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Dear Reader,

True Colors was one of the first mainstream novels I wrote. It is still one of my favorites, a powerful story of revenge and its ultimate price, as well as the terrible danger of jumping to conclusions. I love this book, and not only for its plot. I wrote it in 1991, when I first went back to college, in my forties. I was bristling with courses in American history and anthropology and I had a ball putting some little-known facts into print.

I have studied the Little Big Horn battle for many years, and I mentioned some key qualities of Native American culture in this book. The heroine had Crow ancestry, but my fascination for all the protagonists in the fight has always carried me mostly toward the mysterious and intelligent Crazy Horse, who was Sioux. In fact, this great war chief was Oglala, which is one of the tribes of the Lakota (as the Sioux people I mention in the book more properly call themselves).

If you’ve read my books, you know that I frequently deal with the issues of native peoples. My extended family is heavily Native American. I also have a small connection to the Lakota people, since this year I established a nursing scholarship at the Oglala Lakota College in Kyle, South Dakota, in memory of my mother.

To my friend Marilyn Pourier at the Oglala Lakota College, and also to Nursing Department Chair Sarah Coulter Danner and President Thomas H. Shortbull of the same institution, I send my most heartfelt respect for your hard work and your dedication to the field of higher education.

Sincerely,

Diana Palmer

Diana Palmer
True Colors

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER ONE

MEREDITH STOOD by the window watching the rain beat down on Chicago, while her companion watched her with worried eyes. She knew her face was showing the strain of business, and she’d lost weight, again. At twenty-four, she should have had a carefree outlook on life. What she had was a burden of pressure twice the size most women could carry.

Meredith Ashe Tennison was vice president of Tennison International’s huge domestic enterprises, much more than a shadowy figurehead who avoided publicity like the plague. She had a shrewd mind and a natural aptitude for high finance which her late husband had carefully nurtured during their marriage. When he died, she had stepped into his shoes with such capability that the board of directors reversed their decision to ask her to step down. Now, two and a half years into her term of office, company profits were up and her plans for expansion into new mineral and gas reserves and strategic metals were well under way.

That explained the set of Meredith’s thin shoulders. A company in southeastern Montana was fighting them tooth and nail over mineral rights they currently owned. But Harden Properties was not merely a formidable rival. It was headed by the one man Meredith had reason to hate, a shadow out of her past whose specter had haunted her through all the empty years since she’d left Montana.

Only Don Tennison knew the whole story. He and his late brother, Henry, had been very close. Meredith had come to Henry a shy, frightened teenager. At first Don, to whom business was a primary concern, had fought against the marriage. He relented, but he’d been faintly cool since Henry’s death. Don was now president of Tennison International, but also something of a rival. Meredith had often wondered if he resented her position in the company. He knew his own limitations, and her brilliance and competence had impressed harder heads than his. But he watched her very carefully, especially when she drew on her nervous energy to take on too many projects. And this fight with Harden Properties was already taking its toll on her. She was still getting over the aftereffects of a rough bout with pneumonia that had come on the heels of a kidnapping attempt on her five-year-old son, Blake. If it hadn’t been for the inscrutable Mr. Smith, her bodyguard, God only knew what might have happened.

Meredith was brooding over her forthcoming trip to Montana. She felt she had to make a brief visit to Billings, home of Harden Properties and Meredith’s own hometown. The sudden death of her eighty-year-old great-aunt who had lived there had left Meredith with the house and a few belongings of Aunt Mary’s to dispose of. Meredith was really her only surviving relative, except for a few distant cousins who still lived on the Crow Indian reservation several miles from Billings.

“You arranged the funeral over the phone—couldn’t you do that with the property, too?” Don asked quietly.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, I can’t. I’ve got to go back and face it. Face them,” she amended. “Besides, it would be a God-given opportunity to scout out the opposition, wouldn’t it? They don’t know I’m Henry Tennison’s widow. I was Henry’s best-kept secret. I’ve avoided cameras and worn wigs and dark glasses ever since I took over.”

“That was to protect Blake,” he reminded her. “You’re worth millions, and this last kidnapping attempt almost succeeded. A low public profile is invaluable. If you aren’t recognized, you and Blake are safer.”

“Yes, but Henry didn’t do it for that reason. He did it to keep Cy Harden from finding out who I was, and where I was, in case he ever came looking for me.” She closed her eyes, trying to blot out the memory of the fear she’d felt after her flight from Montana. Pregnant, accused of both sleeping with another man and being his accomplice in a theft, she’d been driven from the house by Cy’s mother’s harsh voice while Cy looked on in cold agreement. Meredith didn’t know if the charges had ever been dropped, but Cy had believed she was guilty. That was the hardest to face.

She’d been carrying Cy’s son, and she’d loved him so desperately. But Cy had used her. He’d proposed to her, but she’d learned later that it had only been to keep her happy in their relationship. Love you? he’d drawled in his deep voice. Sex was pleasant, but what would he want with a gangly, shy teenager in any other respect? He’d said that in front of his vicious mother, and something in Meredith had died of shame. She remembered running, blinded by tears, her only thought to get away. Great-Aunt Mary had bought her a bus ticket, and she’d left town. Left under a shadow, in disgrace, with the memory of Myrna Harden’s mocking smile following her….

“You could give up the takeover bid,” Don suggested hesitantly. “There are other companies with mineral holdings.”

“Not in southeastern Montana,” she replied, her soft gray eyes fixing on him calmly. “And Harden Properties has leases we can’t break. They’ve made it impossible for us to get any mineral leases in the area.” She turned and smiled, her oval face and creamy complexion framed by an elegant sweep of blond hair. She had the look of royalty, and the graceful carriage. That confidence was a legacy from Henry Tennison, who’d given her far more than control of his business empire by the time he died. He’d hired tutors for her, to teach her etiquette and the art of hostessing, to educate her in business and finance. She’d been an eager, willing pupil, and she had a mind like a sponge.

