True Colors Read online

  "I haven't started yet," she reminded him. "I've got McGee working on proxy acquisition behind the scenes. All I'm doing is keeping the head honcho diverted while they work."

  "No, I don't think so," he replied.

  She folded her arms and watched Blake, waving back when he waved and called for her to see how high he could go. "All right," she said finally. "I got a little too close to the fire and singed my wings. But I won't make the same mistake again."

  "I hope not. I haven't forgotten how broken up you were that night we found you."

  She looked up at him warmly. "You saved my life."

  "I almost cost it," he replied. "I didn't even see you."

  "Did I ever tell you that you and Henry made me want to live?" she asked wistfully. "You even went to Lamaze classes with us, to learn natural childbirth in case Henry was out of town when Blake was born and you had to coach me. We did so many things together." Her eyes grew sad. "I miss him."

  "So do I," he replied. "He gave me a job when nobody else would. I was under indictment for murder. No prospective employer wanted me around. But Henry believed I was innocent. He hired me, got me the best criminal lawyer in town, and I was acquitted."

  "I know. Henry told me."

  He glanced at her wryly before he stuck a toothpick in his mouth and began to gnaw on it. "You used to hide from me at first."

  "I thought you might be ex-Mafia." She chuckled. "But after a while, especially after Blake was born, you were just family. I couldn't have imagined you changing diapers or washing an infant."

  "Neither could I, six years ago." His eyes softened as he looked at Blake. "But now I can't imagine not doing it. I don't have anyone," he added slowly. He didn't look at her.

  "Yes, you do," she said, her voice warm and caring. She touched his big hand briefly. "You have Blake and me."

  He took a steadying breath, and Meredith saw a tiny crack in that armor. It pleased her that Mr. Smith was touched, and it amused her that he worked so hard not to show it. But her face gave away none of her thoughts. Neither did his, really. She'd been around him long enough to see through his mask. Probably, the reverse was also true.

  "The boy is having some problems with bullies," he said, quickly changing the subject. "I took the liberty of starting martial arts training."

  Her eyebrows arched. "You're going to teach my son how to kill people?" she asked.

  "I'm going to teach your son how not to kill people," he corrected. "It will also teach him a body posture and assertiveness that will dissuade bullies from trying him. He'll learn to focus his mind, to concentrate. Most of all, he'll learn discipline. That's important for a boy."

  She relaxed. "Yes, I know it is." She studied him for a minute before she looked back toward Blake. "Okay. I don't mind."

  It was a major victory, because she hated violence. He grinned, pleased with himself.

  That night, Don arrived early to pick her up. He greeted Meredith with his most polite smile. Wearing a dinner jacket with dark slacks and a ruffled white shirt, Don looked very elegant. Not as elegant as Henry had looked, but not bad. Don had always been a shadow of his formidable older brother, and Meredith always felt a little sorry for him. Since Henry's death, he'd been a tower of strength, though, and his business sense had pulled them out of more than one tight corner.

  "You look lovely," he told her.

  She smiled. She was wearing a Paris original, emerald-green velvet and satin in a contemporary design that emphasized her slender figure and highlighted her blond hair and silky skin and gray eyes.

  "Thank you, Don. You're not bad yourself."

  "Have you read my memo on the Camfield Computer acquisition?"

  "Yes, with the other notes," she replied as he escorted her down to the car, where Abe, one of Mr. Smith's operatives, was waiting to drive them in the limousine. "You're very good at what you do, Don," she said seriously. "You're meticulous and cool under pressure. Henry would be proud of the way you've pulled this deal out of the fire."

  Don looked surprised. He glanced down at her. "I wasn't aware that you noticed what I do."

  "Well, technically I shouldn't, should I?" she mused. "After all, the foreign operation is none of my business. But I can admire business skill. I get a lot through the grapevine, you know. Your people would follow you over a snakepit."

  He smiled faintly. "High praise."

  "But earned," she said. She got into the back seat and so did Don before Abe closed the door and climbed behind the wheel. "Don, do you ever get tired of the pressure?"

