Tender Is the Storm

  He got up to leave and caught Lucas Holt's eyes on him again. What the hell? Half the town might be leery of this man because of his brother, but Leon wasn't. Lucas was just another greenhorn from the East as far as Leon was concerned. So what if he had some dealings with Sam? Sam didn't exactly trust him anymore, not after the way Fiona had carried on" around the man.

  He was still staring, damn the man. Leon moved casually over to his table, plopping a boot up on the empty chair next to Lucas and leaning forward.

  "I hear you're gettin' married, Holt. Hear tell she's a real looker."

  "So?"

  Leon chuckled nastily. "You don't usually come to town at night. What happened? You and your fi­ancee have a little spat?"

  Lucas set his half-empty bottle aside. Leon didn't match him for height, but he was brawny, so he ought to give a good accounting of himself, Lucas was thinking.

  "I don't think I like you discussing my future bride, Leon," Lucas replied in a softly menacing voice.

  "Hell, everyone's discussin' her," Leon said, un­perturbed. "A new gal in town is news. One who's come here to get married is even bigger news. Tell me, is she as good lookin' as I heard?"

  "Perhaps you didn't understand me."

  "Oh, I understood you, Holt." Leon grinned wryly. "But I don't give chickenshit what you like or don't like. You may have a brother who's pretty fast with a gun, but that don't mean you are. I'm pretty fast myself—or ain't you heard? I figiire I can take you any day."

  Lucas smiled a most unpleasant smile. "You think so, Leon? As it happens, what I know about guns I learned from Slade. I don't think you want to find out firsthand what all he taught me. But take your gun off, and I'll make it clear to you that I won't have you discussing my bride."

  Leon's eyes narrowed furiously. "Hell, you came here lookin' for a fight, didn't you, you bastard? Well, I'm game. If you want to take a battered face back to your precious bride, you came to the right man."

  Leon began unbuckling his holster belt, and Lucas stood up to do the same. But before he'd finished, Leon's belt, gun in place, whipped against the side of his head, sending him staggering to the side. His hand came away from his ear smeared with blood. His eyes lit with a smoldering fury. He growled as he charged into Leon's midsection, sending them both crashing to the saloon floor.

  Several hours later found Lucas whistling cheer­fully as he led his horse home. His jaw was tender, his knuckles were swollen, and his rib cage hurt like the dickens, but it had been worth it. Now maybe he could get some sleep without thinking about her.

  Chapter 10

  LUCAS was surprised to find breakfast waiting for him. But he wasn't surprised at Sharisse's tight-lipped expression. She served him silently and kept her eyes averted even after she sat down beside him. She remained stonily silent all through the meal.

  Lucas was half-amused, half-worried. Was it only because of his amorous advances? Or had she heard him slip into her room last night when he got back from town? He could have sworn she'd been asleep then, though. He had only wanted to make sure that she was all right. Well, not only that. He had also wanted to assure himself that she hadn't panicked and flown. And it wasn't as if he had seen anything he shouldn't see. She'd had the sheet pulled right up to her neck. She even slept with her hair in a bun, so his curiosity over how long it was hadn't been satis­fied.

  Sharisse took her time with the dishes, hoping Lu­cas would leave before she finished. What she had to say to him took a strength of nerve she hadn't quite built up yet. If he had only said something, she would have had an opening. But he had sat there at the table and matched her silence.

  Something had to be said, however. She wasn't going to risk a repetition of last night's outrageous behavior. That thought gave her the courage she needed.

  "We have to talk, Lucas."

  "About last night?"

  "Yes."

  She sat down again, but before she could begin, he reached over and took her hand.

  "You'll let me apologize first?" he said.

  Sharisse was unnerved by his touch, and by the husky timbre of his voice. She couldn't meet his eyes, so she stared at the hand gently squeezing hers. She was startled by the swollen, scraped knuckles.

  "You've been hurt." Her eyes flew to his face. His left cheek was swollen.

  "It's nothing," Lucas replied with a measure of embarrassment. "I just got into a little scrap with the Newcomb Ranch foreman."

