Page 23 of Tender Is the Storm

  "Oh, his ranch was sold all right, but not by him. It was sold last year by a Billy Wolf. Lucas Holt had left the area long before the sale."

  Sharisse stared at her father wide-eyed. "How on earth do you know all that?"

  "I sent someone out there last year. It was only reasonable that I should have him investigated."

  "You knew these things all this time and you never told me?"

  "There was no point in mentioning it, and I didn't want to upset you. Besides, once Holt disappeared without a trace, I was forced to call off the search."

  "Disappeared?"

  "An old timer who had worked for him said he left his ranch the same day you did," Marcus replied. "No one saw him after that."

  She thought about that for a while. "Do you think he tried to follow me?"

  "No. He could easily have caught up with you."

  "Of course." She couldn't quite keep the disap­pointment out of her voice. "Why should he try, any­way?"

  Marcus gazed at her thoughtfully. "There were re­ports that he was responsible for ruining the founder of Newcomb. If that's so, then maybe he had to leave. Newcomb is destitute. Do you know anything about that?"

  "Samuel Newcomb? But they're friends ... or something. No, I can't believe Lucas would do such a thing. Not Lucas."

  He cleared his throat. "Well, as I said, they were only reports."

  "What else did you find out?"

  "Mr. Wolf—my man tracked him down—suggested your husband was on his way to Europe."

  "Europe! But he had no money."

  "Well, he does now," her father said. "He's stay­ing in one of the most expensive hotels in the city, and he's bought the old Tindel mansion."

  "He what?"

  "There's something that puzzles me," Marcus said. "I thought you might be able to explain it."

  "Only one thing?" she asked sarcastically. "Good Lord, I can't believe we're even talking about the same man I knew!"

  "Maybe we're not."

  "Father," she began wearily, but he interrupted.

  "The man is registered at the hotel as Slade Holt, not Lucas Holt."

  "Slade! Oh, no!"

  Marcus was alarmed by her color. "What is it, Rissy?"

  "Slade is Lucas's brother!"

  "But why would Lucas use his brother's name?"

  "It might not be Lucas," she gasped. "It may be Slade."

  "Nonsense. This man claims to be your husband. You would be able to expose him if he's not your hus­band."

  "Would I?" she laughed humorlessly. "They're twins. I can tell them apart only because Slade dresses like an Indian. If he dresses inconspicuously here, as he would, I wouldn't know the difference, I swear."

  "Then this might not be your husband?"

  She bit her lip, then cried, "Oh, I just don't know what to think!"

  "Well, I'll have to go and question the man," her father said resolutely.

  "No!" Sharisse came up out of her chair like a shot. "You can't do that."

  "Why not?"

  "If it is Slade, well, he's . . . difficult. He's differ­ent from Lucas. Slade grew up alone in the wilder­ness. He's a gunfighter. He's blunt and kind of raw. He's not civilized. You don't talk to Slade, Father, not easily."

  "Does he have an interest in you?" her father asked.

  "He did, yes," she admitted reluctantly. "He's just not the kind of man you can confront, Father, so please don't do anything."

  "Something has to be done, Rissy. We can't just keep waiting and wondering."

  "Yes, we can," she insisted. "You said yourself it probably won't be too much longer before he calls on me. I'd just as soon delay that meeting if it's Slade." She gazed down at the table, then explained, "At least I know how to deal with Lucas. But Slade? My God, if he has it in mind to impersonate Lucas in or­der to force me—"

  "He wouldn't dare," Marcus growled.

  "Oh, yes, he would, Father. I've been trying to tell you. He's unscrupulous. He would think it amusing to pose as my husband for a while, to have me right where . . . Well, as I said, he did pursue me before."

  "Perhaps you should stay with your aunt again for a while."

  "Then how will I ever resolve this situation? No, I should continue to live as I normally live. I refuse to hide from him. What I should do is see a lawyer on Monday and get this marriage over with. Then it won't matter whether it's Lucas or Slade."

  "It's too late to end it easily, Sharisse. You need your husband's cooperation now. You know that," he reminded her gently.

