Tender Is the Storm

by Johanna Lindsey

  She shot to her feet. "But you said you're not my husband!"

  "I haven't denied it publicly—yet. Have I?"

  "But you intend to, don't you?" she snapped. He didn't answer, and the storm went right out of her. She sat down slowly. "Oh, Lucas, why do you want to do this to me? I can bear the scandal of a divorce if I have to, but not that I was never married to begin with."

  "You created this mess, Sharisse."

  "I told you why!" she cried.

  "Because of your sister," he replied, "but she's been married a long time. What excuse do you have for not correcting this situation sooner?"

  Sharisse looked away. To tell him the truth would be to force him into something he didn't want. She wouldn't do that. She couldn't.

  "I ... I didn't think there was any harm in leav­ing things the way they were, Lucas. My father might have found another husband for me, and I didn't want another husband." How true that really was, she began to realize.

  "And what if I wanted to get married one day?"

  "But you said we're not married."

  "You didn't know that."

  "Well, I would have done something about it eventually. I just didn't think there was any hurry. What difference does it make to you, Lucas? Why can't you just let me pretend to get a divorce? That would'solve everything. I swear you'll never have to be bothered with me again, never have to see me again."

  His eyes narrowed. Never see her again?

  "If you want a divorce, Sharisse, you're going to have to marry me again."

  "But that's ridiculous!"

  "Take it or leave it," he replied curtly.

  "But, Lucas, it doesn't make any sense to go through all that trouble if we don't have to."

  "I'm through with pretense. We either do it my way, or I'll be honest enough to admit to that crowd in there that I'm not your husband."

  "Don't!"

  "Well?"

  "Oh, all right then, Lucas, but I swear you're crazy."

  "Maybe I am." He smiled engagingly, infuriating her further. "I'll pick you up in the morning, around ten; Be ready. And don't worry, no one will have to know that you're marrying me again just so you can divorce me. It's only the divorce that will have to be made public."

  "You're being very unreasonable," she said stout­ly, "but you never were a reasonable man, Lucas."

  "I'm just tying up loose ends, beautiful. You can't object to that."

  She didn't know what he meant by that and she didn't ask. She was suddenly exhausted.

  "I don't think I'll return to the party," he said. "You can make my excuses for me. I don't care for the idle chitchat of parties. We seafaring men don't, you know." She blushed at the reminder, and he asked, "Was that necessary, making me a ship's cap­tain?"

  "It seemed appropriate for a husband who was never around," she said tartly.

  "Well, I suppose we can always say I've given up the sea."

  His grin enraged her. "You can say anything you want—as I'm sure you will. You always do."

  She turned in a huff and left, and he stood there grinning as he watched her march away.

  Chapter 41

  SHARISSE dressed sedately in a cashmere dress of cobalt blue with a matching cape. Nothing fancy for this ludicrous outing.

  Lucas arrived on time, and she didn't even give him a chance to get out of his carriage, but hurried out to meet him. He was amused by that.

  "One might think you were eager to see me," he commented as he pulled her inside beside him.

  "I just didn't want you meeting my father," she said crossly.

  "But I was so looking forward to that. You've said how alike your father and I are. Didn't you tell him about our getting married again?"

  "Certainly not. You did say no one would have to know," she reminded him.

  "So I did," he sighed.

  "Have you changed your mind?" she asked hope­fully.

  "Ah, beautiful," he said roguishly, "what's the dif­ference if you marry me twice, as long as the end re­sult is what you want?"

  "You mean what you want!"

  He chuckled, and Sharisse sat back stonily, deter­mined to ignore him. The rest of the ride progressed in silence, with Sharisse fuming and Lucas absorbed in watching her. He took her outside the city, to a small church. He had made arrangements beforehand, and the minister was waiting, along with two parishioners who would act as witnesses.

  Sharisse went along with it all in the same stony silence until, halfway through the ceremony, the minister addressed Lucas by a name she hadn't ex­pected to hear.