  "Here? Or at his ranch?"

  "In town."

  "Oh. I didn't realize you had left the ranch." Curi­osity prompted her. "Who won?"

  "Neither of us won." Lucas gave her a sheepish grin. "I'm afraid I didn't give it my best effort."

  "Why not?" She quickly amended, "I mean, if you were forced to fight in the first place, I would think you'd try to win. Or at least avoid getting injured."

  "I wasn't out to hurt the man, Sharisse. And be­sides, I'm not injured. It's nothing. But I appreciate your concern."

  His grin was too cocky all of a sudden. He seemed almost conceited. She looked away, infuriated that he had mistaken her curiosity for more than it was.

  "About last night, Lucas . . ."

  "I know," he said. "You're angry with me. I don't blame you."

  "It's more than that," she said uneasily, remem­bering not only his boldness, but what she had felt for him. "What you did was—"

  "—unforgivable, I know," he said.

  Sharisse glared at him. "Will you let me say it? Yes, it was unforgivable," she continued. "You had no right to press your advances on me so ardently, and no "right to get angry when I resisted you. On top of that, you tried to make me feel guilty about it, when I did absolutely nothing to encourage you in the first place."

  "I think you're forgetting something," he said quietly.

  She eyed him warily. "What?"

  "You came out here to marry me. Most mail-order brides get married the day they arrive, and now I un­derstand why. The only reason you didn't was that I'm allowing us time to get to know each other first."

  "You said it was to see if I would fit in here," she reminded him stiffly.

  "That, too. But the fact is, I could have insisted we marry that first day."

  She was uncomfortable, but she wasn't going to be squelched. "It's just as well you didn't."

  His brows narrowed. "Is it?"

  ~ Yes, because I ... I've changed my mind about marrying you, Lucas. I must ask you to send me home."

  "Boy, when you carry a grudge, you really carry it all the way, huh?"

  "That's not it."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Simply a matter of taste," she said. "You are much too forceful for me."

  His laugh cut her off. "Honey, if I were all that forceful, you'd have slept in my bed last night, not yours. Don't you know that?"

  She stood up nervously and moved over to the open window. She kept her back to him. "I'm not used to discussing this kind of subject." He could barely hear her. "I don't know what kind of women you are accustomed to, Lucas, but I didn't come here to be your mistress. It is unreasonable of you to ask that of me. I simply cannot stay here another day, not when the same thing could happen again."

  He said nothing. Her nervousness grew with the continuing silence. At last she risked a glance at him and found him staring down at the table. Why didn't he say something?

  "You do understand, don't you, Lucas?" she ven­tured.

  The eyes he turned on her were unreadable. "You can't leave, Sharisse," he said simply.

  "Can't?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"

  "I can't send you back to New York right now."

  "Why not?" Her voice rose with nervousness and fear.

  "It takes more than a few pennies to travel across the country, Sharisse. What money I have is tied up in this ranch. It took all my available cash to get you here. There isn't any left to send you back."

  She was too stunned to say anything.

  He was getting good at
lying, Lucas thought dis­gustedly. But damn, he hadn't thought she would confront him like that. And he couldn't start over now. People already knew about her. It was too late to bring in another girl.

  She was staring out the window, her back rigid. "You know, we could just forget your hasty decision and start again," Lucas proposed. "I may have come on a bit too strong last night, but I wanted you badly and you can't blame a man for trying to get what he wants. If I frightened you, I'm sorry. But I'didn't do you any harm, did I?"

  Sharisse took a long, deep breath. "No, I suppose not. But I can't go through that again, Lucas."

  "If my wanting you disturbs you so much, I'll keep it to myself."

  "But couldn't you just. . . not want me?" she ven­tured timidly. It seemed such a good idea.

  The question amazed him. "Just how long were you married?"

  "Why?"

  " 'Cause you know damn little about men."

  "Actually, I wasn't married very long." She couldn't meet his eyes, but he assumed she was sim­ply embarrassed.

