Imperfect Paradise
by Barrie Bryan

(c) copyright Billie and Herb Houston, August 2001
cover art by Jenny Dixon
ISBN 1-58608-250-7
Gemstar Edition 1-58608-389-9
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, Ga 31636

Other books available at NCP by Barri Bryan
Honky Tonk Cowboy
After the Alamo
A Love Like Mine
Return to Paradise
A Single Thread

Chapter One

Zoe Martin wheeled her little Toyota into the parking lot, pulled into an empty slot, slammed on the brakes, and glanced at her watch. Damn! She was ten minutes late. Pulling her keys from the ignition, she jumped from the car, kicked the door shut, and hurried toward the hotel entrance. Halfway across the sticky pavement caution - or was it cowardice - made her slow her pace. Was she making a mistake, applying for a summer job with a man she knew only by reputation? And what a reputation! The public perception of Holt Hamilton was that of aging playboy and unscrupulous business tycoon.

Zoe's instructions were to be in the hotel lobby at twelve-thirty sharp. Pushing down her anxieties, she took a deep breath, yanked the door open, and stepped inside. Mistake or no mistake, she needed this job.

"Miss Martin?" A tall man emerged from the lobby's dim interior and stood staring at her. "Are you Miss Zoe Martin?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked toward her, his penetrating glance scrutinizing her from head to toe. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks as a look of troubled surprise shot across his handsome face. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Unbelievable."

Zoe shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted in the direction of the approaching stranger. Dressed in tight jeans and a faded plaid shirt, he exuded raw masculinity and rugged charm. When she could find her voice, Zoe said, "I'm Mrs. Zoe Martin."

The man's boot heels echoed across the terrazzo floor as he bore down on her. "I've been waiting for you." Stopping directly in front of her, he extended his arm. "I'm Clinton McCann, Mr. Hamilton's attorney."

Zoe slipped her small hand into Mr. McCann's large one. "I’m a few minutes late. I was caught in a traffic jam." As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she thought that with those broad shoulders and that arrogant stance, Clinton McCann looked more like a renegade-hero from an old western movie than an attorney for one of the richest and most influential tycoons in America.

Holding onto her hand, the man stared down at her, his face still wearing that look of puzzled surprise. "I don't believe it."

Zoe pulled her hand free. "It's true. There was an accident on the freeway."

Mr. McCann seemed to pull his thoughts from another place. "I beg your pardon?"

He hadn't heard a word she'd said. "I'm a few minutes late because. . . ."

The handsome stranger waved her explanation aside. "You're Twelve minutes late, to be exact. Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you." Tension tightened in Zoe's stomach as he demanded, "May I see some identification?"

"My appointment is with Mr. Hamilton." Who did this man think he was, first doubting her word, then questioning her identity? Stepping around him, she hurried toward the desk.

Two swift strides brought Clinton McCann to her side. "I'm willing to show you my credentials, Miss Martin." His hand wrapped around her arm, stopping her headlong advance. "You must do the same. I need to know that you are who you say you are."

Zoe's eyes traveled from the hand of her captor up to his handsome face. The arrogance she saw there sparked a flare of anger. "The name is Mrs. Martin." She yanked her arm free.

Clint McCann's mouth twitched in amusement. "Excuse me, Mrs. Martin." Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he took out a worn leather wallet. His clipped, professional accent had been replaced by a slow and deliberate Texas drawl. "You show me yours, and I'll show you mine." He handed her a business card and a driver's license.

His sudden change in demeanor, coupled with his disarming smile and rugged good looks, left Zoe feeling confused and even more defensive. She scanned the cards, then handed them back to him. "I am now positive you are Clinton Jarrett McCann, attorney-at-law."

He was still staring at her with that strange, disbelieving look in his eyes. "Now you show me yours, Mrs. Martin."

Maybe she was being overly sensitive. Relenting, Zoe opened her handbag. "I have a driver's license."

"This is all? No credit cards?"

Zoe had surrendered her credit cards months ago. "I have a card that shows membership in my professional teacher's organization." That was the one thing she had managed to hold onto.

"That will have to do." Clint replaced his cards and put his wallet back in his hip pocket. "Relax. I have to make sure you're who you claim to be and not some news-hungry reporter looking for a way to get to Mr. Hamilton. He's a very private man."

Zoe wondered if paranoid wouldn't be a more apt description. "Is Mr. Hamilton in the lobby?"

"Mr. Hamilton is in his suite." Again, Clint took her arm. "This way." He propelled Zoe toward the far end of the lobby. "Mr. Hamilton would be swamped by reporters and curious onlookers if he showed his face in a place as public as a hotel lobby."

Zoe planted her feet solidly on the tile floor, halting their forward advance. This man was assuming too much. "Did the other applicants go to Mr. Hamilton's suite for their interviews?"

"There are no other applicants. You're it." Laughter rumbled in Clint's broad chest. "Mr. Hamilton expects you to come to his suite for an interview. Do you have some problem with that?"

Suspicion reared it's ugly head. "Yes, I do." Zoe didn't think for one minute that she was the only applicant for this position. She reasoned further that a man of Holt Hamilton's wealth and position would not waste his time and resources traveling several hundred miles and staying over night in a hotel to interview one applicant for a piddling little summer job. Her first impulse was to bolt and run, then she remembered how desperately she needed this piddling little summer job. "I can't believe I'm the only applicant."

"You are." Clint lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Do I look like someone who would lie to you?"

He looked like a fascinating, devil-may-care rogue. He wasn't menacing, but he was intimidating, and more that a little forceful. Zoe's chin came up. "Looks can be deceiving."

Amusement was turning to annoyance. Clint made an abrupt turn and hurried in the other direction, pulling Zoe along with him.

As they approached the desk, The clerk snapped to attention. "Yes, sir, Mr. McCann." Obviously Zoe was not the only person who found this man overbearing and intimidating.

Clint jerked a thumb in Zoe's direction. "Will you tell this woman who I am?"

The clerk adjusted his bow tie and cleared his throat. "Mr. McCann is Mr. Holt Hamilton's attorney." His gaze shifted from Clint to Zoe. "You must be Mrs. Martin."

The lines around Clint's mouth bracketed into a grimace. "So she says."

The clerk nodded his head. "Mr. Hamilton is expecting you, Mrs. Martin."

By now Zoe had regained some of her composure. "Ring Mr. Hamilton's suite," she instructed the clerk in her most assertive class room voice, "and tell him that I'm waiting for him in lobby." She turned to go.

Once again, Clint's strong fingers closed around her arm. "You heard the lady. Ring Mr. Hamilton's suite."

His barked command brought an immediate response. The clerk obeyed, then without a word, passed the receiver to Clint.

Clint grabbed the instrument and snarled into it, "Mrs. Martin wants a word with you." He thrust the receiver into Zoe's hand. "Mr. Hamilton is on the line."

The receiver was to Zoe's ear before she had time to protest. Drawing a deep breath, she questioned, "Mr. Hamilton?"

"Mrs. Martin?" The voice on the other end was deep and soft, with the slightest hint of a southern accent. "I'm so glad you're here. Did Clint meet you? Will you be up soon?"

Zoe's little niggle of apprehension wouldn't go away. "I'm at the desk. I'd be more comfortable if we conducted the interview in the lobby."

The silence on the other end of the line was punctuated by the clerk's sharp intake of breath, and Clint's almost inaudible, "Oh boy."

After an uncomfortable pause, Zoe asked, "Mr. Hamilton? Are you there?"

"I'm here." Another pause, "Mrs. Martin, I am not a well man. Appearances in public exacerbate my heart condition. Considering that I am seventy-two years old and in poor health, perhaps I could persuade you to come to my suite for the interview."

Put that way, his request seemed reasonable, and Zoe's reluctance childish. "I understand. I'll come up." With a defiant look in Clint's direction, she gave the phone back to the clerk. "Let's go."

The elevator was a private one. Clint inserted a card into a slot beside the door. "Such a provincial lady." His words cut, but his smile was devastating. Then he asked, "Have you lived in Summerdale all your life?" His voice was soft as silk with an edge of honed cynicism.

Zoe was at once repelled and intrigued. "The name of the town is Summerville." Even as she explained, she wondered why she bothered. "My father's family has lived there for five generations."

Clint chuckled. "How did a little country girl like you come to know a wheeler-dealer like Holt Hamilton?"

Over the ringing of the elevator signal, Zoe admitted, "I've never met Mr. Hamilton."

"Oh, really?" Clint held the elevator door open. "Then let me offer some advice." He waited for Zoe to enter the elevator, then followed her inside. "If you want to get along for Mr. Hamilton a little compromise would be in order."

Zoe knew she shouldn't read a second, offensive meaning into those words, but she did. Annoyance put a snap in her voice. "I'll keep that in mind."

The atmosphere inside the elevator was filled with air freshener and tension. Clint's reply came out in that aggravating affected Texas drawl. "It's to your credit that Mr. Hamilton is most susceptible to pretty little red heads."

There it was again, that insolent tone that infused his words with a second, derogatory meaning. The desire to tell this arrogant, intrusive man to mind his own business was overwhelming, but Zoe held her tongue. She chose instead to stab him with a stiletto stare.

Over the faint hum of the ascending cage, Clint said, "Relax. If you're qualified, you'll get the job." Laughter lit the blue of his eyes. "It might help if you'd smile." He sobered suddenly. "Are you always so testy and suspicious?"

Discretion forgotten, Zoe shot back. "Are you always so intrusive and irritating?"

Leaning against the side of the elevator, Clint grinned with nerve bending arrogance. "I was only trying to help."

Zoe doubted that. "I don't need your help."

A condescending frown pulled Clint's eyebrows into a straight line. "My mistake." A little jar brought the elevator to a sudden stop. Pulling the door open, he waited for her to step outside. "From now on, you're on your own."

His words had a chilling effect. There was something about this man, an aura of cynicism that Zoe found unsettling. As she entered the luxurious sitting room, she reminded herself that she hardly knew Clinton McCann. She decided to give him the benefit of a doubt. After all, he did have a rich, eccentric client to protect.

Clint nodded toward a chair. "Sit down. I'll tell Mr. Hamilton you're here." Striding across the room, he disappeared behind the double doors at the far end.

Zoe perched on the edge of the couch, and waited, and waited, and waited. Seconds ran to minutes, minutes expanded into double digits. Her nerves were like high tension wires. Much more of this, and she would be reduced to a jittering pulp. Just when she thought that another second of suspense would be beyond her endurance, the doors opened, and a tall, distinguished gentleman came across the room. He was followed by a scowling Clint McCann.

"Mrs. Martin." Holt Hamilton's deep-set blue eyes sparkled with a youthful vibrancy that gave lie to the lines in his face and the gray of his hair. There was something about him, an aura of refined and elegant charm that was, even at his advanced age, potent and irresistible. "Clint says you're nervous about the interview. You shouldn't be." He eased down beside her on the couch. "You come to me with the best of recommendations. John says you are more than qualified for this undertaking."

John McInnis, the principal of the middle school where Zoe taught seventh grade English, had recommended her for this position. "I'm pleased to know Mr. McInnis has so much confidence in me."

"How is John?" Holt asked. "I haven't seen him since he was a teenager and his father retired as my ranch foreman and moved his family to the city."

Zoe knew very little about John McInnis's personal life. She was grateful to him for being kind enough to recommend her to Holt Hamilton for this position. "John is well. He speaks highly of you and sends his regards."

Leaning back, Holt closed his eyes. "Did he inform you of the project I have in mind?"

Zoe's anxiety began to subside. "He says you're planning to write a biography of your late wife."

Holt raise his head and opened his eyes, then his features hardened. "It will be more than a biography, it will be a memorial to Sarah's courage and perseverance."

"Mr. Hamilton," A pang of uneasiness aggravated Zoe's new found confidence. "I'm not a writer."

"But John tells me you hold a degree in English grammar. That should be assurance that you won't split infinitives or dangle participles."

At least, Holt Hamilton had a sense of humor. That was more than Zoe could say for his prying attorney. "I am also careful to dot I's and cross T's. But I'm not sure I'm the person you need to help with such a monumental undertaking as writing a biography."

Clint, who had been pacing restlessly around the room, dropped into a chair near the couch. "I warned you, old man."

Zoe thought it strange that an attorney would address his client as, 'old man'. Her head swivelled to stare at Clint.

Holt ignored the younger man's remark. "The project will not involve so much writing as sorting and compiling. My late wife saved almost everything that was ever written about her. That, along with my knowledge of her personal history, should provide the materials needed to assemble the necessary information for her biography."

Zoe knew Clint's piercing blue eyes were riveted to her face. Refusing to meet his gaze, she stared down at her hands that were folded and resting in her lap. "But even at that, some knowledge of structure is needed. There will be decisions to be made about, point of view, tone, and rhetoric. All that requires skill and expertise."

Holt waved her argument aside. "I know what I want to say. All I need is someone who can express in words what I feel in my heart."

"Mr. Hamilton, that will not be an easy task." Even though Zoe desperately needed this job, she couldn't take it under false pretenses. Lifting her eyes, she met Holt's steady gaze. "The creative process is, in itself, a struggle to express emotions and experiences in a way that makes others privy to one's personal feeling." She sounded like a school teacher and a pedantic straight-laced one, at that.

Again, Clint interrupted, "You talk like you don't want this job, Mrs. Martin."

It was not his remark, but his offensive tone that set Zoe's teeth on edge. The time had come, she decided, to put this crass individual in his place. "Mr. McCann," she intoned haughtily, "Like is a preposition, not a conjunction. It shouldn't be used to introduce a subordinate clause in a sentence." Before the words were out of her mouth, Zoe felt a twinge of shame. She was being petty and querulous, calling attention to such a minor grammatical infraction, but she had taken all she could bear from this man.

To her surprise, Holt laughed with overt good humor. "That should hold you, boy, for a while."

Zoe could hardly believe that Holt Hamilton had just called his attorney 'boy.' After pondering for a moment, she dismissed the thought. She had enough to occupy her mind without speculating over terms of address between an eccentric billionaire and his testy legal advisor.

Clint frowned, but behind that frown lurked a half smile. "I'll order lunch." Without bothering to excuse himself, he sauntered toward the elevator.

Holt watched until Clint's broad back had disappeared through the opening, then he turned those piercing eyes back toward Zoe. "Tell me about yourself, young lady."

"There's not much to tell." Zoe shrugged. "I graduated college five years ago. I've been teaching seventh grade English at Woodrow Wilson Middle School. . . ."

Holt held up a silencing hand. "I'm aware of all that. John filled me in on your professional status. Tell me something about yourself personally."

"Again, there is very little to tell." A note of sadness found it's way into Zoe's voice. "I lost my husband some months back. He died of leukemia. We'd been married three years I . . . ."Her voice faded on the end of a half-sob.

"I am so sorry, my child." Holt's hard gaze softened. After an awkward silence, he asked, "Do you have a family? Parents? Brothers or sisters?"

Zoe struggled to gain control. "No, there was only me, and my mother and father."

"Was?" Holt leaned forward. "Where are your parents now?"

"They're both dead."

"I don't mean to pry," Holt seemed reluctant to pursue the subject. "But a man in my position can't be too careful. Tell me something of your early life and your personal background."

That seemed a reasonable request. "My father was a professional military man. He served in the Air Force for almost twenty-five years. My mother and I followed him all over the world." Remembering those happy growing up years made Zoe smile.

"That sounds like a fascinating life." Holt settled back on the couch. "Tell me about your early years."

Nodding, Zoe went on, "I was born in Ramstein, Germany. My parents and I lived in Aviano, Italy, Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines, Yokoto, Japan, and Anderson Air Force Base on Guam. We lived on a few bases in the United States, also. I graduated high school in Lakenheath, England. Then my parents sent me back to the states to live with my Great-Aunt Phoebe, and attend college. My second year in college, my parents were killed in an airplane crash. Aunt Phoebe died two years later."

Holt was hanging onto her every word. "So you're all alone in the world?"

"Yes." Phoebe Adair was my father's maiden aunt, his father's only sister and my last living relative."

"So your maiden name was Adair?"

Again, Zoe nodded. "Yes. My father was Colonel James Edwin Adair." Her uneventful past and middle class background should set Holt's mind at rest. "My story can be easily confirmed."

"I don't need confirmation. Your word is enough. I'm only sorry to hear of your losses. I know that losing someone you love can be a devastating experience." Laying his hand over his heart, Holt bowed his head and grimaced in pain.

Zoe asked, "Are you all right, Mr. Hamilton?"

"Just one of my little twinges." His face had turned an ashy white.

Zoe put her fingers around the old man's wrist. His pulse was racing and irregular. "Can I do something?"

"There's medication on my night stand in the bedroom." Holt laid his head against the back of the couch. "Will you get it for me?"

Zoe hurried to the bedroom, found the small vial, and raced back. Holding it out to him, she asked, "Is this what you wanted?"

Holt nodded. "Open it please and give me one of the tablets."

Zoe obeyed then laid the oval object in Holt's extended hand.

As he placed it under his tongue, he explained, "It's nitroglycerine." Slowly, color returned to his face, and he began to breathe more easily. "I'll be all right. I have these flare-ups now and then."

Zoe replaced the lid and set the vial of pills on the table beside the couch. "Should I call the hotel physician?"

Holt shook his head. "There is no reason to be upset. I have a heart condition. I've learned to live with it."

Zoe was feeling more nervous by the minute. "Maybe I should send for your attorney."

Holt frowned. "Are you referring to Clint?"

Zoe offered, "I can call the desk and have him paged."

"I don't need Clint. He's no help in a situation that requires sympathy or compassion, since he has none of either."

That seemed a cruel assessment, but Zoe suspected it was also an accurate one.

Holt patted the cushion beside him. "Sit down, my dear."

As Zoe perched on the edge of the couch, he reached across the small space that separated them and touched the back of her hand with cold fingers. "Now you see why it is so important that I complete Sarah's biography as soon as possible. Time, for me, is running out."

A sad reality took Zoe. For all his wealth and power, Holt Hamilton couldn't bring his wife back, nor could he beg or borrow time for himself. She thought of her beloved David who had faced death with such dignity and courage and felt a bond of understanding with this grieving man. "Are you sure you're up to tackling such a monumental task?"

"It would be a labor of love," Holt assured her. Then he asked. "Will you help me Miss Martin - Zoe?"

His words touched Zoe deeply. This ailing man was willing to dedicate the remainder of his life to writing a memorial to his dead wife. In the face of such devotion, how could she refuse? "I'd be happy to, Mr. Hamilton."

Holt brightened considerably. "That's wonderful, Zoe. May I call you Zoe?"

Zoe nodded her consent.

"Thank you, and you must call me Holt."

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Mr. Hamilton."

Holt's fingers rested feather light on the back of Zoe's hand. "Please, indulge an old man."

Zoe smiled as she relented. "Oh, all right - Holt."

The elevator doors opened with a clang, and Clint came boldly into the room. "Am I interrupting something?"

Holt didn't bother looking Clint's way. "You are indeed. Did you order lunch?" The attorney's suggestive words had left his employer unperturbed. Holt gave Zoe's hand a final pat. "I must rest now. You and Clint have a nice lunch, then you can iron out the details of your contract."

Zoe blinked. "Contract?"

"I don't want you to desert me midway through this project. The contact will be for twelve weeks. I believe John has already apprised you of the salary. Don't let Clint intimidate you. His bark is worse that his bite." Rising slowly, Holt walked in the direction of his bedroom. Pausing in the doorway, he turned. "I'm looking forward to working with you this summer." Stepping into the other room, he closed the doors behind him.

He had scarcely vanished from view when an elaborate lunch arrived on a cart. Clint signed the bill and stood watching until the waiter backed into the elevator, and the doors closed with a bang. Then he pushed the cart in front of Zoe and sat across from her. As he unfolded his napkin, he said, "You seemed to have charmed the old man. Eat your lunch, then we can get down to business."

The taunt in his voice infuriated Zoe. She placed her own napkin across her lap and took a sip of water to ease the catch in her throat. "There is no business to 'get down to'." She was not about to let this man intimidate her further. "I've accepted the position. I have some loose ends to tie up in Summerville. I should arrive at your client's ranch the first of next week. You can convey that message to him." That, she thought as she pushed her plate from her, should settle the matter.

To her surprise, Clint readily agreed. "I'll get the contract. You can sign it and be on your way." He added, with an arrogance that outraged her "The old man is taken with you. Maybe it's because you bear a remarkable resemblance to his late wife."

Zoe thought of Sarah Clarke, the beautiful red haired, green eyed actress who had captivated first a nation then the world, with her magnificent screen performances and her daring personal escapades. She had caught and held the attention of the public as few other personalities ever had. Remembering Sarah's fragile beauty and elegant, yet innocent air, made Zoe smile. She was sure Clint had not meant his remark to be a compliment, but she felt a brief elation.

Clint seemed to read her thoughts. "But I wouldn't put too much stock in that coincidence if I were you."

Why did he insist on making such derogatory insinuations? Did he think she had designs on a man who was old enough to be her grandfather? She could soon disabuse him of that foolish notion. "I have no personal interest in Mr. Hamilton." Folding her napkin, Zoe laid it on the table. "I believe you have a contract for me. Get it. I'm leaving."

"Mr. Hamilton? Clint raised one eyebrow. "Why be so formal? From what I heard as I came through the door, the two of you are on a first-name basis. For a country girl, you move pretty fast."

Why did she have this sudden impulse to toss her water in his arrogant face and walk out the door? "And I should be moving now. If you don't get that contract, I'll leave without it, and you can explain to your employer why the deal is off."

That superior grin that she could grow to hate creased the hard lines around Clint's mouth. "Eat first. This meal is expensive."

Something inside Zoe rebelled. "Good-bye Mr. McCann." Standing, she grabbed her handbag and hurried toward the elevator.

"Wait!" Clint called after her.

Zoe turned, her anger blazing forth. "What now?"

Clint tossed his napkin on the table and stood. "Don't forget your contract. I'll get it for you."

Clint McCann seemed determined to be as irritating as possible. Zoe couldn't imagine why. "Do that. I'm in a hurry."

Clint nodded toward her unfinished lunch. "Eat your meal first."

Zoe made a concentrated effort to hold onto her temper. "No, thank you."

With a shrug, Clint ambled toward the bedroom. "I'll be back shortly." He disappeared behind the closing doors before she could answer.

When he returned a few minutes later, Zoe was still standing.

"I hope you didn't mind waiting, Mrs. Martin. I did hurry." His terrible grin said the opposite was true.

Zoe snatched the envelope from his hand. "Good-bye, Mr. McCann." She stepped into the elevator and pushed the down button. It didn't budge.

Clint took a card from his pocket. "I have the key." He held it up for her to see before inserting it in the door. When it opened, he followed her into the cage.

He was doing this deliberately. Zoe couldn't imagine why. By sheer force of will, she held onto her temper. "Take me downstairs."

His condescending smile was infuriating. "Don't you know, Mrs. Martin that patience is a virtue?"

The iron grip Zoe had on her temper was slipping away. There had to be some other way out of this place. She would find it. "Get out of my way." She took a step forward.

Clint pushed a button on the control panel. The elevator door closed inches from Zoe's nose. She grabbed a side rail, trying to keep her balance.

Clint's hand shot out to steady her. "Careful, Mrs. Martin."

His touch sent a shiver down her spine and color racing to her cheeks. "Take your hands off me."

He dropped his hands and swallowed deeply. "It won't happen again."

The elevator came to an abrupt stop. The doors opened.

Zoe rushed into the lobby and hurried away without looking back. Behind her she heard the ring of Clint's footsteps as he walked across the floor toward the front desk.

Once outside, Zoe stopped to catch her breath. A feeling of elation was replacing her agitation. She had her summer job. That meant she wouldn't have to take a second mortgage on her home to pay medical bills.

Now she could concentrate on making the move to the Hamilton Ranch. Holt Hamilton seemed a nice enough person, and the salary he offered far surpassed the amount she could hope to make in twelve weeks anywhere else, plus she would have free room and board for the entire summer.

Zoe got into her car, put the key in the ignition, and gave it a twist. The engine purred to life. As she backed from her slot, she realized that for the first time since David's death, she was thinking of the future instead of lingering over the past.

Chapter Two

Zoe put the last bag into the trunk of her car and closed the lid. The utilities had been turned off until further notice, the telephone had been disconnected, the house was locked, her mail had been forwarded. She had even remembered to stop delivery of the daily newspaper.

No one except John McInnis and Robert Patton, David's best friend and college roommate, knew Zoe's exact destination. "I'll be working as a secretary on a ranch in far West Texas," was all she told curious neighbors when they asked why she was closing her house. "I'll be away until the end of August."

When John had first approached Zoe about meeting with Holt Hamilton, he insisted that she not tell a living soul the purpose of the interview. "The proposed biography must remain a secret."

Puzzled, Zoe asked, "Why?"

They were sitting in John's office. He came from behind his desk and shut the door before answering. "I don't know why. Mr. Hamilton can be a little eccentric at times. This seems to be one of them. He prefers the general public to think that he's hiring another secretary."

Zoe let the matter drop. Why should she question such a profound stroke of good fortune? "I won't mention the biography to anyone."

"It would be best if you didn't mention the interview to anyone, not for awhile, at least."

"Why all the secrecy?" Zoe asked.

"Mr. Hamilton doesn't like publicity. Do I have your promise to keep this between us?"

This seemed much ado about nothing. Nevertheless, Zoe agreed. "I promise."

She had every intention of keeping her word. Then she realized her promise of silence could endanger her teaching position. She needed legal advice. She called Robert, who was an attorney, and set up an appointment with him.

"You know I've been seeking summer employment," she informed him the moment she was seated in his private office.

Robert nodded. "I know."

Leaning forward, Zoe confided, "I may have found the perfect summer job. I'll know soon. I'm going for an interview next Saturday." Pausing, she took a deep breath. "Before I do, I need your advice."

Robert folded his arms across his chest. "About what?"

Maybe she was worrying needlessly. Zoe hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead. "My contract with the Summerville School District stipulates I must have permission from the school board to take extra employment."

David seemed unperturbed. "That's no problem. Submit a letter to the board telling them your circumstances and ask for permission to seek summer employment. I can draft the letter for you, if you'd like."

"Would you please?"

"I'd be glad to." He picked up a pencil. "Let me make a note." As he wrote, he asked, "Who is your interview with?"

Zoe thought he should have asked, with whom is your interview, then decided she'd been teaching English too long.

"The individual I'm seeking employment with insists that I not divulge his name."

Robert looked amused. "Is that your way of telling me to mind my own business?" Then worried. "You will be working for an individual?" Then perplexed. "That seems a strange stipulation to make. Who is this individual?"

"I'd rather not say." She couldn't reveal that information without involving John and he had been most insistent that no one know he was the instigator of Zoe's interview with Holt Hamilton. "What I need to know is, would it be a violation of my contract if I only applied for the job without first informing the board?"

Robert's fingers pulled at the bushy growth of blond hair that grew on his upper lip. "I see no problem so long as you are only applying." He frowned causing his eyebrows to meet across his nose. "But be sure you have the board's permission before you accept. It would be foolish to jeopardize your teaching position for three months' employment."

Should she tell him that the salary for those three months will be almost as much as she made in a year teaching? No. Zoe did say, "It pays very well and the benefits are almost too good to be true."

"All the more reason to be wary. When something sounds too good to be true, it usually is." Robert shifted in his chair. "Promise me you will investigate this individual before you consider taking the position."

Zoe hedged. "I'll be careful. I'll get back with you."

After talking with Robert, Zoe was relieved. She would go for the interview with a clear conscience. If, by some stroke of luck, she got the job, then she would call Robert and have him send the letter asking the board's permission to accept.

Her disturbing encounter with Holt Hamilton and his testy attorney left Zoe feeling uneasy and disturbed. She read every word of the contract Clint McCann had asked her to sign, even the fine print. She wasn't sure she understood all the whereases and therefores. That left her with no choice. She needed Robert's okay before taking the final steps of informing the school board and signing on the dotted line. She called his office and insisted on speaking to him personally.

After an extended wait, Robert's voice sounded in her ear. "Zoe? Is something wrong?"

Zoe didn't mince words. "I need to see you."

"Are your creditors pressing you?"

"No." That was a lie. They were. She amended her statement. "Yes, but this is something else." Since Robert had never charged her a fee for any of his services, she hated demanding to see him on such short notice, but this couldn't wait. "When can I see you?"

"I can spare some time the latter part of the week."

"This problem won't wait that long." Zoe was amazed at her own audacity. "I have to see you today."

"Does this have something to do with David's insurance?" Robert sounded impatient.

Zoe had divided David's insurance check among a half dozen creditors weeks ago. "No. This is something else."

Reluctantly, Robert agreed. "Very well. Come on over, I'll work you in."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

She made it in fifteen. Once inside Robert's private office, Zoe held up one hand. "Before I tell you this, you have to promise me that what I'm about to say to you will go no farther than this room."

"If that's what you want." Robert was looking more puzzled by the moment. "I'll respect our client-attorney relationship."

Zoe laid a long manilla envelope on his desk. "Read this and tell me if it's in order. If it is, you can send that letter to the district."

His eyes rounded in surprise. "What is it?"

"First let me explain." After once more swearing Robert to secrecy, Zoe told him of her meeting with John McInnis and her subsequent interview with Holt Hamilton. "I've agreed to go to Mr. Hamilton's ranch and work for him through the summer." She tapped the envelope with her forefinger before sliding it across the desk. "This is my contract."

Robert opened the envelope, removed the document, and scanned it carefully. After several minutes, he lifted his eyes. "Everything seems to be in order." His fingers tugged at his mustache. "Are you seriously considering this offer?"

It was more than an offer, and Zoe said so. "I have considered, and I've accepted the position."

Robert's fingers continued to worry his mustache. "Maybe you should reconsider."

Zoe had hoped that Robert would be pleased she had a summer job. "I won't sign the contract until I have the board's permission. How long will that take?"

"It shouldn't take more than a day or so. I can call the superintendent and ask him to expedite matters."

Something was troubling Robert. He always tugged at his mustache when he was upset. "You have some reservations about me taking this job. Why?"

Robert dropped his hand. "It's not the job itself, it's the circumstances surrounding it."

"Do you think the board will want to know the name of my employer?"

"You'll have no problem with the board. My concern is that your new employer is Holt Hamilton."

Puzzled, Zoe asked, "Do you know the man?"

Roberts fingers were caressing his mustache again. "Only by reputation." He launched into a lengthy, irrelevant discourse about being David's college roommate and closest friend.

Impatiently, Zoe asked, "What does that have to do with my taking a summer job?"

"I don't like the idea of you spending twelve weeks on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with a man like Holt Hamilton."

"Do you think there's some potential danger?" That was an eventuality Zoe hadn't considered.

"Nothing like that, but I still don't like the idea." Robert's thumb and forefinger were tugging at his mustache again. "I promised David I'd look after you. How can I keep that promise if you're somewhere else?"

That explained Robert's overprotective attitude since David's death. Zoe swallowed around the lump in her throat. "David had no right to ask that of you."

"He had every right. I was his best friend. But that's beside the point. How well does John McInnis know Holt Hamilton?"

Zoe hedged. "I don't know why you ask, but John's father once worked for Mr. Hamilton." Leaning across the desk, she patted Robert's hand. "Trust me, everything will be okay."

Robert sighed. "It's not you I don't trust, it's your new employer. Holt Hamilton has been making the headlines with his escapades for the past fifty years. Don't you read the newspapers, or magazines, or the tabloids?"

Zoe didn't read magazines that catered to gossip. "My knowledge of scandal sheets and gossip columns has suffered from lack of access and interest." She reminded herself that Robert's intentions were the best. "Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."

Robert's lips compressed. "Somehow, I doubt that."

Zoe smiled, then sobered. "I need this job. I could never make this much money anywhere else for only three months' work."

"I know that." Robert whistled through his teeth. "But I still wish you should take a little more time and think about what you're about to do."

"You know I can't do that."

Robert swung his head to one side. "In his younger days, Holt Hamilton was quite a scoundrel. You must have heard something about Sarah Clarke, and what a notorious reputation she had."

Zoe knew Sarah Clarke had, to say the least, led a colorful life. "I know she was a very famous actress."

"Infamous is a better word." Robert's eyes narrowed. "Why are you taking this job? It's obvious that you're still a little unsure about it."

"I can tell you in four words. I need the money." Zoe folded the contract and slipped it back into its envelope, then stood. "Wish me luck?"

Robert watched as she put the contract in her handbag. "Would you change your mind if I told you David wouldn't approve of you doing this?"

Zoe snapped her handbag shut. "Don't do this to me, Robert." She was doing this for David. It was the last earthly thing she could do for him. "I don't think David will rest in peace until I've cleared away all his debts. Don't you see? I have to go."

"Zoe . . . . " Robert began, then apparently changed his mind.

Zoe hung her purse over her shoulder. "What?"

"Nothing. I'll call you as soon as I hear from the board. I'll see you in August, and Zoe, be careful."

Three days later as Zoe drove past the Summerville city limit sign and pulled onto Interstate 35, Robert's parting words rang in her ears. Zoe, be careful. A niggle of fear pushed in around her anticipation. Was she making a mistake? "Think positively," she told herself as she banished the warning from her mind. Pushing her foot down on the accelerator, Zoe sped around a sleek new sports car. She'd be a fool to pass up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

As the little town of Summerville became a blur in her rear view mirror, Zoe slipped a tape into her tape deck and began to hum along with the music. She had a seven-hour drive ahead of her. With luck, she should arrive at the Hamilton ranch by dinner time. The road ahead unwound like an asphalt ribbon.

Chapter Three

Zoe pulled to the side of the farm-to-market road and studied her map. Long hours behind the wheel had put a crick in her neck and a damper on her spirits. In the gathering twilight, the legends on the map were difficult to see. After careful perusal, she put the map in the car pocket and started her motor.

Five miles further on, the sign she was searching for appeared. It read: PRIVATE PROPERTY - DO NOT ENTER. Zoe turned off the highway and onto a narrow road.

As she neared the walled entrance that led to Triple H Ranch, her doubts and misgivings returned with a vengeance. The armed guard on duty at the electronically controlled gate did little to alleviate those feelings. "Mr. Hamilton is expecting you. Go down the road for about a mile, then turn left. You will see the house." The gates swung open.

Zoe shifted gears and drove through the entrance way. Darkness was settling like a blanket over the countryside. Far ahead, and to her left, lights haloed the murky sky. Heat from the day still clung to the asphalt road and drifted up into the little car. It was like driving through a time portal into another universe. The car lurched and moved forward away from the interstate and toward the unknown.

A mile further on Zoe rounded a curve in the road. A three story brick and mortar structure rose up before her. Tall and foreboding, it stood like some medieval fortress outlined against the darkness of the evening sky. Nothing in her creative imagination could have prepared her such a portentous sight. Pulling into the horseshoe drive, she stopped her Toyota beside a Lincoln Town Car, turned off the ignition, and sat for several seconds, staring at the massive foreboding structure.

The wide front door swung open. A slim young woman paused in the entrance way. Light from above cast a halo around her mass of dark hair. Loud and clear, she called into the gathering darkness. "Hello? Miss Martin? Is that you?" Coming across the stone pillared front porch, she descended the steps and strode in Zoe's direction. "We've been expecting you."

She came across the drive with quick, decisive steps. Leaning down, she rested her arms on the door of the car and peered across the front seat. "Do get out and come in. You must be tired after such a long drive."

Zoe got out of the car and stretched. "I am a little."

The young woman straightened and motioned with her hand. "This way. Holt, Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you."

Zoe came around the car and fell in step with the young woman. "I should have called when I knew I'd be late." They ascended the wide stone steps and walked across the massive porch.

In the darkness the young woman's voice was clear and sweet. "I'm Maggie Sullivan." She opened the front door and motioned for Zoe to enter. "Welcome to Triple H."

The soft light of the entrance hall revealed that Maggie Sullivan was a young woman of classic beauty. With one slim hand, she pushed back a cloud of long dark hair as her huge brown eyes swept over Zoe from head to toe. On a startled intake of breath, she breathed, "You're. . . ." Snapping her mouth shut, she motioned for Zoe to accompany her as she made her way down the long front hall, "This way."

Zoe kept pace. "Is something wrong, Miss Sullivan?"

"Call me Maggie, please." The young woman stopped before a pair of wide double doors. "Holt's in the study." Stepping back, she waited for Zoe to enter.

Expensive and understated were the words that came to Zoe's mind as she preceded Maggie into the huge room. What must it be like, she wondered, to live amid such elegantly understated magnificence. She smiled to herself when she remembered that for the next twelve weeks she would be doing just that.

Holt was seated in an overstuffed chair near a large window. As Zoe entered, he stood and extended both hands. "Zoe! I'm so glad you're here. I had begun to be concerned."

From behind Zoe, Maggie said, "You mustn't get anxious. It's bad for your heart."

"Well, I'm no longer anxious." Holt waved his hand in the direction of the couch. "You've met Maggie, I see. Sit down. Have you had dinner? I hope not. We waited for you."

"No. I haven't." Zoe lowered her body onto the couch and laid her hand bag in her lap. The truth was, she hadn't stopped for lunch either.

"Your luggage?" Holt questioned, "Is your luggage in your car?" He sat back down. "We can have someone bring it inside for you. Would you like Maggie to show you to your suite before dinner?"

Suite? Zoe had expected to be assigned a room but a suite? "I would like to freshen up a bit."

"Of course you would. You've been driving all day." Holt shifted in his chair. "Do you have your contract with you?"

Zoe patted her handbag. "It's in here."

"Why don't you give it to Maggie? She can take care of it for you."

Zoe opened her bag and handed the manilla envelope to the young woman who had come to stand beside her. "It's been duly signed and witnessed." Maggie, Zoe decided, was Holt's secretary.

Maggie took the envelope. "I'll put this in the office then show our guest upstairs." She hurried toward the door.

Holt called after her, "Tell Farnsworth to see that someone takes Zoe's luggage from her car and puts it in her suite." He turned his attention back to Zoe. "I'm glad you're here. We can start work first thing tomorrow morning. Is nine o'clock too early for you?"

Zoe thought it strange that her employer would consult with her about working hours. "Nine o'clock will be fine."

Maggie reappeared in the doorway. "Are you ready to go upstairs, Miss Martin?"

"Yes, and it's Zoe, please."

Maggie smiled as she nodded. "This way, Zoe."

An elevator carried Maggie and Zoe to the second floor of the three-story mansion. "Holt had the elevator installed when Sarah could no longer manage the stairs," Maggie explained as the ornate cage soared upward.

Zoe's suite consisted of a sitting room, a bedroom, a huge bathroom and a walk-in closet.

"You should be comfortable here." Maggie followed Zoe into the sitting room.

Zoe's eyes swept over her elegantly furnished surroundings. "I should think so, yes."

"Your things are in your bedroom. When you're dressed, come down. My brother should be here shortly." Maggie backed toward the door." We can get acquainted over dinner."

As the door closed, Zoe fell into a chair and tried to collect the many thoughts that rolled around in her head like beads pulled from a string. Was Maggie Sullivan a member of Holt's household staff, or was she a relative? Her conduct argued for the latter, and she had said her brother would be coming to dinner.

Zoe bathed and dressed, hoping as she donned her best street length frock that it would be formal enough for dinner in this magnificent mansion. Then she slipped her feet into her one pair of high heels, stepped back, and viewed herself in the full length mirror. She was pleased at the reflection that looked back at her. With a salute to the frail woman on the other side of the glass, she whispered, "Good luck."

Zoe passed the elevator, opting instead to walk down the wide staircase with its ornately carved wooden balusters. As her feet moved noiselessly down the carpeted steps, dissenting voices floated up into her listening ear.

"So, old man, your little ghost writer finally arrived?"

"Did you think she wouldn't?" Holt's strident tones answered the mocking masculine voice.

"Did she sign on the dotted line?"

"Her contract has been signed, sealed, delivered, and filed." Holt's tone had moved from strident to boastful.

Zoe clutched the stair banister to steady herself. She recognized that voice. The man with Holt was Clint McCann. She half turned, hoping to escape before she had to face his disagreeable presence. She was too late. Holt and Clint were standing at the foot of the staircase, looking up at her.

Extending both his hands, Holt smiled. "My dear, you look lovely. Come and say hello to Clint."

Zoe forced a smile as she came down the remaining steps.

Clint was dressed in jeans and a battered cotton shirt that contrasted strangely with Holt's smart double breasted business suit. He shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled that scornful, derisive smile. "Hello, Mrs. Martin."

The green fire in Zoe's eyes struck the flinty blue of Clint's hard stare. "Good evening, Mr. McCann."

"Come along, come along." Holt urged them into the huge room adjacent to the study. "Maggie will be down soon. Have you had dinner, Clint?"

The insolent tone never left Clint's voice. "No, I was at Hamco Four Lease most of the day."

"And did the new well come in?"

"It did, and it's a gusher."

From the stairway Maggie's voice sounded. "Clint, you're a mess. You have time to change. We'll wait."

Clint's voice softened with affection. Spreading his arms he squared his shoulders. "What you see is what you get."

Maggie frowned. "Really, Clint. We have a guest."

Clint jibbed, "I thought she was the old man's newest employee."

As Zoe considered his words, she realized that a house of this size and structure would require a sizable household staff to keep it operating. Until now, she hadn't seen a single soul except Maggie and Holt, and Clint, of course.

Maggie shrugged as Holt chuckled. "Why don't you give up trying to reform your brother?"

Zoe's steps faltered. Had Holt said brother?

Once inside the lavish living room, Maggie moved in the direction of the bar. "I need a drink."

Zoe perched on the edge of a chair. She was still reeling from Holt's quiet revelation. Clint McCann was Maggie's brother? She would never have guessed. Their last names were different, and there was certainly no family resemblance. She was brought back from her deep study by Maggie asking, "Drink, Zoe?"

"Yes, please, white wine." Taking a deep breath, Zoe tried once more to relax. She would be here for twelve weeks. If she didn't learn to cope with the quiet animosity that seemed to permeate the very air in this house, she'd be completely stressed out by the time she got back to Summerville in August.

Maggie busied herself at the bar. Without looking up, she asked, "Clint, your usual?"

Clint folded his long frame into an overstuffed chair beside the huge marble fireplace. "Make it a double."

Holt lifted a blue-veined hand. "Nothing for me. Alcohol doesn't mix with my medication."

As Maggie moved about mixing and dispensing drinks, she kept up a steady stream of chatter about the weather and current events. Despite her efforts to make polite conversation, an electric tenseness hung in the room.

Maggie finished her task and had scarcely seated herself on the couch beside Holt when he said, "I will have a glass of water."

Clint's jaw tightened. "Maggie is not one of your domestics."

Maggie sent Clint a silencing stare. "I don't mind."

Clint's voice was a steel blade. "Well, I do."

Maggie bristled. "Holt's had an especially trying day." She moved in the direction of the bar. An uncomfortable silence followed her.

As she placed the glass in Holt's hand, Clint raised his arm in a mock salute. "Shall we drink to better days?"

Maggie's mouth pulled into a thin line of disapproval. "Clint, don't start, please."

Holt intervened. "Clint's right. A toast is in order."

Clint inclined his head in Zoe's direction. "Shall we drink to Mrs. Martin's arrival?"

Zoe flinched. She could feel the hostility that existed between these three, and she didn't want to be drawn into what seemed to be a quarrel of long standing. Maybe if she could change the subject the situation would become a little less volatile. In a conciliatory tone, she asked, "You've been working on an oil rig, Mr. McCann?"

Lowering his glass, Clint leveled his gaze in Zoe's direction. "Yes, I have."

Zoe took a sip of her wine. "That sounds like interesting work."

"Interesting?" Clint raised one dark eyebrow. "I suppose you could call it that. It's also dirty and dangerous, but no less so than the task you're about to undertake." Once again he lifted his glass in a salute. "To your coming project."

With sudden fury, Holt slammed his water glass down onto the table beside him. "You will not speak ill of Sarah in this house!"

Clint lowered his arm. "Did I mention Sarah?"

Holt took a deep breath before clutching his chest and falling backward onto the couch.

Clint was by his side in two quick strides. As he undid Holt's tie, he commanded, "Maggie, get Hartford."

Maggie dashed from the room, calling, "Hartford! Hartford!" as she ran.

"Not again." Clint murmured. He reached into Holt's suit pocket, extracted a small vial, opened it and shook a pill into his open palm. "Damn it, old man, don't do this to me." He pushed the pill into Holt's mouth. "Hold it under your tongue."

Over a rattling gasp for breath, Holt choked, "I'm sorry."

Zoe watched the disturbing scene that was unfolding and thought that Clint should be the one to apologize.

She was more than surprised when he did just that. "So am I. I meant no offense to Sarah."

Color was returning to Holt's face. "Don't make it worse by lying to me, boy."

As Holt struggled to a sitting position, Maggie charged into the room. She was followed by a man with a shock of corn straw hair and the build of a prize fighter. He was wearing cut-offs and a tee shirt.

Maggie stood by watching anxiously as the man pushed between Holt and Clint and laced his long fingers around Holt's wrist. "Relax Sir. You're going to be fine."

Holt snorted his reply. "I pay you to be my nurse, not to tell me pretty lies."

Completely unruffled, Hartford stood and offered Holt his arm. "Let me help you upstairs."

Using that massive, muscular arm as a lever, Holt struggled to his feet. "I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help." He gave lie to that statement by hanging onto Hartford's arm and allowing the younger man to escort him across the room.

At the door, Holt paused and with a grimace of pain said to Zoe. "Breakfast is at eight. We will begin work promptly at nine."

Zoe's fingers tightened around her glass. "I'll be ready."

The moment Holt was out of earshot, Maggie asked, "Will he be all right?" She seemed genuinely concerned.

"God, I hope so." Clint's shoulders tensed. "Damn it, I should have kept my mouth shut." He inclined his head toward the departed figures. "Will you look in on him?"

"You know I will. I'll give Hartford a few moments to get him settled for the night, then I'll go up." Sitting down beside Clint, she laid her hand on his arm. "Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

Clint took a quick sip of his drink. "For what it's worth, I am sorry."

None of this made any sense at all. Zoe thought she should excuse herself and leave. Morbid curiosity and an empty stomach argued for her to stay.

Maggie sighed. "I know that. So does Holt."

"Holt doesn't know anything." Clint's voice was heavy with derision. "Why can't he see Sarah for what she really was. A. . .? " The sentence snapped like a dry twig as his eyes scanned Maggie's anxious face. "You look beat. Go on upstairs, look in on the old man, then try to get some rest. I'll have Farnsworth send your dinner up to you."

"Don't bother. I'm not hungry." Maggie turned to Zoe. "You don't mind, do you?"

What could Zoe say? "Of course not." But she did mind. She didn't want to be left alone with Clint McCann.

"Then good night." Maggie rose slowly, saying as she stood, "Good night, Clint." At the doorway she paused. "Did I remember to welcome you to Triple H, Zoe?"

"Yes you did." Some welcome, Zoe thought as she watched Maggie's slim back vanish through the arched doorway.

After an interval of what could only be called fraught silence, Zoe said, "Our employer is obviously not a well man." She had been in this house less than two hours and already she was having second thoughts about having come here in the first place.

Clint's head turned to one side. "Our employer?" Striding across the room, he sat his half-filled glass down on the bar. "Are you referring to the old man?"

Zoe's nervous fingers played around the stem of her glass. "I'm referring to Mr. Hamilton. Must you call him 'old man'?"

Clint leaned an elbow on the bar. "He is my old man."

Very carefully, Zoe set her glass on the table beside her chair. "I don't think I understand."

Clint shrugged one broad shoulder. "Holt Hamilton is my father."

He spoke with such simplistic sincerity that Zoe found it impossible to doubt the veracity of his statement. Confusion made her gasp, then stammer, "I. . .didn't know."

"Now you do."

Confusion was slowly replaced by a dawning realization. Clint was not only Maggie's brother, he was also Holt's son. That meant. . . Zoe spoke her thoughts. "You and Maggie are Holt's children?"

"Not Maggie, just me." With the grace of a marauding predator, Clint moved across the room. "On second thought, I think I'll look in on the old man." Without another word or a backward glance, he strode through the door and was gone, leaving a bewildered young woman starting after him.

Zoe was still trying to pull her thoughts together when a gravely voice sounded from the far end of the room. "You must be Mrs. Martin."

Zoe turned to see a wizened little man wearing jeans and a wildly decorated western shirt staring back at her. His hair was the color of washed sand. His face resembled a turkey gobbler, right down to his snout of a nose and the waddle-like folds that creased his neck. "Yes, I am."

"I'm Farnsworth. Mr. Hamilton said you'd be arriving today." He inclined his head toward the door he'd just come through. "Soup's on."

"You're Farnsworth?" Zoe was still trying to puts the events of this evening into some perspective. "Soup's on?"

"Yeah." The waddles on the man's neck shook as he nodded his head. "I'm Mr. Hamilton's butler. I come to tell you dinner's ready."

Zoe wanted to laugh. She didn't dare.

The man's shifty eyes scanned the room. "Are you eating alone?"

Zoe looked around her. "It would seem so."

"This way." Turning, Farnsworth pushed through the door. He wasn't at all disturbed by the absence of the three residents of Triple H. It seemed safe to assume that quarrels and canceled meals were not isolated occurrences in the Hamilton household.

Zoe set her wine glass on a table and followed after the strangest butler she'd ever seen.

Chapter Four

Zoe half expected she would be eating breakfast alone also. She was surprised when she returned to the lavish dining room the next morning to see Holt and Maggie seated on either side of the long mahogany table.

As she entered, Holt's face broke into a broad smile. "Zoe! Good morning. Come and sit here." He patted the chair beside him. "Would you like some coffee?"

Maggie looked up from a list she had been scrutinizing and chirped cheerily, "Good morning."

"Good morning." Zoe eased into the chair beside Holt. He seemed completely recovered. Maggie appeared in good spirits. Maybe she had placed too much emphasis on last night's events.

An obese woman wearing a broad apron and a wide scowl brought a cup of coffee and sat it before Zoe, then scooted from the room.

"Did you sleep well?" Maggie asked.

The truth was, Zoe had scarcely slept at all. "My quarters are very comfortable."

Leaning back in his chair, Holt beamed. "I'm so glad. I want you to be comfortable here. After breakfast we can begin our project."

