Tender Is the Storm (5 page)

“Are you disappointed?”

“You certainly can’t expect me to answer that so soon.” She was becoming more and more distressed.

There was amusement in his voice. “Honey, your first look at me told you whether you were disappointed or not.”

“Looks do not make the man,” Sharisse heard herself say primly.

She was appalled to find she had defended him,
complimented him without meaning to. She had wanted him to feel her disdain.

There he was, grinning again. And she realized that even though they had talked for quite a while, she knew nothing about him. She dared a direct question of her own. “You aren’t arrogant, are you?”

“I don’t like to think so.”

She went further. “Domineering?”

He chuckled. “Me? Ride roughshod over a pretty thing like you? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Why did she have the distinct feeling that he was teasing her? She fell silent, giving up for the moment.

Willow leaned against the frame of the open door and stared at the cloud of dust in the distance. Her house, a one-room structure, was small by white standards. But she was used to a low-domed wickiup made of brushwood and grass, a home that could be burned when it was time to move on, so this house of sturdy wood seemed huge. She had got used to it in the two years since her husband had brought her here to live, away from her tribe and family.

Willow was only a quarter White Mountain Apache. Another quarter was Mexican. The other half, thanks to a bastard who had raped her mother, was some unknown mixture of white. Yet she appeared full-blooded Apache, and she took a deep sense of pride from this.

“He comes, Billy,” Willow said in her soft, melodious voice.

Billy Wolf came up behind his wife to watch the cloud of dust as it got closer to the ranch. He
grinned and wrapped his arms around her, over her pregnant waist.

“Do you think he’s got her with him?”

Willow sensed Billy’s grin. She had seen it too often lately.

“You still think it is amusing that you talked him into getting married?”

“I think it’s just what he needed. He’s getting fed up over how long it’s taking to bring the big man to his knees. Another month and he would have let Slade handle it—Slade’s way. Luke needed some kind of diversion. Why not a wife?”

“But he may not like her.”

“Like her?” Billy chuckled. “Hell, he can hate her for all I care, as long as she’s diverting.”

“You had no thought for the girl in this,” Willow accused him tartly.

He didn’t look at all contrite. “Taking care of friends comes first. That’s what I’m here for. Now come inside before they see us. City ladies always get the vapors at their first sight of a real live Indian. You know that.” He chuckled again. “We’ll give her until tomorrow before we make her acquaintance.”

Willow looked at her husband critically. “You’re not thinking of frightening her, are you, Billy?”

“Would I do that to a friend’s bride?”

No, of course he wouldn’t, she told herself knowingly, not her fun-loving husband.

Sharisse closed her eyes, trying to imagine that the ranch house wasn’t actually small, only…
quaint? She couldn’t do it. It was a simple square building, not even painted. A cabin. And she was supposed to live there? There was a barn, too, and it was twice the size of the house, but also unpainted. A large corral with a big old cottonwood casting shade over it was behind the barn. Half a dozen horses lazed inside the corral. A hundred feet or so beyond the corral was another cabin, even smaller than the first.

“I imagine you’re used to grander accommodations,” Lucas said smoothly as he helped her down from the buggy.

Sharisse didn’t answer. He wasn’t exactly apologizing, so what could she say? That her home on Fifth Avenue was a colossal mansion? It wasn’t necessary for him to know that.

Her expression said it all, anyway, and Lucas grinned, knowing how shocked she was. What had she anticipated? Probably a house like Samuel Newcomb had erected as an ostentatious display of his wealth, two stories of grand rooms and luxurious fittings. Well, Lucas’s house served its purpose, and he had been in worse. In better, too, but all he had needed here was a roof over his head. It wasn’t as if he meant to stay. Oh, he supposed he might have fixed it up a little for her. Then again—his grin widened—she didn’t have to know that he hadn’t.

