Giant of Mesabi

"Oh, you're not old," she had protested, but a quick mental calculation reminded her that he was nearly sixty.

"Sometimes I feel very old—and tired."

But he still hadn't answered her question and Alanna had probed further. "Is it mother? Are you worried about her?"

His light brows drew together in a line of hurt. "I can't help worrying about her, Alanna." He had reached out and clasped her hand. "I love her."

"I know, daddy." She had squeezed his hand affectionately. "So do I."

"It's hard to accept that life doesn't go the way we hope or even plan that it will." He had stared again into space. "Your mother and I had such plans for our retirement. There was so much I wanted to do for her and show her."

His voice had trailed off, but Alanna had finished the unspoken thought. Her mother's weak heart had ended these plans. Disappointment and regret now plagued her father.

"But she has you, daddy," Alanna had pointed out "And that's what she wants most of all."

"Yes," he had nodded absently, but the look in his eyes had said that he wanted to give her much more.

It troubled him that her health wouldn't permit the traveling and activities they had once planned. And Alanna guessed that he regretted not doing much of it earlier when her mother had been able to take part.

"There's no sense letting it upset you, dad," she had murmured.

He hadn't replied and Alanna had let the subject drop.

But it had eased her mind. She watched them now, her father hovering, her mother protesting, and couldn't help smiling.

"I think you should wear a hat," her father was saying. "The sun can be pretty hot."

"I'm not made of ice cream. I won't melt in the sun," Elinore Powell insisted in exasperation. "I'll sit in the shade if it gets too warm."

"I think I'll put a hat in the car just in case," he decided.

Elinore glanced at Alanna and smiled, shaking her head at the hopelessness of arguing with him. "Are you sure you don't want to join us for Sunday dinner? Ruth fixed a delicious picnic lunch."

"Two's a company and three's a crowd," Alanna quipped. "Besides, Kurt will be over at four o'clock. There isn't any need for you and Dad to cut your afternoon short just to bring me back here."

"It doesn't seem right to leave you here alone on your first Sunday home," her mother sighed.

"Don't worry about it,? she insisted. "I'm going to have a quiet, relaxing afternoon. I have a good book to read and I'm going to lie in the sun and read it."

"Well, if you're sure," her mother said grudgingly.

"Mother, if you're not careful, you're going to turn into a mother hen like dad!" Alanna laughed.

"Heaven forbid!" The answering response joined her laughter.

A few moments later, her parents were gone. With her book under one arm and the portable radio in the other hand, Alanna wandered out onto the patio at the back of the house. The concrete area was almost the only section of the vast lawn to receive the afternoon sun. Large pine trees and one maple tree shaded the rest.

Redwood lawn furniture was scattered in casual order about the patio. Setting the radio on a circular redwood table, Alanna slipped out of her cotton beach jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. Her brief bikini matched the jacket, a bold print of crimson and gold. She tuned the radio to a station that played a combination of popular music and old standards, then settled on to the redwood chaise lounge.

Reaching behind her neck, she untied the halter straps of her bikini top and let them fall to her side to avoid the white stripes they would make as the rest of her skin tanned. The neighboring homes were some distance away, separated by the vast lawns, so she was not concerned about any prying eyes. With sunglasses protecting her eyes from the glare of the sun, she opened her book and began reading, quickly becoming engrossed in the historical saga.

"Beautiful." A male voice murmured the compliment.

Alanna glanced up, startled. Between the radio music and her own absorption in the novel, she had not heard the sound of anyone's approach. But there, a few feet from her chair, towered Rolt Matthews. She had not seen nor heard from him since the day she had arrived in Hibbing. Because of that, she had begun to discount his statement that she would be the recipient of his attention whether she wanted to be or not, and that mistake in judgment had lulled her into a false sense of security.

Stunned, her mouth refused to function. She stared at him, momentarily unable to speak. He was dressed casually, the clinging print material of his shirt complementing the light blue of his snug-fitting trousers. The breadth of his masculine chest was outlined by the shirt, accenting the tapering length to his waist. Half of the buttons were unfastened, revealing golden-brown hairs curling against the tan of his hard flesh. A gentle breeze rippled through his thick brown hair, which was gilded by the sunlight. There was a sensual twist to his mouth.

He took a step forward, and his movement finally spurred her into speech. "How did you get here?" she asked him angrily.