Zoe tasted her coffee. It was delicious. "I'm looking forward to it."

Holt's smile vanished as he asked Maggie, "What are your plans for the day?"

"I have business in Midland."

"And what is the nature of that business?" Zoe could feel sudden tension snap through the air like a frayed electric wire.

"A note of agitation crept into Maggie's response. "It's personal."

Holt seemed not to notice her rebuff. "How long will you be gone?"

"I should be home by dinner."

Holt persisted. "Why so late?"

"I have a four o'clock appointment."

Zoe wondered why Maggie didn't tell this prying old man to mind his own business.

Reluctantly, Maggie replied, "It's with Amy Fields."

Holt's bushy brows pulled into a straight line. "I'm not sure I approve of your friendship with Amy Fields. Sarah never cared for Amy."

Maggie's reply was sharp. "Your interest does not extend to selecting my friends."

Zoe's eyes kept darting to the door. She half-expected Clint to appear and add his bit to this family disagreement.

Maggie pushed her coffee cup aside. "I'm out of here."

Holt's frown hung on. "That's a figure of speech, I'm sure."

Maggie swung her keys around on her finger. "I'll be back by dinner time."

Holt watched her go, his brow unwrinkling as he pushed back his chair. Then he stood and asked Zoe, "Are you ready to begin work?"

Zoe would like to have been served breakfast first. It seemed that was not going to happen. "Yes."

"Good." Holt slid his chair under the table. "The library is on the third floor. All of Sarah's personal papers and mementos are there."

The elevator took them to the third floor. As it came to a halt, Holt rubbed his hands together. "Now it begins, my dear, now it begins." He stepped from the elevator and held the door for Zoe. "The library is down the hall and to the right."

Their footsteps were soundless as the made their way down a wide corridor. After a sharp turn to the right, Holt stopped before a heavily paneled door. "The library was Sarah's private domain. When she was alive, no one else could enter without her permission." He removed a key from his vest pocket and inserted it in the lock. "Now I am the keeper of the keys and the flame." Opening the door, he stepped back waiting for Zoe to precede him inside.

The musty odor of mildew and decay assailed her nostrils the moment she stepped through the door. Her assessing mind could scarcely take in what her startled eyes beheld. Shelves lined two sides and one end of the rectangular room. Books were stacked in disarray on the shelves at the far end. The shelves on the two side walls were crammed with boxes that had been piled, one on the other, with total disregard for neatness or method. Extra boxes, sealed and labeled, sat, one on the other, in corners, in vacant spaces around the doors and under the windows. An overlay of cobwebs and dust veneered the room and its contents.

The desk at the far end of the room was stacked high with envelopes, folders, and newspapers. Odds and ends of newspaper clippings had been bunched together and secured with clothes pins, clamps, or an occasional rubber band. A mound of musty newspapers was piled carelessly beside the desk. Zoe had never seen such disorder. Completely overwhelmed, she asked, "Where do I start?"

Holt closed the door and locked it. "Not I, we. I will always be with you when you're working." He shoved a stack of newspapers aside and dropped into a winged-back chair. "We will work from nine until twelve in the morning. I rest after lunch. Our afternoon hours will be from three to six."

Zoe perched on the side of the cluttered desk and surveyed the chaos around her. "Shouldn't you get someone in here to clean first?"

"No. Never!" Holt was adamant. "Every scrap of paper, every little memento is important. We must set the place in order ourselves. I will know which materials are relevant to the biography. Those can stay. The remainder will be stored in the attic."

Zoe thought that it might take the twelve weeks allotted her here to establish order from this clutter. "Do you have any idea what a huge undertaking this will be?"

Holt smiled. "I'm old, but I'm not senile. I know what must be done. Shall we start?"

Zoe expelled a discouraged sigh. "Where do we start?"

"With the boxes," Holt pointed, "there by the far window."

By noon they had sorted through one box and one clipboard of notes dated April, 1972. It was then that Zoe realized she must establish some sort of filing system to store the papers, scripts, personal letters, and the many other miscellaneous contents of these boxes, and she told Holt so. "I could work this afternoon while you rest."

Holt's answer was swift and decisive. "No." Then his tone softened. "You need some time to relax too. Triple H has a swimming pool, a tennis court, and a stable. You can find some healthful recreation to occupy your time when you are not working."

Zoe didn't argue. She had seen firsthand the effect confrontation had on Holt. But common sense and experience told her that she could not hope to complete the enormous task of sorting through Sarah Hamilton's papers in twelve weeks. The completion of a biography was out of the question. She wondered why Holt hadn't recognized that fact.

After lunch, Holt retired to his suite, and Zoe was left on her own. She wandered into the den, tucked herself into the corner of a long leather couch, and opened one of the few books she had brought from Summerville. She found she was too nervous to concentrate. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the back of the couch and listened to the strange sounds that whispered through the house like lingering ghosts.

"Do you always sleep on the job?"

Zoe's eyes flew open.

Clinton McCann stood over her, looking menacing and austere. She blinked. "You scared me!

Uninvited, he sat beside her. "Where's the old man?"

"He's resting." Zoe laid her opened book face down on the cushion between them and scooted even farther into the corner.

With complete disregard for her property or her place, Clint picked up the slim volume and flipped through the pages. "What's this? Poetry?" The sneer in his voice set her teeth on edge.

Zoe held out her hand. "May I have my book please?"

Clint's eyes raked her face, "Your book?"

"My book." He was doing this to annoy her. She didn't intend to let him know how well he was succeeding. "I brought it with me from home."

Clint opened the book and read aloud. "Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee! As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, To taste whole joys." Closing the book, he smiled. "Graphic isn't it?"

"It's John Donne at his best." Zoe's heart began to beat a little faster. "May I have my book?"

Clint put it in her extended hand.

Zoe laid the book in her lap. She was going to be at Triple H for twelve weeks. Maybe it would be wise to make some kind of peace with this man. "Mr. McCann, you and I should come to an understanding."

He smiled that insufferable smile. "An understanding between you and me? That sounds promising."

Even though the words had a double meaning, hope sparked. Maybe now they could clear the air. "I know you don't like me being here."

"What ever gave you that idea?"

"Please Mr. McCann. I don't want to play games." Annoyance put a snap in Zoe's voice. "Can't we be adults about this?"

"I feel very adult right now." Moving toward her, Clint put his hand on the arm of the couch, making escape impossible. "What you and I feel is very adult and very potent."

He was so near she could see the fine lines that fanned out around his deep-set eyes. Her heart began to beat a little faster. If she moved, they would be touching. Her salvation lay in being very still and holding onto her emotions. "Please don't make a fool of yourself, Mr. McCann."

"You can call me Clint, Zoe." The way he said her name sent a shiver down her spine."

A high-pitched feminine voice sounded over the roar in Zoe's ears, calling out melodiously, "Hello? Clint? Are you here?"

Clint dropped his arm and moved down the couch as under his breath he muttered, "Damn."

Zoe's head swiveled to see a gorgeous blond woman standing in the open doorway. Her eyes widened as her gaze shifted from Clint to scan Zoe's slight figure. "Good heavens!"

Maggie and a tall blond man followed close on the woman's heels.

Zoe jumped to her feet and tucked her book under her arm. "Excuse me." Maggie was home early. She wondered why. "I have work to do."

"Wait, Zoe." Maggie called out, "Before you go, I want you to meet someone." She extended one hand in Zoe's direction. "Amy, Carter, this is Zoe Martin. She's helping Holt with Sarah's papers. Zoe, these are our neighbors, Amy and Carter Fields."

They were a decidedly handsome pair. Amy Fields was fragile and delicate, with finely chiseled features and a tiny, perfect figure. Carter was taller, but with the same finely wrought features and slim build. The striking resemblance told Zoe they were brother and sister. She smiled her greeting. "Hello."

Amy was still staring at Zoe with that startled look on her face. "Are you a relative of Sarah's, Miss Martin?"

Before Zoe could answer, Clint spoke. "No. She's not."

Amy broke into a stunning smile. "Clint, for shame. You promised to meet us for lunch. We waited, then came looking for you." She came across the room with her arms extended.

Clint took Amy in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. "It must have slipped my mind. Sorry." Then he stepped past her and extended his hand to the suavely handsome man who had accompanied her into the room. "Carter, when did you get back into town?"

Carter Fields had not taken his eyes off Zoe since entering the room. He shook Clint's hand and halfheartedly acknowledged his greeting. "Last week."

"Sit down," Maggie invited. "I'll get us something to drink."

Zoe inched toward the door. "It was nice to have met you."

Carter Fields stepped in front of her. "Don't run away before I get a chance to say hello and greet you with a warm West Texas handshake." His gray eyes flashed as his mouth curved into a brazen smile.

Zoe shifted her book and extended her hand.

Carter shook it vigorously. "Are you sure you're not related to Sarah? You bear a marked resemblance to that lovely lady."

"Yes, I'm sure." Zoe tried to pull her hand from Carter's grasp.

He wouldn't let go. "If you're helping Holt with Sarah's papers, you must be an authority on motion pictures."

"Well, no," Zoe stammered. "Actually, I teach English in a middle school."

Carter ignored her explanation. "I'm quite a movie buff myself." His friendly manner invited a like response.

"I love old movies," Zoe said, relaxing in the warmth of Carter's friendly smile.

"So do I," Carter confided. "My all-time favorite is Citizen Kane. What's yours?"

"Casablanca. I must have seen it a hundred times."

"Do you like Humphrey Bogart?"

"I adore Humphrey Bogart."

"How are you in the trivia department?" Carter moved a little nearer. "Can you name three films Lauren Bacall starred in with Humphrey Bogart?"

Zoe's brow wrinkled in thought. "Dark Passage, To Have and Have Not, and. . . ." Her voice trailed away.

Carter asked, "Give up?"

"Key Largo," Zoe crowed in triumph.

"You did it. Now it's your turn." Carter was still holding Zoe's hand.

She pulled her fingers from his grasp. "My turn?"

"Sure, now you ask me a trivia question."

Zoe thought for a moment before asking, "What is the name of Elvis's first movie?"

"That's too easy," Carter laughed. "It's Love Me Tender."

From across the room, Clint intervened. "I believe Mrs. Martin was leaving."

He was reminding her that she was an employee in this household, not a guest. Zoe turned to go. "Yes, excuse me."

Carter caught her arm. "Don't rush away." His eyebrow quirked. "Mrs? Don't tell me you're married."

"I'm a widow." A wave of remorse caught Zoe. She'd scarcely had a thought of David since she'd come to this place. Why should forgetting be more painful than remembering? "Holt is waiting for me." Zoe's eyes moved to Carter's hand, still attached to her arm.

Carter held on. "Surely that old slave driver doesn't have you working night and day. May I call you?"

This man certainly didn't waste any time. Zoe thought he was a little too forward. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Then maybe I can come around when you aren't busy? This ranch is an armed fortress. I'll call first to be sure I can gain entrance."

"No. I don't think so." Zoe mumbled a quick goodbye and hurried from the room.

Holt was waiting in the library. "I was about to send someone to search for you."

"I'm sorry I was late. Amy and Carter Fields came home with Maggie. They detained me."

"The Fields?" Holt frowned. "I don't like Maggie being so friendly with those two."

Zoe wondered why Maggie's choice of friends should be of any concern to Holt. "Shall we begin?" The task seemed even more hopeless now than it had earlier in the day.

"Did you like the Fields?" Holt raised the lid of a cardboard packing box he had lifted onto the desk.

"I just met them. Carter is quite a movie buff. He began asking movie trivia questions the moment Maggie explained that I was helping you with Sarah's papers."

"Speaking of trivia," Holt held up a newspaper clipping, yellow with age. "Look at this. It's a review of Sarah's performance in Renegade. Did you know that was her first starring role?"

He was wrong, but Zoe didn't bother to correct him. Sarah had not starred in Renegade, but she had received rave reviews for her supporting role as the scheming half-sister of the heroine. The film was now considered a classic.

Holt's eyes filled with tears. "She was so beautiful and such a wonderful actress." He handed Zoe the clipping. "How much do you know of Sarah's early life?"

Zoe knew nothing at all about Sarah, the woman. "I only know her as an actress." The paper threatened to fall apart in Zoe's hands. "I have seen Renegade a couple of times."

Irrelevantly, Holt asked, "Did you know Sarah's father was a share cropper?"

Zoe's brows raised in surprise. "I didn't. I always assumed she came from a wealthy background."

"That was her publicist's story put together by her agent, but it was a blatant lie. Sarah's family was dirt poor. She had a younger brother and sister. Their mother deserted the family when Sarah was four years old. She ran away with another man."

As Zoe's expression registered further surprise, Holt gave a decisive nod. "Sarah's father was devastated. So was my Sarah. She never forgave her mother for abandoning her and her father." Perspiration beaded across Holt's upper lip.

"Maybe we should talk about this later." Holt was becoming far too agitated. Zoe recognized the signs of a coming attack.

"No!" Holt's hands gripped the sides of the desk. "There is no more time. That's why I must set the record straight."

"I don't think you should become upset."

"I will be much more upset if I don't vindicate my Sarah. Don't you see? Sarah is dead. I am the only one left who knows the truth. The press always portrayed her as a hard, scheming woman. Sarah wasn't like that. She was warm and sweet. Life was so unkind to her. That hard facade was her protection from being hurt by a cruel, judgmental world. Sarah suffered. She paid dearly for every success she enjoyed. Ever accomplishment she celebrated was purchased in the coin of pain." He clutched his hand to his chest and bent over. "My pills, Zoe, fetch my pills from my vest pocket."

Zoe fumbled until she found the vial of medication, then shook two pills into the palm of Holt's extended hand.

He slipped them under his tongue and took a deep breath. His face was ashen, his skin clammy.

"Shall I get you a glass of water?" Zoe was halfway to the door.

"No. Stay." Holt's color was returning, his breathing becoming more even.

Zoe retraced her footsteps. "Maybe we should call it a day."

Holt shook his head in negation. "No. I must press on. I have to carry out Sarah's last request. I want to tell you Sarah's story, and I want to tell you now."

"I don't think you are up to telling it just now." Zoe wasn't sure she was up to hearing it either. The fear that Holt might suffer a fatal attack was becoming a frightening reality.

"But don't you see? I must tell you and now. No one else knows the true story. I have to pass on that information before it's too late." He drew a deep cleansing breath. "Please, all you have to do is listen."

Hoping to placate him, Zoe suggested, "Perhaps you could record the story on tape and give it to me later."

"No! Never! That would be inviting trouble. If that tape fell into the wrong hands, it could do irreparable harm to Sarah's reputation."

Zoe thought that, given the little she knew of Sarah Clarke, her reputation was already beyond redemption. "You're not up to the rigors of talking about Sarah. I think I should call Hartford."

Holt lifted his head. "I am up to it. It will be therapeutic. Will you listen?"

Zoe decided that refusing him might do more harm than agreeing to listen. "May I take notes?"

"Do you have to?"

The man was paranoid. "I can use a code. Then only I can decipher what I've written."

Never once did Zoe think to question why Holt should have such implicit trust in her, why he chose to believe that she, who was practically a stranger, would not betray the knowledge he was about to impart to her. Later she would look back and marvel at her own lack of perception.

Holt wiped his hands across his vest. "Pull up a chair and sit down."

Zoe searched through the debris on the desk for a pad and pencil. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Most definitely."

Zoe dragged a chair across the carpet and sat down across from Holt. "So long as you don't show signs of an another attack, we'll talk."

"I'm much better now. Just being able to begin Sarah's biography gives me a sense of well being."

Zoe refrained from reminding Holt, once again, that it would be impossible to complete the task before them in twelve weeks. What did it matter if the biography was never completed? The important course of action now seemed to be to placate this sick, grieving old man. "Tell me about Sarah."

Chapter Five

Zoe kicked the little mare in the flanks and felt the freedom of wind in her hair as she rode across the open plains. She had been at Triple H for three weeks. In that short length of time, her life had settled into an orderly routine. She and Holt worked six hours each week day, carefully sorting and filing Sarah's papers. The remainder of each working day and the weekends were Zoe's to do with as she pleased.

Her first free weekend, Zoe considered driving to Midland and staying overnight, but that was twenty-five miles away, and she would have nothing in particular to do when she got there. She opted instead for a leisurely weekend at Triple H. On Saturday she went horse back riding and took a dip in the pool. Sunday morning she slept late. Sunday afternoon she took Hartford up on his invitation to play tennis.

As the weeks passed, her days fell into a pleasant routine of work and play, and Zoe found she had neither reason nor inclination to stray past the borders of Triple H.

Once Maggie had invited Zoe to accompany her to the Fields' ranch for a party. Zoe refused. She enjoyed Maggie's company, but she felt uncomfortable in Amy Field's presence, and Carter Fields was a little too pushy.

Twice over the past two weeks, Carter had called and invited Zoe out. Each time she had tactfully refused. Even though he was gone, accepting an invitation from another man seemed disloyal to her husband.

The swift movements of the quarter horse gave Zoe a sense of exhilarating independence. She rode now, almost daily. Moving alone and free across the rolling plains of Triple H was a sure escape from the pressures of working six hours a day, five days a week with an ailing, crotchety old man breathing down her neck.

Even though Zoe and Holt had labored long and diligently, they'd scarcely made a dent in the boxes that cluttered the library. After that first day, when Holt had related to Zoe the more salient and sordid details of Sarah's life, he had not mentioned his deceased wife's past again.

On that first occasion, he had poured his heart out to Zoe, making no effort to cover up or play down the more lurid details of Sarah's long and colorful career. It was a wretched but predictable saga of a determined woman who had used every means at her disposal to claw her way up the ladder of success. Since that time, Holt had been content to plow through the endless array of papers, letters, and mementos that seemed now to be Sarah Clarke's only remaining legacy.

Zoe slowed the mare to a walk as episodes from the story Holt had related that first day moved through her mind like scenes from an x-rated movie. Only someone blinded by love would fail to see that Sarah Clarke had been a grasping, scheming, immoral woman. Maybe it would be best if they never got around to beginning Sarah's biography, let alone completing it. There was no way, given the facts, that Zoe could turn Sarah into a heroine, and she knew that Holt wouldn't settle for anything less.

Pulling her mare to a stop, Zoe dismounted and let her gaze wander across the flat countryside. A herd of cattle grazed in the distance. She watched them move slowly along and thought what strange turns her life had taken in the past month. Tethering her horse to a giant oak, she sat down under its spreading branches. Not far away, a creek made its winding way across the open fields. Summer rains had swollen the little rivulet to the top of its banks. The surface was covered with leaves, twigs, and assorted pieces of debris.

Such beauty. Zoe sighed into the stillness. Such tranquillity. It was a shame some of that tranquillity couldn't find its way into the lives of the residents of Triple H. Resting her head against the trunk of the tree, Zoe closed her eyes and felt the tenseness slip from her body. Here she could relax and escape the air of discord that was ever present inside the walls at Triple H.

At first Zoe had thought that tense undercurrent of unrest in the house was because of Clint's presence. But Clint had been away for over two weeks, and that undertow of nebulous discontent lingered like an uninvited guest.

Zoe couldn't help but wonder why Clint had disappeared from Triple H so suddenly. Neither Maggie nor Holt had ever offered any explanation for his sudden departure, and Zoe didn't dare ask.

The hum of summer insects droned through the still air. Zoe nodded then her head fell to her chest as her troubled thoughts drifted away to nothing.

A sharp pain in her neck woke Zoe with a start and a fright. Her eyes flew open to see that the sun was almost touching the western horizon. She vaulted to her feet and was rewarded with another sharp pain down her spine. How long had she been asleep? Untying the little mare, she mounted and pointed her galloping steed toward Triple H.

Gimpy, the stable hand, was standing in the corral lot when Zoe rode through the gate. His wizened face screwed up in a dark frown as he called to her, "Mr. Clint was here a while ago looking for you, Miz. Martin." Grabbing the reins, he pulled the horse to a stop. "Folks up at the big house are worried. You've been gone nearly three hours."

Zoe slid to the ground. "I hope Mr. Hamilton isn't too upset."

Gimpy led the horse toward the stables. "I don't know about Mr. Hamilton, but Mr. Clint is fit to be tied. He's waiting for you up by the tack room."

So Clint was back and intent on causing trouble. Zoe detoured through the barn. It made the walk to the house longer, but this way she could avoid what was bound to be an unpleasant encounter.

Clint must have anticipated her roundabout detour. As she came through the door a strong hand shot out from nowhere and grabbed her. "Where in the hell have you been?"

Even in the darkened confides of the barn Zoe could see that the man who loomed above her was furiously angry. "I went for a ride." She tried to shake his hand from her shoulder. "Not that it's any of your business."

Clint released her. "I intend to make it my business." Turning with a jerk, he made long strides across the hay strewn floor. "You don't miss a trick do you?" Pivoting on his heel, he stood, with both hands on his hips, barring the door. "I came home to find the old man frantic with worry. You've been gone three hours. I could ride to Midland and back in that length of time."

"I . . . ." Zoe opened her mouth to explain, then snapped her teeth together. He would never believe she had fallen asleep under a tree. In truth, she doubted he would believe anything she told him. "Stand aside, please." With her eyes she measured the distance to the barn's side door.

Clint leaned against the door jamb. "Don't try it."

"Do you intend to keep me here while your ailing father continues to worry needlessly?" Zoe spoke with an off-handed bravado she didn't feel.

"I intend to get some answers."

"Answers?" Surprise caused Zoe's voice to rise, "Answers to what?" She took a step backward. "I owe you no explanation for taking a ride or for anything else I do."

A sneer curled Clint's lips. "That's where you're wrong, dead wrong."

Maybe she should try to explain. "I fell asleep under a tree." Zoe took another step backward. "I'll go to the house and explain."

"This is not about your over extended ride." Clint advanced toward her, a dangerous glint in the depths of his narrowed eyes.

Zoe couldn't imagine why he was so outraged. His fierce words and menacing stare mesmerized her. "Then what?"

He came to stand directly in front of her. With one hand he caressed the pulse that beat at the base of her throat. "Such a pretty neck." His fingers were warm and caressing.

Zoe stood very still. "Don't touch me."

Clint let his hand slide slowly down her shoulder and then fall to his side. "You look enough like slutty Sarah to be her sister. And you've taken advantage of that likeness to confuse and seduce a sick old man."

This man was as paranoid as his father. Zoe steadied her voice. "I have no personal interest in your father."

"Liar." The word was as soft as a caress. "You look at the old man and see dollar signs. But that doesn't surprise me. What does bother me is that the old fool has fallen for you. You couldn't wait to get him in bed, could you?"

Paranoid was too mild a word. This man was insane. An arrow of anger shafted through Zoe. "Where did you get such an outrageous idea?"

"If you need a man, chase Carter Fields. He seems to be almost as smitten as the old man is. And Carter is reputed to be quite a stud."

Rage erupted inside Zoe with the force of an exploding volcano. "How dare you talk to me like I was some common woman your father had bought." Her eyes flashed emerald fire. "I will not stand here and let you insult me, you. . . ."

The sound of Gimpy limping through the back door of the barn stopped Zoe's angry tirade and wiped the arrogant smile from Clint's face.

"Mr. Hamilton called from the house." Gimpy hobbled toward the arguing pair. "He's plumb beside himself worrying about Miz. Martin. I told him she was back."

Clint nodded toward the little man. "Thanks, Gimpy." As Gimpy limped away, his stony gaze shifted back to Zoe. "You won't get away with it. I'll see to that. I'll find some way to stop you." He ran a heavy hand across his face. "Now get to the house and let the old man see that you're all right before he has another heart attack." Without a backward glance, he turned and disappeared through the barn door.

As Zoe walked up the flagstone path that led from the barn to the house, a host of disturbing emotions surged through her. Clint's angry accusations still burned in her ears. His allegations confused and frightened her. She couldn't imagine what had triggered those demeaning charges.

Entering the house, she climbed the back stairs to the library. The door was unlocked. That meant Holt was inside. She pushed through to see him sitting in a chair near the desk, a smug smile wreathing his wrinkled countenance. That smile vanished as Zoe came across the room.

Without preamble, Zoe began to explain, "I'm sorry if you were worried. I went for a ride. . . ."

"I know." Holt pointed to a chair. "Sit down." He looked anything but worried. The fact was, he looked elated, almost joyous. "Did you see Clint?"

Zoe sat down. "I saw him."

"Is he still angry?"

"Holt," Zoe reminded herself that she must not further distress this sick old man. "You have to talk to your son."

"I just did." Holt giggled like a schoolboy. "That's why he's so upset, but he'll get over it." His words, for all their frivolity, had an ominous ring.

Zoe felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl. "I don't know what you two said to each other, but now Clint's angry with me."

"I expected that." Holt sighed. "That boy has to accept my decision, and he will, in time."

Zoe knew the animosity that existed between these two. She didn't intend to be drawn into their petty bickering. "Your little joke has gone far enough. You must explain to Clint that I. . . ." Her voice faltered. How could she delicately phrase such an indelicate statement? She cleared her throat. "Clint seems to think that I. . . have designs on you."

Holt put his hand over his mouth and giggled again. "I know, and I'm flattered."

"You know?" Zoe recoiled.

"I told Clint that I was going to marry you, and he jumped to all sorts of wrong conclusions."

Zoe didn't know to what lengths Holt might go in his effort to torment his arrogant son, but this was too much. "I won't have you involving me in your shoddy quarrel with your son." She wondered why Holt got such perverted joy from harassing his own flesh and blood. "I'm going to find Clint and bring him up here. Then you're going to tell him the truth." She was fighting to keep from lashing out at this ailing old man. "Your little jest is over as of right now." Zoe jumped to her feet with such force that the chair she sat in tumbled backward. "I'm going to find Clint."

For a split second, a look of utter ruthlessness flashed across Holt's wrinkled countenance, giving Zoe an insight into what it might have been like to come up against a younger, more virile Holt Hamilton. Then he smiled, stood, walked past her, and righted the chair. "Sit down. I have some things to tell you and some things to show you. Later, you and I can face Clint together."

"I can't work until this matter is settled."

Holt's voice cracked like a whip. "Sit down!" His knuckles whitened around the back of the chair, then he added a contrite, "Please."

Slowly, reluctantly, Zoe sat in the chair.

Walking across the room, Holt locked the library door, then dragged a chair directly in front of Zoe. "Hear me out, please. Then we will talk to Clint."

He hadn't left her much choice. "All right, but make it fast."

"Did you know that Sarah once made a film in Germany?"

How could Holt think she would ignore his little prank and continue working as if nothing had happened? "I can't concentrate on Sarah until this matter with Clint is laid to rest."

Holt raised one age marked hand. "Hear me out, you promised." When Zoe nodded her consent, he went on, "The film was based on the life and escapades of Mati Hari. It was titled All For Love." He demanded, more emphatically, "Do you remember?"

"I do recall the movie. I wasn't born when the film was made. I could scarcely remember an event that occurred then."

"Then I will apprise you of what happened." Holt's acid tone contradicted his calm demeanor. "Sarah was making a film, but she was also involved in a real-life spy story. She'd been convinced by someone whom she loved and trusted that she was doing a service to her country by taking part in some very dangerous and covert activities. Unfortunately, the opposite was true. Sarah was aiding and abetting the enemy."

How, Zoe wondered, did this escape public notice? "I don't believe you. Everything Sarah ever did was held up to global scrutiny. How did a story of such magnitude escape being splashed across every newspaper and magazine in the world?"

"Now we come to the heart of the matter." Holt's mouth pulled into a grim line. "Sarah and her accomplice were investigated. If they'd been indicted, she and the man who had led her into this web of intrigue would have stood trial. The facts spoke for themselves. They would have been convicted of treason and faced long years of imprisonment. It is conceivable that they could have been handed a death sentence."

Zoe was completely at sea. "What does this have to do with you tormenting Clint with your vicious lies?"

"Everything." Holt expelled a weary breath. "There was an investigation by the U.S. Government. Sarah and her lover were cleared of all charges by someone who was persuaded to cover up their involvement in the affair, but that someone exacted an exorbitant price." Tears gathered in the corners of Holt's tired eyes. "He took Sarah's most prized possession, and in so doing, left her a legacy of pain and regret that stayed with her for the remainder of her life."

Zoe shifted in her chair. "Why are you telling me this? Do you want this secret included in Sarah's biography? Are you thinking of revealing now what happened all those years ago? Why would you want such a sordid disclosure to come to light after all this time?"

"I don't!" Holt's lips trembled. A lone tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek. "Sarah's secret must be kept at all costs."

Zoe's voice lifted in frustration. "If you don't want this episode to be a part of Sarah's biography, why are you telling me?"

Irrelevantly, Holt answered, "Because I promised Sarah."

That was not a satisfactory response, and Zoe was swift to point out that fact. "Are you deliberately trying to make Clint suffer as long as possible? How can you? You're his father."

"And fathers are always noble and kind and above reproach?" Holt questioned on a sneer.

"Some fathers are all those things."

"I suppose your father was one of those perfect parents?"

Thoughts of her father made Zoe smile. He had been the consummate military man, with a strength of character and a dedication to duty that Holt Hamilton could not begin to understand. "As a matter of fact, he was."

"Then you loved him?" Holt's question had all the intonations of a statement.

"I adored him." Zoe answered. "But this isn't about my father."

"Maybe it is." Holt's smile was insidious. "Tell me about your father, Zoe."

Zoe's eyebrows shot up as outrage mingled with shock. "What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a fact. Colonel James Edwin Adair was the head of the special OSI team that investigated the charges against Sarah and her lover."

A chilling fist of fear squeezed around Zoe's heart. "My father was a dedicated soldier and an officer and a gentleman. He would never have compromised his integrity or his patriotism."

Smugly, Holt replied, "We all have our price."

"Not my father!" Anger was replacing Zoe's fear." He proved his dedication and his bravery over and over again. He was the recipient of more military medals and commendations than you can name."

"That's true, but I do recall a few." Holt used his fingers to enumerate. "The Purple Heart, with Oak leaf cluster, Air Medal, and the most prestigious of all, The Medal of Honor. And of course, there were many foreign commendations."

"Stop it!" Zoe had heard enough. Colonel James Adair would never stoop to making an alliance with the likes of Sarah Clarke. "My father was a man of unquestionable integrity."

"Was he?" Holt nodded toward the desk. "There's a packet atop that stack of newspapers. Get it and bring it to me."

"Is this another one of your vicious jokes?" Zoe found the package and brought it to him. She sat back down and waited as a feeling of impending disaster crept into the very marrow her bones.

Holt untied the twine string that held the papers. "Have a look." He laid the untidy pile in Zoe's lap.

Zoe lifted a yellow, tattered newspaper that lay atop the stack. The headlines emblazoned across the page sent a chill shivering down her spine. SENATOR ADRAIN ZOELLER AND ACTRESS SARAH CLARKE CLEARED OF ALL CHARGES.

The paper fell from her limp fingers as Holt asked, "What is your full name, Zoe?"

The words tumbled from her stiff lips. "Zoe Adrain Adair Martin."

The room swam as Zoe's vision clouded. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. It had to be more than mere coincidence that her name was so like Senator Adrain Zoeller's. "Are you trying to tell me that my father named me for this senator?" Her hand struck the paper. "Why would he do that?"

"Oh, Zoe, there is none so blind as he who will not see. James Adair was no more your biological father than Rachel Adair was your natural mother."

She would not sit here and let this evil man take her identity from her. The cornerstone of her existence rested on that sure knowledge. "I have my birth certificate that proves otherwise," she argued with conviction, but Zoe could feel the foundation of her world shifting.

"Your true mother gave you that name." Holt paused a moment, swallowed as if he were in great pain, then went on. "She spoke very little German. How she managed to fill out those papers before the colonel could stop her, I will never know." Holt grasped the arms of the chair and swore. "She was coming back for you in a few months, or so she believed, but the Colonel was too clever for her."

The world quaked and shifted. "You're lying." The words were bitter on Zoe's tongue. "This is another one of your vicious lies."

Holt lifted one hand. "I am telling you the God's truth." His ashen completion and agonized voice argued for the veracity of his claim. "Colonel Adair made a deal with Senator Zoeller and Sarah. They thought they were bribing him with money. He did accept a considerable sum from them, but he also stole something far more precious. You see, Sarah was pregnant with the senator's child. Senator Zoeller was a married man with a teenage son. If that link between Sarah and the senator had been established, their conviction would have been a foregone conclusion."

Zoe refused to give credence to this absurd story. She decided to humor this ailing, obviously unbalanced old man. "This sound like something out of a James Bond novel." Her frivolous tone hid the fear that punched like an iron fist in her stomach.

"Perhaps truth is stranger than fiction. The colonel also agreed to hide Sarah in his home until the child was born. His sweet wife offered to care for the baby until Sarah could come back later and claim her. What Sarah didn't know was that Rachel Adair was unable to conceive, and she wanted a child, desperately." Holt shook his fist in the air. "The colonel was a devious bastard! Six months later, when Sarah came back to claim her infant, Colonel Adair laughed in her face."

"You have no proof of these ridiculous charges!" Everything that Zoe had believed to be constant and enduring was tilting out of focus. "How dare you slander my parents with such lies?"

Holt reached inside his coat pocket and drew out a long envelope. "What I am about to show you are reduced copies. The original documents are safely tucked away in my safe deposit box in Midland." He held the envelope out to Zoe. "Senator Adrain Zoeller was your father, Zoe, and Sarah Clarke was your mother."

Zoe swallowed her revulsion and forced herself to look at the documents. Slowly, insidiously, an irrefutable realization snaked into her brain. Holt was speaking the truth! Every hideous word he had uttered was true! The room tilted, then whirled like a spinning top, as for the first time in her twenty-seven years, Zoeller Adrain Adair Martin pitched forward in a dead faint and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Chapter Six

Zoe emerged from a sea of blackness to find herself lying on a wide bed in a strange room. As the world came slowly into focus, she recognized Hartford standing over her, rubbing her arms, and assuring her that she would be all right. Dazed, she asked, "Where am I?"

"You're in Mr. Hamilton's suite, Ms. Martin." Hartford dropped her arms and bent forward to scrutinize her face. "You gave us quite a start."

"How did I get here?" Zoe sat up and pushed a pillow behind her back.

"I carried you." Hartford moved back, put his hands into the pockets of his cut-offs, and stared down at her. "Mr. Hamilton called me when he couldn't bring you around."

Zoe looked around the huge, exquisitely furnished room. Holt was nowhere in sight. "Where is Mr. Hamilton?"

Hartford ignored her question. "Are you ill, Ms. Martin? Do you have some medical difficulty you haven't mentioned?"

"Certainly not," Zoe snapped. "I rode horseback this afternoon in the hot sun." She had to make some excuse. She couldn't tell Hartford that her world had suddenly crumbled and fallen in around her. "I'll be all right."

Hartford moved toward the door. "Mr. Hamilton's in the library. He asked me to call him when you came around."

As he disappeared through the entrance way, Zoe put one foot on the floor and tried to stand. That was a mistake. Her head spun. Hideous spots gathered before her eyes.

She was in the process of lying back down when Holt charged through the door, barking his command as he came across the room. "Don't try to get up you silly child." His quick steps and sharp tone, belied his years. "I don't want you fainting again. We have things to discuss and plans to make."

Zoe's only thought now was to escape, not only this room, and this man, but Triple H itself. "My plans are made. I'm going home." She didn't think she could get back to Summerville fast enough. "You can find someone else to help you with Sarah's biography."

"You are home." Holt sat on the side of the bed. "And you can forget the biography. I never had any intention of exposing Sarah's innermost secrets to a censuring, judgmental world."

Zoe's equilibrium slipped again as the magnitude of Holt's statement hit her with hurricane force. From the beginning her coming here to help with Sarah's biography had been a hoax. She put one hand over her mouth and stared at him in utter disbelief.

Pride in his accomplishment softened Holt's voice, crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I have to keep my promise to Sarah. I wondered, at first, how I could. But I've devised a fool proof plan. I can carry out my darling's last request. Then she can rest in peace, and I can die with a clear conscience."

The truth was sinking into Zoe's mind like water poured over dry ground. From the onset, this old man had conspired to lure her to Triple H. His reasons for doing so weren't clear to her even yet. A treacherous thought began to unravel inside Zoe brain. "How well do you know John McInnis?"

"Your staid and stupid little school principal?"

Was it possible that John was a part of this plot? "He told me you were an old friend and benefactor."

Holt reached to smooth a stray strand of hair from Zoe's forehead, then dropped his hand when she drew back from his touch. "I never saw John McInnis in my life before I got in touch with him last spring."

"Then how. . . ."

"Did I get him to set you up?" Holt completed the sentence. "I was looking for some way to reach you. I had the people around you investigated until I found someone with something in his past that he wanted to hide."

A chill slid down Zoe's back bone. "John McInnis is not a criminal."

"That depends on how you define crime. John McInnis is not what he appears to be. As I've tried to explain to you, every man has his price. John and I made a trade, a sort of quid pro quo, if you will. He needed my silence, and I needed his help. If John's little wife knew that he had a brief fling with her step-sister a few years back, she would leave him and never return. Despite his brief indiscretion, John loves his wife."

Zoe placed a hand over the pulse that beat like a hammer at the base of her throat. "You blackmailed John McInnis?"

Holt's long fingers shackled Zoe's wrist. Flashing lights leaped and danced in the blue depths of his eyes. "I would do anything to carry out Sarah's last wish." Dropping her hand, he brushed at the tear that coursed down his wrinkled cheek. "Sarah died in my arms begging me to right the wrong she had been forced to commit. I have to do this. Don't you understand? I have no choice." His voice fell to a threatening growl. "And neither do you."

"I'm not going to stay here and listen to anymore of this." Zoe scooted to the side of the bed. "I'm leaving Triple H today."

To her utter amazement, Holt shrugged. "Have it your way." His tone became solicitous. "I hope you're up to this. You will be doing battle on several fronts." He watched her with guarded interest. "Maybe you'll have time to make it to Summerville before the story breaks and you're arrested."

He was threatening her, promising some terrible retaliation if she left Triple H. Zoe collapsed against a pillow. Fear pumped through her body with each beat of her heart. "You can't have me arrested. I haven't broken the law." This wicked old man was capable of anything. "What story?"

"The story I'll tell to the authorities, then release to the press the moment you leave the confines of this house. Sarah is gone. She never gave a damn anyway about what people thought of her. They certainly can't hurt her now. But I do wonder how you will fight charges of blackmail and attempted extortion and at the same time cope with the vultures of the press when it becomes public knowledge that you are the scheming daughter of Sarah Clarke and Adrain Zoeller."

Zoe dragged a ragged breath through her burning throat. "You wouldn't dare bring false charges against me."

"I would, and you damn well know it. What's more, I have a witness to corroborate my statement. John McInnis will say anything I want him to say, anytime I want him to say it." He paused a moment to let his words sink in before adding, "Even if you eventually prove your innocence, it will be after a long and expensive court battle. In the meantime you will have destroyed the memory of Colonel James Adair. If you love him as much as you say you do, you will think twice about ruining his unblemished reputation and marring his superb military record." Holt paused once more to catch his breath, then went on. "You will also be destitute, ruined financially. You're not legally the daughter of Colonel and Mrs. James Adair. You will lose the home Phoebe Adair left to you. The true heirs to that old landmark are the grandchildren of Phoebe Adair's distant deceased cousin, William Watson Adair."

Zoe gasp, "Aunt Phoebe left that house to me."

"That was when she thought you were her great niece." Holt held up one hand. "There's something else. You may be forced to repay the insurance money you received when the couple you claimed to be your parents were killed. Taking money under false pretenses constitutes fraud."

But I didn't know. . . ." The panic in Zoe's throat imprisoned her voice.

"You'll have to prove that in a court of law. It will take years. I will be gone by then, but I'll have died knowing you paid for what you did to my Sarah."

"That money funded my college education. . ." Zoe's voice died away on a sigh as she realized the futility of trying to explain anything to this madman. "Why did you bring me here?"

That question seemed cause for some apprehension. Holt ran his long fingers through is hair. "I intend that Sarah's last request be fulfilled."

Zoe was almost afraid to ask. "And what was that last request?"

Holt's agitation deepened. "You have no idea how Sarah suffered because she couldn't be with you, couldn't claim you as her own."

Surprised, Zoe asked, "She knew where I was?"

"Of course, she knew. She cried when she read of your wedding in the newspaper."

Zoe gripped her pillow and stared into space. "That makes no sense. She could have come to me any time she chose."

"Sarah was afraid you'd hate her." With the back of his aged hand, Holt brushed away an unbidden tear. "She had no idea what James and Rachel Adair had told you about her."

"They never so much as mentioned her name in my presence."

"Sarah had no way of knowing that, and she was afraid of Colonel Adair. She did make several attempts to see you when you were growing up. The first time was when you were living in Aviano, Italy. Sarah went to the colonel's home and begged for just one glimpse of her baby. He threw her out and threatened to have her arrested if she ever came near you again. But she didn't give up, not my Sarah. She tried again when you were in Japan. This time she made her plea to Rachel. Your so called mother was very compassionate, but she refused to let Sarah even look at you from a distance. A few years later, when Sarah came onto Clark Air Base in the Philippines to entertain the troops there, Colonel Adair had her detained. He told her then that if he ever saw her again, he would arrest her, and reopen the espionage case against her."

"But if he had done that, my true parentage would have been discovered," Zoe reasoned.

"That was Sarah's argument. It was then that Sarah learned how devious Colonel Adair was. The colonel made all the arrangements for your birth. He persuaded Sarah to disguise herself. She died her red hair brown and used her skill and knowledge about makeup to further disguise herself. Sarah was led to believe that Colonel Adair had smuggled her into a military hospital. In reality, he had registered her under the name of Rachel Adair. He told Sarah all this, then laughed in her face and dared her to do her worst. When she pointed out that your name was enough to prove that you belonged to her and Senator Zoeller, the colonel mocked her and called her an 'incredibly stupid woman'. There was nothing more Sarah could do. There was no such thing as DNA testing then. It would have been her word against the colonel's, and Sarah knew which one the world would believe."

"Where was my real fa. . . . Zoe couldn't bring herself to say the word. "Where was Senator Zoeller? Why didn't Sarah go to him for help?"

"Unfortunately, by that time the senator was dead."

Zoe shivered. "I don't believe you."

"Oh, it's true, and that was to the colonel's advantage also. Senator Zoeller could neither confirm or deny Sarah's claim. When She threatened to tell the world that truth. Colonel Adair told her that if she so much as opened her mouth to a living soul, he would see to it that she spent the rest of her life behind bars."

Zoe was struggling with a dozen frightening and conflicting emotions as her brain labored to collect and sort this onslaught of unwanted information. "This is Sarah's truth. My father had a side in this too, and I will not allow you to speak of him in derogatory terms. He was a man of honor and integrity."

"He was not your father, Zoe, not biologically, not even legally."

"Yes he was!" Regardless of what this evil man said, in all the ways that count, James Adair had been Zoe's father. "I won't have you saying otherwise."

"All I know is that he made Sarah's life a living hell. After that episode in the Philippines, Sarah was much more careful. She never tried to contact you again. She had to content herself with seeing you from a distance, when and if she could."

"But that's all in the past now," Zoe argued with impassioned clarity. "Sarah and my father are both dead. None of this matters anymore."

Anger flashed like a lightening bolt across Holt's sagging face. "Oh, it matters! It matters to me, and it matters to Sarah."

"Not anymore, she's at rest now. You said yourself that she can't be hurt anymore." This obsession with Sarah and her death bed request could well drive Holt over the edge of reason.

Holt vaulted to his feet and swung his arms around. "You are wrong! Wrong! Wrong!"

Zoe soothed, "Please, sit down and calm down before you have another attack."

Holt sat and put his hand over his heart. "I can't let that happen, not until I have granted Sarah her last wish."

Zoe laid her hand on his arm as she spoke slowly and emphatically. "Sarah is gone. What you do now is after the fact." She had to persuade him to let go if this insane fixation. "Sarah is at rest now."

Vehemently, Holt declared. " No. She's not, and therein lies the problem."

"You promised to stay calm."

His voice dropped. "So I did, and I keep my promises. I also promised Sarah as she lay dying in my arms that I would find her only child and right the terrible wrong done to that child. Sarah whispered to me that then and only then would she find peace." Madness lurked in the depths of his glazed eyes. "Don't you see? Until I have granted her wish, Sarah is a disturbed spirit, doomed to wander restless and alone in an eternal purgatory."

"That's . . . ." Zoe shad almost said nonsense. Discretion coupled with a sixth sense, stopped her. "A strange belief," she added, lamely.

"It's not a belief, it's knowledge. Sarah never lied to me when she was alive. She wouldn't utter a falsehood as she lay dying."

Wearied by his lunatic rantings, Zoe questioned, "What, exactly, do you want me to do?"

"It's such a little concession, such a small gesture." The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Holt's sagging mouth. "And it will save your mother's spirit from eternal damnation. It will be to your advantage, also."

"Are you going to tell me what you want me to do?"

"Sarah wanted you to inherit the wealth she had amassed through her lifetime. She wanted you to receive her estate. She made me promise that I would find a way to bring that about without revealing your true identity. It took no small amount of doing, but I've devised a fool proof plan."

Zoe patted Holt's arm, hoping to appease him. "I don't want Sarah's estate."

Heedless of her words, Holt continued. "I thought of bequeathing half of the estate to you and leaving the other half to Clint. That would only lose another barrage of gossip and speculation. There's an outside chance that some nosy reporter would stumble onto the truth."

By his own admission, Holt didn't want a word of this old scandal leaked to the press. Perhaps Zoe could use that wish to her advantage. "I would never breathe a word of what you have told me to a living soul. I can go home now, and we can both forget about the matter.

"Don't talk nonsense. Three days from now, you and I are going to be married. As my wife, you are entitled to half of my estate." He stood, calm and collected, seemingly unaware that he had just dropped another bombshell into the center of Zoe's already chaotic existence. "I'll send for Clint. We can tell him we've set a date."

Zoe strangled on her own amazement. "Are you out of your mind?" It occurred to her that he well might be. "You know how Clint feels about me." She latched onto the one argument that she thought might deter this determined, demented old man. "Do you want to alienate your only son?"

Holt took long strides across the room. "Oh, yes, I do know how my son feels about you. He's attracted to you. Given half a chance, I suspect that attraction could grow into much more."

The man was mad. "Clint hates me."

"No. He doesn't, and that's what makes this such a difficult situation."

Even as she spoke, Zoe wondered why she thought she could reason with a mad man. "Perhaps if you explained to Clint about Sarah's request he would understand."

With frightening fury, Holt turned. "No! That must never come to pass. Clint hates Sarah. He might do something foolish, like go to the press."

Retracing his footsteps, Holt perched once more on the side of the bed. "No one, and I mean no one must ever suspect that you and I are not married in every sense of the word."

Zoe wanted to lash out at this overbearing man. Fear and a strange sense of pity stopped her. Carefully she began to explain, "Any kind of marriage between you and me is out of the question." She had to make this old man see the absurdity of his outrageous plan.

Her declaration fell on deaf ears. Gripping the bed post with one hand, Holt moaned deep in his throat. "Don't you see how torn I am? I have labored over this dilemma for months. Clint is my son, my only son. I love him. What do you think it does to me, having to risk estrangement from him in order to redeem Sarah's soul from perdition?

Until now Zoe had not realized how desperate or how near madness Holt Hamilton really was. She watched as his face set in grim lines.

"Sometimes I think I know how God must have felt, having to give his son in order to save the world. In a way, that's what I have to do. I have to sacrifice Clint if I want to save Sarah."

Zoe lifted her hand in an effort to stop his flow of words, but the old man ranted on, oblivious to her and everything else around him.

"Clint hates Sarah because I married her, and I wouldn't marry Mollie." Zoe's blank stare made him hasten to explain, "Mollie is Clint's mother. I couldn't marry Mollie. I didn't love her. I wasn't ready to settle down. By the time I knew she was pregnant it was too late for an abortion. So I did the next best thing, I bought her a husband."

Stunned shock reduced Zoe to gaping silence.

A quick nod of his head, and Holt was off on another tangent. "There was nothing wrong with C.J. McCann. He was the best all round cowboy who ever sat a horse. He had debts, big gambling debts, so we struck a deal. He married Mollie, and I paid his creditors. He didn't hang around long. He was gone before Clint was two months old. A few years later, Mollie married Mitchell Sullivan. After she had Maggie, she and Mitch moved away. I had to hire detectives to find them. I wanted to see my son, but Mollie told me to go to hell."

Much more of this and Holt would suffer another attack. His voice shook with indignation. "I told her Clint was my son too. 'Prove it,' she said. He began to shake so violently that his teeth knocked together. "She kept my boy from me. She taught him to hate me." He began to weep like a child. "It took me years to gain access to my own flesh and blood. Do you know how desperately I want Clint to love me?"

"He does love you." Zoe doubted that statement, but she wanted to say something, anything, that would alleviate some of this sick old man's torment. "He loves you very much."

"Sure he does, but he hates me just as much as he loves me. But what else can I do? I can't condemn Sarah to eternal damnation."

Hastening to Holt's side, Zoe put her arms around his waist and urged, "Come and lie down."

He leaned heavily against her. "Maybe I should rest for a few minutes. Will you stay with me?"

"I'll call Hartford. He can help you get to bed." Still locked in a loose embrace, the couple eased down on the side of the bed. Neither of them heard the door open, nor saw the tight-lipped man who stepped into the room until his voice jarred them to sudden awareness. "What the hell is going on here?"

Tension rose until the air fairly sizzled. "Clint, son, come in," Holt invited. "Zoe and I have something to tell you."

Swift strides brought Clint across the space that separated them. "And I have something to say to you two. . . . " Those harsh words levitated in the air as Holt clutched his heart and fell into Zoe's arms.

At first Zoe thought this might be another of Holt's attempts to manipulate his son. His comatose state soon gave lie to that notion.

Shoving Zoe aside, Clint laid Holt on the bed, then yanked the cord that was suspended above the headboard. "Don't die, old man," he pleaded as he stretched Holt out on the bed. "Don't leave me with nothing but guilt and bad memories."

In a matter of seconds, Hartford charged through the door. "I was afraid something like this would happen. For God's sake, call Doctor Michaels."

Clint turned and collided with Zoe. "Get out of here."

