While the Fire Rages (12 page)

“As a matter of fact, when I fax the vitals into personnel tomorrow, I’ll have my assistant scout out a place for you.” His smile could only be described as intriguingly wicked.
“Jo
is highly competent. I’m sure she’ll have no trouble at all in finding the perfect place for you.”

“Oh, but I can’t infringe on your assistant’s time like that!” Marsha protested, if not too convincingly.

Now Brett’s smiled came very close to nasty. “She’ll love it,” he promised. “Apartments are her ‘thing.’“

Though she looked suddenly skeptical, Marsha grasped at the offer. “Well, if you’re positive she won’t mind?”

She won’t be given a choice,
Brett thought with relish. Aloud, he merely reassured her. “She’ll enjoy the search,” he murmured facetiously. Controlling a prod from the devil to laugh out loud, Brett spun out another strand to his deception web. “I will be in Vermont for at least two weeks. If you can clear up everything here by then, you can drive back to New York with me.”His smile was now sugar coated. “You could add the saved air fare to the rent money.” His grimace was sincere. “The cost of renting decent living quarters is astronomical.”

“So I’ve heard, and so I’d be a fool to argue over your offer.” She grinned. “Thank you.”

With a twinge of guilt he didn’t wish to recognize, Brett waved her thanks aside. They talked of other things then, the beauty of Vermont, the many and varied attractions it had to offer, not the least being the skiing, and Brett’s purpose in being in the state in the first place.

“Casey did tell me about the project some time ago,” Marsha said when Brett finished his very brief account. “But I guess I assumed the project would be dropped, at least until your brother was fully recovered from his injuries.”

Sipping his drink, Brett reached the conclusion that this Casey Delheny talked too damn much for the Renningers’ own good. Where in hell had Wolf found this blabbermouth? Carefully concealing his thoughts from Marsha, he watched her polish off her wine.

“Would you like another?”

“No, thank you.” One well-manicured hand, complete with raspberry-colored polish, covered his when he went to signal for the waiter. “I must be going. My alarm clock rings at the same early hour every working day, no matter what time I stumble into bed.”

“I’ll be in touch with you as to exactly when I’ll be leaving for New York,” Brett promised.

“Oh, you’ll probably be running into me all over the place while you’re here.” She grinned. “In a town this size, people have to work at not tripping over each other every other day or so.” With a final grin and a wave of her hand, she strode lightly from the room.

Having risen when Marsha stood up to leave, Brett watched her retreating back in appreciation of her shapely form. Even in the soft light from the small lamp that had flickered away steadily during their conversation, Brett had reevaluated his initial judgment of her age. When she’d entered the lounge, he had guessed her age at mid to late twenties. Now he felt sure she was within striking distance of his own thirty-five years.

Twenty-five or thirty-five, he mused, Marsha Wenger is one very attractive woman; smart too.

Brett moved to sit down again, then, changing his mind, decided to call it a night. He paid the check the waiter promptly presented to him, added a tip that from the man’s grin insured Brett would be remembered the next time he entered the lounge, and, fighting a yawn, sauntered from the room. Traversing the motel corridors from lounge to elevator, then from elevator to his room, he gave up fighting the tiredness pulling at him and yawned widely. It had been a long, tension-filled day. The hours Brett had escaped consciousness the night before had not counted more than three. He was beat, and he slipped into sleep mere minutes after slipping, buck naked, between the cool sheets.

Ten hours of uninterrupted sleep did wonders for Brett’s mental condition. Waking with the bright October sun on his face around mid-morning, Brett stretched hugely before springing off the bed. He felt good, raring to go, but he also felt empty. By the time room service delivered the large breakfast he ordered, Brett was shaved, showered, and dressed to go roaming the project’s site in jeans, a soft cotton shirt, a finely knit cashmere sweater, and tan suede boots.

In no particular hurry whatever, Brett savored every sip of the tart, chilled grapefruit juice, every forkful of creamy scrambled eggs, every crunching bite of golden-toasted English muffin, and every satisfying swallow of rich, dark coffee. Replete with good food and ready to face the day, Brett pushed the tray aside and reached for the telephone. The digits he heard register numbered eleven. The voice that answered at the other end of the line had already been familiar to him at age ten. The voice belonged to his mother’s housekeeper at the horse farm in Florida. Even now it seemed to Brett that Elania Calaveri had been in residence at the farm forever.