  Before she could protest aloud, he whispered to her, "Don't worry. An oversight, but it makes no dif­ference."

  "But-"

  "If you don't want to go through with this, there is the alternative."

  Sharisse clamped her mouth shut.

  Lucas anticipated further objection over the sign­ing, but Sharisse surprised him. He didn't know it, but she didn't remember signing her first wedding paper, so the fact the minister hadn't yet written in their names didn't alarm her. She didn't comment, either, when he insisted she sign her maiden name. She just did it, then stalked out of the church to wait for him in the carriage.

  When he joined her in the carriage, he dropped the completed document in her lap and sat back and waited. He didn't have long to wait.

  Sharisse read no further than Slade's name and glared at Lucas. "You said his saying the wrong name was an oversight. But you signed 'Slade,' too!" She threw the paper at him.

  He looked at her but said nothing.

  "How could you do this to me, Lucas? You have married me to your brother!"

  "No. I have married you to me, legally this time. Isn't that clear to you yet?"

  She allowed all her questions to run through her mind, then came up with some answers. "You really are Slade, aren't you? You only pretended to be Lu­cas to trick me! And what the devil do you mean this time?" He smiled, and she cried, "Oh, it was you who married me before. You came back that day and let me believe you were Lucas so you could ... If the preacher hadn't arrived when he did, then you would have—no wonder Lucas was so furious. You married me to him without his knowing!"

  "You have some of that right, beautiful, some. You want to hear the rest of it or do you want to keep on sputtering?"

  "What can you tell me that will excuse what you've done?" she said, furious. How dare he be so high-handed? "I'm not married to both of you, am I?"

  "No. Your first marriage wasn't legal."

  At least she wasn't a bigamist, though that was a small relief.

  "I don't know what you think you've accomplished by all this trickery, Slade. You I will divorce—with pleasure. You've got nothing."

  "Will you divorce me, beautiful?"

  "Immediately," she assured him.

  Sharisse turned away. The matter was settled. They returned to her house in silence, as they had left it, and then he amazed her by saying, "Go and pack some of your things, Sharisse. You're moving in with me."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Slade." She moved to step out of the carriage.

  "I didn't marry you just for the hell of it. I had no legal rights over you before, but now I do, and I in­tend to keep it that way. Do what you're told."

  She was horrified. "But I won't stay married to you! Iwon't!"

  She ran into the house, slamming the door behind her, but in a moment he threw the door open.

  "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

  She faced him, enraged. "Get out!"

  "What the hell is going on in here?" Marcus stepped into the hall and stared at the tall, dark-haired stranger.

  Sharisse turned to her father and said in the same furious voice, "He thinks that because I married him he can tell me what to do. But he tricked me, Father. He's not Lucas. He's Slade! You tell him he can't get away with this, because 7 don't ever want to see him again."

  With that she ran up the stairs, leaving the two men staring at each other across the lon
g hall. Mar­cus was stunned. Was this his son-in-law then, this formidable looking young man whose unflinching gaze meant cold determination?

  "I was hoping we might meet under easier circum­stances, Mr. Hammond, but now I must warn you not to interfere." Marcus drew himself up to speak, but his son-in-law said, "She might be your daughter, but a husband has undeniable rights. You know that. I'm not leaving here without her."

  "Then you really are her husband?"

  "You heard her admit it."

  "But she was married to your brother. You're not Lucas Holt."

  "Mr. Hammond, it's a long story. In all fairness, Sharisse should hear the story first. All you need to know now is. that I love her, and I believe she loves me."

  Marcus smiled. He couldn't help himself. "Oh, I have no doubt that she's in love, though she's never owned up to it. I knew she was in love when she came back from Arizona. But it's Lucas she loves. She doesn't like you at all, believe me."

  "She might have given you that impression, but I can assure you her feelings will change before the day is through. Now, I am going to collect my wife— with or without your permission. It would be easier for both of us if you gave it. Getting off to a bad start is a bad idea for both of us. But nothing is going to stop me from taking her out of here, not the fuss she makes, not any objections from you. Do you see?"

