by Judith Stacy
“I knew you’d be narrow-minded about him.”
The accusation stung. Juliette had always prided herself on her liberal point of view. The McCords, it seemed, were an exception to her thinking. “You’re wrong to accuse me so rashly, Camille, when it is you who has been deceitful. And I’m not talking about dinner, either.”
The color faded from Camille’s cheeks, taking her happiness right along with it. Juliette regretted seeing it go. “You saw us, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re going to forbid me from ever seeing him again.”
“Camille.” Juliette softened her voice, implored her sister to listen to reason. “Your affair with him has no place in our lives.”
“That’s not true.”
“Our home is in New York. Not Nebraska.”
“I want to stay here.”
Juliette blinked. “In Omaha?”
“I’m not going back East.” Camille lifted her chin, the rebellion building in her features. “I’ve made up my mind.”
Juliette had never seen her so adamant. “I’m sure you’re caught up with the novelty of seeing Ryan and all, but, truly, you must distance yourself from it. It’s not fair to lead him on.”
“I’m doing no such thing!” Camille gasped.
“Nothing can come from your relationship with him.”
“I’m in love with him! And he’s in love with me.”
Love? Love? Juliette strove for calm. “What you’re feeling is a good dose of infatuation, that’s all.” She refrained from reminding Camille of her lack of interaction with the male gender in New York, that her social life was virtually nonexistent. Surely Ryan’s attentions seemed more exciting because of it. “Once we’re back in New York, you’ll forget him. We’ll expand our circle of friends. You’ll meet someone new in no time.”
“I don’t want to meet anyone else.”
Juliette gritted her teeth in frustration. “You’re talking nonsense, Camille. We’ve begun new lives in New York since Father and Mama died. Your doctors are there—some of the best in the country. I have my career there. Besides, where would we be without Aunt Louise? She’s helped us immensely. She loves us like we’re her own daughters.”
Camille’s mouth curved into a pout. “Aunt Louise doesn’t care one whit about me.”
“Of course she does.”
“She only cares about you and all the fancy buildings you can design. I bore her.”
“That’s not true.” Sympathy poured through Juliette. She didn’t know Camille felt like this, alone and hurt and inferior, and she reached out to draw her into an embrace.
But Camille jerked back, preventing her from touching her at all. “I’m a woman, fully grown, Juliette. I can make my own decisions about the man I want.”
Tru had said the same thing earlier this morning, but Juliette rejected the words now as she had then. “With Father and Mama gone, we have only each other. I’m responsible for you. I want what’s best for you.”
Camille’s fists clenched. “I’m tired of you coddling me all the time. You may as well know Ryan has asked me to marry him—”
Juliette sucked in a breath.
“—and I said yes!”
She staggered back. “What?”
“I refuse to deny myself Ryan’s love the way you’ve denied yourself Tru’s. And I won’t allow you to dictate my life like Father did yours, either. He ruined your happiness, Juliette, whether you believe it or not. If it wasn’t for him, you’d still be in love with Tru, probably even married to him, and then we wouldn’t be having this horrid argument now!”
Juliette’s world rocked, and she grasped the edge of the vanity for support. “Camille, please. Let’s start over, shall we? We’ll talk—”
“I’ve said all that needs saying.” Camille spun around, a slender tornado of rebellion when she’d always been so levelheaded and agreeable. She grabbed her coat and handbag and hurried to the door. “I’m leaving for a while, and it’ll do no good for you to come after me. I’m not coming back until I’m darn ready!”
“Wait!”
Though Juliette bolted after her, Camille was too quick, and the door slammed shut behind her.
Every instinct screamed with the need to give chase. But Juliette’s feet refused to move.
Going to have to cut the apron strings with her.
Tru’s words kept her frozen in place, her stare riveted on the closed door, her heart pounding with fear that the life she led with her sister had changed forever.
Chapter Four
Juliette removed her gold-rimmed eyeglasses and set them on top of the ledger. The numbers on the page had blurred together. Her brain was numb. She couldn’t think anymore.
She had to face the possibility that Tru might never sell his land to her, no matter how hard she tried to convince him otherwise. The resort hotel project would have to be postponed. Possibly scrapped altogether. The time and expense of finding a new location, of redesigning the structure to fit the topography of the new site, to say nothing of losing the opportunity to become a partner with the Waite and Caulkings architectural agency and stabilizing her very precarious financial situation…
The whole thing was most depressing.
Of course, marrying Tru would ensure her dreams would come true.
Her refusal would destroy them.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned.
And then there was Camille. Her dear, sweet sister fancied herself in love with Ryan McCord, and was taken with the foolish notion of marrying him. The idea of leaving Camille behind in Nebraska while Juliette returned to New York was unthinkable.
For the hundredth time, she checked the diamond watch piece that had once been their mother’s. Camille had been gone more than two hours.
Feeling miserable, Juliette snapped the case closed, rose from her chair and strode to the window. She parted the drapes wide and stared into the street below with a heavy sigh.
