Silken Thunder

by Fayrene Preston

  Then she began to move slowly to the foot of his bed, and as his gaze followed her, he was reminded of the time when his ship had gotten caught in a hurricane off the coast of the Carolinas. When the eye of the storm had passed over, the calm had been eerily chilling.

  “How could you have done it?” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes blazed her fury.

  So she’d found out. He stared down at the glass in his hands, then raised it to his mouth and took another drink.

  “How, Sloan? How could you have allowed me to worry and hurt for Patrick, when all along you knew exactly where he was?”

  Lifting his head, he met her stare. “Easy. I wanted you.”

  “And so using my love for my brother, you made a deal with me that you knew I wouldn't be able to turn down. Then you proceeded to take from me what you wanted, while all the time allowing me to believe he might be dead.” Her voice shook with the intensity of her fury. “Do you know how much I suffered?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re despicable.”

  “You’re right.”

  She moved around the bed and bent over him until they were almost face-to-face. “What else are you?”

  He drained the remaining whiskey and placed the glass on the nightstand. “A lot of things you don’t want to know.”

  “Who's Cally?”

  “What?” His question was sharp.

  “Cally. You called out to her when you were delirious. She’s obviously someone important to you, and I want to know who she is.”

  He turned his head away, his tone flat again. “She’s no one.”

  “You look at me, Sloan Lassiter.” She almost whispered the words.

  When he turned his head back to her, the gold of his eyes had gone hard and opaque. “Cally's a beautiful young woman whom I almost took one night on the floor of my study. At the time I thought she was my half sister. Understand? I thought she was a blood relative. Only later did I find out she’s my stepsister. She means nothing to me. She never did.” He paused. “Now, do you want me to tell you some of the other things I’ve done in the past to convince myself I was alive?”

  “I don’t really know you at all, do I?” Shaken, she straightened away from him. “When you were sick you also said, ‘I murdered him.’ Who did you murder?”

  He stilled. Then after a moment he slid down into the bed, rolled onto his side so that he was facing away from her, and pulled the covers over his shoulders.

  Brianne felt as if he’d slapped her.

  Anger made her tremble; hurt made her ache. She started across the room. Her hand closed on the doorknob.

  “Brianne?”

  She paused but didn't look around.

  “Where’s the ledger?”

  God. Even after all they’d been through, he was still concerned with revenge against Wes McCord. Her lips tightened. “Henrietta has it.”

  “I want it. Tonight.”

  Brianne's gaze dropped absently to her hand. She was gripping the doorknob so hard, her knuckles were white. “I’ll have someone bring it to you.” She pulled the door open and left the room.

  A soft night wind blew against the lace curtains at the open window of Brianne’s bedroom, causing the panels to billow out. The flame in the lamp beside her bed hardly flickered, though, protected as it was by its glass globe.

  Brianne suddenly whirled toward the window. “Did you just hear something?” she asked Patrick, who was sprawled lazily on her bed.

  “Nope.”

  She twisted her hands together and gave him a cheerless smile. “I guess my nerves are on edge.”

  “You’re upset. It’s natural.”

  She shook her head. “I still can’t believe Sloan didn’t tell me that he’d found you.”

  “Bri,” Patrick said gently, “a Delaney would have done far worse to get someone or something he wanted, and you know it.”

  “Perhaps, but what would you have done if it had been me who had been missing and someone had withheld information from you?”

  “I’d probably kill that person. Slowly.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Except, if I loved them. And, Bri, there’s no two ways about it. You love Sloan.”

  She crossed her arms and stared at him broodingly.

  He shrugged. “Sorry, honey, but there’s not enough anger or pain in the whole world to change that fact. However, I’ll be glad to face him down in a gunfight if it’ll make you feel better.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped, then threw her hands up in despair. “I love that man with all my heart and have almost from the first. But he’s so damned stubborn. Do you know what he just asked me for?”

  “Why don't you tell me,” Patrick said obligingly.

  “The ledger. It was what he was trying to get that morning out at the tent city when Dan Cummings surprised him and then proceeded to nearly kill him. It’s his proof that McCord has been juggling figures and committing downright fraud to divert vastly inflated profits from construction contracts into his own pocket. A girl named Janice sneaked it out of the tent while Cummings was beating Sloan and brought it to me. Henrietta has had it ever since.”

  Patrick’s expression had turned serious as he had listened to her. “Then, I don’t think you have a choice, Brianne. You have to give the ledger to Sloan. He nearly died for it.”

  She came to the foot of the bed and wrapped her arms around one of the high posts. “You don’t understand. Sloan came to Chango fully prepared to die, and I’m afraid that if he keeps on with this, that’s exactly what's going to happen.”

  “Have you told him how you feel?”

  “Many times.”

  “Then I think you've got to let him work things out for himself.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” Her hands closed on the smooth wood. “Not without trying to make him see … Oh, Patrick, there’s so much I have to make him understand.”

  He smiled faintly. “Then what the hell are you doing standing here, talking to me?”

