Miner's Daughter by Alice Duncan Read Free Book Online Page A

dinner in this place is
going to soften Miss Pottersby’s heart,” Tony said in a tone that
told Mari exactly what he thought of her: nothing. He did do her
the honor of looking at her when he next spoke. “If she has a
heart.”
    Mari almost wished he hadn’t looked, his face
was so hard and unyielding. She experienced a humiliating urge to
cry. It wasn’t fair that he should be so heartless to her. What had
she ever done to him? Well, except refuse to rent him her mine, but
that didn’t sound like any sort of crime to Mari. She gazed back at
him with as much serenity as she could muster. “You’re so right,
Mr. Ewing.”
    Martin heaved a gusty sigh. “Listen, Miss
Pottersby, I’m sure Tony didn’t mean to be rude—”
    “Oh, I’m sure he did,” Mari broke in. “He’s
been rude to me since the moment we met.” There. She felt better
now. She added, “Quite frankly, his conduct seems to me unlikely to
help you in your business endeavors, Mr. Tafft. You ought to leave
him at home next time.” If she’d been six years old, Mari might
have appended a “Nyah, nyah, nyah,” to her assessment. It was
implied, though, and she suspected Tony Ewing knew it. She had the
satisfaction of seeing him look first startled, then embarrassed,
and then furious. Unless that was her imagination.
    “Yes.” Martin gave Tony a thin smile. “I’m
afraid he’s not used to the weather out here, and the heat’s made
him somewhat short-tempered.”
    Mari said, “Oh?” and eyed Tony glacially.
    “You have to admit the heat’s not awfully
hospitable,” Tony said, pushing the words out through clenched
teeth.
    With a witheringly condescending smile, Mari
said, “I believe it’s universally acknowledged that deserts are hot
and dry, Mr. Ewing. Or did your teachers in New York fail to teach
anything about geography and weather patterns?”
    Martin uttered a pathetic little whimper and
reached for the lock of hair he liked to tug when under stress.
    Tony snarled, “No, my teachers did not fail
to teach geography, Miss Pottersby. And whether deserts are hot and
dry or not isn’t the point. The point is the weather here
stinks.”
    Mari nodded grandly. “Indeed? I see the
condition is contagious. It’s apparently made a stinker out of
you.”
    She and Tony were squaring off to fight some
more when their meals arrived. Mari wouldn’t have known it until
Judy plunked her plate in front of her if Martin hadn’t sighed and
whispered, “Thank God.”
    When she glanced around to see why he was
thanking his Maker, she beheld Judy, who was again staring at Tony
Ewing. The fool. Mari had never suspected that Judy could be so
silly as to fall for a pretty face. She peered at Tony and amended
her assessment slightly. Okay, so the guy was more than a pretty
face. Actually, if one judged by appearances alone, he’d be a grand
and glorious sight. Kind of like seeing the flag waving on the
Fourth of July.
    Elegantly clad in a lightweight,
light-colored summer suit, he seemed the very essence of masculine
elegance. Mari knew that he wore a sporty straw hat, because she’d
seen it on the hat rack and known it belonged to him because it
looked cosmopolitan and out of place here in Mojave Wells.
    His face had the lightly tanned effect that
went beautifully with hair like his. His hair was thick and wavy,
dark blond with lighter streaks that spoke of days spent
out-of-doors. Probably on his yacht, damn him. His eyes were hazel,
leaning toward green, and were large and luminous and exactly what
Mari’s second cousin Joan, who lived in San Bernardino and was much
more worldly than Mari, called “bedroom eyes.”
    It seemed a dirty shame to Mari that his good
looks and fine clothes hid the soul of an ogre. As Judy
absentmindedly laid her plate before her, Mari said pointedly,
“Thank you, Judy.”
    Judy, who had been lost in a contemplative
fog as she gazed wistfully at Tony, jerked, and her attention
shifted to Mari. “Oh, sure, Mari.