When he responded to her hello, Brett’s tone was warm with affection.

“Good morning, Elania, How are you today?”

“Still kicking,” The reply was a stock one, reserved for the offspring of her employer. Brett’s retort was also stock.

“Anyone I know?”

Elania’s chuckle was as hearty at seventy-odd as it had been at forty-five. “Your brother if he don’t start behaving himself. I swear, that man is the worst patient I’ve ever cared for.”

Brett was fully aware of the fact that Elania Calaveri was the main reason Wolf had been transferred to the farm instead of his own home to recuperate. Having grown up in the streets of Sicily, Elania was one tough cookie. Nobody, not Wolf or even the hard-nosed businesswoman they all called Mother, gave Elania an argument. If Elania decided Wolf was going to recover completely, Wolf had damn well better do it, and without complaint! Smiling at the thought of the fire Wolf was under, Brett politely inquired if his brother was up to speaking on the phone.

“I wouldn’t know why not.” Elania gave a long-suffering sigh. “He’s been up to driving me to distraction since before six this morning. Hold on till I prop the prowler up.”

Brett’s appreciative smile still lingered on his voice when he responded to Wolf’s growled, “What’s up, Brett?”

“Mind your own sex life,” Brett shot back, laughing at Wolf’s groaning response to his feeble attempt at humor.

“You have a sex-oriented mind, baby brother,” Wolf accused grittily.

“Merely following in your size fourteen shoes, big brother,” Brett chided laughingly. “May I inquire how you are today?”

“In comparison to what? The wreck of the
Andrea Doria?”
Wolfdrawled dryly before, relenting, he allowed affection to color his tone. “How’s it going, Brett?”

“Hey, big prowler! You’re the one in the sight of Elania’s formidable gun, not me!” Brett laughed. “Compared to the heavy weather you’ve got to ride out, my job’s a piece of cake!” Brett’s opaque terminology in reference to Wolf’s injuries had been deliberate, simply because he knew an openly solicitous query would not be welcomed warmly.

“Yeah, I know, but don’t tell the boss.” Wolf’s dry tone didn’t quite succeed in masking his weariness. “If she finds out how easy I usually have it up there, she’ll probably create a new region just to keep me out of trouble.”

The tired huskiness in Wolf’s voice shot instant concern through Brett yet, knowing his brother would not welcome a display of that concern, he decided to claim an appointment and end the conversation. “Look, lazybones, I’m going to have to hang up in a minute. I have to see a man about a house,” he paraphrased an old saw. “But first, tell me how Micki and the kids are making out in Florida.”

“Basking in the sunshine.” Wolf’s voice held a smile. “I’d let you talk to Mick but she’s having her riding lesson at the moment” His soft chuckle hummed through the wire to draw a smile from Brett. “She’s doing pretty good at it,” Wolf added. “She’s only tumbled twice.”

Brett’s smile disappeared. “Was she hurt?” he asked sharply.

“Micki! Hell no!” Wolf actually chortled. “That hoyden ‘s got more bounce than half a dozen tennis balls. At the rate she’s going, she’ll put all the rest of us in the shade in no time.”

Mingled with the relief Brett was feeling was a growing urgency to cease and desist, for Wolf’s voice was now definitely reedy. Before he could ease into saying good-bye, Wolf asked a question that jolted him upright in his chair.

“How is my best girl working out as your assistant?”

“JoAnne Lawrence?” Brett asked tightly, stupidly.

“Well, of course, Jo,” Wolf chided. “Isn’t she something?”

Oh, she’s something, all right,
Brett mentally sneered. “Yes, she’s very efficient.”

“Jo is more than merely efficient!” Wolf defended strongly, much
too
strongly, to Brett’s way of thinking. “I’d say she could give your Richard Colby a run for his money any day of the week!”

Richard Colby’s not wealthy enough to even gain Jo’s notice,
Brett retorted silently. “Perhaps so,” he hedged. Then, simmering with renewed anger, and hating it, Brett rushed on, “Look, I really do have to get going. If I don’t get the chance to call you again, I’ll see all of you sometime over the holidays. Give my love to Micki and the kids.”