  Two hours after Brianne had left Sloan’s room the door was thrown open again. Brianne marched in and hurled the ledger on the bed beside Sloan. “There’s your precious ledger. I brought it myself. Are you happy? Now you can go on with this stupid revenge and maybe get yourself killed. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She stopped to take a breath, glaring down at him. “Is revenge one of the things that makes you feel alive? Tell me, Sloan, I’m trying to understand.”

  Sloan raised himself to a sitting position, gazing at her warily. “I thought our discussion was over.”

  “Not by a long shot.” She took a step closer. “I had to get away from you before I was tempted to murder you. You, that Cally, your damned secretiveness — I had to think.”

  “And what conclusions did you reach?”

  “Don’t you mock me.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Why are you doing this? You were so different before. Everything’s changed.” Her eyes were suddenly glittering with tears. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I should leave you in your lonely, cold little world and let you rot.”

  “That’s probably an excellent idea. Why don’t you?”

  “Because I didn’t go through the fires of hell out at that canyon to let you ruin everything between us.” The softness of her voice was all the more powerful for the intensity it carried. “We’re alive, dammit. Do you know how wonderful that is? Life is a blessing. How dare you not appreciate it.”

  His lips twisted grimly. “I’ve never found it particularly uplifting.”

  “Only because you wouldn’t let yourself. You closed yourself in your tight, hate-filled room and refused to open the windows and let in all the beauty and freedom and — ” Her voice broke and she was silent for a moment, fighting for control. “But I won’t let that go on any longer.”

  He studied her, absorbing the meaning of her words. “I take it you’re going to open those windows.”

  “I hope I’ve already opened a few of the
m.” She moistened her lower lip with her tongue. “I hope you feel something for me besides what’s between us in bed. Do you?”

  It was a moment before he answered. Finally he said, “Yes.”

  Relief poured through her, but she braced herself for the next question. “Do you love me?”

  He looked away from her. “What difference does it make?”

  “To me, all the difference in the world. Do you love me?”

  Silence.

  “Answer me.” She knelt with one knee on the bed and cradled his cheeks in her palms, forcing him to look at her. “Do you love me, Sloan?”

  A multitude of expressions flew across his face. “I … love you,” he said hoarsely.

  She closed her lids for an instant. “Thank God.”

  He jerked his head back, out of her hold. “Why?” he said bitterly. “I don’t see anything to be thankful about. I’d rather not have been given this love at all. It’s going to tear me apart when you leave me.”

  “I’m not going to leave you.”

  “The hell you won’t. You’ll change your mind when your family comes riding in. You’ll remember only the lies and the deceit and what I am.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’ll remember all of those things. But I’ll also remember that I love you.”

  “I was the first man to take you, but how the hell do you know that what you feel is love?”

  Again she took his face in her hands, needing to touch him. “Do you think I’d go through all this if I didn’t love you?” The tears that had been brimming began to roll down her cheeks. “I’d much rather love someone else. Anyone else. You’re hard and ruthless and unforgiving, and I don’t think you’ll ever love me as much as I do you.”

  “Brianne … ” He let out a harsh sigh. “God, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m not crying.” The tears continued to roll down her cheeks. “Why should I cry?” She managed a cracked laugh. “I probably deserve you. I know that I have to be completely stupid to love someone like you.”

  “Incredibly stupid,” he said softly. “Incredibly generous.” He turned his head and his lips caressed her palm. “Incredibly wonderful.”

  Suddenly she was fighting for breath. “I’m not wonderful, and it’s easy to be generous when everything is going well.”

  “Things weren’t going well in the canyon.” His words were muffled in her palm. “And you were an angel from heaven.”

  She made a face. “A very unkempt angel.” She paused, and her gaze searched his face. “And an angel I think you resented.”

  “Because I’m a fool.” His voice was low. “I felt so damned helpless. It all seemed somehow so familiar. It reminded me of too many things I’d wanted to forget.” He shook his head. “And you were doing everything for me. and I couldn't even protect you from Cummings.”

  Tenderness moved through Brianne like a shining, gently winding stream. “You did protect me. We protected each other. Don’t you see? That’s what love is all about. Sharing the bad times as well as the good.”

  “I'm beginning to see.” His eyes were suspiciously bright as his gaze lifted to her face. “I’m sorry, Brianne. About so many things.”

  She kissed him lightly on the lips and caught the taste and the scent of whiskey. His last words were slightly slurred, and she suddenly recalled the instructions the doctor had given him about having a good night's rest. Perhaps she shouldn't have tried to settle these matters between them tonight, but there was one thing that must be understood between them.

  “Sloan,” — she waited until his eyes met hers, then softened her tone but underscored each word with iron — “you will never, ever lie to me again. About anything. There must be nothing but truth between us from now on.”

  He nodded slowly. “Truth.” He added softly, “And love.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead. “Go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.” She picked up the ledger from the bed and set it on the bedside table, then crossed to the window and opened it to let fresh air into the stuffy room. “There’s so much we have to get straight between us.” She started to turn away.

  “Brianne.”

  “Yes?”

  “Come to bed, redhead.”