  "Didn't your husband ever explain to you that sometimes a man has no control over his body? He can become inflamed by the sight of a beautiful woman, and there isn't a damn thing he can do to stop his body from reacting."

  "No, I didn't know that," she confessed. "That's
  "I'm afraid so. But you were in no danger of being ravished, honey. I have never hurt a woman, or taken a woman who wasn't willing. I wouldn't force you, Sharisse. You do believe me, don't you?"

  "I don't know," she admitted frankly.

  "Well, come here then, and I'll prove it to you," he said.

  "What?"

  "Just come here. For God's sake, I won't hurt you."

  She walked toward him slowly. He could only hope it wouldn't take too long for her to trust him.

  When she reached the table, he stood up and gath­ered her in his arms, ignoring her startled protests. He kissed her long and hard and didn't stop until he felt her resistance ebbing. Then he let her go.

  "There you see?" Lucas said. "It's not easy to walk away from you, but I'm going to do it."

  And he walked away. Sharisse wanted to stamp her foot, watching him go, for he had flamed those feelings in her again and she hadn't wanted it to end.

  Chapter 11

  THE invitation to dinner at Samuel Newcomb's ranch that evening put Sharisse into a dither. It came in the late afternoon, and she wanted to refuse. It was unheard of accepting an invitation that al­lowed for only a few hours' preparation. But Lucas had accepted for them both, informing her after the messenger had gone.

  And what could she say? Samuel Newcomb was the richest man in the area. She had seen his name all over Newcomb, on the meat market, the grocery, a saddleshop, the bank, even the newspaper. As long as she was going to be there for a while, it wouldn't hurt to meet the town founder. He might be able to help her if things got any worse.

  It had been a terrible blow to find that Lucas couldn't afford to send her home. Not only was she stuck there, it also heaped additional guilt on her. The man had used all his money to get himself a wife, and all along she'd never intended to marry him. If Stephanie didn't send her money, she would have to ask Lucas to pay for her trip back as soon as he could, and that would mean he'd have to wait that much longer to get another mail-order bride. How despicable, using him this way! She was beginning to wonder if her sacrifice had been worth it.

  One good thing about the dinner invitation, she didn't have to cook. Lucas wasn't too delighted about going to the Newcombs', but he had fought with Mr.

  Newcomb's employee last night and was probably uncomfortable because of that.

  Sharisse was late getting ready. She had to pre­pare everything herself, including a bath. But when she was finished, she was pleased. Her evening gown was unwrinkled, and she had copied one of Jenny's simpler coiffures, finishing it with a flower garni­ture of small white roses. The gown was one of her fa­vorites, a combination of lampas and surah silks in blue and ivory. The neckline was deeply rounded, the sleeves short. Her long ivory gloves looked bare without bracelets, and a simple velvet ribbon around her neck had to suffice for ornament, but she felt the ensemble was complete with an ivory pelerine trimmed in mink.

  She was just fastening that short cape when Lucas knocked. She opened the door, waiting apprehen­sively for him to say something. His eyes swept over her. He was freshly shaven and wearing a jacket. It was of fringed buckskin, hardly a dinner jacket, but it was clean. His white shirt was silk. He wore gray pants tucked into burnished black boots. And he wasn't wearing his gun.

  "Well?" she broke the silence.

  "Fiona will be green with envy," he said.

  Sharisse frowned. "Please don't tell me I'm over­dressed. This really is just a simple dinner gown. I usually wore it only at home."

  "Not even good enough for going out, huh?"

  "Lucas!"

  "You're beautiful, honey. And no, you're not over­dressed for one of the Newcombs' get-togethers. The fancier the better as far as Sam's concerned."

  "Who is Fiona?" she asked as he escorted her out­side to the carriage Sam had sent.

  "Sam's wife. Bride, I should say. They've been married less than a year."

  "Is there anything I should know about them be­fore we arrive?"

  "Just that Sam has an eye for pretty ladies, so you'll have to watch yourself."

  "But he's married," she said indignantly.

  "So?"

  The blunt response brought to mind her own expe­rience with a married man, and she fell silent as the Mexican driver whisked them away from the ranch. Her memories assailed her, and none of them were pleasant.