  "Well," she sighed, ruefully, "there is one thing. His attitude about a divorce will tell me who he is. If he doesn't want a divorce, I'll know it's Slade."

  Her father stood there looking at her sadly, then turned and left the room. He needed a chance to think, alone in his study.

  Chapter 40

  “You were supposed to get here early, Rissy, not late," Stephanie complained as she took her sister's arm and walked with her toward the par­lor.

  "Don't scold, my dear. I almost didn't come at all. Robert sent his regrets, and if I hadn't already been dressed when his note arrived, I wouldn't have come."

  "But it doesn't matter that you're not escorted. You know everyone here."

  "That's why I decided to come anyway." Actually, she had needed the distraction, needed it desper­ately. "And I'm not really late." They stopped at the entrance to the large parlor where twenty or so guests were gathered. "Sheila hasn't arrived yet, I guess."

  "Well, she's the only late one besides you. And you can never depend on Sheila to do anything when she says she will."

  "Now don't be so sulky, Stephanie. It doesn't be­come you."

  "I can't help it," the younger girl hissed in a low voice. "I've been a bundle of nerves ever since I heard about you-know-who."

  "I wish you wouldn't bring that up." The front door sounded behind them, and Sharisse pulled away from Stephanie. "There now. Go and greet the last of your guests. I'll go in alone. I'll be . . ."

  "What is it, Rissy?" Stephanie followed her sis­ter's gaze and gasped, "Is that him? It is, isn't it? Oh, what should I do? Should I have Joel ask him to leave? Rissy?"

  It took a hard shake before Sharisse was able to re­ply at all. "Don't. . . don't do anything, Stephanie." She swung around, closing her eyes to try and calm herself.

  "What should I do?" Stephanie whispered franti­cally. "I can't very well welcome him to my home. Joel should be told."

  "Stephanie, you have no sense!" Sharisse snapped. "You don't get a man like that to leave if he doesn't want to leave. You're only going to cause trouble if you involve Joel. Just pretend everything's all right."

  "Well, how am I supposed to do that?" Stephanie gripped Sharisse's arm. "Oh, God, he's seen you! He's coming over, Rissy! I think I'll go."

  "Don't you dare leave me alone with him!" Shar­isse hissed.

  She turned around. Her eyes locked with his. And suddenly she went all funny inside. It was those eyes, that clear golden-green, so bright and so dis­arming.

  Warm or cold, his gaze affected her, and appar­ently that hadn't changed. His skin was not so heav­ily bronzed now, but he was still darker than any other man in the room. His black hair was shorter, his clothes more sophisticated. But he was still the man she could never forget.

  "Hello, beautiful."

  The husky voice sent shivers through her.

  "I believe you know several of my friends already, but you haven't met my sister," she said as steadily as she could. He glanced briefly at the flustered blonde and nodded curtly, then looked back at Shar­isse. His face might have been carved from granite.

  The two of them continued to stand there, eyes locked, unmoving.

  "Well, we finally see the newlyweds together," Sheila called out, striding toward them quickly, Donald on her arm. "You'll never believe where we found him, Sharisse. Clear across town. I just knew he'd never get here on time unless we offered him a ride."

  "How thoughtful of you, Sheila,"
Sharisse replied tightly.

  "Well, we'll talk to you later, darling," Sheila said cheerfully. "I must say hello to everyone first. Mustn't be rude."

  Sheila went on into the parlor and Stephanie fol­lowed, leaving Sharisse alone with him.

  "Is there somewhere we can talk, privately?"

  "No!" She blushed, hearing how emphatic she sounded.

  "You afraid to be alone with me, beautiful?"

  "No, I... I just don't see any reason why we can't stay right here."

  "Have it your way," he growled, "But I can't wait any longer."

  He drew her fast against him, and his mouth came down hard on hers. The shock of his body pressing hers was like a lightning charge, his lips hungry, de­manding. Powerless to resist him, her hands moved over his shoulders, around his neck, into his hair.

  He raised his head, wondering whether she would draw away from him, but she didn't. Her eyes glowed, darkly amethyst.

