Secrets
Page 14
Slade pushed such morose considerations aside. He strode toward Rick's office. He was aware that whatever Rick and Elizabeth had been discussing, the interview had ended some time ago. He hoped grimly that Rick hadn't convinced her to marry him. He had little doubt that they had discussed that issue. Of course, it was crazy for her to agree to such an alliance, but then, it was crazy for her to look at him the way that she did, too. There was going to be one hell of a battle around here if Rick had managed to persuade her. And Slade was used to winning his wars.
But then, so was Rick.
His stomach clenched at the thought.
Rick's door was open. He saw Slade and smiled. Apparently he was in a fine mood. "C'mon in, boy. You ready to do some work?"
Slade ignored what he perceived to be a slight slur and entered his father's office, a place he hadn't entered in years. Memories swarmed over him. Memories of being outside this door, while James and Rick were on the inside. "You strike up a deal with her?"
Rick closed the door. "Not the kind of deal you're thinking of."
"How in hell would you know what I'm thinking?" Slade asked.
"She's gonna stay a while," Rick said, ignoring the bait. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't run her off first chance you get."
"I meant it when I said I'm not going to marry her." If Rick even guessed he waged a private battle with himself over the woman, he would attack with every weapon he possessed. Slade knew it, so he spoke with nothing but conviction.
"You'll change your mind when you go over the books. When you see that we really are bankrupt. Then you'll agree to marry her and you'll agree to do it fast."
Slade looked at his father. Rick believed what he said. And if Miramar were really bankrupt… He could almost feel the damn noose tightening. And he had started to sweat.
"Let me see the books," he said abruptly. In that moment, he hated Rick, really hated him.
Rick smiled. "Better sit down. It'll take some time."
Slade's jaw was tight. He walked over to the desk and sat down in Rick's oversized chair. He looked up. Rick slapped three big thick ledger books in front of him. "You look like you belong there," Rick said pointedly.
Slade ignored the remark. "How far back do these go?"
"Nine years. They go back to the last year we made a profit."
"Tell Lucinda to bring me coffee and sandwiches," Slade said, snapping on the desk lamp. "I can see I'm gonna be in here all afternoon."
It was black outside. The sun had long since set, and Slade had been closeted in Rick's office since the early afternoon. He had just closed the last of the ledgers and he was in shock. Not only were they in debt, but they had been operating at a loss these past two years. At a loss. Even if they could make up the back payments on the mortgage, how in hell could they make future payments and operate the rancho? It was practically impossible.
Unless, of course, he married an heiress.
But she would have to be a mighty big heiress.
The noose was tight now. He could feel it. And he didn't think there was going to be a way out of this particular hanging.
He lunged abruptly to his feet and paced to the open doors of the balcony. The night was black but starry and bright. To his left the mountains were a darker, jagged shadow against the night sky. Ahead, if he looked hard enough, he could see the ocean glinting silver against the night. And if he strained hard enough he could hear the waves beating upon the shore with drumlike insistence. Usually he could be lulled into a momentary peace by the rhythmic throbbing of the surf against the sand, but not tonight.
He would have to make a choice.
He could continue in his refusal to marry Elizabeth Sinclair, which would be tantamount to turning his back on Miramar. And it would change everything. Because if he did so, Miramar would be taken away from Rick, from his family, from himself. The banks would take it away, divide it up, sell it off in pieces and parcels. Miramar would go the way of almost all the other great ranchos in the area. It was unthinkable.
He knew that if he should choose to stay and take up his birthright, that alone would not be enough. Had Miramar not been in such a deep hole, it would be enough. But it was too late for that. If he stayed, if he took over Miramar, he needed money and he needed it soon. From the correspondence he had perused, he had learned that the bank had made it clear that they had ninety days to make up the back payments or Miramar would be foreclosed. The ninety-day notice had been given when the bank had been taken over by a New Yorker-two months ago exactly. Time was most definitely running out. Slade had thirty days to get his hands on the sum needed just to prevent foreclosure.
It occurred to him that he could borrow the thirteen thousand dollars they needed now from Charles Mann. Charles would gladly lend him the money, although Slade had never asked him for anything, and he dreaded the prospect. Yet that sum would not get them very far. It would not make next month's payment, or October's, or November's or December's. It would not give them the capital they needed to make the changes necessary to take Miramar into the future as a profitable enterprise. Slade had always been very good with numbers. In his head he could calculate the kind of cash and the kind of time necessary to turn the rancho around and have it operating in the black. Five years would be a realistic assessment of time, but the monetary figure was astronomical. Never could he ask his friend for such a sum.
