His Girl Friday

She covered the typewriter and the computer, got her purse and sweater, and went out to stand in line for the bus. She watched it approach indifferently, her mind still on her boss. One of these days I will kiss my iguana, she thought vengefully, and he’ll turn into somebody as handsome as Robert Redford and then you’ll be sorry, Mr. Ritter! And he’ll buy me mink coats and diamonds and we’ll live in decadent luxury…

She became aware of amused stares and realized belatedly that she was talking out loud.

“I’m a writer,” she improvised. “It’s a great plot, the iguana prince…”

“Yeah? The part about Robert Redford was great,” an elderly woman said, grinning as she got onto the bus just ahead of Danetta. “But nobody would kiss an iguana!”

Danetta only smiled.

Chapter Two (#ulink_9fa03907-2129-5a29-bc69-b46b0e26e7f7)

Norman was curled up on the radiator, as usual, when Danetta got home. He opened his eyes and then closed them again, his long emerald-green body sprawled over the warm place.

“You’re so enthusiastic, Norman,” she sighed, pausing to rub his head and tickle his chin. He did look ferocious, she supposed, remembering Mr. Ritter’s horrified expression when she’d mentioned having an iguana. But the reptile’s fierce appearance was just window dressing in Norman’s case. She’d carried him around and petted him since he was barely seven inches long, and she didn’t find him in the least intimidating or frightening. It was hard to be afraid of a creature that liked spinach quiche and responded to a whistle. She was sure that a book she’d read on iguanas said they were stupid. It was a good thing Norman couldn’t read.

She heated up some quiche for him and turned on a Beethoven sonata. When she put the quiche in a bowl with two or three fresh hibiscus petals from the florist, Norman sniffed and oozed down onto the floor. He looked like a miniature dinosaur, Danetta thought as she watched him plod to his food dish and eat hungrily. He wasn’t much on regular meals. He ate about every second or third day, and he was certainly healthy enough. His tail gave her nightmares. It was terribly long and quite handsome, and she lived in fear of stepping on it. Iguanas shed their tails quite easily if they were pulled on, but Norman would never forgive her if she cost him his crowning glory.

She brooded most of the evening over Cabe Ritter’s behavior. First he wanted her to dress in a more feminine way, then he accused her of having a crush on him, then he seemed to be mad because she denied it. He was the most puzzling man she’d ever known.

Finally she went to bed, leaving Norman on the radiator. It was still cool at night, and that warmth attracted him. He was so predictable. She could always find him on the radiator, on his paper in the bathroom—because he was housebroken—or in the kitchen. It was a good thing that Mr. Ritter had never come to visit her at home, she mused as she lay awake. Norman would give him fits.

She closed her eyes with determination, but she kept seeing her enigmatic boss’s broad, hard face. She’d denied her attraction to him for a long time, and it was a good thing she’d learned to hide it. If she’d given herself away today when he’d made that accusation, she’d be looking for another job.

As if she’d ever have a chance with such a man, she sighed inwardly. He could have his pick of women, and did. Danetta wouldn’t even be in the running. She only wondered why he’d been so irritated when she’d made that remark about his being a womanizer. Surely he didn’t want her to have a crush on him! Of course not. She groaned and rolled over. She had to try to get some sleep.

The next morning, she felt as if she hadn’t gotten even one hour’s worth. She went to work dragging, her eyes bloodshot and dark circled. She’d dressed hurriedly in a green-and-lavender-and-brown swirled dress—a shirtwaist dress, although she hadn’t really meant to. She left her hair down, too, mainly because she didn’t have time to put it up after she’d overslept.

Mr. Ritter was usually a half hour later than she was. Today, of course, he was early. Mentally groaning as she tried to tiptoe into the office, she prepared herself for a lecture. He didn’t say anything as it turned out, but he did give her a cold glance as she walked in, his eyes going pointedly to the clock on the office wall, which proved that she was a full ten minutes late. He was on the phone, nodding and muttering to someone on the other end of the line.

She mouthed an apology and started to take off her lightweight car coat.

“Keep it on,” he called to her, covering the receiver. “Get the tape recorder and your pad and pen. We’re going out to a rig to get some data about that new machine part I made for Harry Deal.”

She had to grit her teeth. Harry Deal was an old-line rigger who hated women and made no secret of it. He made her feel like fish bait, and Mr. Ritter knew it. Which was probably why he was dragging her out to the rig with him, she thought miserably. He was getting even for what she’d said the day before.

“Not today,” she sighed to herself. She put her coat over her arm as she got the necessary items together. “I’m just not up to Harry Deal today.”

“Stop moaning,” her boss snapped. He held open the office door, his cold eyes taking in every fact of her appearance. But they lingered on the soft thrust of her breasts and the sensuous curves outlined by the dress, and the coldness went out of them. The pale blue began to darken, to glitter. His jaw tautened and the arm that had been holding the door open moved, so that as she started to go through the doorway, he was suddenly blocking her way.