“He’ll fight,” the thin, balding man said stubbornly.

She smiled, because Don looked so much like Henry when he set his lips that way. He was ten years Henry’s junior and ten years Meredith’s senior. He was a good businessman, even if he wasn’t her best friend in the world. But Don was conservative, and Meredith was aggressive. More than once they’d locked horns over company policy. The domestic operation was her baby, and Don wasn’t going to tell her how to run it. Her steady, level gaze told him that.

“Let him fight, Don,” she replied. “It will give him something to do while I’m taking over his company.”

“You need rest,” he said with a sigh. “Blake’s a handful by himself, and you’ve been ill.”

“Flu is inevitable with a child in kindergarten,” she reminded him. “I didn’t expect it to go into pneumonia. Besides, the takeover bid is crucial to my expansion plans. Regardless of how much time or energy it takes, I have to give it priority. I can ferret out a lot of information while I’m deciding what to do with Great-Aunt Mary’s house.”

“There shouldn’t be a problem. She left a will. Even if she hadn’t, Henry paid for the house.”

“Nobody in Billings knows that,” she said. She turned from the window, arms folded over her high, firm breasts as she nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. “I wrote to her, and she came out here to see me several times. But I haven’t been to Billings since—” She caught herself. “Not since I was eighteen,” she amended.

But he knew. “It’s been six years. Almost seven,” he added gently. “Time is a great healer.”

Her eyes darkened. “Is it? Do you think six years or sixty would be enough to forget what the Hardens did to me?” She turned toward him. “Revenge is unworthy of an intelligent person. Henry drilled that into me, but I can’t help what I feel. They accused me of a crime I never committed, sent me out of Billings in disgrace and pregnant.” Her eyes closed and she shivered. “I almost lost the baby. If it hadn’t been for Henry…”

“He was crazy about Blake, and about you.” Don grinned. “I’ve never seen a man so happy. It was a shame about the accident. Three years out of a lifetime isn’t long for a man to find and lose everything he values.”

“He was good to me,” she said, smiling with the bittersweet memory. “Everybody thought I married him because he was wealthy. He was so much older than I was—almost twenty years. But what nobody knew was that he didn’t tell me just how rich he was until he talked me into marrying him.” She shook her head. “I almost ran away when I knew what he was worth. This—” she gestured around the elegant room with its priceless antiques “—terrified me.”

“That’s why he didn’t tell you until it was too late,” Don mused. “He’d spent his whole life making money and living for the corporation. Until you came along, he didn’t even know he wanted a family.”

“He got a ready-made one.” She sighed. “I wanted so much to give him a child….” She turned away. Thinking about that would do no good at all. “I have to go to Billings. I want you to check on Blake and Mr. Smith every day or two, if you don’t mind. I’m so nervous, about both of them, after that kidnapping attempt.”

“Wouldn’t you like to take Mr. Smith with you?” he asked hopefully. “After all, there are Indians up there. Grizzly bears. Mountain lions. Crazed Winnebago drivers….”

She laughed. “Mr. Smith is worth his weight in gold, and he’ll take very good care of Blake. There’s no need to have much contact with him, since he disturbs you so much.” He didn’t look convinced. “Blake loves him,” she reminded him.

“Blake isn’t old enough to realize how dangerous he is. Meredith, I know he’s worth his weight in gold, but you do realize that he’s a wanted man…?”

“Only by the state police in that South African country,” she said. “And that was a long time ago. Mr. Smith is forty-five if he’s a day, and we did commandeer him from the CIA.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the KGB?” He threw up his hands. “All right, I’ll try to keep watch. But if I were you, I wouldn’t have that animal of his near me.”

“Tiny lives in an aquarium,” she said defensively. “And she’s very tame.”

“She’s a giant iguana,” he muttered.

“Iguanas are vegetarians, and she’s not quite that big. Yet. Besides, he’s still grieving for Dano.”

“Dano was a five-foot iguana,” he said. “He actually petted the horrible thing. I think it ate my dog, that day you and Blake visited me and he brought the vile thing with him.”

“Your dog ran away. Iguanas don’t eat dogs.”

“And he’s raising a replacement for it,” he moaned. “Can’t he put it up if I have to come over here?”

“I’ll ask him. It’s just for a few weeks, until I see to Great-Aunt Mary’s property and organize a way to get those mineral leases away from the Hardens. I’ll have to do some scouting first,” she added. “I want to see how the Hardens are placed these days.” Her face darkened. “I want to see how he’s placed.”

“He probably knows who you are by now, so be careful.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she replied. “I made a point of finding out. Henry was very protective of me at first, so he never told people anything about me. Since he always called me ‘Kip,’ there’s very little likelihood that Cyrus Harden has any inkling about my connection with Tennison International. He only knows me as Meredith Ashe. If I leave the Rolls here and don’t flash my diamonds, he won’t know who I am. More important,” she added coldly, “his mother won’t know.”

“I’ve never thought of Cy Harden as a mama’s boy,” he mused.

“He isn’t. But Mama is a prime mover, a secretive manipulator. I was eighteen and no match for her shrewd mind. She got rid of me with ridiculous ease. Now it’s my turn to manipulate. I want Harden Properties. And I’m going to get it.”

He opened his mouth to warn her but after a second thought gave up. She’d known Cy Harden as a man, even as a lover. But she knew nothing about the business head on those broad shoulders, and if she pursued the takeover bid, she was going to find herself in over her own head. Others had tried to take on Harden, to their cost. He was a formidable foe, among the most ruthless of businessmen. He and Henry had butted heads several times. Probably Harden didn’t know why Tennison hated him so, or deliberately tried to foil deals for him. It had been a shock to everyone when Henry was invited to sit on the Harden Properties board of directors. Harden had engineered that move so that he could keep an eye on Tennison’s business deals, but it had worked to Henry’s advantage as well, so he’d accepted. Naturally Don went to the meetings, and Meredith’s name was never mentioned.

