Secrets (17 page)

Rick's face was red. “Like hell!” he shouted. “You're my heir—but I ain't dead yet and I'm a long way from it!”

“Then you don't get a frigging penny!” Slade shouted, the artery in his neck bulging.

“You miserable son of a bitch!”

“It takes one to know one.”

“What the hell kind of game is this?”

“It's no game,” Slade said firmly. “You shouldn't have shown me those books, old man. They're the proof
that I need to take over the reins from you. You've made a mess of things. We can run this place together—but we do it my way.”

“And what's your way?” Rick raved, his face darkening dangerously. “What's your way that's so much better than my way? You think you're so smart—huh, boy? Well, let me tell you something! You don't know shit about what it takes to run Miramar! You left here when you were fifteen, so don't you go telling me that you can do a better job than I can!”

“But I can, and I will,” Slade said. “First thing we're gonna do is sell off two-thirds of our herds.”

Rick froze. His eyes bulged.

“We're overstocked. The next thing we're gonna do is clear five hundred acres. We've got three fertile valleys perfect for growing wheat and oats. By next spring, we're going to be planting every single available acre.”

Rick was now purple. “Sell off our herds? Turn five hundred acres into farmland?
You want us to be farmers?
”

“In five years, barring a drought, Miramar is going to be in the black.”

“
Farmers?
”

“My way,” Slade said softly. “Or no
dinero
.”

“Farmers!” Rick shouted. “Goddamn farmers! You've lost your mind!”

“Are we interrupting?” Edward asked calmly from the doorway. Regina stood beside him, her eyes huge, her face white.

Slade's gaze passed right over his brother and slammed to a halt on her. She met his gaze briefly before glancing away.

“To the contrary,” Slade said, never taking his gaze off her, his mouth curling very slightly upward. “Your timing has never been better.”

 

Rick paced his bedroom, enraged. When the door opened he whirled to see his wife standing there in her dusty traveling suit. “Where the hell have you been all day?”

Victoria smiled and closed the door behind her. “Shopping. Why are you shouting?”

Rick didn't hear. “Do you know what that bastard intends? Have you any idea what he intends?”

Victoria took off her hat and gloves and turned to face her agitated husband. “You must be referring to Slade.”

“Who the hell else has the power to upset me like this? Not even you can upset me like this!”

Victoria went to him, her hands going to his shoulders, kneading them. “You had better calm down, Rick,” she said, meaning it. “I haven't seen you this mad since he ran away at fifteen. You'll have a heart attack.”

“You're right!” Rick shrugged free of her. “He'll be the cause of my death and he'll dance on my grave. I won't give him the satisfaction.”

“What has he done?”

“It's not what he's done, it's what he intends to do. Dammit, Victoria, he's gonna try and take Miramar from me, try and run it himself—and turn it into a farm!”

Victoria's eyes went wide. “He told you that?”

“He said he's gonna control Elizabeth's money and run this place and the first thing he's doing is selling off our herds and turning five hundred acres into farmland.
Farmland!
He wants us to be farmers!”

Victoria's eyes narrowed. “Kick him out. Now. Right now. And don't ever let him come back.”

Rick stared at her, thinking about it.

Victoria gripped his wrists. “Edward would never take over from you. Not ever. We both know that. Let him marry Elizabeth. He'll be more than happy to let you control her inheritance and run things here, as long as he has enough to live on. You know it. We both know it.”

Rick walked away from her. “Slade's the oldest. He's my heir.”

“Slade's trouble! He's been trouble from the day he was born!”

Rick turned and regarded her.

“If Slade says he's going to do something, only a freight train can stop him,” Victoria warned.

“And maybe I'm that freight train,” Rick said.

“And maybe you're too old to stop him! Kick him out! Disinherit him!”

“I can't break tradition. Miramar
is
tradition. The oldest has always inherited, always. It's our way, and you knew it when you married me, knew I already had two sons.”

“And we've always been rancheros!” Victoria cried passionately. “Always! But if Slade inherits, he's going to break with tradition and become a farmer. Isn't it better that you break tradition to preserve it—rather than he break it to destroy it?”

“Damn him!” Rick cried.

“Send him away!” Victoria cried.

“Enough!” Rick strode past her. “He's my heir, he's the oldest. That's not changing. But if it's a fight he wants—well, then that's what he's gonna get. Because we're not turning the rancho into a farm—at least, not until I'm dead!”

Victoria watched him. “Where are you going?”

“I need another drink.” He left.

When he was gone, her expression changed. She laughed, exultant. Her day was getting better and better!

