Passion Flower. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ a telephone?”

      She sighed. “No.”

      “Kind of in the same boat we are in, aren’t you?” he said with a sympathetic smile. “I’m Robert Culhane, by the way.”

      “Jennifer King,” she said for the second time that day, and extended her hand.

      “Nice to meet you, Jenny. How can I reach you?”

      “The agency will take a message for me,” she said.

      “Fine. I’ll be in town for several more days. I’ll be in touch with you before I go back to Texas. Okay?”

      She beamed. “You’re really serious?”

      “I’m really serious. And this is great work,” he added, gesturing toward the letters. “Jenny, it won’t be an easy life on the Circle C. It’s nothing like those fancy ranches you see on the television.”

      “I’m not expecting it to be,” she said honestly, and was picturing a ramshackle house that needed paint and curtains and overhauling, and two lonely men living in it. She smiled. “I’m just expecting to be needed.”

      “You’ll be that,” he sighed, staring at her critically. “But are you up to hard work?”

      “I’ll manage,” she promised. “Being out in the open, in fresh air, will make me strong. Besides, it’ll be dry air out there, and it’s summer.”

      “You’ll burn up in the heat,” he promised.

      “I burn up in the heat here,” she said. “Atlanta is a southern city. We get hundred-degree temperatures here.”

      “Just like home,” he murmured with a smile.

      “I’d like to come,” she said as she got her purse and closed up the typewriter. “But I don’t want to get you into any trouble with your brother.”

      “Everett and I hardly ever have anything except trouble,” he said easily. “Don’t worry about me. You’d be doing us a big favor. I’ll talk Everett into it.”

      “Should I write you another letter?” She hesitated.

      He shook his head. “I’ll have it out with him when I get home,” he said. “No sweat. Thanks for doing my letters. I’ll send the agency a check, you tell them.”

      “I will. And thank you!”

      She hardly felt the weight of the typewriter on her way back to the agency. She was floating on a cloud.

      Miss James gave her a hard look when she came back in. “You’re late,” she said. “We had to refuse a call.”

      “I’m sorry. There were several letters...” she began.

      “You’ve another assignment. Here’s the address. A politician. Wants several copies of a speech he’s giving, to hand out to the press. You’re to type the speech and get it photostatted for him.”

      She took the outstretched address and sighed. “The typewriter...?”

      “He has his own, an electric one. Leave that one here, if you please.” Miss James buried her silver head in paperwork. “You may go home when you finish. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

      “Good night,” Jennifer said quietly, sighing as she went out onto the street. It would be well after quitting time when she finished, and Miss James knew it. But perhaps the politician would be generous enough to tip her. If only the Texas job worked out! Jennifer was a scrapper when she was at her peak, but she was weary and sick and dragged out. It wasn’t a good time to get into an argument with the only employer she’d been able to find. All the other agencies were overstaffed with out-of-work people begging for any kind of job.

      The politician was a city councilman, in a good mood and very generous. Jennifer treated herself to three hamburgers and two cups of coffee on the way back to her small apartment. It was in a private home, and dirt cheap. The landlady wasn’t overly friendly, but it was a roof over her head and the price was right.

      She slept fitfully, dreaming about the life she’d left behind in New York. It all seemed like something out of a fantasy. The competition for the plum jobs, the cocktail parties to make contacts, the deadlines, the endless fighting to land the best accounts, the agonizing perfecting of color schemes and coordinating pieces to fit fussy tastes... Her nerves had given out, and then her body.

      It hadn’t been her choice to go to New York. She’d have been happy in Atlanta. But the best schools were up north, and her parents had insisted. They wanted her to have the finest training available, so she let herself be gently pushed. Two years after she graduated, they were dead. She’d never truly gotten over their deaths in the plane crash. They’d been on their way to a party on Christmas Eve. The plane went down in the dark, in a lake, and it had been hours before they were missed.

      In the two years since her graduation, Jennifer had landed a job at one of the top interior-decoration businesses in the city. She’d pushed herself over the limit to get clients, going to impossible lengths to please them. The outcome had been inevitable. Pneumonia landed her in the hospital for several days in March, and she was too drained to go back to work immediately after. An up-and-coming young designer had stepped neatly into her place, and she had found herself suddenly without work.

      Everything had to go, of course. The luxury apartment, the furs, the designer clothes. She’d sold them all and headed south. Only to find that the job market was overloaded and she couldn’t find a job that wouldn’t finish killing her. Except at a temporary agency, where she could put her typing skills to work. She started working for Miss James, and trying to recover. But so far she’d failed miserably. And now the only bright spot in her future was Texas.

      She prayed as she never had before, struggling from one assignment to the next and hoping beyond hope that the phone call would come. Late one Friday afternoon, it did. And she happened to be in the office when it came.

      “Miss King?” Robert Culhane asked on a laugh. “Still want to go to Texas?”

      “Oh, yes!” she said fervently, holding tightly to the telephone cord.

      “Then pack a bag and be at the ranch bright and early a week from Monday morning. Got a pencil? Okay, here’s how to get there.”

      She was so excited she could barely scribble. She got down the directions. “I can’t believe it, it’s like a dream!” she said enthusiastically. “I’ll do a good job, really I will. I won’t be any trouble, and the pay doesn’t matter!”

      “I’ll tell Everett,” he chuckled. “Don’t forget. You needn’t call. Just come on out to the ranch. I’ll be there to smooth things over with old Everett, okay?”

      “Okay. Thank you!”

      “Thank you, Miss King,” he said. “See you a week from Monday.”

      “Yes, sir!” She hung up, her face bright with hope. She was actually going to Texas!

      “Miss King?” Miss James asked suspiciously.

      “Oh! I won’t be back in СКАЧАТЬ