“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” she asked, narrow-eyed.

“No,” he said honestly. “His is a family-based company. He holds forty percent and his mother has five. That means you have to get his great-uncle’s ten percent and the fifteen percent held by his directors and the remaining shares from his unrelated stockholders. I don’t think any of them are brave enough to go against Cy, despite the financial rewards.”

“By the time their next board of directors meetings rolls around, I expect to have those proxies,” she told Don firmly. “And is Mr. Harden due for a surprise when I show up with them, and you, in his boardroom.”

“Just be careful that your surprise doesn’t backfire,” he cautioned. “Don’t underestimate him. Henry never did.”

“Oh, I won’t.” She stretched lazily. “What’s on the agenda for this afternoon? I have to do some shopping.” She indicated her expensive suit. “Little Meredith Ashe could never have afforded anything like this. I don’t want anyone to think I’ve prospered.”

“‘O what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive,’” he quoted dryly.

“And hell has no fury like a woman scorned,” she shot back. “Don’t worry, Don. I know what I’m doing.”

He shrugged. “I hope so.”

DON’S MOROSE TONE haunted Meredith all day. As she packed her new clothes that evening in Mr. Smith’s borrowed secondhand suitcase, Blake sprawled on her queen-sized bed in their Lincoln Park home, frowning.

“Why do you have to go away?” he muttered, his little face dark and sullen. “You’re always going away. You’re never here.”

She felt a twinge of guilt. Her son was right. But she couldn’t afford to give in to that stubborn determination of his. Blake was as formidable in his young way as she was.

“Business, my darling,” she replied, smiling. She stared at him lovingly. He looked nothing like her. He was his father, from his dark hair to his deep-set brown eyes and olive complexion. He was going to be tall like Cy, too, she guessed.

Cy. Meredith sighed heavily and turned away. She’d loved him so much, with all the passion of her young life. He’d taken her chastity and her heart, and in return he’d given her grief and shame. His mother had done her part to break up what might have been an honest love affair. God knew, he’d always felt guilty about her. Probably he’d have felt even more guilt if he’d known that she was only eighteen to his twenty-eight. She’d lied and told him she was twenty. He’d said even then that it was like robbing the cradle. But his passion for her had been a helpless, deeply resented one that had cost him his stoic self-control time and time again. She often thought that he’d hated her for that, for making him vulnerable.

His mother had hated her, certainly. The fact that Meredith had been living with her great-aunt and uncle on the Crow reservation—and the fact that her great-uncle was a respected elder at that—had been a scandalous shock to Mrs. Myrna Granger Harden. Myrna belonged to the social set and made no secret of her snobbery. That her son had dared to embarrass her by dating the niece of one of his employees had haunted her, especially when she’d already hand-picked a wife for him—one Lois Newly, a local debutante whose people had property in Alberta, Canada, and could trace their ancestry back to royal England. Myrna had never even bothered to ask Meredith if she was Indian. She’d taken it for granted, when actually Meredith was only related to Uncle Raven-Walking by marriage.

There were dark-skinned people in Cy’s background. Myrna swore they were French, but Meredith had once heard someone mention that Cy’s ancestors contained a full-blooded Sioux on his father’s side. Many Plains people had mixed ancestry, but most of them weren’t as prejudiced and snobbish as Myrna Harden.

Blake Garrett Tennison would someday have to be told the truth about his parentage, Meredith thought worriedly. She didn’t relish that at all. For now, he accepted that the tall, fair man who used to laugh and bring him things was his real father. In most senses, he was. Henry had spoiled Meredith shamefully, attended LaMaze classes with her, treated her pregnancy as if he’d been responsible for it, and showered her with luxuries when little Blake was born. He stayed with her through the delivery, and he cried when the child was placed in his arms. Oh, yes, Henry really was Blake’s father in so many ways. He’d earned the right.

She often wondered why Cy had apparently never considered the possibility of Meredith becoming pregnant during their brief affair. Presumably his women were usually on the Pill, because he’d never even asked if she was. Not that he’d been in any condition to ask, the first time or the others. She dreamed about him sometimes, about the fierce pleasure he’d taught her to share with him. But she never told Henry about the dreams or compared him with Cy. It wouldn’t have been fair. Henry was a gentle, skillful lover, but she’d never attained the heights with him that Cy had taken her to so effortlessly.

Blake cuddled his plush toy alligator. “Isn’t Barry the Alligator nice?” he asked. “Mr. Smith let me pet Tiny. He says you should let me have an iguana, too, Mommy. They make very nice pets.”

She laughed gently at Blake’s adult-sounding speech. He was almost six, and he already had a tremendous grasp of language. He would be ready to start first grade next year. This year he attended private kindergarten until one each afternoon, and he was learning fast. Meredith knew that Cy had never married. She allowed herself to wonder for one long instant what Myrna Harden would think of her grandson. It was unlikely that the elderly woman would covet him, of course, since he was Meredith’s. And a grandchild would tarnish the youthful image she tried so hard to project.

“Can’t I have an iguana?” Blake persisted.

“You can pet Tiny, when Mr. Smith lets you.”

“Doesn’t Mr. Smith have a first name?” he asked, frowning.

She laughed. “Nobody has the nerve to ask,” she whispered.

He laughed, too, his young voice delightfully carefree. Had she ever been that happy, she wondered, even as a child? The premature death of her parents had left scars. Thank God there had been Aunt Mary and Uncle Raven-Walking to look after her. They’d loved her, even if nobody else ever had.

Blake sighed. “I wish I could go with you.”

“One day soon,” she promised. “Then I’ll take you to the Crow reservation and you can meet some of your Indian cousins.”

