Secrets (5 page)

“Come back now, Slade,” she whispered at the door when he left.

He nodded, thanking her, feeling her staring after him. He finally understood her invitation, but not why it had been issued. She was pretty enough, but he could not imagine ever taking her up on it.

He took his key from the hotel clerk and went slowly up the stairs. He grew intensely aware of the fact
that Elizabeth's room was at the top of the stairs. The exhaustion which had settled over him quickly lifted. He was more resolved than ever to leave the county tomorrow.

But he paused in the corridor and glanced at her door. His body tightened. He was instantly assailed by an image of her heart-stopping face, her wide golden eyes. The question he had avoided all evening rushed in upon him. His traitorous mind dared to wonder if she were someone other than Elizabeth Sinclair.

He didn't want to think the thought. Not now, not again. He was too tired to hope, but deep in his heart, there
was
hope. How foolish could he be? He made a fist, the key digging into his hand. Tomorrow he was going back north. She would solve her own problems. He tried not to remember her weeping in his arms, clinging to him, regarding him hopefully as if he were a hero. He was the farthest thing possible from a hero.

A door further down the hallway opened. Rick stepped into the hall, a tall, powerful figure clad in thin red wool pajamas. “Thought you were out here.” He eyed his son.

Slowly Slade looked at his father. “I'm going to bed.” But he waited, waited for Rick to reveal what he knew about her identity.

“You been over at Dom's?”

Slade nodded.

“Take a bath. You smell of smoke and liquor and cheap perfume.”

Rick was imagining things, because he certainly did not smell of a whore's perfume, but Slade did not refute him. If he wanted to think the worst, he would. “So what?”

“I don't want Elizabeth seeing you like this.”

“At this hour she's sleeping.”
So she was Elizabeth. So she was James's fiancée
.

“I want to talk to you.”

“I don't want to talk. I want to go to bed.”

“Looks like you've already been to bed.”

“What the hell do you care?” Slade bristled. Rick
always
thought the worst of him. “What I do is my business, not yours.”

“Wrong. You have the morals of an alley cat and you always have. I don't want Elizabeth finding out.”

Slade stiffened. Sometimes he felt like telling his father the truth. But Rick wouldn't believe him. It would be pointless. “It doesn't matter if she finds out,” he gritted. “Because I'm not marrying her.”

“Then you're not getting Miramar!” Rick roared.

“I don't want Miramar!”

“You liar. You want it. You always have. And now's your chance to have Miramar.” Abruptly Rick grabbed Slade's arm and pulled him into his room. Slade shook him off as Rick shut the door.

“You miserable old bastard,” Slade hissed. “Now is my chance! Is Miramar all you can think of? Your son is dead. James is dead. Miramar belonged to him. You think I can step into his shoes so easily?”

“I think you have no respect,” Rick raged. “No respect for me, for your grandfather, for Miramar, for tradition.
You have no choice
. You're the oldest now. The oldest inherits. It's always been that way in our family. Always. My father was the second son, but he made something of himself! He fought in the war for Mexico's independence, and later was rewarded—with Miramar. He worked hard from the day he gained title until the day he died, but not for himself. He worked to leave a legacy for me—for you. You are my heir now, and one day your son will be your heir! That is tradition, and tradition doesn't change!”

“You're living in an age that doesn't exist! Give up! Move on! Forget the past! For God's sake, in a few months we're going to be in the twentieth century!”

“Then do it for James,” Rick shot back. “He knew how much you loved Miramar. We'd discussed it. He would want you to take over now. He would—”

“Don't you speak about him as if he were still alive!” Slade was enraged. James had always been Rick's favorite, always, but then he had been the heir. In that instant
it occurred to Slade that Rick really loved Miramar best—better than his own son.

Rick gripped Slade's arms. “If you don't marry her, we're losing Miramar.”

Slade went still. “What kind of bullshit is this?”

“The rancho has been mortgaged. I had no choice. Times have been bad and getting worse. The depression of '93 really hurt us. But I never thought it would come to this.”

Slade stared.

“I haven't been able to make a mortgage payment in over two years. But that was fine—until six months ago when some fancy banker from New York took over the Bank of San Francisco. They've threatened to call in their loan. They only changed their tune because of James's impending marriage—and the dowry Elizabeth is bringing to us. They don't know James is dead. When they find out, all hell will break loose. They'll foreclose in a flash. They won't try to operate the rancho. They'll break it up, sell it, all of it, in tiny little pieces. You've got to marry Elizabeth, and soon. If you don't, they're going to take Miramar away from us.”