  "By God, she was right," Marcus blustered. "You're not an easy man to deal with. Am I supposed to just take your word that Sharisse won't be unhappy being married to you?"

  "Yes, that you are."

  Marcus shook his head. What an outrageous situa­tion. But Sharisse hadn't been able to disclaim this man as her husband. So what choice did Marcus have?

  "Go on then," Marcus sighed. "Her room is the second door to the left. But I damned well better not regret this decision, Holt. Remember that. Treat her well, you hear?"

  A black brow rose. "Is that a threat, Mr. Ham­mond?"

  "No. Yes, by God, it is."

  "Fair enough." The younger man chuckled, and he started up the stairs.

  Chapter 42

  SHARISSE had locked her door, of course, but it opened as he forced his shoulder against it.

  She stood in the middle of her room, refusing to be intimidated. "What did you do to my father?" she ac­cused. "Why didn't he stop you from coming up here where you're not wanted?"

  "He was smart enough to realize that you belong to me. You might as well accept that fact, too." In two long strides he took hold of her shoulders. "Now, do you walk out of here with dignity, or do I carry you?"

  "You wouldn't!" He tossed her over his shoulder. "Put me down, Slade! I won't stand for this!" That didn't stop him. "You might be able to force me to live with you, but I will never let you touch me. I love Lucas! Do you hear?" He kept right on moving. "I hate you!"

  He deposited her in his carriage, and she scram­bled to the farthest corner of it.

  "What about my things?" she demanded.

  "We'll send for them."

  "I hope you know how despicable you are."

  "I believe I do, yes." He had the audacity to grin at her. "We will be at my hotel in a few minutes, so I suggest you calm down and think about how you're going to enter it. I don't mind carrying you inside."

  She walked into the hotel, his fingers clamped firmly on her elbow. They made no scene as they passed the luxurious public rooms on their way to the elevators.

  Slade's room was on the fifth floor. She noticed the rich appointments as she jerked away from him and took a seat. She intended to remain glued to the chair. He stood in front of her, though, his legs spread out and his arms folded.

  She regarded him resentfully. "Don't think you can intimidate me, Slade Holt, because you can't."

  He gazed around the room. "These rooms will be comfortable enough until the house is finished. An­other week ought to do it."

  "Don't you think you're taking a lot for granted?"

  He smiled. "Is there still some question about our marriage? Your friend Robert understood when I told him he wasn't needed anymore. Yet you still need convincing, don't you?"

  "So that was why Robert . . . oh! What are you doing in New York, Slade, really? You don't fit in. You're a gunfighter, a product of the uncivilized West. You can't mean to live here."

  "I think I've proved I can fit in just about any­where."

  "But you're not really going to settle here, are you?"

  "Why not? I always wanted to see more of the world, but I've traveled enough. I'm afraid it wasn't as exciting as I thought it would be, but maybe that's because I couldn't get you out of my system. We'll have to see Europe together some time."

  "Europe? Then you went to Europe with Lucas?"

  "You might say that." He grinned. "By the way, Lucas met an acquaintance of yours in France, a dis­gusting little peacock who makes wagers involving naive virgins."

  "Antoine?" she gasped.

  "I'm afraid Lucas took exception to the man's sport. He wiped the ground with Gautier's face, which isn't so pretty anymore."

  Her eyes lit up with amazement and unmistakable pleasure. "Lucas did that for me?"

  "I did," Slade answered softly.

  "You? But you said—"

  "When are you going to realize the truth, Shar-isse? Don't you see? There is only one of us."

  The color drained from her face. "That . . . that isn't possible," she said shakily.

  He knelt down beside her so his eyes were level with hers, and said as gently as he could, "You're not frightened of me. You were before, but now you're not. Haven't you wondered why?"

  Her eyes scanned his face. It was true. He just wasn't, well, dangerous anymore. If she hadn't been so angry, she'd have realized it sooner.

  "Then, you have to be Lucas," she concluded.