Slade had stupidly told his father his intentions, and now there was a new wedge between them, one that would be fatal for their relationship and fatal for Slade's future at Miramar. Victoria would see to it. He had given her an opportunity and she would utilize it the best way that she could.

And once Slade was gone, Edward would be the only one left, Edward would inherit everything.

And it didn't matter, either, that Slade was marrying the girl on Sunday. Victoria laughed again.

Because the girl wasn't Elizabeth Sinclair. Elizabeth Sinclair was in San Luis Obispo. Not only was she in her hometown, last fall she had never left it to go back to her school in London. She had been in San Luis Obispo this
entire year. Victoria knew, because she had visited her and they had had a long chat.

Elizabeth had never intended to come to Miramar to marry James. She had received a telegram from Rick, but hadn't bothered to answer it. Victoria, having met her, understood it all so clearly now. Elizabeth was living in the fancy house she had bought herself, with a bevy of servants, indulging herself left and right as if she were a queen. She had been wearing diamond ear-bobs, a diamond necklace, and a diamond ring in the middle of the morning while still clad in her dressing gown—and the diamonds were real. She had told Victoria that she had no intention of leaving the city. She was not about to marry a rancher, live on an isolated ranch, and give up all of her money.

Victoria did a little jig around the room, triumphant.

The girl, whoever she was, was nothing more than a fortune-hunting imposter. And Victoria knew now why she never took off the pearls she wore, not out of fear that they would be stolen, but because they were fakes and she didn't want anyone to take too close a look at them. Victoria had looked closely at the jewelry in her trunk and had thought that they were real, but now she knew that everything had to be fakes. Good fakes, but fakes, just like the girl herself.

The bottom line was that the girl was a fraud and a liar, an imposter, and nothing more. Slade wasn't marrying an heiress, so he wouldn't have an inheritance and he couldn't save Miramar. He wasn't going to control any purse strings at all.

And Rick was going to be furious when he found out how he'd been deceived and that there wasn't any inheritance. Slade would be useless to him without the money they needed to save Miramar.

Soon Slade would be out on his ass, penniless and powerless, forever fallen from Rick's grace. Soon Edward would take his place as Rick's heir. Victoria was going to find him an heiress
toute de suite
, and it would be Edward who would be Miramar's savior. Not Slade.

S
lade had been watching her throughout the meal. Regina was uneasy. She had been uneasy all day, although Edward had done his best to distract her and keep her smiling. They had found a dress and paid the seamstress well, and it would be ready the night before her wedding. Not once had they again spoken of the fact that they were keeping their day's errand a secret from Slade and everyone else; they had not discussed how odd it was that she did not have a wedding gown; they had not even alluded to what this circumstance could signify. Edward was so witty and charming that she could only pray that she had been wrong earlier to think that he was a partner to her suspicions about her identity.

Something was on Slade's mind. It was obvious. His glances were long and enigmatic. Regina grew more distraught as the meal progressed. She worried that he had somehow begun to have doubts of his own about her. She was afraid that he was going to seek her out after the meal and confront her. She would avoid being alone with him tonight—and tomorrow, and until the wedding—at all costs.

She excused herself from the table immediately after dessert, which she refused. To her dismay, Slade leaped up and fell into step beside her.

“What's the hurry?” he asked as they strolled into the courtyard. The night air was cool, the breeze whisper-soft. The first fingers of fog were reaching out to them.

“I'm—I'm very tired. It's been a long day.”

“I guess so. Where were you?”

She froze up inside. She was afraid to tell him that they had gone to Paso Robles. She did not want to answer any questions about how she had spent her day. She did not want to lie, but she was not going to tell him the truth. For if Slade hadn't begun to have doubts, he surely would if he knew about her missing wedding gown. She managed a false smile, pausing outside her door. “I needed a few things, toilet items.”

He crossed his arms, leaning one shoulder against the adobe wall. His posture was too negligent; it belied the gleam in his eyes. “You and Edward have a nice day?”

“Well—” She smiled too brightly. “—it was hot and dusty in town. But we had a very nice lunch at the hotel.”

Slade's jaw tightened. “I see. He take you to the bathhouse, too?”

Regina hesitated. She did not want to lie. “No.”

“You sure had to think about it, didn't you?”

She blinked at him, dread kicking up in her heart.

“What was so important that you had to go all the way to town today?”

“Just a few things. You know. Soap—for my hair. Some powder. Those kind of things.”

“Those kind of things could have waited.”

Regina was unnerved. He knew she was lying. She could not respond.

“Couldn't they?” he demanded.

“I'm very tired,” she cried.

“You and Edward must have had quite an outing if you're that tired.”