  His eyebrows jerked. "Not really," he said. "Business is my life these days. I enjoy the challenge, I guess." He studied her, shrewdly. "How about you?"

  "I sometimes wish I had more time to spend with Blake," she confessed, toying with her purse. "Not that I don't enjoy my work. It's just that it's very demanding sometimes."

  Don averted his eyes. "You might consider delegating more."

  "Henry wouldn't approve."

  "Henry is dead," he said coldly.

  She started at his tone, her eyes searching. "Yes, I know. But I owe him everything, don't you see?"

  He started to speak and caught himself. "I know you're grateful for what he did for you," he said. "But you have to consider what you did for him. He was alone, totally alone, before you came along. He was literally working himself to death. You changed him, you and Blake. He died a happy man."

  She was touched by the comment. "I did love him, you know," she said honestly. "Not at first, although I was terribly grateful for what he did for me, and very fond of him. But by the time heby then, he was becoming my whole world."

  Don glanced at her. "It was a pity that he died when he did. I should have been on that plane. He was covering for me."

  "Oh, Don, don't," she said. She touched his sleeve, smiling sadly. "I'm a fatalist. I think the very seconds of our lives are numbered, that death is preordained. If it hadn't been in a plane crash, it could have been some other way. He didn't suffer. It was quick. Given a choice, that's what he would have wanted."

  "I suppose so." He took a slow breath. "I suppose it is."

  "You don't resent me, do you?" she asked suddenly, puzzled by a look on his face.

  "Resent you, how?" he asked, and his voice sounded strained.

  "That I got such a chunk of the corporation when, by all rights, it should have all gone to you."

  "Noof course, I don't resent you."

  She didn't believe him. His eyes wouldn't meet hers. "I'm sorry, all the same," she said. "It was Henry's doing, not mine."

  "I know that," he said stiffly. He crossed his long legs. "How are you proceeding on the Harden project?"

  The change of subject caught her off guard, but she recovered quickly and filled him in. "The only way is to outvote him at the board meeting, and in order to do that, I have to get enough proxies to force him either to relinquish the mineral leases or risk being thrown out as president of his own company. I'm still working on the proxies. Cy Harden doesn't seem to be noticing that his outstanding stock is being wolfed up, or that his out-of-town stockholders are being courted for proxies." She smiled in a faintly predatory way. "Hopefully, I'll be able to move in before they know what hit them."

  "It's always a mistake to involve personalities with business," he said quietly. "Even with noble motives."

  She blinked. "It isn'treally personal," she said, trying to defend herself. "I have to have those mineral rights for my expansion program."

  He gave her a knowing smile. "Yes, but we could get them in Arizona or Wyoming or even Colorado. It doesn't have to be Montana."

  "We?" she asked with faint hauteur, staring at him until his cheekbones flushed. "The domestic operation is my domain, Don," she said gently but with authority. "Whatever decisions are necessary, I make. Henry left it that way." She lifted her chin, her fingers clenching her purse as she remembered what he'd already said to some of her clients about her "holiday." Her eyes narrowed. "There's one other
little thing," she added. "Some of our mutual clients seem to have the idea that I'm having a holiday at company expense."

  "I wonder where they got that idea?" he asked after a minute with a bland look.

  "I wouldn't know," she replied. She shifted, angry that she couldn't flush him into the open. "Well, anyway, unless you have in mind bringing me up before the directors on charges of mismanagement, you have no real authority to challenge my business decisions."

  He was silent. "Don't be absurd," he said after a minute.

  She glanced at him. "Expansion always involves a modicum of risk. Henry was like me, he was progressive. You're conservative. We'd never agree on how to manage projects, which is exactly why Henry split the corporation and put us each in charge of our respective interests. I'll make money when I get those mineral leases. You don't have to approve, but I'm going to get them, Don, even if it means the threat of forcing Cy out of his company to make him give them up."