  He sighed and stood up. His expression hardened. The gentleness was gone—just like that. The change was abrupt and startling, leaving her no doubt. He was Slade.

  "Sharisse, Lucas is dead." His voice was tinged with bitterness. "Feral Sloan killed Lucas the same day he killed my father. I didn't know that until the day I shot Sloan. For nearly ten years I thought Lu­cas had got away, that he was alive somewhere and I would be able to find him some day. I had blocked his death from my mind because, you see, I saw it happen, just before I lost consciousness."

  Slade turned away from her to hide his grief. "Lu­cas didn't ride on when I fell from my horse to the bottom of a gorge. The fool kid stopped to try and help me. I suppose I would have done the same thing. We were just too close, being twins, too much a part of each other. That closeness gave Sloan the chance to catch up with us and put a bullet in Luke's back.

  "There was so much blood covering me from a gash on my head, I guess Sloan assumed I was dead. He figured taking one body back, along with my horse, was enough to prove there were no more Holts alive to claim that gold mine. He took Luke's body." There was a long silence. "I was nineteen when I found my brother's grave beside my father's in Tuc­son."

  Sharisse stared at his back, pain welling in her chest.

  "You killed Sloan. Why didn't you kill Newcomb, too? I would have!"

  He faced her, surprised by the fury in her voice. "I told you. He was too well-protected. I would have been a hunted man for the rest of my life, and I al­ready knew what that's like. There was only one way Newcomb could get what he deserved. I took away what he valued most, his wealth. His ill-gotten gains."

  "But you waited so long to do it."

  "It took that long, Sharisse. It took planning. And besides, I never could have got away with it as my­self. You saw how the people of Newcomb regarded me. You were frightened of me yourself."

  "Your manner was brutal, Slade."

  He grinned at her. "Honey, I've been a saint com­pared with how I was eight years ago. After living half of my life with fear and hate as constant com­panions, I knew no other way to be. There wasn't any friendliness in me. How could I get Newcomb to trust me when he saw me as a kille
r? I had to change my­self completely, to create a different man.

  "I went east to do it, to civilize myself. It wasn't easy. I am reserved by nature, but I had to train my­self to be more open and friendly. Meeting up with a French gambler helped. Henri Andrevie was every­thing I wasn't, a devil-may-care fellow with a ro­guish charm and an exasperating sense of humor, just the sort of man you fell in love with."

  Sharisse blushed at his knowing smile.

  "Instead of going to all that trouble to change yourself, why didn't you just hire someone to take care of Samuel Newcomb? You had the money. Wouldn't that have been easier?"

  "Yes, but not at all satisfying. I don't believe in getting someone to do my work for me. It was some­thing I had to do myself. It took five years before I felt I was ready.

  "But when I returned to Newcomb, a completely changed man, it wasn't good enough. The people all remembered me. And to try and convince Samuel Newcomb that I was reformed just wouldn't have worked. So I became my own twin, pretending to be Lucas in order to fool Newcomb." He sat down across from her, a little of the tension going out of him. "No one suspected there weren't really two of us. Show­ing up as myself occasionally in town helped, be­cause we were so completely different."

  "No one knew? No one at all?"

  "Only Billy."

  "Of course." She nodded, understanding. "He made a point of telling me stories when I first got to the ranch, stories about you and Lucas and him tracking horses together."

  He chuckled, and she said, "I'm surprised he never slipped and called you Slade by mistake."

  "To avoid any mistakes like that, I had to insist he keep Lucas and me separate, even when we were alone."

  "So all that business about you, or rather Lucas, living with an aunt in St. Louis was lies?"

  "Oh, there was an aunt, but she was a bitch. Luke and I hated her as much as our father did. There was never any thought of going back to her."

  "You could have told me before now," she said, trying to take it all in.

  "No, I couldn't. There were too many discrepan­cies in your own story for me to trust you."

  "But you let me leave Newcomb thinking I was married, when all along my husband didn't exist. How could you be so cavalier?"