“Real Indians?” he asked.

“Real Indians. I want you to be proud of your ancestry, Blake,” she said seriously, smiling at him. “One of your distant relatives actually scouted for General Custer before the battle of the Little Bighorn.”

“Wow!” he said, all eyes. He frowned. “Who was General Custer, Mommy?”

“Never mind.” She shook her head. “Time enough for that when you’re older. Now, I have to pack.”

“Blake!”

The thunderous voice echoed along the upstairs landing.

“In here, Mr. Smith!” Blake called.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and a tall, balding hulk of a man walked into the room. Mr. Smith had a Marine Corps tattoo on one brawny arm, and he wore khaki slacks with an olive drab T-shirt. He was the ugliest, and the kindest, man Meredith had ever known. He had to be in his middle or late forties, but nobody knew just how old he was. He had a spotless service record and had come from a successful career in the CIA to work for Henry Tennison. After Henry’s death, Meredith had inherited him, so to speak. From his big nose to his green eyes and square face, he was a treasure. He’d aborted the kidnapping attempt on Blake. And nobody bothered Meredith when he was with her. She raised his salary every year without his having to ask. Next to Blake, he was the most treasured person in her private life.

“Bedtime for you, mister,” Mr. Smith told Blake without cracking a smile. “Front and center.”

“Yes, sir!” Blake saluted, laughing, and ran to the big man, to be swung up on his shoulders.

“I’ll settle him for the night, Kip,” he told Meredith. His eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t go. You need another week in bed.”

“Don’t fuss,” she said gently, and smiled at him. “I’m all right. I have to do something with Aunt Mary’s things you know. And it’s a dandy opportunity to reconnoiter the opposition.”

“Recon what?” Blake asked.

“Never mind,” she told him. She leaned forward and kissed his rosy cheek. “Sleep tight, my lad. I’ll be along to tuck you in.”

“Mr. Smith is going to tell me about Vietnam!” Blake told her excitedly.

Meredith grimaced. Vietnam War stories hardly seemed the proper bedtime tales for a young boy, but she didn’t have the heart to argue.

“I want to hear about the snake again.”

She frowned at Blake. “The what?”

“The snake. Mr. Smith is teaching me about all the animals and stuff in Vietnam,” he continued.

She flushed. She’d thought the stories were about something else entirely.

Mr. Smith saw the flush and almost smiled. “Fooled you, huh?” he asked smugly. “That’s what you get for misjudging innocent people.”

“You’re not innocent people,” she pointed out.

“I’m innocent of a few things,” he argued. “I never shot anybody twice.”

She looked toward the ceiling. “My bodyguard, the saint.”

“Keep that up and I’ll go back to the government,” he promised. “They treat a guy right.”

“I’ll bet they never bought you kidskin moccasins and your very own Jacuzzi,” she said haughtily.

“Well, no.”

“And they don’t give you three weeks’ paid vacation and offer you free hotel rooms and carte blanche at restaurants,” she continued.

“Well…”

“And they don’t hug you like I do,” Blake exclaimed, throwing his arms around Mr. Smith’s thick neck as hard as he could.

Mr. Smith chuckled, returning the hug. “Got me there,” he admitted. “Nobody in the CIA ever hugged me.”

“See?” Meredith asked smugly. “You’re well off and don’t know it.”

“Oh, I know it,” he said. “I just like to watch you squirm.”

“One of these days,” she began, pointing a finger at him.

“That’s our cue to leave, Blake,” Mr. Smith said, turning with the boy in his arms to head for the door. “She’s good for an hour on that subject.”

Meredith hid a smile and went back to her packing.

TWO DAYS LATER she arrived in Billings on the bus. She could have flown, but that was an admission that she had money. A bus ticket was considerably cheaper, and besides, the bus station was located next door to the office of Harden Properties, Inc.

She waited for her suitcase, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a pair of jeans and a faded denim jacket over a sweatshirt. She wore a pair of scuffed boots she’d used for riding back home, and she’d left off her makeup. By and large, she looked very much as she had the day she’d taken the bus out of Billings six years before. Except that she had a different secret now, one she was going to enjoy keeping until the proper time.

In an office building just catercorner to the bus station, a man sitting at a desk happened to notice the movement of passengers disembarking. He got out of his swivel chair and moved to the one-way window, staring down with dark eyes that seemed to burst with mingled emotions.

“Mr. Harden?”

“What is it, Millie?” he asked without turning.

“Your letter….”

He had to force himself to turn away from the window. Surely not, he thought. That couldn’t be her, not after all these years. He’d seen her in crowds before, only to get closer and find another face, the wrong face. But he felt as if it were Meredith. His heart began to beat with the fierce rhythm she’d taught it. He felt alive for the first time in six years.

He sat down, his tall, fit body in a dark blue suit so striking that even his secretary of many years stared at him. He was thirty-four now, but sometimes his lean, deeply tanned face seemed older than its years. There were lines around his eyes, too, and threads of gray in his thick, black hair. He had an elegant look for a man whose primary interest was agricultural properties and acquisitions and who had a ranch and spent time with cattle and horses.

“Forget the letter,” he said abruptly. “Find the address of Mary Raven. Her husband was Crow—John Raven-Walking, but they’re listed in the phone directory as Raven. They moved into town two or three years ago.”

“Yes, sir.” Millie left to find the address for him.

Cy continued to sit, turning to read some new contracts and an inquiry from one of his directors about a few mining leases he’d refused to cede to Tennison International. He looked at the papers without seeing them as memories flooded back, memories six years old of a woman who’d betrayed him and left town under a cloud of suspicion.

“Sir, there’s an obituary here,” Millie said as she returned thumbing through the local paper. “I saw it last week and meant to mention it. Well, I remembered, you know, about that Ashe girl who was involved in the theft six years ago.”