And Rick, who despised Charles, would never bring him in as a partner. And Slade would never bring a third party who wasn't family in as a partner. The kind of money the partner would bring would mean he would have control-assuming such an investor could be found, which was probably unlikely. The options available were decreasing with every passing second. Especially as he dismissed the very notion of Edward marrying Elizabeth. He would not even entertain the possibility.
Yet Rick was right. Miramar needed an heiress-now.
To even consider staying at Miramar-with Elizabeth-made him pause. Feelings long denied tumbled forth. He loved Miramar. He loved Miramar. This was his chance, his excuse, to stay. Even James would understand the necessity of his remaining. But marry her?
This was the excuse he needed to marry her. The perfect excuse. But would James understand that? Would James, if there were a heaven, look down on him and approve of him taking his woman as his wife?
"I don't want this," Slade said desperately to the night. Or maybe he spoke to his brother's ghost. At that very moment, he could actually feel a presence, as if James were there with him in the night-darkened room. "I don't want to marry her. I don't."
James was dead, but dead or alive, he would never share what was his. Not ever. Slade knew his brother well enough to know that.
He touched his neck, as if to loosen an actual hangman's kno
t. But his fingers merely brushed the sensitive skin of his throat. The noose, which seemed so real, was only a figment of his imagination.
Desperation washed over Slade. He didn't have a choice. He turned from the balcony, his eyes piercing the gloom. "I don't have a goddamn choice," he gritted. He almost expected his brother to materialize out of the night, his finger pointed, accusatory.
His brother, he knew, would never forgive him his lewd fantasies-fantasies he'd had nonstop since he'd first met Elizabeth, fantasies that were thoroughly carnal-much less the fulfillment of those fantasies. Could dead men read live men's minds? Slade fervently hoped not. Some were meant to be kept forever.
But James did not materialize. If he had been present-and Slade was torn between hope and dismay- he wasn't any longer. There was no one in the ink-black office except for Slade himself.
The solution washed over Slade with stunning swiftness. It was so obvious-and so impossible-that he laughed with absolutely no mirth whatsoever. He could marry her and get her money, save Miramar. But it would be a marriage in name only. And everybody who counted would be satisfied: the bank, Rick, James. Even Elizabeth would be satisfied, being the lady that she was. Everybody would be satisfied-everybody except himself.
He knew he was a bastard. He had been told he was a bastard by his father more than a few times, and the few women who had slipped through his life had also been quick to malign him. Even his own mother had found him somehow lacking and had abandoned him as an infant. His revulsion with the solution to this dilemma proved they were all right. But for once he would be honorable. For once he would be selfless. He would marry her, providing her with his home and his name and the protection she so obviously needed. It would be a marriage in name only. To the union she would bring her inheritance, and Miramar would be saved.
A marriage in name only.
He wondered if he could really do it.
Chapter 10
Slade left the office. He didn't bother to turn on the lights in the hallway for he could make his way through the entire house blindfolded. In the den he poured himself a hefty glass of tequila and sipped it, all the while staring sightlessly at the wall. In his mind he kept seeing Elizabeth, and because the solution was a marriage in name only, it was in a way he didn't want to see her, in a way he had no right to see her-in a way he would never actually see her.
The light snapped on.
Slade scowled. "Thanks."
"Knew it was you," Rick said. "We celebratin'?"
"Celebrating?" Slade smiled coldly. "You're celebrating, old man. I'm just drinking."
"You're gonna do it."
"Did you have any doubt?"
"Not really."
Slade tossed off the last of his drink and poured himself another one.
Rick came to stand beside him. "Pour me one, too."
Slade obeyed.
"Don't look so happy," Rick said. "Jesus! I see the way you look at her, like a goddamn torn that's been locked in an attic for a month! What in hell is so god-awful about marrying that pretty little gal?"
"Nothing," Slade said tightly. Rick was right on the mark. He felt exactly like the tomcat his father had described, although it had been at least three months since he'd had a woman, not one. "Nothing at all."
"You just hate doing anything that might make me happy. That's it, isn't it?"
"Believe it or not," Slade said slowly, "you really have nothing to do with my decision. I'm doing this for Miramar."
Rick winced. "You have a way with words, don't you? As long as you're being honest with me, why don't you try out some of that honesty on yourself?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means we both know you love Miramar and we both know that being my heir is no hardship. We both know you're being a stubborn fool just to fight me."
