Mr. Christopher’s secretary, Nicole White,” Nicky said quickly, and forced a smile as she extended her hand. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m only here to work.”
“And that is a disappointment,” the woman sighed. “Two bachelors, all the time. It weighs heavy on my heart. Come. I will settle you.”
“Mary is Sioux,” Winthrop told Nicole. “And plainspoken. Too plainspoken, at times,” he added, glaring at Mary’s broad back.
Mary whirled with amazing speed for such a big woman and made some strange gestures with her hand. Winthrop’s eyes gleamed. He made some back. Mary huffed and went up the long, smooth staircase.
“What did you do?” Nicole asked, amazed.
Winthrop looked down at her from his great height, his eyes faintly hostile but temporarily indulgent. “The Plains Indians spoke different languages. They had to have some way to communicate, in the old days, so they did it with signs. This,” he added, drawing his hand, palm down, across his forehead, “for instance, means white man or paleface. The sign refers to this part of a man’s forehead that was usually covered by a hat and so didn’t get tanned like the rest of him. It was pale. This,” he continued, rubbing two fingers in a long oval on the back of his left hand, “means Indian.”
“Winthrop and Mary used to talk about the rest of us at the table—” Gerald chuckled, tugging affectionately at a short curl beside Nicky’s ear “—using sign language. None of us could understand a word.”
“It’s fascinating,” Nicky said, and meant it.
“If you ask Mary, she might teach you a little,” Winthrop told Nicky, smiling with cool arrogance. In other words, that look said, don’t expect any such favors from me.
She wondered how she was going to survive a month around him, but she did come from a long line of Irishmen, so maybe her spirit was tough enough to cope. She turned back to Gerald. “Do you want to work today?”
“No,” Gerald said with certainty. “Today we both rest. Get on some jeans and I’ll show you around.”
“Great!” She ran upstairs, careful not to look at Winthrop Christopher. It was going to be imperative that she keep out of his way while she was here. He wasn’t going to pull his punches, apparently, or accord her any more courtesy than he would have given to any other woman. Remembering what Becky had told her, it was even understandable. But it was going to make her stay here more uncomfortable than she’d expected. The fact that he disturbed her only added to her discomfort. Becky had said that Winthrop had been watching her the day he came to the office. And it was vaguely unnerving to think of those black eyes watching her in an unguarded moment. And why had he? Did she remind him of the woman who’d crippled him? She wasn’t blonde, of course, but perhaps her facial features were similar. She’d have to ask Gerald.
She was only sorry that she couldn’t dislike Winthrop as forcefully as he seemed to dislike her. Quite the contrary; he disturbed her as no man ever had, scarred face, limp and all.
The room Mary led Nicole into was delightful. It had pink accents against a background of creamy white, complete with a canopied bed and ornate mirror and even a small sitting area with pink, satin-covered chairs.
“This was their mother’s room,” Mary said. “Pretty, yes?”
“Are you sure I was meant to go in here?” Nicole asked hesitantly.
“Oh, yes, very sure. Mr. Winthrop said so.” She winked at Nicole without smiling. “With his hands, you see.”
Nicole shook her head. “He seems very …” She turned, shrugging as she tried to find words.
“His path has not been an easy one,” Mary told her. Those dark eyes were sizing her up while she spoke. “Gerald was the favorite. He was a gentle, easy child. Winthrop was forever in trouble, always fighting, always in turmoil. He was the eldest, but not the most loved. And then came her. She with the blond hair and city ways, who was like a clear morning to me, and I saw through her. But Winthrop could not see through to the greed that motivated her. She crippled him and left him.”
Nicole searched the smooth old face quietly. “He hides,” she said perceptively.
Mary smiled. “You see deep.”
“I know a survival instinct for what it is,” came the quiet reply. “We all hide inside ourselves when we’ve been hurt.” She met the dark eyes levelly. “I won’t hurt him.”
“I see deep, too,” Mary mused. “He won’t let you close enough to do harm. But watch yourself. He has no love for women. He might take out old wounds on you.”
“I’m a survivor,” Nicole said, laughing. “I’ll manage. But thank you for the warning.”
Mary only nodded. “Come down when you are ready. Are you hungry?”
“I could eat a moose,” the younger woman sighed.
“Lovely idea. I have moose in the freezer. How would you like it? Baked, fried or in a stew?”
Nicole burst out laughing. “I love stew.”
“Me, too.” Mary grinned and left her.
Nicole put on a pair of faded jeans with a long-sleeved, gray knit shirt, because the air was chilly, and her pink sneakers and went downstairs without bothering to fix her makeup or comb her hair. She wasn’t trying to catch any eyes, after all, so why irritate Winthrop by making it look as if she were making a play for him?
There was no one around, so she went outside and found a comfortable seat on the porch swing. It was peaceful. Birds twittered and somewhere a dog barked. Farther away, cattle were lowing. Nicole closed her eyes as the breeze washed around her. Heaven.
“I see you’ve found the swing.”
She jerked upright as Winthrop came out onto the porch. He was bareheaded, still in the jeans and blue-checked shirt he’d worn to the airport. He’d taken time to shave, because his face was dark and smooth now, with the hairline white scar more visible without the stubble of a beard to hide it.
“I like swings,” she said. Her pale green eyes wandered over him. He was terribly attractive without his jacket. Muscles rippled in his long legs when he walked, in his arms when he lifted them to light a cigarette. Despite his size, there wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him. He looked lean and fit and a little dangerous, despite the faint limp when he moved toward her.
“Deer come up into the yard sometimes,” he observed. He dropped into a big rocking chair and crossed his long legs. “Moose, elk … it’s still pretty wild here in the valley. That’s why we attract so many bored Eastern sportsmen. They come here to hunt and pretend to ‘rough it’ but they’ve lost something that mountain people have all their lives. They’ve lost hope.” He glanced down at her. “I hate rich people.”
She felt