Cy bristled. “Her part in it was never proved,” he corrected.

Her eyebrows arched, but she was concentrating on the column and hardly heard him. “Yes, here it is. Mrs. Mary Raven, and here’s the address—they print it, you know. She was buried two days ago. No family is listed at all. I suppose they didn’t know about Miss Ashe at the newspaper….”

“Give me that.” He took the paper and pored over it. Mary was dead. He remembered her from the Crow reservation, where she and Raven-Walking had lived until the old gentleman’s death two years ago. Mary had moved into town. God only knew how she’d managed to afford a house on her Social Security. Cy hadn’t seen the house but knew about it because he’d seen her one day in Billings. He’d questioned her harshly about Meredith, but she wouldn’t tell him anything. She was frankly evasive and even a little frightened. He grimaced, remembering his desperation to find Meredith. The old lady had practically run to get away from him. He hadn’t followed her, but he’d been tempted to go and see her. Then he’d realized that it would accomplish nothing. He’d only upset her more. Besides, the past was dead. Meredith was probably married by now, with a house full of kids.

The thought hurt him. He sighed angrily. Well, she’d be coming back, surely. In fact, that could have been Meredith he’d just seen. Someone would have to tie up all the loose ends that Mary’s death created. He knew that Meredith was Mary’s closest living relative.

He sat back in his chair, scowling. Meredith was here. He knew she was. He didn’t know whether he was sorry or glad about it. He only knew that his life was about to be disrupted all over again.

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS TOO MUCH to hope for that Cy would walk out of his office building and run headlong into her, Meredith decided as she watched the city bus head toward the Billings station. He might not even be in town. Like Henry, and now herself, business demanded frequent trips to business meetings and conferences. And for her to run into the object of her youthful desire today would require a ferocious kind of coincidence or a helping hand from fate.

She boarded the bus and got off several minutes later near the Rimrocks. Her aunt’s little house sat on a dead-end street sheltered by towering cottonwood trees. This house, thank God, held no memories for her. When Meredith lived here, Great-Aunt Mary’s home was a small matchbox on the reservation. When she dated Cy, they always wound up in the penthouse he kept at the Sheraton, the tallest building in the city. She ground her teeth, remembering. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back here after all. With the city of her youth around her, memories hurt more.

She unlocked the door with the key Mr. Hammer, the Realtor, had sent her. September was chilly here in southeastern Montana, and the snows weren’t far away. She hoped to be long gone before they trapped her.

The house was cold, but fortunately Hammer had remembered to have the utilities put on for her. There was a gas stove with the pilot light already burning, and the electricity worked. He’d even been kind enough to leave her a few groceries. Typical Montana hospitality, she thought, smiling. People here looked out for each other. Everybody was friendly and kind, even to tourists.

Her eyes lingered on the old but functional furniture. Everything was done in Early American, because that was what Great-Aunt Mary liked. But she had kept many of her late husband’s treasures. The medicine shield and bag that he always displayed so proudly were on the one wall. His pipe, with its exquisite decoration, rested on another peg, as did the bow and arrows his own grandfather had made for him in his youth. There were several parfleche bags filled with secret things in a coffee table drawer. There was a huge mandala on another wall, and assorted dried skins and woven hangings on the others. Dead potted plants covered almost every available surface. Great-Aunt Mary’s plants had been her greatest treasures, but they’d gone without water since her death and now were beyond saving…except for one philodendron, which Meredith took to the kitchen and watered, then placed gently on the Formica counter.

When she noticed the telephone on the wall, Meredith felt a stab of relief. She was going to need it. She was also going to need her fax machine and her computer with its internal modem. Smith could bring all that equipment out, and she could make use of Aunt Mary’s library as an office. It had a door that locked, to protect her secret from prying eyes in case any of the Hardens ever made it this far.

Meredith was a little concerned over the amount of time this project was going to take, but the mineral leases were her top priority right now. The domestic operation simply couldn’t move ahead with its expansion program without them. She was committed, however long it took. She’d have to keep up with business through Don and the telephone and hope for the best.

Worst of all was the time away from Blake. He was becoming hyperactive in school. Her lifestyle was apparently affecting him more than she’d realized. And business had edged its way between them until she couldn’t even sit down to a meal with her son without being interrupted by the telephone. He was on edge, and so was she. Maybe she could use this time to her advantage, to catch up on work so that she could have more time with him when she got home again.

She made herself a pot of coffee, smiling at the neatness of the little kitchen with its yellow walls and white curtains and oak furniture. Aunt Mary hadn’t wanted to let Meredith and Henry buy her this house and furnish it, but they’d convinced her finally that it was something they wanted to do. Despite the fact that she had friends and cousins on the reservation, they wanted her close to her best friend, Miss Mable, who’d offered to look after her. Miss Mable had died only a few weeks before Mary. Perhaps they were together now, exchanging crochet patterns and gossiping on some ghostly front porch. Meredith liked to think of them that way.

Her fingers were cold, and she almost spilled the coffee as she poured it. Aunt Mary’s doilies were everywhere in the living room, intricate patterns of colored thread that she’d crocheted so beautifully. It was a shame to use them, and Meredith knew that she wasn’t going to let them be sold with the house when the time came. She’d have to choose some personal items to keep, especially the doilies and quilts, and of course Uncle Raven-Walking’s legacy for little Blake.

As Meredith’s gaze lingered on the beautifully decorated parfleche bags she had removed from the drawer, she remembered sitting on Uncle Raven-Walking’s knee while he told her stories about the long-ago times of the People and how they’d enjoyed their horse-taking forays into Cheyenne and Sioux camps, and vice versa. So much she’d read and seen about the Plains Indians was inaccurate. The thing she remembered most from her uncle was his teachings about giving and sharing, traits that were inherent in Crow society. The giving of gifts and the sharing of acquired wealth were commonplace among these Indians. Selfishness was virtually unknown. Even the religion of the Crow focused on brotherly love and giving to the less fortunate. Nobody went hungry or cold in the camps of long ago. Even enemies were fed and gifted and allowed to go their own way, if they promised never again to make war on the Crow. No enemy was attacked if he walked into camp unarmed and with peaceful intent, because courage was admired.