What if she failed in preventing Camille and Ryan from marrying? Did she have a right to try? Should she heed Tru’s advice—cut the apron strings and let Camille make her own decision about whom she wanted to marry?
For the first time, Juliette began to see herself living alone in New York with only her career to occupy her life. She had Aunt Louise, of course, but her aunt was getting on in years, and what was the success of Juliette’s career worth if she didn’t have Camille to share it with?
Her sister was the only close family she had left. Juliette must figure out a way to keep Camille with her in New York, and already too much time had passed. She must find her before she did anything rash. They would talk. Compromise. Together, they’d discover a way to smooth over their differences.
The afternoon was nearly half gone, and she had no idea where Camille might be. Feeling rushed, a little frantic, but greatly determined, Juliette dashed from the room.
No one had seen her. Not the hotel clerk who thought he remembered someone of Camille’s age and description in the lobby earlier, but couldn’t be sure. Not the dress shop owner down the street who rather haughtily declared young women entered her establishment all day long, and how was she supposed to remember a certain one? Not the flirtatious delicatessen owner who specialized in Camille’s favorite smoked sausages, but would Juliette mind having a glass of wine with him when he closed for the day?
Up and down the streets Juliette walked, hoping to find Camille on one of them. Even a hasty call on Sarah in the hopes that Camille had spent the afternoon with her, after all, failed to produce any news.
The sun showed signs of setting alarmingly soon, and Juliette debated contacting the Omaha Police Department for help. How could she possibly find her sister in the dark by herself?
Juliette fought tears of frustration and panic. She was exhausted and cold—she hadn’t thought to bring a coat in her haste—and it was a long walk back to the hotel. She clung to the hope that Camille had returned and was waiting for he
r in their room. If she wasn’t, Juliette thought in despair, what would she do next?
With every step she took, finding her sister seemed more and more hopeless. Time ticked on, block after block, and as she approached a small, nondescript dining hall, a group of men and women on the boardwalk blocked her way. She veered toward the street to avoid them.
But there was something about one of the men that snagged her attention. The way he carried himself, his hip slightly cocked as he waited his turn to go inside. The breadth of his shoulders, the slight curl to the coffee-colored hair hanging past his collar…
“Tru,” she breathed, her heart squeezing with relief at the sight of him. He would help her. Surely he would. She lifted her skirts and rushed forward. “Tru!”
At her call, he turned. Beneath the brim of his Stetson, something flickered in his expression, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing herself into his arms.
“Juliette.”
The low timbre of his voice wrapped around her, the tone rough with wary surprise and concern. She swallowed down a sudden welling of emotion. She’d never been so glad to see him in her life.
“Oh, Tru. It’s Camille.” She stopped short, her gaze clinging to his. “I can’t find her anywhere, and I’ve been looking for hours.”
“Camille? What happened?”
“We argued, and—and she left in the worst huff. I’ve never seen her so upset. Then when she didn’t come back, I went out looking for her, but it’s been so long, and—”
Juliette halted. She was babbling like an idiot, and she needed a minute to compose herself. Was she making any sense at all?
Someone moved beside Tru—a woman about Juliette’s age dressed in a prim shirtwaist and navy-blue skirt. She was strikingly pretty in a clean, wholesome way, and she stared at Juliette with unabashed curiosity.
Her hand was tucked inside Tru’s elbow, and, mortified, Juliette took a hasty step backward.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Tru,” she said. “I’m intruding upon w-whatever you were doing, and I didn’t mean to—to bother you about Camille.”
“You’re not bothering me.” He turned toward the woman. “Gaylene, go on in without me. I’ll join you when I can.”
“Of course,” she said softly, dragging her gaze from Juliette and smiling brightly up at him. Patting his arm with gentle affection, she pulled free while he said something to another couple, obviously explaining the situation and making arrangements for her in his absence.
Juliette’s dismay deepened, and she turned away guiltily. It’d been selfish of her to barge in on his plans for the evening. Of course he would have plans. With friends.
Female friends.
She shivered suddenly and crossed her arms under her breasts. It shouldn’t matter that he was with the woman named Gaylene, but it did, and Juliette would give her last dollar to be on any Omaha street but this one.
“You’re cold.”
Tru stepped closer, and before she realized his intent, he’d draped his jacket across her shoulders. A delicious warmth seeped into her, and her fingers automatically moved to pull it closer. His scent enveloped her—a sensual blend of tobacco and leather. Pure male. In the times she’d been with him, she’d never known him to wear cologne like the smooth-skinned men she associated with in New York. He had no need of the frivolity.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“You look like you could use a drink.” He took her elbow and steered her away from the dining hall.
Juliette tossed an uncertain glance behind her. “But the hotel is the opposite direction.”
“You staying at the Paxton?”
“Yes.”
“Most expensive hotel in the city. I expected as much,” he muttered.
Juliette declined to tell him the Paxton was Aunt Louise’s idea, that it was important to make a good impression on Stephen Dunn and Charles Hatman, and that her aunt had insisted on paying the hotel costs herself. In light of Juliette’s worry about Camille, Tru’s opinion of her accommodations held little relevance.