"You really flatter yourself, Pop. The problem here has nothing to do with you, except that it's your damn idea for me to marry Elizabeth. Has it ever occurred to you that I might not like the idea of marrying James's woman?"
Rick looked at him, frowning slightly. "James is dead."
Slade was furious. "Damn right. And that makes me the oldest," he said very tightly. "And after the wedding, we do things my way or not at all."
Rick had always known when to back off, and he backed off now. "Well, that's good enough for me," he said. "Look, don't go getting riled. We both know you were loyal to James when he was alive."
"And we both know if he was still alive this conversation wouldn't be taking place." Slade stared at his father. "None of this would be taking place."
"But he's not alive," Rick said abruptly. He turn his back on his son, refilling his own glass. When faced him again, he was smiling. "Of course, now you got your work cut out for you."
Slade regarded his father over the rim of his glass.
"How come I get the feeling I'm not going to like this very much?"
Rick grinned. "You probably won't. Edward would see it as a challenge, but not you."
"Edward would see what as a challenge?"
"Courting."
"Forget it." He slammed his glass down on the sideboard.
Rick leaned close, dropping his voice to a whisper. "We need cash and we need it fast. We don't have time for a prolonged engagement. I think you had better set a date for next week. And in order to do that, you got to get the little girl to agree."
"Next week?" Slade was shocked. But at the same time, he knew Rick was right. The sooner the better. But next week?
"Put on your courtin' clothes," Rick said, trying not to laugh. "And maybe a courtin' face, too."
Slade stared.
Rick said encouragingly, "I know you can turn her head if you try."
Slade said nothing. It was then and there that he realized that his agreeing to marry Elizabeth Sinclair solved nothing. Somehow, he was going to have to propose to her. Vaguely the fairy-tale image of a knight in shining armor, down on one knee, before a woman clad in what might be medieval dress, came to mind. The woman looked suspiciously like Elizabeth, the knight resembled James. He grew even grimmer. He shoved such ludicrous thoughts from his mind. He had not the faintest idea how he should propose-or even approach her. And Rick was right. What if she rejected him?
A feeling very much like dread swamped him. Of course she would reject him. Every woman he had ever spent a few nights with had rejected him. His mother had rejected him. And not one of those women had been ladies by any stretch of the imagination-and that included his mother, who had run off to live with a man other than Rick. But Elizabeth was a lady. She was not going to accept his proposal unless that knock on the
head had made her insane. Regardless of the attraction between them.
"You're thinking, what if she says no, right?" Rick was asking. "You can't just go up to her and ask her. She's not stupid. You better put on so
me courtin' manners, boy."
Slade barely heard. Now that the decision was made, he felt a touch of panic. He gripped his glass tightly. He did not think he would be able to take rejection from Elizabeth Sinclair lightly.
"You can't take no for an answer," Rick continued. "You seduce her if you have to."
"I am having difficulty even believing this conversation," Slade said, setting his glass down very carefully. "I am not seducing her. Keep your advice to yourself. You're the last person I'd listen to anyway when it comes to the subject of courtship and marriage." Slade pushed past his father, heading for the courtyard.
"Then maybe you'd better get some advice from Edward. God knows you need it from somebody!"
Slade wasn't listening. Outside, the air was cool and sweet with the scent of the orange roses that budded against the thick adobe courtyard walls. In the center, the fountain had been turned off, but the water bubbled up against the sides of the pool. His gaze drifted past, and settled abruptly on the doors of her room. They were closed.
Seduction was out of the question. Rick didn't know that it would be a marriage in name only. Slade wasn't about to tell him. It wasn't his business, and he knew his father's response would be ridicule. Rick was too much like him. He wasn't noble, either.
He stared again at her doors. Closed against the night, or against somebody like him. Anger suddenly washed over him. If she hadn't been engaged to James, he wouldn't be going through this. He wouldn't be staring at her room and, despite his best intentions, he wouldn't be beginning to tremble. The solitude and the silence of the night were his undoing, allowing him to become aware of his body and his most basic, primal urges. Need he hadn't felt since his brother's death had hit him hard the moment he'd seen her, and it had been growing uncontrollably ever since. If she weren't James's woman, maybe he'd have seduced her long before now, even though unmarried ladies were outside of the boundaries he'd set for himself. If she weren't James's woman, he could walk into her room and take her, right now, instead of staring at her doors and feeling as if he might explode right out of his own skin.