Slade was shocked speechless.

“It's the truth,” Rick said, releasing him. He paced away. He turned to look at his son. “We're not just broke. We're bankrupt.”

Slade stared in disbelief.

“If you don't marry her, then Edward will. We need her money and we need it now.”

Slade heard himself say, “Edward doesn't care about Miramar. He never has.”

“You're right. The only thing he cares about is women and an occasional game of cards. But he's young. And he's smart. And he'll do what he has to do.” Rick left the rest unspoken:
not like you
.

“Wouldn't Victoria be happy,” Slade said sarcastically. That woman would do anything for her son, even if it meant forcing him into a loveless marriage with his dead brother's fiancée so he could inherit the rancho. Of course, contrary to what Rick thought, Edward would
not agree. Or would he? Edward was loyal, too; it was a Delanza trait.

“Well?”

Slade felt trapped, backed into a corner. He didn't want to stay. He didn't want Miramar. Miramar belonged to James, who wasn't yet cold in his grave. But…the very idea of losing Miramar was abhorrent, sickening, frightening. And he didn't like the idea of Edward marrying Elizabeth any better.

“What in hell is so hard about marrying a pretty little lady like that in order to get what you've always wanted anyway?” Rick asked.

“That's not true,” Slade said tersely. But if he dared be honest, he would admit that it was true. Deep inside, he had always wanted what he could not have. Now, an impossible dream was within reach. But only because his brother was dead.

He turned on his booted heel. At the door he paused, his expression hard. “I'll think about it. Give me some time.”

Rick was equally grim. “We don't have time.”

T
he doctor was a thin, wiry man of indeterminate age. Regina sat obediently in a chair while he probed and prodded her head. She did not have much confidence in him and she worried her hands in her lap. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, and she smelled a strong mouthwash on his breath, as well as the whiskey which he couldn't disguise. Regina kept her expression impassive, but her heart was fluttering anxiously. Even though this man seemed thoroughly disreputable, he was a doctor. Rick Delanza, who was waiting outside her door, had brought him to her. And she was afraid of his diagnosis. For although it was a new day, although she had gone through all of her trunks, her memory was as blank as it had been yesterday when Slade had found her. In fact, she hadn't experienced another moment of recollection as she had with the gunshot.

“Got a nice-sized bump on the back of your head.” The doctor smiled at her. He had a kind smile. “It hurt you any?”

“I've had a headache since yesterday afternoon.”

“You got a knock on the noggin for sure, but you don't seem to have a concussion. Still, you should take it easy until your memory comes back.”

“So it will come back?” She could not imagine living in such a mental abyss for very much longer.

“Probably.” He saw her dismay and patted her back. “There, there, don't fret. That won't help. Truth is, I've never had a case of amnesia before. It's pretty rare. Still, most folks recover, given time.”

Most folks recover, given time
. Not for the first time since she had regained consciousness yesterday and realized that she had lost her memory, Regina faced the possibility that she might never regain her faculties, that she might never know herself. The notion was shattering.

Rick knocked upon the door impatiently. “You through, Doc?”

“C'mon in, Rick.” The doctor began packing up his black bag slowly, in no hurry at all.

Rick walked in, radiating the kind of energy she had witnessed in Slade, but with a difference. In Slade, it was almost explosive, in the father it was merely vital. Again she wondered where Slade was. She had not seen him since he had left her at her hotel room yesterday afternoon. She had thought about him too often. She was disappointed he was not with his father.

Rick smiled at her but focused on the doctor. “Well?”

Regina did not listen as the doctor told Rick what he had already told her. She got up and walked over to the mirror, staring at the stranger she saw there, the stranger who was herself.

Regina had bathed using a pitcher of water on the bureau and the washbasin beneath. She had dressed in one of her suits, a smart navy jacket and skirt with a cream-colored blouse and a string of pearls which had been among her things. This morning she thought that she looked more than wealthy and attractive, she looked regal and elegant. It was an observation, devoid of any vanity or conceit. It was still disturbing to look at herself. Whenever she did so, the lack of familiarity caused a lump to lodge in her chest.

There was another knock on the door; Regina's first thought was that it was Slade and she smiled, her first
genuine smile that day. She stole another quick glance at herself in the mirror, but every hair was in place. She reached the door before Rick and opened it. A hotel valet stood there holding a breakfast tray. Disappointed, she watched him deposit it on the small table between the two upholstered chairs.

