Tender Is the Storm

by Johanna Lindsey

  "Luke said not to wake you, but I began to worry. It is nearly noon," Willow was saying.

  "Good heavens, I had no idea."

  She saw the sun streaming in through open cur­tains, curtains she would have closed. That con­firmed that Lucas had put her to bed and then left. He had left, hadn't he?

  "Are you sure you're all right?" Willow ventured in a soft, melodious voice, soothing Sharisse's raw nerves and hangover.

  "Yes, really. I ... I just have a little headache."

  "If you like, I will make you something for it," Willow offered.

  "Would you? Oh, I would appreciate that. I'll just get dressed and join you in the other room."

  When the door closed, Sharisse searched her mem­ory frantically. Lucas had left after he'd undressed her. Or hadn't he? She didn't feel as if her virginity had been taken, but then she might not know the dif­ference. Oh, she had to remember!

  A short while later Sharisse opened her door hesi­tantly, afraid she would find Lucas in the other room. But there was only Willow.

  "My goodness." Sharisse smiled in greeting. "I didn't notice before, but you really are expecting a baby soon, aren't you?"

  Willow patted her extended belly lovingly. "It will be soon, yes."

  "Is there a doctor near here?"

  "What for?"

  "But . . . surely ..." Sharisse fell silent, not knowing what to say.

  Willow was smiling at her. "What do I need with a doctor? I know what to do."

  "You mean you don't want any help?"

  "It is a private time. I will even send Billy away if he returns before the baby comes."

  "Returns? He has gone away?"

  "To the mountains. He and Luke have gone to find the wild herd for Mr. Newcomb."

  Sharisse managed to hide her surprise. "Lucas mentioned something about that. I just didn't realize he would be ... leaving this soon."

  "Ah, I see he did not tell you. It is just like a man to avoid saying good-bye when he is not yet used to a woman. Billy was the same when we were first mar­ried. He thought nothing of going off without telling me that he was leaving or where he was going."

  "Surely it was because he was used to living alone?" Sharisse suggested.

  "No. He was married before. Of course, his first wife was a shrew, and he avoided her as often as pos­sible. Perhaps you are right and it was only what he was used to. Now he likes his good-byes, for he uses that as an excuse ..."

  She smiled, and Sharisse found herself shocked at the frank insinuation. She also found it extremely difficult to imagine the savage-looking Billy as an amorous male.

  "Is this for me?" Sharisse indicated the glass on the table. At Willow's nod, she sipped some of the powdery liquid, found it only slightly bitter, and drank the rest of it.

  "Sit," Willow offered, taking the glass. "I will make you breakfast."

  Sharisse was appalled. "I won't hear of it. You should be in bed, with someone waiting on you, not waiting on me. And lunch is in order now, anyway. You sit, and I'll make it."

  "Why should I be in bed?"

  "Why? Because of your condition."

  Willow laughed softly. "I am not sick, only having a baby."

  "But you can't be expected to do everything you would normally do. Why, the few women I have known who had babies wouldn't leave their houses once they began to show their pregnancies. They took to their beds the last few months. My own mother insisted she be waited on hand and foot when she was expecting my sister."

  "Perhaps she was truly ill."

  "No, she bloomed with good health as I recall." Sharisse frowned thoughtfully. "You mean it isn't necessary to pamper yourself?"

  "An Indian woman would be ridiculed if she let such a little inconvenience stop her from caring for herself and her family. To lie about, doing nothing, can only make the body weak, when strength is needed for the baby's birth."

  "I never thought of it that way."

  "When you have your own child, you will see that it is a pleasure, not a burden. There are herbs that will ease the sickness in the beginning, and after that it is only a joy, knowing you will bring new life into the world. The pain in the end is only a small sacrifice for the wonder of that life."

  How on earth did this subject get so out of hand? Her own baby indeed! That was something she, had yet to think about, and she didn't want to start now.

  "Well, I'll still make us lunch, but perhaps with your supervision. I suppose you've heard I can't cook?"

