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Sample novel: TRUE COLOURS
CHAPTER ONE
MEREDITH STOOD by thewindow watching the rain beat down on Chicago, while her companionwatched her with worried eyes. She knew her face was showing thestrain of business, and she’d lost weight, again. At twenty-four,she should have had a carefree outlook on life. What she had was aburden of pressure twice the size most women couldcarry.Meredith Ashe Tennison was vice president ofTennison International’s huge domestic enterprises, much more thana shadowy figurehead who avoided publicity like the plague.
She hada shrewd mind and a natural aptitude for high finance which herlate husband had carefully nurtured during their marriage. When hedied, she had stepped into his shoes with such capability that theboard of directors reversed their decision to ask her to step down.Now, two and a half years into her term of office, company profitswere up and her plans for expansion into new mineral and gasreserves and strategic metals were well under way.
That explained the set of Meredith’s thinshoulders. A company in southeastern Montana was fighting themtooth and nail over mineral rights they currently owned. But HardenProperties was not merely a formidable rival. It was headed by theone man Meredith had reason to hate, a shadow out of her past whosespecter had haunted her through all the empty years since she’dleft Montana.
Only Don Tennison knew the whole story. Heand his late brother, Henry, had been very close. Meredith had cometo Henry a shy, frightened teenager. At first Don, to whom businesswas a primary concern, had fought against the marriage. Herelented, but he’d been faintly cool since Henry’s death. Don wasnow president of Tennison International, but also something of arival. Meredith had often wondered if he resented her position inthe company.
He knew his own limitations, and her brilliance andcompetence had impressed harder heads than his. But he watched hervery carefully, especially when she drew on her nervous energy totake on too many projects. And this fight with Harden Propertieswas already taking its toll on her. She was still getting over theaftereffects of a rough bout with pneumonia that had come on theheels of a kidnapping attempt on her five-year-old son, Blake. Ifit hadn’t been for the inscrutable Mr. Smith, her bodyguard, Godonly knew what might have happened.
Meredith was brooding over her forthcomingtrip to Montana. She felt she had to make a brief visit toBillings, home of Harden Properties and Meredith’s own hometown.The sudden death of her eighty-year-old great-aunt who had livedthere had left Meredith with the house and a few belongings of AuntMary’s to dispose of. Meredith was really her only survivingrelative, except for a few distant cousins who still lived on theCrow Indian reservation several miles from Billings.
“You arranged the funeral over thephone—couldn’t you do that with the property, too?” Don askedquietly.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, Ican’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 theopposition, wouldn’t it? They don’t know I’m Henry Tennison’swidow. I was Henry’s best-kept secret. I’ve avoided cameras andworn 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 almostsucceeded. A low public profile is invaluable. If you aren’trecognized, 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 Iwas, 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 herflight from Montana.
Pregnant, accused of both sleeping withanother man and being his accomplice in a theft, she’d been drivenfrom the house by Cy’s mother’s harsh voice while Cy looked on incold agreement. Meredith didn’t know if the charges had ever beendropped, but Cy had believed she was guilty. That was the hardestto face.
She’d been carrying Cy’s son, and she’d lovedhim so desperately. But Cy had used her. He’d proposed to her, butshe’d learned later that it had only been to keep her happy intheir relationship. Loveyou? he’d drawled in his deep voice. Sex waspleasant, but what would he want with a gangly, shy teenager in anyother respect? He’d said that in front of his vicious mother, andsomething in Meredith had died of shame. She remembered running,blinded by tears, her only thought to get away. Great-Aunt Mary hadbought her a bus ticket, and she’d left town. Left under a shadow,in disgrace, with the memory of Myrna Harden’s mocking smilefollowing her….
“You could give up the takeover bid,” Donsuggested hesitantly. “There are other companies with mineralholdings.”
“Not in southeastern Montana,” she replied,her soft gray eyes fixing on him calmly. “And Harden Properties hasleases we can’t break. They’ve made it impossible for us to get anymineral leases in the area.” She turned and smiled, her oval faceand creamy complexion framed by an elegant sweep of blond hair. Shehad the look of royalty, and the graceful carriage.
That confidence was a legacy from HenryTennison, who’d given her far more than control of his businessempire by the time he died. He’d hired tutors for her, to teach heretiquette and the art of hostessing, to educate her in business andfinance. She’d been an eager, willing pupil, and she had a mindlike a sponge.