“I know you didn't eat last night so I ordered you breakfast,” Rick said. “You look like a new person today. How do you feel, Elizabeth?”

“Better.” Her reply was automatic. She could smell freshly scrambled eggs and warm buns, making her realize that she was ravenous. But she made no move to sit down. “Where is Slade?”

Rick scowled. “Still in bed. That boy has a tendency to laziness.”

Regina glanced at Rick in surprise. She did not know Slade well, but she was positive that he didn't have a lazy bone in his entire body. Quite the opposite, in fact. She didn't think she had ever met a more restless man.

“Go ahead, Elizabeth. Eat. We're not much on manners here.”

Regina was about to sit down when, from the open doorway, Slade said, “You wouldn't know good manners if a book of them were shoved right in your face.”

Regina and Rick turned. Slade's face was red and angry; he'd obviously heard his father's derogatory remark.

“And the apple don't fall far from the tree,” Rick said. “It's ten o'clock. She's got every right to sleep all day. You don't.”

Slade stalked in, using the toe of his worn boot to slide the door closed. “You my boss? You feed me, pay me my wages? I don't recall getting a paycheck from you.”

“Charlie Mann let you sleep till ten in the morning?”

“When I'm in Frisco, I'm working,” Slade said.

Rick hooted. “Like hell! Maybe if you got to bed at a decent hour you could get up in the morning.”

“Maybe what I do—at night or any time—is none of your damn business.”

The two men glared at each other. Regina was gripping the back of one chair, her eyes wide and riveted upon father and son. She was witnessing what she had no right to witness and she was appalled by the relationship she saw between them. Why had Rick attacked Slade? How could a father do such a thing—and in front of other people? And why had Slade risen so eagerly to do battle? Into the ensuing silence, she said, her smile overly bright, “You're just in time for breakfast! Come, sit down. We'll send for more plates.”

Slade and Rick both turned their attention to her, which had been her intention. “I already ate and there's plenty of coffee,” Rick said. He pulled up a chair. “Sit down, Elizabeth.”

Regina didn't move, regarding Slade, who hadn't responded to her offer. Now that he was no longer focused on his father, his glance had settled upon her. His gaze was sharp, as she had come to expect, meeting hers. The question was there in his eyes. “Anything?”

Regina understood what he was asking. She shook her head, unable to look away—and not wanting to. Disappointment showed plainly on his face when he realized that she had not recovered from the amnesia.

Regina could not help stealing a more thorough glance at him as she sat down. He looked good, and the realization was jarring. His dark thick hair was damp and slicked straight back. He was clean-shaven, and it showed off his perfect features. She really hadn't realized just how extraordinarily handsome he was until that moment. His cotton shirt was snowy-white and freshly laundered, his denims dark-blue and spanking new. He was not wearing his gun. His boots had been wiped clean of dirt, mud, and dust. And Regina thought she detected a whiff of a pleasant, woodsy cologne.

He caught her staring. Regina smiled in response, because she was glad to see him and because she hadn't forgotten for a moment that he had rescued her and that he had also offered to be her protector. He did not smile
in return. His gaze was enigmatic. His thoughts, whatever they might be, were well-hidden. The intensity and fire he had evinced yesterday were securely guarded and thoroughly banked.

“Well, now that the patient has been examined, I'm going,” Doc said cheerfully from the position he'd maintained near the bed.

Regina started. She had forgotten the doctor was present. And he did not seem at all astonished at the exchange he had also witnessed, or in the least bit discomfitted. Rick walked him to the door, thanking him.

Slade's gaze slid over her, making her skin tingle. Softly, he asked, “What did Doc say?”

“That I'll probably recover—in time.”

Slade said nothing and Rick returned to them. Regina was intensely aware of Slade and had lost much of her appetite. She poured both men coffee, asking them how they liked it and fixing it for them. She pretended to eat. Both men sipped their coffee in silence, waiting for her to finish, Rick sitting in the one chair at the table with her, Slade lounging against the bureau behind her. In the dead quiet of the small hotel room, she was powerfully aware of Slade. His presence was strong, definite. She could feel him watching her. She was reminded of a tiger she had once seen in a zoo, dangerous if released, unfathomable caged, and predatory if stimulated.

“Elizabeth,” Rick said when she was done, “we didn't get a chance to really talk last night. But we have to talk now, because I have to go back to Miramar today.”

Regina started. His words made her realize that her situation was fragile and uncertain. Rick was going to return to Miramar. She could only assume that Slade would, too. And where did that leave her?

