to her engagement party with a Hollywood movie star—a girl who turned out to have been a school friend of his and owed him a favor. He called up the friend and paid her expenses all the way from Hollywood, just for the occasion. Ruined the event, of course, since the movie star got all the attention. He used to be a ladies’ man and he’s always been well-to-do, and he traveled in those very ritzy circles. But since then, he’s pretty much given up his playboy status and turned to the great outdoors. They say his experience with the blonde heiress has soured him against rich women in a big way. Can’t blame him too much, can you?”
“He sounds … interesting.” Nicky chose her words carefully; it wouldn’t do to show her fear.
“Looks that way, too, except for the scars and the limp. Although the scars had faded nicely the day he was in here.” She grinned at Nicky. “He sure gave you a look, but you were so busy you didn’t even notice him.”
“I remember him, but I didn’t look long enough to see the limp.” She frowned. “How did he get it?”
“From the wreck. Deanne Sharp—of the Aspen Sharps, you know, ski-resort wear and accessories, and Winthrop’s fiancée at the time—was driving. They crashed. He almost lost his leg, and during his recovery, she walked out on him. I guess she only liked him for his athletic ability. He was an Olympic-quality skier and they met on the ski slopes. He missed the Olympic team by a few points when he was younger.”
“That was what I was trying to remember. Someone said he’d been in a wreck, but I forgot what happened.”
“The lovely Deanne happened. I hear she’s on husband number three now, and has millions. But all that happened three years ago, the year before you came to work,” Becky said. “We all heard about it. What he did at that woman’s engagement party might have sounded cruel, if you didn’t know it all. We were in Winthrop’s corner, all of us. He got a bad break. As it is, he gets around pretty good, but he isn’t the pinup he used to be. An experience like that could make a man bitter, you know.”
Nicky drew in a slow breath. “A real woman hater.”
“Now that’s the truth,” Becky laughed. “No, he doesn’t like women. So if you go to the ranch with the big boss, make sure you take lots of warm clothing. That way you won’t get frozen—by the weather or Winthrop.”
“We may get snowed in,” Nicky moaned.
“The snows come big in Montana,” she was told. “Six feet deep and more, sometimes. My best friend worked at the hospital here until she had to go back to Montana to take care of her invalid mother a few months ago. You might remember her—Sadie Todd? The boss used to take her out.”
“Yes, I remember,” Nicky said with a smile, and kept her mouth shut about what Mr. Christopher had told her.
“They grew up together,” Becky added. “I visited her once. Montana is lovely country, but brutal. It’s frozen a lot of people, but if you want to get away from the world, there’s no better place.”
“I don’t think I want to go.”
“Don’t be silly,” Becky chided. “The big boss is a doll. Winthrop can’t be too horrible.”
But Nicky still wasn’t sure. She went home and got her small apartment in order, still with misgivings. It didn’t take long to pack, because there wasn’t a lot to pack. She had jeans and sweaters, some blouses and a single jersey dress, because she had the feeling that she would be roughing it. She took a thick winter coat as well, and some leather boots left over from the past. Her lips twisted in a thin smile when she surveyed the contents of her suitcase and she thought about the clothes and lifestyle she’d once taken for granted. She missed that easy luxury once in a great while, and when she had to pinch pennies to meet the rent, her principles didn’t help much. But she was a different girl from the arrogant little miss her parents’ financial indulgence and emotional indifference had created. And that meant a lot. She’d learned about reality in the past two years, and about real people, who didn’t put a dollar sign on their friendship. Even though her friend Dana, with whom she’d roomed, had married a year ago, Nicole still had friends like Becky, and they often went to movies or the theater together.
She pulled on a pair of cotton pajamas, washed her face and went to bed. It wouldn’t do any good to worry about the past or the future. It was enough to cope with the present.
* * *
A week later, Nicole and Mr. Christopher flew out to Montana in the corporation jet. She wore the gray jersey dress for the flight, along with a minimum of makeup. She looked sweet and young and totally unlike a glamorous socialite. She didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot by deliberately antagonizing the elder Mr. Christopher, who had plenty of reason to dislike that type of woman.
“You don’t mind if I work?” Gerald Christopher asked with a smile, looking up from the papers in front of him.
“Not at all,” she assured him. “I’m not nervous of flying.”
The flight seemed to take a long time, but perhaps that was because Nicole wasn’t reading. She stared out at passing clouds, a little anxious about the welcome she was going to get when they got off the plane.
“Mr. Christopher, your brother does know I’m coming?” she asked him when they were over Butte and about to land.
His dark eyebrows arched. “Of course. Don’t worry, Nicky, everything’s going to be fine.”
Sure it was. She knew that the instant they got off the plane and she got a good look at the expression on Winthrop Christopher’s face.
She recognized him at once. He was a big man. Taller than his brother, broad shouldered and lean hipped. He was wearing work clothing—jeans and dusty boots, with a checked shirt under a massive sheepskin jacket. On his head was a battered black Stetson twisted into an arrogant slant over one dark eye. He looked like a desperado. He hadn’t shaved, and the white line of a scar curved from one cheek into the stubble on his square chin with its faint dimple. His face was rather square, too, and his features severe. He had a straight, rather imposing nose, and his black eyes gleamed with a cold light. In one lean, dark-skinned hand he held a burning cigarette. And the look he was giving Nicky would have curdled fresh milk.
“Hello, Winthrop,” Gerald said, shaking his brother’s hand. He glanced at Nicky with a smile. “In our childhood days, I used to call him Winnie, but I gave it up when he blacked one of my eyes. Despite all that, I know he’d die for me,” he added with a grin, which the older brother didn’t return. He was too busy glaring at Nicole, his dark eyes cutting into her oval face, looking for imperfections, making an unpleasant inventory of what he saw. “Winthrop,” Gerald continued quickly, “this is my private secretary, Nicole White.”
“How do you do, Mr. Christopher,” Nicky said politely and she actually managed to smile, but her knees felt unsteady. This was no welcome at all. Dislike was too mild a word for what she read in those eyes. Wounded man, she thought, even while she wished she could run. She understood the meaning of betrayal, because she knew it intimately. For the first few months of her exile, Chase’s handsome face had imposed itself over every letter she typed, every book she read, every television program she watched.
Winthrop’s dark eyes narrowed. His thin, chiseled lips pursed thoughtfully, but there was no smile to ease the hardness of that rugged, unshaven face. “Yes, I remember you,” he said curtly. His voice was deep and curt. “You’re young.”
“I’m