He watched her covertly as she looked around, holding her basket as if it offered protection. She looked so dismayed. She’d had that same look when she first realized who he was, and she had been as nervous as a skittish colt ever since. Did
he really frighten her, or was she always jittery? She might have found his size intimidating. Most women did. On the other hand, she probably considered herself too tall for a woman. But from where he stood, she was just about right.

Lucas opened the front door and waited there for Sharisse to finish her survey. The afternoon sun burned down on the cactus scattered around, the grassland that stretched as far as the eye could see, and the mountains.

He imagined it wouldn’t be long before that creamy white skin of hers was a ripe, golden color—once he got her working in the garden out back and wearing less clothing. She had to be baking in that heavy traveling suit. The sooner she got if off…

His every thought was stripping her. “Sharisse?”

She started, having almost forgotten his presence. He stood at the open door, waiting for her to enter his house. What would she find inside? The same severity?

With a sigh, Sharisse went inside, careful not to let her skirt brush against his long legs as she passed him. The light inside was muted by closed curtains, and there was no time for her vision to adjust before the door closed and she found herself swung around and caught firmly against Lucas Holt’s hard chest. She squealed in fright, or started to, but the sound was smothered by his lips over hers.

Shock struck her system, Charley hissed, and suddenly she was standing alone, shaking, staring
wide-eyed at Lucas. It was difficult to tell which of them was the more surprised.

“I always thought it was just a figure of speech,” Lucas said. “But I guess a female really can hiss like a cat.”

“I imagine it is just a figure of speech, Mr. Holt. It was a male hissing, and he really is a cat. I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t leave Charley behind.”

She set the basket down to open it and lift Charley out. Lucas found himself staring at the longest-haired cat he’d ever seen, short and compact, a golden orange color that nearly matched the girl’s hair. He’d seen cats by the dozens back East, but never one that looked like this one.

At that moment, Mack came in from the back of the house. “What the hell is that?” he cried. “Not you, ma’am,” he was quick to amend. “But that thing you’re holdin’?”

Sharisse stared at the little man with a chin full of gray stubble, lively blue eyes, and a hat with a slouching rim. Lucas quickly made the introductions, explaining Mack’s many jobs around the ranch. But Mack wasn’t paying a bit of attention to Sharisse. His eyes were on Charley.

“What is it?” he repeated.

“My pet, Charley.”

“You keep that wild critter for a pet?”

“He’s not wild,” she assured him. “He’s a Persian cat. I saw quite a few of them when I was in Europe. They’re rare in America, though. In England, they even hold cat shows where rare breeds like Charley can be shown to the public.”

“The only cats we got here is predators,” Mack remarked. “This little one don’t bite?” He reached out a hand tentatively to pet Charley and received a low growl for his trouble.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Sharisse apologized. “I’m afraid he doesn’t take too well to strangers. I’m about the only one he really tolerates.”

Mack grunted and turned to leave, grumbling, “Better not let Billy come across that feisty little thing. He’ll think he’s found something new to throw into the stew pot.”

Sharisse turned wide, horrified eyes on Lucas. “Did I hear him correctly?”

“Mack’s the feisty one, Sharisse,” Lucas said, amused. “Just about everything he says must be taken with a grain of salt.”

“But—”

“You’re not to worry about your pet, not at least as far as Billy’s concerned. He works for me, too. He isn’t nearly as savage as Mack would have you believe.”

Was he teasing her? She supposed she would have to take his word for it, but she decided to keep Charley close to her for a while.

Then she addressed another important topic.

“Mr. Holt, about what you did.”

“Greeting my prospective bride with a proper welcoming?”

Sharisse was abashed by the devilishly charming grin that turned his lips soft and made him appear rakishly handsome.

“We were interrupted,” he went on. “If you’d like me to continue…”

“No! I mean, well, we’re not exactly an average engaged couple. What might be allowed after an extended courtship doesn’t apply to us. We have only just met.”

“And you want to get to know me better first?”

“Exactly.” She was relieved. He wouldn’t be so difficult to manage after all. Just as long as he understood she wouldn’t allow any intimacies.