“
What?
”

He was grim. “He wine you and dine you in that fancy restaurant over at the hotel? He flash his pretty smile at you? Did you smile back at him? The two of
you spend the day flirting? Did he sweet-talk you? Kiss you?”

Regina was speechless.

“Well?” He was no longer braced against the wall. “He change your mind?”

“What?”

“Have you decided you'd rather marry him now? Are you suddenly hankering after my brother, Elizabeth?”

“No!”

He stared coldly, his eyes glittering.

“Are you jealous?” Regina was shocked. She had thought he was after the truth, that he had somehow guessed what she was up to, but he was jealous of Edward!

He did not answer.

Her heart began to speed. He was jealous that she had spent the day with his brother! She was thrilled. No matter what Slade said, no matter how he acted, he cared about her or he would not be jealous. But she did not want him to be jealous. She did not want to see dark hurt in his eyes. “I needed a few things. That's all. Really, Slade.” She touched his bare forearm. It was tense with coiled muscle, so tense she wondered if the tendons there would snap. “Edward was only helping me out.”

“I'll bet.” His glance dropped to her hand, pale and white against his darkly tanned skin, small and fragile next to the sinewed strength of him.

He looked up. Their glances held. “You're lying to me,” he said very softly. “I don't like it. I don't like this.”

“No! I'm not!”

“Tell me the truth.” Before she could react, he slipped his hands around her waist, manacling her. “Did he kiss you? Because if he did, I might kill him. Either that or be real noble, and let the two of you have each other.”

She reeled under the impact of his gaze. “Slade, we're engaged.” Her tone grew intense, desperate, matching his. “I do not take that circumstance lightly. I do not
take my vows lightly. I would not kiss another man. Never. I would never betray you.”

He stared at her. “But do you want to?”

She had to press her lips together so that the words which were on the very tip of her tongue would not slip out. She wanted to tell him the truth, all of it. She wanted to tell him that she was afraid, terribly afraid, that she was not who she was supposed to be, and that she did not have a wedding gown, and that she had gone to town to buy one for their wedding. And she wanted to tell him more, so much more. She wanted to tell him that she was in love with him, not Edward.

“No, Slade,” she said, very softly. She was acutely aware of his large hands spanning her waist, of his strength and power. Very bravely, she lifted her palms and cupped his face. “I don't want Edward, I never have. I only want you.”

A silence descended. His cheeks were warm beneath her hands. His eyes were wide. She could hear her own heart beating, she thought she could hear his. Neither one of them was relaxed. If ever he would kiss her, it would be now. She could barely stand the suspense. And then he released her, expelling a shaky, drawn-out breath, flinching away from her. “I'm a bastard. I'm sorry. I
was
jealous.”

Relief flooded her. But so did disappointment. Her face heated. She had thrown herself at him, but he had not responded. “Slade?”

“I'm sorry.” He was grim. “I already have your loyalty, don't I?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes!”

Something flickered in his expression. “I can't figure out how in hell I earned it.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants as if not trusting them. “I can't figure you out.”

How she wanted to share her feelings with him! Her pride prevented her from doing so, as did her fear. She would settle for revealing that part of the truth which was innately safe to reveal. “You have my loyalty, Slade, now and forever.”

He stepped away from her. “But will I still have it when your memory comes back?”

She cried out. James loomed between them, a shadowy ghost. For an instant she could almost see him, but it was her imagination playing with the incoming mist.

He smiled bitterly. His glance skimmed her features, one by one. “I guess we both know the answer to that.”

“Maybe I won't remember,” she whispered, too late. He had already walked away, into the shadows of dusk.

 

Edward was spying.

He stood in the unlit interior of the den, by the open windows, watching them and listening. He grimaced when the discussion involved him.

He would be careful not to flirt with her again. It was harmless, he didn't mean anything by it, and Slade should have known that. Edward had no idea that Slade was so far gone on the girl that he would be pea-green with jealousy over his spending time with her and taking her into town. Yet even if he had known, he would have still come to her rescue.

He watched Slade leave her and shook his head. He'd heard every word. What was wrong with his brother? She stood sadly in the evening's lengthening shadows, staring after Slade. Slade should have kissed her, made love to her. She had been waiting for him to do so. She was in love with him; it was obvious. Edward wondered if he dared interfere, then decided to let nature take its course.

She turned and slipped inside her own room. Edward took a packet of papers from his breast pocket, tearing one off. Adding tobacco, he deftly rolled a smoke, licking both ends of the cigarette to glue them together. A moment later he had lit it and was inhaling deeply, still staring out at the courtyard, which was becoming dense with patches of fog.