“He’ll fight,” the thin, balding man saidstubbornly.
She smiled, because Don looked so much likeHenry when he set his lips that way. He was ten years Henry’sjunior and ten years Meredith’s senior. He was a good businessman,even if he wasn’t her best friend in the world. But Don wasconservative, and Meredith was aggressive. More than once they’dlocked horns over company policy. The domestic operation was herbaby, 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 willgive him something to do while I’m taking over hiscompany.”
“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 inkindergarten,” she reminded him. “I didn’t expect it to go intopneumonia. Besides, the takeover bid is crucial to my expansionplans. Regardless of how much time or energy it takes, I have togive it priority. I can ferret out a lot of information while I’mdeciding what to do with Great-Aunt Mary’s house.”
“There shouldn’t be a problem. She left awill. 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 breastsas she nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully. “I wrote to her, and shecame out here to see me several times. But I haven’t been toBillings since—” She caught herself. “Not since I was eighteen,”she amended.
But he knew. “It’s been six years. Almostseven,” he added gently. “Time is a great healer.”
Her eyes darkened. “Is it? Do you think sixyears or sixty would be enough to forget what the Hardens did tome?” She turned toward him. “Revenge is unworthy of an intelligentperson. 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 ofBillings in disgrace and pregnant.” Her eyes closed and sheshivered. “I almost lost the baby. If it hadn’t been forHenry…”
“He was crazy about Blake, and about you.”Don grinned. “I’ve never seen a man so happy. It was a shame aboutthe accident. Three years out of a lifetime isn’t long for a man tofind and lose everything he values.”
“He was good to me,” she said, smiling withthe bittersweet memory. “Everybody thought I married him because hewas 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 hewas until he talked me into marrying him.” She shook her head. “Ialmost ran away when I knew what he was worth. This—” she gesturedaround the elegant room with its priceless antiques “—terrifiedme.”
“That’s why he didn’t tell you until it wastoo late,” Don mused. “He’d spent his whole life making money andliving for the corporation. Until you came along, he didn’t evenknow he wanted a family.”
“He got a ready-made one.” She sighed. “Iwanted so much to give him a child….” She turned away. Thinkingabout that would do no good at all. “I have to go to Billings. Iwant you to check on Blake and Mr. Smith every day or two, if youdon’t mind. I’m so nervous, about both of them, after thatkidnapping attempt.”
“Wouldn’t you like to take Mr. Smith withyou?” he asked hopefully.“After all, there are Indians up there. Grizzly bears. Mountainlions. Crazed Winnebago drivers….”
She laughed. “Mr. Smith is worth his weightin gold, and he’ll take very good care of Blake. There’s no need tohave much contact with him, since he disturbs you so much.” Hedidn’t look convinced. “Blake loves him,” she remindedhim.
“Blake isn’t old enough to realize howdangerous he is. Meredith, I know he’s worth his weight in gold,but you do realize thathe’s a wanted man…?”
“Only by the state police in that SouthAfrican 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 fromthe CIA.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the KGB?” He threw uphis hands. “All right, I’ll try to keep watch. But if I were you, Iwouldn’t have that animal of his near me.”
“Tiny lives in an aquarium,” she saiddefensively. “And she’s very tame.”
“She’s a giant iguana,” hemuttered.
“Iguanas are vegetarians, and she’s not quitethat big. Yet. Besides, he’s still grieving for Dano.”
“Dano was a five-foot iguana,” he said. “Heactually petted the horrible thing. I think it ate my dog, that dayyou and Blake visited me and he brought the vile thing withhim.”
“Your dog ran away. Iguanas don’t eatdogs.”
“And he’s raising a replacement for it,” hemoaned. “Can’t he put it up if I have to come overhere?”
“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 getthose mineral leases away from the Hardens. I’ll have to do somescouting first,” she added. “I want to see how the Hardens areplaced these days.” Her face darkened. “I want to see howhe’s placed.”
“He probably knows who you are by now, so becareful.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she replied. “I made apoint of finding out. Henry was very protective of me at first, sohe never told people anything about me. Since he always called me‘Kip,’ there’s very little likelihood that Cyrus Harden has anyinkling about my connection with Tennison International. He onlyknows me as Meredith Ashe. If I leave the Rolls here and don’tflash my diamonds, he won’t know who I am. More important,” sheadded coldly, “his mother won’t know.”
“I’ve never thought of Cy Harden as a mama’sboy,” he mused.