  "You may find yourself baiting a trap that you'll be caught in," he said slowly, his eyes steady on hers. "I've told you already that Harden is one tough customer. Don't think you'll blind him to what you're doing behind his back. He was playing this kind of game while you were still in school, and in business you can't trust anyone. Haven't you learned that yet?"

  "Surely I can trust you, Don," she said with a calculating smile.

  He averted his face. "Of course you can," he said harshly. "After all, I'm family."

  "I know."

  He shifted, his eyes narrowing as they gave her a quick appraisal. "You're right. I have no business trying to tell you how to run your part of the corporation. So if you'd like some help on those proxies," he said, "I could contact the people on the East Coast for you."

  She smiled. It was an olive branch, and one she was grateful to grasp. He had contacts that she didn't. For a moment she hesitated, but after all, he wouldn't do anything that would hurt Henry's corporation. The business was his whole life. "Would you have time?"

  He nodded. "I'll make time. Have you got a list of the stockholders?"

  "Indeed I have," she replied. "I'll run you off a copy tonight."

  Don looked visibly relaxed after that. He didn't mention the proxies again or the fact that he was crossing over his boundary to focus his efforts on what was basically Meredith's territory. Meredith felt as if she had a real ally for the first time.

  "I'm grateful for your help, Don," she said when they pulled up at the Harrisons' driveway, where guests were being taken up by limousine to alleviate the parking situation.

  "I'm on your side, Kip," he said easily. "You know that."

  But he didn't sound very convincing, and the conversation played on her mind for the rest of the evening.

  She moved from guest to guest, lingering with Senator Lane, who was very pro-conservation. He and Meredith had a lot in common, and he was sponsoring a bill that would benefit one of her companies. The Harrisons had to drag him away from her to give other guests a shot at his company.

  When she went to find Don, she came upon him unexpectedly, overhearing the piece of a conversation that puzzled her.

  "Ah, Kip," he said a little too loudly once he noticed her. "This is Frank Dockins," he introduced his companion. "He's comptroller for Camfield Computers."

  She held out her hand with a smile. "I'm very pleased to meet you," she said. "This is the first time I've had the opportunity to tell you how pleased we are that you've merged with us. Don has told you, no doubt, that I'm shifting some of the high-level executives in Tennison's domestic computer operations to work with you. We want the transition to be as smooth as possible."

  "Uh, yes," Mr. Dockins replied, clearing his throat. "Don was just telling me about that. You run the domestic operation, don't you?"

  She nodded, smiling at his accent. Camfield Computers was a very British industry, and Mr. Dockins, for all his time in the States, still retained the crisp enunciation of his countrymen. "Henry groomed me for it," she explained. "He found that I had a natural aptitude for picking companies that fit into our corporate structure, and a fairly workable financial talent. He developed me," she said with dry humor. "He used to say that I was one of his better acquisitions."

  Charmed, Mr. Dockins laughed, too. "Don says you have a young son. Doesn't the stress make home life difficult?"

  "More than you know," she replied, aware of Don's searching look. "I cope, I suppose, but Blake's childhood is passing me by. I'm not terribly good at delegating. I don't really trust people. Except Don, of course," she added with a smile at her brother-in-law. He frowned slightly and looked away.

  Mr. Camfield shifted his feet. "Nice party. Do you know Senator Lane?" he asked.

  "Not well. But I voted for him." She chuckled. "He was born and bred on the east side. A real gentleman, and he came up hard."

  "A good worker, too. He's been helpful to the conservation movement. Can't be bribed, either," Don added. He chuckled at Camfield's expression. "And no, I don't know that from experience."

  The Englishman chuckled himself, and the odd tension vanished as if it had never been.

  Meredith moved away to finish her small cocktail, and her mind drifted back to her first banquet. She hadn't even known which utensils to use. Henry had tutored her, pressing her hand warmly under the table, his blue eyes sparkling.

  "Don't worry," he'd whispered. "I'll guide you through it."

  She'd laughed, and his expression had warmed.

  "It's true what they say about pregnant women glowing," he'd said quietly. "You're beautiful, Kip. You've changed my life, you and the baby."