  "I'm afraid I couldn't help myself," he said softly.

  "What?"

  He grinned at her bemused condition. "Look around you, beautiful."

  She did, and blushed scarlet to the roots of her hair. Stephanie was staring at her in amazement. Sheila was grinning. Trudi Baker and some other girls were giggling. The men in the room were trying hard to pretend they hadn't seen anything. She wanted to die.

  She looked back, saw her hands wrapped around his neck, and pulled them back, stepping away from him. "How could you?" she hissed furiously.

  "Very easily, and with pleasure," he replied, tak­ing her arm and leading her a little distance away from their audience. "Why don't you ask yourself that question? You have just acknowledged me as your husband to everyone present."

  "Well, aren't you?" she snapped.

  "No."

  Her eyes opened wide. "So it is you! How despica­ble you are, Slade. I'm only surprised that you admit­ted it."

  "Slade?" He raised a dark brow in that infuriating way. "Now why would you think I'm Slade?"

  Sharisse shook her head. "Don't try to confuse me. You're registered at your hotel as Slade Holt."

  "So your father has been checking up on me— again." His voice turned cold.

  "Again?" she asked hesitantly. "You know about the man he sent to Newcomb?"

  "That's why I'm here. I want to know about that. That—and a few other things."

  "But he was looking for Lucas, not you. Oh, I could just scream!"

  He chuckled. "Then I guess we'd better find some­where private. How about your sister's bedroom?"

  "As if I would trust myself in a bedroom with you," she said. "The garden will have to do."

  She led him outside to the enclosed garden in back of the house. There were benches and a small foun­tain nestled among the roses. Light from the house softly illuminated the garden, and it was pleasantly cool. After closing the doors, she turned around to face him.

  "If you don't start explaining yourself, then we have nothing to discuss," she told him plainly.

  "Me? Honey, you're the one who has the ex­plaining to do."

  "Not until you tell me who you are."

  His eyes narrowed. "I'm the man you married in Arizona."

  "Then why did you deny you're my husband?"

  "Because that paper you have that says we're married is worthless."

  She stared at him, open-mouthed. "You mean the preacher wasn't—"

  "Oh, the preacher was real. And you and I know I married you. But can you prove it? If I go by another name, am I your husband?"

  "I don't understand. You can't get out of a mar­riage just by changing your name."

  "I can. And you know I can . . . if the other name I use is 'Slade'. Having a twin brother has some ad­vantages."

  "I have never heard of anything so preposterous! That can't be possible."

  "I'm not going to tell you exactly why it's possible, just believe me, it is. That paper that says we're mar­ried is valid only if I admit to being Lucas Holt."

  "But you have admitted to being Lucas!"

  "To you." He grinned. "Not to anyone else."

  "That's not true. Sheila thinks you're my hus­band. You haven't denied it to her or to anyone else."

  He shrugged. "Lots of couples pretend to be mar­ried so no one can accuse them of immorality. I won­der what your friends would say if they thought you had been pretending all this time?"

  Sharisse took a long, deep breath. It would mean scandal, and he knew that.

  "But there was a ceremony and—"

  "-—And you have no witnesses to that ceremony. Your friends would only think you were trying to save your reputation. It's human nature to believe the worst of someone if there's enough gossip. You know that."

  "You can't do this to me," she told him firmly. "We have to be married!"

  "Why?" His voice rose. What was behind this?

  "Lucas, I know you must have been surprised to find that I'm still your wife."

  "Surprised is not what I was."

  "If you'll just let me explain. I had every intention of getting that annulment, but when I returned home, my father still insisted I marry Joel."

  "Your sister's husband?"

  "Yes. You see, Stephanie loved him. Didn't I tell you that before? But my father wouldn't listen, and he would have forced me to marry Joel. If I hadn't told him I was already married, I would be Mrs. Par-rington now. He didn't like it, of course. He tried to find you, to find out what you were like, I guess."

  "Didn't you tell him I was a bastard?"

  She was stung. "I didn't tell him what a deceitful cad you were, if that's what you mean."