Courage…Meredith sipped her coffee. She was going to need plenty of that. Myrna Harden’s face flashed before her eyes, and she shivered. She had to remember that she was no longer eighteen and poor. She was twenty-four, almost twenty-five, and rich. Much richer than the Hardens. It was important to keep in mind that she was equal to them socially and financially.

Her eyes settled on Uncle Raven-Walking’s medicine pouch. It contained, among other things, kinnikinnick—willow shavings used as tobacco—and sage, some gray dust from the Custer battlefield, a tiny red rock, a red-tailed hawk feather and an elk tooth. She’d opened it once secretively and looked in. Later she’d asked her uncle about the contents, but all he was willing to say was that it was his own personal “medicine,” to keep away evil and protect him from enemies and ill health. How ironic, she mused. Her people seemed to think money and power were the answers to the riddle of what made life bearable. But Uncle Raven-Walking had never cared about having things or making money. And, content to work as a security guard for Harden Properties, he was one of the happiest people Meredith had ever known.

“Wasicun,” she murmured, using a Plains Sioux word for whites. It meant, literally, “You can’t get rid of them.” She laughed, because it seemed to be true. The Crow word for whites was mahistasheeda—literally, “yellow-eyes.” Nobody knew why. Maybe the first white man they saw was jaundiced, but that was the expression. Crow called themselves Absaroka—“People of the fork-tailed bird.” Meredith had loved the huge Montana ravens as a girl. Perhaps the forerunners of the Crow had loved them, too.

She finished her coffee and carried her suitcase into the neatly furnished second bedroom, the one Aunt Mary had used as a guest room. Meredith had never used it—she’d been too afraid of seeing the Hardens to ever come back to Billings.

Her few things put away, Meredith took the bus to a small convenience store several blocks away and bought a sack of groceries. It had been years since she’d done anything so menial. She had maids and a housekeeper at her Lincoln Park house, and they took care of such things. She knew how to cook, but it wasn’t a skill she practiced often. She smiled at her own shortcomings. Aunt Mary liked to chide her for her lack of homemaking abilities.

She decided to walk back. Passing the enormous Billings city park she sighed at its beauty. The towering cottonwoods formed a green canopy over the lawn. Here, in summer, there were symphony orchestra concerts and ice-cream suppers. There was always something going on. Billings was a huge city with well-designed wide streets and plenty of elbow room, spreading between the Rimrocks and the Yellowstone River, with railroad tracks through the city and all around, because plenty of trains came through here. Agriculture and mining kept things going. Refineries were everywhere. So were vast ranches and fields of wheat and sugar beets. To the west stood the towering Rocky Mountains, to the southeast the Big Horn and Pryor mountains. Buttes surrounded Billings, leveling off to flat plains and rolling hills farther east. Meredith loved the country out of town, loved the vastness of it, loved the absence of concrete and steel. Distances were terrifying to easterners, but a hundred miles was nothing to a Montanan.

Her arms tightened around the grocery sack as she reached the street on which Great-Aunt Mary’s house stood. Odd, she thought, that sleek gray Jaguar hadn’t been sitting on the curb when she left. Perhaps the Realtor had come looking for her.

Digging in her jeans for her house key, she didn’t see the shadowy figure on the front porch until she reached the steps. Then she stopped dead. She felt her heart skip.

Cyrus Granger Harden was every bit as tall as Mr. Smith, but the comparison ended there. Cy was dark and dangerous-looking even in an expensive blue vested suit like the one he was wearing now. He stepped into the sunlight. Despite the anguish of the past six years, Meredith felt a surge of warmth shoot through her body as she looked at him.

He was older. There were new lines in that long, lean face with its high cheekbones, thick black eyebrows and deepset dark brown eyes. His nose was straight, his mouth a sensual delight, its firmly etched contours so familiar that Meredith had to drag her eyes back up. There was a Stetson tilted arrogantly over his broad forehead, covering hair that had the sheen of a raven’s back. His lean, dark fingers held a smoking cigarette; so he hadn’t quite given up that habit, she thought with faint humor.

“I thought it was you,” he said without preamble, his deep, cutting voice as harsh as the unrelenting sunlight on her bare head. “I can see the bus stop out my window.”

As she’d hoped. So he had seen her after all. She gave herself a quick, mental pep talk. I’m older, I’m richer, I have secrets, and he has no power over me. She repeated it.

Her full lips tugged into a careless smile. “Hello, Cy,” she said. “Fancy seeing you over here in the slums.”

His jaw tautened. “Billings doesn’t have slums. Why are you here?”

“I came back for your family silver,” she returned with a pointed stare. “I must have missed it on my last trip through.”

He shifted uncomfortably, ramming one hand into his pocket. It drew the thin fabric of his slacks against the powerful muscles of his long legs, and Meredith had to fight not to look. Unclothed, that body was a miracle of perfection, all dark skin and dark curling hair that wedged sexily down his chest and his flat stomach and feathered his legs….

“After you left,” he said hesitantly, “Tanksley admitted to my mother that you had nothing to do with the theft.”

Tony Tanksley, she recalled, was the “accomplice” she’d allegedly been in love and sleeping with. Only a jealous fool could have imagined Meredith going from Cy to Tony, but since Myrna had paid Tony to invent the story, the details she’d given him had been perfect. A classic frame. But regardless of that, Cy had believed her capable of infidelity and criminal acts. Love without trust wasn’t love. He’d even admitted that his only interest in her had been sexual. What a pity that her mother hadn’t lived, couldn’t have warned her about giving a man everything without counting the cost. The lesson she’d learned the hard way had been expensive.