  Willow giggled, a delightful sound. "Billy thinks it is funny. He envisions Luke wasting away to noth­ing."

  "Does he?" Sharisse said tartly. "Well, perhaps I'll fatten him up instead."

  Chapter 15

  It was a delightful week. With Lucas gone, Sharisse was able to relax. She found she was actually enjoying herself despite the work and the heat. Wil­low's company was responsible. It was nice being friends with another woman without any rivalry in­volved. Rivalry, no matter how subtle, had always been present with her friends back home.

  Once she got used to Willow's open and frank na­ture, she began to realize what a prude she really was and to admire the Indians' way of looking at life. Willow had never given birth, but she wasn't wor­ried, and her serene attitude put Sharisse's fears to rest.

  They spent a day making candles and soap, and another day making preserves. Sharisse learned how to can vegetables. She put away her cookbook, finding it easier to make her own notes from what Willow told her. The results were good. She sur­prised herself by having fun learning things, and she began to wish Lucas would just stay away. She wasn't looking forward to a return of the tension his presence caused.

  She tried not to think of him at all. That was easy while she was busy during the day. At night, how­ever, when she was alone in the house, she was too aware of being alone. The slightest noise disturbed her. Then she wished Lucas would hurry back, but only then. Then, too, she could picture him clearly, and she was strangely disquieted by what she saw and the thoughts that followed. She found herself re­membering the delicious sensations he had aroused in her.

  One night Sharisse fell asleep with those thoughts moving through her mind. A pleasant dream fol­lowed. But when Charley yowled, she was instantly awake, sitting bolt upright.

  "What is it, Charley?"

  Then she saw the answer. With Lucas away, she had felt safe leaving her curtains open. The room was just light enough that she could make out the shape of a man standing near the foot of her bed. So Lucas was back. Well that was a fine way to let her know.

  "I think I stepped on the cat." He supplied the rea­son for Charley's cry. Just then, Charley jumped into her arms for comfort. She held him protectively, en­raged by Lucas's boldness. "Just what do you mean by coming in here while I was asleep?"

  A match flared, and Sharisse shielded her eyes against it. A moment later the candle on her bureau was lit and she was able to see Lucas staring at her, a strange look on his face.

  "I think I should be asking what you're doing here," he said in a colorless voice.

  A horrible foreboding crept over her. The heavy stubble on his chin, the wild disarray of his hair, even the coating of dust covering him, were all to be expected of him. But the clothes were so different from anything Lucas had worn before: black pants tucked into soft-soled moccasins that were fringed at the knee and dyed black. The navy blue shirt was worn outside the pants. A black hand-tooled holster slanted from his waist down his right hip. A shining pearl-handled gun was strapped to his thigh. A black silk bandanna knotted on the side of his neck com­pleted the darkly menacing look.

  It had to be Lucas, it had to be.

  "Lucas?" Her voice was an embarrassing squeak.

  He shook his head slowly back and forth, a corner of his mouth turning up in a caricature of a smile. He walked deliberately to the bed, his footsteps making no sound at all.

  "You can't belong to Luke, or you'd be in his bed, not here." He was looking her over with intere
st. "So who are you?"

  The color fled from her face. My God! My God! It was Slade! She was hypnotized by the eyes that locked with hers.

  "No answer?" He unknotted the bandanna and let it drop to the bed, then reached for his gunbelt. All the while he kept his eyes fastened on hers. "Suit yourself. I don't need to know your name to share a bed with you."

  Her heart began a hammering beat, but still she couldn't move. This just wasn't happening. She wasn't watching Lucas's brother undress.

  His shirt fell to the bed, and then he sat down next to her to remove his moccasins. Sharisse leaped off the other side of the bed, taking Charley and the rest of the sheet with her. But it was the wrong side of the bed. The door was on the other side—where he was.

  She stared at him, her eyes darkly violet. She had no idea how ludicrous she looked, clutching Charley to her breast with one hand and the sheet with the other. The sheet barely covered her, and the blue negligee only revealed what the sheet failed to hide.