  "Me?" he exploded, and grabbed her shoulders in a rage. But one look at her wide, frightened eyes, and he didn't shake her, just pushed her from him.

  "Let's talk about deceit—yours," he said coldly. "Mrs. Hammond, wasn't it? Daughter of John Rich­ards? Eighteen years old, you claimed to be. Destitute—a widow—enstranged from your father. Have I forgotten any of your lies?"

  She cringed. "Lucas, I can explain."

  "Can you?" He was shouting now. "What if I had really been some poor fool who wanted a wife? Did you even think about that when you answered my advertisement? Did you?"

  "I didn't answer it!" Sharisse shouted back. "My sister did!"

  They stared at each other in surprise. Then he said, "Sit down, Sharisse, and start from the begin­ning."

  She did, explaining again about Joel, and Stepha­nie. "She was so heartbroken that I was about to marry Joel that she didn't know what she was doing. You can't blame her, Lucas. I had intended to send back your tickets along with a letter from Stephanie. But after I left New York, I found that my jewels were missing." She didn't explain why, but hurried on. "I had no choice but to use the tickets, because I had no money."

  "Why didn't you tell me all this when you arrived? Hell, I would have made a deal with you. We could have helped each other without all these lies."

  "I would have, but you were so formidable. I was afraid. I had hoped you would simply disapprove of me and send me back East." He laughed, but she ig­nored it. "What deal would you have made? Why did you need me there, Lucas? Did it have something to do with Samuel Newcomb?"

  "Your father found out about that, did he?"

  "Only rumors. Did you really ruin Sam? On pur­pose?"

  "That's why I was there in the first place," he said, unashamed. "Sam was too well-protected to kill, but breaking him was just as good. Well, after a while, Fiona started messing things up for me by making Newcomb jealous. I didn't want him hostile at that point, so I figured my having a fiancee would put his mind at ease. It did."

  It dawned on her as he was talking. "He's the man who paid to have your father killed, isn't he?"

  Lucas nodded. "I couldn't prove it, but yes."

  She shook her head in amazement. "Slade got the one man, and you took care of the other. You Holts don't wait for the law when it comes to righting wrongs, do you?"

  He grunted.
He could tell her all of it, but he didn't see any point to that just then. He still didn't know what he was going to do about her. He hadn't ex­pected that his first sight of her after all this time would cause a pain that was eating away at him. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, even more so, and damn, he wanted her so badly. Even thinking she was a heartless baggage, he couldn't turn away.

  He was thoughtful too long, making Sharisse un­comfortable. What was he thinking? "Look, Lucas, I know you don't want a wife, and I'm sorry I didn't take care of that sooner. But I will. I'll get a divorce just as soon as possible."

  "You can't divorce a man you're not married to," he replied absently.

  "Lucas! You're not still angry because I lied to you, are you? You have no right to be." She was losing her temper again. "You lied to me just as much. What if / had really wanted a husband?"

  "You would have been amply compensated for your disappointment. In fact, I deposited a small for­tune in a bank here for you. But of course, no Mrs. Hammond could be found to collect it." He shrugged. "Now that I know you don't need it, I've put it to an­other use."

  Sharisse's eyes sparked. "You had money all along, didn't you? You could have sent me back when I asked you to! You . . . oh!"

  "I'm rather glad I didn't." He grinned.

  "Why were you living that way if you had mon­ey?"

  "My father's gold mine made me wealthy, but I was playing a role in Arizona, for Sam's benefit, and throwing money around wasn't part of it."

  "But you said the mine was never found."

  "I said Newcomb couldn't find it. My brother and I knew where it was."

  "So you really are wealthy?"

  "Are you disappointed?"

  It infuriated her, the way his eyes were twinkling. "It makes no difference to me, I'm sure."

  "Doesn't it?"

  "No. Wealthy or not, you're still despicable."

  He laughed outright. "And here I thought you would be pleased to know I can buy you all the little luxuries you're accustomed to. You could use a re­straining hand, though. You spend too much."

  She gasped at his meaning. "No one told you to pay my bills, Lucas! Why did you?"

  "You wear my name. That gives me license to do what I want to where you're concerned."