Giant of Mesabi Read online

  "It's impossible," she insisted, more because she thought there was a chance it could be true and doubted her own ability to fence with a master of the game.

  "Tell me, Alanna—" he slowed the car at a stop signal and gave her his undivided attention as the car idled at the red light "—are you still a virgin?"

  She breathed sharply. "That's none of your business!"

  "You're going out with my brother," Rolt pointed out. She became even more agitated when she noticed he was watching the uneven rise and fall of her breasts. "I was curious."

  "You can keep on being curious!" she flashed.

  The light changed to green and he shifted the car into drive, laughing softly in his throat. "I don't have to be. You've already answered my question." There was a sliding blue look, glinting and mocking. "Are you saving yourself for Kurt?"

  The heat searing her skin was unbearable. "Well, not for you," Alanna hissed. "Never for you!"

  "Careful," he warned with laughter in his voice. "Never is a long time."

  Alanna was about to argue that it wasn't long enough as far as Rolt was concerned, but at that moment she realized that, instead of turning at the road that would take her to her parents' house, he had stayed on the highway.

  "You missed the turn," she pointed out.

  "No, I didn't."

  He sounded so certain that Alanna glanced back over her shoulder to the crossroads, nearly convinced that she was mistaken. "My parents live down that road."

  "I'm not taking you home."

  He wasn't serious! One look at his face told her he was. Her mouth opened, speechless for an instant. "Where—"

  "Kurt is at the mine. You did want to see him, didn't you?" he mocked.

  "Is that where we're going?" Alanna demanded, tired of his games,

  "Of course—" taking his foot off the accelerator "—unless you want to go directly home."

  "I would like to see Kurt," she admired, seething at his deliberate failure to tell her. Sarcasm coated her tongue as she added, "It never occurred to me that you would take me there. After all, Kurt does have an emergency on his hands."

  Her gibe rolled off his back like water from a duck. "I think he can be spared for a few minutes to see you. I can take over for him."

  "Just as you could have to let him come to the airport to meet me." Alanna rubbed her fingertips on the throbbing ache in her temple. "The same way you've taken over from my father," she murmured bitterly. "I regret the day he ever sold controlling interest to your company."

  "The iron vein had played out. Your father didn't have the financial ability nor the knowledge to switch the operation to processing taconite. If he hadn't sold out to us when he did, in another year he would have been bankrupt. That is the truth, whether he or you will ever admit it," Rolt stated in a cold, unemotional tone. "Besides, you wouldn't have met Kurt—or me."

  Alanna didn't comment on his observation. The buildings of the city were no longer rolling past her window. The landscape was mostly rural, pine studded and green. They were on the Taconite Trail Road in the middle of the Mesabi Iron Range.

  In this arrowhead area of Northern Minnesota, the major source of the nation's iron ore had once been mined. The veins in the Vermilion, Mesabi and other ranges had been so rich, it was thought in the beginning that they would last for ever, but progress and war had revealed a lack of foresight. Now the abundant taconite was being processed into iron, enormous plants rising above the trees.

  Behind the green façade, the story of the passing of the large iron mines was told to these observant enough to read. Abandoned open pits were being fast reclaimed by nature, trees and brush taking over the empty land. The yellow flowers of the hardy bird's foot trefoil plant covered old tailings.

  Alanna had spent her childhood here. The twisting, winding canyons and ridges had been gouged out of the earth by heavy machinery to expose the iron veins. With the riches plundered, foliage invaded to inhabit the land again.

  Mesabi was an Ojibwa Indian word, meaning Land of the Sleeping Giant. It was a name given to the range of mountains because of its resemblance to the sleeping figure of a man. Virgin forests had once covered its slopes, tramped by fur-trappers, felled by lumbermen's axes or uprooted by iron-seeking escavation equipment. The towering pines the Ojibwa had known, ten feet in diameter and more, were gone, and young trees grew in their place.