She looked up warily, her apprehension visible on her soft features. Close up he was devastating. That gray-and-beige sports coat clung to him lovingly, not too tight but certainly not overloose. Her eyes dropped, noting involuntarily the way his gray slacks molded the powerful muscles of his long legs. He smelled of spicy cologne, and her eyes rose again and stopped at the wide curve of his mouth above that cleft chin. She could feel the heat of his big body and it made her long to lean against him.

“Is this for my benefit?” he asked quietly, his eyes smoothing down the clingy shirtwaist dress.

Her heart bounced in her chest as her eyes met that glittery stare. “Of course not,” she faltered. “I…was running late, and I didn’t have time to put up my hair.”

“I’m not talking about your hair,” he replied, his voice deep and measured. His arm moved deliberately so that it brushed lazily against her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her temple. “Be careful,” he murmured softly. “You said yourself that I was a womanizer. Wearing something that sexy might give me ideas.”

Her shocked eyes were trapped in his stare. It was like electricity flowing between them for one long, staggering instant.

“I…didn’t mean to,” she stammered.

“Didn’t you?” He moved his arm away and stood aside to let her pass. She managed that on legs almost too wobbly to support her. After shrugging into her coat, she went out to the car. Her face burned as she realized just how vulnerable she was to him. And he wasn’t even trying. What would she do if he ever made a real pass at her?

There was a strained silence between them as he drove out of town toward one of Harry Deal’s newest oil rigs. This was a derrick, because Harry was drilling for the first time on this new field on his property. He hadn’t hit oil yet, but Danetta would have bet that he was going to. Harry could smell oil, and he had quite a track record.

“My father has a percentage of this exploration,” Cabe said a few minutes down the road. He tapped ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray of his big gray Lincoln, glancing sideways at Danetta. “Relax, for God’s sake,” he snapped. “I’m not going to jump on you!”

She bit her lower lip until her teeth bruised it. “I appreciate it,” she managed with forced humor.

He took a long draw from his cigarette and let out an audible sigh with the smoke. “It’s all right, Dan,” he said after a minute. “I don’t have the right to tell you how to dress, although I guess I might have pushed you into what you’re wearing today by the insulting things I said about the way you looked.” He moved uncomfortably. “It’s my father, damn it! I hadn’t even noticed your clothes until he stuck his nose in.” In fact, he hadn’t really noticed Danetta that much until his father had started to point out her virtues. Now he found himself watching her all too often. Like right now. He glanced toward her and then away, his face tautening as his eyes registered once again how sexy she looked in a dress that fit properly. “That dress is…very flattering.”

She knew her face was flaming. All at once she felt like one of the creatures on the endangered species list. She darted her eyes to the window without acknowledging the compliment. “You said your father had an interest in Mr. Deal’s operation?”

He put out the cigarette. “A small percentage, yes,” he replied, relieved to have the hot tension die down. The sight of her in that dress wasn’t doing his self-control any good at all, and he hoped she was too green to realize that his bad temper was due to the new attraction he was feeling for her. “Eugene likes to have his finger in every pie he can find.”

“I thought oil was a bad investment right now.”

“The market’s down, but it will come up again. Like gold, it fluctuates. But as long as it’s a necessity, prices will eventually go up. Eugene and Harry Deal are smart enough to diversify. They’ll make out.”

“Is there a problem with the equipment you made for Mr. Deal?” she asked.

“He thinks so. I don’t.” He glanced at her and grinned. “I know the joker who’s operating the rig for him. He’s an old-line rigger and he doesn’t like trying new things. He’s probably put the damned part in backward or left it out altogether.”

Which turned out to be exactly the case. Danetta, standing uncomfortably to one side while Cabe wrestled with an unfathomable piece of greasy equipment, saw the older man nearby turn red when the motor was turned back on and the part slid into place and worked with textbook precision.

The rig was overrun with men—muscular, rough-looking men who seemed to find Danetta, even in her light car coat, quite an attraction. There were some women in that line of work, but not in Harry Deal’s crew. She felt all too conspicuous.

She was holding Cabe’s jacket while he worked. Now he wiped his hands on a handkerchief that would never be white again and gave Harry Deal a speaking look.

Harry, a white-haired, short man with a big nose, glared at his rigger. “Okay, I stand corrected,” he muttered. “Sam, you can explain all this to me later.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam grumbled. He shot Cabe a hard glare and stomped off to the other side of the rig.

“How’s your dad?” he asked Cabe.

“Making money. He hopes you’re going to fund him a new Rolls with this strike.”

“I’m doing my best.” He turned, pursing his lips at Danetta. “Still got the same secretary, I see. Not married yet, Miss Marist?”

Danetta hugged Cabe’s coat to her breasts. “I did find one candidate, Mr. Deal,” she replied sweetly, “but he couldn’t change a tire and talk at the same time, so I gave him up.”

Harry smiled unpleasantly. “Can’t change your own tire?”

“I have to these days. Most men are so fastidious that they don’t like getting mussed up doing those difficult jobs.”

Cabe saw disaster ahead. He took Danetta by the arm and led her away from a smoldering Harry. “Let me know if you have any more problems, Harry,” he called over his shoulder. “We have to get back to work.”

“Thanks, Cabe,” the older man said shortly and turned back to his job.