She clutched her napkin. Had James been alive, she would be going with them, to her wedding. But James was dead. Where would she go, what would she do? Last night Rick had answered all the questions that she had had about her home. She had been raised in San Luis Obispo although she had been attending a very exclusive school for young ladies in London since she
was thirteen years old. Her father had died last year, and her stepmother had already remarried. Regina wondered if her stepmother would welcome her into her household. “I suppose I will be going home,” she said uncertainly, and she found herself turning so she could look at Slade. Her gaze locked with his, questioning.

But he said nothing. His expression was grim.

“That's what I want to discuss with you,” Rick said. “I don't think it's a good idea for you to be traveling now, when you don't have your memory. Especially not alone.”

She agreed with him wholeheartedly. The thought of traveling alone was unappealing when she was in such a vulnerable condition, even for such a short trip, but the truth of the matter went beyond that. She was already establishing a niche here, while home was nothing but a concept, one that should have been inviting, but that, under the circumstances, offered her very little comfort. “I suppose,” she said slowly, wanting to look at Slade who was still behind her, “that when my companion recovers we can travel together.”

Rick hesitated. “Mrs. Schroener died yesterday, after the train came in—before you and Slade even arrived.”

Regina was shocked.

“I could always send you home with one of my boys,” Rick said, “but even with an escort, I'm not sure you should travel right now. Doc has advised against it.”

Not being able to remember her chaperone helped Regina recover her wits quickly. “I must send word to her relatives, if we can find them.”

“Don't you worry about that. I've taken care of everything, but if you want to send a note, I'll pass it on for you.”

Regina nodded. “Would my stepmother welcome me if I returned?”

Rick frowned. “Susan remarried six months after George died. Since you returned from London last month you were her guest, and I doubt she was very happy about it. She's not so much older than you and you're too damn attractive. I don't think
she'd be very happy to have you move in with her now.”

Regina said nothing. She wasn't surprised. It only made sense that a newly married woman would want privacy with her husband, and the fact that Susan wasn't much older than she herself made her even more unwelcome. She had a headache now. Her glance finally did turn to Slade. Now he was sitting on the bureau and he was studying the contents of her breakfast tray as if he found them fascinating. She wanted to catch his eye, but he seemed determined to avoid her. If she did not return home to San Luis Obispo, where would she go?

“You can stay here for a while. With my family. At Miramar,” Rick said.

“That's very kind of you! Too kind!” She thought she heard Slade snort, but wasn't sure. “Why would you take me in?” Regina asked. “Why would you do something like this? It might be a long time before I regain my memory.”
Or never
, she thought with a touch of panic.

“Because I believe in family,” Rick said. “James loved you. He was my son. As far as I'm concerned, you are family. Your place is with us, at Miramar. We'll take care of you there until you get well.”

Regina gripped her hands hard. He was offering her a sanctuary in her time of need. She was grateful. And Slade was there. She couldn't help thinking of that, too. “Thank you,” she whispered. She dared to glance at Slade.

“You have every choice.” He spoke stiffly. “You want to go to San Luis Obispo to your stepmother, I'll take you. You want to go to London, I'll find you a chaperone. You're an heiress, Elizabeth, so you're not without means.”

She gasped. “You don't want me to stay?”

“I didn't say that,” he said. “I'm only pointing out to you that you are a woman of substance.”

He didn't want her to stay. The fact practically blinded her. It nearly swept her from her chair. Not only didn't he want her to stay, Slade was offering to help her leave. She
felt betrayed. But most importantly, she was anguished, because she trusted him, needed him.

“Can't you be nice to your brother's fiancée?” Rick shouted. “Can't you see how upset you've made her?”

Slade was rhythmically tapping one booted heel against the bureau now, an outlet for the hot flow of lava-like energy in his veins. There was something ominous about the steady thump-thump-thump. “Just how
nice
do you want me to be?” he said softly.

Regina looked from one man to the other. Again she was witnessing an intimate and powerful conflict, one she had no right to even be aware of. “Stop it,” she said.

They both looked at her in surprise.

She gripped the edge of the table, not looking at Slade now, even though she knew he was staring at her. She refused to look at him after he had made himself so clear. “Let me at least learn all of the facts. Am I close to my stepmother? Or was I, before her remarriage, I mean?”

“No,” Rick said bluntly. “Susan was furious with the terms of the will. George knew you were going to marry James, and he'd left most of his fortune to you.”