A very shaken Zoe moved toward the door.

Clint called after her, "If you've enticed my father into trading his life for a roll in the hay with you, I will see that your punishment fits your crime."

Zoe's feet faltered. He thought she had been making love to his father! What a despicable, degrading assumption. Humiliation colored Zoe's cheeks a deep red as she rounded on her accuser. "How dare you even imply such a thing. I. . . ."

Hartford interrupted. "You two can fight later. Right now you'd better get Doctor Michaels out here before we lose Mr. Hamilton."

Chapter Seven

The next two hours seemed more like two eternities. Zoe spent them anxiously awaiting some word about her stricken employer's condition. Long before Doctor Michael's arrival, Clint had banished her from upstairs. She'd retreated to the huge living room on the first floor. Weary now from worry and endless pacing, she fell into a chair and contemplated defying Clint, going back upstairs to Holt's room, and demanding to know how he was. For reasons that made no sense at all, she felt responsible for this latest attack.

She was on her feet and headed for the hall when the door at the other end of the room opened, and Maggie entered. She was followed by a stout middle-aged woman who carried a food laden serving tray. Maggie nodded toward the coffee table. "Put it there."

The woman set the tray down, put her hand to the small of her back and straightened slowly. "Anything else, Miss Maggie?" She spoke with a heavy Spanish accent.

Maggie dismissed the woman with a wave of her hand and a curt, "No."

The woman's heavy footsteps had scarcely faded when Maggie ordered, "Come over and sit down. You must be dead on your feet."

Zoe's stomach was too cramped with tension to consider food. Clasping her hands behind her back, she began once more to pace across the floor. "I'm not hungry."

Maggie's voice was firm. "Then come have some coffee."

"Have you been upstairs?" Zoe stopped her pacing and fell into a chair near the table.

Maggie poured coffee into cups. "Try not to worry. Holt's had severe attacks before and survived." She sat the urn on the tray. "Sugar? Cream?"

"Cream, please." Zoe took the cup Maggie held out to her. "You didn't see him. He was unconscious and pale as death."

Maggie settled in her chair, took a sandwich from the tray, and studied it carefully. "Holt may not be as ill as he seems." She bit into the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "I wonder what he's up to now."

Zoe didn't believe for one minute that Holt could fake an attack such as she'd witnessed earlier, and she said so.

Maggie shook her head in disagreement. "Don't be too sure. Holt is a better actor than Sarah ever thought of being."

Zoe took a quick sip of coffee. "Do you think he's faking?"

Maggie laid her sandwich on the tray. "Holt will go to any lengths to get what he wants. He's. . . ." Her voice faltered then died on the end of a sigh.

"He's what?" Lowering her cup, Zoe leaned forward in her chair.

Maggie studied Zoe from over the rim of her coffee cup. "Holt is cunning, and he's extremely intelligent." Her eyes fell to study the contents of her cup. "It's a lethal combination."

Maggie had confirmed what Zoe had suspected all along. Maggie was not happy living at Triple H. "If you feel that way about Holt, why do you choose to stay here?"

"Who said I had a choice?" Maggie's mouth twisted in a harsh smile. "Forget I said that." She set her cup on the table. "I stay because I choose the frying pan over the fire."

Her cryptic responses created more questions than they answered. An emerging truth made Zoe shudder. "Holt's made it impossible for you to leave, hasn't he?"

Maggie frowned, "Don't pry into things that don't concern you."

Another truth was becoming crystal clear. "Holt knows so long as you're here, Clint will stay."

Maggie's refusal to affirm or deny told Zoe she was right. "Does Clint know?"

Maggie shot Zoe a steely glance. "This is between Holt and me, no one else is involved."

Once again approaching footsteps sounded. This time they were coming down the stairs.

Zoe's fingers tightened on her cup. "You should tell Clint the truth."

Maggie hissed, "Maybe you should tell him the truth about why you're here."

Zoe got the message. "I see your point."

"I thought you would." As Clint and Doctor Michaels came into the room, Maggie stood and smoothed her skirt. "How is he?"

"He's conscious now." Doctor Michaels sighed and sank into a chair. "I could use a shot of caffeine."

"Of Course." Maggie poured coffee into a cup. "Clint?"

"Later." Clint's hard gaze fastened on Zoe's face. "Right now the old man wants to see Zoe."

Zoe looked from Clint to Dr. Michaels. "Should I go up?"

"Yes." Doctor Michaels took the coffee Maggie offered him. "And the sooner, the better. I've given him a sedative. He'll be asleep soon."

Zoe set her cup on the table, hurried from the room and raced up the stairs. She was halfway to the second floor before she realized Clint was following her. Pausing, she said over her shoulder, "I know the way."

He caught up to her. "You're not going to see the old man alone. I don't trust you."

By now his caustic remarks shouldn't surprise her. They did. "I would never do anything to hurt Holt."

"You already have. The strain of sex in the afternoon for an old man with a heart condition can be fatal."

Zoe gripped the stair rail as shock waves rocked through her. He thought. . . . Good Lord! "Your father and I never. . . ."

"There's no point in denying it. The old man has already admitted it. In fact, he bragged about it. I believe his exact words were" 'The best I ever had.' You should be flattered. The old man has slept with a hell of a lot of women in his time."

Zoe's apprehension was blossoming onto full blown foreboding. "If Holt made such a statement, he was either out of his head or lying." How could Clint believe such an outrageous lie? "I can soon set this matter straight." She bounded up the stairs two steps at a time.

Just before she reached the second floor landing, a strong hand clamped around her arm. "What in the hell are you up to now?"

Zoe had the feeling she was up to her neck in trouble. "I'm going to speak to Holt and make him tell the truth."

"You can't storm in and upset the old man. He just had a heart attack. Do you want to kill him?"

Zoe was hesitant to admit that at this moment, she felt like doing just that. "I want him to stop telling vicious lies about me." Shaking her arm free, she hurried toward the second floor landing.

Again, Clint caught up to her and grabbed her arm. "Don't try it. If you start an argument with my father now, you could send him into cardiac arrest."

It was the first time Zoe had ever heard Clint call Holt anything but 'old man.' That was cause for hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could get him to listen to reason. "Don't you see what Holt's trying to do?"

"No." Clint's voice was vitriolic. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

A wave of futility swept over Zoe as she realized she couldn't explain Holt's lies without revealing why he had told them. Her heart skipped a beat. The envelope Holt had shown her earlier, was it still in the library? She had to find it before someone else did. "Let me talk to Holt alone. I won't upset him, I promise."

"What you have to say to my old man, you will say in my presence." Clint's grip on her arm tightened. "Let's get this over while the old man's still awake." He ushered Zoe up the second flight of stairs toward the third floor.

Pulling back, Zoe tried to free her arm. "Let go of me."

Clint's fingers loosened. "After the old man sees you, I want to talk to you."

Zoe's small chin lifted in defiance. "I have nothing to say to you."

Those long fingers tightened again. "Well, I have plenty to say to you, and you're going to listen."

She would, Zoe decided, in good time set this arrogant overbearing man straight. First she had to find that envelope and have another long, hard look at its contents. She hurried down the third floor hall with Clint at her side, still holding onto to her arm.

As they neared Holt's suite, Zoe pulled free. Stopping before the open door, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked boldly inside.

Clint entered behind her and closed the door.

Holt lay in the center of his huge bed, looking much improved. He smiled when Zoe and Clint came into the room. "Zoe, darling, I've been waiting for you. Come in, sit here." He patted the space beside him on the bed.

Hartford was sitting in a chair on the far side of the bed, his arms folded across his chest. He stood and stretched. "If it's all right with you Mr. McCann, I have an errand to run. Can you Stay with Mr. Hamilton for fifteen or twenty minutes?"

"Sure," Clint agreed. "But be back within the half hour."

Hartford came around the bed. As he walked between Clint and Zoe, he shot her a knowing look.

Holt waited until Hartford was out the door and out of ear shot before saying, "You don't have to stay, Clint." He tried to sit up. "Zoe will be here with me." Placing one hand over his heart, he fell back on his pillows.

"I have nothing else to do." Clint moved around the bed and sat in the chair Hartford had vacated. "Lie down and behave. I'll hang around for a while."

Holt lay back and rested his head on the pillows. "Come here Zoe, darling. I want to hold your hand while we discuss our plans." His voice was honey sweet and weighted with a note of intimidation.

Zoe obeyed. What else could she do? Sitting on the bed, she let him grasp her hand in his. "Before we talk, I have an errand to run." Quickly, she improvised, "My pen and notebook are in the library."

Holt patted her hand. "I want you here. Clint can get your pen and notebook."

"I'd rather do it myself." The last thing Zoe needed was Clint nosing around in the library.

Holt sighed, then pressed his lips to Zoe's fingertips. "They're safe there. The library's locked." That assurance was also a veiled threat.

Zoe silently admitted defeat. "Then I'll get them later."

Holt smiled, then yawned. "Doctor Michaels gave me something to make me sleep, so I'll hurry along. My attorneys are making the necessary arrangements. We will be married three days from now." His finger manacled her wrists in silent warning.

Panic rose and beat in Zoe's throat. This demented old man would go to any lengths to carry out his devious plan. She had to deter him until she could stop him. "You won't be out of bed in three days."

"Then we will be married here, in this room." He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "What better place to say our vows than the room where our love was consummated?"

Zoe yanked her hand away. Deterrent be dammed. This farce had to stop now! "Tell your son the truth, or I will."

"I already have." Holt yawned again. "Clint knows how it is with us."

Zoe vaulted to her feet. "I said the truth."

"Are you sure?" There it was again, that note of open intimidation.

Zoe's knees buckled as she dropped to the bed. "Holt, please."

"Oh, all right." Holt leered in Clint's direction. "Clint, would you go to the library and fetch Zoe's tablet and pen? And while you're there, bring the manilla envelope on the desk also."

In one short moment, Zoe assessed what she stood to lose. "Don't bother. I can get them later."

Holt turned his head to one side. "Are you sure?"

Through clenched teeth, Zoe hissed, "I'm sure."

Holt's smile was triumphant. "That's my good girl."

From behind, Clint intoned. "I can't take any more of this. I'm leaving."

"No, Son, stay. You're going to be my best man." A broad yawn overtook Holt. "I think we will have to continue this discussion later." His eyes fell shut, then lifted again. "Where's Hartford?"

On cue, Hartford opened the door. "I'm back." Zoe had the distinct feeling that he had been eavesdropping.

Clint swore as he rose from his chair. With a nod in Hartford's direction, he left the room, slamming the door behind him as he went.

Zoe breathed a sigh of relief. She would deal with Clint later, after she'd found that envelope and stashed it in a safe place.

"You can go, Ms. Martin." Hartford stood staring down at a now sleeping Holt. "I'll be here the rest of the night."

Zoe's mind was in a turmoil. She had to find a way to get Holt's library key. "That's a long time without a break."

Hartford assured her, "I've been Mr. Hamilton's nurse for five years. I can manage."

"I could come back around midnight, and you could take a break." Zoe scanned the room, looking for the vest Holt had been wearing earlier. It was nowhere in sight.

"That's very thoughtful of you." Easing into a chair beside the bed, Hartford took a crossword puzzle book from the night stand and flipped through the pages. "I could use a break about that time. Let me ask Mr. McCann if that's all right."

Zoe knew what Clint's answer would be. She surprised herself by saying, "In three days I'll be Mrs. Holt Hamilton. You no longer have to check with Mr. McCann about anything concerning Mr. Hamilton."

Hartford laid the book back on the stand. "I don't think Mr. McCann would like that worth a damn."

"Do you work for Mr. McCann?"

"No ma'am, but. . . ."

Zoe cut him short. "I'll be back around midnight." With as much grace as she could muster, she made a swift exit.

She was almost to the second floor landing when she heard footsteps behind her. Looking up, she saw Clint closing the space between them with wide bounding strides. Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. She had hoped to avoid him until morning.

Clint stepped around her and stopped on the step below. "We have to talk."

Zoe gripped the stair rail. After all that had happened today, she wasn't up to another confrontation. "I am very tired. We can talk tomorrow."

Clint put his hand over her arm. Because he stood on the step below, they were eye-to-eye. He brought his face very close to hers. "What I have to say is best said now." His hand moved from her arm to her shoulder as his piercing gaze scanned her pale face. "It has to be that uncanny resemblance, the same flame-kissed hair." His voice caught in his throat. "The same emerald eyes that hide a million deceits." His hand moved to trace the soft contours of her face. "The same evil ability to enchant." Slowly his arms went around her as his mouth covered hers in a slow, sweetly seductive kiss.

The words, the soft touch, the slow embrace, sent an unwanted chill shivering through Zoe's body. Under his searching lips, her mouth opened to admit his probing tongue as a thousand tiny currents of fire shot through her body. She had every intention of pushing him from her, instead, she swayed toward him and closed her eyes as a fiery emotion consumed her.

Clint pulled himself away and swore under his breath, short, crude imprecations that shocked her by their force and vulgarity. "What are you doing to me?"

Later, when reflection gave perspective, Zoe would realize that Clint had been the aggressor. That idea came much later. She stood now, fighting a ravaging passion that was as frightening as it was humiliating.

Zoe had come to her marriage bed a virgin. Her own innocence had kept her from knowing that David was also a novice. Their first sexual encounter produced pain and disappointment but little else. With time and effort, she had learned to find pleasure in her sexual relationship with David. But she had never, in her wildest flights of fancy, dreamed a passion such as shook her now existed. Pressing a trembling hand over her bruised mouth, she tried to swallow the confusion that rose in her throat.

"God, how could I?" Self loathing sounded in Clint's mocking words. "How could you? You're going to be my stepmother."

His coarse words brought Zoe back to reality with a jolt. A flame of scarlet licked across her cheeks. She raised her hand, then, with a sigh, let her arm fall to her side. She would not let this contemptible man pull her down to his level. "Your conceit is even greater than your stupidity." Weariness caused her shoulders to sag. "I'm not going to marry your father."

He caught her arm and began to pull her down the stairs. "We both know better than that. Get on with your token protest then we can get down to the business at hand."

Zoe dug her heels into the thick carpet. "Conceited, stupid, and quite possibly mad! Only this afternoon you were threatening me with dire consequences if I even considered such a thing."

Clint maneuvered her down the hall through an open door into a small study. "That was before I talked to Doctor Michaels." Slamming the door behind him, he pointed to a chair. "Sit down."

Zoe's first impulse was to protest. She reconsidered. The sooner she settled this matter with Clint, the better. She eased her tired body into the contours of the chair.

Clint paused for a few seconds, as if he were waiting for her to make some objection. When she offered nothing but strained silence, he paced across the floor, then turned to face her. "Doctor Michaels advises me to humor my old man. He doesn't have much time left. I want his last days to be happy ones. I'm willing to make a deal." His eyes narrowed. "How much?"

What did he want from her now? "How much what?"

"How much do you want?" Slipping his hands into his pockets, Clint strained his neck against his collar and stared at the ceiling. "I've decided that the stress of being denied is worse for the old man than indulging in a little hanky-panky now and then. The old geezer is getting soft in his old age. He wants to make it legal." He brought his head down and stabbed her with a penetrating stare. "How much?"

Zoe was set to tell him to go to hell, then she remembered the envelope in the library. She needed time to find it. That mitigating circumstance argued for diplomacy. "If I knew what you were talking about, I might have an answer."

Clint shrugged. "So we do this the hard way?"

Zoe's patience was wearing thin. "I'm very tired. If you will explain what it is you want from me, I'll try to give some response."

"Like the response you offered a while back on the stairs?" He made a guttural sound low in his throat. "That's not what I want from you."

Zoe's brow knitted into a puzzled frown. "What are you implying?"

"Just an observation. "If that was what I wanted, judging from your 'response," He cleared his throat, then smiled, "I could take it anytime I chose."

Sheer outrage brought Zoe to her feet. "God, you are one arrogant, conceited bastard." His ugly innuendo cut through her like a rusty knife. She gave her chair a shove with her foot. "I refuse to stay here and be insulted."

With amazing speed, Clint moved to block the door. "Name your price, and we can get down to business."

This could go on all night. "My price for what?"

"For agreeing to marry my old man?"

Shock made Zoe step back, then fall into her chair. "You want me to marry Holt? Why?"

Clint leaned against the door and took a deep breath. "I don't mind humoring the old fool. He likes what you gave him, so why not? With a little compromise, we can all come out ahead on this deal." He raised his hands then let them fall to his sides. "Well, what do you say?"

Zoe was completely at sea. "To what?"

"To my," a sneer curled his lips, "proposition."

"What, exactly, are you proposing?"

"Don't get greedy. I am not about to let you marry my old man without signing a prenuptial agreement. Tell me how much, and we can draw up the contract. When the old man dies, you collect."

For a few fleeting moments Zoe was too stunned to speak. Then she found her voice. "What makes you think. . . . " She had every intention of telling Clint what he could do with his money, and his proposition. As reason caught up to her outrage, she realized that, under the circumstances such a statement would be sheer folly. She felt her way through her response. "Would Holt agree to a prenuptial agreement?"

Clint hunkered down in front of the door as if he still half expected her to run. "He won't know."

Zoe's voice rose, "You couldn't keep something like that from him," Then fell, "Could you?"

Clint slid to sit on the floor. "Doctor Michaels says the old man has six months at the most. For that short length of time I can keep him from finding out."

Almost, she told him that she wouldn't go along with his insulting plan but only almost. What Zoe needed now was time, time to think, and time to search for that envelope. With feigned flippancy, she countered, "Make an offer."

One eyebrow climbed up Clint's mobile his face. "Two hundred thousand?"

If he had said ten thousand she would have been astonished. Zoe struggled to keep the surprise she felt from creeping into her voice. "Are you serious?"

"So you want to bargain?"

He thought she was negotiating for more money. "I want some time to think."

"All right, two hundred and fifty thousand, but not one cent more."

Zoe's insides turned to jelly. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars was a fortune, which made what he was proposing all the more insulting. "Your proposition stinks Mr. McCann."

Clint pressed his back against the wall and pushed himself to his feet. "So you don't like the terms? I don't believe you trust me. Would you agree to a hundred thousand the day you marry the old man and fifty thousand six months later, if the old man is still alive?"

Zoe stared down at the floor, completely at a loss for words. "Can I give you an answer tomorrow?"

"You would get the last hundred thousand the day the old man dies if he lives past six months. So, what do you say?"

Her anger overcame her fear. "I say, I'll give you an answer tomorrow."

"God, I hate a conniving woman. I won't raise my ante."

"I'll give you an answer tomorrow." She couldn't make any decision until she found that envelope. "May I go now?"

Standing aside, Clint opened the door with a flourish. "All right, have your little moment of triumph. Tomorrow we can sign the necessary papers."

Zoe hurried past him. She couldn't get away fast enough.

Clint called after her, "Good night. Sweet dreams."

She ran from his sight and his taunting words.

Chapter Eight

Once inside the safety of her suite, Zoe slammed the door, secured the lock, and leaned against the wall. The clock on the night stand said half-past ten, and she'd promised to relieve Hartford at midnight.

She fell into an arm chair and brushed her hand across her face. It didn't seem possible that less than eight hours ago she'd been reining her horse into the stable, unaware that her world was about to come crashing down around her head. Drawing a deep breath, she tried to clear the cobwebs of confusion from her brain. It was an impossible endeavor. Her thoughts remained muddled and uncertain.

Moving to the bedroom, she turned back the covers and stretched out on the bed only to discover she was too nervous to sleep. Standing, she began to pace around the room, rearranging bottles on the dressing table and papers on the desk as she passed. Maybe if she showered and changed she'd be able to relax.

Thirty minutes later, Zoe emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. She felt refreshed, but no less confused. Was there the slightest chance that the bizarre tale Holt had related to her earlier was a lie? She forced herself to face the agonizing truth. Holt may have recounted a slanted version of what actually happened, but his proof of those facts was indisputable.

Once again, Zoe fell onto the bed. Her mind was a chaos of confusion. Every decent instinct she possessed told her she should refuse to go along with Holt's insane scheme. Common sense argued that if she did she faced grave repercussions.

If she had any self respect at all, she would reject Clint's degrading proposition. If she dared, he was sure to become even more suspicious. He might even start to investigate. A chilling revelation became crystal clear. There was no choice, she would have to do both. The decision to act in direct opposition to the dictates of her conscience had nothing to do with morals or ethics or even honor, it had to do with her very survival.

Zoe shivered. She was becoming as devious and despicable as the other occupants of this terrible place. Self loathing coated her mouth, leaving a bad taste on her tongue.

A new, even more distressing thought surfaced. What would David have said about her timid resolve to follow the line of least resistance? She had thought less and less about David since her arrival at Triple H. Closing her eyes, she strained to conjure up a remembrance of his dear face. Superimposed over any image that came to her mind's eye was the bitter accusing countenance of Clinton McCann.

Sleep was impossible. Zoe sat on the side of the bed and tried to concentrate on the romantic novel she had begun the week before. After beginning the same paragraph three times she gave up, and tossed the book aside.

Ten minutes later she was knocking on Holt's bedroom door.

A gruff voice sounded from the other side. "Yeah?"

Zoe stepped through the door to see Hartford seated in a wing-backed chair working a cross word puzzle. He laid the book aside and pushed the pencil behind his ear. "You're early, Ms. Martin. I didn't expect you for another twenty minutes." He nodded toward a sleeping Holt. "Mr. Hamilton should sleep until I return."

A new fear surfaced. What if Holt took a sudden turn for the worst during Hartford's absence? "Is there any danger of another attack?"

"There's always danger of another attack." Hartford stood and stretched. "When it happens, it happens. It won't matter if he's alone or with someone."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because Mr. McCann told me to stay."

Zoe knew first-hand how unbearable Clint could be when he was crossed. She said with more assurance than she felt, "You are no longer accountable to Mr. McCann."

Hartford scoffed, "That's easy for you to say. But I doubt that Mr. McCann would agree."

Zoe hated duplicity and dishonesty, now she found herself stooping to both. "We don't have to tell Mr. McCann. It's not as if you were leaving the premises. If I need you, I'll ring."

With some misgivings, Hartford picked up his cross word puzzle book and moved toward the door. "If Mr. McCann finds out, I won't be the only one to feel the lash of his tongue."

"You have nothing to fear from Mr. McCann." Zoe wasn't sure that was true, but she wanted Hartford out of here, and the sooner, the better.

Hartford's eyes narrowed. "I fear no man alive and that includes Clint McCann."

It was not so much what he said but the look that accompanied his abrupt declaration that sent a shiver down Zoe's spine. She was beginning to suspect that behind his professional facade, Willis Hartford was a cold-blooded, calculating man.

"Mr. McCann seems to be a reasonable man." She repented silently for speaking such a blatant untruth. "Between the two of us, I'm sure we can handle him."

Hartford's cold smile chilled her blood. "Clint McCann is a son-of-a-bitch."

Willis Hartford despised Clint. Dislike Zoe could have understood. Clint did little to endear himself to anyone, but hatred so deep and intense was frightening. "Discretion is the better part of valor. Let's hope that he never finds out."

Hartford moved toward the door. "When would you like me to return, Ms. Martin?"

She didn't want him back before she had time to carry out her search. Zoe glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "It's eleven forty-five now. I can stay until five in the morning."

Hartford's hand was on the door knob. "You are a most generous lady, but Mr. Hamilton takes medication at three."

"Then you should come back at three." Mentally, Zoe calculated. That gave her almost three hours. Not a lot of time, but enough, hopefully, to do what she had to do. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed him. "If I need you before three, I'll ring."

The door had scarcely shut before Zoe was on her feet and surveying the room. She had to find Holt's library key. How many times had he stressed that there was only one key, and he was its keeper? He hadn't kept it on his key ring but on a separate little chain tucked away in his vest pocket. Her fingers snapped, breaking the silence of the quiet room. "The closet, look in the closet."

Holt's huge walk-in closet resembled a small department store. At one end, dozens of pairs of hand crafted boots were arranged in neat rows. Above them, on a wide shelf, there must have been twenty-five hat boxes. His suits, and there were at least a hundred, were hung in meticulous order on the long rack that stretched across two walls. A cold sweat broke out across her brow as Zoe began to search each vest pocket. At this rate it might take hours to find the key. Maybe she should look in the bedroom first.

She was closing the closet door when she heard footsteps moving down the hall. For one endless moment, fear glued her to the spot where she stood. Holding her breath, she waited.

The muffled footfall grew faint, then faded away, lost in the whisperings of the old house and the sighing night noises from outside.

Zoe let her breath expel in a long hissing release. Tiptoeing across the floor to the tall chest in the corner, she was set to pull the top drawer open when a tray on the top of the chest caught her eye. It held Holt's wallet, some loose change, and his key ring. Elation shot through her, leaving her weak-kneed with expectation.

She lifted the wallet. Underneath, resting amid loose change and several credit card receipts, was the elusive library key! Wrapping her sweaty hand around it, Zoe sighed her satisfaction and her relief. So far, so good.

Almost immediately, her elation was replaced by an unreasonable misgiving. It had been too easy. "Don't question a kind fate," she told herself, as she sat down in the winged back chair, and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. The cold imprint of the key pressed against her sweaty palm. Now all that remained was to get to the library and find that envelope.

She took a deep breath. What was happening to her? This was not the Zoe Martin who never broke the rules, never dared question the status quo. What had happened to the young woman who'd been voted most congenial by her high school senior class, who studied and worked so hard to graduate in the top ten percent of her college class? She'd always been such a conformist. No, she had been a coward, but an ethical coward, and here she was flying in the face of honesty, flirting with danger and walking the thin edge of disaster. A chill skipped down her backbone. She closed her mind to the nagging voice of conscience. Tiptoeing out the door, she stole quietly down the hall.

By the time she reached the library door, her nerves were snapping like high tension wires in a wind storm. With fingers that shook, she inserted the key and turned it. The clicking sound made her jump, and look over her shoulder down the dark hallway. "Hello?" she whispered, half expecting a response. A phantom silence caused her to close her eyes and give the door a push. It swung open with a little swishing sound.

Her heart was beating in her throat. She closed the door, oh so carefully, and felt along the wall. Her fingers found the switch. She pressed it, flooding the room with light that puddled in the corners and cast eerie shadows along the walls.

Zoe swallowed the panic that swelled inside her and raced to the desk. Frantically, she sorted through the pile of clutter. "It has to be here, it has to be here." Just when she despaired of locating her sought-after cache, she found it lying near the bottom of a pile of old newspaper clippings, nestled between a stack of letters and some faded old publicity pictures of Sarah Clarke. With unsteady hands, she picked it up, scanned through the contents, then hugged it to her breast as relief made her giddy, almost euphoric.

Zoe was down the hall and nearing Holt's room before yet another fear assailed her. She was not truly safe until she had stashed the envelope in a secure place. Did she dare risk taking it to her room now? Did she have a choice? She knew the answer. A fast U turn headed her toward the stairs and the second floor.

One hand hung onto the stair rail as she felt her way down the stairs. Shadows took on macabre substance, and sounds intimidated from the somber silence as fear threatened to immobilize her. Zoe stopped and drew a long, tortured breath. She must not panic now, not when she was almost home free. With renewed determination, she made her way down the staid old staircase.

Later, she would never quite recall how she negotiated the stairs, or made it to the safety of her suite without falling or fainting from paralyzing fear.

She locked the envelope in her suitcase and tried to relax in a chair to arm herself for the journey back upstairs. A sharp rap-rap jarred her door. Before she could answer, it burst open and Clint invaded the room, tramping across the floor like some marauding bandit. He was dressed in a dark business suit. His hair was rumpled, his face lined with fatigue.

If he had been five minutes earlier, he would have caught Zoe in the act of concealing the envelope. If he had been five minutes later, she would have been gone. The narrowness of her escape made her voice sharp. "You can't come bursting into my rooms at all hours of the night."

"The light was on. I knocked first. With a wave of his hand, he brushed her objection aside, "I just came from Midland. As I unlocked the front door, I thought I heard someone upstairs. I was checking."

Good Lord, what if he decided to check Holt's room and found no one there? Zoe was surprised at the ease with which she lied. "I've been here reading since ten-thirty, and I heard nothing."

Clint raised a questioning eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

She had to get him out of here. "Of course, I'm sure." Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she yawned. "I didn't realize it was so late. Good night, Clint."

He didn't answer, just turned on his heel, and walked through the door, slamming it behind him.

Jumping to her feet, Zoe ran to the door. She listened until she could no longer hear Clint's steps tramping down the stairway, then she slipped through the opening and began her anxious journey back up the stairs to Holt's room.

Chapter Nine

A timid knock on the door brought Zoe from a troubled half sleep to sudden wakefulness. She sat up in bed. Sunlight was pouring through the windows. A quick glance at the clock sent her scrambling to her feet. It was ten-fifteen in the morning. As she reached for her robe, she called out, "Who's there?"

"Miss Martin?" A shy voice questioned from the other side of the door. "May I come in?"

Zoe pushed her arms into her robe and rushed into the sitting room. "Who are you?" she asked as she reached for the knob.

"Bridget, ma'am." The voice sounded as if it expected Zoe to know who Bridget was. "I brought your breakfast."

"Bridget?" Zoe opened the door.

A chubby young woman stood on the other side carrying a food laden tray. "Yes ma'am. Mrs. Mendez sent me 'cause it's Sally's day off."

"Who is Mrs. Mendez?" Zoe stepped aside to let the woman enter. "And who is Sally?"

Bridget sat the tray on a table near the door, then straightened to a standing position. "Mrs. Mendez is the cook."

Zoe nodded. "I see." She really didn't. "And Sally?"

"Sally is. . . ." Bridget frowned. "I have to start at the beginning." She held up one finger. "Lupe is the first floor maid." A second finger went up. "Sally is the second floor maid. Nancy is the third floor maid . . . " She struggled to hold up three fingers.

"Never mind." Zoe waved her explanation aside.

"Yes, ma'am." Bridget dropped her hand and stood very still, apparently waiting for further instructions.

"Thank you, Bridget."

"You're welcome, ma'am." Bridget didn't move.

"You may go now." Zoe hoped she didn't sound as annoyed as she felt.

"Mr. Farnsworth says I should wait here for Nancy and Lupe."

Zoe recalled that Lupe was the maid who had brought the tray into the living room yesterday. Had that been only yesterday? She felt as if she had lived a lifetime in the last twelve hours. "Lupe is coming here, to my room?"

"And Nancy. You weren't expecting them?"

Zoe bit her lip to keep from snapping. This young woman was not overly bright. She was obviously following instructions given to her by someone she considered to be in authority. "Who told you Lupe and Nancy were coming to my room?"

"Mrs. Mendez did." Once again a frown of concentration marred the young woman's brow. "Mrs. Mendez said that Mr. Farnsworth said that Mr. McCann said that Lupe and Nancy and I should move your things upstairs to Mr. Hamilton's suite."

So this was another one of Clint's maneuvers. "Where is Mr. McCann now?"

Before Bridget could answer, Clint loomed in the doorway. "You won't have to look for me from now on. I'll be around. Without waiting for an invitation, he came inside. "Get dressed. The old man wants to see you, then you and I are going to Midland."

Zoe moved to the table and sat down. "I haven't had my coffee." She poured cream then coffee into a cup. She was not about to be brought to heel by this overbearing man. Hiding her anger behind a benign smile, she asked, "Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. McCann?"

"I would like for you to get off your pretty little ass and get dressed. It's half-past ten."

Even Bridget was perceptive enough to realize she was in a danger zone. "Can I go now, Mr. McCann?"

Clint's eyes raked over the frightened little woman. "No!"

"Mrs. Mendez needs me in the kitchen," Bridget whined.

"All right, go." Clint inclined his head toward the door. "Find Lupe and Nancy and tell them I said to get in here and move Mrs. Martin's belongings upstairs."

"Yes sir, Mr. McCann." Bridget scurried through the door and down the hall.

Zoe spread marmalade on a slice of toast. "What a tyrant you are." She laid the knife aside, afraid Clint would notice that her hand was shaking. "Your bulldozing tactics won't work with me."

"Are you going to get dressed?" He actually had the audacity to laugh, a short little bark that made the hair on her neck rise. "I don't have all day to wait for you."

She would be dealing with this man for sometime to come. It was best if he learned at the onset he couldn't bully her into submission. "I'm not one of your minions. You can't run roughshod over me." She inclined her head toward a chair. "I'd like an explanation. Why do you want me to go to Midland?"

"You're not even married to the old man, and already you're acting like the grand lady of the manor." He eased down in a straight backed chair on the other side of the room.

He had to be the most insulting human being she had ever known. "And remove your hat."

He grinned, a slow lazy smile that didn't quite erase the mockery from his eyes. "Go to hell, lady. I don't take orders from you or anyone else."

"Then perhaps," Zoe tossed her red mane across her shoulders. "You shouldn't go around issuing ultimatums to others."

"I'll take that bit of advice under consideration." One of Clint's shoulders rose in an indifferent shrug. "We have two reasons for going to Midland. One is the old man wants someone to take you shopping. I guess he doesn't want his little bride to look like a country bumpkin."

He knew where to aim his arrows. Zoe winced before retorting, "And you think you qualify for the job of fashion coordinator?"

Her unflattering observation didn't phase him. "You'd rather have someone else?"

Could this man with the iron ego and no heart at all be relenting a little? "I don't need anyone to shop with me or for me." With her index finger, Zoe pushed her tray across the table. "You may go now, and while you're about it, have someone come for this tray."

The only evidence of Clint's irritation was the muscle that jerked erratically along his square jaw. "You had better get a few things straight. I'm the boss here. I'm paying you big bucks to marry my old man, and I expect cooperation and respect in return."

The tight check Zoe had kept on her temper snapped. "Cooperation?" Her eyes rounded. "Respect? I don't think so. What you want is blind obedience and abject submission to your every whim." Slowly, she reined in her runaway wrath. "I haven't even agreed to your preposterous offer, and already you're trying to dictate every little phase of my existence."

Cautious sarcasm framed his words. "Are you refusing my generous proposition?"

She couldn't refuse. She hoped he never learned why. "Not exactly." Again, she reminded herself that she had no choice but to deal with this man, at least until she could extricate herself from this predicament. "I might consider going shopping with Maggie."

"You won't go anywhere with Maggie, or anyone else but me until our business is finished, and that will be when the old man checks out for good. Now get dressed. We have a shopping date, but before that we meet with the old man's attorneys to sign a prenuptial agreement."

"I'll dress after I finish my coffee." Zoe settled more comfortably in her chair. She was being belligerent and childish, but right now she didn't give a damn. "Not before."

Clint slumped in his chair and used his thumb to push his hat back on his head. "I can see living with you won't be easy."

A little nudge of anxiety pushed around Zoe's anger. She folded her arms across her chest. "What do you mean by a remark like that?"

"Just what I said." He stretched his long legs out on front of him. "Until the old man is gone, I'll be around to keep an eye on you. If it means putting up with your childish ways, I guess that's what I'll do."

She had not expected him to accept defeat so easily. Zoe dropped her napkin onto the table. "I'll get dressed. You can wait downstairs."

"I'll wait here."

"I prefer that you leave."

Once again, Clint's anger surfaced. "I don't give a damn what you prefer. I'm waiting here."

Zoe put both hands on her hips. "Just who in the hell do you think you are?"

"I am your worst nightmare, sweetheart. Your nemesis, your Waterloo. I am the guy who will be walking behind you and looking over your shoulder from now until the old man breathes his last breath. So you may as well get used to me being around." He nodded toward the bedroom. "You have fifteen minutes to dress."

Zoe was more amazed than afraid. Such contained fury. In a way, she could understand why he was so angry. He thought she had seduced his aging father. She shuddered to think what his reaction would be if he ever learned that she was Sarah Clarke's daughter, or if by chance he discovered Holt's true motive for wanting to make her the second Mrs. Hamilton. He would detest her even more than he did now, if that were possible.

Sheer stubbornness made Zoe take her time getting dressed. Then she lingered over making her face and doing her hair. By the time she got back to the sitting room, she had used her allotted fifteen minutes, plus ten she hadn't been given.

A belligerent Clint still sprawled in the easy chair in the corner. He stood as she came into the room. "Let's go."

Zoe protested, "I would like Maggie to go to Midland with us."

"That's tough." Clint went through the door, leaving her to follow after him. "What you like and what you get are two different things."

Holt smiled when Zoe followed Clint into his room. He was sitting up in bed with pillows propped behind his head. "Zoe my little love, how are you this morning?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell this wily old man that she was not his love. She opened her mouth, then closed it. What was the use?

Holt's eyes narrowed. "Zoe! I said good morning."

Zoe shot him a go-to-hell look. "Good morning."

Holt patted the space on the bed beside him. "Come over here and sit beside me."

Before Zoe could act on his command, Hartford emerged from a door on the other side of the room. His assessing gaze swept over Zoe, then moved to confront Clint's stony stare. "Mr. Hamilton seems much improved this morning. I was going to ring for his lunch. Shall I have your meal sent up too, Ms. Martin?"

Before Zoe could answer, Clint barked. "No."

A flush of red crawled along Hartford's smooth shaven jaw. "I was speaking to Ms. Martin."

Tension sparked the air. Zoe's stomach clenched. Too brightly, she said, "No, thank you. Clint and I are on our way to Midland."

Hartford's eyebrows climbed up his face. "Yes ma'am."

Hurried goodbyes were said. Zoe and Clint were down the stairs and through the front door before Zoe drew an easy breath. Much more of this, and she would be too stressed out to face a class in September.

Clint was an excellent driver. He had maneuvered the sleek sedan through the drive and down the asphalt road toward the electronic gate before he spoke again. "Hartford makes a poor ally."

His words hit Zoe like a bucket of cold water. "I beg your pardon."

"You probably should." Briefly, he let his eyes leave the road and scan her surprised face. "He's an opportunist. You know what an opportunist is, don't you, Zoe? An opportunist is someone who knows what tune to dance to."

Zoe leaned her head against the plush upholstery and refused to respond to his insult.

"Do you know how to dance, Zoe? Or did you just wiggle for the old man?"

Denial was useless. There was no point in appealing to his compassion, he didn't have any. Zoe decided her best defense was to attack. "Your father trips the light fantastic fantastically. He led, I followed. He knows when to twist, where to turn, how to gyrate, and the exact, erotic moment to create the most amazing finale."

"That's a cheap shot." Clint gripped the steering wheel with both hands and pushed his foot into the accelerator. The car picked up speed and shot down the wide highway.

He could dish it out, but he couldn't take it. Zoe turned to gaze at his outlaw profile. "You did ask." She closed her eyes.

They drove several miles before Clint observed, "You can open your eyes. I know you're not asleep."

Zoe lifted her eyelids. "I can't sign any agreement that keeps me at Triple H past the last day of August."

Clint's knuckles whitened as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Don't even try it. This already has to be the most expensive lay in history."

"This has nothing to do with money."

"Since when?"

It was probably useless to explain, still she had to try. "I signed a year's contract with my school district last spring. The school year begins September first."

"Is that all?" A caustic half smile twisted Clint's mouth. "Judge Fields can get you off the hook."

"I don't want off the hook. I want you to understand that I am leaving Triple H in time to be in my classroom on September first."

On of Clint's hands slapped the steering wheel. "Good lord, woman! I'm paying you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to sleep with my old man for the next six months. You can forget your piddling little job."

Anger brought Zoe up short. "My position as a teacher is not piddling, and I will find a use for the money, but I don't intend to live on it."

They had reached the city limits of Midland. Clint slowed the car, turned onto an access road, and merged with the slower flow of traffic. "You not only look like your predecessor, you're beginning to sound like her."

They pulled into a parking lot beside a tall office building. Zoe leveled a hard stare in her tormentor's direction. "If you didn't like Sarah Clarke, she couldn't have been all bad."

"I didn't, and she was."

Zoe was beginning to wonder how much more of this verbal sparing she could take. "If you insist on keeping up this harassment, the deal is off."

Clint wheeled the sedan into a parking space that was almost too narrow. "Let's make a deal."

Past experience made her wary of making compromises with Clint McCann. "What kind of a deal?"

"You forget this school nonsense and make the old man happy until he cashes in, and I'll get off your case."

Doubt lifted her voice. "Do you promise?"

Clint took his keys from the ignition and reached for the door handle. "Hell yes, I promise."

With a sigh of relief, Zoe unfastened her seat belt. She didn't think he would keep that promise for any length of time, but a reprieve was better than nothing at all.

The law offices of Fields, Fenton, Norwich, and Fields, occupied the tenth floor of the Gas and Oil Building. The impressive outer office was decorated with glass and brass that fairly shouted of its no-cost-barred adornment. The slim young receptionist smiled as Clint ushered Zoe through the door. "Judge Fields is expecting you, Mr. McCann."

From a low couch across the room, a husky female voice called, "Clint, darling." Amy Fields hurried across the room, her appreciative glance taking in Clint's tall muscular form, openly admiring the way he stepped with easy grace to meet her.

"Amy, what a pleasant surprise." Clint took Amy in his arms and kissed her cheek, then let his lips brush across her temple.

"You haven't called in two days," Amy pouted. "I've missed you."

"Family problems." Clint held Amy from him. "You look good enough to eat."

Why did Zoe feel as if someone had stabbed her in the back? Clint McCann meant nothing to her. She looked away, not wanting to see what was, from all signs, a lovers' embrace.

Amy slipped back into Clint's arms. "Will you be here long? If not, you can take me to lunch."

"That's an excellent idea." Clint dropped another kiss on Amy's cheek. "Zoe and I are going shopping after lunch. Maybe you'd like to come along."

Amy's frosty glance slid over Zoe's flushed face. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be intruding. Zoe would love for you to come. She's going to choose her wedding dress. She could probably use some female reinforcement."

Clint's casual bombshell had apparently left Amy speechless. She cleared her throat, and for the first time since Zoe had known her looked unsure. "She's getting married?"

Clint struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. "You didn't know?" He answered his own question. "Of course, you didn't. Holt and Zoe are tying the knot day after tomorrow."

Total amazement replaced Amy's uncertainty. Her voice was a hollow echo. "Holt and Zoe are getting married?"

Clint's gaze raked over Zoe's flushed face. "That's right."

Amy regained a bit of her composure and moved nearer Clint. "Congratulations, Mrs. Martin - Zoe."

"So what do you say?" Clint dropped his arm around Amy's shoulder. "Will you go? You have such excellent taste in everything." The implication was that Zoe did not. "Afterwards I could get someone from the office to drive Zoe back to Triple H, and you and I could go out for dinner and dancing."

Was Clint deliberately trying to make Zoe feel small and unimportant? If that was his aim, he could consider himself a success. She swallowed her hurt and reminded herself that he had every right to take out whomever he chose.

"I'll wait here." Amy settled herself on the couch. Her eyes caressed Clint. "Don't be too long."

The young receptionist interrupted. "The judge will see you now." She stood and came around her desk. "This way, please." Her slim hips swayed seductively as she led the way into a large, lavish office.

Clint blew a kiss in Amy's direction. "Stick around angel. This won't take long."

Pain, raw and grating, scraped across Zoe's psyche, leaving her feeling angry and disappointed. She paused at the door, trying to collect her thoughts and find her poise. What was wrong with her? She was behaving as if it mattered to her if Clint was involved with Amy Fields.

Clint put his hand under Zoe's elbow. "Let's get this over, shall we?" He ushered her into the office.

A tall, elderly, white-haired gentleman with the bearing of an esteemed elder statesman stood near the window. He turned and smiled as the receptionist led the way into the room. "Clint, my boy, good to see you again. Do come in." His soft southern drawl enhanced each word he spoke. "I've been expecting you."

Introductions were made, and, Clint, true to his promise, was polite, if somewhat diffident as he presented Zoe to the venerable Judge Avery Fields. "This is Mrs. Martin, Judge."

The judge bowed over Zoe's hand. "My dear, this is a rare pleasure. You are as lovely and gracious as Holt promised you would be."

"Thank you." Such flattery. Zoe was set to demur when she saw the disapproving look on Clint's face. Instead, she gave the judge her most seductive smile. "You're very kind."

Any further conversation was cut short by the sudden appearance of Carter Fields. He burst into the room, asking as he drew a quick breath, "Am I late?"

His father's disapproval was muted. "I don't remember inviting you to this meeting." The judge reproved his son with suave, frosty subtlety.

Clint was not so careful to hide his displeasure. His eyes darkened. "Are you still around, Carter?"

"I work here, McCann, or didn't you know?" Carter came to stand on the other side of Zoe. "Why don't we sit down?"

Carter's blatant breach of etiquette had brought a pained expression to his father's patrician features. "I reiterate, your presence here today is not necessary, Carter."

"I'm here to look after Mrs. Martin's interests." Carter moved a little nearer Zoe and pulled her hand through the crook of his arm. Neither the censure from his father nor Clint's scowling countenance seemed to trouble him in the least.

The elder Fields frowned, but his voice was mild, almost conciliatory. "I don't remember asking you here, Carter."

"And I want you out." Clint added in acid tones.

"Sorry," Carter's shoulders rose, then fell, "to disappoint the two of you. "But Holt does want me here. If you will all sit down, I'll explain."

The judge leveled a menacing look in Carter's direction. "Perhaps you had better do just that."

"I know that you will find this hard to believe, Father, but Holt doesn't trust his own son. He wants me to act Ad Litem on Zoe's behalf."

Clint was on his feet. "Zoe is not a minor. She can speak for herself."

"She doesn't have to be a minor for me to represent her," Carter answered, "and you damn well know that."

"When did you talk to my old man?" Beads of perspiration broke out across Clint's upper lip. "If you upset him, you will answer to me."

"I didn't call Holt, he called me. He wanted me to be here." Carter nodded toward the telephone. "Call him if you don't believe me."

A sudden hush fell over the room as Clint proceeded to do just that. After a brief conversation with first Hartford, then Holt, Clint laid the receiver back in its cradle. "The old man doesn't want any questions about this transaction to arise later. He did ask Carter to sit in on our meeting."

Judge Fields nodded his head. "Then let's get down to business."

Chapter Ten

Zoe huddled on her side of the bed and tried to sleep. Holt's snoring made that an impossibility. She turned on her back and put her hands behind her head. How many times over the past month had she begged Holt to let her move from his quarters into a room of her own? "I don't rest well here, and you fare no better, what with me tossing and turning all night."

The answer had always been an emphatic and resounding, "No! Everyone must think we are lovers, reveling in the splendor of passion's first bliss." And Holt had done everything in his power to project that picture.

Her mind drifted back to that terrible evening she had become Mrs. Holt Hamilton. All through that day she'd been tense and unstrung. By the time the stoop-shouldered little minister arrived to perform the ceremony, her mind was a void of chaos, and her heart was a lead weight in her breast. She moved like a specter through the short ceremony that tied her to an aging man she hardly knew.

There were no guests, no friends to weep and wish the couple well, no joyous honeymoon to anticipate. The only two witnesses were an anxious, overwrought Maggie, and Clint, who stood behind his father in belligerent scowling silence.

The sumptuous wedding supper was about as festive as a condemned man's last meal. Sensing that this was not a happy occasion, the minister made good his escape shortly after the last 'I do' was said. Pleading another commitment as he hurried out the door. That left only Maggie and Clint to share the wedding feast with the reluctant bride and a tired, ailing groom. A more miserable foursome it would be hard to imagine.

All through the supper, Holt insisted on toasting the bride and alluding to the bright future that lay ahead. "To my lovely wife and our wedded life together." He raised his glass in a pretentious salute. "Isn't she the loveliest creature who ever drew breath?"

Zoe had drunk too much champagne and eaten too little food. She felt dizzy and a little queasy. "Holt, please." Delicate color bloomed in her cheeks.

"But it's true, my darling, you are a picture of chaste beauty."

What was this old man trying to do to her? Chaste was a word reserved for a virginal bride, poised on the brink of discovering first passion. It was not a description of a second-time partner, coerced into marrying a man more than twice her age by threats and intimidation. She made a tactful effort to change the subject. "The weather report says we can expect a sandstorm tonight. Maggie tells me they can hit suddenly and with great force."

Maggie twirled the stem of her wine glass around in her long tapering fingers. She seemed embarrassed and unsure of how to react to Holt's words of open adulation. A sip of champagne soothed the way for her faint observation. "A sandstorm is one of nature's rare miscalculations."

Zoe welcomed any opportunity to change the subject. "A miscalculation? How so?"

Was it sympathy for Zoe's discomfort that gave Maggie's reply vigor? "All that force charging across the world, and leaving in it's wake nothing but dusty destruction." She shrugged, realizing apparently that she had been caught up in the intensity of the moment. Her voice dropped, became more conciliatory. "Rainstorms ravage, but the aftermath rejuvenates. A sandstorm violates everything in its path, and the result is devastation and destruction."

A sharp reprimand from Holt silenced Maggie's grim comparison. "This is hardly the time to discuss nature's mistakes."

"Perhaps not," Maggie agreed too readily. Her analogy expressed much more than a strong dislike for sandstorms. "I thought Zoe should be warned about what to expect in the future."

Clint's expressionless gaze moved from Holt to Zoe, then back to Holt once more. "And isn't that what we should expect, the scourge of an approaching sandstorm?" He took a long drink of champagne. "There is nothing more aberrant or abhorrent than some old freak of nature wreaking devastation." Zoe was not the only person present who had drunk too much champagne. Clint raised his glass. "Here's to mistakes and other abnormalities of nature."

Holt's facade of cheerfulness slipped ever so slightly. "Son, please. This is not a time for pessimism." He heaved a weary sigh. "All this rhetoric. I'm feeling a little fatigued."

An elusive thought that had floated around all evening in the back of Zoe's troubled mind, suddenly swam into focus. This was all an act on Holt's part. He was playing out a carefully rehearsed, well-plotted scenario and performing with remarkable skill. Hadn't Maggie once told her that Holt's theatrical abilities far exceeded those of his actress-wife? Only now, as weariness and frustration took their toll, did his portrayal of the bedazzled older lover, caught up in the spell of some alluring young Circe, began to wear thin. This old man was insidiously clever and more than a little unbalanced. That was a dangerous combination.

"Perhaps you should go to bed." Before the words left her mouth, Zoe realized her indiscretion. But her social blunder was enough to cause Holt to agree to retiring. "That seems a splendid idea."