  She had met Antoine Gautier at a party she and her aunt had attended a week after their arrival in France. Antoine was so gay, so dashing, so hand­some and debonair. He was the first man ever to sweep her off her feet. She thought she had fallen in love. He later confessed that he had fallen in love with her, too. She was just barely eighteen, and An­toine was a man of the world.

  Love does not inspire logical thinking. She should have realized something was wrong when the man never tried to kiss her, kissing only her hands. She should have wondered at the speed of their court­ship. Fool that she was, she believed he loved her. She let him maneuver her into an empty bedroom at one of the parties.

  Antoine had told her often enough that he wanted her, and she was oh-so-willing to let him have her. He had not asked her to marry him, but it was a nat­ural assumption that he would. Marriage went with making love. Of course he would marry her—there was no doubt about it.

  She realized later that he had counted on just that assumption.

  She undressed herself that night timidly, while he sat on the bed and urged her to hurry. When she joined him, he had removed only his pants, but she didn't dwell on the fact.

  There were no tender endearments, no gentle words anymore. Antoine seized her and tumbled her beneath him, ready to take her virginity without a moment's delay. Thank God the door had been thrown open just then, and a woman had entered.

  Antoine was furious. "Two minutes, Marie! You could not wait two minutes more?"

  "But I thought you would be finished by now, mon cher," the lovely brunette replied sweetly. "How long does it take to win your wager?"

  A wager! All her illusions were based on a wager. How she had wanted to cry, to pretend the three of them weren't in that room and she wasn't lying there naked. But she didn't cry. She even managed to get out of the room with a measure of dignity.

  Later she had learned that the brunette was his wife. After everything else, it almost didn't mat­ter. She had learned her lesson: men could not be trusted.

  Lucas's mood was just as gloomy. That was always the case when he was forced to endure Samuel New-comb's company. He had to endure it, though. It was why he was there at all. But he hated the pretense, having to put on a friendly demeanor, when what he wanted was to kill the man. But Sam was
still pro­tected in his will, and the reward he offered for the capture of his murderer had gone up over the years.

  Lucas knew tonight's invitation was simply a mat­ter of Sam's curiosity about Sharisse. It was just as well, for this would give Lucas the opportunity to get the crucial part of his plan in motion. He would just have to get Sam alone to break the news to him.

  The end was in sight, after all this time. It should take only another few months before Samuel New-comb discovered he was destitute. He had to take the bait tonight, that was all.

  Fiona had unwittingly helped, for she was costing Sam a pretty penny. Sam wouldn't let her know that his capital was mostly tied up, and he had sold off his smaller properties in Newcomb to buy whatever she wanted. In order to keep her happy, he had to keep buying.

  Chapter 12

  OHARISSE was having difficulty remembering all the names. The dinner party had turned out to be a party in her honor, and half the town had been in­vited.

  Mr. Newcomb himself took her around and made all the introductions. His wife, Fiona, had greeted her, then promptly ignored her with appalling rude­ness. Samuel Newcomb seemed to find this quite amusing.

  "She's jealous, but don't you worry none," he whispered to Sharisse. "She used to be the prettiest gal around, but now you have that honor. I must say, Miss Hammond, Lucas is to be envied."

  She blushed prettily, liking the man instantly. He was quite distinguished, in his early forties, with sandy brown hair and gray eyes that were perhaps a bit too revealing. He was a man who enjoyed the finer things in life, and his house was impressive. He was also, as Lucas had warned her, a man with an eye for the ladies.

  She didn't mind his admiring glances, however. She felt quite comfortable with Sam, not taking him at all seriously when he suggested he could find a cozy little place for her if she ever got tired of Lucas.

  The very idea! Samuel Newcomb was old enough to be her father. But he was just teasing her, she knew that. It was obvious he was devoted to his wife, for his gaze searched her out when she got too far away from him. Fiona was a lovely woman with blue-black hair and pale blue eyes. She was a good deal younger than her husband, not much older than Sharisse, in fact.