“I wondered why the police hadn’t come after me,” she said easily.

His powerful shoulders moved under the fabric. “You couldn’t be found,” he said tersely.

Not surprising, considering the fact that Henry had stashed her on a Caribbean island during her pregnancy, with Mr. Smith to protect her. Nobody, but nobody, had been told her real name. She was known as Kip Tennison after their marriage, period. Now she was grateful for that safeguard. She’d been afraid that the Hardens might try to track her, if for no other reason than to embarrass her.

“How nice to finally know that,” she said with faint sarcasm, watching his eyes glitter as she shifted the bag of groceries. “A jail sentence wouldn’t have appealed to me.”

His face became more severe, his dark eyes narrowed under those thick brows as he studied her face. “You’re thinner than I remember,” he said. “Older.”

“Twenty-five next birthday,” she said breezily, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re thirty-four now, aren’t you?”

He nodded. He moved his gaze down her body and back up. He felt as if he were dying inside all over again. Six long years. He remembered tears on that young face, and the sound of her voice hating him. He remembered, too, long, exquisite lovings in his bed with her arms clinging, her soft body like quicksilver under the heated thrust of his, her voice breaking as she moaned her pleasure into his damp throat….

“How long are you going to be here?” he asked tightly.

“Long enough to dispose of the house,” she replied.

He lifted the cigarette to his mouth. “You won’t keep it?” he asked, hating himself for being vulnerable enough to ask the question.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think I’ll stay. Billings has too many enemies in it to suit me.”

“I’m not your enemy,” he replied.

She lifted her chin and stared at him with pure bravado. “Aren’t you, Cy? That isn’t how I remember it.”

He turned away, his eyes glancing down the wide street. “You were eighteen. Too young. Years too young. I never asked, but I’d bet I had your chastity.”

Meredith flushed. Cy watched the stain in her cheeks with faint amusement, the first he’d felt since he’d seen her get off the bus.

“So I did,” he murmured, tingling all over at having his suspicions confirmed.

“You were the first,” she said coldly. She smiled. “But not the last. Or did you think you were going to be an impossible act to follow?”

His pride bristled, but he didn’t react. He finished the cigarette and flipped it off the porch. “Where have you been for the past six years?”

“Around,” she said simply. “Look, this bag is getting heavy. Do you have anything to say, or is this just a friendly visit to see how fast you can shoot me out of town?”

“I came to ask if you needed a job,” he said stiffly. “I know your aunt left nothing except bills. I own a restaurant here. There’s an opening for a waitress.”

This was really too much, Meredith thought. Cy offering her a job waitressing, when she could easily afford to buy the place. Guilty conscience? she wondered. Or renewed interest? Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to accept it. She had a feeling she’d see a good bit of the Hardens that way, and it fitted in nicely with her plans.

“Okay,” she said. “Do I need to apply?”

“No. Just report for work at six sharp tomorrow morning,” he said. “I seem to remember that you had a job in a café when we first met.”

“Yes.” Her eyes met his, and for an instant they both shared the memory of that first meeting. She’d spilled coffee on him, and when she’d gone to mop up his jacket, electricity had danced between them. The attraction was instant and mutual…and devastating.

“So long ago,” he said absently, his eyes dark with bitterness. “My God, why did you run? I came to my senses two days later, and I couldn’t find you, damn you!”

Came to his senses? She didn’t dare dwell on that. She glared at him. “Damn you, too, for listening to your mother instead of me. I hope the two of you have been very happy together.”

His eyebrows arched. “What did my mother have to do with you and Tanksley?”

He didn’t know! She could hardly believe it, but that blank stare of his was genuine. He didn’t know what his mother had done!

“How did you get him to confess?” she asked.

“I didn’t. He told Mother that you were innocent. She told me.”

Her heart trembled in her chest. “Did she tell you anything else?” she asked with affected carelessness.

He scowled. “No. What else was there to tell?”

That I was pregnant with your child, she thought darkly, that I was eighteen and had nowhere to go. I couldn’t risk staying with Great-Aunt Mary with a theft charge hanging over my head.

She lowered her eyes so that he wouldn’t see the fury in them. Those first few weeks had been the purest hell of her life, despite the fact that they’d strengthened and matured her to a frightening degree. She’d had to take complete charge of her own life and fate, and from that time she’d never been afraid again.

“Was there anything else?” he persisted.

She lifted her face. “No. Nothing else.”

But there was. He sensed it. Her eyes held a peculiar gleam, almost of hatred. He’d accused her unjustly and hurt her with his rejection, but her anger went deeper than that.

“The restaurant is the Bar H Steak House,” he said. “It’s off North Twenty-seventh past the Sheraton.”

Meredith felt her body go hot at the mention of the hotel, and she averted her eyes quickly. “I’ll find it. Thanks for the recommendation.”

“Does that mean you might stay for a few weeks, at least?” he asked, frowning.

Her eyes fenced with his. “Why? I do hope you don’t entertain any thoughts of taking over where we left off. Because frankly, Cy, I’m not in the habit of trying to superglue broken relationships back together.”

He went very still. “Is there someone?”

“In my life, you mean?” she asked. “Yes.”

His face showed nothing, but a shadow seemed to pass over his eyes. “I might have known.”

She didn’t reply. She simply stared at him. She saw him glance at her left hand, and she thanked God that she’d remembered to take off her wedding band. But the engagement ring Henry had given her—a diamond-cut emerald with small diamonds—was still there. She remembered how Henry had laughed at her choice, because the ring was so inexpensive. He’d wanted to give her a three-carat diamond, and she’d insisted on this ring. How long ago it seemed.

“You’re engaged?” he asked heavily.