Clint raised his glass. "One last toast before you go. To the bride and groom. May they both get exactly what they deserve." He drank the last drop of sparkling liquid from his glass, then hurled it toward the open fireplace. It crashed and shattered on the edge of the bricks that lined the mantle.

After an awkward silence, Maggie stood. "It is late, if you will excuse me . . . . " She slid her chair under the table and hurried away.

Without bothering to excuse himself, Clint followed her out the door.

Zoe set her glass on the table. "Shall I ring for Hartford?"

"I can make it on my own." Holt gripped the edge of the table as he stood. "We'll take the elevator."

Zoe trailed along behind him, her steps slowed by weariness and uncertainty.

Once inside Holt's bedroom, a new and very different emotion took over. Zoe had never for one moment believed that Holt expected to consummate this farce of a marriage. His flushed brow and nervous demeanor were cause now for doubt. She stood in the center of the room, her tiny body tense, her eyes huge and emerald bright in her pale face. "I'll help you get to bed." That seemed a stupid offer. "I mean, I can go back to my room when you retire."

"You look like Diana, set to flee the company of some unwelcome male." Holt sat on the bed and loosened his tie. "Don't look so frightened, my child. I'm not going to ravish you. Not now, not ever. Even if the spirit was willing, the flesh would be much too weak."

Until that moment, Zoe had not realized how frightened she had been. "I didn't know. We've never discussed . . . . " Her voice died on a little sigh of relief.

Weariness deepened the lines in Holt's face. "Did you think for one minute that I would ask you to have sex with me?" He chuckled deep in his throat. "Would you have agreed?"

He was laughing at her, she'd been half out of her mind with fear, and he was laughing. "How dare you find humor in this terrible situation?"

Holt sobered instantly. "I'm not, believe me, this is no laughing matter. Sit down, my little nereid, and I will do my best to set your mind at ease."

Zoe obeyed, perching precariously on the edge of the chair nearest the door.

Holt shed his shirt revealing his hairy chest and arms. "My son's crafty maneuver has made it necessary for me to alter my plans. I thought he would object to the marriage, instead, he agreed, then outfoxed me, the rascal." A look of pride accompanied Holt's derogatory remark. "Now the ball's in my court."

Zoe found herself wondering if Clint had inherited his father's hirsute anatomy. Shame made her push any thought of Clint's muscular body from her mind. "What does Clint's agreeing to our marriage have to do with . . . anything?"

Holt tossed the shirt on a chair, then, out of the blue asked, "Why did you sign that damned prenuptial agreement?"

She was too astonished to do anything but blurt out the truth. "Because I was afraid not to. How did you find out?"

"Carter Fields, of course. Why do you think I asked him to be your attorney?"

"I had no idea why."

"Tell me why you went along with Clint's devious plan to deprive you of your inheritance?"

Again, without a second thought, Zoe told the truth. "I thought it best to do as he asked."

When the question in Holt's eyes said he didn't understand, Zoe elaborated. "Clint said you'd never know. He thinks I married you for your money. What if he began to investigate? He might discover who I really am. Can you imagine what would happen then?"

Again, Holt chuckled. "All hell would break loose."

This time Zoe smiled too. "That is a gross understatement."

"You settled for too small an amount. Clint would have given you at least five hundred thousand, maybe a million."

"I don't want the money." Zoe stared down at her hands. Her new, very costly, diamond encrusted wedding band sparkled on the third finger of her left hand. "I just want out of this absurd situation as soon as possible."

"Don't talk nonsense." Holt's bushy gray head moved from side to side. "Damn that wily boy of mine. But never you fear, Sarah and I will prevail in the end. It's a long shot, but with Sarah's spirit guiding the way, we will succeed."

His disjointed response made no sense at all. Zoe decided her best course of action was to humor him, let him talk himself into sheer exhaustion, then go back to her own rooms. "Of course you will. Would you like to discuss your plan?"

Sudden anger made Holt snap, "Don't patronize me. I am not unhinged."

"I didn't mean to sound patronizing."

He snorted, "Oh, yes you did. You think I'm a little deranged, but I'm not."

He was too near the truth for comfort. "Shall I call Hartford? He can help you into bed."

"I don't need Hartford!" The air vibrated with the intensity of Holt's reply. "Yes, indeed. We're going to win, Sarah and I. We can't conquer with intellect because Clint is every ounce as brilliant as I am, and almost as devious, but he's not as knowledgeable of the pitfalls of the human heart, and that is to our advantage."

This foolish conversation could go on all night if Zoe didn't call a halt. "I'm very tired. We can discuss all this later."

Heedless of her words, Holt raved on. "So I say, to hell with intellect and intelligence. If I can't out smart him, I'll let him out smart himself. He is not as civilized as he thinks himself to be."

Misgivings pushed Zoe to her feet. "What unscrupulous plan are you hatching now?"

Holt's answer was cryptic. "Do you know how tragic it is for a man to bungle his own life, then look back when it's too late and see that most of it was his own fault?"

Zoe took a tentative step toward the door. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

With sudden intensity, Holt demanded, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Downstairs, to my suite." Zoe's hand was on the door knob.

"You have no downstairs suite." Holt removed one boot and wriggled his toes. "Lupe and Nancy moved your things into my quarters this morning. Your former domicile has been cleaned and prepared for future guests."

Zoe gripped the door knob a little tighter. "I can't stay here."

"And why not?" One eyebrow moved up Holt's wrinkled forehead.

By now she knew better than to openly defy him. "Maybe I could move into the suite across the hall."

With a little wave of his hand, Holt told her, "Clint has moved into those lodging. Lupe and Nancy moved his belongings into his new residence yesterday."

Zoe's hand fell from the knob. On a strangled cry she asked, "Why?"

Holt's second boot hit the floor. "He thinks he's being clever. He'll be over here after awhile, on some pretense. He's watching now, sitting over there alternately cursing and crowing. If you go, he'll follow you and begin to ask questions."

Zoe couldn't risk that happening. "Where will I sleep?"

Holt patted the space beside him. "Right here."

A helix of apprehension laced itself up Zoe's Spine. "I can't sleep with you."

"Why not? It's a big bed. I'm perfectly harmless."

"It seems wrong somehow."

Holt scoffed, "Wrong to sleep with your lawfully wedded husband?"

Quickly, Zoe improvised, "I don't think you would rest well with me in your bed. That concerns me."

"What should concern you is the fact that my son takes such an immodest interest in our shared marital bliss."

Zoe lied, she thought most convincingly. "I don't care about Clint's interests, immodest or otherwise. He's not my concern, period."

Holt laughed maliciously. "That's unfortunate because you're most definitely his concern."

Even though Zoe felt sure that Holt loved his son, he seemed to take a perverted delight in tormenting him. "That's only because he hates me and he detests the thought of me sleeping with you." That statement brought an unwanted surge of pain.

"You think I'd doing this to hurt Clint? You're wrong." Putting his hands over his head, Holt stretched then yawned. "This duplicity is necessary. Haven't I explained that to you?"

"I signed a premarital agreement," Zoe argued, "I'm no longer eligible to inherit any portion of your estate." Now that she knew Holt knew the truth, perhaps the two of them could strike a deal. "So why should we pretend?"

"You're wrong, so wrong!" Holt's voice rang with denial. "Now it's all the more important that we carry our little charade through to the end."

Zoe sensed again that touch of madness that ran like a dark thread through Holt's otherwise luminous logic. Further argument seemed useless, but she had to try. "But it's an exercise in futility. Don't you see. . . ?"

Holt's hand reached to cover his heart. "Do you want to give me another attack?"

Was this another one of his ploys, a way to make her do his bidding? Did she dare risk defying him to find out? The answer was no. Her shoulders slumped. "Shall I call Hartford?"

Holt let out a long, whistling breath. "No. He'll be here soon enough. Hartford comes in at three each morning to give my medication to me. What would he say to the other household staff if my sweet little bride was absent when he arrived? I'm sure Clint will ask him questions about us."

The thought impinged that Holt wanted Clint to take a prurient interest in their supposed amorous undertakings, and he wanted Hartford to find Zoe in his bed. "Does it matter to you what your son and your nurse think?"

"It matters for reasons you fail to comprehend. I will properly muss the sheets. Clint and Hartford can draw their own conclusions." He reached for the robe that hung on the bed post. "Now, please, my little siren, go into the bathroom, put on the sexy nightgown that's hanging in the door, then come to bed. I'll undress out here."

Zoe was too tired to argue. "I'll go, but I have my own gown."

"Wear what I tell you, and get into bed so I can turn out the light before Clint decides to come across the hall. He will find a reason to look in on us, sooner or later. We have to be ready for him."

In the end Zoe complied with Holt's outrageous wishes because it seemed she had no choice. "The worst is over," she told herself as she slipped into the filmy swath of pale green lace and soft white satin that hung on the bathroom door. As time progressed, she would come to know how foolish that assumption was. The worst had not yet begun.

By the next afternoon, Zoe felt as if the very walls were closing in on her. "I'm going for a ride," she told Holt as he settled on the bed for his afternoon nap. "I'll call Gimpy and have him saddle Betsy." She reached for the button on the intercom.

To her great surprise, Holt readily agreed. "That's an excellent idea, my dear. Tell Gimpy to saddle Omar too."

"You're going riding?" The intercom buzzed the barn. "You shouldn't."

Holt punched his pillow and sighed. "Not me, Clint will go with you."

"Clint?" Zoe put the receiver back on the hook. "I thought he was in Midland."

"Why would he go there?"

"He works there." Zoe's fingers twisted the cord on the intercom extension. "Doesn't he?"

"When he wants to, he hasn't seen fit to want to today." The bed gave as Holt shifted and turned. "Ring Hartford before you go."

Zoe moved from the intercom. "I've changed my mind."

Holt sighed, then let his eyelids fall shut. "Clint is a problem to be faced and dealt with, not a difficulty to be avoided."

In time to come, Zoe would look back and marvel at the ease with which Holt manipulated both her and his son. Now all she could think of was doing exactly what he was telling her that she shouldn't do, avoid Clint. "I prefer," she told him pointedly, "to ride alone."

Opening his eyes, Holt smiled at her. "Let Clint have his way. In a few days he'll tire of dogging your every step. Then you can ride alone."

An expanding caution lifted Zoe's head, widened her gaze. "Have his way? What do you mean?"

Holt's eyes danced with merriment. "Clint has taken it on himself to chronicle your every move. If you stay cooped up in this room, doing nothing, you're making that an easy task. My advice to you is, make his chore a difficult one. Wear the rascal down, then and only then will you be free of his persistent company."

Holt's complicated reasoning made sense. Zoe reached for the intercom. "What do I have to lose?" In time that remark would come back to haunt her.

Clint was standing by the barn door as Zoe came down the path. "The old man thinks I should accompany you on your ride."

She knew he was lying. Shadowing her every movement was Clint's idea. Hadn't he warned her that he would be looking over her shoulder from now on? Two could play that little game. "I called Gimpy," she said as she moved around him, "and asked him to saddle two horses."

Gimpy limped across the open lot. "The horses are tied down by the corral." Perplexed, he scratched his head. "You did say saddle two horses didn't you, Mrs. Martin, I mean Mrs. Hamilton?"

Zoe followed Clint toward the waiting horses. "Yes."

"I wasn't sure when you said saddle Omar." Gimpy called after the departing pair. "Nobody but Mr. Clint rides Omar."

Clint stroked the proud neck of the magnificent roan stallion. "We should be back in an hour or so, Gimpy."

With a frown and a nod, Gimpy hobbled away.

Zoe climbed up into the saddle. Without so much as a backward look, she kicked the little mare in the flanks and galloped out of the yard and onto the open prairie. She could hear the pounding of Omar's hoofs as Clint paced the stallion's gait to her horse's cantor. Holt had said make Clint's task as difficult as possible. She would do just that. Zoe slowed her horse, and waited for Clint to come along beside her. "I usually ride along the creek bank. Is that agreeable to you?"

The frown that creased his face told her that he had not expected amiable acceptance of his intrusive presence. "Ride anywhere your little heart desires."

Zoe's hair was a flame of color as the breeze lifted it like a banner. She brushed a stray strand back with her hand. "This scenery is so lovely, and not at all like the terrain around Summerville."

She waited a long interval for some acknowledgment of her comment. There was none. She pitched her voice a little higher. "West Texas is almost a desert."

Still, no answer.

"Have you lived here a long time?" Zoe shouted her inquiry.

"Long enough," was the tired response.

Zoe pulled her horse to a stop under the huge oak. "This is my favorite spot." Throwing her one leg over the saddle, she slid to the ground. "You can go on alone. I'll be catch up after a while."

Clint dismounted. "I'll wait."

He wasn't reacting to her civility the way she had hoped he would. Holt had said, "Make his task difficult." Clint showed no signs of being uncomfortable, bored maybe, but little more. Zoe sat down under the tree. There was one subject that always elicited an adverse reaction from Clint. In dulcet tones, she asked, "Did you live at Triple H when Holt married Sarah?"

"Who wants to know?" Clint stood just under the shelter of the tree's heavy branches, holding Omar's reins in one hand.

"I do," Zoe answered, pleased at how nonchalant she sounded.

"Why?" Clint stroked Omar's neck.

"I'm writing her biography. I need to learn as much about Sarah as I can."

Clint looped Omar's reins across a low branch of the oak and came to stand directly over Zoe. "Why this morbid curiosity about your predecessor?"

"It's not morbid curiosity, it's necessary interest. I'm writing a very personal account of her life."

Clint dropped down beside Zoe and leaned his back against the trunk of the tree. "Sarah was just like all the rest of the old man's women, scheming, grasping, slutty, but beautiful."

From the corner of her eye, Zoe studied his unyielding profile. It was the face of an outlaw, a renegade. The fine lines around his deep-set eyes fanned out and creased into his tanned face. Here sat a man bent on spoil and conquest. In the bright sunshine, she shuddered. "Your mother was one of Holt's women."

Her barb hit home with a vengeance. Clint's head jerked around to stare at her. "You are one snotty broad."

"If you don't like my company, you can leave."

"And what would you do then, take off for parts unknown?"

Zoe drew her knees up under her chin and stared toward the far horizon. Did he think she had some idea of running away? "If I chose to leave here, I could. I don't need your permission to go."

"Do you think I would let you walk away now?" A muscle danced erratically along his strong jaw line. "Think again, sweetheart. I have a big investment in you. I intend to protect it."

"Investment?" Zoe threw her head back and pulled in a ragged breath. "You talk as if I were a piece of merchandise."

A sardonic smirk tilted one side of his mouth. "From what the old man tells me, you are one hell of a piece," his smirk widened. "God knows you're an expensive one. I already have a hundred thousand dollars invested in you. That ring on your finger is worth more than you would make in a year teaching school. If you get away from me now, I lose it all. So I intend to watch every move you make." His fingers locked around the soft flesh of her upper arm. "You're a celebrity of sorts now. Have you seen the morning papers or watched the news on TV?"

Zoe hadn't seen a newspaper or a news cast since yesterday morning. Her chin lifted ever so slightly. "I've been busy."

"I can imagine."

Zoe looked from his hand on her arm to his accusing eyes. "I have no thoughts of running away. I'm ready to go." She tried to stand.

Clint pulled her back down beside him. "I'm not. I have a few more things to get off my chest."

"Keep your hands off me." Reluctantly, Zoe sat back down on the hard ground. "I don't like you touching me."

With a visible effort, he pulled his hand away. "Little liar, you like me touching you almost as much as I like touching all those soft parts of your luscious little body." Lifting one hand, he caressed the juncture where her neck joined her shoulder, then let his fingers trail down her arm, slowly, sensuously. "Tell me to stop." His voice was a whisper-soft taunt.

To her eternal shame, Zoe couldn't say those words, nor could she move that fraction of an inch to escape his touch. A slow swell of surging, flowing emotion rose inside her, like an expanding wave rolling from a troubled sea, wiping away her defenses, leaving her vulnerable to the passion that tightened in her throat, tingled through her stomach, ran riot through her singing senses. What bliss would it be like to feel Clint's hands on her breast, her thighs. What rapture it would bring to have his flesh touch, press, combine with hers. Closing her eyes, she swayed toward him, lost to everything but the sweet urgency of his touch.

His breath was erotic against the swirl of her ear. "You can't do it, can you sweetheart?" He swallowed, then shook his head as if to clear his senses. His hands grasped her shoulders in a grip of steel as he pushed her from him. The crack of his voice was like the lash of a whip against her senses. "My God, you are shameless."

Her eyes flew open as he jumped to his feet and turned from her, but not before she saw the bulging evidence of his intense arousal. And she felt that same profound flood of forbidden desire. In that moment of anguish, Zoe's self-image shattered like a broken mirror. Was it possible that inside her calm, impassive self there prowled a vile wanton woman that she had not known existed, a woman capable of heinous thoughts and unspeakable offenses? Momentarily stripped of her defenses, she was forced to confront that overwhelming possibility. Her remorseless guilt sought some justification for the condemnation that singed her very soul. It was the fault of this man beside her. He had struck the spark that ignited the shameless flame of desire inside her. "You bastard." She stood on shaky legs. "I hate you."

Chapter Eleven

Without looking back, Clint strode to his horse, grabbed the reins, and climbed into the saddle. "Let's go."

Zoe's first impulse was to defy him, to tell him she would do as she damn well pleased. Some primal instinct told her that opposing him now would be courting disaster. She was defenseless against this modern-day renegade. His physical presence was enough to make her giddy and indecisive. If he touched her again, she would be lost to everything but her own unholy desire. She found her voice and some of her composure. "I'm ready."

He murmured something under his breath, an observation she barely heard and didn't want him to repeat.

The ride back to the ranch house seemed endless. They were inside the barn yard before Clint broke his long, self-imposed silence. "Tell the old man you're back, then meet me in my office. We still have things to discuss."

Zoe pulled her mare to a stop. Every instinct she possessed told her it would be a mistake to be alone with this man ever again. "I have nothing further to say to you."

As Clint dismounted, Gimpy came limping around the corner of the barn. "Right on the nose, Mr. Clint. You've been gone two hours to the minute."

Clint dismounted. "I'm a man of my word." He looped Omar's reins over the top rail of the fence. "Take care of the horses, Gimpy."

As her feet touched the ground, Clint took Zoe's arm and led her toward the house. "You have some phone messages that have to be answered. I want to be damn sure that you give the right responses. What we don't need now is some publicity-happy idiot talking to the press."

As they were moving rapidly down the flagstone path that led toward the house. Zoe asked, "Someone called me? Who? Why wasn't I told sooner?"

"Two someones, to be exact, and don't get your hackles up. They called when there was no one around to answer the ranch's business number."

Zoe was almost running to stay up with Clint's long strides. "Are you going to tell me who called?"

"John McInnis and some attorney from Summerville."

"Robert Patton?" She had forgotten all about Robert. Of course he had called. He must think she had taken leave of her senses. "When did Robert call?"

Clint pulled the back door open. "Early this morning. He left a message on the machine. He says he's your attorney. It's up to you to convince him that he no longer holds that position."

He never had, really, but that was none of Clint's business. Zoe followed him into the huge kitchen. "Why?"

Clint never slackened his pace. "Because your husband has hired another man to do that job."

Zoe recalled the session in Judge Field's office. Carter Fields had insisted that he now represented Zoe. "Robert must be concerned about me, he's also my friend, or more to the point he was David's friend."

By now Clint was making giant strides across the hall toward the staircase. "Who is David?"

Zoe stopped on the first step of the stairs. "David isn't anymore. David was my husband."

Clint turned long enough to slash her with a contemptible look, then turning, he bounded up the stairs. "Be in my office in ten minutes, or I'll come after you."

Zoe greeted Holt with a cursory, "Hello," then began to explain her reason for making a swift exit. "Where is Clint's office? He wants me to meet him there in ten minutes."

Holt lifted his hand. "No. Don't do it."

"You don't want me to confer with Clint?"

Holt's face creased into a wrinkled grin. "You never want to confront a man like Clint on his own turf."

"I received some phone calls earlier today." Maybe if Holt knew the circumstances he would understand that there was no need for conflict. "Clint wants me to answer them. There should be no confrontation."

Holt's crafty eyes slitted with pleasure. He was enjoying playing this absurd cat-and-mouse game. "Oh, there will be a confrontation. Clint will see to that. He is testy as hell where you and I are concerned, add to that the publicity our marriage has stirred up, and you have a powder keg ready to explode. Clint wants to fight with you, haven't you figured that out yet?"

Zoe sighed her dejection. "In a way yes. What I don't know is why."

"My God, girl, you are as dense as Clint is and almost as confused."

Once again, Zoe asked, "Where is Clint's office? If you won't tell me, I can ask one of the servants."

Holt held up one hand. "Be quiet, I'm thinking." After a few minutes, he snapped his fingers and smiled. "It's time you had a place of your own, a sanctuary of sorts." He pushed his fingers into his vest pocket and took out the ring that held the lone library key. "Consider the room that was Sarah's, yours now." He swung the ring around on his fore finger.

"You mean the library?" In terms of space and order, it wasn't much, but Zoe sensed that Holt thought he was making a meaningful gesture. She took the key. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome, now make that son of mine crawl a little."

The thought of Clint crawling made Zoe smile. "Make the mountain come to Muhammad?" Her fingers tightened around the key.

"Let him know he can't bully you. Show him you are a force to be reckoned with." Holt folded his arms across his chest and nodded toward the intercom. "Clint's office is on the first floor, call him."

Feeling more than a little uncertain, Zoe punched the button that rang Clint's office as Holt nodded his approval.

Fifteen minutes later she sat behind the desk in the cluttered library, wondering if delivering an ultimatum to Clint McCann had been such a good idea after all. Before she could reconsider enough to recant, Clint charged into the room, his face set and angry. He stopped just inside the door. "Nobody gives me orders, sweetheart. Get on your feet and down to my office."

"I prefer that we discuss our business here." Zoe reached for some shred of dignity. "Would you like to sit down?" She waved one hand in an all encompassing gesture. "From now on, this will be my office. In the future, if you wish to speak with me, you will do it here."

To her total amazement, he sat down. "You really must have the old man wrapped around your little finger if he gave you this room for an office. This is a sacred shrine."

Zoe drew herself up in her chair. "My relationship with my husband is none of your business." She had never called Holt her husband before. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"I don't give a damn about your so-called relationship so long as the old man is satisfied. I do intend to protect my investment. John McInnis called last night. Call him and assure him that you are well and happy. He seems to have some idea that you have been coerced into a hasty marriage." He picked up the telephone and held it out to her. "Put his fears to rest."

As Zoe took the receiver, Clint began to punch numbers. "Make it short and sweet and final."

After one ring, John's voice hummed into the receiver. "Hello?"

"John," Zoe squeaked. "This is Zoe. You called?"

Relief sounded in John's reply. "Yes. I had to make sure you're all right."

Sympathy warred with the anger she felt toward John. He had been an unwilling accomplice in the plot that had catapulted her in this terrible predicament. "Why wouldn't I be all right?"

John cleared his throat. "The media are having a field day with your May-December marriage to Mr. Hamilton - Holt."

Zoe turned in her chair. Better to have Clint's piercing eyes staring at her back than riveted on her face. "It was sudden. It has nothing to do with anything that happened between you and me."

"Oh, I do hope that's true, but you've resigned your position at the school. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"

Zoe spoke clearly and decisively. "I'm sure."

After a significant pause, John went on, "The newspapers and television stations have been pressing me for a statement. I don't know how much they know about . . . my situation. I refused to comment."

John must be petrified that his part in this little conspiracy would be uncovered, and along with that, the secret that could destroy his marriage. "Perhaps you should issue a statement. You don't have to tell them everything about . . ., " Zoe swallowed. With Clint in the room, she couldn't say what she needed to say, "what happened between you and me."

John's voice was heavy with guilt. "So you know?"

Over a sigh, Zoe answered, "Yes."

"Dare I hope that all is forgiven?"

How could she fault John for doing the same thing she was guilty of? She couldn't. "It's all right, John."

"I do hope so. The results of an indiscreet decision could be devastating."

He was speaking in riddles, trying to convey his concern without involving himself. Zoe felt an unwanted pang of empathy. "I made the only decision I could, as I am sure you did."

"That is true."

Zoe suspected that others were present in the room with John. "How is your wife, John?"

"She's well, thank you. She's here, beside me. She says to send her best to you."

What a tangled web of intrigue and deception Holt had spun with his lies and schemes. His machinations could do irreparable harm to kind and gentle John McInnis. "Give her my love. I have to go now."

"Zoe? You do understand?"

"I understand." Better than you know, she thought as she said her goodbyes and turned in her chair to hang up the phone.

"What the hell was that all about?" Clint asked as Zoe dropped the receiver into its cradle.

"I was trying to set John's mind at ease."

"To do that you have to ask him about his wife? Just what was going on between you and John McInnis?"

A picture of prim and proper John McInnis rose up in Zoe's mind, making her smile. "John McInnis was my boss. He's the principal of the middle school where I'm employed," She corrected herself. "Where I was employed."

Clint's question was a blunt accusation. "Were you sleeping with him?"

The question would have been insulting if it hadn't been so ludicrous. Zoe put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Was I what?"

"You were, weren't you? He lost his little piece on the side, and he's upset."

Zoe wondered if Clint's opinion of her could sink any lower. It could, she decided, if he ever learned she was Sarah Clarke's daughter. "John is satisfied that I am all right. Can we leave it at that?"

Clint's broad shoulders rose and fell in an indifferent shrug. "Maybe the affair will work to your advantage. At least now he will keep his mouth shut." He picked up the receiver again. "Now, see if you can do as well with your friend Robert Patton."

Robert was not so easily reached nor so readily convinced. "Have you lost your mind?" he shouted into the receiver when Zoe tried to explain her hasty marriage. "You can't possibly be in love with that seventy-three-year old pervert." He paused to catch his breath, then demanded, "Is it because of the money?"

Zoe wanted to say that money had nothing to do with her decision to marry Holt. That wasn't exactly the truth. And thinking she had married Holt for his money was a logical conclusion on Robert's part. There was no way Zoe could explain this twisted plot to him without revealing the secrets of her past. "There were many considerations."

"The thing can be annulled, you know. It should be. Do you want me to come up there?"

"No!" Zoe almost shouted into the receiver. The last thing she needed was Robert Patton to come charging onto the scene, further complicating an already impossible situation. She calmed her voice and tried to quiet her racing pulses. "I have an attorney to look after my legal interests, so I am no longer your concern." She knew she sounded heartless and that she was probably alienating one of the few friends she had left in the world, but there seemed to be no alternative.

After several attempts to make Zoe listen to what he called reason, Robert slammed the receiver down with a vengeance, but not before he had sounded one last ominous warning. "You will live to regret this hasty marriage, mark my words, you will live to regret it."

Zoe was left holding the buzzing instrument. "He hung up on me."

"We can only hope he won't decide to sell what he knows about your involvement with the old man to some tabloid." Clint narrowed his eyes. "How much does he know?"

"I had him look over the contract I signed with Holt."

"Then he knows the terms of your employment here at Triple H?"

Zoe was tired of being cross examined, and she said so, then added, "Robert Patton is a respectable man and an ethical attorney. Not," she intoned venomously, "that you would recognize either of those qualities if you met them in the road."

Clint stormed from the room muttering derogatorily remarks about women in general and Zoe in particular.

Over the next three weeks, the situation grew steadily worse. Clint was by Zoe's side each time she left Holt's room. His unwelcome company was wearing her down, making her jumpy and nervous.

His constant presence and derogatory comments she could have tolerated, but another more destructive problem loomed larger every day. There was between Zoe and her stepson, a sexual awareness that flared like a match in the dark each time they were together. Stress mounted as the anxiety of sparing with Clint's verbal repartee and fighting the guilt she felt because of her fatal attraction to this renegade began to take its toll. Zoe lost weight. Pain smudged her eyes, shadowed her countenance. She became sullen and testy. Always in the back of her mind, she was searching for some way to escape from the daily pressures that plagued her.

Now, lying in her marriage bed, listening to Holt's erratic snoring, desperately needing to sleep and unable to find even rest, Zoe wondered just how much more she could endure.

She moved to a chair, put her feet on the foot stool, and leaned back. Tomorrow she and Holt would be married one month. Only one month? Dear God, it seemed like an eternity. She closed her eyes as a troubled sleep claimed her.

Chapter Twelve

Zoe was wakened by Holt shaking her shoulder. "It's morning, Zoe. Wake up. You must have fallen asleep in your chair."

Zoe stirred, and dropped her feet to the floor. A pain shot through her shoulders and settled into a permanent ache in her neck. Shaking her head she tried to gather her thoughts. "What time is it?"

For an old man suffering from a debilitating heart condition, Holt seemed amazingly energetic. "Rise and shine. Have you forgotten how special today is? Mrs. Mendez has prepared a celebration breakfast. Clint and Maggie are waiting for us."

An alarm sounded in Zoe's half sleeping mind, jarring her to instant wakefulness. She and Holt never had breakfast in the dining room. Had this half demented old man finally stepped across the line that separated logical thinking from absurd delusions? She was beginning to realize how thin that line could be. "I prefer eating here, with you, just as we always do."

Holt was tucking in his shirt tail and fastening his belt. "Not today, not on this most auspicious of all occasions. Today we rejoice."

"Rejoice?" Zoe echoed. Was he confusing Zoe with Sarah again? Several times over the past month, Holt had called Zoe Sarah. "Why don't you sit down? I'll ring for Bridget."

"You think I am quite mad." Holt's smile was benevolent. "In a way I am, all genius is tainted with madness. The secret is balance. The Greeks said it all when they postulated, 'nothing too much.'"

If these weren't the ravings of a senile old man, they were dangerously close to it. Since she dared not antagonize him, Zoe stooped to appeasement. "Why is today so special?"

"Today is a bench mark, a mile stone, but you know that." Holt pulled socks over his bare feet. "Now dress up to look beautiful."

There was no coping with Holt when he was in one of these moods. "I have a headache," Zoe complained. She didn't move from her chair.

"Are you going to get dressed and come downstairs, or must I move the celebration up here?" Holt stood before his mirror and ran a brush along the sides of his hair. "Wear something to match those emerald eyes." He stepped back to look at himself in the mirror. "Clint and Maggie are waiting."

Zoe rubbed her hand across the back of her aching neck. "I'll be ready in ten minutes." She didn't know what Holt had in mind, but by now she knew that once he'd reached a decision, he would persist until he succeeded in carrying out his plan. "Do you want to tell me what we're celebrating?"

Dropping his arm, Holt stared at her. "You don't know?"

"Don't play games with me." Zoe stumbled toward the bathroom, wondering as she went what sly design had fashioned itself inside the shadowy chambers of Holt's sick mind.

She was still wondering fifteen minutes later as Holt seated her at the head of the magnificent mahogany dining table, then moved to take his place at the other end.

Maggie sat at Zoe's left, looking pensive and ill at ease. To Zoe's right, Clint slouched in his chair, a dark frown creasing his handsome, desperado face. "This had better be worth my while, old man. I should be in Midland by now."

"Patience, boy." Holt shifted his body around in his chair. His head pivoted on his neck. "Now where is Farnsworth?"

Farnsworth, his arms folded across his skinny chest, had stationed himself like a sentinel just inside the dining room door. "I'm right here, Boss."

Holt looked around the table, then cleared his throat. "The one person I can trust to do my bidding." A snap of his fingers brought the rangy little man to his side. "Farnsworth, fetch my surprise package."

Farnsworth seemed more than happy to escape the tension that rose and crackled inside the dining room. "Yes sir, Boss."

As he turned to go, Farnsworth almost collided with Bridget, who was coming into the dining room with a carafe of coffee in her hand.

What Bridget lacked in proficiency, she made up for in her effort to please. "Mr. Clint, would you like more coffee?"

Clint shook his head. "No."

Holt lifted his coffee cup. "A toast."

He waited as three uncomfortable people raised their coffee cups. "To my darling wife and our life together on this our first anniversary."

Bridget had moved to stand beside Holt. "Would you like more coffee, Mr. Hamilton?" She stood poised to pour hot liquid into Holt's extended cup.

"Damn it, girl, get out of here!" Holt roared.

Bridget sat the carafe on the table and ran for the kitchen.

"Who hired that woman?" Holt thundered.

Clint seemed to be enjoying his father's pique. "You did. It was a part of the deal you made with Buck Merriman. Bridget is Buck's housekeeper's niece. Remember?"

Holt sat his cup down on the table. "Remind me to find some way to get even with old Buck. I owe him one."

"You're already even, old man, and then some. You gave Buck a royal screwing when you took over his oil company and beat him out of his overseas leases." Clint took a long drink of coffee, then sat his cup on the table. "Bridget is small pay for what you did to Buck."

A malicious grin hovered around Holt's mouth. "Let that be a lesson to you, boy. Nobody crosses swords with Holt Hamilton and walks away unscathed." He pushed his plate back and roared, "Farnsworth! Where is my surprise package?"

Farnsworth appeared in the doorway, carrying a large manilla envelope on a silver tray. "Your package, Mr. Hamilton." He set the tray down beside Holt's plate, and backed toward the door.

The muscle in Clint's jaw tightened. "Why don't we dispense with the theatrics and get on with this little scenario? I have other things to do."

Holt raised both hands. "Don't hurry me boy. This is a felicitous occasion. It's my first wedding anniversary. I come bearing an appropriate gift for my bride." Holt patted the manilla envelope. "The first anniversary is the paper anniversary, hence, my most suitable of offerings."

Maggie's eyes dilated as they caught and held Zoe's troubled stare. "A gift of paper is proper after a year of marriage, Holt. You and Zoe haven't been married a month yet."

"But we have," Holt argued with devious design, "been married a month, I mean." He looked around the table, apparently enjoying the unrest he was creating. "It was one month ago today that I made this charming creature mine. I have decided to alter the anniversary rules to fit my needs."

Suspicion was written in every line of Clint's scowling face. "What the hell are you up to now?"

Holt laid a splotched hand over his heart. "I don't have years to spend with Zoe. At the most, I am told I have a few months." The painful resignation in his voice was disturbing to hear. "My death is inevitable and imminent." That chilling announcement made Holt shiver. "The walls of my life are crumbling around my head. Would you refuse me the joy of celebrating months in lieu of the years that have been denied me?"

Zoe found herself caught up in the spinning sophistry of Holt's persuasive rhetoric. How terrible it must be to have the bony fingers of death clutching at your shoulders. She thought of David's valiant struggle with leukemia and felt her eyes fill with tears. Life was so fragile and so unsure.

Clint was singularly unmoved. His mouth compressed into a thin line. "You're breaking my heart, old man."

"Clint!" Maggie's voice dropped to a whisper. "Please."

Zoe blinked back tears. "Try not to dwell on such morbid thoughts."

Holt was quick to take advantage of that forgiving instant. He slid the tray down the table toward Maggie. "Do the honors, Maggie. Give Zoe her gift."

Maggie rose slowly and placed the tray in front of Zoe, then sat back down in her chair.

Zoe felt three pairs of eyes staring at her, as Holt directed, "Don't just sit there, girl, open your gift."

Zoe let her fingers run along the top of the envelope. "There's no need. I'll open it later."

"Now, don't be coy." Holt's eyes cut to study Clint's brooding face. "Clint and Maggie should be allowed to share in our happiness."

She was playing into his hands by prolonging this little drama. Zoe sighed as she unfastened the loose clasp and put her hand into the envelope. She felt around, pulled two tickets from the recesses of the container, and laid them beside her plate. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Holt snorted. "Is that the best you can do? You don't even know what you have tickets to."

Before Zoe could retrieve the tickets, Clint reached across the table and captured them. "Tickets to the annual Cattleman's Charity Ball. Do you think you can stand the rigors of a night on the town, old man?"

Maggie chimed in, "Holt, I don't think that's wise."

"Such concern does you both proud." Holt paused, as Bridget came into the room carrying a tray of food. "Put it on the table and get out of here!"

Bridget set the tray on the sideboard. "Mrs. Mendez says I should serve you just like she taught me." She took her time in accomplishing the task. When the job was completed, she went to stand at the end of the table. With her hands in her apron pockets, she waited for further instructions.

"You may go now, Bridget." Zoe nodded toward the kitchen.

As Bridget made her slow departure, Holt shoveled a fork full of eggs into his mouth. "Now, where was I?"

Maggie looked concerned. "You were making plans to go to the charity ball. I don't think you should."

"Dear Maggie, I know you would be distressed if anything happened to me. " Holt laid his fork on his plate. "Such concern is touching." His words were bland, conciliatory, and intimidating. Zoe had suspected for sometime that Holt was blackmailing Maggie. His ambiguous utterance and sly demeanor reinforced that suspicion. She wondered why Clint didn't recognize his father's deceit.

"But lay your fears to rest." Again, that flick of madness found its way into the blue of Holt's eyes. "Clint will be Zoe's escort."

Zoe's response was immediate and intense. "No!"

Clint was not the least moved or intimidated. "Sorry to disappoint you, old man, but I already have a date for the ball. I'm taking Amy."

"Oh?" Holt's bushy brows met above his eyes. "Well, I suppose I will have to find someone else to take my place."

Zoe couldn't believe that Holt would surrender so swiftly, but she breathed a sigh of relief that he had. She didn't want to go anywhere with Clint, least of all a society ball. "Maybe I can beg off, too."

"Not on your life." Holt was adamant. "Now look in your little paper bag and find your other paper gift."

"Not now, later," Zoe begged.

"But it's important that you open your little paper Pandora's bag," Holt insisted.

Zoe's stiff fingers unhooked the clasp and pulled the contents of the envelope out onto the table. Looking at what she held in her hands made her none the wiser. "What is it?"

Holt chortled with malicious glee. "Just a little token of my love, respect, and gratitude. They're just little pieces of paper, but they say you own 33 percent of the stock in Hamilton Enterprises, Ltd."

Over the roar in her ears, Zoe heard Maggie's sharp intake of breath and Clint's harsh exclamation. "Son-of-a-bitch."

With one finger, Zoe pushed the papers from her. "I can't accept such a gift."

Holt ignored her. "Carter Fields should be here within the hour. He will apprise you of your rights and duties as a stockholder in the company."

That old specter of fear that she was coming to know so well, rose from the mists of Zoe's confused mind. "What duties?"

Holt opened his mouth to speak, then suddenly pitched forward and clutched at his heart. "Call Hartford."

Maggie bolted for the door, shouting Hartford's name.

"Your medication?" Zoe was on her feet, and pushing her chair back. "Where is your medication?"

Clint stood, and tossed his napkin on the table. "Not this time, old man. This time you have gone too far!" He spun on his heel, and stalked from the room without so much as a backward look.

After a frantic search through Holt's coat pockets, Zoe located his medication. Hartford arrived in time to help her push two little tablets under Holt's tongue.

It seemed like an eternity before Hartford, with Zoe and Maggie's assistance, got Holt to his room and into his bed.

Zoe surveyed Holt's ashen face, listened with a rising concern to his heavy breathing. "I'm going to call Doctor Michaels."

Hartford straightened from adjusting Holt's sheets. "I don't think there's a need for that." He and Maggie exchanged knowing glances. "If Miss Sullivan will stay with Mr. Hamilton for a few moments, I would like a word with you outside."

Zoe followed Hartford into the hall. "Is Holt more seriously ill than I thought?"

Hartford shocked her by bluntly stating, "Not at all. Mr. Hamilton is resting comfortably now. I don't think there's any need to trouble Doctor Michaels."

"How can you say that?" Zoe was dismayed. "He's just suffered a severe attack."

"If he did, he's recovered with remarkable speed."

"How do you know that?"

Hartford shrugged. "I'm a registered nurse, Mrs. Hamilton. I've checked Mr. Hamilton's pulse rate and his blood pressure. They are both satisfactory. But I can only advise you. The decision is yours."

Zoe leaned against the wall. "Do you know where Mr. McCann is?"

"I believe he is on his way to Midland. He has a car phone. Do you want to call him?"

Zoe turned the question over in her mind. Why borrow trouble? "No. I think not. Ask Maggie to come out."

Another shrug, and Hartford hurried back into Holt's room.

Conflicting emotions tore at Zoe. Common sense told her Hartford was right. Calling Clint would give him yet another reason to demean and humiliate her. Holt was her husband. The decision should be hers to make, still. . . .

"Zoe?"

Zoe's head came up. "Maggie, how is he?"

"Who knows?" Maggie's haggard face told of her apprehension. "He seems ill, but then, Holt is a past master at deception."

"Should I call Doctor Michaels?"

"Do you want it on your conscience if he dies, and you didn't?"

The answer to that was a definite no. "I'll call."

Maggie grasped Zoe's arm. "Zoe?" Indecision hovered in her words. "I. . . . If Holt. . . . When Holt. . . . Forget it."

What did Maggie want to tell her?. "No, go on."

Maggie let her hand fall away. "Nothing. We can talk later. Right now our main concern is keeping that old reprobate alive." She inclined her head in the direction of the bedroom.

Zoe could feel Maggie's pain. "Maggie. . . ?"

"Later." Maggie opened the door.

Doctor Michaels arrived at Triple H just as Carter Fields was stopping his car in the driveway. The two men exchanged pleasantries as they walked toward Zoe who stood in the doorway, anxiously awaiting Doctor Michaels arrival.

The doctor shifted his black bag from one hand to the other as Zoe greeted him. "Than God you're here."

"Don't look so upset." Doctor Michaels stepped through the open door. "Hartford says the attack is a minor one." He hurried around Zoe and rushed up the stairs, calling over his shoulder as he went, "Try not to worry."

Carter didn't wait for an invitation but stepped around Zoe and into the wide foyer. "I suppose you know, I have an appointment to meet with Holt this morning."

"I know." Zoe closed the door. "I doubt that he will be up to a meeting this morning. Would you like a cup of coffee before you start your drive back?"

Carter swaggered across the foyer. "I think I'd better hang around until Holt gives me the okay to go. You know how testy he can be when he's crossed."

Oh, yes, she knew all too well. "Perhaps you're right."

"I'll wait, why don't you go on up? Doctor Michaels must be waiting for you."

Zoe found his thoughtfulness comforting. "Thank you, Mr. Fields."

Carter caught her arm. "It's Carter, Zoe. We're going to be working together, so why be so formal?"

She was too absorbed with Holt's state of health to stop now for an explanation of what he meant. "Carter it is."

Zoe was halfway up the stairs when Carter called, "I have one for you."

Puzzled, Zoe turned. "One what?"

"One movie trivia question." He smiled, revealing a row of even white teeth. "Gregory Peck doesn't have any idea who Audrey Hepburn is when he falls in love with her in this movie."

His lighthearted banter lifted Zoe's sagging spirits. "The movie is called, Roman Holiday. I love that picture."

As Zoe sped up the stairs, Carter called. "I'll be waiting for you when you can get around to me."

Chapter Thirteen

Zoe was almost to the second floor landing when the front door opened, and Clint burst into the foyer. She could hear his voice, cracking with authority. "Carter? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Holt sent for me." Carter's annoyance rang in his terse reply.

Zoe turned and retraced her footsteps, wavering between relief and regret that Clint was home. "Clint, You decided to come back? Doctor Michaels is with Holt."

Clint's chiseled features stood out in stark relief against the light that filtered through the open door. Her heart jumped into her throat as he turned to stare at her. There was no softness in this man, no hint of compassion, not a trace of compromise. As he stood with his legs wide apart, his jacket slung across his shoulder, Zoe's fancy strayed to images of a nineteenth century renegade; rough, roguish, and relentless.

Clint's blunt utterance brought her back to reality with a jolt. "I met Doctor Michaels on the road, so I turned around and came back. How's the old man?" He strode across the foyer and toward the stairs.

Zoe's hand tightened around the banister, as Clint advanced toward her. "I don't know. I was on my way upstairs when you came in."

Clint looked over his shoulder. "Make yourself scarce, Carter." He took Zoe's arm and led her up the stairs.

The heat of his hand burned through her sleeve and scorched her flesh, but she made no effort to pull away.

Once out of Carter's earshot, Clint asked, "What happened? Did he have another attack?"

The tingle of Clint's touch spread through Zoe's body like jolts of electricity. "No, just that one in the dining room."

Clint released her arm. "That little pseudo spell?" he sneered. "You called Doctor Michaels out here, had him drive all that distance, when the old man was faking?"

"I don't know that he was faking." Zoe's breath was coming in little gasps by the time her feet reached the third floor landing. "And neither do you."

Clint quickened his pace. "The old man's mad as hell at me for making you sign a prenuptial agreement. He doesn't take kindly to being outmaneuvered. A fake attack is his way of striking back."

Zoe quickened her pace to stay up with Clint's long strides. "You didn't make me sign anything, and Holt wouldn't be that underhanded."

Clint's laughter rang through the hallway. "My old man doesn't consider his deviousness to be underhanded. The rules that ordinary people abide by don't apply to Holt Hamilton, or at least that's what he believes. He's not a wicked man, he's just emotionally twisted. He thinks of his malicious manipulations as being a positive force in a misguided world."

It was the longest speech she had ever heard Clint make and the most revealing. It spoke volumes, not only about how Clint saw his father but the way he must view himself. "And your mission is to disabuse him of that false notion?"

"Hell, no. I'm here to see that for the short time he has left the cruel world doesn't rob him of his little fantasy. But I have no illusions about my father, he's a fourteen-karat son-of-a-bitch who thinks he's invincible."

"Whatever he is, or is not, he's not a well man. I wouldn't want it on my conscience that Holt was ill, and I didn't call his doctor." Their feet made muffled sounds down the carpeted hallway as Zoe hurried to keep pace.

Clint opened Holt's bedroom door, then fired his final shot. "I didn't think you had a conscience."

Holt had made a swift recovery. He sat with pillows propped behind his back smiling as Zoe and Clint came into the room. "My wife and my son. Do come in."

Doctor Michaels stood on the other side of Holt's bed. "Mrs. Hamilton, I was about to ask Hartford to find you and ask you to come upstairs."

Hartford moved from the foot of the bed toward the door. "I'll get those supplies from the linen closet." He made a speedy withdrawal.

Clint threw his jacket onto a chair. "Chalk one up for you, old man. I'm back."

Holt looked puzzled. "One for me, son? I don't know what you mean." He folded his arms across his chest. Zoe could almost believe he was as conciliatory as he sounded. "But I am glad you're here. Doctor Michaels says Carter is downstairs." He rubbed his palms together. "Now we can get down to business."

"This time you have overplayed your hand." The taunt of challenge gleamed in Clint's eyes.

That dare didn't go unanswered. Holt was quick to reply, "Fortune favors the bold, boy."

Doctor Michaels was placing instruments in his black bag. "I have to get back to Midland. I have hospital rounds to make."

Zoe apologized. "I'm sorry I brought you all this way for nothing."

"You had every right to be concerned." Doctor Michaels snapped his bag shut. "Call me anytime. Now, if you will excuse me, I'll be on my way."

"I'll see you out." Zoe wanted to escape. Leaving with Doctor Michaels seemed a good way to accomplish that.

"That's not necessary." Doctor Michaels pushed his hat down on his head. "By now, I know my way out of this mausoleum. You stay here, these two may need a referee." There was the slightest hint of smugness in the doctor's bland words.

Holt was all smiles and pleasantries. "On your way out, Doc, tell Carter Fields that I want him up here, now."

"I see you have recovered sufficiently to be your old demanding self." The doctor hoisted his bag to fit under his arm. "I'll send him up, but try not to overdo it."

Over the closing of the door, Holt ordered. "Sit down, you two. I have a few things to say before Carter can get up here to spout his sophomoric views and regale us with his infantile chatter." Holt heaved a theatrical sigh. "I am weary just thinking of dealing with him."

"Then perhaps," Zoe sat in a chair, carefully ignoring Holt's insistent gesture that she should sit beside him on his bed. "I should ask him to leave and come back at a later date."

"No." Another weary sigh, "Time and circumstance have conspired to teach me that victory is a matter of endurance and longsuffering."

Clint pushed his coat aside, and sat down. "Okay, old man, have what you think is your moment of triumph. Then I. . . ."

They were interrupted by a fist banging the wall. "Holt? It's me, Carter." He entered without waiting for a response. "I know you're a wealthy man, but you're paying me by the hour, and at the rate we're going, my fee for this morning's work will be astronomical. It took me almost an hour to drive out here. I've been waiting downstairs for another hour. It will take me another hour to get back to Midland."

Holt gave his pillows a punch. "Relax, boy. You're as nervous as a bastard at a family reunion."

Holt's crude analogy made Carter flinch and cast Clint a sidelong glance.

Clint sat, still and straight as a statue, seemingly undisturbed by Holt's veiled insult. "Don't mind my old man. He's like the wolf that ate Grandma, he thinks the end justifies the means."

Zoe watched these two ruthless, determined men do battle with a rising sense of panic. Theirs was the most destructive of relationships, in equal measure they loved and hated each other. And she was trapped by an avenging fate in their complicated web of fear and failure, lies and loss.

Carter cleared his throat, and sat down in the only available space, the end of Holt's bed. "Shall we get down to business, whatever that business is."

The next several minutes were spent with Holt explaining to Carter that Zoe was now the owner of 33 percent of the stock in Hamilton Enterprises, Ltd. "That leaves me with 34 percent, and still in control," he ended on a note of triumph.

Carter tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his surprise. "Who are the other stock holders?"

"Clint owns 33 percent." Holt sent his son a devilish smile.

Carter shifted around on the bed. "Have you considered what you're doing by giving that much of your stock away?"

Holt bristled. "I didn't ask you here to advise me about how to run my business."

"As your attorney I. . . ."

Holt interrupted with a shout, "Hell, boy." Then, apparently, he recalled he was supposed to be a sick man. His voice dropped to a whine. "I didn't hire you to be my attorney, I hired you to be Zoe's attorney. When I'm gone, I want you to look after her business interests."

Ignoring the scowl on Holt's face, Carter argued, "When you're gone, Clint will inherit your shares, then he's in control." When Holt's eyebrows raised in puzzlement, he added, "I recently read your will. It states that your progeny inherits everything you own."

With a too casual shrug, Clint stood and retrieved his jacket. "I think I'll go now. I should have been in Midland an hour ago."

"You can't go." Holt seemed bent on arguing. "We're conducting business here and you're our CEO.

Clint paused at the door. "I could resign."

"No you can't," Holt contended hotly.

"Clint leaned against the wall. "And who's going to stop me?"