“He isn’t. But Mama is a prime mover, asecretive manipulator. I was eighteen and no match for her shrewdmind. She got rid of me with ridiculous ease. Now it’s my turn tomanipulate. I want Harden Properties. And I’m going to getit.”
He opened his mouth to warn her but after asecond thought gave up. She’d known Cy Harden as a man, even as alover. But she knew nothing about the business head on those broadshoulders, and if she pursued the takeover bid, she was going tofind herself in over her own head. Others had tried to take onHarden, to their cost. He was a formidable foe, among the mostruthless of businessmen.
He and Henry had butted heads severaltimes. Probably Harden didn’t know why Tennison hated him so, ordeliberately tried to foil deals for him. It had been a shock toeveryone when Henry was invited to sit on the Harden Propertiesboard of directors. Harden had engineered that move so that hecould keep an eye on Tennison’s business deals, but it had workedto Henry’s advantage as well, so he’d accepted. Naturally Don wentto the meetings, and Meredith’s name was nevermentioned.
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” sheasked, narrow-eyed.
“No,” he said honestly. “His is afamily-based company. He holds forty percent and his mother hasfive. That means you have toget his great-uncle’s ten percent and the fifteen percent held byhis directors and the remaining shares from his unrelatedstockholders. I don’t think any of them are brave enough to goagainst Cy, despite the financial rewards.”
“By the time their next board of directorsmeetings rolls around, I expect to have those proxies,” she toldDon firmly. “And is Mr. Harden due for a surprise when I show upwith them, and you, in his boardroom.”
“Just be careful that your surprise doesn’tbackfire,” he cautioned. “Don’t underestimate him. Henry neverdid.”
“Oh, I won’t.” She stretched lazily. “What’son the agenda for this afternoon? I have to do some shopping.” Sheindicated her expensive suit. “Little Meredith Ashe could neverhave afforded anything like this. I don’t want anyone to think I’veprospered.”
“‘O what a tangled web we weave, when firstwe 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’mdoing.”
He shrugged. “I hope so.”
DON’S MOROSE TONEhaunted Meredith all day. As she packed her new clothes thatevening in Mr. Smith’s borrowed secondhand suitcase, Blake sprawledon 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’renever here.”
She felt a twinge of guilt. Her son wasright. But she couldn’t afford to give in to that stubborndetermination of his. Blake was as formidable in his young way asshe was.
“Business, my darling,” she replied, smiling.She stared at him lovingly. He looked nothing like her. He was hisfather, from his dark hair tohis deep-set brown eyes and olive complexion. He was going to betall 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 hergrief and shame. His mother had done her part to break up whatmight have been an honest love affair. God knew, he’d always feltguilty about her. Probably he’d have felt even more guilt if he’dknown that she was only eighteen to his twenty-eight. She’d liedand told him she was twenty.
He’d said even then that it was likerobbing the cradle. But his passion for her had been a helpless,deeply resented one that had cost him his stoic self-control timeand time again. She often thought that he’d hated her for that, formaking him vulnerable.
His mother had hated her, certainly. The factthat Meredith had been living with her great-aunt and uncle on theCrow reservation—and the fact that her great-uncle was a respectedelder at that—had been a scandalous shock to Mrs. Myrna GrangerHarden. Myrna belonged to the social set and made no secret of hersnobbery. That her son had dared to embarrass her by dating theniece of one of his employees had haunted her, especially whenshe’d already hand-picked a wife for him—one Lois Newly, a localdebutante whose people had property in Alberta, Canada, and couldtrace their ancestry back to royal England. Myrna had never evenbothered to ask Meredith if she was Indian. She’d taken it forgranted, when actually Meredith was only related to UncleRaven-Walking by marriage.
There were dark-skinned people in Cy’sbackground. Myrna swore they were French, but Meredith had onceheard someone mention that Cy’s ancestors contained a full-bloodedSioux on his father’s side. Many Plains people had mixed ancestry, but most of them weren’t asprejudiced and snobbish as Myrna Harden.
Blake Garrett Tennison would someday have tobe 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 realfather. In most senses, he was. Henry had spoiled Meredithshamefully, attended LaMaze classes with her, treated her pregnancyas if he’d been responsible for it, and showered her with luxurieswhen little Blake was born. He stayed with her through thedelivery, 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 earnedthe right.
