Tender Is the Storm

by Johanna Lindsey

  Dinner was informal because there were so many people. Folks found a place to sit where they could rest their plates on their laps. Sharisse was enjoying herself. The food was simple, but there was lots of it, and champagne flowed freely.

  Lucas left her alone to talk with the ladies. He was kept busy accepting congratulations and repeating again and again the story of how they'd met. She lis­tened carefully to that story so she wouldn't get it messed up if asked the same questions.

  The people she met were friendly and seemed gen­uinely happy for her. But what really put her at ease was that Lucas was never out of sight. It was hard to analyze why she could feel uncomfortable alone with him yet find that his presence at the party gave her comfort. She had only to glance around whatever room she was in to find him somewhere in it. She wasn't aware how often she sought him out with her eyes.

  He stood out, and it wasn't only because of his height. Where other men's clothing fit loosely, Lu­cas's was stretched tautly over his muscular length. He exuded an aura of rock-hard strength and raw masculinity. And she couldn't help noticing that the townspeople treated him with a good deal of respect.

  "He's far more good-lookin' than any man has a right to be, don't you think?"

  Sharisse had been staring at Lucas again, and she turned back to Naddy Durant. "Who is?" she asked.

  "Why, your husband, of course."

  "Oh." Sharisse found herself surprised at the young girl's frankness.

  Naddy was only sixteen. Her mother, Lila, sitting next to her, didn't seem to find anything strange in the statement. Lila was nodding in agreement, and so were the other ladies gathered there.

  "But he's not my husband yet." Sharisse made that point clear.

  "Honey, you're as good as married," Mrs. Landis said. "Why, back in the old days, when a preacher didn't get around as often, young couples weren't expected to wait. As long as they were willin' and able, they set up house and saw to the blessings later. Now most towns got their own preachers. We had one for a while, but since he passed away, no one's come to take his place."

  "I see," Sharisse replied politely.

  "I don't mind confessin' I was hopin' Luke would notice me." Naddy leaned forward as if speaking in confidence, though all six of the women present leaned forward too. "Either him or his brother, Slade. They're both so-"

  "Nadine Durant!" Lila gasped. "It's one thing to admire a nice respectable man like our Luke, but quite another to be thinkin' about a man like Slade. I thought I taught you better, gal."

  Naddy didn't look in the least chastised. "Have you met Slade yet?" she asked Sharisse.

  "No, I'm afraid I haven't," Sharisse replied.

  "Then you're in for a treat."

  "More like a fright." Lila corrected her daughter again, displeasure written all over her face.

  "Oh, the boy's not that bad, Lila," Mrs. Landis put in.

  "He is, too." Another woman took Lila's side.

  "Well, we shouldn't even be discussin' Slade."

  "And why not, Lila?" Her husband, Emery, came up behind her with John Hadley. "It's not every town that can boast of bein' the home of a famous gunslinger."

  "Now you know very well Slade Holt isn't from Newcomb," Lila argued with her husband.

  "No, but since his brother's settled here, Newcomb is as close to bein' his home as any place is."

  Sharisse was staring curiously at Emery Durant. "What is a gunslinger?"

  "A fast gun."

  "You mean he hires his gun out?" Her eyes were wide.

  Emery shook his head. "Don't know that he hires out. Never heard of him workin' for anybody. You mean to say Luke ain't told you about his brother?"

  "Not much," she admitted.

  "You don't say!" Emery's face lit up like a child's at Christmastime. He took only a second to make sure Lucas was clear across the room before he sat down next to his wife. "Well now, let me tell you about the day Slade Holt first came to Newcomb."

  The women sighed collectively, for they had all heard this story countless times. Sharisse wasn't sure she wanted to hear it at all.

  "Dressed like an Indian he was," John Hadley said before Emery could open his mouth again. "Looked like one, too, with his hair clear down to his shoulders and—''

  "Will you let me tell it, John?" Emery said, exas­perated.

  "Well, I was there," John grumbled. "You weren't."