"I am," Holt replied. "I'm still in control here."

"You are unless. . . ." Clint's words halted in midair. "I have other things to do."

"Unless what?" Holt's hands worried through his hair.

"Unless," Stepping forward, Clint put his hand on the back of Zoe's chair. "Your loving wife and your devoted son conspire to dethrone you." With those words he pivoted on his heel, and was gone before Holt could find a suitable reply.

This was apparently the one eventuality that Holt had not foreseen. "You slick son-of-a-gun," he called to the closed door. Then his shifty eyes narrowed in Zoe's direction. "My sweet little spouse, you wouldn't conspire against me, would you?" He then proceeded to answer his own question. "Of course you wouldn't, not after all we've shared, the confidences, the secrets." There it was again, that threat to send Zoe to prison and cause her financial ruin if she crossed him.

She could never remember feeling quite so helpless or so afraid. Tension tightened her voice. "I want no part of your quarrel with Clint."

Carter looked down at the brief case he had never opened. "Is there anything else, Holt?"

Holt's tone moved from contentious to wheedling. "There is one other thing. Zoe needs an escort to the Cattleman's ball this weekend. Do you know of some reputable male who would see that my wife gets to and from the ball safely? I know nothing about escort services, but there must be some reliable firm somewhere. Cost is not important. Fly somebody in from New York or Los Angeles or Kalamazoo if necessary, and make sure he's handsome and trustworthy."

It would be difficult to gage who was more astonished by Holt's request, Zoe or Carter. It was she who found her voice first. "I'm sure you don't mean that, Holt."

Carter's look of abject amazement was replaced by a frown of indecision. "I wouldn't know where to look for such a person." He brightened as a smile slowly replaced his frown. "Unless you would grant me the honor of escorting Zoe - Mrs. Hamilton to the ball."

With an insolence spawned by success, Holt slid down into the bed. "That's an excellent idea boy. Why didn't I think of that? I'll even double your hourly fee."

"I don't want money for such an enjoyable assignment." Carter caught his bottom lip with his teeth. "It would be an honor to be Mrs. Hamilton's escort."

A tinge of pink licked along Zoe's cheeks. Less than two hours ago, Carter had insisted that he and Zoe should be on a first name basis, now he was referring to her as, 'Mrs. Hamilton.' "This is nonsense. I am sure you have already asked someone to accompany you to the dance."

"No. I haven't." A sheepish grin tugged at the sides of Carter's mouth. "The truth is, I didn't plan to go this year. The last charity ball I attended was a colossal bore."

Before Zoe could protest further, Holt interpolated, "Then it's settled. You will escort my wife to the ball." He turned over and summarily dismissing Carter by closing his eyes. "I need my rest."

Zoe tried to hide her embarrassment. "I'll see you out." Once outside the room, she could explain to Carter that she had no intention of holding him to Holt's ridiculous request. "Perhaps you'd like some lunch before you start the long drive back to Midland."

They were seated in the dining room with Bridget placing a platter of sandwiches on the table before Zoe broached the subject of the charity ball again. "Carter, about your escorting me to this society function. . . ."

Carter bit into a sandwich. "I'm looking forward to it." His eyes sparkled with humor. "I don't usually date married women, but in your case, I'll make an exception."

"I don't want to go." Zoe pushed crumbs around on her plate and thought how ungrateful and demeaning that sounded. "I don't mean I don't want to go with you, I mean I don't want to go, period."

Carter didn't seem in the least offended. "I don't blame you, These society wing-dings give me a pain in the neck that reaches right down to the small of my back."

His candid assessment made Zoe smile. "I'm sure you'd rather be doing something else."

"Frankly," Carter admitted between bites, "I had. I'd rather be over at the Broken Spoke, drinking beer, dancing, and raising hell."

Zoe laid her hand over Carter's wrist. "If you don't want to take me, I'll understand."

Carter's other hand moved to shackle Zoe's fingers. "Let's make a deal. I'll go with you, if you'll go with me."

"Go with you where?" She must be out of her head, but for the first time since she had come to this dismal place, Zoe felt a tingle of anticipation.

"We can put in an appearance at the charity ball, stay a respectable length of time, then slip out and go over to the Broken Spoke for some real fun. What do you say?"

Zoe was tempted, oh, so tempted. "What's the Broken Spoke?"

"It's a bar and dance hall. It's the place to hang out."

Zoe pulled her fingers from Carter's grasp. "Could I go there in a ball gown?"

Carter put his hand over his mouth and snorted. "You'd probably get laughed right out of the place in a ball gown." He snapped his fingers. "Why don't you give me some of your old jeans, and a shirt? I'll take them to my apartment. You can change after the Charity affair."

Carter's proposal sounded clandestine and fun and harmless, but there was another consideration. "I don't think Holt would like it."

Carter said with a conspiratorial wink, "Holt would never have to know."

Zoe's breath caught on the surprised gurgle in her throat. "You mean lie to him?"

"Did I say lie?" Carter pushed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. "Why do you have to tell him anything?"

Why indeed? Holt was an unreasonable old tyrant who was making Zoe's life miserable by blackmailing her. She deserved some fun. "What if he found out?"

"I'm not going to tell him." Carter drained the last of the iced tea from his glass and set it on the table. "Are you?" He was speaking as if their little plan was a settled fact. "I have one for you, a movie trivia question, I mean."

Feeling more lighthearted than she had in a long time, Zoe shot back. "Ask away."

"Name the man who became a star after the release of the film, A Fistful of Dollars. I can give you another clue. I've been told I could pass for his double."

Zoe studied the self-assured man who sat beside her. "Now that you mention it, I can see some resemblance."

Carter leaned toward her, narrowed his eyes, and drawled, "Go ahead, make my day."

"On second thought," Zoe said with a smile, "you're more the Robert Redford type, a modern romantic hero in the classic tradition."

"Don't try to flatter me into telling you the answer."

"It was Clint Eastwood." Zoe declared over her laughter.

Carter's smile was warm and intimate. "I can't fool you, can I?"

Zoe thought to herself, I hope not, counselor, I do hope not. She pushed her chair back. "I'll get my clothes."

Carter called after her. "Bring some boots, too. You can't do the Cotton-Eyed Joe in satin slippers."

Chapter Fourteen

Holt's unblinking stare followed Zoe's every movement as she spread butter over a slice of toast. After several minutes of close scrutiny, he said, "I've decided that heredity is a stronger influence than environment."

It was the morning after Carter's visit. Zoe and Holt were having breakfast in their suite. Zoe laid her knife across her plate and asked why, not because she had any real desire to know, but because she knew that was what Holt wanted her to do. A touch of guilt for agreeing to go to a night club with Carter without telling Holt of her plans made her feel conciliatory toward this complicated ailing old man.

"Ah," Holt's head tilted back. "I watch you doing all the little personal, mundane things that every human being does every day, and I see a resemblance to Sarah that warms the very cockles of my heart."

Being compared to Sarah always left Zoe feeling inadequate and uneasy. "I didn't know there was a unique way to butter toast."

"There is, to the truly observing eye." Holt reinforced his point by nodding his head. "There are a few rare individuals who accomplish even the most tedious of chores with elegance and style. Sarah was like that. It was one of the traits that made her such a fine actress."

Zoe's feelings of inadequacy irritated her reply. "Your insight is keen but too narrow. Sarah was talented, but she was also accomplished. She worked for years to perfect her expertise as an actress." With a little less than her usual grace, Zoe spread marmalade on her toast. "Her versatility was more the result of hard work than of talent"

Holt narrowed his gaze perceptively. "Did I offend you with my compliment? That was not my intent."

Zoe knew that. She was overreacting, again. "I'm not offended, but Sarah did spend years perfecting her craft."

"True, true, but what would all that work have been worth if she hadn't possessed that innate ability to wipe the cobwebs of mediocrity from the characters she portrayed and make them loom larger than life on the silver screen? She infected the viewer with what her character was experiencing and feeling, until those sensations became a part of each and every onlooker. That's why an audience would watch with rapt enchantment as Sarah performed the most menial of tasks. The observer became so at one with her that even an inconsequential activity became intimate and electrifying, and those actions were unconscious and spontaneous. Sarah's talent was a gift from the gods, as was her beauty. You have that same indefinable quality, that same elusive charm."

Such abject praise alerted Zoe to a certainty. Holt was going to ask her to do something, probably something she would object to doing. The thought dawned as her tardy caution caught up to his beguiling words. "To borrow from Shakespeare, comparisons are odorous." Perhaps attack was her best defense. "What do you want from me now?"

Over his coffee cup, Holt studied Zoe's swift change of expression. "But unlike Sarah, you lack the ability to mask your emotions. My dear child, you must learn to play the game."

"I don't like playing games."

"Haven't you learned yet that life is a game? Only when you realize that can you hope to outwit fate and control your own destiny." That faint touch of madness ran like quicksilver through his impassioned declaration. "There is no game plan, there are no rules, because there is ultimately nothing to lose, except your life and nobody alters that finality. Death is the one given. Once you come to grips with that naked truth, you become reckless and daring. It's surprising how brave a man becomes once he learns that he has nothing to lose."

Zoe tasted her cold coffee as a shiver chilled her nerve ends. "Your philosophy stinks."

Leaning his elbow on his chair, Holt put his chin in his hand. "I am only trying to help you avoid pitfalls along the rocky road of life."

"Just tell me what it is that you want me to do."

Holt dropped his hand and managed to look properly offended. "What makes you think I want you to do anything?"

By now she should know the futility of arguing with this clever old man. Pushing her chair back, Zoe declared, "I'm going to the library."

"Oh, all right!" Contrary as a disgruntled child, Holt puffed his cheeks out and blew air through his mouth. "What does Cinderella plan to wear to the ball?"

"Am I to deduce from that convoluted little phrase that you want to know what I plan to wear to the Cattleman's Dance?" Zoe reminded herself, as she waited for an answer, that patience was a virtue.

After a long silence, Holt asked, irrelevantly, "Did you see, A Woman Scorned? Sarah turned in a superb performance. She played a young, very innocent woman who is seduced by an older man, then tossed aside when he is forced to choose between his beautiful mistress and his very rich wife."

It had been sometime since Zoe had seen the movie. If memory served her, the plot was predictable and boring. "The only decent scene in that movie was when Sarah and her lover's wife see each other for the first time at the grand ball, and the young mistress realizes that her lover will never leave his wife."

"Wasn't Sarah lovely in that scene? Her gown was created by a famous Parisian designer."

Some patience might be a virtue, Zoe decided, but too much forbearance was sheer cowardice. "I don't remember what Sarah wore, so I must not have been too impressed."

"The dress was fashioned from some silky shimmering fabric. The bodice fit like a glove, the skirt was bouffant. It was the most perfect ball gown I have ever seen. Would you like to wear it to the Cattleman's Dance next Saturday night?"

"You know where the dress is?" Zoe's eyes rounded in surprise as her anger slipped away on the wings of curiosity.

"It's hanging in the attic along with the rest of a huge and very expensive wardrobe that Sarah collected over the years."

"Can we go and look?" A lonely, often isolated childhood that had found escape in the make-believe world of movies, had left Zoe with a lingering fascination for the glitter that was Hollywood. How she would love to prowl through Sarah's personal belongings. "Do you have other things there too?"

"All her clothing, shoes, most of her jewelry, and countless other items are stored there. We can't go. I am not up to climbing stairs, and there's no elevator to the attic."

"Most of her jewelry?" Zoe questioned.

"Some of her more expensive items are stored in my safe deposit box, along with other, very important documents." Holt's pause was deliberate and calculated. "Where did you hide the papers you stole from the library?"

Zoe took refuge behind a shield of silence, refusing to even acknowledge she had heard his question.

"I know you took them."

"There is no way. . . ." Zoe's teeth bit into her bottom lip. "That's. . . ."

"A guess?" Holt raised a shaggy eyebrow.

Zoe nodded her head.

"My poor, benighted child, it's no more than deductive reasoning. If anyone else had made away with that packet of damming evidence, it would be public knowledge by now. There are those who would pay a king's ransom for those documents. Would you like to return them to me before they fall into the wrong hands?"

Zoe had never considered that possibility, neither has she found the time to study the mass of evidence contained in the sheaves of papers in that envelope. "I prefer to keep them."

With a shrug, Holt dismissed the subject. "Then, shall we get back to the business at hand? I believe we were discussing your willingness to wear secondhand apparel."

Did Holt think she would object to wearing Sarah's ball gown? Zoe could soon disabuse him of that notion. "I would love to wear anything that belonged to Sarah."

"That is good to know, because you are already wearing her wedding ring."

Ice crystals froze in Zoe's veins as she looked down on the diamond encrusted wedding band that adorned the third finger of her left hand. "This was Sarah's?"

"She wants you to have it."

Zoe was incensed! "You gave me your dead wife's wedding ring?" The glitter of the diamonds in the ring caught and reflected a rainbow of morning light. "How could you?"

"I gave you something your mother wants you to have."

Prudence advised caution. "Wants?" Zoe's voice was whisper-soft.

"Sarah understands the situation. She approves."

Maybe Clint was right, perhaps Holt was not an evil man. He was however determined, by his own admission reckless, and more than a little mad. Cautiously, Zoe asked, "Did she tell you this?"

"I never do anything without Sarah's approval. You know that." Holt laid his hand over his heart. "I feel a little twinge. Perhaps I should lie down."

Was there no end to this man's duplicity and cunning? "So the subject is closed?"

Holt limped to his bed and sat on the edge. "Hartford will be here soon. Sarah wants you to have her personal belongings. Will you accept them?"

The polarity of her emotions colored Zoe's thoughts with dissension. She did want Sarah's possessions. Why then was she so upset to learn her wedding ring, which signified nothing more than a forced agreement with a half-crazed old man, had once belonged to Sarah? Like a malevolent apparition, that sinister Sibyl returned to hover in some far corner of her mind. Were there dark dimensions hidden inside Zoe Martin that were yet to be discovered and explored. But she was Zoe Hamilton now. Whatever the name, one unalterable fact remained, she was and would always be Sarah Clarke's daughter. "I would be pleased to have Sarah's personal possessions."

Holt's manner brightened considerably. "She said you would."

Zoe reasoned, that, like everything else of importance in this house, Sarah's personal belongings were under lock and key. "Tell me the way and give me the key. I can find the attic on my own."

Holt reached for the cord over his bed. "I'll send for Clint. He can take you."

Zoe's anticipation turned to dread. Her safety, perhaps her sanity lay in keeping distance between herself and Clint McCann. "Maggie would be a much better assistant."

"Maggie's in Midland."

Zoe wondered since when, but she didn't ask. "I'm sure I can manage on my own."

"I can't let you go up to that dark attic all by yourself." Holt yanked the cord again. "Clint will be glad to oblige."

What diabolical plan was Holt hatching now? This was an obvious conspiracy to throw Zoe and Clint together, and in the dark recess of an attic hideaway. Zoe could not hope to unravel his demented logic. She could only hope to deter him. "Bridget would do as well."

"I don't think Bridget would take kindly to being asked to make a trip to the attic, and I doubt she would be of much assistance if she ever got there."

His observations were probably true. "Then Sally or Lupe, perhaps, or Mrs. Mendez, or even Farnsworth."

Holt chuckled. "Are you sure you don't want to take Hartford to the attic with you?"

Hartford's sudden appearance caused Zoe to start, and look over her shoulder.

Hartford closed the door. "You rang, sir?"

"Of course, I rang. Go find my son and tell him to get up here, now."

"But Mr. Hamilton. . . ."

"Don't argue, man, just go!"

Hartford vented his anger on the door, slamming it hard as he departed.

Holt sighed as he stretched out on the bed. "You would think a man of Hartford's age and station in life would have learned some forbearance, apparently he has not."

Zoe could see how dealing with an ailing, eccentric old man like Holt Hamilton could try the patience of Job. "I think he's more frustrated than intolerant."

Holt put his hands under his head. "Don't misjudge Hartford. That could be a fatal mistake. Hartford has the instincts of a predator, and the intellect of a pirate."

Zoe dismissed his words as the ranting of an infirm old man. She had other more important things on her mind now, mainly how to get to the attic and explore its contents without having to suffer Clint's annoying presence while she was doing so. "Are you going to give me the key?"

Holt surrendered the key with the admonition that Zoe should watch her step on those narrow stairs.

She had no idea what stairs he was referring to, but she refused to ask. Choosing instead to sit, silent and pensive in her chair as Holt watched her with guarded interest.

It grew to be a test of nerves and determination. Holt seemed intent on staring her down. Zoe refused to give an inch. They were still locked in a battle of silent, unblinking stares when Clint, with Hartford close on his heels, strode into the room. "Hartford says you need me. For what?"

"Of course, I need you. Sit down, boy," Holt gestured toward a chair, "and tell me how that deal with Acme Corporation went." The question sparked like a bare electric wire, igniting the air with hostility.

Clint's jaw clenched as he sat down and crossed one booted foot over the other. "The Acme deal is none of your damn business."

Not to be thwarted, Holt switched tactics. "I hated to take you from your work," he whined, "I know how indispensable you are to the cooperation." He laid the back of his hand across his forehead. "What would I do if I didn't have you to lean on?"

Clint studied the toes of his expensive boots. "Find somebody else to harass. What is it this time?" Not a muscle in his body moved. His face was expressionless.

Of the two men, Zoe decided as she watched this ceaseless struggle for power and dominance, Holt was the more devious and shrewd. But what Clint lacked in cunning, he more than made up for in sheer ruthlessness.

Hartford emerged from the bathroom carrying a tray that held a glass of water and Holt's array of pills and patches. He paused at the foot of the bed. "It's past time for your medication, Mr. Hamilton."

"Damn it, I can tell time." Holt opened his shirt and waited as Hartford removed an oval patch and pasted a new one to the shaved area on his chest. "Maybe I shouldn't ask, but it's such a little favor."

Clint stood and put his hands into the shallow pockets of his jeans. "And something you can't use force or intimidation to make me do."

Holt popped a capsule into his mouth and took a long drink from the glass Hartford handed him. "I want you to help my wife."

Clint's eyes slid with open insolence over Zoe's tiny figure. "I thought you hired Carter Fields to do for your wife what you lack the stamina to accomplish."

Holt swallowed the last of his medication, and waved Hartford away. "I hired Carter to look after Zoe's business interests. This is personal."

Clint walked to the window. With his back to his wary father, he asked, "You want me to get personal with your wife?"

"Damn it." Holt's fingers struggled with his shirt buttons. "I hate it when you start with the lewd insinuations. I am an infirm old man, you are my only son. Can't you show me a little respect?"

Clint continued to look out across the broad expanse of flat countryside. "It's not wise to show respect to a rattlesnake."

"Stop it!" Agitation propelled Zoe to her feet. "Nothing is worth this endless bickering. I've changed my mind, I don't want to go to the attic." She dropped back down into her chair and lowered her voice. "It was no big deal anyway."

Hartford had been standing near the door, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. "If you don't need me, Mr. Hamilton, I have some chores to do." He inched toward escape.

"Then go." Holt nodded his dismissal.

As the door closed, Clint turned to stare at Holt in disbelief. "You are letting this woman," he pointed an accusing finger in Zoe's direction, "go into Sarah's attic sanctuary?"

Holt was immediately on the defensive. "Zoe can fit into every garment up there." He raised his eyes to the ceiling as if silently invoking some higher being. "Why shouldn't she wear some of them?"

"Are you telling me that you are giving Zoe access to Saint Sarah's belongings?" Clint advanced toward his father with quick, decisive steps, until he stood at the foot of the bed. "You've never let another human being enter that sanctified domain."

Holt was quick to take advantage of Clint's momentary loss of equilibrium. "I can't let that expensive collection of clothing hang up there and collect dust."

Clint took a deep breath. His voice was calm now. "That so-called collection is worth a small fortune. If you don't want it up there gathering dust, why don't you sell it or give it away and write it off as a tax deduction?" He didn't wait for Holt to answer. "I'll tell you why, you are obsessed with a dead woman. You wouldn't part with Sarah's personal treasures for all the money in the world. Why then are you willing, even eager to show them to this little tart who married you for what she could get out of you?"

"Now don't go getting upset," Holt cautioned, but his eyes gleamed with suppressed pleasure. "I do have an eye for finance. I gave Sarah's things to Zoe, all of them. Because it seemed cheaper in the long run than having her buy a new wardrobe." Holt leaned back against his pillows as his words rang through the charged atmosphere.

"You crafty old son-of-a-bitch. What are you up to now?"

"Me? Nothing." Holt could not quite hide the note of triumph that had slipped into his voice. "I am just being a benevolent, loving husband."

Clint leaned against the foot of the bed, as he slowly regained his composure. "You never gave anybody anything without expecting a lot more than you gave in return."

Holt put his hand to his chest. "I feel a twinge. Maybe we should discuss this later."

"Good idea." Clint turned toward the door.

Holt made an amazingly speedy recovery. "Now come back here. We can bargain."

Clint stopped and without turning said, "Tell me what you want me to do."

Holt seemed to be assessing his options. He drew a deep breath. "I want you to escort Zoe up to the attic each time she wants to go there and stay with her until she's ready to leave."

Clint sank down into a chair near the bed. "For how long?"

"Until I depart this veil of tears. I'd bargain for longer, but I won't be around then to see that you carry out your end of the deal."

By now, Zoe's nerves were stretched to the breaking point. "I can go alone. All this fuss is unnecessary."

Clint's stiletto stare knifed across her face. "Stay out of this." He turned his slashing gaze on his father. "And what can I expect in return?"

Holt was too crafty to fall into that trap. "You have to tell me the deal, I don't know what you want."

Clint tilted his head to study the ceiling. "I want my mother's farm."

Holt strangled on his own surprise. "You want that thrown away, wasted piece of land?"

"I do."

Would these men never cease to mystify her? Clint was asking an exorbitant price for what seemed to Zoe a small chore that could have been done by any of the household staff. What made him think that Holt would agree to such a preposterous exchange?

Holt seemed to be giving the proposal lengthy consideration. "And if I say no?"

"Then the deal's off. You can find someone else to be your lackey."

As Zoe sat, listening to what from all outward appearances seemed to be an absurd proposal, a dawning certainty emerged. There was a deeper, much more profound transaction being made here than the battle over an escort to take Zoe to the attic.

Holt's lips compressed into a thin line. "No. I warned your mamma that I would find some way to pay her back when she got a restraining order to keep me from seeing my own little boy." Again, that tinge of madness tainted Holt's speech, colored his countenance. "When I die that farm goes to charity."

Clint shrugged. "Then find somebody else to take care of your wife."

"Damn it boy, you know I don't want anyone in Sarah's attic. It's bad enough that I have to let you go up there."

Clint was relentless. "I want Mamma's farm."

"It's' not your mamma's farm. I bought it, fair and square."

"You stole it, you old scoundrel." Clint spoke the harsh words with affection. "And you did it to spite Mamma."

Seemingly unmoved by Clint's unkind accusation, Holt furrowed his brow. "Would you promise not to give the farm to your mamma?"

Clint's reply was soft but firm. "No."

"Then I won't deal."

As these two jockeyed for position and power. Zoe was struck by another positive revelation. Clint McCann loved his mother, and that was the underlying reason for Holt's stubborn refusal to yield. He's jealous, Zoe thought, with a touch of sadness. Holt is jealous of Clint's love for his mother.

Clint was almost to the door before Holt relented, a little. "Will you promise to keep it until I am gone? Then you can give it to her."

Clint stood with his hand holding onto the doorknob. "Why?"

"Because I asked you to. If you can go to all that trouble for your mamma, can't you do one little favor for your old daddy?"

Over a sigh, Clint relented. "I'll wait."

Holt's face stretched into a wide grin. "Good, now you and Zoe can get about the business of going to the attic."

Clint opened the door. "My business right now is my deal with Acme. I'll take your wife to the attic just after I have the papers to Mamma's farm in my hand."

"We have to sign an agreement first." Holt rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "The first time you renege on taking Zoe to the attic, the deal's off."

"Draw up the papers, and I'll sign them." The door slammed before the words were out of Clint's mouth.

Holt rested his head on his pillow. "That boy thinks he drives a hard bargain. I told you we could beat him at his own game." He closed his eyes and chuckled. "Yes sir, he's going to outsmart himself."

Chapter Fifteen

Two days passed without Holt mentioning Zoe's promised trip to the attic. On the morning of the day before the charity dance she resorted to devious tactics, deluding herself that it was really no more that an indirect approach to her problem.

Holt was fussing with his shirt buttons. More and more, the simple task of dressing himself was beyond his doing. "What are you staring at?" He demanded as he looked up to see her watching his fingers fumble with the front of his shirt.

"Was I staring? I didn't mean to be." Zoe looked away. "I was trying to decide what to wear to the dance tomorrow night."

Holt's hands dropped to his sides. "I thought you'd never ask." He reached for the intercom. "Clint is standing by. He will be up within the half hour."

Zoe didn't realize how enthralled she was with the prospect of a journey into the mysterious attic until she and Clint had traveled to the north end of the third floor hall and were standing before a narrow locked door. "Do you have a key?"

Clint's answer was to take a key from his pocket and slip it into the lock. "After you." He pulled the door back and waited for Zoe to step in front of him.

Zoe narrowed her eyes against the sudden darkness, as she tried to shake a vague sense of foreboding. "How long has it been since anyone was up here?" The door closed behind them with a metallic click. Light faded like a vanishing hope.

"Since sometime before Sarah died, I would suppose. She never went up alone, the old man always went with her." In the close quarters of the stairwell Zoe could feel Clint's nearness, smell the musky scent of him.

"I can't see a thing." Zoe felt her way along the steep stairwell. She remembered the chaos that had greeted her in the library on her first visit there and wondered if the attic would be any less of a disaster. Her hands moved along the wall in search of a light switch and found none. "Did you bring a flashlight?"

Clint was so close that she could feel the erotic warmth of his breath on her neck. "This is your party, sweetheart. I'm just along for the ride."

So he was going to be his usual disagreeable self. But then, she hadn't expected anything else. "Don't step on my heels." He was moving too close, invading her space. "I need more room." On some primitive level of awareness, her body sang with the joy of his nearness. "The stairs are very steep." Every instinct she possessed warned her she was in harm's way. In the darkness, she could very easily stumble and fall.

"Clint spoke into the darkness. I never wanted to come to Sarah's lair, I still don't, but I made a deal."

Zoe decided to ignore his caustic remark and concentrate on fighting her own personal demons. She put one hand on each rail and began to pull herself, step by step, up the narrow incline. Half-way to the top, she stopped so suddenly that Clint collided with her backside. "This is like the black hole of Calcutta." Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth as her body tingled from his touch.

Clint gave her a gentle shove. "Stop complaining and move." His hands burned through the thin material of her shirt. She began, once more, to make her troubled ascent, feeling each step carefully with one foot before she brought the other one up to rest beside it.

At the top of the stairs, Zoe's head collided with a bare bulb that dangled from an electric cord. She pulled the string. The tiny landing was teased by eerie lights and shadows. An emotion not unlike dread crowded in around Zoe's anticipation. She fumbled for her key. What would she find beyond the closed door? If the library was any example, she could expect, among other things, a clutter of disorganized confusion.

The attic ceiling was low. Clint would have to stoop to get through the door opening. Zoe held her breath, turned the key in the lock, and pushed gently.

The darkness reached out and enveloped her like a soft velvet fog. Once more, she felt along the wall until her fingers flicked a switch. A flood of warm light pulsated into the soft, sensuous beauty of the room. It was like stepping into some oriental potentate's harem. Zoe's breath caught in her throat as she gasped her surprise. Waltzing shadows chased the light through the splendor of gauzy veils that hung from the walls, then extended up, and fastened through silver hooks across the ceiling. "Scheherezade could have lived here."

Along one side of the room, a low couch, spread with a satin coverlet and littered with a dozen velvet pillows invited recline. An ornately carved mahogany table stood in the opposite corner, and near it, a dainty dressing table with a matching chair. Zoe stepped across the threshold and sank shoe-mouth deep into the carpet that covered the floor. "It looks like something out of The Arabian Nights."

Slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the light she drank in the exotic beauty that met her gaze. A sultan would have marveled at the subtle splendor of this chamber. Zoe laid her hand over her heart. "I thought this was a storage room."

"Obviously, you were wrong." Clint closed the door. It locked automatically. "So this is Sarah's little attic paradise."

"This place looks like a harem. I don't think Sarah or any other woman would consider a harem paradise." Sarah's choice of decor puzzled Zoe. Why would a successful, independent woman like Sarah Clarke choose such an obviously male oriented theme for her hideaway? "Where are the dresses, the personal belongings?"

"Greedy, aren't you?" Clint was gazing around the room with contemptuous disbelief. "There are three, maybe four more rooms up here. The attic runs the entire length of this wing of the house. There must be a door out of here." He pointed to a silken curtain that covered the back wall. It was decorated with dancing houris and scantily clad muscular men seated around them holding peacock feather fans. "Over there, I think."

Clint led, Zoe followed. They trekked across the room, sinking as they went into the softness of the plush carpet. A stale odor permeated the air. It was evident that the attic had been vacant of human life for sometime.

Clint pushed the curtain back and whistled through his teeth. A huge sunken tub, empty now, obviously drained of its contents sometime ago, covered the entire end of the room. Statues of a chubby Cupid and two nude nymphs sculpted in intricate detail stood on three sides of the spa. Across the back wall, double French doors closed and curtained blocked further view. The floor around the tub was a polished iridescent pink marble. A woman's naked skin would glow like a pearl in the softness of this diffused light.

Again, surprise took Zoe. "I never dreamed of anything as splendid as this."

"The perfect setting for a seduction." Clint pushed on one French door. It swung open to reveal a long room lined with rows and rows of garments, each bagged and tagged with a card for identification. Around the walls, shelves held boxes of shoes and accessories. They were stacked three deep and in precise order, each one tagged with a code number and a list of its contents. The next two rooms were similar to the first in size and content.

The last room was an office furnished for comfort with a couch, an overstuffed chair, a table, two file cabinets and a desk. Zoe was breathless with amazement.

A tiny alcove in one corner of the office concealed a commode and lavatory. Zoe decided to wash the dust from her hands before she began her search. The facet sucked air when she turned the handle. Turning the handle back to an off position, she complained, "There's no water up here."

Even Clint seemed to be awe struck by the strange mixture of wonder, wealth, and luxury secreted in this most unorthodox of hideaways. "It can be turned on. I'll see to it."

What was this? Clint being amiable, almost civil? Zoe decided not to push her luck by asking how soon. "Thank you."

Zoe expected the file cabinets to be locked. They weren't. She opened a drawer and began to rifle through the folders and cards stored there. "This is a strange filing system. It may take me some time to decipher it."

Clint leaned against the wall. "Am I supposed to sit around and wait for you to unravel Sarah's personal code?"

The sneer in his voice said his civility had been short-lived. "You could help me decipher these files."

She didn't want him to go. There was something unsettling about the attic. She couldn't shake a nagging feeling of unrest.

"Maybe I should, the sooner you get what you want, the sooner we can leave." Clint sat down at the desk. "This place gives me the creeps. It's like being in a mausoleum."

Maybe that was one reason Zoe felt so unsettled. The lack of even one window in the entire attic underscored its sense of isolation. "Maybe Sarah had an aversion to windows."

"She must have had an aversion to mirrors too. There isn't one up here, not even a small one on the dressing table."

That strange fact had escaped Zoe's notice. Why would a woman as beautiful and apparently as vain as Sarah Clarke bar mirrors from her retreat? Zoe subdued the urge to speculate aloud, deciding, instead, to concentrate on finding the ball gown Sarah had worn in, A Woman Scorned. "Are you going to help?"

Clint looked directly into her face and smiled. "Sure, sweetheart."

The effect was devastating. A knot tied itself in Zoe's stomach. Her hands went clammy and cold, her mouth dried. With that deliciously disturbing sensation came a distressful quake of alarm that tightened her chest, dilated her eyes. She dropped to the couch and took a deep breath. "I - we should have brought water up here." She tried to swallow the knot that had crawled up into her throat. "I need something to drink."

Clint put an elbow on the desk. "I could use a shot of something myself." He opened a drawer of the desk and took out a pencil. "Let's get going." Clint, too, was having difficulty breathing. "Will you for God's sake go to work?"

That old familiar ring of contempt echoed in his command. Zoe stood and pointed her uncertain legs, toward a file cabinet.

The code turned out to be fairly complicated. Garments were first color coded according to category: Evening wear, sports wear, casual wear, lingerie, or outer wear. Under each category, further divisions had been made. Then an intricate system of numbers and letters keyed each garment to the accessories that were to be worn with it.

They were sitting at the table, comparing notes, when the last of the difficult codes began to unravel. "Eureka," Clint shouted, "The barriers fall at last." Through the past hour, as he became more and more involved in the business of decoding, Clint's hostility had abated. He laughed when Zoe decried her lack of ability with numbers. "English teachers aren't expected to understand mathematics." A wry smile teased the hard lines around his mouth when Zoe had reminded him that as an attorney he should be able to solve a simple mystery when the clues were spread out before him. "Simple?" He hooted. "This thing is worse than a Chinese puzzle."

Zoe rifled through the drawer marked formal wear. "I'm looking for the dress Sarah wore in, A Woman Scorned. Holt thinks I should wear it to the Charity dance."

Clint laughed. "So the old man wants to shock the pants off Midland's elite?"

She wasn't sure what he meant. "Why should you father's marrying me shock anyone? He's done far worse in the past."

Clint shook his head as he smiled again that devastating smile. "It's not the marriage that's going to knock them for a row of stumps, it's your remarkable resemblance to his first wife that will send them reeling." Any sign of humor vanished from his face like rain on parched ground. "Don't you know what a remarkable likeness you bear to the late Sarah Clarke?"

Why did any comparison to Sarah strike such fear in Zoe's heart? "Past the fact that our hair is the same shade of red, I don't see a striking resemblance."

"That must be because you didn't know Sarah personally. You have the same magnificent deep-set eyes, the same seductive way of smiling from under those sooty lashes." His voice drifted away with his thoughts. "The same delicate bone structure, the same ability to permeate a room with your presence by just walking through the door." With a visible effort, he reined in his reflections as harshness sharpened his words. "And from all appearances, the same avaricious disposition."

His paradoxical comparison intensified her perplexing fears. "How can you make such an unfair analogy?" Maybe there was inside Zoe Hamilton that same fatal genetic flaw that had infected Sarah Clarke. "You know nothing about me." There was no denying the remarkable physical resemblance. "I find your comparison offensive." Was there flowing through her veins some encoded blood-traits she could neither alter nor control? A small fury shook her. "Shut up with your stupid similarities."

"Did I get too close to the truth?" Clint dismissed her outcry with a shrug of indifference. "Find whatever the hell it is you want, and let's get out of here."

The dress was relatively easy to locate. Holt's appraisal held true, the gown was quite the loveliest creation Zoe had ever seen. The matching satin slippers were Zoe's size. She carried the finery into the room where Clint sat waiting and laid them on the table. "I'm ready to go."

Clint slouched with one leg over the arm of the chair in the corner. Even relaxed and at ease he radiated a restless energy. She sensed the controlled power that wound like a coiled spring inside him. "Do they fit?"

"I'm sure they do." As she reached for the dress, Zoe asked, "Can you carry the accessory bag?"

With the grace of a prowling predator, Clint sprang to his feet. "We're not going anywhere until you try those things on." A long finger pointed toward the table. " I don't want to have to make a second trip up here."

"They're the right size," she assured him as she laid the dress over her arm. "Let's go."

"Not until I am sure sweet Sarah's fancy ensemble fits her replacement." That demeaning sneer had found its way back into Clint's voice.

His degrading words were like physical blows. They were also the last straw. All the heartbreak and humiliation of the past months converged and exploded inside Zoe like an erupting time bomb. "I'm not anything like Sarah." A silent sob shook her.

Clint's mouth twisted into a vicious sneer. "Maybe that's true. Sarah did have some affection for the old man. Your reasons for marrying him were purely mercenary. That puts you in a league all by yourself."

Never before had Zoe felt so desolate and alone. The dress slid from her arm and fell in a heap on the floor as a wave of utter despair swept over her. "Please, stop!" Tears that had begged to be shed for months, maybe years, burst through the dam of despair. The sobs that wrenched through her were merciless and bitter to behold. She sat in a chair, put her arms on the table, let her head fall into them, and wept as if her heart would break.

If she had taken wings and flown away, Clint could not have looked any more surprised. "If you're looking for sympathy, you've come to the wrong place. You have nothing to cry about."

Over the sobs that tore through her throat, Zoe choked, "You don't know anything at all about me. I'm not like Sarah Clarke." Those words triggered another, even more devastating siege of sobs. "Go away and leave me alone."

The stricken look on Clint's face told Zoe that her sudden tearful tirade was embarrassing him. He twisted his neck to one side. His hands seemed to have become useless appendages. Sliding them into his pockets, he began to pace the floor. "Damn it, don't cry."

Her muffled words found their way around the knot of tears that choked in her throat. "I can't help it."

As if impelled by a force beyond his control, Clint came to stand behind her chair. Slowly, tentatively, his hands crept from his pockets and came to rest on Zoe's shaking shoulders. His fingers massaged gently. "Don't cry, sweetheart. Everything is going to be all right."

How she wished that could be true. Her head lifted. "Nothing will ever be right again." She used her fingers to brush the tears from her face. "I've lost all I thought I had, and nothing can ever bring it back again."

Placing his hands under her armpits, Clint urged her to her feet. "That's almost as tragic as finding what you've searched for all your life only to learn you can never have it." He pulled her around to face him.

Tears clung to her lashes, diamonds of despair to offset the emerald agony that glistened in her eyes. Clint's cryptic words registered slowly. She was too upset to frame any meaning from them. As she turned, her hand brushed his arm. She felt the smooth ripple of his muscles under the tightness of his skin. It gave her a sense of exhilarating joy just to be allowed to touch him. "I'm really not like Sarah."

His mouth brushed her temple, sending a shudder of desire vibrating down her neck and lodging in the nether regions of her pelvic area. "You're not like anyone I ever knew." His arms tightened, and drew her nearer. "I could melt in your sweet fire, burn and never feel the pain, smolder to ashes, and welcome the immolation."

Nothing she had ever experienced before compared to the rapture of being in his arms. But it was enchantment kissed by sorrow, joy wrapped in the embrace of condemnation. Of their own volition, her arms stole around his neck, her fingers caressed the back of his head. "We could consume each other, then scatter the ashes to the four winds."

His hands held her face as he stared into her eyes. "I see your face in my dreams." His probing gaze traced her every feature, outlined with visual acuity each nuance of her enraptured expression, as if by gazing so intently he could etch her face into his memory. "I have to, Zoe, God forgive me, but I must."

Slowly, his lips moved to cover her trembling mouth. Gently, patiently, he teased his tongue inside. It was like offering heady ambrosia to one whose thirst had heretofore been slaked with spring water. The initial taste was enough to intoxicate. She melted into his embrace, her body, fluid and pliable flowed into the force of his rigid strength.

The kiss deepened, became more intense. They were caught in the turbulence of uncontrollable passion that burst suddenly out of control. The silky splendor of Clint's tongue exploring the recesses of Zoe's mouth swept away reality, leaving her suspended in a waking dream.

His roving hands caressed her, touching her face, her throat, her breasts. Flames erupted in her brain, between her thighs, as desire wiped away her last vestige of resistance. She had never felt this kind of exquisite agony with David.

David! She clung to the name as if her life depended on it, for in a way it did. With a supreme effort, she pulled her lips from his hot mouth and pushed herself from his demanding embrace. "Let me go, Clint. This is madness." A nagging nauseating fear surfaced as she slowly separated her body from his, and pulled her mind from the fine spun tangle of lust that had ensnared her. Of all desires, this was the most forbidden.

Clint swallowed and turned away. "Get your things."

Zoe reached for the garment bag that held her dress. No, the bag held Sarah's dress.

"Clint?" she laid the bag over her arm. Lust for him, even now, crowded out reason. It was like looking at heaven and being condemned to hell. Theirs was a desire that must never know gratification, and they both knew why. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. How could she speak the unspeakable?

Clint hung the handle of the accessory bag over his arm. "Don't try to apologize. What you did was despicable."

"What I did?" Anger ignited inside Zoe's aching breast. "You are not above reproach yourself."

The cutting edge of his voice sliced like a razor across her heart. "What did you expect when you offered yourself so wantonly?" He hurried out the door and left her to follow after him.

Zoe's first impulse was to castigate this arrogant, unfeeling man for daring to condemn her for what was so obviously a mutual transgression. She dogged his footsteps through the three storage rooms and into the harem. "Are you blaming me for what happened back there?"

Clint made no effort to look behind him. "No. I'm blaming myself. I knew what you were capable of, and I let you lead me right down the primrose path."

There seemed to be no answer to that charge. Zoe followed Clint down the stairs in stony silence. What a pair they made, she reflected as the attic door clicked behind her. Holt Hamilton's bastard son and Sarah Clarke's tainted daughter. A cruel profanity ancient as the stars and immutable as time seemed preordained to curse their existence.

Chapter Sixteen

"You are breathtaking!" Holt's piercing eyes followed Zoe's graceful movements as she walked across the living room. "Sarah adores the way you look in her gown."

Sarah's gown hugged Zoe's tiny waist and flared seductively around her rounding hips. The color was the same shade of emerald green as her eyes. Zoe knew she looked stunning. That knowledge at once pleased and disconcerted her. In this gown, with her long red curls arranged atop her head, Zoe's resemblance to Sarah was uncanny.

Holt had insisted on coming downstairs with her to wait for Carter. He sat on the couch now, rubbing his hands together, and gloated to himself. "The society snobs of the fair city of Midland will think they are seeing a reincarnation of Sarah." His gaze shifted to stare into space. "In a way they will be. That's what makes this the ultimate revenge."

Holt's mental decline was becoming more and more pronounced. His lucidity came and went now. Separating fact from fantasy had become for him, an impossibility. His degenerating mental state seemed to sharpen his cunning and illuminate the dark corners of his mind with a devious insight that was frightening.

Zoe smoothed her hair with her hands, trying to tame the stray wisps that escaped to curl around her ears and across the nape of her neck. "Revenge for what?" The words were scarcely out of her mouth before she regretted asking. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. "Carter should be here soon."

"It will soon be revealed to you," Holt promised with a nod of his bushy, gray head. "In due time Sarah will make it known to you. Stop worrying and enjoy our moment of triumph."

His words chilled Zoe's blood. How sad that this once brilliant man teetered now on the edge of madness. How she wished that Carter would put in an appearance. "I'll try to relax."

Holt reminisced. "I remember how excited Sarah always was about going to the ball. We would go to a hotel afterward, rent the bridal suite, and made love until dawn, then we. . . ." His voice faded, then revived. "I've made reservations for you at a downtown hotel. There's no need for Carter to drive all that distance back here after the dance. I'll send a car for you in the morning."

Zoe had tried numerous times over the last twenty-four hours to explain to Holt that she was perfectly capable of driving herself to Midland. Holt would not hear that. "Suppose something happened to you? Sarah would never forgive me."

There was no way she could convince him that Sarah was past knowing anything that happened now. Holt believed that Sarah watched from some tormenting purgatory over every action of every resident at Triple H. He was persuaded that Sarah's spirit was omniscient, and nothing Zoe said could shake that belief.

Even as she spoke, Zoe knew her avowal was useless. "I am able to take care of myself."

"Under ordinary circumstances, maybe, but these are not ordinary circumstances." Holt's eyes glowed with hostile distrust. "They are all against us. They hate Sarah, you know. Because she's beautiful and vivacious and brilliant."

These were the ravings of a paranoid, senile old man. Zoe opened her mouth to protest. "Sarah is. . . . " Then she reconsidered. How could she hope to reason with a mad man? The answer to that was she couldn't. Instead she tactfully changed the subject. "I've never been to such a grand gathering before. I can't help being a little anxious."

Holt's defiant voice rose in anger. "There is no need to be anxious. No one will do anything to offend you. You are Holt Hamilton's wife, and Sarah will be watching over you."

Those were chilling thoughts, more apt to distress than comfort. Zoe carefully refrained from saying so. She didn't want to upset Holt's precarious emotional balance with an untimely and useless argument.

Holt seemed content to stare at Zoe, reminiscing under his breath about her remarkable resemblance to Sarah, until Carter appeared, looking handsome and urbane, ready to whisk her away.

They were settled in Carter's low slung sports car, and far down the road toward Midland before Zoe found herself relaxing and beginning to unwind. "I've never attended a society ball before. I was a little nervous at first, but I'm beginning to look forward to this evening."

Carter, handsome and dashing in his tuxedo, turned to smile at her. "You never had reason to be nervous. You look absolutely gorgeous. I'll be the envy of every man at the county club tonight." He pulled his eyes back to the dark road. "Where did you get that dress?"

Zoe doubted that good looks and a Parisian gown were guarantees of acceptance by Midland's elite, but she kept her misgivings to herself. "The dress belonged to Sarah." Why did she feel a reluctance to admit that? "She has an extensive wardrobe stored away in the attic at Triple H."

"That dress could have been made for you," Carter commented, then asked, "Did you have it altered?"

"No. It didn't need altering." Zoe didn't want to talk about her dress or Sarah. "I have a movie trivia question for you."

Carter chuckled, "Shoot."

"Marlene Dietrich is a gypsy who hides British spy Ray Milland in this World War II adventure film. Do you know the name of it?"

The chuckle died in Carter's throat. "That's a tough one. Can you give me a hint?"

Zoe's soft soprano voice lifted in song. "There is a story, the Gypsy's know is true, that when your love wears te-de-di-dum, he belongs to you."

"That's a hint?" Carter's voice was threaded with laughter.

"Those are the first lines from the movie's title song. Full in the te-de-di-dum, and you have the name of the movie."

"I like the way you sing." Carter's brief stare was intimate. "Can you do a few more lines?"

Smiling, Zoe obliged. "An old love story, that's known by very few, that when your love wears ti-de-di-dum, he belongs to you."

"I haven't the faintest idea," Carter admitted on the end of a theatrical sigh. "Just what did Ray Milland have to wear to be Marlene Dietrich's lover?"

"The movie was called, Golden Earrings. It was one of my father's favorites." She closed her eyes as memory caught her in its merciless grasp. "He always said every spy story should end so well." Those words quite suddenly took on a different almost prophetic meaning. Had Colonel Adair ever entertained second thoughts about the wisdom of claiming another man's child as his own? She would never know. On the end of that painful acknowledgment came another punishing remembrance. James Adair was not her father.

Her father was a man she knew in name only. Adrain Zoeller was a stranger to her, in every sense of the word. In the confusion of learning that Sarah Clarke was her mother, Zoe had never once thought to consider the man who had sired her. Had he cared that James and Rachel Adair had stolen his daughter away? Did he ever even know of Zoe's existence? The little car suddenly seemed very small and confining. "Can we hurry?"

"Sure thing." Carter pressed down on the accelerator, and the car raced down the dark road.

They were pulling into the circular drive way that swung like a horseshoe around the Country Club before Carter spoke again. "We are about to be greeted by a barrage of cameras and reporters. Can you handle it?"

His warning caught Zoe by surprise. Media attention was something she should have foreseen and prepared for. She hadn't. "The press is here? Tonight? Why?"

"Because you're here. They're interested in Holt Hamilton's new wife. That's you." Suddenly, impulsively, Carter asked, "Why did you do it, Zoe?" Seemingly abashed by his own audacity, he lowered his voice, then added, "Somehow you don't seem the type."

She couldn't tell him the truth, and she didn't want to lie. "Are you asking me why I married Holt?" She was playing for time, and he probably guessed as much.

"It's none of my business." Carter's foot hit the brake with sudden vengeance. "Forget that I asked."

Zoe was too upset by the small but volatile group of reporters who stood outside the country club entrance to let Carter's question annoy her. "You're not the only person who will be asking that question tonight. What should I say? What should I do?"

"Just smile. That should dazzle them." Carter unfastened his seat belt. "If they press you for answers, you can always say, no comment." He switched off his ignition. "You're going to leave them slack-jawed with surprise. Take advantage of that and get away as fast as possible." Carter lowered his window and handed his keys to the parking attendant. "Wipe that frightened look off your face. Vulnerability invites the sharks to swim closer." He waved the door man away jumped from the car and sprinted around to open Zoe's door.

Her feet had scarcely touched the pavement when she was greeted with a blinding flash of lights and a collective intake of breath, followed by a volley of questions that overwhelmed her. Projecting a bravado that she didn't feel, Zoe took Carter's arm and hung on for dear life.

"Mrs. Hamilton," A determined little man ducked under the clump of reporters and stood directly in front of her. "I'm Randy LaRue from MCKB, channel nine."

Zoe tried to step around him. The resolute man moved with her. "Where did you meet Mr. Hamilton? Have you known him long?"

A tall blonde woman nudged through the crowd and came to stand by the short man's side. "Mrs. Hamilton, I'm Dorothy Fennel from channel seven, TNVN." She tried to elbow the shorter reporter to one side. "How old are you, Mrs. Hamilton? When did Mr. Hamilton propose?"

Zoe was petrified. She lowered her head and hung onto Carter as the door man cleared a path for them. In her wildest speculation, she had not imagined that she would be swarmed by rabid reporters. What had Carter said? Smile. She tried, but fear pulled her facial muscles taunt.

Getting through the tight group of reporters was like running a gauntlet. People shoved, questions flew, each one louder and a little more personal than the last. Zoe kept her head up and her feet moving, but her heart had sunk, like lead, to the pit of her stomach.

At last, they reached the country club foyer. The doorman opened the wide metal door, letting Carter and Zoe through, then slammed it shut with a decisive bang.

Once they had gained entrance, Zoe leaned against the wall and sighed. "That group could get vicious."

"The vultures in here aren't much better." Carter's eyes were sliding down her slim body. "You handled those reporters like a pro."

Zoe straightened and smoothed her skirt as she realized that almost every eye in the huge, glittering ball room was on her. "I didn't feel like a pro. I felt defenseless and more than a little scared." Her eyes swept around the grand hall. "I still do."

Carter took her arm. "You are a thoroughbred, Zoe. That's more important than being a pro."

If Carter only knew how tainted her bloodline was. Zoe said: "Let's get this over. It hasn't begun, and already I want to turn tail and run. You did say we could leave at midnight?"