After he’d cradled the receiver, Brett reached for the large manila envelope that had been delivered to him with his breakfast tray. Gone was the feeling of well-being he’d wakened with. He felt tense, and angry, and all because Wolf had asked about an employee. Had the query been about any other employee, Brett would have considered it the natural interest of an excellent employer, which Wolf was. But the question had not been about any other employee, it had been about Jo, and that annoyed Brett unreasonably.

A quick perusal of the envelope’s contents was all that Brett required to assure himself of Marsha Wenger’s qualifications. Everything she’d claimed the night before was true. She seemed perfect for the vacant manager’s position.

Holding the pertinent papers in one hand, Brett lifted the receiver and made another long-distance call, this time to the New York offices. He spoke first to the personnel manager, setting the gears of Marsha’s employment in motion. Then he asked to have the call switched to Jo’s office. While waiting for the interoffice connection to be made, a slightly cruel smile of satisfaction curled his lips. Brett’s anger intensified with the frisson of warmth the sound of Jo’s voice sent rippling through him.

“Jo Lawrence,” she answered, as she always did.

“I have a job for you,” Brett said without preamble.

“Yes?” she clipped alertly.

Against his will Brett thought about the previous day and how the soft lips that had just moved in answer felt molded to his own. He could see her, he could taste her, and it hurt like hell. Groaning silently, he pushed the memory aside. When he spoke, the roughness of his voice reflected the effort he was exerting to contain his anger.

“I have found someone to fill the New England manager’s job. It’s a woman. Her name is Marsha Wenger. She’ll be needing an apartment. I want you to find her one.” Ignoring her muffled gasp, Brett went on ruthlessly, “You have two weeks. I’ll be bringing her back to the city when I return.” He paused long seconds, then added silkily, “Are there any questions?”

Even long distance Brett could hear the slow, deep breath Jo quietly drew into her lungs. After releasing it just as slowly she said calmly, “Yes, one. What if I’m unable to find an apartment by then?”

Brett knew Jo was holding on to her temper with every fiber of her being. The knowledge pleased him greatly.
Keep a lid on it, beautiful,
he advised silently.
You can’t afford to blow your stack now. Your lover’s in no condition to protect you. And if you explode at me, I’ll teach you how to behave!
The method of how he’d accomplish this teaching process tantalized Brett’s senses a moment. Then he came to his senses.

“In the event you’re unable to find a
suitable
place for Marsha,” he said smoothly, “I suppose she’ll have to bunk with you until one is found.”

This time Jo didn’t gasp. This time she choked. “Stay with me!”

“You heard it. So you’d better get to work.” Very gently, Brett replaced the receiver.
Now let’s see how efficient the assistant-mistress really is,
he thought savagely.

Contrarily, as he strode from the room, Brett found himself hoping Jo would prove her capabilities to him. Shaken by his vacillation, he brought himself up short. You fool, he raged, you’re so hot for her you don’t know what the hell you do want! Scratch that, he jeered, storming out of the motel. You know exactly what you want... her! Her mouth, her body, everything that
is
her!

Brett worked the worst of his agitation off striding to, around, and from the huge land area Wolf had purchased for the multi-unit condo complex. The site was close to the base of the overlapping mountains and near existing ski trails. Off to the left, appearing to hang on the side of the tallest mountain, an attractive lodge sat in regal solitude. From studying Wolf’s report, Brett knew exactly how many people the lodge could cater to. The motels located farther down in the valley accommodated some of the overflow but, when the skiing season was at its peak, quite a few hopeful schussers had to be turned down when seeking rooms. Wolf had estimated that with the growing popularity in the winter sport, the number of disappointed skiers would double, if not triple. Wolf’s plan was for a Renninger complex to take up the slack, and make a great deal of money in the bargain.

Being a true Renninger, Brett fully approved of his brother’s plan. As he walked back to the motel, his mind raced with ideas. Gone was the constraining anger of the morning. He had work to do, a great deal of work. And the first thing on his agenda was an in-depth discussion with the architect, Casey Delheny.

It wasn’t until he’d finished a late lunch and had returned to his room to get Wolf’s report from his briefcase that Brett discovered he’d come away without it. As a general rule, forgetting things was not at all his style ... no matter what the provocation! And Jo’s sweet mouth had been some provocation! Disgusted with his unusual lack of thoroughness, Brett snatched up the receiver and made yet another long-distance call. Jo’s voice hadn’t changed in the four hours since he’d heard it; it still had the power to fire his blood.