“But how am I to get to know you if you keep me at arm’s length? If you don’t like kissing, then we’ve got a problem.”

His approval of her seemed to rest on her answer. She bristled.

“I am not in the habit of letting strangers kiss me,” she said stiffly. “And you are still a stranger.”

Lucas shook his head. “You’re telling me to keep my distance, but if I go along with that, we’ll end up being strangers much longer than necessary. It’s going to take a few months as it is for me to find out if you can fit in here. Am I supposed to waste that amount of time and
then
find out if you and I are compatible?”

Sharisse was aghast. In his mind, it would be purely a waste of time if, after she passed muster in other ways, he discovered there was absolutely no chemistry between them. True. But what he was suggesting was abhorrent. Was she supposed to let him take liberties with her?

Sharisse drew on her years of contrived confidence. “Mr. Holt, I realize our situation is unique
and I will have to make allowances for it. However, I really must ask for at least a little time to feel comfortable with you. After a while a kiss or two might be permissible—if you insist. More than that I simply cannot allow, not before we are wed. And if that is not satisfactory to you…”

Lucas knew when to back down. “I guess you can’t get more reasonable than that. Your room is right there on the left. I’ll get your things now.”

Sharisse sighed as he left and turned to look around. There were two doors on the left wall of the room she was standing in. The room was bigger than she had imagined, but it was the only room besides those two doors to the left. Against the back wall was a kitchen of sorts, a wood-burning stove, a sink with a hand pump, some cupboards cluttered with dishes, and a big table. A window behind the sink looked out on the backyard. There was a door to the left of the stove. The rest of the room, to her right, contained a fireplace with a thick rug in front of it and a gray wooden settee without cushions. Next to that, near the front door, were an old arrow-back rocker and a candle stand.

Sharisse felt her shoulders sag. It was such a depressing room. So austere. She shuddered to think what her bedroom would be like. She faced that door and opened it. The two windows inside it were open and the curtains drawn, letting in a cheery light, but also the heat. She couldn’t find a single thing to her liking and she didn’t try, moving quickly to the other bedroom before Lucas came back. This room proved more dramatic, with
dark coloring and a look of being lived in. The bed was unmade, and a wardrobe stood open with dirty clothes slung over the doors. Other articles were scattered around. His room, to be sure. She was rather embarrassed to have looked in.

She closed the door quietly. Then it dawned on her. These three rooms were all there was. No servants’ quarters. That meant…

“How do you like the place?” Lucas asked as he walked in the front door carrying her luggage.

Sharisse couldn’t answer, not with the alarming thought that they would be the only two people sleeping in the house. “You don’t have…any servants here, do you?”

“Not the kind that see to a house, I don’t.” He gave her that engaging boyish grin. “Now you know why I need a wife.”

He was teasing her again, yet she was insulted. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to hire a servant?”

“A lot simpler,” he agreed. “But I couldn’t expect a servant to share my bed, could I?”

He said it so casually that Sharisse felt a tremor in her belly. Fear? She stayed where she was as he took her luggage into her room.

“You’ll want to get unpacked,” he called out, “and I recall you wanted a bath. I’ll see about that and some grub for you, then leave you to rest.” He came back into the room, and his vivid green eyes probed hers for a moment. “You’ve nothing to fear here, Sharisse. No harm will come to you as long as you’re my responsibility.”

He left her standing there, weighing what he had just said against everything else that had been
said and done that day. Nothing to fear? If only she could just walk away from the situation! But she had no alternative. Even writing her sister, which she intended to do that very night, would produce no results for some time. She was stuck, she was there under false pretenses, and she didn’t have the remotest idea how to make the best of things.

Sharisse’s eyes opened to a blinding glare. She sat up quickly, confused, then saw that the hot light had been caused by the little standup mirror she had set on the bureau yesterday. She hadn’t realized that the mirror would reflect the morning sun right onto her pillow. The sun was rapidly heating the house.