  Brianne felt a surge of heat tingle through her. It seemed a century since the two of them had come together in that white-hot merging. She drew a deep breath. “Sloan, we can’t — ”

  He sighed, then gave a light laugh. “I’m afraid you’re right.” A note of regret threaded Sloan’s voice. “Between the bruises and the whiskey, I’m still a hell of a mess.” He paused. “But I can hold you. I want to be close to you tonight.”

  Yes, Brianne thought. She wanted to be close to him too. Without disrobing she turned back, extinguished the lamp’s flame, and slipped into bed beside him, carefully positioning herself so that the pressure of her body wouldn’t hurt him. “Just for a little while.”

  His arms slid around her and he held her close with a tenderness that filled her with an almost unbearable sweetness. They had known passion, but never this magical togetherness. Passion would come again, but for now this was more than enough.

  “I have something to tell you,” Sloan said haltingly, his fingers gently stroking her hair.

  “Tell me tomorrow. Sleep now.”

  “I can’t sleep until I tell you.” He stopped, and when he spoke again, his voice was uneven. “You fill my life, Brianne. You are my life. There was nothing before, and, if you leave me, there will be nothing after you.”

  It was a confession so raw, a statement leaving him so vulnerable to her, it stunned her for a moment. The barriers were tumbling, the steel of his armor shattering. She felt at once humble and fiercely protective. “I’ll never leave you.” Her arms tightened lovingly around him. “Not as long as I live.”

  The silence that followed resounded with peace and encircled the two people on the bed with love and dreams.

  It was only a short time later that Sloan’s breathing evened and Brianne knew he had drifted off to sleep. She lay there for a little longer, enjoying the knowledge that there was now no threat of death hanging over this beautiful intimacy. Finally, reluctantly, she slid away from him and carefully got out of bed. Sloan was on his way to healing, but he needed rest, and she didn’t want to risk rolling against him during the night and waking him. There would be a thousand other nights for them.

  She tucked the covers around Sloan and then turned and moved toward the door.

  There was someone watching her.

  She whirled at the door, her gaze flying to the bed across the room. Had Sloan awakened? She could see nothing in the darkness, but Sloan’s breathing was deep and steady and she knew he was still fast asleep.

  She stood there uncertainly a moment before shrugging and turning away. She was being foolish. Her nerves were really on edge.

  She closed the door softly behind her.

  The white batiste curtain at the open window stirred, moved. …

  “It was easy.” Ralph Mahoney laughed. “He was sleeping like a baby. All I had to do was wait out on the first-story roof until the woman left. Once she did, there was no problem.”

  “Did she see you?” Not that he cared, Wes thought, with the ledger back in his hands.

  “No, I was careful.”

  “Good work.” Wes nodded a dismissal. When the other man had gone, he sat at his desk leafing through the ledger. After a moment he unlocked the top drawer and opened it. The notes. He lifted them out and held them in one hand.

  His eyes flicked back to the open ledger on his desk, and he placed the notes gently inside before closing the book. Then he rested his hand atop it.

  The two most important things in his life. The notes. The ledger. Each were weapons of a different kind. One that he could aim, one that could be turned against him. Triumph was like whiskey in his veins.

  Slowly Wes felt his smile die. With movements that were almost savage, he thrust
the ledger into the bottom drawer and locked up his desk. He put out the lamp and made his way up the stairs, a frown on his face.

  He had felt triumph before, and he had always enjoyed the emotion. But this time it was a fleeting thing, an elusive thing.

  Sometime later Wes lay in his bed, one arm behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. Briefly he raised up and squinted through the moonlit darkness at the clock on the mantel. Two-thirty. Mahoney had said that Sloan was sleeping soundly.

  Why couldn’t he sleep, Wes wondered.

  He had the ledger back. Soon his plans for the railroad would be back on schedule. Of course Cummings was in jail, and he knew too much to be allowed to remain in the hands of the law. He’d have to take care of that situation. But everything was going to be all right.

  A smile completely devoid of mirth creased his face into hard seams. Why was he lying to himself? He knew damned well why he was worried. Anna was carrying his child, and he hadn’t seen her for two days. She hadn’t come to him last night — Thursday — one of their regularly scheduled nights.

  He conjured her image effortlessly, so vivid it was as if she were there before him. Long golden hair, clear blue eyes, skin like ivory velvet. He felt a strange aching deep within him that had no resemblance to lust.

  What in the hell was he going to do about Anna?

  His eyes remained open, searching the darkness as if it might hold his answer.

  Lord, she was frightened.

  She was actually trembling with nervousness, Anna realized. Taking care to be as quiet as possible, she crept down the front hallway of Wesley’s house. The house was silent, thank heavens. Aware that he sometimes worked late, she had delayed coming until well after two to make sure he would be asleep.

  She walked slowly, feeling her way in the darkness. She knew Wesley’s house well, but the possibility that someone had moved something in the last few days still existed. If she were to bump into a table or a chair, the noise might lead to disaster.

  The knob to the study door squeaked when she turned it, and she froze. Ice trickled down her spine as she cocked an ear toward the upstairs portion of the house. Nothing moved. She let out her breath, then slowly opened the door and slipped inside. Not wanting to risk having to turn the knob again, she left the door slightly ajar.