  While the sleeping giant rested, other giants walked the land. Amethyst and shimmering in resentment, Alanna's gaze slid to the impassive man behind the wheel. That was how her father had once described Rolt Matthews, as a giant, referring to his stature as a man, not to his physical size. He was tall and muscular and a compelling figure, but that was not what set him apart from others. Or so her father had told her.

  Dorian Powell, her father, was a sensitive, erudite man. Despite his earnest attempts, he had never been a successful businessman. The iron mine—the family wealth—had been inherited from his father and grandfather. When the vein played out, so did the family resources.

  In her heart, Alanna had known Rolt's statement that her father would have been bankrupt if his firm had not purchased controlling interest was accurate. But she also knew her father's reasons for selling were not purely the monetary gain for himself. His main concern had been the economy of the area and the people who worked for him. After the sale, he had stepped aside, relegating himself to a mere stockholder.

  When she had protested and insisted that he should have a more active part in the transition and future operation, he had smiled and shook his head.

  "It's a job for only one man. It's going to take someone who will drive himself as hard as he does these around him, without concern for personal feelings. When you own a business and have people working for you, there's a tendency to play God. You can't do that and be successful. There were times when l was more concerned about an illness in some employee's family than I was in the day's production. You can't let things like that bother you. You've got to stand apart from the workers, immune to their problems. You can't let personal feelings, yours or anyone else's, interfere with business. It can't matter whether a man likes you or curses you behind your back. A man in charge has to be above that—a giant. You can't let anything stand in your way if you want to be successful. Rolt Matthews is that kind of a man,"

  "Cold and ruthless is what you mean," Alanna had retorted.

  "I suppose you could describe him that way," Dorian Powell had agreed, "but he'll make the company successful and himself in the process. Everyone else will benefit from his success, including ourselves."

  Cold and ruthless. The adjectives described him aptly. He kept himself apart and seemingly above others. To Alanna's knowledge, since Rolt had taken over control of the company, he had never associated with anyone from the company outside of business hours. Kurt was the only exception. Even then the occasions they were together were rare.

  Her gaze shifted for the second time to the strong, tanned hands on the wheel. She wondered briefly about the women he had known. Alanna didn't doubt that the touch of his hands could bestow pain or joy, but she doubted whether Rolt ever felt anything himself.

  The car slowed and turned off the highway, and Alanna glanced up to see the entrance gate to the plant. The security guard posted at the closed gate bent slightly to view the car's occupants. With a respectful nod to Rolt, he swung the gate open and let them through. As they drove by, Alanna thought she recognized the guard. His hair had grayed and his shoulders were stooping with advanced years, but he still looked familiar.

  "Isn't that Bob Schmidt?" She had only been out to the plant once in the last five years, then just to pick up her father. "I went to school with his daughter, Justine."

  "It could be. I don't know his name."

  Rolt's lack of interest in the man's identity was apparent in his indifferent response. Her father would have known. He prided himself on knowing the name of every man who worked for the company. But Alanna did not bring the fact u
p. She had too recently recalled her father's assessment of the qualities and traits needed to be successful.

  It wasn't important that Rolt know the guard's name. As long as the payroll clerk and the computer knew, that was all that mattered to him. His attitude chilled Alanna regardless of its business merits. She admired her father more as a sensitive failure than she did Rolt's success as an unfeeling giant with physical needs and no human emotions. Thank God, Kurt didn't take after his hardhearted brother.

  Inside the gates, the plant bustled with activity. Smoke billowed from pollution-controlled stacks atop the large buildings. Heavy trucks rolled to and from the large pits, kicking up dust clouds to choke the air and lay a film on everything in sight. The din was unceasing, yet within the luxury car, only a low drone of the noise could be heard.

  Nothing was as Alanna remembered it. There were no cheerful waves from the workers as had always met her father's appearance in the yard. No one indicated a desire to chat, even among themselves. Efficiency and work reigned. There wasn't time for anything else.