Slipping into the thin silk robe left on the end of her bed, Sharisse walked over to the window. The lovely robe, a creation of lime green and white lace, matched the negligee given to her by her aunt when they were in France. Sharisse had brought it along, and another like it, because she had thought she would be alone in some sweet little cottage, not sharing a cabin with a man.

Packing thin summer clothing had been the only sensible thing she’d done thus far. Everything else could be counted as simply disastrous—especially her rash decision to leave home in the first place. When she thought of the safety she had thrown away!

Sharisse sighed, looking out at the sun hiding behind the fat fingers of a giant saguaro cactus in the side yard. She could see part of the corral, and she realized with a start that the window was low to the ground. Just about anyone could have walked by it and seen her lying in bed.

She yanked the curtains closed, her face flushing. There was only one person she could visualize looking in. She quickly closed the other curtains, too, then went back to sit on the bed, trying to calm herself. Everything in the room made her think of Lucas, the large round tub he had filled yesterday, still full of cold water, the tray of dishes. Her eyes fell on the blouse she had gone through so much discomfort to save, lying now in a torn heap in the corner where she had thrown it in a fit of temper. She had had to rip it off her back after all, something she couldn’t afford to do, not with the meager wardrobe she had. But she couldn’t very well have asked
him
to aid her, or Mack. Alone with two men—that was his idea of being chaperoned!

On the bureau was the letter she had stayed up late writing. Oh, the things she had packed, including her personal stationery, thinking of a quiet existence in some quaint village! It was laughable. Negligees, linen morning gowns, day dresses, an outing costume complete with gloves, bonnet, and matching shoes. A formal evening dress. She had brought along more toiletries than she needed, fans, hair ornaments, silk stockings, petticoats and bustles, even an extra corset. She had stuffed her trunk and yet found herself in an unwelcoming
climate in an uncivilized area with nothing suitable to wear. It really was laughable, or something to cry over.

And she did feel like crying, but she hadn’t said that to Stephanie. She had taken hours wording the letter just right so she wouldn’t throw her sister into a panic or consume her with remorse. She hadn’t mentioned the jewels at all except to say they were missing, and that was meant to explain how she had ended up in Arizona after all. There was a brief paragraph describing Lucas Holt, and she had been charitable in the describing. Yet she had made certain Stephanie understood that she couldn’t stay away very long. Something else would have to be arranged, and Stephanie would have to handle it.

Sharisse dressed slowly, delaying as long as possible the inevitability of facing Lucas Holt again. Charley was still asleep in the empty washbowl where he had buried himself during the night. He had made one exploratory trip out the window, prowled around the room until she was ready for bed, then settled in the cool porcelain bowl. She wondered if he would adjust to the heat and stop losing so much fur. She wondered if she would adjust. She sighed, leaving the room braced.

She was relieved to find no one in the outer room, but then she realized she was hungry and there was no food on the table and nothing on the stove, not even a pot of coffee. She set her tray of dishes by the sink and considered a search through the storeroom. She supposed they ate early around there and she had just missed it.

She headed for the back door, but it opened before she reached it, and Lucas stepped in. Their eyes met and held for a moment. Then his gaze swept down her, taking in the gown of beige lawn, heavily trimmed and flounced in white lace with wide lace borders down the back and front bodice, along the collar and high neck, and on the long sleeves. Two brown satin bows were prominent on the bustle and another at her throat.

“You going somewhere?”

Sharisse was surprised. “I’m not dressed to go out,” she said, as if explaining to a child. “This is a simple morning gown.”

He laughed. “Honey, what you’re wearing is fancier than anything the ladies of Newcomb could manage even for Sunday best. And that’s not a going-out dress?”

She was indignant. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything plainer than this, except my traveling suit.”

“Which is too heavy,” Lucas stated, shaking his head. “I can see I’m going to have to get you some new clothes.”

Sharisse blushed. “I will manage.”

“Will you? And will you be doing chores in that fancy gown?”

Chores? “If…if I have to,” she said stoutly.

“Suit yourself.” He would not argue with her. “Where’s breakfast?”

“There isn’t any.”