“I was,” she corrected. True enough, she was, before Henry married her a week after the engagement.

“Not now?”

She shook her head. “I have a friend, and I care about him very much. But I don’t want commitment anymore.” She wished she could cross her fingers behind her. She’d told more lies and half-truths in two minutes than she had in two years.

His features were more rigid than usual. “Why isn’t your friend here with you, then?”

“I needed a breathing space. I came alone to dispose of Aunt Mary’s things.”

“Where were you living?”

She smiled. “Back east. Excuse me, I have to get these things in the refrigerator.”

He stood aside, hesitating. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Presumably he ate at the restaurant where she was going to work. “I suppose so.” She glanced at him. “Are you sure they won’t mind giving me work without references?”

“I own the damned restaurant,” he said shortly. “They can’t afford to mind. The job’s yours, if you want it.”

“I want it,” she said. She unlocked the door and hesitated. Since he didn’t know her circumstances, he was probably doing it out of pity and guilt, but she felt obliged to say something. “You’re very generous. Thank you.”

“Generous.” He laughed bitterly. “My God, I’ve never given anything in my life unless it suited me or made me richer. I’ve got the world. And I’ve got nothing.” He turned and walked to his car, leaving her staring after him with wide, sad eyes.

Meredith let herself into the house. It had shaken her to see him again after so many barren years. She dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter and sat down, her mind going back to their first meeting.

She’d been seventeen then, a week shy of her eighteenth birthday. But she’d always looked older than she was, and the uniform she wore as a waitress molded itself lovingly to every soft curve of her slender body.

Cy had stared at her from the first, his narrow eyes following her as she waited on one table and then another. She’d been nervous of him instantly, because he radiated self-confidence and a kind of bridled arrogance. He had a way of narrowing one eye and lifting his chin that was like a declaration of war every time he studied someone. Actually, she found out later, it was because he had a slight problem focusing on distant objects and was too stubborn to go to an ophthalmologist. She wondered if any of the people he’d intimidated with that level glare ever knew what caused it.

His table drew its regular waitress, and she’d seen him frown and ask the girl something. Seconds later, he’d moved to a table that was in Meredith’s territory.

The very idea that a man who looked like that should seem interested in her made her toes tingle. She’d approached him with a gentle smile, her face flushing with excitement when he looked up at her and smiled back.

“You’re new here,” he’d said. His voice was deep and slow, with delicious sensuality in it.

“Yes.” She’d sounded as breathless as she felt. She could still remember how cold her hands had suddenly become. “I just started this morning.”

“I’m Cyrus Harden,” he said. “I have breakfast here most mornings.”

She’d recognized the name instantly. Most people in Billings did. “I’m Meredith,” she said huskily.

He lifted an eyebrow, and the smile deepened. “Are you past the age of consent?”

“I’m…twenty,” she said at once, lying through her teeth. If she’d told him her real age, she knew instinctively that he’d have dismissed her.

“That’ll do. Bring me some coffee, please. Then we’ll discuss where we’re going tonight.”

She rushed back behind the counter to pour the coffee, running headlong into Terri, the older waitress who worked with her.

“Careful, chick,” Terri said under her breath when Cy wasn’t looking. “You’re flirting with disaster. Cy Harden has a reputation with women as well as in business. Don’t get in over your head.”

“It’s all right. He…he’s just talking to me,” Meredith stammered.

“Not when you look that flustered, he isn’t,” Terri replied worriedly. “Your great-aunt must live in a world all her own. Honey, men don’t automatically propose marriage to women they want—especially men like Cy Harden. He’s out of our league. He’s rich, and his mother would savage any woman who tried to get him to the altar unless she had money and connections. He’s upper crust. They marry among themselves.”

“But we’re just talking,” Meredith protested, forcing a smile while all her dreams crashed to earth.

“See that it stays just talk. He could hurt you badly.”

The sound of authority made her bristle, but she couldn’t really afford to antagonize a co-worker, so she just smiled and finished getting Cy’s coffee.

“Was she warning you off?” he asked when she put the cup and saucer in front of him on the red-and-white-checked tablecloth.

She gasped. “How did you know?”

“I took Terri out once,” he replied easily. “She got too possessive, so I broke it off. It was a long time ago. Don’t let her get under your skin, okay?”

She smiled, because now it all made sense. He was interested, and Terri was just jealous. She beamed. “I won’t,” she promised.

Remembering her own naiveté that day, Meredith groaned. She rose from the chair she’d been sitting in and went to put the groceries away. How could anyone have been so stupid? she asked herself. At eighteen, with a sheltered upbringing, she’d known nothing. To a man as worldly as Cy, she must have been a pushover. If she’d had any idea how things were going to turn out, she’d never have…

Who was she kidding? She laughed bitterly. She’d have done exactly the same thing, because Cy fascinated her. He still did, after all the grief and pain. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life, and she remembered those long lovings in his arms as if they’d happened yesterday.

Now she’d landed herself back in his orbit again and taken a job that she had no business taking. She was living a lie. But as she remembered the reasons for her visit, her blood began to boil. Cy had discarded her like garbage, she and the child she’d been carrying. He’d turned his back on her and left her to fend for herself with a theft charge hanging over her head.

She hadn’t come back to rekindle an old love affair. She’d come back for revenge. Henry had taught her that everyone had a weakness that could be exploited in business. And some people were better at hiding their Achilles’ heels than others. Cy was a past master. She’d have to be very careful if she was going to locate his. But in the end she’d get the upper hand, and he’d be out in the cold. She meant to cost him everything, to put him in the same horrible position he’d put her in so long ago. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities, and a cold smile touched her disciplined mouth.

Meredith was no longer a naive eighteen-year-old deeply in love with a man she couldn’t have. She held all the aces this time. And when she played her hand, it was going to be the sweetest pleasure since Cy’s treacherous kisses.