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"Yes, that's what everyone says," she agreed. They shared a long, quiet, puzzling exchange of sorrow before he shrugged and turned away, leaving her to her work. Chapter 2 Kasie was almost tearing her hair out by the next afternoon. John's mail was straightforward, mostly about show dates and cancellations, transportation for the animals and personal corre- spondence. Gil's was something else. Gil not only ran the ranch, but he dealt with the majority of the support companies that were its satellites. He knew all the man- agers by first names, he often spoke with state and federal offi- cials, including well-known senators, on legislation affecting beef production. Besides that, he was involved in the scientific study of new grasses and earth-friendly pesticides and fertilizers. He worked with resource and conservation groups, even an animal rights group; since he didn't run slaughter cattle and was rabidly proconservation, at least one group was happy to have his name on its board of directors. He was a powerhouse of energy, work- ing from dawn until well after dark. The problem was, every single task he undertook was accompanied by a ton of paperwork. And his part-time secretary, Pauline Raines, was the most disorgan- ized human being Kasie had ever encountered. John came home late on Friday evening, and was surprised to find Kasie still at work in the study. He scowled as he tossed his Stetson onto a rack. "What are you doing in here? It's almost ten o'clock! Does Gil know you're work- ing this much overtime?" She glanced up from the second page of ten that she was trying to type into the computer. None of Pauline's paperwork had ever been keyed in. She held up the sheaf of paperwork in six files with a sigh. "I think of it as job security," she offered. He moved around beside the desk and looked over what she was doing. "Good God, he's not sane!" he muttered. "No one secretary could handle this load in a week! Is he trying to kill you?" "Pauline hurt her thumb," she said miserably. "I get to do her work, too, except that she never put any of the records into the computer. It's got to be done. I don't see how your brother ever found anything in here!" "He didn't," John said dryly, his pale eyes twinkling. "Pauline made sure of it. She's indispensable, I hear." Kasie's eyes narrowed. "She won't be for long, when I get this stuff keyed in," she assured him. "Don't tell her that unless you pay up your life insurance first. Pau- line is a girl who carries grudges, and she's stuck on Gil." "I noticed." "Not that he cares," John added slowly. "He never got over losing his wife. I'm not sure that he'll ever remarry." "He told me." He glanced down at her. "Excuse me?" "He told me specifically that he didn't want a mother for the girls or a new wife, and not to get my hopes up." She chuckled. "Good Lord, he must be all of thirty-two. I'm barely twenty-two. I don't want a man I'll have to push around in a wheelchair one day!" "And I don't rob cradles," came a harsh, angry voice from the doorway. They both jumped as they looked up to see Gil just coming in from the barn. He was still in work clothes, chaps and boots and a sweaty shirt, with a disreputable old black Stetson cocked over one eye. "Are you trying to make Kasie quit, by any chance?" John chal- lenged. "Good God, man, it'll take her a week just to get a fraction of the information in these spreadsheets into the computer!" Gil frowned. He pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his sweaty blond hair. "I didn't actually look at it," he confessed. "I've been too busy with the new bulls." "Well, you'd better look," John said curtly. Gil moved to the desk, aware of Kasie's hostile glare. He peered over her shoulder and cursed sharply. "Where did all this come from?" he asked. "Pauline brought it to me and said you wanted it converted to disk," she replied flatly. His eyes began to glitter. "I never told her to land you with all this!" "It needs doing," she confessed. "There's no way you can do an accurate spreadsheet without the comparisons you could use in a computer program. I've reworked this spreadsheet program," she said, indicating the screen, "and made an application that will work for cattle weight gain ratios and daily weighing, as well as diet and health and so forth." "I'm impressed," Gil said honestly. "It's what I'm used to doing. Taxes aren't," she added sheepishly. "Don't look at me," John said. "I hate taxes. I'm not learning them, either," he added belligerently. "Half this ranch is mine, and on my half, we don't do tax work." He nodded curtly and walked out. "Come back here, you coward!" Gil muttered. "How the hell am I supposed to cope with taxes and all the other routine headaches that you don't have, because you're off somewhere showing cat- tle!" John just waved his hand and kept walking. "Miss Parsons knows taxes inside out," Kasie ventured. "She told me she used to be an accountant." He glared at her. "Miss Parsons was hired to take care of my daughters." He kept looking at Kasie, and not in any friendly way. It was almost as if he knew... She flushed. "They couldn't get the little paper ship to float on the fish pond," she murmured uneasily, not looking at him. "I only helped." "And fell in the pond." She grimaced. "I tripped. Anybody can trip!" she added in a chal- lenging tone, her gray eyes flashing at him. "Over their own feet?" he mused. Actually it had been over Bess's stuffed gorilla. The thing was al- most her size and Kasie hadn't realized it was there. The girls had laughed and then wailed, thinking she'd be angry at them. Miss Parsons had fussed for hours when Bess got dirt on her pretty yellow dress. But Kasie didn't scold. She laughed, and the girls were so relieved, she could have cried. They really didn't like Miss Parsons. He put both hands on his lean hips and studied her with reluctant interest. "The girls tell me everything, Kasie," he said finally. He didn't add that the girls worshiped this quiet, studious young woman who didn't even flirt with John, much less the cowboys who worked for the family. "I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that I didn't want you around them." She took her hands off the keyboard and looked up at him with wounded eyes. "Why?" The question surprised him. He scowled, trying to think up a fair answer. Nothing came to mind, which made him even madder. "I don't have any ulterior motives," she said simply. "I like the girls very much, and they like me. I don't understand why you don't want me to associate with them. I don't have a bad character. I've never been in trouble in my life." "I didn't think you had," he said angrily. "Then why can't I play with them?" she persisted. "Miss Parsons is turning them into little robots. She won't let them play because they get dirty, and she won't play with them because it isn't dignified. They're miserable." "Discipline is a necessary part of childhood," he said curtly. "You spoil them." "For heaven's sake, somebody needs to! You're never here," she added shortly. "Stop right there, while you still have a job," he interrupted, and his eyes made threats. "Nobody tells me how to raise my kids. Especially not some frumpy little backwoods secretary!" Frumpy? Backwoods? Her eyes widened. She stood up. She was probably already fired, so he could just get it from the hip. "I may be frumpy," she admitted, "and I may be from the backwoods, but I know a lot about little kids! You don't stick them in a closet until they're legal age. They need to be challenged, made curious about the world around them. They need nurturing. Miss Parsons isn't going to nurture them, and Mrs, Charters doesn't have time to. And you aren't ever here at bedtime, even if you're not away on business," she repeated bluntly. "Whole weeks go by when you barely have time to tell them good-night. They need to be read to, so they will learn to love books. They need constructive [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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