  "What exactly is Slade supposed to have done?" Sharisse interrupted the start of what looked to be an argument.

  "Why, he killed Feral Sloan. Sloan was a tough one, a former hired gun as mean as they come."

  "Sloan!" Sharisse gasped, the name still fresh in her memory.

  She glanced toward Lucas, wondering why he hadn't told her, but she only caught a glimpse of him as he left the room with Samuel Newcomb. She turned back to Emery Durant, hoping she had mis­understood.

  "You mean Slade Holt is a killer?"

  "Well," Emery replied, "the only one he's killed around here is Feral. That was close to seven years ago, and he was just a youngun then. It was rumored he'd already put a dozen men in their graves, though. No tellin' how many he's added since then."

  Sharisse was getting paler. "Why hasn't he been arrested?"

  "What for?" Emery asked.

  She blinked. "But you said he killed a man right here."

  "It was a fair fight, Miss Hammond. Ain't no one can say otherwise." The others around her were all nodding. "Slade even let Feral draw first. Slade was just faster. Ain't never seen anyone as fast as him."

  Did these people know that Sloan had killed Slade's father? she wondered. She needed a drink. What she didn't need was to hear any more about Lucas's brother. "Black sheep" he had called him. In­deed!

  In Sam Newcomb's study, Slade was again the topic of discussion, Sam mentioning him as he and Lucas took chairs at his desk. "Have you seen your brother recently?"

  "Not for some time," Lucas replied, having diffi­culty keeping a poker face.

  It never failed. Sam asked about Slade every time they met. He liked having fast guns working for him, and they both knew Leon Waggoner wasn't all that fast.

  "Well, my offer is still open. Tell him that when you see him."

  "I'll do that."

  "Now what was so important we had to discuss it in private?" Sam asked as he prepared a cigar for lighting.

  "Bad news, I'm afraid." Lucas came right out with it. "That railroad line we were financing has run into some difficulty. It looks like it's a good thing you didn't put more into it than you can afford to lose."

  "What do you mean?"

  "They underestimated what it would take to com­plete the line. It seems they've run out of funds with only three-fourths of the track laid. All work has stopped, and they can't manage to interest anyone else in investing so they can finish the job. The banks just aren't interested. It's wiped me out, but at least I still have the ranch. It will start paying off soon, I hope. I'm just glad I warned you not to invest too heavily, because it appears we're not going to get anything back."

  Sam was speechless. Lucas'knew why. He had known very well that Sam wouldn't take his advice when he first mentioned the railroad deal, and Sam hadn't. He had invested heavily to try and gain the controlling stock, and he hadn't told Lucas what he was doing. Sam had sold all his investments outside Newcomb, even most of the assets of his bank, with the dream of becoming a railroad tycoon. He had never even gone to check on the work in progress af­ter his one visit to the site, accepting the statements the company lawyers sent him as perfectly legiti­mate. There had been no need to waste any money on actually laying down track, except for the original setup.

  "There . . . there must be some way . . ."

  "Not unless you know someone who would like to own part of a railroad," Lucas replied offhandedly. "They're asking the original investors to come up with the rest of what's needed, and it's a tidy sum. But I'm broke. I can't do it. Didn't you get a letter

  yet?"


  "No," Sam said.

  "You will. It will explain in more detail what went wrong—although a lot of good that does us. Well, I should be getting back to Sharisse, I guess. Good night, Sam."

  Sam simply nodded. He felt sick, sick in his gut. All he had built up over the years was gone unless he could come up with a little more cash. He would have to wire that lawyer from St. Louis, the one who had written about some European clients looking for a large ranch in Sam's area. Maybe one of those clients would also like to buy a hotel. That would be putting everything on the line, but what else could he do?

  He would have to do it. There was no other way. And he was too old to start over again. Times had changed. It was no longer so easy to steal claims for quick riches. The law had come to the Arizona Terri­tory.

  He sat alone in his study, gazing off into space. He knew what he had to do. He knew there was nothing else to be done.