“I can see that,” he replied patiently. “So when are you going to get started?”

“Me!” she gasped. “But I can’t
cook!
”

“You can’t? Well, I guess you’ll have to learn real quick.”

“But who cooked before?”

“I managed, Mack managed, and sometimes Willow took pity on us and fixed a big meal.”

“Willow?”

“Billy’s wife.”

“You mean there
is
another woman here?”

“Sure. She’s expecting a kid any time now.” And he warned in a no-nonsense tone, “She’s got enough to do taking care of Billy and herself, so don’t even think about asking her for help. I’ve been taking care of myself all my life, Sharisse. But now that you’re here…”

Her eyes widened in panic as his meaning sank in. “But I really can’t cook. I mean, I never have. There have always been servants.” She fell silent. His expression was not the least sympathetic. “I suppose I could learn…if someone can teach me.”

He grunted. “I guess I can have Billy pick you up a cookbook when he goes to town today.” He sighed disagreeably and headed for the storeroom.

“I am sorry, Mr. Holt,” Sharisse felt compelled to say, though she didn’t know why.

“Never mind,” he said over his shoulder. “As long as you’ve got a strong back for the other chores and are a quick learner.”

She was left wondering about those other chores while he searched around, finally coming back with his arms full. The next hour was spent ruining her fine lawn gown with flour and grease stains that splashed beyond the apron Lucas told her to
put on. She had her first lesson in cooking, and she didn’t like it at all. But she was able to watch Lucas when he wasn’t looking at her, and wonder about this man who was from the East yet adapted to this land so well. He was by turns abrupt and to the point, then charming in a rapscallion way.

When breakfast was over, Lucas went outside again and Sharisse sat at the table with another cup of the most atrocious coffee she had ever drunk, worse even than the horrible brews she had tasted at the stage stops. She was contemplating the way Lucas’s mood had improved while he ate. By the time he left, he had seemed ready to laugh. Well, her mood dimmed considerably when Charley jumped up on the counter by the stove to investigate the spilled flour and she suddenly realized that
she
was supposed to clean up all the mess!

“Oh, I could just scream!” she said aloud before she caught herself. She groaned as Charley jumped down, tracking flour across the floor.

She didn’t
have
to clean it up, she thought rebelliously. Yes, she did. If only she had known there would be no servants, that she would have to work like one herself.

It was a good while before the last dish was put away and Sharisse felt she could seek the sanctuary of her room. She turned in that direction, then screamed at the sight of the half-naked man standing inside the back door. Long black hair flowed to his shoulders, and a faded scarf of some sort was wrapped around his forehead. His bare chest was more visible than covered under a short
leather vest. His knee-length soft boots hid more of his legs than the rectangular square of cloth managed to hide.

At the moment it was impossible to say who was more startled, Sharisse, facing a savage, or Billy, who found himself speechless for the first time in his life. Expecting a tiny little blonde who would run screaming to Luke, he faced an Amazon who was taller than he was, for God’s sake. Granted, she had screamed, but she hadn’t moved a foot.

Lucas rushed in the front door, having heard the scream. “What the—?” He looked between them, taking in the situation, then gave Billy a disgusted frown. “You could at least have put some pants on, Billy, until she got used to you.”

Billy relaxed a little. “It was too hot,” he said, as if that was enough explanation. “What happened to the yellow-haired one?”

“She wasn’t the one,” Lucas answered shortly.

“But you showed me the picture, and you said—”

“It was a mistake,” Lucas ground out warningly. “Now did you two meet, or were you just standing there staring at each other?”

They were both embarrassed, Sharisse doubly so for being reminded of the deception she was playing and for thinking Billy was a savage when he was obviously a friend of Lucas’s.

“I’m Billy Wolf, ma’am, a good friend of Slade Holt’s—and now Lucas’s,” he said with a cocky grin.

“Sharisse Hammond,” she responded, her voice a little stilted.

“Didn’t mean to scare you none,” he added for Lucas’s benefit. “I came in to see if you want anything from town, since I’m heading that way.”