She often wondered why Cy had apparentlynever considered the possibility of Meredith becoming pregnantduring their brief affair. Presumably his women were usually on thePill, because he’d never even asked if she was. Not that he’d beenin any condition to ask, the first time or the others. She dreamedabout him sometimes, about the fierce pleasure he’d taught her toshare with him. But she never told Henry about the dreams orcompared him with Cy. It wouldn’t have been fair. Henry was agentle, skillful lover, but she’d never attained the heights withhim that Cy had taken her to so effortlessly.
Blake cuddled his plush toy alligator. “Isn’tBarry the Alligator nice?” he asked. “Mr. Smith let me pet Tiny. Hesays you should let me have an iguana, too, Mommy. They make verynice pets.”
She laughed gently at Blake’s adult-soundingspeech. He was almost six, and he already had a tremendous grasp oflanguage. He would be ready to start first grade next year. Thisyear he attended private kindergarten until one each afternoon, andhe was learning fast. Meredith knew that Cy had never married. Sheallowed 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 theyouthful image she tried so hard to project.
“Can’t I have an iguana?” Blakepersisted.
“You can pet Tiny, when Mr. Smith letsyou.”
“Doesn’t Mr. Smith have a first name?” heasked, frowning.
She laughed. “Nobody has the nerve to ask,”she whispered.
He laughed, too, his young voice delightfullycarefree. Had she ever been that happy, she wondered, even as achild? The premature death of her parents had left scars. Thank Godthere 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 withyou.”
“One day soon,” she promised. “Then I’ll takeyou to the Crow reservation and you can meet some of your Indiancousins.”
“Real Indians?” he asked.
“Real Indians. I want you to be proud of yourancestry, Blake,” she said seriously, smiling at him. “One of yourdistant relatives actually scouted for General Custer before thebattle of the Little Bighorn.”
“Wow!” he said, all eyes. He frowned. “Whowas General Custer, Mommy?”
“Never mind.” She shook her head. “Timeenough for that when you’re older. Now, I have to pack.”
“Blake!”
The thunderous voice echoed along theupstairs landing.
“In here, Mr. Smith!” Blakecalled.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and atall, balding hulk of a man walked into the room. Mr. Smith had aMarine Corps tattoo on onebrawny arm, and he wore khaki slacks with an olive drab T-shirt. Hewas the ugliest, and the kindest, man Meredith had ever known. Hehad to be in his middle or late forties, but nobody knew just howold he was. He had a spotless service record and had come from asuccessful career in the CIA to work for Henry Tennison.
AfterHenry’s death, Meredith had inherited him, so to speak. From hisbig nose to his green eyes and square face, he was a treasure. He’daborted the kidnapping attempt on Blake. And nobody botheredMeredith when he was with her. She raised his salary every yearwithout his having to ask. Next to Blake, he was the most treasuredperson in her private life.
“Bedtime for you, mister,” Mr. Smith toldBlake without cracking a smile. “Front and center.”
“Yes, sir!” Blake saluted, laughing, and ranto the big man, to be swung up on his shoulders.
“I’ll settle him for the night, Kip,” he toldMeredith. His eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t go. You need anotherweek in bed.”
“Don’t fuss,” she said gently, and smiled athim. “I’m all right. I have to do something with Aunt Mary’s thingsyou know. And it’s a dandy opportunity to reconnoiter theopposition.”
“Recon what?” Blake asked.
“Never mind,” she told him. She leanedforward and kissed his rosy cheek. “Sleep tight, my lad. I’ll bealong to tuck you in.”
“Mr. Smith is going to tell me aboutVietnam!” Blake told her excitedly.
Meredith grimaced. Vietnam War stories hardlyseemed the proper bedtime tales for a young boy, but she didn’thave the heart to argue.
“I want to hear about the snakeagain.”
She frowned at Blake. “The what?”
“The snake. Mr. Smith is teaching me aboutall the animals and stuff in Vietnam,” he continued.
She flushed. She’d thought the stories wereabout something else entirely.
Mr. Smith saw the flush and almost smiled.“Fooled you, huh?” he asked smugly. “That’s what you get formisjudging innocent people.”
“You’re not innocent people,” she pointedout.
“I’m innocent of a few things,” he argued. “Inever shot anybody twice.”
She looked toward the ceiling. “My bodyguard,the saint.”
“Keep that up and I’ll go back to thegovernment,” he promised. “They treat a guy right.”
“I’ll bet they never bought you kidskinmoccasins and your very own Jacuzzi,” she saidhaughtily.