  His hand had gone gently to the soft mound of her belly, and his eyes had searched hers intently. "This is mine," he'd whispered. "Despite the fact that I didn't put him there. I'll love him, Kip. I'll love you, too, if you'll let me."

  The tears had been involuntary. Lack of manners or not, she'd put her arms around Henry's neck and hugged him right there. Incredibly, the other guests had smiled approvingly at her spontaneity and her obvious affection for her husband. After that night, no one ever accused Kip Tennison of marrying for money. Least of all Henry himself.

  Her hand touched her belly involuntarily as she remembered. Expensive perfume drifted to her nostrils, the rustle of satin and the soft whisper of silk and crepe de chine assaulted her ears along with soft conversation and background music. But Meredith was far away. The day Cy had sent her packing had been the very day she planned to tell him about the baby.

  For one long instant, she allowed herself to think about how he would have reacted. They'd been engaged. He'd never said he loved her, but children hadn't been something they'd ever discussed. He seemed not to want any. But he was wonderful with them. He'd had cousins with children of their own, and he was Uncle Cy to every one of them. Somehow Meredith knew that he'd have wanted Blake as Henry had, but she'd never know. His reaction had been denied her.

  ' Cy never knew the price he'd paid for her loss. Only Myrna Harden knew that, and Meredith doubted if any coercion was going to drag the secret out of her. She'd told Myrna she'd leave town if the older woman would tell Cy the truth, but she knew Myrna never would. Meredith would leave town when she had her mineral leases or Cy's company in the palm of her hand. At the same time, she might let Myrna see the grandchild she'd banished. The thought gave her a little pleasure, the first she'd felt all evening.

  That night, as she looked in on Blake before going to bed, she saw the resemblance in his face. He was the very image of Cy. Myrna would see that. But she wouldn't be able to acknowledge it without letting Cy know what she'd done. That would be her punishment, to see the grandchild she craved and know that he was lost to her forever.

  A cold shiver of fear moved along Meredith's backbone as a line of Scripture stabbed into her mind. "Vengeance is mine." She swallowed. Well, even if vengeance was God's domain, didn't He sometimes use people to carry it out? She closed her mind to any other interpretation. She'd waited too long, suffered t
oo much, to back down now.

  She hugged Blake good-bye Sunday afternoon and promised to let Mr. Smith bring him out to Montana shortly for a visit. Then she put on her wig and expensive coat and boarded the jet for Billings.

  Taking a cab to the bus station, she ducked into the ladies' restroom and exchanged her fancy gear and wig for Meredith Ashe's working clothes. She walked out of the bus station with every appearance of having gotten off a bus and whistled as she walked on down the street to catch the bus home.

  Her eyes wandered lovingly over the city of her childhood. Billings was special to her. She'd damped down her hunger for it during the long years of exile. But now that she was back, it was as if she'd never left. Wide-open prairie, rolling on the infinity of the horizon, stretched far beyond the city, beyond the banks of the Yellowstone River and the railroad tracks. She hadn't realized how much she loved it until she'd been exiled to Chicago. Now that she was back, she wondered how it would be if she could raise Blake here, let him grow up where his pioneer forebears had lived. She could tell him all the stories that her mom, dad, and Great-Aunt Mary had told her about his Irish and Scottish heritage, as well as the stories that Uncle Raven-Walking passed down about the Crow people.

  All the same, Montana was her home. She wished that it could be Blake's, too, but only time would tell if that was possible.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  » ^ «

  Meredith was tired from her weekend trip. She went to bed early but still felt as if she were dragging when she got up the next morning to fix herself some breakfast.

  The knock at the back door caught her off guard and brought back painful memories. When Cy had come to get her years before, he'd always come to Great-Aunt Mary's back door on the Crow reservation. It was less formal, he'd said dryly when Meredith had questioned him about his motives. Now, she wondered who could be calling at such an early hour.

  She pulled her pink chenille bathrobe closer around her body, because it was chilly even with the small gas heater, and brushed back her disheveled blond hair as she lifted the curtain to see outside.