  Slade had not moved.

  "If there's some problem about you and me shar­ing this bed, you better spit it out now."

  Sharisse pointed a stiff finger at the door. "Get out!"

  It was the wrong thing to say. She realized it im­mediately. He came around the bed toward her, his expression menacing, his near-nakedness even more so. She backed away until the wall stopped her.

  "Why?"

  He was so close that his broad shoulders blocked her view of the rest of the room. That one word, ut­tered so forcefully, echoed in her mind. She didn't dare meet his eyes, and that left her staring at the smoothly corded muscles across his chest, which was just as frightening. She squeezed Charley tightly, so tightly that he squirmed to get out of her hand, and she had to let him go or risk dropping her sheet.

  "I... I didn't mean to . . ." She forced it out. "You had no right to come into my room."

  "This is my room, honey," he said. "It's the room I use whenever I pay Luke a visit."

  "Then you didn't intentionally ..."

  She was staring at his lips, which turned up in a wolfish grin. "Honey, you were as much a surprise to me as I'm sure I was to you. A pleasant surprise, though, I admit."

  A finger touched her cheek, making her tremble. She couldn't muster the courage to slap his hand away.

  "I ... I must ask you to leave, Mr. Holt."

  "You can ask me, but you'll have to have a good reason." He tilted her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his. "I'd rather stay."

  "You can't!" she gasped. She tried to slip past him, but he wouldn't let her. "Please, Mr. Holt."

  "Perhaps you'd better tell me who you are," he suggested.

  "I'm your brother's fiancee."

  "You can do better than that."

  "But it's true!"

  "Oh, I'm not doubting that, honey," he replied huskily. "I just need a better reason than that to find myself someplace else to sleep."

  "You can't be serious!"

  "Why not?"

  "He's your brother!"

  "And you're the most beautiful woman I've ever come across," he stated plainly. "So what has Luke's being my brother got to do with what I feel right now?"

  "I am going to marry him," she said. Was there something wrong with Slade?

  "You're not married to him yet." He shrugged.

  His hand slipped behind her neck, exerting a gen­tle pressure that drew her forward. "No," she whis­pered. "No. Please." She could hardly breathe.

  His mouth closed over hers, hot and demanding. Fear shivered down her backbone. A knee parted her legs and pressed against her groin, and she couldn't stop him. An ardent shock followed that reverber­ated through her system, and she moaned despite herself.

  It was so easy to imagine that he was Lucas. The same sensations Lucas caused were being aroused in her. How was it possible that they could both do this to her? But this was Slade, not Lucas, and he was proving to be as dangerous as she had been warned he was.

  She managed to push him away. "No!"

  He stepped back. Hard passion smoldered in his glittering green eyes. Her sheet had fallen, and those eyes were ravaging her body through the sheer negligee.

  "You shouldn't wear such flimsy little nothings. I could rip that thing off you in a second."

  "Don't touch me."

  "I could make you my woman, you know."

  "Don't," she repeated in a whisper.

  He considered her thoughtfully for a moment, ap­parently debating with himself. She held her breath.

  His hand shot out, his fingers sliding along the curve of her neck, then down the deep V of her gown. His fingers were warm, making her knees ridicu­lously weak. But it was that look in his eyes that sent sparks through her belly.

  "I'll scream—Mack will hear."

  He smiled, his voice so very husky. "Mack has a hearing problem, or didn't you know that? But why do you mention the old man? Won't Luke come to your rescue?"

  "Must I be rescued?"

  "Depends on how you look at it." ■

  He obviously thought Lucas was in the other room. "You could just leave," she suggested hope­fully.

  "I already told you, honey, I'd rather stay."

  "But Lucas—"

  "—doesn't have to know."

  "I'll tell him." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You won't get away with this."

  "Scream then and get him in here. I'll fight him for you if that's what it takes." When she didn't an­swer, he laughed. "You won't call him? Maybe you don't want him in here after all."

  She was getting close to hysteria. "He's not here. He's off hunting wild horses with Billy Wolf."