  "You haven't been here since your father sold, have you?" Rolt observed as he parked the black Mark V in a reserved space.

  "Only once, briefly," Alanna admitted coolly.

  He switched off the motor but made no move to leave the car. "A lot has changed since your father's time, hasn't it?" He watched her, a considering look in his eyes. "I don't think you like the change, do you?"

  Her violet eyes swept over the scene again. Guessing that he had somehow already read her thoughts or that she had betrayed therein her expression, Alanna gave a short negative shake of her head.

  "We're making a profit, which is more than your father ever did," Rolt stated.

  "I don't think I like it when a man's worth is measured by the amount of money he makes," she retorted.

  The expectant gleam in his eyes, partially veiled by half-closed lashes, indicated that he had anticipated her response. She was left with the feeling that he had mockingly invited her remark.

  "It's the challenge. Making something out of nothing or taking something that is dying and making it live again that brings satisfaction," he told her quietly. "It's fighting and winning. Money isn't the goal, it's the scoreboard. A man works to obtain his goal whether there's money at the end or not. It all comes back to the challenge."

  "You sound like an authority on the subject," Alanna said in a frosty manner.

  "Let's say that I always get what I want."

  There was something faintly pretentious about his statement that put Alanna instantly on guard. Suddenly the quiet elegance of the car seemed to close in around her. There were people everywhere around them, yet she didn't feel safe in the car with Rolt. Her pulse raced in silent alarm.

  "This discussion is very enlightening, but I think I came here to see Kurt." The briskness of her reminder was brought on by her sudden attack of nervousness.

  Her fingers closed over the door handle. She didn't want to wait in the car until Rolt walked around to open her door. Before she could release the latch, his hand had circled her wrist to hold her in the seat.

  "Wait," he told her.

  Alanna turned, apprehension rounding her eyes although she tried to conceal it. "Why?" She breathed the wary question.

  Amusement glittered briefly in his eyes. She nearly flinched when his other hand moved, but its target was the sun visor above her head. Rolt flipped it down, revealing a lighted makeup mirror.

  "You might want to do some repairs before you see Kurt." The gash near his mouth deepened into a mocking groove. "Unless you don't think he'll notice that your lipstick is smeared."

  A scarlet stain dotted her cheeks as Alanna saw the smear of beige pink from her lips. He had deliberately waited until the last minute to point it out to her, thus forcing the memory of his kiss to the forefront just before she met Kurt.

  Quickly she wiped away the smear with a tissue from her purse. Indigo blue eyes lazily watched her actions. His silent observation was unnerving, and her fingers began to tremble as she added fresh color to her mouth.

  "Would you like me to blot it?" Rolt mocked.

  "No, thank you." With hurried movements, she pressed the clean side of the tissue against her lips. "There," she said, indicating that she was finished and ready to leave the car.

  "One more thing first," he insisted.

  As he leaned towards her, Alanna tried to remain out of his reach, pressing her shoulders against the side of the car door. But it wasn't her arms that his hand sought, but the collar of her blouse.

  "What are you doing?" she demanded, grabbing his wrists and trying to push his hands away from her blouse front. Anger at his effrontery banished any qualms.

  Ignoring her attempts to keep him from his objective, he calmly unbuttoned the top button and moved to the second. She strained and pushed, but his strength was vastly superior to hers.

  "Stop it!" she breathed angrily as the second button was set free.

  Rolt merely smiled, if that mirthless movement of his mouth could be called a smile. The third button was released. With the thumb and forefinger of each hand, he opened the front into a vee, smoothing the material up to the collar, then down to the low point, There he stopped, his knuckles deliberately resting on the rounded swell of her breasts.

  "I want you to look alluring for my brother." He surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction.