"We will, Cinderella. I promise." Carter led Zoe around the lavishly appointed room and toward a tiny table in a far corner.

A glittering world of wealth and luxury was unfolding before Zoe's startled eyes. She marveled as she took in this display of opulence that was bred by wealth and nourished by power. The setting was magnificent, but the laughter that rang through the room was high pitched and jaded. The gowns on the too slim women were tasteful but overstated. The men were too given to chewing the ends of black cigars and slapping unsuspecting backs. So these were the stalwart citizens of Midland who loved to boast of their high-rise buildings, strong educational system, and dedication to fine arts.

Zoe felt very much on display. The orchestra's playing of a plaintive love song could not quite extinguish the garbled sounds of sharp gasps and startled outcries. "I feel like I'm in a goldfish bowl," She whispered into Carter's ear as he leaned over to slide her chair nearer the table.

Carter came around the table. "You may as well get used to it. This," he swept his hand around, "goes with the territory." He sat down and leaned toward Zoe. "You look so beautifully bemused. A penny for your thoughts."

Zoe's frown pulled her eyebrows together. "Abandon hope, all who enter here?"

Carter threw back his head and roared with laughter. "Even Dante could not have imagined a degree of punishment such as this." Raising one hand, he signaled for drinks.

Zoe tried to calm her jangled nerves, but the feeling that she was dancing on the edge of disaster wouldn't go away. She told herself that she should enjoy the panoramic scene that was unfolding before her, since it was doubtful that she would ever have such an opportunity again.

From across the room, a thin woman in a flame red dress caught Carter's eye and waved a frantic greeting. Then she grabbed the arm of the gargantuan man at her side and advanced toward Zoe and Carter, pushing through the dancers on the floor with unswerving directness. "Carter, honey." Her clear cry rang over the din as she and her reluctant partner neared the table. "We were discussing how you ever managed to get to be the escort of Holt Hamilton's pretty young wife, when I just up and said, 'Why don't we go ask him'?" She folded her skinny arms across her breasts and waited.

"The kind hand of fate," Carter jested. "I'm Mrs. Hamilton's legal representative."

"Well you're my legal representative too, and you never offered to take me out." The woman balled her fist and struck Carter a good-natured blow on his arm.

"An oversight, Maybelle, a gross oversight." Carter quipped sarcastically.

"Well, I forgive you this time." The irony of Carter's reply was lost on this crass woman. "How have you been, Carter? My lord we haven't seen you in an age."

"I'm fine Maybelle, and how are you?" Carter muttered a qualifier under his breath.

"What?" The woman leaned forward.

"I said, how are you and Frog."

"Frog?" Zoe put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Maybelle was slim to the point of emaciation. She wore a skin tight dress of fire engine red. Zoe suspected she was the recipient of recent cosmetic surgery. The skin on her face was stretched over protruding bones, but her neck had the crinkled appearance of crepe paper. Halting her flow of words, she prodded the man beside her with a razor sharp elbow. "Say hello to Carter and Holt's new wife, Frog."

The foghorn voice that vibrated into the smoky air told Zoe how Frog had earned his name. "Hi, y'all."

Maybelle's scrawny hands came to rest on her projecting hip bones. "Are you going to introduce us, Carter?" Before Carter had time to respond, Maybelle stuck her hand out. "I'm Maybelle Masterson." Her head inclined toward the lumbering giant beside her. "This is Frog, my husband."

Frog rubbed his hands down the sides of his very expensive trousers and extended one mammoth paw toward Zoe. "Howdy, Ma'am." A lazy smile spread across his broad face. "How's old Holt a doin'?"

Zoe had expected this place to be populated with suave sophisticated jet-setters. Frog and Maybelle could hardly be considered civilized. "Holt is not well." She sent Carter a please-rescue-me look which he chose to ignore.

After exchanging a few unpleasant pleasantries, Frog and Maybelle wandered away.

Carter grabbed Zoe's hand. "Dance with me before we attract more visitors." He pulled her to her feet and propelled her toward the dance floor. "Don't mind Maybelle and Frog. They were dirt poor until a few years ago when oil was discovered on the rock pile they call a farm. They are Midland's newest newly rich."

Zoe and Carter were a stunning couple and attracting far too much attention. Curious heads turned, straining necks craned, vicious tongues wagged. Zoe could feel the hostility that permeated the room. As Carter's arms went around her, she whispered in his ear. "Can we get out of here?"

"And cause even more gossip?" Carter pulled her nearer. "We can't afford to do that, relax and dance."

Zoe tried. She did dance, but she couldn't relax.

Over the next half hour Zoe and Carter repeatedly retreated to the dance floor for a reprieve from the steady stream of table hopping visitors. Between each dance Zoe found herself being subjected to endless introductions, frequent rude questions, and too many veiled innuendoes.

The elite of Midland's society was, for the most part, a witty, glittering, sophisticated group. They were curious but not accepting. They were also sometimes disagreeable and often downright vindictive, not only to Zoe, but to each other. Beneath the glamour and the display of enormous wealth ran a quicksilver thread of animosity and malice. After awhile she would have welcomed the return of Maybelle and Frog.

Half way through the evening, the dance that had so far been a strain and a bore, turned into an ordeal. Zoe looked across the wide expanse of the crowded room, and her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. Coming through the door way, with Amy Fields hanging onto him as if he were her prize possession, was Clint McCann.

Clint's dark masculinity blazed forth like a comet in the night sky. He looked tough and arrogant and completely in control. The defiant lift of his chin, the graceful movement of his muscular body, the insolent set of his unsmiling face, branded him as a renegade with a ruthlessness and will to power that a tailor-made tuxedo and hand stitched boots couldn't quite conceal.

Inanely, Zoe thought that he had no right to let another woman touch him so intimately. He belonged to her, every tough macho inch of him was hers! She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and struggled for a return to reason. The man was her stepson. A taboo as old as mankind forbade such accursed thoughts.

"Zoe?" Carter's concerned voice impinged. "Are you all right?"

Zoe hid her salacious thoughts behind a tight smile. "I'm a little tired. Why?"

"You've turned quite pale." Carter caught her hand in his. "Hang on a little longer."

Clint's merciless gaze swept around the ballroom, until his eyes came to rest on Zoe and Carter. Then with the gliding strides of a lobo wolf loping across a prairie, he came across the dance floor with Amy hanging onto his arm for dear life. His stride was not broken until he stood beside the little table.

Not one muscle in his face, not one movement of his body betrayed the slightest emotion. With no regard for social amenities or polite exchanges, he announced, "Outside, Carter. I want to talk to you in private."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Amy. "You will excuse me while I talk to your brother?" What had been framed as a question was in truth a command.

Carter didn't look in the least upset. "Good evening, Clint, Amy. Would you like to join us?"

Zoe fought a surge of uncontrollable emotion. Clint was ignoring her existence. "Hello, Amy." She was damned if she would speak to Clint when he chose to snub her so completely.

Amy moved toward the table. Clint caught her arm, stopping her. "I'm waiting, Fields."

Carter sipped from his glass of champagne that had to be flat by now. "What do you want to talk about?"

"It's business, and it's private." Clint's voice was soft, too soft.

"Then see me in my office tomorrow. I'm entertaining a lady tonight."

Carter reached across the table and took Zoe's hand. "Go away, Clint."

Amy intervened with a, "Please, Carter, humor him, or he will be in a mood all night, and I want to have fun."

Carter stood slowly and pushed his chair back. "Will you excuse me, Zoe? This won't take long."

Zoe nodded her acceptance. What else could she do? "Of course, Carter."

The two men made their way toward the front entrance, Clint's broad shoulders and superior height, dwarfing Carter's smaller stature and slim build. Quickly, Zoe looked away. It was not fair that any man should have the commanding presence that was an innate part of Clint McCann.

Amy sat in Carter's chair and signaled for a waiter. "Would you like something to drink, Mrs. Hamilton - Zoe?"

"No, thank you." Why did she feel a primitive urge to slap that smug smile off the beautiful, empty, face of Amy Fields? "I'm not thirsty."

The waiter put a drink in front of Amy and hurried away. "Well, I am. Clint is in one of his moods tonight." Her incredibly long lashes fell to cover her almond shaped eyes. "He is such a possessive person, always ordering everyone around." A seductive smile touched her cherry red mouth. "That has its advantages at times."

"I wouldn't know." Zoe lied. She didn't want to have a conversation with this woman who, for no reason she could clarify, set her teeth on edge. "I don't know Clint very well."

"You didn't know Holt very well either, but you married him." Amy's manicured nails touched the rim of her glass.

Cattiness Zoe had expected, but such an open attack caught her off guard. "I don't think my marriage to Holt is any of your business."

A hidden dimple near Amy's mouth emerged when she smirked. "Don't be so touchy. It was only an observation. I suppose your remarkable resemblance to Sarah must have had something to do with Holt's proposing so soon after he met you." An icy coolness frosted Amy's tinkling voice. "How well did you know Sarah?"

"I didn't know Sarah at all."

"But you've seen her in the movies?" Amy answered herself. "Of course, you have. You are an avid movie buff." Her slim fingers played around the stem of her glass. "You've acquired so many of her mannerisms. Sarah had a certain way of turning her head when she smiled that you mimic to perfection. And you've mastered that graceful, expressive fluttering of your hands when you speak, that's so reminiscent of Sarah."

Did Amy Fields think Zoe had set out to trap Holt into marriage by turning herself into a replica of Sarah? Obviously she did. "Actually, I have seen very few of Sarah's movies, and I never made any attempt to imitate any of her personal characteristics." A sip of water eased the dryness in Zoe's throat. "Sarah is not someone I admire or aspire to be like."

Amy's almond-shaped eyes narrowed. "I didn't like Sarah, either, but I admired her." Zoe's surprised expression made Amy nod. "Oh, yes, and I respected her. Sarah knew what she wanted out of life, and she went after it, tooth and nail. That's a quality I admire in a woman." Amy took a dainty sip of her drink. "Sarah was never friendly with me, but that doesn't mean you and I can't be friends." Her slim fingers returned to play around the stem of her glass. "After all, when Clint and I are married, you will be my mother-in-law."

Pain squeezed Zoe's heart like a vise. Resentment burned in her throat, stung her eyes. "You and Clint are. . . engaged?"

"It's more of an agreement than engagement. Clint wants to wait until he's no longer burdened with Holt before he makes it official." Amy glanced over Zoe's shoulder and toward the door. "Our men are returning." Her long nails creased the wet circles on the table cloth. "You must be a year or so younger than I, and you will be my mother-in-law." Her shrill laughter shattered like broken glass against Zoe's paralyzed nerves. "I find that odd and a little amusing."

Footsteps behind her told Zoe that Carter and Clint were nearing the table. She turned in her chair. If the feral look on Clint's face was any barometer, things had not gone well between him and Carter.

Carter's expression was benign. He seemed unmoved by Clint's angry scowl. "We're back." He waited for Amy to rise, then sat in the chair she had vacated and smiled at Zoe. "Did you miss me?"

Amy put her hand on her brother's shoulder. "Zoe and I have been getting acquainted."

Carter shook his shoulder free. "That's what I want to do, get acquainted with Zoe Hamilton." Reaching across the table, he caught Zoe's cold hand in his fingers. "I want to find out what makes this bewitching woman tick."

Clint's rapier gaze ripped into Zoe. "I want to talk to you." He stood with his hands on his hips and his feet far apart.

Did he think he could come in here and order her around as if he had a right to do so? It shouldn't take her long to set him straight. "I don't want to talk to you. Do me a big favor, and get lost."

"Not until I set you straight on some things." Clint extended one hand. "Dance with me, now."

"Go to hell, Clint." Zoe refused to budge.

Clint didn't make a move toward her, but his menacing look sent a shiver shaking through her. "Dance with me, Zoe."

"I said, no."

Amy put her hand on Clint's arm in a compromising gesture. "Stop it, Clint. The last thing we need tonight is a scene."

Very carefully, Clint took Amy's hand and moved it from his arm. All the while his eyes bored into Zoe. "I don't mind making a scene if that's what it takes."

Tension cracked like forked lightening around the little table.

"For heaven's sake, Zoe," Amy's impatient foot tapped the floor. "Dance with Clint before he does something we will all regret."

Amy was right. Clint didn't intend to give an inch. His desperado stance and his outlaw face told her as much. Sheer stubbornness prolonged her every movement to slow motion as a sigh punctuated her resignation. Slowly, deliberately, she moved her chair back and grimaced before standing. She aimed an intimate smile in Carter's direction. "Excuse me."

Before she had time to move or turn, Clint grabbed her arm and was dragging her onto the dance floor. "It wouldn't be wise to push me too far, sweetheart."

Zoe spoke with a calm that belied the breaking rage that stirred inside her. "I'd like to push you off the edge of a cliff. Does it give you some kind of perverted pleasure to come here and humiliate me?"

Clint pulled her into his arms and danced across the floor in perfect time to the waltzing melody the orchestra was playing. "I won't have you fawning over Carter Fields in a public place like some bitch in heat." She could feel his anger emanating out in white hot waves.

"I was only being civilized, not," She tried to break his tight embrace, "that you can comprehend the meaning of that word."

"Is that what you call what the two of you have been doing?" Clint made an ugly sound deep in his throat. "Being civilized?"

"We have both behaved with the utmost decorum since arriving here tonight."

"Do you know what a reputation Carter Fields has?" Clint put his hand to the small of Zoe's back, and pulled her closer to him. "He can't keep his hands off other men's women. That's a little vice that has landed him in trouble more than once." She could feel the tautness of his leg muscles, the tension that stiffened his back. "You are my father's wife. I won't have you carrying on with a man like Carter Fields."

Zoe took a deep breath as anger exploded inside her like a rifle blast. Spots of color bloomed in her cheeks. "I know whose wife I am. I am here at his behest. Holt trusts Carter."

Clint's mirthless smile fell across his face like an ominous shadow. "Holt doesn't trust anyone. I want you and Carter out of here before some news-hungry columnist sees what is going on and decides to declare the two of you an item."

Zoe remembered the horde of reporters that had greeted her when she arrived here this evening and decided that the last thing she needed now was to draw unwelcome attention to herself. With as much grace as she could muster, she acquiesced. "Maybe you're right."

Clint's arms heated her back, sending a surge of passion spreading like wildfire through her senses. "Why didn't you tell me the old man had asked Carter to bring you here tonight?" A tremor ran through his harsh words as his arms stiffened into steel bands.

"Because what my husband and I decide to do is none of your business." Zoe tried to slow her rapid shallow breathing. "You're hurting me." His hands were like steel clamps on her shoulder, around her waist.

He paid no heed to her plea. "You know the old man is no longer responsible for his actions. He's mad as hell at me for making you sign a prenuptial agreement. He wants to teach me a lesson, and in the process, he's apt to get hurt."

"You listen to me. . . ." Zoe began as anger gave her voice volume.

Through clenched teeth, Clint ground out, "No, you listen to me. The party's over. Get your things, get your escort, and get out of here. I've instructed Carter to take you back to Triple H tonight."

"You can't make me go home tonight," Zoe argued, as frustration made her miss a step.

"Maybe not, sweetheart, but I can make you wish to hell you had." Menace vibrated through his low pitched voice.

Zoe bowed her head in defeat. Escape seemed to be of prime importance now. "Carter and I will go." Did he think he could dictate to her about what she could do and where she could do it? He couldn't, and he would soon learn as much. She would leave, but she had no intentions of returning to Triple H tonight. As they neared the table, Zoe tiptoed and whispered into Clint's ear. "Good-night. Have fun."

Chapter Seventeen

Carter was pulling out of the back lot of the country club parking area before Zoe informed him with a wave of her hand, "I don't intend to go back to Triple H tonight. Take me to the hotel."

Carter had been polite through Clint's rude insistence that he and Zoe leave the dance. He had smiled and nodded when Clint asked - no, when Clint had ordered him to take Zoe back to Triple H immediately. Even now, seeing his calm acceptance of her irate declaration, Zoe suspected that inside he was seething with hostility. "Clint canceled your reservations at the hotel."

"The bastard! He had no right to do that."

Carter stopped at the street entrance. "Maybe not, but that's what he did." With expert ease, he swung the little automobile into an opening in the traffic. "Don't let Clint spoil your evening. We can still have a night out. Why don't I take you to my apartment, let you change into your jeans, and we'll go over to the Broken Spoke for some real fun? After that I can drive you back to Triple H."

Aloud, Zoe wondered, "Do you think Holt knows what Clint has done?"

Carter slowed for an intersection. "I'm sure he does. He had to tell Clint about the reservation. How else would Clint have known?"

That seemed reasonable. What didn't make sense was why Holt would do such a thing. But then, Holt was no longer a reasonable man. "I hate Clint McCann!" Zoe declared with vigor. "He is one interfering bastard."

"Forget Clint," Carter advised as he stopped at a traffic light. "He thrives on making other people unhappy."

"Oh?" Zoe turned in her seat to stare at the man beside her. "What makes you say that?"

"His on-again, off-again affair with my sister for one thing. God, I wish she would dump him and find a man who would treat her with some respect." Carter shifted gears as the traffic light changed from red to green.

"Amy says she and Clint are going to be married." Curiosity generated by pain was pushing Zoe to pry into matters that were not her concern.

Carter made a left turn. "I don't think it will ever happen. I've tried to tell Amy as much, but she won't listen. She seems to be fixated on the man." He pulled into the parking lot of an expensive apartment complex. "She knows she's not the only woman Clint sleeps with, but she hangs on anyway and keeps hoping for a miracle."

Zoe leaned forward. "Who else does Clint," She could hardly bear to say the words, "sleep with?"

"Anybody who strikes his fancy. In this neck of the woods," Carter's words were punctuated with a derisive hoot, "that seems to be a status symbol. Women stand in line to get to him. He must be one hell of a stud in bed." Carter pulled into a parking slot and stopped his car. "Forget Clint."

Carter would never know how earnestly Zoe wished she could. "Poor Amy."

Carter opened his car door. "Forget Amy too. Let's concentrate on changing clothes and getting over to the Broken Spoke."

Carter's apartment was on the ground floor, not a stone's throw from the parking lot. He unlocked the door and opened it with a flourish. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Zoe stepped across the threshold and into the living room. The apartment was small but tastefully furnished in modern decor that was accentuated by bold masculine colors.

Carter closed the door and tossed his keys on a nearby table. "Sit down and get out of those high heels. Your jeans and boots are in my bedroom, but you need to rest for a few minutes before you change."

The note of consideration in Carter's voice was comforting. Zoe obeyed, falling to the low couch and kicking off her shoes. "That's better." She tucked one foot under her. "Don't you want to change too?"

Carter folded his slim frame into a narrow chair. "I'd better. If I showed up in a tuxedo at the Broken Spoke, I'd never live it down." His good-natured observation was disarming.

Zoe found herself relaxing. It occurred to her that Carter had been very kind and considerate through this trying evening. Had their roles been reversed, she doubted that she would have behaved so graciously. She wanted to express her gratitude, but she thought that he might be embarrassed by utterances of appreciation. Her eyes lifted to see him staring at her, a look of quizzical amusement on his face.

"You are quite an enigma, did you know that? You remind me of the heroine in the movie, Laura."

Laughter gurgled in Zoe's throat. "I remind you of Gene Tierney?" She was flattered, and she said so. Then suddenly, impulsively, she asked, "Do you think I bear any resemblance to Sarah Clarke?"

Carter had taken off his shoes and was removing his tie. His hands stilled as he narrowed his gaze in Zoe's direction. He studied her face with the bland stare of a disinterested stranger. Slowly, he shook his head. "Nope. Not a bit. There was a hard edge to Sarah's charm. You have a cool, bewitching, unattainable kind of beauty that is nothing like Sarah Clarke."

Zoe was set to make light of his obvious flattery. "You're. . . ." Something in his appraising stare stopped her. "You're very kind. Thank you."

Standing, Carter unfastened his cummerbund and let it drop to the floor. Seemingly a little abashed by his outburst, he turned before he pulled his shirt from his pants. "Now you're supposed to tell me that I bear a marked resemblance to the hero in Laura, and you probably don't even know who he was."

"How could I forget Dana Andrews?" Zoe turned her head to one side and watched as Carter faced her again and unbuttoned his shirt. "I do see some resemblance around the mouth."

Carter tossed his shirt toward a vacant chair and flexed his muscles. "I could be a Hollywood sex symbol." He crossed his arms and struck a pose. "Pure beefcake, don't you think?"

Zoe laughed. "Oh, yes, definitely." She loosened the band that had held her curls in place, sending her hair cascading around her shoulders like a bright flame.

Carter rammed his finger into his bare chest. "Me, Dana." He pointed to Zoe. "You, Gene." His hand fell to his side. "Does that make Clint Clifton the villain?"

Zoe blinked. "Who?"

"Clint is unscrupulous enough to play a villain." Carter guffawed at his own joke.

"Not the villain in Laura."

"Do you know who the villain was?"

"Of course, I know who he was, and Clint is too uncouth to play a role that was done with such finesse by the suave and sophisticated Clifton Webb."

"You're right on both counts." Carter slapped his legs with his hands. "Let's get dressed and get over to the Broken Spoke. I'll change in here. You can have the bedroom. Your things are in a bag on the chest."

Zoe smiled as she hurried down the hall and into the bedroom. Carter was a very nice person, she decided as she sat on the bed and removed first her panties, then her pantyhose. She stood. The carpet felt good beneath her bare feet. She wriggled her toes, reached for the zipper that ran down the back of her dress, and gave a yank. It didn't budge. "Damn." She pulled again, this time a little harder. Still, the zipper refused to move. She didn't dare try to force it, not with a dress as old and expensive as this one. She stuck her head around the bedroom door. "Are you decent?"

"I haven't been decent in years," Carter joked. "But I am presentable. I have on my jeans."

"My zipper's stuck. Will you help me?"

"Sure."

Zoe padded on bare feet back down the hall.

Carter was standing in the middle of the room wearing a pair of skin tight jeans and nothing more. "Come over under the light and let me have a look."

Zoe obeyed, lifting the curtain of her hair and dropping her head as she came to stand with her back toward Carter. "I'd hate to damage this dress."

"Some threads are caught in the zipper." Carter's fingers worried the stuck fastener. "It's really hung. Be still."

Zoe could feel his cold hands on her back. "Be careful. This dress is old and borrowed." As the words left her mouth, she realized the dress was hers not Sarah's. "Not borrowed, exactly, but old and irreplaceable."

"I can't get it to budge." After a brief struggle, Carter said, "It's moving a little." The zipper moved a fraction of an inch under his deft touch. "This is going to take a while." Carter was totally engrossed in his intricate task. "I may have to pull out all these threads one at a time."

Zoe's other hand moved to rest on her breast. "Thank God it can be undone. I was afraid I'd have to break it."

"I'm making some progress."

They were so intent on the task at hand, that neither of them heard the door open, nor were they aware that someone else had entered the room until a voice, low and guttural, fractured the quiet air. "Just what the hell is going on here?"

Zoe lifted her head to see Clint looming like some marauding outlaw in the doorway. She dropped her hair and stepped back as her other hand clutched at the front of her dress. Fear, raw and primitive, clogged her throat, ran like lava through her veins. She could imagine what Clint must be deducing from what he saw. What she couldn't guess was how he would retaliate. Her mouth was powder dry. Inanely, she stammered, "My z-z-zipper stuck."

For once, Carter seemed shaken. "Don't you know how to knock?"

Clint's hands were balled into tight fists and held close to his sides. "I did knock. You were too busy undressing my old man's wife to hear me." He took a menacing step in Carter's direction. "Amy was right. You two will bear watching." The deadly calm of his voice was more frightening than his terrifying stance. "Don't start with me, Fields. I find you here about seduce my father's wife, and you want to talk about propriety?"

Carter retreated behind a chair and grasped the back like a shield. "Don't come near me, McCann. You lay a hand on me, and I will slap you with a charge that will put you behind bars."

"I wouldn't bother touching garbage like you." Clint's scorching glare shifted to Zoe. "The party's over. Get dressed, I'm taking you home."

Zoe held onto the front of her dress. "I can't." Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. "My zipper is stuck."

Carter reached for his shirt. "You can borrow this." It was obvious that he wanted Zoe out of here as fast as possible. But who could blame him? He took a tentative step in her direction. "Let me help you."

Tiny drops of perspiration beaded Clint's upper lip. He didn't move, didn't raise his voice, yet Zoe sensed a rage so intense that she shivered. "You touch her again, Fields, and I'll rip you apart with my bare hands."

Carter stopped in his tracks and tossed the shirt across the short distance. "I'm sorry, honey."

Zoe caught the garment on the tips of her shaking fingers. Turning, she pushed her arms into the sleeves of the shirt. "It's not your fault. You don't have to apologize." She glanced down at her bare feet and wondered if she should risk retrieving her panties and pantyhose from Carter's bedroom. An inborn sense of self preservation argued against it. She was still struggling with buttons on the shirt when she turned. "I'm ready." The buttons were past her doing. She picked up Sarah's satin slippers with one hand and clutched the front of the shirt with the other.

Clint held the door open. "Move it." He followed her through the door, then turned on Carter. "I'll deal with you tomorrow, Fields."

"Don't you dare threaten me!" The remainder of Carter's reply was lost in the slamming of the door.

"My car is parked by the curb." Clint walked toward the parking lot.

Zoe's feet were bare, and the walkway was rough. "Wait, I can't stay up."

Without a word, Clint turned, retreated the few steps to where she stood and scooped her into his arms.

For the space of a fleeting second, all his anger subsided, as he gathered her into his arms, and buried his face in her hair. "Why sweetheart?" His voice was soft and caressing. "Why did you do it?"

Her arms stole around his neck. "Don't be angry, please. I can explain."

He stiffened and lifted his face. His glittering eyes reflecting open disdain. "Do you need a man so badly that you would come onto me when your little tryst with Carter didn't come off as scheduled? What kind of a woman are you?"

"It's not like that." Clint had asked the question that begged to be answered. What kind of a woman was Zoe Hamilton? She had once believed herself to be Zoe Adair Martin, dutiful daughter and loving wife. The revelation of her true identity had shattered that image forever. "Will you let me explain?" Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her face as she realized the futility of trying to explain to someone else when she didn't know the answer to herself.

Clint stood her on her feet and opened his car door. "Get in."

She got into the car. "Clint, please."

He went around the car and got into the driver's seat. "And shut up."

Zoe fastened her seat belt. What Clint thought she had done was indefensible and he would never believe the truth. She rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes. The drive to Triple H would be a long one.

Clint pushed his foot into the accelerator, and the car leaped forward. Zoe watched his granite profile dimly outlined in the darkness as the full impact of her terrible plight began to dawn. Clint believed she was making love to Carter. That thought was enough to send her into a tail spin of grief. She wanted to say so many things. Shame and stubborn pride sealed her lips.

They sped past Midland's city limits sign. Once out of the range of the city lights, the night grew pitch black around them. The only relief from its shrouding darkness was the ribbon of brilliance from the car's headlights. The silence in the car ignited against the unspoken hostility that surrounded them like sparks from smitten steel.

Zoe choked on her own tears as a muffled sob broke the silence. She had never before felt so utterly heartbroken and alone. From nowhere came the thought that she had to get away from Clint and his ugly suspicions, away from Holt and his insane maneuvers, away from everything that had happened at Triple H. Even jail would be better than staying here and being constantly manipulated and humiliated. Sitting up, she wiped her eyes with the back of Carter's shirt sleeve. "I'm leaving Triple H tomorrow. I'll get an annulment." She had to have some time alone to sort through the events of the past few months. "I don't want anything from Holt except my freedom."

Clint's jaw tightened. "You made a deal, sweetheart, and you're not going to renege."

Zoe was bone weary. She dropped her head. "You can't make me stay. You must know that."

"You took my money, you will live up to your end of the bargain."

Tears were collecting in her throat again. "I haven't spent a penny of that money. You can have it all back."

Clint's voice was low and even and deadly as a scorpion's sting. "I won't let you go."

Indignation was surfacing, crowding out tearful remorse. "Just how can you stop me?"

With a wave of his hand, Clint dismissed her question. "We can talk about it tomorrow."

"No, damn it, we will talk about it tonight."

The car stopped before the electronic entrance gate. Clint turned off the car lights, plunging the interior into darkness. "All right, tonight. We'll talk when we get inside the house."

Why did his agreeing to compromise arouse her suspicions? She considered asking. Under the circumstances, that might not be prudent. "Good."

Clint took an automatic gate opener from the pocket between the front seats.

As the gate slid open, he started the car and drove through. The gate closed behind them with a resounding clang. The car shot like a bullet down the dark road.

In the distance the lights of Triple H glowing against the backdrop of the dark sky. Zoe said, "I have to change clothes before I can talk."

Clint slowed the car. "You can't go into the old man's room tonight. He thinks you're in Midland. I won't have you upsetting him."

"You didn't tell him you canceled my reservation?" In the darkness, Zoe watched grim satisfaction cross Clint's rugged face. "How did you know I canceled your reservation?"

He knew the answer but she told him, anyway. "Carter, of course."

"The old man was trying to make me angry. I didn't want him to know how well he'd succeeded. We can deal with him in the morning. You can't disturb him tonight."

"You should have thought of that before you dragged me back out here."

"I shouldn't have had to chase you down and make you come home."

It was on the tip of Zoe's tongue to tell him that Triple H was not her home. That would only result in yet another argument. "I can sleep in the library. I suppose we can talk there too."

Clint shook his head in negation. "Sally's bedroom is next to the library. I don't want to take the chance of waking her and having her eavesdrop."

They couldn't very well talk on the first floor. Mrs. Mendez and Bridget might awaken. "Your room?" Zoe questioned.

"Hartford comes by my room half a dozen times during the night, and there's a possibility Nancy could hear us. She sleeps on the third floor. Do you want that?"

Clint turned off the headlights and pulled the car to the back of the house. "We can go in the back way. We'll go to the attic. We can talk, you can find something to wear, and you can sleep there." He stopped the car a good distance from the house. "Let's go, and try to be quiet. I don't want to wake the household."

Zoe felt around on the floor for her shoes. "I have to put on my shoes."

Clint eased his door open. "Move it and don't slam the door. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can get some rest."

Chapter Eighteen

Zoe pushed the switch, flooding the attic with soft light. Hurrying into the harem room, she slipped out of her high heels and fell onto the cushion-covered couch. She was so weary her bones ached, and her insides were churning with a vast array of conflicting emotions. She couldn't stay at Triple H, not now, not after what had happened tonight. There had to be a way to escape and still avoid prison. Maybe Clint could convince Holt to let her go. Not likely, she knew, but worth a try. "I hope you will try to understand what I have to say." Appealing to his compassion seemed so useless, but she had to try. "There are some things you don't know."

Clint followed her into the room and pushed the door shut with his foot. "Things I don't know?" He echoed with a cynical toss of his head. "Like what?"

"I'm not at liberty to tell you." That had to be the ultimate in lame excuses. But it was also the truth. "It's personal."

"Your stalling, sweetheart." His accusation was like a physical blow. "I'm not sure what your little game is, but if you think you can keep me in line by threatening to leave, think again."

The cuffs of Carter's shirt caught on Zoe's fingers as she tried to push her hair away from her face. "You don't understand." She wanted desperately for him to show her even a shred of respect.

He wasn't about to do that. "I think I do. I caught you about to be unfaithful to your husband. You're afraid I'm going to tell him."

Such a ridiculous thought had never crossed Zoe's mind. Her eyebrows pulled together in pensive reflection. "I hadn't thought about it." After another pause, she asked, "Are you going to tell him?"

"I don't want him to find out what a cheap little gold digger you are. The shock of knowing you had been with another man might kill him, literally. So you can stop the talk about leaving. Your secret is safe with me."

His opinion of her was even lower than she had imagined. Under the circumstances she couldn't blame him. Zoe expelled a long breath of air. "I still can't stay."

"Can't or won't? What the hell are you up to?" His anger was almost palatable. "What do you want now?"

"I want to go home and be Zoe Martin again." A lone tear slid from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek.

"You can save your helpless little girl act for some sucker like Carter Fields." A muscle along Clint's clenched jaw moved erratically. "I think I'm beginning to get the picture. Tell me how much."

Inanely, she questioned, "How much what?"

"Drop the act and give me a ball park figure. We can negotiate."

Zoe hunched her shoulders as a shaft of unbearable pain shot through her breast. The teeth of the partially opened zipper bit mercilessly into her back. Clint believed she was trying to extort money from him. "You can't buy me."

"I already have," He reminded her with acid candor. "Did Carter put you up to squeezing me for more money, or did you think of it all by yourself?"

Zoe's legs hurt from having worn high heels all evening. Her back ached, her head throbbed, and she was weary to the point of exhaustion. "I don't want to negotiate. I don't want more money. I want to go home."

Clint came across the room and stood beside the dressing table. "You don't want more money?" Surprise lifted his voice, and his eyebrows. Warily, he added, "I don't believe you."

"I don't give a damn what you believe." That was a lie. She would give all she owned to have him believe in her. "And I don't want to fight with you."

After eyeing the dressing room chair, Clint stepped past it and sat down on the other end of the couch. "Maybe it would be simpler if you told me what you do want."

"Right now?" Clint's exhaustion was showing also. Zoe could see it in the fine lines around his deep-set eyes. The hint of a beard shadowed his cheeks and chin. Even now with fatigue draining his body, and stubble darkening his face, she could feel the sexual magnetism that emanated from his presence. She dropped her lashes, afraid that he would read what was written there. "I would like to get out of this dress, take a long hot bath, and sleep for at least twenty-four hours."

Clint was having trouble keeping his eyes off the little pulse that beat at the base of her throat. "Go change. Then we can settle this mess. I've waited this long, a few minutes more won't matter that much." There was not a hint of concern in his arrogant command, only a kind of bored impatience.

Zoe closed her eyes against the weariness that rode through her body like a gust of dry wind. "That might take longer than you think. My zipper is stuck. I may have to sleep in this dress and get someone to help me out of it tomorrow."

Surprise straightened his shoulders. "That wasn't an excuse to explain why Carter was undressing you?"

"You are an insulting bastard." Zoe dropped the shirt from her shoulders. "Carter was not helping me undress for any reason other than I wanted to change clothes. He was going to take me to a place called The Broken Spoke." Turning her back, she invited, "Look for yourself."

"That doesn't excuse your letting Carter touch you."

Zoe slipped out of the shirt and tossed it on the floor. "How else was I supposed to get out of this dress?" A tom-tom beat inside her head, and her mouth was dry as dust. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow to talk." Pressing her fingers to her temples, she massaged gently. "I'm getting a headache, and this dress is about as comfortable as a straight jacket. Good night, Clint. Close the door when you leave."

A strange light flamed through the icy blue of his eyes. "All right, but let me help you get out of that dress before I go."

A whisper of caution murmured through her weariness. It would not be wise to let this man touch her. "I can manage."

"I don't mind. . . ." His words died on the end of a hissing sigh.

Why was she so concerned that he would do any more than untangle her zipper? Clint despised her. "Would you please?" She lifted her hair.

Clint moved down the couch. It sagged under his weight. A shiver ran through Zoe as she waited for his touch.

"Are you cold?"

Quite the contrary. Her skin seemed diffused with heat. "No, why?"

She felt rather than saw his shrug. "You have goose bumps." One of his hands came to rest at the base of her shoulder blade. "Your skin is as soft as brushed velvet."

"Can you undo my zipper?" Much more of this, and she would become the aggressor.

He was so near that she could feel his breath on her back. "I think so." His fingers brushed her bare skin, sending a shiver down her backbone. "Can you be still?"

His touch was impersonal as his fingers pulled threads from the zipper, one at a time. "You should never have worn this dress. It's old and in poor condition."

Why must he find fault with her every action? "It was Holt's choice." Zoe put her hand to her breast to hold the front of her dress as the zipper moved down just a fraction. "But you're right. These garments should be in a museum."

"The old man would never part with anything that belonged to Sarah." Clint was inching the zipper down as he freed the captive threads of a frazzled seam.

"Sarah's wardrobe belongs to me now," Zoe reminded him.

Clint gave the zipper a vicious little pull. "You really are a mercenary little bitch."

The degrading remark struck her like a blow to the head. Breaking free of his grasp, she turned to face him. "Who are you to sit in judgment on me?" How many times had she subdued the urge to slap that arrogant expression off his smug, handsome face? Too many, she decided. She raised her arm. The bodice of her dress fell to her waist. Her breasts, covered by a transparent bra, heaved as she aimed her hand toward his face. "You insulting. . . ."

He caught her arm in midair and pulled it to his side. "Did I strike a nerve?" His eyes were riveted to her breasts. Slowly, imperceptibly, he pulled her to him. "My God, you are beautiful." His anger seemed to evaporate into the charged atmosphere. He moved as one in a trance. "Green fire and shimmering passion." His lips cover hers in a sweet kiss of discovery.

She opened her mouth, welcoming the taste of his tongue sliding inside, rejoicing in the union of the sweetness that flowed between them. Her foggy brain sent danger signals. They were lost in the mist of flowing desire as she surrendered to the euphoric splendor of his kiss. It evoked in her mind vivid, erotic images. She had always known he could pleasure her body. The golden fantasies that were now shaping themselves in her head, brought a cerebral delight far beyond anything she had ever before imagined. Her senses swam with illusions of promised pleasure.

He was branding her, claiming her body with his possessive invasion. She was set adrift on a rippling sea of desire that swallowed up her very essence. Surrender was immediate and complete.

With timid caution, she ran her fingers along his hand and up his arm. Touching his skin was like touching silk lined with steel. Her eyes closed as a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors burst inside her head.

He unfastened her bra with a touch as soft as a baby's breath. It fell away, freeing her breasts to stand proud with pink nipples erect. His eyes devoured her. "Oh God, Zoe!" His voice hung in his throat as he buried his face in the softness of her bosom.

She combed her fingers through his hair. It was crisp and springy to her touch. Her hands slid down his shoulders and pulled open the grippers on the front of his shirt. Every nerve in her body tingled. As she rubbed her palms over his hairy chest, those points of sensory delight exploded, sending fragments of unspeakable desire to pierce her breasts and splinter between her legs. Feeling his arousal robbed her of her breath. "You feel so good."

"And your touch is magic." His erotic words lifted her into a realm of sexual splendor as he promised, "You won't ever be able to forget how it feels to have me inside you, sweetheart. No man will ever touch you again without you remembering me and this magic moment."

She didn't want to forget. This moment was all she would ever have of him. She would lock it away in her memory and treasure it forever.

He was wooing her with an exquisite mixture of reverential indecency and profane adoration. His hands roamed across her throat as his mouth swooped to her breasts then lower. Physical sensations met and merged, mingled and integrated to create an aching void of need. Passion fused with a fiery sweetness that sharpened into a pleasure akin to pain and produced an ecstasy that shivered on the brink of agony.

He made love to her with tender expertise, and she responded with gentle abandon. All reason was dissipated by pure sensation as desire swept away the last vestige of resistance. Slowly, gently, he stood and lifted her to her feet. The cumbersome dress fell to the floor, leaving her body bare and throbbing with need.

With slow, bewitching movements, she began to undress him, first removing his shirt and tossing it aside, then her fingers fumbled with his belt. Her hands shook with anticipation as she unzipped his pants and pulled them down over his hips. The throbbing evidence of his desire sent a jagged bolt of longing ripping through her. She knelt before him and helped him remove his boots and pants. Then her lips planted feathery kisses across the lower part of his stomach as her hands roamed over his buttocks. He quivered as a rigor of delight shivered through his body.

Dropping to his knees, Clint cupped Zoe's face in his hands and brought it very near his own, then let his tongue flick across her lips. "Witch." He claimed her mouth with a deep, demanding kiss that captured her breath and boggled her senses. "Since the first moment I saw you, I've wanted to do this." His magnificent body rippled and swelled with desire as he lowered her to the carpet and straddled her shivering frame. "As God is my witness, I can't stop now." From somewhere deep within him, the whistling sounds of a tortured man sucked from his throat. "The price of stolen splendor." His arms stiffened as the blue flame that burned deep within his lust filled eyes challenged the glittering green of her desire laden gaze. "Paid in misery's coin."

The weight of his body promised fulfillment, release, ecstasy. Her entire being was consumed by fire. She longed to take him inside her and love him until every reproach was forgotten and all condemnation was blotted out. Her passion for him had the power to sweep away any thought of tomorrow or the tragic consequences of forbidden love. She moved sensuously beneath him. "Now, Clint, now! I'm afire, please . . . . " A gurgle deep inside her throat choked her words to a mere sputter.

With an agonized cry of triumph, he parted her legs with his knee and shoved his hardness into the soft secret recess of her moist, palpating flesh.

He was big and hard and powerful. The first thrust made her cry out as a stab of pain mingled with her delight.

His rigid body tightened and he halted his invasion. "Zoe?"

"I want you!" She pulled him into her, tightening her pelvic muscles until he groaned his pleasure.

He thrust in and out with forceful strokes that moved them both toward a powerful crescendo of release. The ecstasy grew and expanded, sending out rippling waves of mounting pleasure. They were caught up in a whirlpool of pure sensation that sucked them nearer and nearer the center, toward mindless rapture.

The vortex was edged with iridescent colors of resplendent exhilaration and splashed with vivid patterns of pristine passion. Zoe's legs wrapped around Clint's back, shoving him down and deeper. Her abdomen tightened as she panted her desire. "Don't stop, please, don't stop." Her pleasure peaked as he exploded inside her, sending a thousand fragments of ecstasy shooting through her body. She cried out and convulsed, holding onto him as the glory of his explosion filled her with rapture. The mutual ecstasy seemed to last for an eternity before it spiraled downward. Until, at last, Clint collapsed atop Zoe, his proud head resting on her breast as his breath slowed toward normal.

A feeling of perfect peace stole over Zoe. Unlocking her legs, she let them fall to the floor. The urge to frame her thoughts in a declaration of love was overpowering. She bit her lip and turned her face from him. "Clint?" With returning reality came the remembrance of the magnitude of their transgression. They had committed an unspeakable iniquity. She covered her face in shame.

Clint flinched and pulled himself from her. "Repent later, for this brief eternity let me revel and remember." With a sigh he rolled onto his back and stared at the ornate ceiling with its swaying silken curtains. "Paradise, flawed and imperfect, but paradise."

Zoe's misery expanded as his cryptic words sank into her heart like little arrows. "This should never have happened." She was careful not to let her misery sound in her voice. Keep it low-key and cool, she told herself. Don't let him know how much you're hurting.

Her hands fell, and her eyes lifted to stare into his stricken face. She saw in the clouded blue of his eyes what could only be defined as intense pain. He was hurting as badly as she was. "It won't again."

Zoe wondered if a breaking heart made any sound as it shattered. With icy firmness, she told him, "Holt must never know." Such a revelation could very easily send the deranged old man to his death.

"Are you telling me to keep my mouth shut?"

Sitting up, she glared at him. "Definitely. We can't undo this, but we don't have to mention it ever again to a living soul."

Clint laced his hands behind his head. "You sure as hell found a way to shut me up. Who am I to go blabbing to the old man about you and Carter?"

"Carter and I did nothing wrong."

"That's because I got there in time to stop you."

"You are one insulting son-of-a-bitch!" All of Zoe's life she had shied away from the use of profanity. She couldn't believe that this man had driven her to speak in such vulgar terms.

"And you are one devious little broad." Clint sat up and stretched. "Do you always use that delicious little body to get what you want?" He reached for his pants. "Don't bother denying it. You've handed out favors to everyone from your boss to the old man. Carter must have been next in line. What do you want from him?"

It would be useless to deny his accusations. Striving for flippancy, Zoe asked, "What could I possibly want from Carter?"

"You tell me." Standing, Clint balanced on foot and put the other leg in his pants.

"Carter is my friend." She suddenly remembered that she wore nothing at all. She folded her hands across her breast.

"So you say. Is that why you're willing to play him for a fool?" Clint zipped his pants and stood staring at her. "You made fools of all of them, didn't you? But I'm the biggest fool of all." His voice fell. "Women like you make me sick."

Zoe pulled one of the silk covers from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Shut up and get out of here." His words cut like a razor across her heart. It took every ounce of her self control keep from bursting into tears. "I can't stand the sight of you."

Clint reached for his shirt. "I'm going sweetheart, but you had better get used to the sight of me, because I'll be your shadow from now until the old man breathes his last breath." He sat on the couch and jammed his feet into his boots. "No more attempts to seduce Carter Fields, no trips to Midland or anywhere else."

"You can't keep me a prisoner here."

He stood and fastened his belt. "I'm not keeping you, I'm watching you. Until the old man is dead, you don't get out of my sight." Turning on his heel, he charged through the door, slamming it after him.

Zoe buried her face in her hands and cried as if her heart would break. She wept until there were no more tears to cry, then exhausted and spent, she curled up on the couch and fell into a soundless, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Nineteen

Zoe awakened slowly and with the distinct feeling that something was amiss. The events of the night before began to surface in her half-conscious mind. Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes to see Clint sitting on the floor by the door. "What are you doing here?"

He seemed subdued, almost contrite. "Zoe, Sweetheart. . . ." He spoke the words as a term of endearment.

Zoe lifted a disdainful eyebrow. "Sweetheart?"

"I didn't mean that." She had never known him to be so unsure of himself. "I came to get you. The old man's asking for you. He had a bad night."

He wasn't the only one, Zoe thought as she sat up on the side of the couch and pulled the spread around her. "What time is it?"

"It's ten-thirty. Zoe?" Clint pushed himself to his feet. "I owe you an apology. I said some things last night I shouldn't have. My only excuse is I was devastated by what happened. If I could take them back, I would."

Clint apologizing? That was a first. "Last night is over. We agreed not to mention it again."

He shook his head in sad negation. "You and I both know it will never be over."

It was over! It had to be over! "We. . . . I can't. . . ."

Clint augmented her statement. "We have to. You must. We have to find some way to deal with this."

How, Zoe wondered, did one go about 'dealing' with adultery and incest? She couldn't, not now, not while the remembrance of last night's forbidden encounter still scorched through her mind like a firebrand.

"I've changed my mind about some things." Clint brushed his hand through his hair. "Maybe I've been wrong about you."

At another time those words would have been cause of unbounded joy. Not now. For his safety and for her sanity he must never see her as anything but a selfish, scheming woman. "I don't want to talk about it."

Clint looped his thumbs in his pockets and stood staring into space. "I think we have to."

"I don't. All I have to do is forget it." As she watched him repentant, contrite and staggering under the weight of his own guilt, Zoe knew what she must do. "And that won't be difficult." He must never think of her as anything more than a cheap opportunist. If he did, his own remorse would destroy him. "You weren't all that spectacular." Her bleeding heart cried, forgive me, my darling. "Why don't we chalk it up to experience and forget it ever happened?"

He turned pale under his tan. "That's all it meant to you?"

A caustic half-smile curled Zoe's lips. "We shared a need and a night. Get over it."

He was still as pale as a ghost. "Maybe you're right. The old man is asking for you. Find something to wear, and we can go downstairs."

"I don't need you to escort me down a flight of stairs." Zoe put her hand over her mouth to stifle a bored yawn. "I'll be down later." The look on his face broke her heart, but she held onto her resolve and met his unbelieving stare with her own hard gaze. "You can go now."

"I can see I made a mistake trying to apologize." Moisture stood in the corners of his eyes. "I was right the first time." Turning, he hunched his shoulders. "Get dressed. I'll wait."

If ever she needed to call on her tainted heritage, it was now. She reminded herself that she was the daughter of a world-famous actress. This would be her command performance, her shining hour, and the only person to view it would hate her when the final curtain fell. Standing, she let the spread slide from her shoulders. It fell in a shimmering puddle at her feet. "If you insist." In the soft light of the harem room, she could have been Aphrodite, rising out of the sea.

Clint's Adams's apple convulsed as he swallowed fitfully. He continued to glare at her, refusing to speak as blue lights leaped in the depths of his eyes. Even in her agony, she felt a surge of satisfaction. Her charade was succeeding. Loathing glittered there along with an emotion she could not define.

One of her shoulders rose, then fell in a mini shrug. "There are so many things to choose from, it may take a while." She lifted her arms over her head and stretched sensuously. Misery had long ago cast out all shame.

Clint's jaw line tightened as his mouth pulled into a hard line. "You're asking for it, sweetheart."

"Not really." She turned her back to him and moved toward the French doors, letting her hips swing seductively as she walked. At the door she paused and looked over her shoulder. "Not from you, anyway." She heard his muttered imprecations as she closed the door behind her.

Once inside the next room, Zoe sank onto a low stool and took a deep breath. She couldn't condemn Clint to a life of damnation and shame because she. . . . Her mental processes halted. Her mind wouldn't admit because her heart couldn't accept - she loved him.

After some searching, Zoe settled on a simple pair of slacks that accentuated her tiny waist and emphasized the slim curve of her hips. Then she added a tailored blouse and a wide belt. "No mirrors." Just as well - she didn't know if she would ever be able to look herself in the eye again. Finding a pair of dainty sandals, she slipped her feet inside, and after tying a scarf around her neck, decided she was as ready as she would ever be to face Clint again.

He was sitting on the floor beside the door when she returned, his expression closed, his eyes shuttered. As she came into the room, he pushed himself to a standing position. "Ready?"

She retrieved her handbag from the floor, then lifted her chin. "Yes." There must be nothing between them from now on but his disdain and her remorse.

He surprised her by stepping back and holding the door open. "After you."

She proceeded him out onto the landing. "Thank you."

They were nearing Holt's room before either of them spoke again. It was Clint who broke the heavy silence. "The old man thinks you stayed in Midland last night. Leave it at that, all right?"

Zoe taunted, "Are you suggesting that I lie to my husband?"

"Would it be the first time?"

"Do you want me to bear my soul to my soul mate?" Her eyes widened in an innocent stare. "Should I confess all?"

The disillusioned look in his eyes made her throat ache with defeat, in that defeat there was triumph. She had delivered a stellar performance. Clint said, "I get the message. We both keep our mouths shut."

Holt's door swung open, and Maggie appeared on the other side. "Thank God, you're here, Zoe. Holt has been asking for you."

Zoe hurried inside to find Doctor Michaels standing beside Holt's bed, and Hartford seated in a chair on the other side. "How is he?"

