them or for her?
Anger and panic vied for supremacy in her mind.
“Margaret!” When Justin spoke the second time it seemed to her that her father was speaking from the grave. Justin's voice had the same tone, the same dictatorial character. “If you're quite finished with your little fling, we have a plane waiting.”
For the first time in her life, Margaret knew pure rage. Triggered by his words and by the domineering tone of Justin's voice chipping at her self-esteem, the adrenaline surged through her body. She wrenched herself away from Rachel and backed up a few steps.
“Don't you dare talk to me like that!” she snarled. “Who do you think you are? You work for me, Justin Whittier, and that's all. If you want to keep your job, you'll get back into that car and keep your damned mouth shut and your nose out of my private life!” She flung her arm toward the car. “If Rachel was worried about me it was more than likely your prodding that brought it on.”
Justin looked stunned, and then his face turned white with anger. He spun on his heel and started back toward the car. Rachel made a move to follow, but Margaret caught her arm.
“Don't go, Rachel. I want to talk to you, but first I have a few more things to say to Justin.” She left Rachel standing beside the porch and followed Justin to the car. “Did Rachel bring a bag? If she did, set it out.” She was still almost blind with fury. Her words were short and clipped. “Rachel will stay here with me for a few days. You can get back on that plane and return to Chicago. You'll make no more unauthorized trips on my behalf. Furthermore, I want you to set the wheels in motion to turn over twenty-five percent of my stock in Anthony/Thorn to Duncan Thorn.” Justin opened his mouth in shocked disbelief, but closed it when Margaret said softly but firmly, “If you don't care to follow my orders, you may hand in your resignation. The rest of my shares are to be divided among the employees according to seniority. Is that understood?”
“You can't mean to do that! Your father—”
“Is dead,” she interrupted bluntly.
“He'll have control!” he protested, glancing at Chip.
“And what business of yours is that?” Margaret retorted haughtily. She turned and picked up Rachel's bag. “I'll expect a report in a few days, and if any of this is leaked to the papers, you're fired!” She walked a few steps toward the house and turned to look back at the man in the tailor-made suit and the shiny black shoes standing beside the rented limousine. She looked at her ex-fiancé as if seeing him for the first time. The skin on his face was sallow, and there were pouches beneath his eyes. But it was his hands that caused a chill of revulsion to travel the length of her spine. How could she have even considered allowing his puffy white hands to touch her body?
“I mean what I say, Justin. If one word about me or my business reaches the papers, you can look for another job. And from what I hear, two-hundred-thousand-a-year jobs are hard to find.”