  Chapter 13

  SHARISSE was drunk. She handled it beautifully, carrying herself with such dignity and quiet re­serve that no one guessed. Even Lucas wasn't aware of it until she burst into giggles as soon as they en­tered the carriage, then fell asleep on his shoulder.

  Lucas was amused. He wouldn't have thought the haughty city girl would have succumbed to the weaknesses of drink. He was surprised and a little delighted to find she could let her hair down after all. But then, nothing could have disturbed him tonight, not after his meeting with Sam.

  Sitting across from Sam in his study, he had been able to smell the man's panic. How long he had waited for this!

  He almost laughed aloud, thinking of the small herd of horses Newcomb had ordered. When the time came for delivery, there would be nothing left with which to pay for them. But Lucas would have to cap­ture the horses and train them just as if he weren't aware of that fact.

  Sharisse stirred at his side, throwing an arm across his chest and nuzzling her head into his neck. Her short cape parted, giving him a view of her deep decolletage and the gentle swell of her breasts. His hand on her waist moved gently over her curves.

  Whatever was he going to do with her? She was proving to be much more than he'd bargained for. He desired this girl sleeping so contentedly against him.

  And that desire was so strong, it seemed like it had built up over years, not just the three days she had been there. Three days, and he was already plotting her seduction.

  He shook his head, disgusted with himself and what he couldn't control. She was going to turn out to be a regret. He knew it, yet what could he do? He had lied to her left and right, and there would be more lies before he was done. It was bad enough that he had worked her into Newcomb's downfall, was using her to help accomplish it.

  She feared him, though he couldn't understand why. Because of that she had already said she didn't want to marry him. If he bedded her, would she still feel that way? Was she the type to equate making love with total commitment? He wished she were more predictable. And he wished she didn't fear him.

  The carriage stopped in front of the house, but Sharisse was still sound asleep. Lucas sat up slowly, drawing her with him.

  "Sharisse?"

  She frowned, gripping his jacket. "But I don't want to marry him, Father. Stephanie loves Joel, I don't."

  Lucas grinned, wondering what this was all about. "Sharisse, wake up."

  She opened her eyes, disoriented. "Who—? Oh, it's you." She looked around the carriage. "What are we doing here?"

  "The party, remember? We've just arrived home."

  She started to sway and caught herself by holding on to him. Lucas lifted her to the ground.

  "Can you walk, or do I have to carry you inside?" he asked in amusement, hoping for the latter.

  "Garry me? Don't be absurd!"

  Sharisse preceded him to the door, walking in a re­markably straight line. Lucas intercepted the driv­er's grin and returned it, saluting him on his way. He caught Sharisse just as she stumbled in the door.

  "I thought there wasn't a step there," she said in­dignantly, glaring behind her at Lucas.

  "There isn't," he chuckled.

  "Oh."

  The room was flooded with moonlight, so he didn't light a lamp. He swept her up into his arms, amazed at the effect this had on him. He was holding her, had her just where he wanted her. Yet he was as powerless as she was, unable to resist the sweet part­ing of her lips.

  He wanted only a taste, but her lips moved be­neath his, warm and alive, igniting a fire in him. He groaned. Sharisse sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, quite unaware of what she was doing to him.

  He realized he could have her right then. There would be no resistance in her condition. But this was not how he wanted her. She had to be willing, want­ing him, not incapacitated by drink. If he took her now, she might not even remember. If she did, she might be sorry later and despise him for taking ad­vantage of her. He wanted no guilt, no recrimina­tions. And for some reason, it was important that she remember.

  Hell, where did all these noble sentiments come from? He still had every intention of seducing her. If he was going to be unscrupulous, he ought to do it right.

  Sharisse sighed, having fallen asleep again. Lucas smiled wistfully. Not tonight, honey, but soon. His lips brushed her forehead, and he carried her to her room.

  She woke when he laid her on the bed and began to remove her shoes. "I can do that," she protested.

  She sat up too quickly and, overcome with dizzi­ness, fell back. Lucas grinned.

  "Just think of me as your lady's maid," he told her, dropping her shoes on the floor. "I'm sure you had one."