  "So we're alone here? Then why are we wasting time talking?"

  He leaned forward, but Sharisse brought both hands up hard against his chest. "I'm warning you, Slade Holt. I will tell Lucas, and he'll hate you!"

  "Is that supposed to bother me?"

  "You're despicable!" she gasped. "If you're so des­perate for a woman—"

  "—find one somewhere else?" His eyes moved to her breasts. "You don't really want me to do that." Those eyes came back up to taunt her. "You're trem­bling."

  "Well, you frighten me."

  "That's not why you're trembling."

  "Stop it!" she cried.

  He gave her a measuring look. "Why are you fight­ing it?" His brow wrinkled. "Or is Luke the only one you want?"

  "Yes," she said, and then with more emphasis, "yes!"

  He stepped back so suddenly then that she fell right into his arms. She jumped back.

  She thought she heard him sigh, but she wasn't sure. He turned and walked back to the bed. She kept her eyes glued to him, aware of how wobbly her legs were.

  "What's your name?"

  He was picking up his things from the bed.

  "Sharisse Hammond."

  "How long have you known my brother?"

  "Not long." She wanted desperately for him to leave. "Perhaps Lucas can satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Holt."

  "Do I make you that nervous?"

  "Yes, you do."

  He laughed. "All right, I'm going." But he stopped at the door, turning to pierce her once more with those bright green eyes. "I'll stick around until Luke gets back." Then he added softly, ominously, "It's not finished, beautiful. Give me time. You'll find I will do as well as Luke. Before I leave here, I'm going to prove it to you."

  The door closed, but Sharisse remained rooted where she stood until she heard him close the door to Lucas's room. Then she ran and locked her own door.

  Chapter 16

  SHARISSE crawled out of bed at dawn, slipped on her silk robe, started the coffee, then went back to bed. That was the most she would do for Lucas's brother. She wasn't about to cook for him, and the less she saw of him the better.

  The second time she awoke it was late morning. She decided to treat the day as any other, to ignore the fact of there being an unwelcome guest prowling the ranch.

  The door to Lucas's bedroom was open, but th
ere was no evidence that Slade had slept there last night. The bed was made. She hoped he'd slept in the barn.

  There was no sign that he had been in the kitchen, either, not even a dirty coffee cup. But the pot was nearly empty, so she couldn't hope that he had left the ranch during the night.

  She put fresh water on to weaken the coffee for herself. But before she could pour it, a pair of hands slipped round her waist, pulling her back against a hard body. A smooth chin nuzzled her neck. She nearly jumped out of her skin, she was startled so. She hadn't heard a single sound. But a hasty glance to the side revealed that smoothly shaven face, and she sighed with relief.

  "Oh, Lucas, you scared the life out of me. I thought you were—"

  He laughed wickedly. "I told you it wouldn't make any difference, beautiful. You don't even have to close your eyes to imagine I'm him."

  She gasped and pushed him away from her. "You! You may look like him, but you're nothing like him. You're offensive, unscrupulous, ruthless—"

  "I know, a real mean hombre," he said smoothly. "So I guess you should learn better than to rile me."

  "You do not frighten me, Mr. Holt," she replied haughtily.

  "Well, I'll be damned." He whistled. "You've got some spunk after all."

  He pulled a chair away from the table and strad­dled it, facing her. Cleaned and shaved, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Lucas. They were truly identical, even to the bronze tint of their skin. But Slade didn't have Lucas's boyish grin or exasperat­ing charm, which made a great deal of difference. This was a cold man, sardonic, perhaps even cruel, certainly unprincipled. Yet . . . she had seen this man in Lucas in a way. There were times when Lu­cas looked just as cold and unfeeling. Still, Lucas was human. Slade didn't seem to be.

  She turned her back on him and finished pouring her coffee.

  "I bother you, don't I?" he ventured softly.

  "Yes."

  "You'll get used to me."

  "I very much doubt that, Mr. Holt."

  "You might as well call me Slade, since you'll be marrying into the family."