It would have helped if she had told him the truth. But she hadn't. She hadn't told Slade why they had gone to town. Not for the first time, Edward wondered
if she knew all of the truth, if she really had amnesia. Up until today, he had been convinced that she was suffering from the loss of her memory. Now he was no longer sure; in fact, it looked to be just the opposite case. But it did not matter. Edward's mind was made up.

He was certain he was doing the right thing in keeping his silence. He was not going to reveal the fact that she was not Elizabeth Sinclair.

He'd had his doubts from the beginning. James and Slade had never had the same taste in women. Yet he'd shrugged it off. And he'd watched with great interest the fireworks that Slade and the girl set off. The instant, spiraling attraction heightened his doubts.

It was coincidence that Edward had been in Templeton two days after the train robbery, at the same time as Brett D'Archand. Templeton was a small town, so the very wealthy stranger who had closeted himself with the sheriff was an instant object of speculation. Edward barely paid attention to what the very pretty Hetta Lou was telling him; he was much more interested in maneuvering her to bed. It was only when she told him, greatly excited, that D'Archand was looking for his missing niece and offering a thousand-dollar reward for information that he jerked to attention.

D'Archand's niece, Regina Bragg Shelton, was twenty, British, small, blonde, and very beautiful. That description fit Elizabeth Sinclair exactly, right down to the accent, which she'd been forced to acquire at the private school in London.

It made sense. It made more sense that the girl was Regina Shelton than that she was Elizabeth Sinclair, whom James had loved. It made enough sense for Edward to disappear one day. San Luis Obispo was an hour away by train. He was not surprised to find Elizabeth Sinclair there, although he was surprised to find her in the circumstances he did, and he was greatly saddened. For the first time in his life he hated. He hated Elizabeth, and was glad James did not know the truth, would never know the truth.

His trip south had been days ago. He wondered about his father's role in this masquerade. Rick had obviously stumbled upon the truth as well. He was too shrewd to mistake a stranger for Elizabeth Sinclair, whom he had met twice. Obviously an alliance with the powerful, very wealthy Bragg family was his motivation.

Edward would not say anything. This girl who was posing as Elizabeth was the best thing that could happen to his brother. His brother had been shafted his entire life. And his brother was the finest man he knew. Slade and James had been so alike. As always when it came to his brothers, Edward felt left out. James and Slade had both been noble and selfless. He knew he was selfish, not selfless, and that basically he was a hedonist. He only worked hard when he had to, while James and Slade both thrived on hard work. Edward tried not to dwell upon it. He enjoyed life's pleasures too much to want to give them up.

To Edward's way of thinking, Slade did not deserve misery, he deserved happiness. But Slade was not a happy or contented man. To this day, Edward felt guilt. To this day, Edward remembered the night Slade had run away. To this day, he could see the welts on Slade's back from the whipping Rick had given him for getting that girl pregnant. Slade hadn't even cried.
He
had cried. He still wanted to cry when he remembered. Of course, it was all his fault. He had been banging her, not Slade, he had gotten her pregnant. No one had believed him. It was his fault that Slade had been whipped, and, more importantly, it was his fault that Slade had run away. Slade had left Miramar and his family, turning his back on both, because of him. A day didn't pass that Edward did not remember it.

Shakily, Edward inhaled hard on the cigarette. It wasn't very manly of him, but even at the age of twenty-two, thinking so hard about what he had done to his brother brought him to the verge of tears. But now he was going to make it up to him. Edward had not one doubt that his brother was in love now. And Slade was not like him. Slade was loyal. Like James, he
would love one woman forever. Finally, after all these years, Slade was going to take his place at Miramar with the woman he loved, regardless of who she was. Finally, after all these years, Edward was going to atone for his sins. Which was why he wasn't saying a goddamn word about Elizabeth really being Regina Shelton.

 

She managed to sleep a few hours, but only because she was exhausted. And when she slept, she had a strange dream.

There was a train. She was on it as it sped through the darkness. She was afraid. And then the darkness became light, bright vivid sunlight, but the train was going even faster and she was even more frightened. There were people. Shadowy, faceless people, frightened people.

She woke with a start.

She was covered with sweat and shaking. She snapped on the lamp by her bed, panting. It was only a dream, she told herself. But the fear did not ease. Her head ached. And then she thought about how real it was, how it felt like it had actually happened. And she gasped, wondering if it had been a dream or a memory.

She covered her face with her hands, shaking. The feeling of being on a train filled with frightened people haunted her. She could still feel her terror. And it was so real.
As if it had happened
. She suspected that it
had
happened.

What if her memory was returning?

God, she didn't want to know!