  "But you don't look anything like Jenny." She found that very funny and giggled. She didn't notice the removal of her cape but leaned forward so he could get at the buttons down her back. "I'm glad she's not here now, or I would really be in for an ear­ful. She doesn't approve of drinking, you see, and—" She gasped. "Why didn't you tell me your brother was a killer?"

  "Because he isn't."

  "But he's killed hundreds of men!"

  "Hundreds?"

  "Well, dozens, but what's the difference?"

  "You've been listening to gossip, Sharisse." He grinned as he lifted her off the bed so he could slip the gown out from under her. She didn't notice.

  "I couldn't help but listen. My God, to think you called him a black sheep! That's putting it rather mildly, isn't it? You could have warned me."

  "That he killed a man?"

  "Many men!"

  "He's killed only one man, Sharisse. All the others he's supposed to have killed don't exist. It's just ru­mor. It's what people want to believe about him."

  "Really only one?"

  "Yes." He began unlacing her corset.

  "But-"

  "He was a cold-blooded killer who deserved to die."

  She had forgotten that the man had ridden after Lucas and Slade when they were only children, after killing their father. If the law had been unable to bring him to justice, was it so wrong for Slade to do it?

  "They said it was a fair fight," Sharisse said quietly.

  "So it was. Slade could just as easily have been the one to die."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Forget it." He had the corset off and moved to the pleasurable business of removing her silk stockings.

  Sharisse sighed, stretching. "I'm glad he's not as bad as they made him out to be."

  Lucas sighed too, wondering how he was enduring all this, undressing her so she could sleep comfort­ably, when his body had something entirely different in mind. Damn her for drinking herself into such a state.

  "Slade is what he is," Lucas said gruffly, refusing to put himself through any more.

  "That's nice."

  Lucas shook his head. She hadn't even heard him. She was drifting off to sleep again.

  He pulled the sheet over her and kissed her brow gently. "Good night, Shari."

  "Antoine . . . my love."

  The mumbled words were barely discernible. An­toine? Her
husband? It was the first time he had heard the name. She had said she loved her husband. He hadn't given it much thought but now he found he didn't like it at all.

  Damn! She was messing up his mind. Should he and Billy take off for .the mountains sooner than planned? The sooner the better, he told himself grimly.

  Chapter 14

  TICKLING on her face woke Sharisse. She opened her eyes to stare into Charley's large copper-colored ones. He was purring loudly. He moved his head, and his long whiskers tickled her cheek again. She smiled, having been wakened this way on many mornings. It was his impatient way of letting her know he was hungry.

  '' Good—oh—morn—ing.''

  She had sat up too quickly, and the throbbing started. She put her fingers to her temples to ease it, wondering if she were sick. But no, last night came back in a flash. She should never have drunk those last three glasses of champagne. Now she knew what Jenny had always meant by the evils of drink. What a devil of a headache. The pain was bearable only as long as she stayed still.

  Vague memories were nagging at her. She re­called tripping as she came in the door last night, and Lucas picking her up and kissing her. How clearly she remembered that. And they had spoken of Slade, but why couldn't she remember that clear­ly? What had they said?

  "Miss Hammond?"

  "What?" she snapped, then realized it was a woman calling from the other side of the door. "Is that you, Willow? Come in."

  Sharisse moved to draw the sheet up over her nightgown, then gasped to see she wasn't wearing

  one. She was still in her chemise and muslin petti­coat. Her eyes widened in horror as more memories flashed through her mind.

  "Are you all right?"

  "What?" Sharisse managed a smile for the Indian girl. "Yes, I'm fine, really. I was just remembering something . . . distasteful. So you are Billy Wolf's wife?"

  The girl nodded. She was quite exotic looking, with almond-shaped eyes in an oval face, straight black hair that fell just below her shoulders, and smooth, dark skin. She wore a faded blue skirt that just reached her bare feet and a loose long-sleeved blue shirt. Sharisse had not expected her to be quite so lovely or gentle looking, not with that heathen for a husband.