  Heat flamed through her body at the way his gaze dwelt in the shadowy valley between her breasts. She trembled with impotent anger and embarrassment, her fingers locked on his wrists but no longer making any futile attempts to push his hands away. His attention lazily focused on her face.

  "A little cleavage always arouses a man's interest," Rolt added.

  His fingers seemed to burn through her blouse, branding their imprint on her soft flesh. "Take your hands off me!" Alanna demanded hoarsely.

  With a patronizing tilt of his head in acquiescence, he let go of the material, deliberately trailing his fingertips over the pointed thrust of her breasts before straightening to his own side of the car.

  The wicked glint in his eyes made Alanna wish she had a knife. She would have gladly plunged it into his heart at that moment and damned the consequences. Rolt opened the car door and stepped out, a rush of noise and dust racing in.

  Chapter Two

  THE SPARKLE OF TEMPER was in her eyes, heightened color in her complexion. The tawny gold of her hair swung in soft curls about her neck, silken and shimmering. The flat of Rolt's hand rested proprietarily on the back of her waist as he guided her through the clerical department of the plant to his private office.

  Alanna was aware of the interested and speculative glances they received from the employees, male and female. A few faces were familiar, but she doubted that they recognized her. Their main interest was the fact that their boss was escorting a young woman to his office.

  Rolt obviously did not make a practice of entertaining women at the plant, and she wondered what they would think when they saw her with Kurt. They would probably conclude that she was playing one brother off against the other. If they only knew how uncomfortable the possessive hand on her back made her feel, they would appreciate the control she was exercising to keep from pushing it away.

  A woman looked up from the typewriter as they walked through an office door. She was attractive in a plain sort of way, in her middle thirties. Unconsciously Alanna glanced at the wedding band on the woman's left hand before meeting the woman's curious gaze.

  Rolt's hand shifted to her elbow, keeping Alanna at his side as he paused at the woman's desk. "Are there any messages, Mrs. Blake?"

  "They're on your desk. Only one was urgent and it's on top," the woman answered in a crisp, professional tone.

  He turned away, drawing Alanna awkwardly along towards a second door that obviously led to his inner sanctum. Over his shoulder, he tossed out an order to his secretary. "Find Kurt and have him sent to my office right away."

  There w
asn't an opportunity for the secretary to acknowledge his request as he guided Alanna through the door and closed it behind him. His grip lessened and she immediately slipped free of the dreaded contact.

  "Make yourself at home." His mouth quirked slightly as he moved farther into the room. "It will be a few minutes before Kurt arrives."

  His strides took him away from her. Alanna breathed a bit easier and glanced around the office. It was hardly a typical office. The desk his secretary had referred to was not an accurate term since it resembled a table with a center drawer. A straight-backed chair and not an overstuffed leather chair sat behind it. It was definitely not something that a person would relax in and contemplate his successes. There were two or three other similar chairs situated near the table. Dark oak shelves covered one wall and a portion of a second. Books and papers abounded, but there were no cabinets.

  The rest of the room was furnished with an enormous three-piece sectional sofa and equally sized knee-high table that followed its curving arc. The sofa was covered in a knobby material in Variegated stripes of blue.

  The drapes, coveting the length of nearly one entire wall, were of the same material as the sofa. Beneath her feet, the carpet was a long shaggy blue, plush and thick. Charcoal sketches of black and white adorned the remaining walls.

  The decor was decidedly masculine and completely informal. It was so at odds with the other office areas Alanna had passed that she was stunned. It was not at all as she had imagined, and her expression revealed this.

  "Is something the matter?" Rolt's amused voice inquired.

  He was standing beside the desk, or table, which seemed the more appropriate term. The pink slips of telephone messages were in his hand. His lazily veiled look was inscrutable.

  "You have to admit this is not your typical office," Alanna defended her astonishment. "Whoever heard of an executive without a massive walnut desk?" She couldn't keep a tinge of sarcasm from creeping into her voice, an after-effect of his previous treatment.