“Well, no.”
“And they don’t give you three weeks’ paidvacation and offer you free hotel rooms and carte blanche atrestaurants,” she continued.
“Well…”
“And they don’t hug you like I do,” Blakeexclaimed, throwing his arms around Mr. Smith’s thick neck as hardas he could.
Mr. Smith chuckled, returning the hug. “Gotme there,” he admitted. “Nobody in the CIA ever huggedme.”
“See?” Meredith asked smugly. “You’re welloff and don’t know it.”
“Oh, I know it,” he said. “I just like towatch you squirm.”
“One of these days,” she began, pointing afinger at him.
“That’s our cue to leave, Blake,” Mr. Smithsaid, turning with the boy in his arms to head for the door. “She’sgood for an hour on that subject.”
Meredith hid a smile and went back to herpacking.
TWODAYS LATER she arrived in Billings onthe bus. She could have flown, but that was an admission that shehad money. A bus ticket was considerably cheaper, and besides, thebus station was located next door to the office of HardenProperties, Inc.
She waited for her suitcase, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a pair of jeans and a faded denimjacket over a sweatshirt. She wore a pair of scuffed boots she’dused for riding back home, and she’d left off her makeup. By andlarge, she looked very much as she had the day she’d taken the busout of Billings six years before. Except that she had a differentsecret now, one she was going to enjoy keeping until the propertime.
In an office building just catercorner to thebus station, a man sitting at a desk happened to notice themovement of passengers disembarking. He got out of his swivel chairand moved to the one-way window, staring down with dark eyes thatseemed to burst with mingled emotions.
“Mr. Harden?”
“What is it, Millie?” he asked withoutturning.
“Your letter….”
He had to force himself to turn away from thewindow. Surely not, he thought. That couldn’t be her, not after allthese years. He’d seen her in crowds before, only to get closer andfind another face, the wrong face. But he felt as if it wereMeredith. His heart began to beat with the fierce rhythm she’dtaught it. He felt alive for the first time in sixyears.
He sat down, his tall, fit body in a darkblue suit so striking that even his secretary of many years staredat him. He was thirty-four now, but sometimes his lean, deeplytanned face seemed older than its years. There were lines aroundhis eyes, too, and threads of gray in his thick, black hair. He hadan elegant look for a man whoseprimary interest was agricultural properties and acquisitions andwho had a ranch and spent time with cattle and horses.
“Forget the letter,” he said abruptly. “Findthe address of Mary Raven. Her husband was Crow—John Raven-Walking,but they’re listed in the phone directory as Raven. They moved intotown two or three years ago.”
“Yes, sir.” Millie left to find the addressfor him.
Cy continued to sit, turning to read some newcontracts and an inquiry from one of his directors about a fewmining leases he’d refused to cede to Tennison International. Helooked at the papers without seeing them as memories flooded back,memories six years old of a woman who’d betrayed him and left townunder a cloud of suspicion.
“Sir, there’s an obituary here,” Millie saidas she returned thumbing through the local paper. “I saw it lastweek and meant to mention it. Well, I remembered, you know, aboutthat Ashe girl who was involved in the theft six yearsago.”
Cy bristled. “Her part in it was neverproved,” he corrected.
Her eyebrows arched, but she wasconcentrating 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 supposethey didn’t know about Miss Ashe at the newspaper….”
“Give me that.” He took the paper and poredover it. Mary was dead. He remembered her from the Crowreservation, where she and Raven-Walking had lived until the oldgentleman’s death two years ago. Mary had moved into town. God onlyknew how she’d managed to afford a house on her Social Security.
Cyhadn’t seen the house but knew about it because he’d seen her oneday in Billings. He’d questioned her harshly about Meredith, butshe wouldn’t tell him anything. She was frankly evasive and even a littlefrightened. He grimaced, remembering his desperation to findMeredith. The old lady had practically run to get away from him. Hehadn’t followed her, but he’d been tempted to go and see her. Thenhe’d realized that it would accomplish nothing. He’d only upset hermore. Besides, the past was dead. Meredith was probably married bynow, 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 beenMeredith he’d just seen. Someone would have to tie up all the looseends that Mary’s death created. He knew that Meredith was Mary’sclosest living relative.
He sat back in his chair, scowling. Meredithwas here. He knew she was. He didn’t know whether he was sorry orglad about it. He only knew that his life was about to be disruptedall over again.