Zoe sat down on the bed.

Doctor Michaels began to speak in a low, troubled voice. "Not good, I'm afraid. He's complaining of severe pains on the left side of his chest."

"Can you give him something?" Zoe laid her hand on Holt's brow.

Holt opened his eyes. "Is that you, Sarah?"

"No, it's Zoe." His forehead was fevered and damp. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, now that you're here." Holt's fingers clutched her hand. "Hold my hand, girl, and tell me you won't leave me."

Zoe laced her fingers through his. "I won't leave you."

Clint had come to stand beside Doctor Michaels. From the periphery of her vision, Zoe caught his hard glance.

Holt's fingers were hot and clammy. "I missed you. Don't go away again." He closed his eyes, but his grip on Zoe's hand remained firm. She resigned herself to being here for some time.

From behind her, Maggie questioned. "Have you had breakfast, Zoe? I can get Mrs. Mendez to send something up to you."

"Just Coffee."

In a matter of minutes, Bridget appeared with a tray. She poured coffee into a cup and handed it to Zoe, then stood, waiting for further instructions. Bridget's presence made an already overcrowded room seem to shrink in size.

"You may go now, Bridget," Zoe maneuvered her free hand to lift the warm cup of coffee to her lips. She took a long swallow, then set the cup on the tray."

Bridget couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from Holt's still figure. "Is Mr. Hamilton going to die?"

"Perhaps I should walk Bridget back to the kitchen," Hartford suggested as he took Bridget's arm and led her toward the door.

Gratefully, Zoe nodded her approval. "Why don't you take a break? You must have been up most of the night."

"I could do with a little sleep." Hartford ushered Bridget out the door.

Doctor Michaels snapped his bag shut. "Your patient should sleep for a while now too. I'm going back to the hospital, but I'll be in touch."

For sometime after doctor Michaels had taken his departure, Clint, Zoe, and Maggie sat in Holt's room, with Zoe and Maggie making small talk and Clint listening in morose silence. Finally Maggie suggested, "Clint, why don't you go about your business? Zoe and I will stay with Holt until Hartford returns."

Clint seemed reluctant to go. "Maybe I should hang around."

"Whatever for?" Maggie asked. "It doesn't take three people to care for one sick, sleeping old man."

Clint stood. "I'll be in my office if you need me."

He paused to stand behind Zoe's chair. "I won't be leaving Triple H, however." His hands fastened onto Zoe's shoulders. "Remember that." He released her and hurried out the door.

"What was that all about?" Maggie asked as Clint closed the door behind him.

Zoe slipped her hand from Holt's sweaty grip and flexed her fingers. "Who knows?"

Maggie didn't pursue the subject, instead, she surprised Zoe by saying, "Why don't you and I go horseback riding this afternoon, after Hartford returns to look after Holt?"

Zoe stared at the slim woman who had come to stand at the foot of the bed. "I didn't know you rode."

Maggie's uneasy little laugh didn't quite disguise her nervousness. "I'm a native born Texan, of course, I ride." She sobered, suddenly. "I have to talk to you, Zoe, and I can't say what I want to say inside the confides of this house."

"Why not?" Zoe was more than a little puzzled.

"Because the walls have ears, literally."

When Zoe tried to pursue the subject, Maggie protested. "Later, all right?"

"All right." Zoe picked up her coffee cup and drank slowly as she wondered what Maggie could possibly have to say that she could not say here and now.

It was past three o'clock in the afternoon before Zoe and Maggie managed to get out of the house and to the barn. Gimpy greeted them with a look of surprise. "Miss Maggie, I didn't know you liked horseback riding."

"I'm a novice." Maggie eyed the two mounts tied to the corral fence with anxiety. "Zoe has agreed to give me some pointers."

They rode away with Gimpy calling encouragement after them. "All you have to do is get on, then hang on." He chuckled at his own humor.

The first chill of autumn was in the air. The flat countryside rolled before them, sparse and barren. Grass grew in patches along the trail. The first frost had turned it a dull shade of brown. Now and then a lone oak or a clump of mesquites came into view. After awhile Maggie seemed to relax. She leaned back in her saddle and looked around her. "I grew up in the valley, you know. This part of Texas looks like a desert compared to the country around Brownsville."

Zoe slowed her horse. "It is almost a desert, but it has it own kind of beauty. I have a favorite spot. It's just ahead. Would you like to stop there? We can talk and not be interrupted or spied on."

Maggie grinned ruefully. "I would like to get off this horse for a while."

They dismounted and tethered the horses. Maggie rubbed her backside. "I'll be sore in strange places tomorrow."

They found a grassy brown spot under the big oak and sat down. Maggie rested her back against the massive trunk and sighed. "Did you enjoy the dance last night?"

Zoe pulled a dry blade of grass and twisted it between her fingers. "You didn't ride all the way out here on the back of a swaying horse to talk about a dance."

Again, that rueful smile tilted Maggie's mouth. "No. I didn't. Shall I come directly to the point?"

"Please do."

Maggie frowned, as if the words she wanted to say were not easily articulated. "There seems to be no easy way to ask." She hesitated, drawing a deep breath, then expelling it slowly. "I suspect Holt coerced you into marrying him. Am I right?"

Zoe dropped her head and studied the rough ground. "Why would you think that?"

"Why else would you marry a sick, sadistic old man?"

"He's rich and in ill health," Zoe argued. "Maybe I saw a way to become a rich widow in a short time."

"Then why did you sign a prenuptial agreement that cut you off from inheriting anything Holt has after he was gone?"

"How did you know that?" Zoe almost wished she hadn't been so quick to invite Maggie to speak her mind.

"There aren't many secrets at Triple H, Zoe, but in this case, Clint told me. He also said he paid you a great deal of money to get you to sign that agreement."

Shame brought a bloom of color to Zoe's cheeks. "I did take money from Clint, but not for the reason you think."

"I don't want you to explain to me, Zoe, and don't ask me to elaborate on how Holt keeps me virtually a prisoner at Triple H, because I can't tell you, I can't tell anyone. It suffices to say, I know how Holt Hamilton operates. I should, I'm one of his victims." After a pause for breath, Maggie demanded, "Did Holt force you to marry him?"

She may as well admit it, Maggie knew anyway. "Yes." Zoe's fingers dug around in the dry grass.

"I won't even ask you how." Bitterly, Maggie added, "God, he is a vicious, conniving bastard."

"He's blackmailing you too, isn't he?" Zoe's own pain was quickened by sympathy for Maggie. "And Clint doesn't suspect?"

"I'm careful to see to that. Officially, I am Holt's private secretary. The truth is, Holt keeps Clint at Triple H by forcing me to stay. I have every reason to believe that Holt keeps the damming evidence he has against me stashed in a safe deposit box in a bank in Midland. I can live with that." Maggie stared toward the far horizon. "But what happens when Holt dies, and his safe deposit box key becomes the property of his sole heir?"

Zoe's breath ached in her throat. "Clint?"

Maggie nodded her head in grim affirmation.

How vividly Zoe remembered Holt's telling her that he had the proof of her true identity safely tucked away in a bank vault in Midland. "When Holt dies, Clint will have access to that box?" Maggie's tone was grim. "Not immediately but eventually. "Tears gathered in the corners of her huge brown eyes. "And what he will find there could destroy the lives of two people and hurt Clint immeasurably."

"Oh, Maggie, I'm sorry." Zoe reached to touch Maggie's arm. "I wish I could do something to help."

Maggie's reply sent little shock waves shivering through her. "You can."

Zoe clamped her hanging mouth shut. "Holt would never let me into that box."

Maggie leaned forward. "He wouldn't have to know." She extended her hand in a pleading gesture. "I have a plan." Her hand dropped to her side. "It's risky and daring and complicated, but if it works, you stand a chance of getting into that box before Holt dies."

The naive, Zoe Martin who had come to Triple H five months before would have been terrified at the thought of planing and executing a scheme that was complicated, dangerous, and probably illegal. She would never have considered conspiring against a man as powerful and devious as Holt Hamilton. The disillusioned Zoe Hamilton who sat now, grave and melancholy, was willing to dare the impossible to keep safe dark secrets that could destroy her future and possibly send her to prison. "I'm willing to listen. Tell me your plan."

For the slightest moment, doubt clouded Maggie's face, then with renewed vigor, she plunged ahead. "We will have to involve two other people, and neither of them rates high in the trust department."

Zoe thought in passing that the events of the past several months had changed her. Chameleon-like, she'd taken on some of the traits and characteristics of those around her. She would worry about that sad turn of events later, when she was not staring into the grim face of possible disaster. In the blink of an eye, her decision was made. "Tell me what I have to do."

Relief made Maggie lean back against the tree and expel a long breath. "Before I tell you my plan, you should know that you will be the one who will be taking the risks. You're Holt's wife, you are the only one who can. . . ." She paused and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.

"Go on," Zoe urged.

"You have to persuade Holt to give you a durable power of attorney."

Zoe was astonished. "Holt would never do that! A power of attorney would give me access to everything he owns. Even if Holt agreed to do it, there's Clint to consider. Can you imagine what he would say to such a proposal?"

"Clint must never know!" Maggie was adamant. "Never! Never!"

"Do you think we could keep something like that from him?"

"If we play our cards right. Will you hear me out?"

What did she have to lose? "Why not?"

"I decided this morning, when I watched how Holt responded to you, that he was confusing you with Sarah. Zoe, you have to take advantage of that."

"He confuses me with Sarah much of the time now." Zoe admitted with reluctance.

"Holt never refused anything Sarah asked of him. I have no doubt he will sign the document. Our problem is talking Carter Fields into drawing it up and bringing it to Triple H, then duly recording it after it is signed and witnessed. And we have to do all this without Clint's knowledge. If he had the slightest suspicion that. . . ." Maggie's voice cracked. "Do you think you could persuade Carter to draw up the papers?"

"That shouldn't be too difficult. Carter's my attorney. Holt insisted that I have someone to represent me, and there's no love lost between Clint and Carter."

"Are you willing to risk it?"

"You said two other people, who else would be involved?"

"Hartford."

Zoe's heart skipped a beat. "Good lord, Maggie, we can't trust Hartford."

"I know that. We don't have to trust Hartford. He will be involved only minimally."

Caution caused Zoe to draw back. "How much is minimally?"

"The document granting power of attorney must be signed by two witnesses. I can be one of those witnesses. It's only logical that Hartford will be the other." Maggie lifted her hand to silence Zoe's intended protest. "Hartford and I have signed documents as witnesses for Holt before. So long as we give him no reason to question, he will accept it as yet another legal paper to be witnessed and filed away."

Uncertainty pushed Zoe to her feet. She pressed her palms together. "We still wouldn't have the key to the box."

"It's on Holt's key ring."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive. I can show it to you."

Zoe was still unsure. "I don't know, Maggie. What if Clint found out? Can you imagine what he would think, what he would do? And we wouldn't be a position to tell him the truth."

Maggie stood and put one hand to the small of her back. "Is that all that's bothering you, what Clint will think?"

"Holt's not of sound mind. We would be deceiving him. What you're suggesting is probably illegal."

"And blackmail is legal? Be reasonable, Zoe. We have to fight fire with fire." Maggie began to walk toward the tethered horses. "I can understand your reluctance. I'm sorry I asked."

In the space of a heartbeat, Zoe considered her options. She could fly in the face of fate, or she could sit around and wait for the inevitable to happen. "I'll call Carter tomorrow."

Maggie turned, "Then you'll do it?" Elation made her voice rise.

"Why not?" Zoe put her foot in her stirrup, and pulled herself into the saddle. "We'd better get back to the house. If I'm gone too long, Clint will be angry."

Maggie cautiously urged her horse forward. "What is it with you and Clint anyway? You'd think he was your husband instead of Holt."

"Clint thinks I tricked Holt into marriage." Zoe turned her mare toward the ranch house. "I can't tell him the truth. I can't tell anyone the truth."

"And you're attracted to Clint, aren't you?"

Tactfully, Zoe changed the subject. "We have plans to make. How are we going to get Carter to Triple H without Clint knowing?"

Maggie called, "Slow down."

Zoe pulled back on her reins and turned in her saddle. "If Clint ever has an inkling of what we are planning, there will be hell to pay."

"You get Carter to Triple H, and I will think of some way to keep Clint occupied."

A sudden, chilling wind gusted from nowhere and blew across the flat expanse of open prairie, complaining through the stout oak trees, and shaking the scrubby mesquites. Boiling blue clouds bubbled across the northern horizon. The first cold front of the season had just invaded the bald expanse of West Texas. Zoe dug her heels into her mare's flanks and rode toward Triple H with a strange new resolve stirring inside her.

Chapter Twenty

When Zoe came into Holt's room, he was sitting up in bed. Hartford was sprawled in the easy chair working a crossword puzzle. It was to him that Zoe addressed her question. "How is he feeling?"

From the bed, Holt croaked, "Better, now that you're here." He looked terrible. His eyes had sunk far back into their sockets, and his skin stretched like old parchment over his gaunt face. Smiling a grisly skull-and-crossbones grimace that sent chills up Zoe's spine, he nodded toward Hartford. "Fetch Clint and tell Maggie to come up too."

Hartford pushed his pencil behind his ear. "It's your dinner time, Mr. Hamilton."

"I know what time it is." Holt raised his head off his pillows. "Damn it, man, I don't pay you to argue with me, I pay you to do as I say."

With a nod and a furtive glance in Zoe's direction, Hartford tiptoed from the room.

Zoe began to lower her body into the chair Hartford had vacated. Holt's cry stopped her. "Not there." He patted the space beside him on the bed. "Come sit here, and let me tell you about our celebration."

A caution light flashed in Zoe's brain. She opened her mouth to ask what they had to celebrate, then clamped her lips shut. If she was to out maneuver this wily old man, she had to be on guard every moment she was with him. She came to stand beside his bed. "I'll ring for dinner. I'll eat up here too."

Grasping her arm, Holt pulled her down beside him. "Dinner is on its way. Maggie and Clint will be dining with us."

Zoe thought it best not to object. "That will be nice."

"And you can tell us about last night."

Zoe would have sworn those words held a double meaning. She gave herself a mental shake. She was becoming as paranoid as her ailing, demented husband. "Are you talking about the dance?"

Holt seemed to sense her uneasiness. "That too." His chuckle was villainous. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

She wondered if, somehow, Holt had learned of her visit to Carter's apartment. Perhaps discretion was also the better part of deception. "What was not to enjoy?"

"What, indeed," Holt questioned as the door opened, and Bridget entered, pushing a food-laden cart. She stopped just inside the door and waited. "Bring the cart over here." Holt motioned with his hand, and Bridget obeyed.

"You may go now." Zoe told Bridget as Maggie came through the door, looking worried and ill at ease.

"I can't linger after dinner," she said, "I have work to do."

Bridget almost collided with Clint as he came through the door wearing his hat and coat and a grim expression. "I have a dinner date in town, old man, so make this fast."

"Now don't get testy, boy. I was hoping you'd have dinner here, with us."

Clint closed the door and leaned against the wall. "Forget it."

"Call Amy and cancel your date." An intimidating note of anger had slipped into Holt's voice. "You can shack up with your woman some other time. Tonight I have plans for us as a family."

The knot of tension tightened inside Zoe's stomach as her heart swelled with pain. The thought of Clint spending the night in Amy's arms was having its devastating effect.

The shame of being reminded that Clint was her stepson, added to an already unbearable weight of guilt. She was torn between wishing Clint would go and wanting desperately to keep him from Amy. Her fingers rested on Holt's arm. "Don't get upset, please. It's bad for you."

Holt whined, "At least my wife is concerned about me." He put a wrinkled hand over Zoe's fingers and squeezed. "Thank you, darlin', but I'm all right." The tremor in his voice was a deliberate attempt to indicate the opposite.

Clint's jaw tightened. He seemed hypnotized by the movement of Holt's fingers as they waltzed up and down Zoe's arm. "Say what you have to say, then I'm out of here."

He was going to Amy. Zoe blinked back tears. Would he hold her in his arms and let his tongue slip inside her mouth with the same exquisite sweetness that had made him irresistible to Zoe last night? Would he bury his face in Amy's breast and whisper how much he wanted her? Would he. . . ?

"Zoe!" Holt's harsh cry impinged on her suffering senses. "Answer me, girl. I want to know."

She pulled her thoughts back to the present. "Answer? Answer what?"

"Do you know what today is?"

Quickly, Zoe calculated. "Holt, please." This wicked old man was going to torture her with the recognition of yet another 'anniversary.' "This is not the time for a celebration. You're ill, Maggie and Clint are busy . . . . " Her voice was lost in the hiss of a sigh.

"It's because I am ill that I want to enjoy this time with my family." How masterfully this old man manipulated each situation to gain his own ends. "At least let me give your gift to you before Clint rushes off to Midland and that Fields woman." Holt opened the drawer of his night stand and took out a white cloth bag tied at the top with a drawstring. "This is our cotton anniversary." He held the bag up and waved it about for all to see. "Look This bag is 100 percent cotton. Wouldn't you agree that a cotton bag is the perfect gift for our second anniversary?" He held the bag out to Zoe. "Open it, darlin', and look inside."

She didn't know which hurt her more, the wounded expression in Clint's eyes, or Holt's pleasure at having put it there. "I don't want a gift."

Childlike, Holt argued, "Yes, you do." His voice sharpened to a command, "Open the bag."

Zoe's hand shook as she untied the drawstring and peeked inside. "This is nice." She pulled a long, bulging envelope from the confides of the bag and eyed it suspiciously before laying it on the table beside the bed. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Holt was provoked. "What do you mean, thank you? You don't even know what's inside yet. Open the envelope, Zoe."

When would she learn that prolonging these little episodes was playing into Holt's hands? Zoe unsealed the envelope, took sheets of paper from the inside, looked at them, and gasped. They were documents conveying ownership of six producing oil wells from Holt to Zoe. She shuffled through the legal forms and saw that the seventh well was a natural gas well. "This is too much."

"Don't be foolish. You're my wife. Those oil wells are located in the Red Bluff Pool over in Loving County. Each one of them produces three to four hundred barrels of crude oil a day. The gas well is up by Shafter Lake. It brings in about a million dollars a year. Add that to the seven million a year in royalties from the oil wells, and you have a tidy little annual income."

He thought eight million dollars a year was a tidy income? Zoe was speechless.

Holt sent Clint a malicious look, then chuckled. "Add to that the money you will receive from your shares in the Hamilton Corporation, and you should have an income in the neighborhood of ten million dollars a year, after taxes." Hold rubbed his hand over Zoe's cold fingers. "So you see, my dear, you will be taken care of after I am gone, even though you were foolish enough to let Clint pressure you into signing a prenuptial agreement that negated what you would have received after my death."

Holt wasn't doing this out of concern for Zoe, he was doing it to anger Clint. This was his way of retaliating against Clint for having thwarted his plans. Holt was taking what was rightfully Clint's and giving it to Zoe. "I won't - I can't accept such an expensive gift."

"You don't have any choice." Holt eyed Clint with guarded interest. "Now, let's have dinner. I'm hungry, and Maggie wants to get back to her work." His eyes shifted to glare at Maggie. "My secretary has such dedication to duty." Over a derisive chuckle, he added, "The subject is closed. It's a done deal."

Zoe lifted the cover from the food cart. "Then you can undo it."

Holt chose to misunderstand Zoe's statement. "How do you undo dedication?"

Through Holt's entire presentation, Clint had not spoken a word. He looked far less upset than Zoe felt. "If that's all, I have to go." He could have been taking his leave from a trio of total strangers. "I'll be home tomorrow." He looked directly at Zoe. "Early."

Zoe watched him leave with a sinking sense of despair. Tonight he would sleep in the arms of another woman. The ache inside her expanded and sharpened. She longed to run after him, catch him in her arms, and hold him close to her breaking heart. She didn't have that option. In truth, she didn't have that right. She tried to chase such evil thoughts from her mind and found she couldn't make them go away.

"Zoe," Holt was yanking at her sleeve. "Serve dinner, girl. You can day dream tomorrow."

After a dismal dinner, Maggie went back to her work. Soon after that, Bridget came for the dinner cart, and Hartford returned with the announcement that it was time for Holt's newest medication.

Holt grumbled about taking yet another "Blasted pill," but he swallowed two of the little ovals and was soon asleep.

It was then that Zoe made a hasty decision. She would sleep on the couch in the library tonight. That would afford her some private time to sort through her many disturbing emotions, and she had to contact Carter. She didn't dare call him while Clint was in the house. She waited until Hartford had settled down with his crossword puzzle. "Do you think you can manage Mr. Hamilton alone tonight?"

"Do you want me to stay with him all night?" Hartford tapped his pencil against his front teeth.

"Under the circumstances, I think that would be wise."

"Are you going out tonight?"

That was none of his business. Zoe considered telling him so, then she remembered why she needed to contact Carter. She didn't want to arouse Hartford's ire or his suspicions. "I have decided to begin work on Sarah's biography." She was becoming an accomplished liar, she thought as she improvised. "I need some time to study some of her papers. I'll sleep in the library. If you need me, you can knock on the door."

Hartford seemed satisfied with her explanation. "Sure thing, Mrs. Hamilton. You go ahead. I can manage here."

Fifteen minutes later, Zoe unlocked the door of the library and stepped inside. She dumped her clothes and toilet articles on a chair and tossed her blanket and sheets on the couch. Over the past weeks she had created some order from the chaos of memorabilia that was stored here. But even now, as she looked around her at the abundance of papers and books and envelopes, she despaired of ever sorting through everything. But she hadn't come here to pilfer through Sarah's belongings, she had come to locate and talk to Carter Fields.

She found a telephone directory and thumbed through it until she located the telephone number for Carter's office. A glance at the wall clock told her it was six-forty-five. On the slim chance that Carter might be in his office, Zoe dialed the number and listened as a recording asked her to leave a message. "Carter, this is Zoe. Please call me as soon as you can. I need to talk with you about something of the utmost importance."

Several attempts to reach Carter at his apartment failed. All she could do now was wait. Zoe leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. Unbidden, pictures of Clint holding Amy in his arms rose up to torment her. Those images propelled her to her feet. She strode across the room and stood looking out the window. Darkness was falling like a shroud across the flat landscape. A disapproving night wind swirled dust across the yard and complained through the branches of the majestic oak trees that stood like silent sentinels around the massive old house.

An image of Clint's face, hurt and disbelieving, superimposed itself over the scene before her. Zoe closed her eyes, and cried out in pain. Much more of this and she would go mad. She had to do something to take her mind off Clint with Amy.

Work, that was the answer. She would sort through some of Sarah's memorabilia. Zoe lifted a stack of old newspapers from the several piles under the window, carried them to the desk, and untied the twine string that held them. They were old, and crinkled and yellow with age. Zoe picked up the top paper, unfolded it on the desk, and ran her palms over the creases. As her finger pressed into the wrinkles, the paper's headlines caught her eye: SENATOR ADRAIN ZOELLER ANNOUNCES HIS CANDIDACY FOR A THIRD TERM. Under the caption, the picture of a tall, distinguished, and exceedingly handsome middle-aged man smiled back at her. Nestled in the crook of his right arm, was a small, bird-like woman. To the man's left, stood a lanky teenaged boy, who bore a striking resemblance to the senator. Zoe stared at the man's smiling face as an emotion not unlike regret brought tears to her eyes. She touched the image of his smiling likeness. Had he ever wondered about his illegitimate daughter? Had he even known of her existence?

Zoe brushed the tears from her eyes and began to read:

Adrain Zoeller, popular senator from Vermont

announced last night at the banquet held in his

honor, in Washington, DC, that he would be a

candidate for a third term.

The article went on to extol the deeds and character of Senator Zoeller. As Zoe laid the paper aside, she wondered if a man who appeared to the press and his constituents to be of such noble character and to have served his country with such altruistic fervor, could have, in reality, been engaged in clandestine espionage activities? But then, she had only Holt's assurance of that statement, and he was bound to be biased. Holt would naturally hate a man who had, at one time, been intimate with his beloved Sarah.

A host of new questions rose to plague Zoe. Had the Senator been successful in his bid for reelection? According to Holt, Senator Zoeller died when Zoe was quite small. How had he died? Had he ever tried to contact James and Rachel Adair? What had happened to the Senator's wife? Was she still alive somewhere? The skinny boy who stood so proudly beside his father must be a middle-aged man by now. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he know of Zoe's existence?

The desire to find answers made Zoe flip through the stack of newspapers, anxiously scanning each page for some mention of Adrain Zoeller. Just when she despaired of ever finding another mention of his name, a caption on the second page of a New York newspaper caught her attention: CLARISSA ZOELLER ATTEMPTS SUICIDE. Zoe folded the paper and began to read:

Clarissa Wilmont Zoeller, wife of the distinguished senator from Vermont and

daughter of the late industrialist Freeman Wilmont, was rushed from her home in

Burlington, Vermont, to a local hospital last evening after swallowing an

overdose of sleeping pills. Mrs. Zoeller was discovered in her bedroom about

nine-thirty p.m. last night by her son, Charles, who immediately called Mrs.

Zoeller's personal physician.

Senator Zoeller, who was in Washington, DC at the time, was interviewed by

this reporter as he made ready to fly to his wife's bedside. When asked about his

relationship with Sarah Clarke, the senator denied any personal involvement

with the notorious actress. He further stated that there was no truth to the rumor

that the senator planned to divorce his wife of twenty years and marry

Miss Clarke. The senator insisted that this was nothing more than rumor

propagated by his political adversaries.

Zoe folded the paper and laid it on the desk. So many conflicting stories. She reached for the last paper in the stack. Across the top of the page, the words seemed to reach out and grab her: ADRAIN ZOELLER DIES IN PLANE CRASH. Zoe swallowed and began to read aloud:

In a frantic effort to reach the bedside of his stricken wife, Clarissa, Adrain

Zoeller, Vermont's controversial Senator, chartered a private jet early last

Sunday morning to fly to his home in Burlington, Vermont. Commercial

flights from the nation's capital to the East had been canceled because of

impending inclement weather. Senator Zoeller's plane went down over

the Allegheny Mountains, scarcely a half hour after take off from a

Baltimore airport. The worse snowstorm of the century made it impossible

to reach the crash sight until late Wednesday afternoon. Bodies of Senator

Zoeller, his aide and his pilot, were removed by helicopter.

Zoe laid the paper aside. So, now she knew. And by knowing more, she knew less. The true character of Adrain Zoeller remained cloaked in mystery. And she was no nearer discovering if he had ever had any knowledge of the daughter Sarah Clarke had borne him. He had been a powerful political figure. If he had known of James and Rachel Adair's clever hoax, why hadn't he lifted a finger to stop them from stealing his baby away from her mother? Zoe dropped her head into her hands. How easily passing time and fickle fortune could obscure the truth. She would probably never know.

The insistent ringing of the telephone jarred Zoe from her meditation. She picked up the receiver and heard Carter Field shouting to be heard over the sound of loud music in the background. "Zoe? I just called the office and got your message off the machine. You wanted me to call? Is something wrong?"

Zoe twisted the telephone cord around her finger. "Nothing pressing, but I do need your advice."

"So Holt gave you the wells." Carter's amused chuckle sounded across the wire. "Now you need financial advice?"

"Carter," Zoe began, tentatively, then stopped. Financial advice seemed as good a reason as any to have Carter come to Triple H. "Yes, and Holt wants to talk to you also."

After a few moments of silence, Carter complained, "I can't hear you over this music."

Zoe raised her voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the Broken Spoke. I wish you were here. We could make it a foursome. Clint's here with Amy."

Why should she feel suddenly bereft and betrayed? "Did you tell Clint you were returning my call?"

"Hell no. What kind of an idiot do you think I am?" Carter cleared his throat. "Zoe. I have to get off the phone, people are waiting in line outside the booth. I'll see you the day after tomorrow, around two o'clock." Without bothering with a goodbye, Carter hung up.

Zoe laid the receiver back in its cradle. Tomorrow she would tell Maggie she had contacted Carter. Then they could set the remainder of their plan in motion.

She lay down on the couch and closed her eyes. Images of Clint and Amy making love returned to torment her. She considered going back to Holt's room, and borrowing one of his little oval pills. That should induce sleep. Sitting up on the couch, she dropped her head into her hands and wondered how she could have sunk to such depths of despair and degradation in so short a time. In less than six months, she had moved from being Zoe Martin, grieving widow and dedicated teacher, to being Zoe Hamilton, liar, conspirator, adulteress. The memory of her night with Clint seared through her mind like a lighted torch set to tinder. She was guilty of a far more heinous crime than mere adultery. She had committed the unspeakable act of . . .. "No!" Her cry echoed across the library and bounced off the walls.

Drawing a shuddering breath, she wrapped her arms around her waist. Much more of this, and she would be a complete basket case, unable to carry out her carefully laid plans. She couldn't let that happen. For the present, she would concentrate on retrieving that damming evidence from Holt's safe deposit box. Time enough after that to repent for past crimes. She lay down and wrapped herself in the warmth of her blanket. Somewhere between remorse and resolve, she fell asleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

Zoe watched the hands on the clock move nearer and nearer two p.m. Her nerves were high tension wires, radiating in all directions. Thirty minutes earlier, she had dismissed Hartford after snapping at him that she was perfectly capable of giving Holt his two o'clock medications. As he mumbled something about both the Hamiltons being impossible, Hartford beat a hasty retreat.

Zoe stood alternately congratulating herself and trying to appease her nagging conscience. The first intricate detail of the elaborate plan she and Maggie had so carefully plotted had been set in motion, Hartford was out of the room, and Zoe could now control when Holt received his medication. For the hundredth time, she assured herself that delaying the dosage of his latest prescription for several minutes would make no difference in Holt's well being. Nevertheless, guilt made her solicitous of her husband. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel like I wonder why the hell Carter is coming to call." This was not one of Holt's better days. He watched Zoe as she walked about the room, stopping first to stack Hartford's crossword puzzles books into a neat pile, then rearranging bottles and jars on her dressing table. "Will you stop acting like a butterfly and light someplace? Why are you so upset?"

Time for step two, Zoe sat down and clasped her hands together. "I'm upset because you did ask Carter to come here, and now you are denying it. I think you're plotting some devious plan. That's what's makes me nervous."

A look of puzzled doubt spread across Holt's face. "You and Carter wouldn't be trying to put something over on me, would you, girl?" His sagging features twisted into a frown. "Tell me, did you send for Carter Fields?"

"I didn't call Carter, Maggie did, at your request." Everything now hung on Zoe's being able to deceive this master deceiver. She pulled her hands to her lap and held them there. "You said it was my mother's idea." God forgive me she prayed, as she lowered her head, and sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

"Your mother?" Holt heaved himself to the side of the bed. "You mean Sarah? You think of Sarah as your mother?"

Tempering her voice to reflect just the right amount of defiance, Zoe replied, "Sarah is my mother." One of Sarah's trademark gestures in her movies had been to brush her hair away from her face with the back of her hand, a movement that seemed to underscore her projection of vulnerability and emphasize her innocent demeanor. Zoe's voice softened, as with deliberate precision, she now imitated that action to perfection. "Sometimes, when I'm here with you, I feel Mother's presence. I feel safe, because I know she's near, watching over me." Before the words had left Zoe's mouth, she longed to call them back, even if Holt believed her overstated lie, it seemed such a cruel ploy.

Holt's features softened with heartbreaking speed. "Sarah will be so happy. She wants you to know how much she cares, how much she's always cared."

Almost, Zoe stopped her monstrous deception, almost, then she remembered what hung in the balance. "I know now, Mother trusts you to take care of me. She must love you very much." As she watched Holt's face become animated with happiness, Zoe marveled at her own cruelty.

"Sarah thinks of you as a child, that's how mothers are."

A whisper of caution nudged in around Zoe's self-loathing. Sarah's main concern while she lived had been with money. Her anxiety as she lay dying, according to Holt, had been that Holt find a way to convey to Zoe her fortune. Zoe improvised. "Perhaps Mother is afraid I won't be able to manage my finances when you're gone. Maybe she thinks you should set up something for me now."

Holt slipped his feet into his slippers. "That must be why I called Carter." He struggled to a standing position. "By heaven, that's an excellent idea. I can set up a trust for you." He shuffled toward the bathroom. "Send for Clint. He should be here, too."

Zoe had no idea for what reason, but Maggie had dispatched Clint to Midland earlier in the day. "Clint told you he was going to Midland." Zoe couldn't look Holt in the eye. Clint had done no such thing, he had asked Maggie to deliver his message, and Maggie and carefully neglected to do so.

Holt held onto the back of a chair as he stopped to catch his breath. "I wonder how I could have forgotten that? What else have I failed to remember?"

If she dwelt on the magnitude of her deception, Zoe would find herself retreating when she should forge ahead. She pulled her thoughts to the business at hand. "Maybe Sarah - Mother caused you to forget. She doesn't like Clint very well."

Holt chuckled. "She hates his guts."

Eager to change the subject, Zoe questioned, "Do you need help?"

"No, I'm all right." Mumbling under his breath, Holt shuffled toward the bathroom.

Zoe watched him disappear behind the door and realized anew that she was treading on very thin ice. She had, so far, managed to manipulate Holt. But what about Carter? She hadn't spoken to him since that short conversation on the telephone two nights before.

Maggie had suggested that she, not Zoe, should be the one to break that news to Carter that Holt had decided to grant Zoe a durable power of attorney. "It's best if I tell him. I'm Holt's secretary. Carter will think I'm following his instructions."

At the time that seemed a reasonable assumption. But now a dozen nagging doubts were causing Zoe to have second thoughts. Suppose Holt refused to sign the power of attorney? What if Clint came home and found Carter here? There was every possibility that Carter would see through this conspiracy and refuse to be a part of it. Under her breath, Zoe whispered, "I can't think about that now."

A rap on the door sent Zoe to her feet. "Come in, yes, come in."

Maggie entered, carrying a stack of papers and a brief case. "Where's Holt?"

Zoe inclined her head. "In the bathroom."

Maggie perched on the edge a chair. "Carter is on his way. The guard at the security gate just called."

"You did talk to him?" Zoe put special emphasis on the word talk.

"Yes." Maggie gestured nervously. "Everything is set."

As Holt came from the bathroom, Zoe jumped to her feet. "It's time for Holt's medication."

"Maggie?" Holt began his tedious journey across the room. "I'm glad you're here. It seems Carter and I have a business appointment."

Zoe interrupted to say, "It's time for your medication."

Easing down on the side of the bed, Holt waved her aside. "Later, after Carter finishes his business, whatever the hell that business is."

Zoe crossed her fingers and struggled to keep the quiver out of her voice. "The trust, remember?" She was appalled that she could tell such a blatant lie so easily.

"Oh yes, the trust." Holt sat on his bed and kicked his shoes from his feet. "Where is Clint?"

Maggie caught Zoe's eye and mouthed in surprise, "Trust?"

This was not a part of their plan. The words tumbled from Zoe's mouth as she hastened to send Maggie a cryptic message. "Sarah wants Holt to put my holdings in a trust." She sent her accomplice what she hoped was a warning message, then repeated with emphasis, "Sarah."

Maggie's puzzled eyes locked into Zoe's frightened gaze. "Of course, Sarah." She shrugged as her lips formed the question, "Sarah?"

Zoe poured water into a glass and shook two pills into the palm of her hand. "Time to take your medication." She held the caplets out to Holt. "Take these."

"The damn things make me sleepy." A confused Holt sat up and obeyed, slipping the ovals into his mouth, then washing them down with a long drink of water. "I should have thought of a trust long ago." He took another drink of water. "Where the hell is Carter?"

Zoe couldn't believe Holt had so readily complied with her order. She had expected an argument, maybe a refusal. She was so nervous that her hand shook when she put the empty water glass on the stand beside Holt's bed.

Holt's doubts seemed to have been laid to rest. That alone was a sure sign he was not in full possession of all his mental facilities. "Why don't you lie down?" Zoe helped him put his legs on the bed.

Holt rested his head on his pillow. "Tell Clint to get up here." Holt's belief that he had forgotten his appointment with Carter had apparently shaken him. "Where is my boy?"

"Clint's in Midland." Zoe crossed her fingers, and breathed a silent prayer. Please God, keep him there. She turned a deaf ear to the inner voice that scorned seeking divine assistance in deceiving an ailing, demented old man.

Carter's arrival saved Zoe from having to engage in further falsehood. He came into the room booming a good natured greeting, "Hello! Hello!" He laid his briefcase on the table beside the empty glass and rubbed his hands together. "It's cold outside."

Already, Holt's eyelids were drooping. "I didn't call you all the way out here for a weather report. Let's get down to business."

Maggie intervened. "Why don't you let Holt sign the papers you brought, and we can take care of the witnessing later?"

"I think we have to review what Holt is signing first." Carter opened his briefcase and took out several sheets of paper. "I need to explain. . . ."

"You don't need to explain to me, boy." Uncertainty and medication were adding to Holt's already confused state. "Give me the papers. You can give your spiel to Sarah and Maggie later."

"Sarah?" Carter croaked.

"He means Zoe," Maggie hastened to explain.

Zoe joked, "That's what comes of being a second wife, sometimes you get called by someone else's name."

"Or when you're a second child," Maggie sent little warning signals behind Carter's back. "When I was growing up, Mamma was forever calling me Clint."

Carter rubbed his chin with his hand. "My mother did that, especially when she was angry or tired. She would say, 'Amy - Carter'."

From the bed, Holt screeched. "Can we stop with the small talk? Will you show me where to sign?"

The operation went so smoothly that even after Hartford signed as a witness and left and Carter closed his brief case and walked out the door, Zoe half-expected one of them to return again to question the proceedings or nullify the agreement.

Maggie stood staring out the window, watching Carter's car pull out the driveway and roar toward Midland. As the sounds of his motor died away, she came back across the room and collapsed in a chair. "Congratulate yourself, Zoe we did it, we actually pulled it off."

Zoe's knees had turned to water. She perched on the bed beside Holt's sleeping figure. "Maggie, you were wonderful. You even got Carter to agree to send a copy of the power of attorney to the bank."

"It won't be there for a couple of weeks. Those documents have to be sent to the court house to be recorded first."

The knot inside Zoe's stomach was beginning to untie. "Can you believe that Hartford signed without a murmur?"

"He signed," Maggie agreed, "but he read the entire document first. I don't feel too happy about that."

"Don't borrow trouble." Zoe was too relieved to worry about something as trivial as Hartford reading what he'd signed. "How long before we can go to the bank?"

"Don't get over anxious," Maggie warned. "We have to do this one step at a time and without raising anyone's suspicion. Clint is our next big hurdle. He will. . . ."

Holt rolled over and mumbled in his sleep, causing Maggie to stop in mid-sentence.

Zoe waited until Holt was still once more before she leaned forward and whispered, "Clint will what?"

Maggie laid one finger over her lip.

"Maggie, answer me," Zoe demanded.

"We have to find some reason for a trip to Midland." Out of the blue, Maggie asked, "When is your birthday?"

"November first. Why?"

"I was afraid you might say March or May. November is perfect." Holt stirred again, causing Maggie to pause before she declared, "As soon as the bank confirms it has the power of attorney, I'm going to treat you to a birthday lunch in Midland. Clint can't object to that."

"What about Holt?" Zoe looked at the prone figure on the bed.

Maggie shook her head from side to side. "In three more weeks, I doubt that Holt will know if you are here or in China. Face it, Zoe, Holt slips a little farther a little faster each day."

Zoe couldn't believe she felt sympathy for the likes of Holt Hamilton, but she did. "I know."

And Maggie was right. Holt's physical and mental decline grew more pronounced with each passing day. That fact was brought home to Zoe later in the evening as she watched Hartford put food into Holt's mouth. How sad that a man as vital and powerful as Holt Hamilton had once been was now reduced to being spoon fed. Perhaps fate had been kind to David after all. There were worse things than dying young. Zoe laid her fork across her plate. "I'm going to the library."

Hartford continued his tedious task. "You might want to sleep in the library again, Mrs. Hamilton. I don't think I should leave Mr. Hamilton alone. I could be here all night."

Zoe gathered her toilet articles and put them in a bag. "I'll do that. If you need me, you can knock on the library door or send Nancy for me."

Zoe had scarcely settled in the library when a loud knock sounded on the door. She hurried to open it, expecting to see Hartford standing on the other side. Instead, she was confronted by Clint, glaring like some nineteenth century renegade, his grim countenance resembling a sketch from a wanted poster. Breathlessly, she questioned, "Holt?" Had he come to say that Holt was worse? "Is Holt. . . ?"

"The old man's asleep." Clint brushed past her and came inside. "I was just in his room." He dropped into a chair and frowned at her makeshift bed on the couch. "That can't be very comfortable."

"It's adequate." Zoe stood with one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip. "I don't recall asking you to come in."

"You didn't. Sit down." It was an unpleasant command, delivered in an affable tone. "I have something to say to you." He sounded more uncomfortable than angry. She could understand that discomfort. The mere sight of her must trigger memories of his betrayal of his own father. "Several somethings in fact."

Zoe shrugged, then closed the door. A little helix of apprehension spiraled up inside her. Had Clint learned of Carter's visit? What ever the problem, she had learned that with Clint, the best defense was an offense. "I'm in no mood to listen to one of your tirades." Retracing her footsteps, she perched on the edge of the couch.

Clint lifted both hands, then let them drop to his knees. "No tirades, I promise."

Pushing her blanket aside, Zoe scooted farther back on the couch and waited for him to speak.

For once, he seemed to be searching for words. "I just had a little talk with Maggie."

What was it about this man that made any word he spoke sound like an invitation to seduction? "And?"

His smile was ironic. "I talked to Carter too."

She couldn't take her eyes off the way his crisp black hair grew in a perfect widow's peak across his broad forehead. "So?"

"They both tell me I've been thoughtless." His winged brows pulled together across his nose. "Carter explained what happened at his apartment."

Cautiously, Zoe asked, "Did you believe him?"

"After awhile, yes. He pointed out that a woman as young and attractive as you are shouldn't be expected to stay shut up in a room with a sick old man all the time. He said even the old man recognized that fact." With one swift movement Clint was on his feet and ramming his hands into his pockets. "He made a valid argument, but then he doesn't know all there is to know about you, does he?"

Zoe watched him pace across the carpet. Neither do you, she thought, and I hope you never will. Aloud she asked, "Like what?"

Clint turned and for several moments surveyed her passive face. "Like the way you use men to get what you want. Like the reason you married the old man or the deal we made." He turned, retraced his steps, and sat down again, this time on the other end of the couch. "Maybe I should have warned him, but I didn't."

How could she be so attracted to a man who held her in such low regard? She didn't want him so near her. He took away all her control. Her mouth was dry, her pulses began to pound. "Your insults are worse than your tirades. Please go."

"I'm not being insulting, Sweetheart, I'm being honest. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how you managed to wrangle an interview with the old man." The blue in his eyes ignited. "You slept with your boss to get him to intercede for you with the very wealthy Mr. Hamilton." A deep intake of breath expanded his chest. "I still can't decide where Robert Patton fits in your little scheme."

Zoe was amazed that Clint even remembered Robert Patton's name. "Robert Patton, the attorney who called here once?" She lifted herself to her feet. "Robert was David's friend."

Clint sneered, "Like I'm your present husband's son? And Robert Patton calls here once a week."

"Why wasn't I told Robert was calling?" Zoe stood. She needed to put some distance between her and this insufferable man before her dismay exploded into little splinters of anger. Her unsteady legs began to move across the floor. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"He isn't calling you. He and I have an agreement. He can call to check on you, but he can't talk to you." Clint's voice rose, bringing her to a halt. "Why, Zoe?"

She wasn't sure what he was asking. "Why what?"

"Don't try playing your little games with me. Why does Robert Patton persist, after all these months, to call and inquire about your welfare?"

Poor Robert. He must still feel bound by the promise he made to David on his death bed. "Robert was David's best friend." Briefly she thought there should be a law against death bed promises.

As if he had every right to, Clint asked, "Is he a part of your plot?"

Slowly the truth dawned. Clint was accusing her of coming to Triple H with some prearranged, subversive plan to lure Holt into marriage. Why shouldn't he think the worse? She had given him every reason to believe she was nothing more than a shallow, scheming woman. Remembering how she had duped Holt into giving her power of attorney, made her bite her tongue. Maybe she was everything he thought her to be and more. Dropping her head, she willed herself to stand perfectly still. "You're shouting at me again. You promised, no tirades." A knife of pain under her ribs made it almost impossible for her to keep her poise and her straight posture.

"I didn't mean to shout. I didn't come here to discuss your conquests. Maggie's concerned about you. She says you should have a bedroom of your own. She raked me over the coals for being so thoughtless. I didn't know you'd been sleeping on a couch in the library."

Zoe held her back ramrod straight. "Holt seems to rest better with me out of the room."

"I can see how you'd be a distraction." When his barbed remark brought no visible response, he went on. "I've instructed Farnsworth to tell Nancy to move your things to the bedroom next to Holt's suite tomorrow morning."

That room was directly across from Clint's room. "I'd rather move back to the second floor."

Clint's answer was a firm and unequivocal, "No. I want you where I can keep an eye on you."

If he only knew what she'd managed to pull off right under his nose. "Then why don't you move to the second floor?"

He shrugged with an indifference that set her teeth on edge. "The old man still needs you near him." When she opened her mouth to object, he reminded her, "You did make a deal. You said you'd stay with him until he was gone. I intend to hold you to that promise."

Zoe was too tired and too hurt to argue further. "All right." She wanted him to go before the tears in her heart found their way into her eyes.

As Clint stood, she took an instinctive step backward. "Is that all?"

For the first time since he had come barging into the room, he seemed unsure. "Zoe, about that night in the attic . . . " He held up one hand in a conciliatory gesture.

"I thought we agreed to forget about what happened." Bright spots of color burned on her cheeks. "I don't care to discuss it with you."

"Can you forget?" There was a stricken look on his face, and unbearable pain in his voice. "Can you just, 'chalk it up to experience'?"

He was ensnaring her in the tangled web of her own foolish words. There was no way she would ever forget the ecstasy of being in his arms. "A woman like me who uses sex to gain her own ends? Surely you don't think. . . .. " A sob tore through her, bending her double.

"Zoe, sweetheart, don't, please don't." Clint rushed toward her. She read his intent in the burst of passion that set his face in resolute lines. Every nerve in her body tensed. Her brain screamed a silent warning: Run! Escape! Her rebellious body strained toward him with carnal expectation. She was as hopelessly charmed as a bird held in enchantment by a serpent.

He covered the distance between them in three long strides. Pulling her into his arms, he held her in a tender embrace as his lips brushed her cheek then her temple before his chin came to rest on the top of her head. "How can anything this right be so wrong?"

Her arms stole around his waist. "Please, don't hate me." She rested her head on his chest. "Things are not as they appear." The enchantment his nearness wove so well was spinning it's magic. "Hold me."

With spellbinding tenderness, he cupped his hand around her chin, and lifted her head until he was looking full into her flushed face. His voice, deep and sensual, stirred her to a fever of desire. "God knows I want to want to hold you - in my arms and in my heart forever."

She had known such glory when he had loved her, and she wanted to revel in that ecstasy again. The price of such forbidden joy was lost in the fever of desire. "And I want you, my darling. I want you over me, against me, inside me. . . ."

He stopped her words with a kiss that took possession of her body and sent her senses reeling. They were so lost in the rapturous thrall of passion that they failed to hear the knock on the door, nor were they aware of another person stepping into the room until Hartford cleared his throat, then called, "Mrs. Hamilton."

With swift recall, Zoe was yanked back to reality. She dropped her arms from around Clint's waist and stepped back. Shame slowly replaced desire as her heart began to slow to a normal beat and her senses cleared. Inanely, she questioned, "Hartford?"

Clint's arms released Zoe as he turned to face Hartford. His body still rigid with arousal, his face a thundercloud. "Don't ever walk into this room again without knocking."

Hartford cringed at the fury in Clint's reprimand. "I did knock, sir, but you were too preoccupied to hear me." He seemed genuinely chagrined. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but Mr. Hamilton is awake. He's taken a turn for the worse, and he's asking for Mrs. Hamilton."

Zoe rushed past Hartford and raced down the hall, with Clint in close pursuit.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Zoe twisted the safe deposit key she had taken from Holt's key ring onto her own key holder. She could now add another theft to her growing list of offenses. Putting the key holder in her handbag, she snapped it shut.

Holt turned on his bed and stirred restlessly. "Sarah?"

Guilt was acid in Zoe's throat. She closed the chest drawer and tiptoed across the room. "Yes, it's Sarah."

So she was a liar, too. That thought caused Zoe to flinch as polarizing emotions threatened her equanimity. Attainment was so near. Even as she smelled the sweet scent of success, she was sinking to depths of degradation that created, along with her elation, a total self loathing. Her stomach lurched, making her feel physically ill as a guilty conscience warred against a strong sense of self preservation. That unrelenting battle was tearing her apart.

One long month had dragged by since Holt had granted Zoe durable power of attorney. During that time she had moved between bouts of guilt and fear of being discovered. The result was a vicious circle of restless days and sleepless nights that produced, in turn, loss of weight and diminished appetite which resulted in even more nervous tension and insomnia.

Zoe voiced her concern to Maggie. With a wave of her hand, Maggie said, "The only way to deal with deception is to deceive. You set a thief to catch a thief. We did what we had to do, and at a most crucial moment. Since the day Holt signed those papers, mentally and physically, he's gone downhill with frightening speed."

Maggie's words fell like a brooding shadow across Zoe's already troubled mind. Had her lies and deception hastened Holt's mental and physical deterioration? "I may have contributed to that decline. He believed me when I lied to him about forgetting an appointment with Carter, and I made him believe that I was Sarah. Oh, Maggie. . . ."

"That's nonsense," Maggie answered sharply. "Holt's failing health is a result of his age and illness. It wasn't caused by anything we did."

Try as she might, Zoe couldn't quite make herself believe that, and that suspicion added to her already overwrought state. "I do hope we made the right decision."

And now the time had come to act on that daring decision. Zoe bent over the sleeping figure on the bed. Holt was so still. She felt the pulse in his neck. The beat was faint and erratic. Her shaking fingers reached to pull the cord that would summon Hartford.