“After you put some clothes on, I hope,” Lucas grunted.

Sharisse spoke up. “As a matter of fact, I have a letter to be posted, if it won’t be too much of a bother. I’ll just get it.”

The moment she stepped into her bedroom, Billy whispered to Lucas, “When you saw how tall she was, why didn’t you send her back?”

Lucas grinned. “She’s not too tall.”

Billy looked him up and down. “Yeah, I guess her height don’t matter much to you. But, Jeez, Luke, she’s so skinny!”

Lucas raised a brow. “You think so?”

“Well, I just didn’t want you disappointed in her, seeing as how she was my idea.”

Sharisse came back into the room and handed the letter to Billy. But Lucas snatched it out of her hand, and she blanched at his arrogance, never having dreamed he might read it before it was safely on its way.

“Trudi Baker?” Lucas read the name aloud, then looked up at her questioningly.

Sharisse imagined his thoughts. When she had said there was no one she could turn to in New York, he must have assumed she had only her father and sister.

“Trudi is a friend of my sister, Mr. Holt. My sister, Stephanie, is only seventeen and still lives
at home with my father, so, you see, she was in no position to help me.” She grew uncomfortable speaking of this in front of the curious Billy. “I’m sending the letter to her best friend’s house, because, well, I did explain to you about my father.”

She left the rest unsaid, wondering why it was necessary to explain a letter in the first place. She held her breath while he looked at it again. Finally he shrugged and handed it to Billy.

“See it gets posted, Billy, and don’t forget the cookbook I told you about.”

Billy saluted with the letter and exited jauntily.

Sharisse continued to watch Lucas warily and was surprised when he smiled sheepishly. “That was rather high-handed of me, and I apologize. I’m afraid my curiosity got the better of me. I wasn’t expecting you to be writing to anyone.”

“My sister and I are very close.” Sharisse relented, explaining that much. “Though I can’t correspond with her directly because of my father, she did make me promise to let her know that I’d arrived safely.”

“She knows what you came west for?” His smile widened. “And did she approve?”

Wholeheartedly, Sharisse wanted to say bitterly. And then she felt guilty for even thinking it. She couldn’t blame her sister for all this.

“What could she say, Mr. Holt? Stephanie knows my circumstances.”

He let that pass and said reflectively, “She looked older than seventeen in the picture. But then I took you for older than eighteen.”

“That’s because—”

She stopped abruptly, realizing in the nick of time that he had to have got the age from Stephanie’s letters. What other surprises was she going to encounter because of Stephanie’s correspondence with the man? She wished she could see those letters before she blundered badly over something.

“Because?” Lucas prompted.

“Of my height,” she finished lamely. “It’s always made me look older.”

“You don’t like your height, do you?”

She nearly choked. No man had ever been so indiscreet as to even mention the subject. The very idea! For this one to presume…had he no manners at all?

“It’s not so much that I don’t like being tall,” she said defensively, wishing she could upbraid him instead. “It’s just that most men find my height disconcerting, and that can sometimes be an embarrassment.”

“I don’t.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said dryly.

He laughed. Then he gripped her elbow and steered her toward the front door. “How about a walk? The rest of your work can wait a bit.”

The audacity of the man, Sharisse thought. He hadn’t even waited to see if she would agree to walk with him. Then she realized what he’d said.

“What work are you referring to, Mr. Holt?” She firmly eased her elbow out of his grip and stopped walking, forcing him to halt and look at her.

“The garden needs tending—weeding and so on. Clothes need washing. My room could use a
good going over. Just wifely things, Miss Hammond.”

She wanted to balk, but his low tone, the way he addressed her as Miss Hammond after dismissing that formality yesterday, made her hesitate. Was he angry? She wished it were easier to tell, but with him she never knew for sure.

“I hadn’t realized…”

“I can see that,” he said gently. “And I’ll make allowances for it. But I did warn you in my letter that life here wouldn’t be easy.”