Wyoming - Darling Jenny (Americana 50 - Wyoming)

CHAPTER ONE

'PLEASE fasten your seat belts,' the red light flashed above the arched doorway of the tourist section. Jennifer Glenn obeyed the instruction silently. She brushed back a strand of her red-gold, shoulder-length hair that had strayed to the corner of her eyes, tilting her head upwards towards the fresh, cooling air from the vent. As the breeze played lightly on her face, Jennifer's brown eyes were sadly contemplative.
She should have put her hair in its proper place, in a burnished bun on top of her head. Her mouth compressed painfully. Brad had liked it this way, loose and curling gently under her chin. Jennifer liked it this way, too, but it made her look so young and vulnerable. Just now she felt very old, much older than her meager twenty-two years. But she had been vulnerable, so very vulnerable.
Just two short years ago she had graduated at the head of her class in secretarial school. Beaming and full of confidence, she had kissed her parents good-bye, climbed aboard the bus in Alexandria and headed for the big city—Minneapolis! For three weeks, she had made the rounds, in and out of executive offices, her certificates and recommendations proudly carried in her hand. And the results had always been the same. She would walk into the room for her interview and see the impressed and interested looks on her interviewer's face change to one of doubt. After the second week, Jennifer could almost predict their reactions as they had studied her petal-smooth complexion, her bright, beaming eyes, her button nose sitting pertly in the middle of her face, and her red mouth that managed to spread into a wide nervous smile. Always the same unasked question had been in their faces—are you really twenty, you look more like sixteen. But instead they had murmured about her lack of experience.
Finally, the third week, with her reserves running short and the prospect of returning to the YWCA again that night without a job, Jennifer had practically pleaded with her interviewer to give her a chance to prove she was as good as her credentials said. With a fatherly look in his eyes, the man reluctantly had consented to place her in the attorney firm's typing pool. Jennifer could tell he had regretted his decision the minute he had made it, but at last she could write her anxious parents that she had a job.
For a year and a half she had stifled her naturally gregarious and exuberant personality so that she would appear efficient and businesslike even amid the gaggle of women. Secretarial positions in the attorney firm Smith, Katzenberg, Petersen, and Rohe, occupying fully two floors of a downtown office building, were few and far between. At last, after months of dull legal forms and hundreds of hours in front of a typewriter, Jennifer had got her chance. Mr. Bradley Stevenson's secretary had abruptly left her job, and a replacement was needed immediately.
The stewardess walked by, offering magazines to the plane's passengers. Jennifer declined politely when she stopped by her seat. She preferred to stare out of the plane's window at the misty fog of clouds that enshrouded it, her thoughts drawn back again. The memory was so very fresh. It might have been yesterday instead of six months ago.
Jennifer had known the minute she stepped into his office that things were going to change. After repeatedly being accused of lying about her age, she had begun wearing her hair piled on top of her head in an effort to appear sophisticated and older. She had known exactly what to expect of Bradley Stevenson. He had been termed one of the more brilliant young lawyers in the state and one of the most attractive bachelors in the firm. Although she had seen him several times in the building, this was the first time she had actually met him.
When she stepped into his office, a roguish lock of black hair had drifted over his forehead as he glanced up from his papers. The full force of his dark eyes settled on her, accompanied by a wide, extremely charming smile.
'Well, Miss Glenn,' he had said. 'You certainly have a very impressive record. Mrs. Johnston, your supervisor speaks very highly of you.'
There had been a few more pleasantries and questions about her qualifications, but Jennifer had known all along that the job was hers, that she was going to be the private secretary to this compelling, handsome attorney. The Minnesota farm girl had landed the most envied job in the firm.
With a stubborn determination born of self-will, Jennifer had set out to make herself indispensable to Mr. Bradley Stevenson. For three months she had sacrificed precious minutes of her lunch hour, stayed after hours typing crucial briefs, or seen that important correspondence was finished. In the beginning the extra effort was to prove that she was capable, but ever so gradually it was for the reward of his smile and brief words of appreciation. One particularly late night, he had insisted on taking her out to dinner despite her protests.
'I am your employer,' he had finally told her, 'and I demand that you accompany me to dinner.' Laughing, he had added, 'If it upsets your strict code of ethics to dine with your boss, pretend I'm going to give you some dictation over a glass of wine.'
'You really don't have to do this,' Jennifer had said, embarrassed at the growing colour in her cheeks and the pounding of her heart at the prospect of being with him in an informal atmosphere.
'If you have a date, say so. I certainly don't want to defend myself to a jealous lover.' His dark eyes had studied her intently as she had replied.
'Oh, I don't have a steady or anything like that. I don't go out very much.' Immediately she had regretted her words. To Jennifer, they had sounded too much like an invitation, so she had added brightly with a teasing glance, 'Besides, I've been working so hard.'
It had been a wonderful evening in a cozy, dimly lit restaurant with Brad—he had insisted that she call him that—as he asked what seemed like really interested questions about her home life and background. That night when he had driven her to her apartment, and she had suitably thanked him for the evening, he had touched her arm and said,
'If you really enjoyed the evening, do me a favour. Tomorrow wear your hair down and have lunch with me, that is if I don't have another appointment. Do I?'
'No, you don't,' Jennifer had laughed gaily before getting out of the car and dashing happily into the building.
So it had begun. The occasional lunches and dinners had grown into dancing and theatres and hockey and football games until it had ended…was it only two nights ago?
'This is certainly the bumpiest ride I've ever had on a plane,' the lady seated next to Jennifer stated, bundling her knitting up and placing it in her tapestry bag. 'I've dropped three stitches in the last two minutes.'
Jennifer was suddenly conscious of the turbulent bouncing of the aircraft and murmured agreement with her seat companion. Taking Jennifer's polite comment as an invitation for conversation, the woman continued,
'I was in Salt Lake City with my daughter and her new baby. It's her first, and I told Richard, that's my husband, that it wasn't right for her to cope with those first few weeks on her own. Of course, it's our first grandchild and we were both dying to see her. Her name is Amy, a nice, old-fashioned name, I think.'
Jennifer nodded and smiled politely, wishing the woman would stop talking and at the same time grateful to get her mind off that painful night.
'Are you going to Wyoming on a skiing holiday?' the woman asked