He slowed, reached around her, pulled the door open to a small eatery. Lettering on the door’s window proclaimed the place Stan’s Restaurant. Resting a hand at the small of her back, Tru nudged her inside.
“We’ll stop in here. We need to talk,” he said.
The place was almost deserted, and after traipsing along crowded boardwalks all afternoon, Juliette welcomed the serenity. Enticing aromas of seasoned beef and baking bread filled the air. A mahogany-topped bar occupied a corner of the room. Rows of shining glasses and bottles of assorted wines, whiskeys and brandies lined the wall behind it. Wooden tables were scattered throughout, not one boasting a starched tablecloth, vase of flowers or burning candle. The simplicity of the place appealed to her.
“Be right with you, Tru,” a white-aproned man said, peering out from behind the kitchen door. “Seat yourself.”
Tru lifted a hand in agreement. “Take your time, Stan.”
He pulled out a chair, and Juliette sat, keeping his jacket about her. She wasn’t ready to relinquish the garment just yet, not when wearing it gave her comfort, no matter how silly the notion sounded.
“You still favor claret?” Tru asked.
A curious warmth spread through her that he remembered her favorite wine. “Yes, but I shouldn’t stay. I have to keep looking for Camille.”
“It’ll be easier to find her when you’re not wound so tight. A glass will relax you.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue. “All right. But I’ll only stay a few minutes.”
He left her sitting and made his way to the bar. In only a moment, he returned, a tall beer bottle in one hand, a glass of red wine in the other.
Juliette eyed him dubiously as she accepted the libation. “You certainly know your way around here. The proprietor doesn’t mind you helping yourself like this?”
“What you’re really wondering is how can Stan trust a McCord alone in his restaurant while his back is turned.”
She stiffened at his sarcasm. Was that what she’d been thinking, deep down?
“I’m good for what I take, Juliette. Stan knows it. I’ve never given him reason to think otherwise.”
She lowered her lashes. She deserved the rebuke, she supposed. Her opinion of the McCords had been less than complimentary for a long time, yet would she be here with Tru now if she didn’t trust him to help her find Camille?
Confusion warred within her, and she sought refuge in a good-size sip of the claret.
“So you’ve been walking the streets looking for your sister,” Tru said, settling into his chair. He removed his Stetson and tossed it onto the tabletop.
“Yes.” Juliette sighed. “All afternoon.”
“You aren’t dressed for it. Which leads me to believe you left in one hell of a hurry.”
“I did.”
He reached under the table. His lean fingers grasped her calf and lifted. Before she knew it, he had her shoe off and her foot cradled in his lap.
She tensed. “Tru! What are you doing?”
“Damn shoes of yours are worthless. Bet your feet hurt, don’t they?” The warmth of his hand soaked through her silk stockings as he massaged the sole of her foot with slow, heavenly strokes. “They’re cold, too.”
There were no linens on the table to hide what he was doing, but Juliette didn’t care. She almost purred aloud from the massage, and she sank a little lower in her chair to allow him easier access. “I paid a fortune for these shoes, I’ll have you know.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re still worthless,” he grunted.
She couldn’t help a smile. Tru had always been forthright in his opinions. In this instance, she conceded he might be right.
“You and Camille had a spat, then,” he said.
“The worst.”
“Did Ryan figure into it?”
She met his gaze squarely. “He did.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“They
’re planning to be married.”
“I know.”
“We have to stop them.”
Tru’s brow shot up. “We?”
“Of course. He won’t listen to me.”
“I’d warrant Camille isn’t listening to you, either. Which is why you two argued.”
“Very perceptive,” she muttered, and sipped again from the claret. Clearly, Ryan was quite frank about his relationship with Camille. If only Camille had been the same with her. “I gather you have no qualms about them as husband and wife?”
“None.”
So she stood alone against the three of them. “But you should. They hardly know each other. How can Ryan provide for her? And she doesn’t belong on a ranch in Nebraska. She’s not suited to it.”
Tru’s mouth tightened. The massaging ended, but he kept a firm hold on her foot. “What you’re saying is Ryan’s not good enough for her.”
Juliette hesitated, her mind working to find the right words. “I’m saying their worlds are very different.”
“A Blanchard doesn’t belong in a McCord’s world?”
She refused to back down. “Not in this case. No.”
He released her foot, reached for the other. “You’re a female version of your father.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Stubborn. Narrow-minded. Egotistical as hell.”
“Call me every name you can think of, Tru. It won’t change the way I feel.” But his words hurt. Camille had called her narrow-minded, too. “Please try to understand my side of it. Perhaps you’ve heard how ill Camille had been with the scarlet fever?”
He scowled, but his fingers moved soothingly over her foot again. “Yes.”
“She’s accustomed to living in the city. Being a rancher’s wife is vastly different. I don’t know that she can adapt.”
“There you go. Making decisions for her without hearing her side of it. Obviously, she wants to be a rancher’s wife.”
“She knows nothing of being one.”
“She’ll learn.”