The moment Hartford appeared, Zoe hurried downstairs. She was to meet Maggie in the living room at ten o'clock, and it was nine-thirty now. Clint had given Maggie until two o'clock this afternoon to treat Zoe to lunch and get her back to Triple H. "I know it's not long," Maggie said when she told Zoe that she had Clint's permission to go into town. "But it will have to be long enough."

At the precise moment the clock on the mantle struck nine-thirty, Maggie, accompanied by Clint, hurried into the living room. Clint wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and a dark scowl. "This is against my better judgment." He directed his objection to Maggie. "Zoe needs to be here for the old man. He gets upset if she's away from him too long."

"Holt will sleep until well into the afternoon," Maggie argued as she slipped her arms into her coat, "and this is Zoe's birthday for heaven's sake. She hasn't been out of this house for almost two months. She needs a little rest and relaxation."

"She can always go for a ride if she's bored or restless." Clint seemed determined to have the last word.

"Riding a horse across an open prairie is not quite the same thing as having lunch in one of Midland's better restaurants, and besides, it's getting too cold to ride horseback across the wide-open spaces."

Zoe looked at her watch. "We have to go. We have a reservation."

They hurried out the front door with Clint's warning sounding in their ears. "Be back by two o'clock or I'll come after you."

As Maggie pulled her little corvette out into the road, she sent an anxious glance in Zoe's direction. "I do hope you had a good breakfast because we aren't going to have time for even a quick lunch at a fast food place."

Zoe had hastily swallowed a half cup of coffee. "It doesn't matter. I couldn't eat anyway, I'm too nervous."

"If we pull this off," Maggie laughed to cover her anxiety, "we can apply to the CIA as undercover agents."

"Oh, Maggie, don't joke about this. Already my stomach has butterflies."

Maggie drove the twenty-five miles from Triple H to Midland in record time. She pulled her Corvette into a slot in the bank's parking lot at exactly eleven-ten. "Maybe we should go over our plan one more time before we go in."

Zoe was operating on adrenaline and overtaxed nerves. "I can't think, Maggie. I have to act while I still have the courage to go through with this."

"Remember," Maggie warned, "Play it cool. We are almost home free."

Later, Zoe would remember as one recalls a dream, how she had walked boldly into the bank, introduced herself as Mrs. Holt Hamilton, and sat down across from an obese bank clerk.

After careful scrutiny of Zoe's identification, the portly woman pushed a card and a pen across her desk. "Sign here Mrs. Hamilton." She pointed to a line at the bottom of the card.

Zoe was so on edge that she bit her lip to keep her teeth from chattering. "You want me to sign my name?"

The clerk seemed obvious to Zoe's agitated state. "Yes, then put the letters POA underneath that signature."

Zoe's mind was a complete blank. "POA?"

"It's for power of attorney," The portly clerk explained.

Zoe nodded as she gripped the pen in her shaking hand, and hastily scribbled Zoe Hamilton on the designated line, then pushed the card and the pen back across the desk.

Without bothering to examine the signature, the secretary folded the card and dropped it back into the file beside her desk. "I'll call the attendant."

Zoe managed to nod her head. By now she was almost comatose with fear.

The young bank attendant who accompanied her to the vault, had to call her name twice. "This way, Mrs. Hamilton," Then again, a little louder, "Mrs. Hamilton?"

"Yes." Zoe swallowed, then scrambled to her feet.

"This way, please."

The attendant led, Zoe followed. He swung open the huge vault door. "I need your key, Mrs. Hamilton."

The words registered slowly. "Yes." Zoe extended the key she had taken for Holt's ring earlier in the day. A hazy fog was filming across her vision. Blinking her eyes, she swallowed over the lump in her throat.

The attendant fitted the key under his own master key and turned first one then the other. "Would you like me to carry the box to the conference room, Mrs. Hamilton?" The bright lights in the vault cast harsh shadows across the young man's face.

Zoe pressed her fingers into her temples. "What?" Hang on, she told herself. She realized she was dangerously near fainting.

From what seemed a long distance, the clerk's voice sounded, "Do you want to look through the box or add extra items?"

"Both, yes, both." The confides of the vault seemed to be closing in on Zoe. "Mr. Hamilton's secretary is here to help me."

Once outside the vault, Zoe motioned for Maggie to come along as she followed the attendant into the conference room.

As Maggie followed Zoe into the room, the attendant set the box on a long table, and turned to go. "Call me when you're ready to return the box."

Zoe waited until she heard the door behind her close before she pushed the box toward Maggie, who was still standing at the end of the table. "You open it. I can't."

Maggie sat down and carefully lifted the lid. "Remember, we take only the documents that incriminate us, nothing more."

"Holt was blackmailing someone else in order to get to me. I have to take that evidence too."

"All right." Maggie took packets and envelopes from the box. "But nothing else." She pushed a fat manilla envelope across the table toward Zoe. "This has your name on it. Is it what you're looking for?"

Zoe thumbed through the array of papers, then breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. "Yes, thank God!" She hugged the envelope to her chest.

Maggie took a video tape from a brown paper bag. "And this is what has held me hostage for five long years." She expelled a ragged sigh. "For the first time since I came to Triple H, I can draw an easy breath." Opening her large handbag, she put the sack with the reel inside, then closed her purse with a flourish. "I don't know about you, but as soon as I can, I'm going to burn this tape, and then maybe I can get on with my life."

"I have to find one more thing. There must be something in there with the name John McInnis on it." Zoe rifled through the many envelopes and packages. "What if it's not here?"

"Keep looking," Maggie urged.

Just when she despaired of ever finding it, Zoe located a long envelope with a window, tucked away under a strange looking ledger. "Do you think we should look at any of this stuff?" She waved her hand over the box.

"Do you want to take that much time?"

Zoe's answer was a resounding, "No!"

Maggie put packets and envelopes back into the box. "Then call the attendant, and let's get out of here."

Zoe's stomach ached, and her head was spinning as she walked to the door and called the attendant. He took his own time coming, then she waited for what seemed like an age passed before the attendant carried his burden back to the vault, slipped it in its slot, secured both locks, then extended Holt's purloined key toward Zoe. "Your key, Mrs. Hamilton."

"Thank you." Zoe forced herself to walk, not run, back to the lobby where Maggie sat waiting. She smiled too brightly. "I'm ready to go, Miss Sullivan."

Maggie stood and with a solemn face replied. "Then, shall we be on our way. Mrs. Hamilton?"

Once inside the car, Zoe collapsed against the back of the seat and shouted, "We did it. We actually did it!"

Maggie gunned the car and sped from the parking lot. "I've never been that frightened before."

"You were frightened?" Zoe sat up and frowned. "It didn't show. You were so cool and collected."

"I was petrified with fear." Maggie slapped one hand against the steering wheel. "But it's over now. We actually pulled it off, Zoe. Can you believe it?"

Zoe's euphoria was being replaced with a sense of depression. "Then why do I feel as though someone just stuck a pin in my balloon?"

"Because you've lived with fear so long that you're afraid to relax and accept your good fortune."

Zoe was feeling physically ill. "I haven't eaten all day, and my stomach feels queasy." She glanced at her watch. "It's one thirty. Can we make it home by two?"

"You and I can do anything, Zoe." Maggie exulted. "We can be home by one-fifty eight, I promise." She pushed down on the accelerator and shifted into overdrive. "After I get some food into you, we're going to build a fire in that huge living room fireplace, toss all this garbage into the flames, and do a victory dance as it all goes up in smoke."

Maggie had not allowed for a herd of cattle that chose to wander across the road that led from the gate to the house. It was two-fifteen when they pulled into the driveway at Triple H. Clint was waiting for them with a look of agitated forbearance on his face. The minute Maggie opened the door, his deep voice called from the living room, "You're late."

Maggie came into the room. "Don't start."

Zoe followed, slipped out of her coat, and sat down. She was still feeling a little sick. "How is Holt?"

Clint barked, "He's asleep."

Zoe was on her feet before the words were out of his mouth. "Is Hartford with him?"

"Sit down and stop the dutiful little wife act." Clint ordered. "The old man is fine."

Zoe obeyed, partly because she was too physically and emotionally spent to do anything else. "I'll go up in a few moments and see how he is."

The moment Clint left for his office, Maggie took a poker from the rack beside the fireplace and jabbed at the fire. "Are you ready for the burnt offering ceremony?"

Zoe had to smile. She had never seen Maggie in such high spirits. "I'm going up to look in on Holt first, and I have yet another package to offer up. I'll bring it back with me."

Zoe took the stairs two at a time. She was winded and a little light headed by the time she reached the third floor. After pausing long enough to catch her breath, she raced to her room, pulled her locked suitcase from the top closet shelf, and after fumbling for her key, opened it and took out the envelope she had stolen from the library all those months ago. She would burn this too. She wanted to destroy every shred of evidence that could link her to Sarah Clarke.

She tucked the envelope under her arm and was locking the suitcase again before realizing that was no longer necessary. It was then that she spied the safe deposit key she had taken from Holt's room earlier. She had to return it before she went back down stairs.

Zoe entered Holt's room on tiptoe and was surprised to find him alone. Where, she wondered, was Hartford. Holt lay on his back. She watched the slow, even rising and falling of his chest and decided that he was resting peacefully.

Zoe put the key back on Holt's ring, then as an after thought, wiped it clean of fingerprints. She was becoming an accomplished criminal.

She tiptoed back across the floor, and after one last look at the sleeping figure on the bed, closed the door, and hurried back down stairs.

Maggie was pouring champagne into glasses when Zoe entered the living room. "Where have you been?"

"To get this," Zoe held up the envelope, "and to look in on Holt." Her brows lifted. "Champagne? What are we celebrating?"

"Your birthday," Maggie quipped, "and our liberation."

Zoe laid the envelope she had brought from upstairs beside the items she and Maggie had taken from Holt's safe deposit box and accepted the glass Maggie held out to her. "I haven't eaten anything today. Maybe I shouldn't drink this."

"Go ahead, live dangerously."

"I've had all the dangerous living I want." Zoe stared down into the clear liquid. "I feel as if I've been walking on the edge of a volcano for the past six months."

"Now you can relax." Maggie raised her glass. "To peace of mind."

Zoe sipped from her glass. "I'll drink to that."

Maggie put her empty glass on the table, took the video reel from the sack, and held it above her head. "The ceremony begins." She pulled the package back down to her side. "You first. This video will smell to high heaven when I toss it in the fire."

With measured steps Zoe came to stand in front of the fireplace. She allowed herself to savor the elation that flowed through her. "I never thought this moment would come."

"Will you just toss it?" Maggie asked as she studied the reel she held in her hand.

Zoe threw all three envelopes into the fire, then stood back and watched them burst into flame, flare high, then char and turn to ashes before her eyes. She stepped back. "Now, it's your turn."

Maggie pitched the sack into the fireplace, then leaned very near and dropped the video tape into the open flames as she chanted, "Burn, baby, burn."

Zoe watched the flames lick over the film, folding it into minute creases, then melting it into nothing. "I feel like one of the witches in Macbeth, standing around watching the caldron boil."

Maggie threw both hands into the air. "I feel like a bird who has been let out of a cage." She began to dance around the room. "I feel like dancing, I feel like singing."

From nowhere, Hartford appeared to stand in the door. "Mrs. Hamilton?"

Maggie stopped her victory dance as Zoe turned to stare into Hartford's ashen face. "Yes?"

"It's Mr. Hamilton. He's. . . ."

Fear brought Zoe to her feet. "He's what?"

"He's taken a turn for the worse."

Maggie was across the room and reaching for the telephone. "I'll call Doctor Michaels."

Zoe rushed toward the door. "I'll go up to him."

"That's not necessary." Hartford's wide shoulders rose, then fell. "You can't do anything now except call the morgue." His face clenched in an effort to control his emotions. "Mr. Hamilton is dead."

Zoe stopped her headlong sprint. The wine was making her dizzy. Shaking her head, she tried to focus her eyes on the tall man who stood in the center of the room. "He's what?" The world tilted.

"He's dead, as a door nail."

The floor came up to meet Zoe as a sea of blackness pulled her down into a dark vortex of unconsciousness.

Chapter Twenty-Three

A cacophony of sounds floated through the haze of semi-consciousness as awareness slowly returned. "She just fell over in a dead faint." Maggie's voice filtered through the mist that clouded Zoe's senses.

"Has she ever fainted before?" Zoe recognized Doctor Michaels's voice.

"Not to my knowledge." Maggie answered.

"But she did," Hartford interjected. "Once last summer, just after she came to Triple H. She and Mr. Hamilton were in the library. He called me when she lost consciousness, and he couldn't bring her around."

"What's wrong with her, Doctor?" Clint's voice deep and raspy cut across Hartford's explanation.

"Over exertion, probably, and tension, but I want to make sure. I'll need to make a cursory examination." Doctor Michaels voice was sympathetic. "She's had a terrible emotional shock. That alone could account for the rapid fall of blood pressure, but I want to make sure."

Zoe opened her eyes and looked around. She was lying on the couch in the living room. Sitting up, she swung her feet to the floor, then put her hand to her head. "I'm all right. Stop talking about me as if I weren't here."

The huddled group turned, with one accord, to stare. Doctor Michaels was the first to find his voice. "You're supposed to say, 'Where am I?'" He moved toward the couch. "You gave us quite a scare."

A thousand pins pricked behind Zoe's eyes. "There's no reason to be upset." She was weak as a kitten. "I'm all right."

"I'm not so sure that's true. The doctor eased onto the couch beside her. "When was the last time you had a complete medical check up, young lady?"

Zoe struggled to remember. "My senior year in college." The pulses in her temples were pounding at her senses like trip hammers.

"That had to be at least five years ago." Doctor Michaels shock showed on his face, sounded in his voice. "Far too long."

Zoe was reluctant to admit it had been more like seven years. "I'm in perfect health." The strange noises made by her quivering insides cast doubt on that statement. A sharp pang of hunger made her remember that she hadn't eaten today. "There's no need to be concerned." Resting her head on the back of the couch, she remembered the reason for her sudden swoon. "Is Holt really . . . gone?" She had feared and distrusted Holt Hamilton. Why should the news of his death leave her so devastated?

Hartford moved around Maggie and Clint and came to stand beside Doctor Michaels. "Mrs. Hamilton, would you like me to help you upstairs?"

From across the room, Clint's voice cracked like a whip. "Don't touch her."

Hartford smirked. "Whatever you say, sir."

"I don't think this is cause for alarm." Doctor Michaels manacled Zoe's hand as he felt her fluttering pulse. "Under the circumstances, we could have expected as much." He laid Zoe's hand in her lap and gave it a little pat. "I suspect this is nothing more than emotional shock, exacerbated by fatigue." Standing, he motioned to Hartford. "Help Mrs. Hamilton into the den. I can have a further look."

Catching the arm of the couch, Zoe pulled herself to her feet. "I don't need help." A wave of nausea hit her, making her head reel and turning her knees to water. She sat back down. "I just need a little more time."

With quick, swift strides, Clint came across the room. "Don't argue." Sweeping Zoe into his arms, he carried her to the den and deposited her on a narrow couch. "Doctor Michaels needs to have a look at you."

Doctor Michaels followed Clint into the den. "When did you eat last, Mrs. Hamilton?" He set his bag on the end of the couch.

Clint moved aside. "At noon today. She and Maggie had lunch in Midland."

Zoe dared not deny Clint's assertion. "I drank some champagne too. Today's my birthday. Maggie took me out."

"If Clint will excuse us," Doctor Michaels sat beside Zoe, opened his bag, and took out a stethoscope. "We will just have a look and a listen."

Clint didn't seem inclined to move. "I'll wait here."

Doctor Michaels bristled. "I want to examine Mrs. Hamilton, Mr. McCann. I can hardly do that with you standing here watching."

"Call me when you've finished the examination."

Clint was scarcely out the door before Doctor Michaels asked, "When was your last menstrual period, Mrs. Hamilton?"

Zoe had to stop and think. "Two or three months ago, I think. I can't remember for sure." The implications of what he was implying slowly encroached on her foggy senses. "But it's nothing to be alarmed about."

Doctor Michaels frowned. "You weren't alarmed or suspicious when you missed two, possibly three monthly periods?"

"No, it's happened before." Zoe was beginning to think maybe she should have been.

The doctor arched a skeptical eyebrow. "When was this?"

Pulling herself to a sitting position, Zoe drew a long breath. "My first husband, David, died with leukemia. During the last six months of his illness, I had one, maybe two menstrual periods. I was so distraught, that I lost all track of time. Later when I looked back and tried to remember dates and times, I couldn't."

"And you think that's the problem now, worry, tension, anxiety?" He sounded more like an attorney interrogating a hostile witness than a doctor concerned about the welfare of a patient.

"Quite frankly, I hadn't thought about it at all." A chill of fear fanned through Zoe. She and Clint had taken no precautions at all the night they had made love in the attic. She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. "But now that I consider, yes, I'm sure that's all it is." The chill grew to a shudder. Did Doctor Michaels know of Holt's inability to perform sexually? Of course he knew. He was Holt's personal physician. He had to know. "If the problem doesn't go away, I'll see a doctor." Slowly, insidiously, the ramifications of her possible plight begin to impact. Her recently deceased husband had been impotent, and Doctor Michaels knew that. Her defiant chin lifted. "What are you going to tell Clint?"

"The truth, that you are overwrought and fatigued. You need a day or so of bed rest." And that was exactly what Doctor Michaels reported to Clint and Maggie. His explanation seemed to satisfy both of them.

Zoe spent the next two days in bed with Bridget bringing her meals, and Nancy fussing over her like an old mother hen.

Late in the afternoon of the second day of Zoe's confinement, Nancy appeared in the doorway with a stack of towels in her arms. "How are you feeling, Mrs. Hamilton?" She detoured on her way to the bathroom and came to stand at the foot of Zoe's bed. "You look pale."

"I'm feeling much better."

"Well, you don't look better." Nancy called over her shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

"I'm thinking of getting out of bed." Zoe called after her.

From the bathroom, Nancy speculated, "I don't think that would be wise. Mr. McCann's orders are that you stay in bed."

Zoe thought that Clint had exceeded his authority by giving such an order. When she saw him she would tell him so. "Where is Mr. McCann now?"

Nancy stuck her head around the door. "He's downstairs yelling at everyone, barking orders like a top sergeant."

Zoe was beginning to suspect that both Clint and Maggie were avoiding her. "Is Miss Sullivan here?"

Nancy shook her head in negation as she came to retrieve Zoe's robe from the back of a chair and lay it across the foot of her bed. "Miss Sullivan went to Midland last night. She and Mr. McCann are busy making funeral arrangements for poor Mr. Hamilton, God rest his soul." Nancy sighed. "I just can't believe Mr. Hamilton is gone."

Thoughts of funeral arrangements stirred a host of painful memories. Alone, Zoe had coped with planning for David's funeral and interment. It seemed now like an eternity ago that she had sat in the funeral director's office in Summerville and made final arrangements to lay David to rest. In reality it had been less than a year. Now she was faced, once again, with the anguish of burying a husband. That thought exploded with electrifying reverberation. She had lost two husbands in the space of ten months. "No. It can't be."

"You have to accept it," Nancy philosophized, thinking Zoe's outcry was one of grief. "My Granny always said, it's always darkest just before you count your blessings."

Zoe smiled at Nancy's convoluted adage. She did have one blessing for which to be thankful. She had destroyed every trace of the evidence that told of her terrible heritage and just in time. "I suppose you're right."

Nancy's reply was cut short by Clint opening the door and sashaying boldly into the room. "I have to talk to you." He nodded toward Nancy. "Go find something to do."

"Yes sir." Nancy scooted around Clint and disappeared down the hall.

Clint turned to close the still open door. "I don't need Nancy listening to what I have to say." He scowled. "How are you feeling?"

Zoe reached for her robe. "I'm fine." Standing, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and tied the belt with a flourish. "You could have knocked."

He ignored her remark. "I've made all the funeral arrangements. The old man will be buried tomorrow. Private services will be held in the chapel of the funeral home." He narrowed his gaze and waited, thinking, apparently, that Zoe would object to his acting without consulting her.

"Thank you." She was too relived at not having to attend to the details of yet another funeral to feel anything but relief and a touch of gratitude. "You did find a minister to conduct the service?"

"The funeral director found a priest."

"What time will the services begin?" Once on her feet, Zoe discovered that she was not as strong as she had thought. She sat back down on the bed. "Will there be a limo to pick us up?"

"No, but I'll see that you get there on time. The services begin at ten o'clock in the morning."

"Then everything is settled?"

"Not quite." His words carried an ominous tone that at once put Zoe on guard.

"Pallbearers?" she wondered aloud. "Did you remember pallbearers?"

"Everything has been arranged. This is not about the funeral."

She didn't have to be afraid any longer that Clint would, by some twist of fate, learn her true identity. That knowledge made Zoe bold. "Then why don't you tell me what it is about, then get out of my room?"

You are one snotty broad."

"So you've told me before."

"I had a long talk with Doctor Michaels this morning." He was watching her like a hawk. "It was a most interesting conversation."

Had Doctor Michaels discussed with Clint what Zoe had told him two days before in the den? "I didn't know you were interested in medicine." Surely Doctor Michaels wouldn't be that unethical.

"I'm not, usually, but I found what Doctor Michaels had to say fascinating. We discussed the results of the autopsy. The old man died of congestive heart failure."

Instinctively, Zoe pulled her robe a little tighter around her. "I assumed as much."

"Do you mind if I sit down?" Clint dropped into a chair before Zoe had a chance to answer. Without preamble, he asked, "Were you blackmailing my father?"

Zoe couldn't stifle the undignified snort that erupted from her parted lips. The accusation was so ludicrous that it was humorous. "Are you out of your mind? You practically forced me to marry your father."

"That was after the old man told me he had been sleeping with you."

"And," She reminded him caustically, "after I told you that was a lie."

He had the decency to look chagrined. "So you did, and I didn't believe you - then." Swiftly, suddenly, Clint was on his feet and striding across the room, coming nearer and nearer.

Zoe moved to the other side of the bed. "And now?"

Clint stopped his advance. "Doctor Michaels tells me the old man was impotent and had been for almost five years." He stepped backward until his legs touched the edge of his chair, then sat down. "If he didn't marry you for sex, then I have to believe you were blackmailing him. What did you have on the old man that he didn't want anyone to find out?"

By now his accusations and suspicions came as no surprise. "I am not a . . . " Zoe almost said a criminal. Remembering some of her recent escapades made her rephrase her denial. "I didn't blackmail anyone."

"If you're lying, I'll find out sooner or later. You can save us both a lot of time and trouble if you tell me now."

"You will find out nothing." Zoe could say those words with conviction. She had destroyed ever shred of evidence that linked her to Sarah Clarke and in the nick of time. "Because there is nothing to find out."

"I don't have time to argue with you." A gust of anger propelled Clint to is feet. "After tomorrow you have two weeks to get out of this house and away from Triple H. Your blood sucking days are over." His hand was on the doorknob. "Do I make myself clear?"

Pain choked in Zoe's throat. "I can be out in two days."

"No, you need to stay for a couple of weeks."

His back was to her, but she could see the muscles in his neck and shoulders bulge and contract. "Don't tell me you're concerned about what people will say."

"I'm anxious to tie up every loose end before you go. The old man's will has to be probated before you leave. After that, you're history." He left without waiting for a reply.

The fact that he could so summarily dismiss her from his life was the final blow. She meant nothing to Clint McCann. He had already forgotten their brief, ecstatic moments of lovemaking. And that episode would be vividly etched into her memory for a lifetime. She huddled on the side of the bed, a pathetic figure steeped in grief and remorse. She would leave Triple H as soon as Holt's will was probated. Perhaps, with time, she could lay the past with all its painful memories to rest.

That hope sustained her through the somber ceremony of burial, and the sad but strained goodbye to Maggie the following day. "I hope things go well for you," she told Maggie. The tension between them was almost palatable.

"I wish the same for you." Maggie extended her hand. "Will you be going back to Summerville?"

Zoe shook her head. "No. I'm going. . . ." She stopped. "Somewhere else."

Maggie nodded. "I understand. It's best I don't know where you are."

Sadly, Zoe agreed. "You're right." It seemed ironic that the crime that had once united them in a close conspiratorial bond now served as a barrier to any further friendship. She shook Maggie's hand warmly, "Good luck," then wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'll always remember you." Maggie's eyes swam with tears, also. "And don't you dare forget me," she called as she hurried out the door.

Through the next two weeks, Zoe was forced to come to grips with a grim reality. She was pregnant. That altered her plans, drastically. She had hoped to go to some large city and resume her teaching career. Now that was out of the question, at least until her baby was born. That left one alternative. She reached for the telephone and dialed Robert Patton's number.

Robert seemed surprised to hear from her. "Is something wrong, Zoe?"

She was really becoming quite an accomplished liar. "No, everything is fine. Why?"

"I have spoken with your stepson several times in the past few months. He is always quick to assure me that you are well and happy. He's insisted that you have no desire to speak to me."

What could Zoe say? "My husband's been ill. That occupied most of my time." She went on to explain that she wanted to put her house on the market. "I have no further use for it now."

"That house has been in the Adair family for generations." Robert sighed into the receiver. "Are you sure you want to let it go?"

"I'm sure." It would break her heart to lose her family home. "And the sooner the better."

"I'll list it tomorrow with Summerville Realty."

After once more assuring Robert that she was all right, Zoe hung up the phone and sighed. One more link with her past had been severed.

The day that the will was to be read finally arrived. Zoe tried to calm her fluttering nerves and settle her queasy stomach. She had not seen Clint since the day of the funeral. His only contact with her was a curt message delivered by Nancy the previous day. "Mr. McCann says Mr. Hamilton's will is to be read tomorrow. He wants you in the den by nine o'clock in the morning."

Zoe looked in the mirror at her pale face and wondered if she was up to this ordeal. "It will be over soon," she consoled her reflection. "Then you can go away and try to forget." With stoic resignation, she closed her bedroom door and began to make her way down the hall.

Halfway down the stairs, the sound of loud, arguing voices, drifted up from the first floor entrance way. Clint was shouting. "Get out! Now!"

The answering cry came from Hartford. "Not without references and severance pay!"

Clint's scathing reply echoed up the open staircase. "You don't deserve either! Get out!"

The slam of the front door sounded over Clint's loud imprecations. Zoe stopped at the foot of the staircase. "What was that all about?"

Clint turned, fire flashing from his eyes, "I caught that bastard Hartford in bed with Bridget. Can you imagine a man seducing a woman like Bridget? She has the mentality of a five-year-old child." Clint was furious. "I suspect he was in Bridget's bed the day the old man died."

Zoe recalled vividly that the day she had returned Holt's safe deposit key to his ring, Holt had been alone. "I don't think Hartford could have saved Holt even if he'd been there."

"That doesn't excuse dereliction of duty," Clint stormed. "The son-of-a-bitch had the gall to ask for references." He reached for his hat. "Are you ready?"

The ride to Midland was long and silent. Clint kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel until the car had sped past the Midland city limits sign. Then he turned, abruptly, and let his eyes scan Zoe's taunt form for a few seconds. "Will you be going back to Summerville?"

He was reminding her that he wanted her to leave, and the sooner, the better. "Where I go is not your concern."

The muscles in his jaw tightened. "I want to know that you will be all right."

"And why shouldn't I be?"

"You don't look well. Nancy and Bridget have both voiced their concern about you. They tell me you aren't eating, and you've spent a good part of the past two weeks in bed.

"I'll be all right when I get away from Triple H and all that's happened there." Zoe turned her head to stare out the window. Tears distorted the sign boards that lined the highway. "I've had a great deal of time to think over the past two weeks. I want to give my shares of Hamilton Ltd. back to you. I have no claim on them. We can take care of that transaction today after the reading of the will."

Clint's voice hummed with suspicion. "What kind of a game are you playing?"

Zoe swallowed over the lump in her throat. "I'm not playing games. I'm leaving Triple H tomorrow. I'd like to sever all ties before I go." Weariness flattened her voice. "I don't want the oil wells either or the gas well. And I'm returning the money you gave me to marry Holt."

"You're no longer gainfully employed." Clint pulled into the parking lot of the Gas and Oil Building. "What the hell do you think you're going to live on?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I sold my house in Summerville last week. That should tide me over until I find a teaching position."

"That's nonsense." Clint stopped the car and turned to stare at her. "How much did you get for the house? Was there a mortgage?"

Physical discomfort and mental anguish were taking their toll. "That's not your concern."

"We can talk about it after the will is read."

"There is nothing to talk about." Zoe swallowed the nausea that rose in her throat. "I'll have Carter take care of the necessary paper work. I want it all done before we leave here today."

Clint got out of the car and came around to open Zoe's door. "I can't let you leave Triple H until you've recovered."

Until she recovered! Zoe wanted to laugh and to cry. Until she recovered from what? Her pregnancy? That would be at least six months. From her broken heart? That might be never. "You can't stop me from leaving tomorrow. Don't even try."

Zoe hurried toward the entrance with Clint treading on her heels. "I think I can, and I just might."

Zoe had reached the limit of her endurance. Turning, she almost collided with him. "Stop, please. I can't take any more." Her small body shook. Tears stood in the corners of her emerald eyes. She had no idea how fragile and defenseless she looked.

Nodding, Clint took her arm. "Let's go."

Chapter Twenty-Four

The moment Clint and Zoe entered the outer offices of Fields, Fenton, Norwich, and Fields, they were ushered into Judge Avery Field's private suite. The elder Fields was an imposing figure, wearing a dark business suit and seated behind a huge oak desk. "Do come in." The couple was inside, and the door was closed before Avery stood and came around his desk to greet them. "Sit down, this shouldn't take long."

Although Zoe hadn't requested Carter's presence at the reading, she had assumed that he would be there. She looked back toward the door, half expecting to see him charging into the room like some belated knight errant rushing to rescue a damsel in distress. "I expected Carter to be here. Is he. . . ?"

"Something unexpected arose," Avery explained in that silky, sonorous voice. "Carter is in court this morning." He paused behind a chair and extended one hand. "Sit down, my dear, you look a bit under the weather. If you feel that Carter should be present, we will postpone the reading until a later date."

That was the last thing Zoe wanted. "It's not necessary that Carter be here if you can attend to some other matters for me after the will is read."

Clint moved uneasily across the floor. "Let's hear the will, then decide if any further action on your part is necessary."

Clint was running true to form. He suspected she had some ulterior motive for returning the gifts Holt had lavished on her? Zoe had some misgivings of her own. She was beginning to suspect that Avery and Clint had conspired to have the reading of the will when Carter was absent from the office. It was all academic now. She renewed her determination to settle her business with Clint McCann before she left this office today.

The reading of the will took less than thirty minutes. Holt had left his worldly possessions to his only son and heir. After the first two boring sentences had departed Avery's Fields's mouth and drifted out into the warm air of his elaborate office, Zoe tuned him out and begin to make concrete plans for her departure. The metropolis of Dallas was less than a day's drive. She would go there. If she budgeted carefully, the money from the sale of her house should see her through the baby's birth and sustain her for a few weeks more. After that, she would find a teaching position and get on with her life.

"Mrs. Hamilton!" Avery Fields was almost shouting her name.

"Yes?" Zoe yanked her wandering thoughts back to the pressing now.

"Do you have any questions?"

"About what?" Since she hadn't heard a word Avery had said she doubted she could ask an intelligent question.

"About the terms of your husband's will."

"No, I have no questions. But there is the matter of the gifts Holt gave me." When Avery Field's answer was a blank stare, she explained, "I want to give them back."

Avery's shaggy silver brows pulled together across his patrician nose. "I'm rather pressed for time at the moment. I have another client waiting in the outer office. Zoe couldn't miss the knowing glance that passed between Avery and Clint. "Why don't you and Clint go somewhere and have lunch? Perhaps I can work you into my schedule later this afternoon."

If Avery Fields thought she would be deterred by his casual dismissal, he was mistaken. "How much later?"

"I'm not sure. I can speak with my secretary and have her set up a tentative appointment."

Zoe's head spun as she stood to her feet. She didn't intend to be put off again. "I'll waited for Carter and let him help me." She grasped the back of her chair to steady herself. "My late husband did insist that he should be my attorney."

Clint was watching Zoe with a strange mixture of defiance and concern. "Avery will see us at two-thirty." He pierced Avery with a stabbing stare. "Won't you Judge?"

"I suppose I can work you in."

"Meanwhile, we can have lunch." Clint took Zoe's arm. "Are you all right?"

Zoe tried to pull from his grasp, but he held on and began to guide her toward the door.

"There's a delightful little Mexican restaurant just down the street," Avery volunteered as he followed Clint and Zoe into the outer office.

Clint was holding the car door open for Zoe before she found the courage to tell him, "I don't want you to be present when I talk to Avery."

Clint slammed the door, a little too hard, then took his time going around the car and getting into the driver's seat. "Is Mexican food all right?"

Zoe's stomach was in no condition to digest anything more than dry toast and hot tea. "I'm not hungry."

Clint backed from the parking lot and pulled into the moving traffic. "You have to eat. Where did Maggie take you for your birthday lunch?"

Zoe was going to be sick. Waves of nausea begin to rise from the pit of her empty stomach and fan out in debilitating surges through her body. "I can't remember the name." She improvised. "Maggie said it was her favorite restaurant." Putting her head against the seat, she thought how weary she was of lies and deceit. A sudden, sharp pain shot across her lower back. It was accompanied by a chill that shivered through her body. As the pain subsided, fear took command. She was not just being plagued by the discomfort of early pregnancy, she was definitely, maybe seriously ill. Panic became companion to the nausea. Sitting up, she ordered, "Stop the car!"

At her command, Clint slowed the vehicle. "We're on a busy thoroughfare. I can't just. . . ." He turned to briefly scan her pale, pinched face, before pulling into a busy grocery store parking lot and bringing the car to a lurching stop.

Zoe read the astonishment in his face as another rigorous chill rode through her. "Get me to a hospital." The anguish in her lower back struck again, making her double over in pain.

Without a word, Clint wheeled out of the parking lot and onto the crowded street. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming down with something?"

By now Zoe's lower back was a mass of pain. As consciousness came and went, she agonized that this was her punishment for her wicked lies and vicious deceit. She was going to lose her baby. "Hurry, please, hurry!"

The next half hour was, for Zoe, a maze of half-remembered pain coupled with rising then fading recollections of Clint carrying her into an office, shouting to the receptionist, then, amid a din of calls and answers, commands and entreaties, laying her on a cold examining table. The prick of a needle in her arm sent her into a state of hazy semi-consciousness that progressed to a floating, euphoric sleep.

When Zoe opened her eyes again, the room was dark, and she was alone. She felt across her stomach, then reached to brush her fingers over her face before sitting up and swinging her feet to the sides of the narrow cot. She was still cold and weak, but the pain had reduced to a dull ache.

Doctor Michaels appeared at the door and flicked a switch that flooded the room with light. "Mrs. Hamilton, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Am I in a hospital?"

"No. You're in my office."

If Doctor Michaels had examined her, and obviously he had, he knew. Zoe saw no use in mincing words. "What's wrong with me, besides being pregnant?"

The doctor smiled in his best bedside manner. "Don't look so alarmed. You have a urinary tract infection. It's painful but not life threatening, to you or your child. I've given you a shot and prescribed antibiotics. You should be as good as new in a few days."

"May I get up now?" Zoe was wearing a thin cloth gown that tied in the back. Her feet were bare.

"Yes, I'll have Miss Parker bring your clothes." Doctor Michaels stepped to the door and signaled for his nurse. "I'll need to see you in about a week. Clint's made an appointment. Meanwhile you should stay off your feet and try not to worry."

Zoe wouldn't be here in a week and Clint damn well knew that. She started to protest, then decided that Clint could explain to Doctor Michaels when she failed to show a week from now.

A tall nurse in a starched uniform bustled into the room as Doctor Michaels made his departure. She was carrying a large brown bag. "Your personal belongings, Mrs. Hamilton." She put the bag down on the cot beside Zoe. "Get dressed, your stepson is waiting for you in the reception room." The smiling nurse was already half out the door. "Turn off the light when you leave."

Zoe glanced at her watch. The digital dial flashed six-thirty-three. Good heavens she'd been here since before noon. She began to dress.

As she was pulling her dress over her head, belated realization made her slow her movements and sit back down on the cot. Clint had talked to Doctor Michaels. That meant he had to know that she was pregnant and to realize that he had to be the father. She could imagine how shocked and angry he must be. Her next impulse was to find a back door and run. That would be foolish. She had no money and no place to go. She would have to face him and ride out the storm. With a weary sigh, she began again to pull her dress over her head.

Five minutes later, she walked into the deserted waiting room to find Clint slumped in a chair, thumbing through a magazine. "I'm ready to go."

He pitched the magazine toward a nearby table and vaulted to his feet. "Good." He held the door open, then followed her into the hallway. "The car's this way." They walked down the dimly lit passageway. "Are you up to walking to the parking lot?"

Zoe lifted her chin. "I can make it."

They walked the short distance to the car in total silence. As Clint backed from the parking area and pulled onto the street, that quiet became heavy, almost stifling. As they neared the west edge of the city, he pulled onto an access road and into a McDonald's. "You have to eat, and we have to talk."

"I'm not hungry." Strangely enough, that was true. "And I don't feel up to talking, not to you, anyway."

Clint pulled the car into a parking slot, got out, and went into the restaurant. He came out, several minutes later, carrying two food containers and two large paper cups.

"No, thank you," Zoe protested when Clint extended one of the containers in her direction.

"I believe the old adage is, you're eating for two now."

She didn't know what she'd expected him to say, certainly she had not anticipated such a calm and direct approach. "So I am." She took the carton and then the drink, opened them both, and poked her plastic fork around in the salad he had brought her.

Clint opened his own carton, and bit into a hamburger before ordering, "Eat."

Zoe discovered, after the first bite slid down her throat, that she was ravenous. She had finished the salad and most of the drink before Clint asked, in that same matter-of-fact tone, "Do you want an abortion?"

Just as matter-of-factly, she countered, "Is that what you want?" She had no intention of killing her baby, sooner or later, he would have to know that.

"Are you saying that I have some choice in this matter?"

Even in her agitated frame of mind, that brought a smile. "Not really, I have no intention of flushing my baby down a commode in some abortion clinic."

"Then we deal with the situation."

"Not we, me." Zoe pointed her index finger at her chest. "My problem, my child. This has nothing to do with you."

"I happen to think differently. It's my child, too." He wrapped the crust of his hamburger in a napkin and pushed it into his empty cup. "How could a woman with your experience have engaged in unprotected sex?"

"I might ask you the same question." She had thought of their lovemaking as sheer ecstasy, the most earthshaking event she'd ever experienced. His frame of reference was unprotected sex. When would she learn not to wrap her foolish hopes in the frail armor of illusion?

"I assumed you were protected." He turned the key in the ignition and shifted into reverse. "I thought you were sleeping with the old man." Those words brought a grimace of disgust to his face and a look of surprise to hers.

"Now you know Holt lied," she retorted with cold sarcasm.

"Regardless of how it came about, this situation has some far reaching consequences. I guess you know that. Every one will assume the child you are carrying belongs to the old man."

Zoe reasoned aloud, "Maybe that's best. Holt can't object, and it lets you off the hook."

Clint hit the accelerator. Tires spun in the gravel as the car shot out onto the highway. "You are one snotty broad."

She had not intended to stir his wrath, but she had and in retrospect, she could understand why. "That was a rotten thing to say. Chalk it up to fatigue and frustration."

His outlaw profile was grim. "I'm a little edgy, too. You'd better get one thing straight. No child of mine is going to grow up tagged with another man's name."

She thought he was overreacting, and she said so. "Technically, you are a Hamilton." For the first time, she wondered. "Why didn't you take Holt's name?"

"My mother refused to change it when I was a kid, later, it seemed stupid to try to become someone I wasn't."

The answer didn't make a lot of sense, but Zoe accepted it. He was beginning to sound like a man who intended to be a part of his child's life. That was an eventuality she'd never considered. "Why don't we leave well enough alone for now?"

His voice was deceptively calm. "That depends on what you consider to be 'well enough'."

Zoe sensed his unspoken fury and wondered why he should be so angry. She's thought that Clint would be happy to be relieved of the responsibility of a bastard child. Now she was beginning to have second thoughts. A murmur of caution pushed in around her rising confusion. "After the baby is born, I can get in touch with you. We can come to some decision then."

Clint pulled around an eighteen-wheeler. "If Doctor Michaels hadn't told me you were pregnant, would you have gone away without letting me know I was going to be a father?"

She didn't want to answer that question. "It doesn't matter now, since you do know."

"It matters to me. Do you have any idea what it's like to grow up knowing that you were an accident that should never have happened?"

She could have told him that, thanks to his father, she was finding out. Instead, she bit her lip and remained silent.

"It's hell." Clint's long fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "I spent my childhood being shuttled back and forth from Mamma to the old man, then back to Mamma again, in one custody battle after another."

It was not difficult to deduce that Clint's traumatic childhood had left indelible scars. "Who finally won?"

"In a custody battle, nobody wins. When I reached the ancient age of fourteen, the court decided I was old enough to choose for myself which parent I preferred. After a particularly fierce day in court, a beleaguered judge took me to his chambers and delivered his ultimatum. 'Son, it's up to you. Do you want to live with your mother or your father?' His voice seethed with bitterness. "How the hell does a fourteen-year-old boy make a choice like that?"

His distress snagged on the pain in her heart. How, indeed? "And did you choose?"

Again, that ironic smile appeared. "Even then, I was a diplomat. I chose to stay with the Mamma during the school year and the old man during holidays and summers. I thought that would end the fighting, it didn't. My parents' hate for each other was stronger than their love for me." His fist came down hard on the steering wheel. "No child of mine will live like that!"

His outburst startled her. She had not realized how unhappy his childhood had been. Small wonder that he had grown up to be a bitter, disillusioned man. She murmured an inadequate, "I'm sorry."

"I don't want your sympathy." He raked her face with a brief, angry glance. "Did I ask for your sympathy?"

"No." Maybe she should try to reassure him. "I will be a good mother." Instinctively, she laid her hand across her flat stomach. "And you can see him from time to time."

"Suppose the child's a girl?"

Zoe shrugged. "Then you can see her from time to time."

"In what capacity?"

He was crowding and confusing her. His reaction to the news of her pregnancy was in direct opposition to what she had expected. "Legally, as things stand, you're the child's half-brother. We can set up some kind of visitation schedule, after awhile, when she, or he, is a little older."

With eloquent arrogance, he suggested, "Why don't you give me the child and let me raise it? I'd be glad to give you visitation privileges, after awhile, when he, or she, is older."

His words infuriated her. "I would never give my child up, not to anyone, for any reason."

"But you expect me to give up my rights?"

"You have no rights!"

His eyes were blue ice as he flashed a glance her way. "So you want to play rough? All right, let's see who holds all the trump cards. Doctor Michaels would be happy to attest to the fact that the old man could not possibly be the father of your child."

A new fear began to uncurl inside of her. It was one she dared not articulate. "Watch the road."

His glance shifted back to the highway. "Did you plan this pregnancy to assure that an heir apparent would share with me in the old man's estate?"

She was appalled that he would make such an accusation. "You, above all others, should know this pregnancy wasn't planned."

"Oh, really?"

His smug attitude made her blood boil. "You . . . . we . . . ." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "It just happened."

"No, you made it happen. After I interrupted your little tryst with Carter, you zeroed in on me. Any man would do, all you wanted was to be pregnant. If I hadn't been willing, would you have tried to seduce Hartford?"

His harsh words beat at her. "Is that what you think?" She whispered as tears filled her eyes.

"I don't know what to think. I do know you now have an heir apparent to the Hamilton fortune. Do I have to resort to a legal battle to gain access to my own child?"

This man was utterly and completely ruthless, and he was right, he did hold the winning hand. "All right, I'll stay at Triple H until the baby comes."

"That's not good enough." Clint stopped before the entrance to Triple H, and waited for the guard to open the gate. "I know what happens when a man doesn't marry the woman who's carrying his child. That child is a weapon for her to use against him for the rest of his life. My own parents taught me that. You could walk away any time you chose, and I couldn't stop you. What I need is something to give me some leverage."

"I give you my word," She lifted her hand, hoping to give credibility to her promise. "I won't run away."

"Is the best you can offer, some double-tongued promise? You will have to do better than that."

"I don't know what else I can do."

The car pulled through the gate, and it clanged shut behind them. "You can marry me, as soon as possible."

She reeled under the impact of his words as a stupefying paralysis immobilized her thought processes. "You are my stepson. I can't marry you."

His shrug gave her hope. "Suit yourself."

Encouraged by his apparent acceptance of her refusal, she added, "Holt's been dead less than a month. He was a nationally known figure. My sudden marriage to his son would create a barrage of speculation and gossip." She felt some pride in having stated her case so eloquently. That pride was short lived.

"Your recently deceased husband was a notorious rake who had been reduced to the status of over-the-hill-playboy. I'm sure the public would love to speculate as to why he married you." Clint slowed for the few stray cows that wandered across the road. "Maybe it was because you bear such a striking resemblance to his first wife."

Zoe gritted her teeth. "You are a bastard."

"Granted. Maybe that's why having a child of my own suddenly hold such appeal to me."

"Legally, the child belongs to Holt. There is no way to alter that."

"You're wrong again. When this baby is born, it will be born to Mr. and Mrs. Clinton Jarrett McCann. And McCann is the name it will carry."

Zoe's frantic mind searched for some shred of an argument that would deter him. "What about Amy?"

Clint shrugged. "What about her?"

The rooftops of Triple H were coming into view. "You're engaged to be married to Amy. You must be in love with her."

"In love?" He snorted his disgust. "Me? In love? He smiled as he repeated the words. "Grow up, woman. Love is a figment of foolish childish imagination. Did you 'love' your first two husbands?"

"You are one insulting son-of-a-bitch."

"To quote my intended, 'So you have told me'."

"I am not your intended, and legally, the child will still be Holt's."

"All that is necessary to invalidate that argument is to prove that the old man was incapable of fathering a child. We both know he was impotent. I hope I don't have to call a press conference to announce that rather disturbing fact."

"You wouldn't dare." The ruthless set of his face told her he would.

"Do you want to find out?" They were pulling into the driveway.

"No." A chill swept through her.

"I think we should be married as soon as possible. Hopefully, we can conduct the entire ritual without too much fanfare."

Zoe unfastened her seat belt and opened the door. With a sense of restless foreboding, she set her feet onto the asphalt drive, and pointed them toward the gloomy old house.

Chapter Twenty-Five

A day passed, then two. Zoe stayed in her room and held her own counsel. She used her physical condition to explain why she refused to come downstairs. "I'm still feeling a little ill." In truth, it was her mental dilemma that drove her to seek solitude. She was torn by a dozen conflicting emotions. Every sane thought that passed through her mind told her that she was a fool for even considering marriage to Clint McCann. Her foolish heart didn't want to listen.

She stood now, looking at her own reflection in the full length mirror that covered her bathroom door. "You have to be out of your mind to even consider such a preposterous proposal." She leaned forward and studied the pale face of the woman who stared back at her. "You don't even know the man." Closing her eyes, she remembered the sweetness of his lovemaking. It had been fiery, too, and ardent. But that underlying sweetness was what captured and held her heart.

The bedroom door opened suddenly causing her to jump and turn.

"Where are you?" Clint's gruff tones fractured the air.

Zoe came around the door and into the bedroom. "Don't you ever knock?"

"Sit down." Clint lowered himself into a chair. "We have to clear the air."

She didn't move. "What do you want?"

He nodded toward a chair. "Sit down." After a pause, he added a surprising, "Please."

A sudden, unreasonable fear grabbed her. He was going to say he didn't want to marry her after all. But wasn't that what she had wanted? Yes - No. The shadows of her self deception were banished in one illuminating flash of insight. If there was the slightest chance that she could make a marriage to Clinton McCann work, she was more than willing to gamble on that slim chance. "You want to talk?"

He smiled, a twisted, boyish grin that pulled at her heartstrings. "That too."

"Second thoughts?" She wasn't up to coping with this. His rejection was going to kill her.

"Tell me about David."

Defiance tempered her despair. "David was my husband."

"That much I know."

"What else is there to tell?"

"What was he like?" He asked with such candor that her defiance slipped away.

"He was slim and not much taller than I. His hair was brown, as were his eyes." Memory was pulling her into its undertow. A sad little smile tilted her lips. "He was a sensitive man, gentle and kind. He loved classical music, Victorian poetry, and gardening." Her voice drifted away on a sigh.

Softly, Clint prompted, "And?"

"And he was the bravest man I ever knew. He faced death with more courage than most people can find to face life." Tears were collecting in her eyes and the back of her throat. Much more of this and she would be sobbing her heart out over a loss that she thought she had put behind her. "But he's gone now, and I can't bring him back."

"Which brings us to now." Clint crossed his feet and stared down at the toes of his boots. "Why did you marry the old man?"

If ever a moment demanded the unadorned truth, this was it. Try as she might, Zoe couldn't bring herself to tell it. "Your father's age and illness made him a little unbalanced. In his confusion, he looked at me and saw Sarah. He applied pressure, so did you. I didn't know how to cope." She hadn't answered his question, neither had she lied. She had played fast and loose with the truth. Would Clint find it a sufficient explanation? She spread her hands in a helpless little gesture. "What else can I tell you?"

His smooth brow knitted into a frown. "Is there more?"

She was so tempted to tell him the truth, to bare her soul, confess everything. Would he believe such a fantastic story? She had no proof. She had destroyed every shred of evidence that linked her to Sarah Clarke. Suppose he didn't believe her? Or worse yet, what if he hated her because she was Sarah Clarke's daughter? If he knew who she really was, he might take legal steps to gain custody of the child she carried. If she ever began, she'd have to tell the entire story. That would mean involving Maggie. Maggie had made it more than clear that she never intended to admit her part in a crime. A crime! Dear God! If Clint knew everything she had done he could bring criminal charges against her. In the space of a heartbeat, she made her decision. "No, there's nothing else to tell."

"Then we can consider the matter closed." He was not only being magnanimous, he was being candid and open. "Over the past two days, I've done some serious thinking." He moved about uncomfortably in his chair. "I have to ask."

She closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable. Already the sting of rejection was sparking bites of pain throughout her body. "Ask what."

"Do you think this marriage has a prayer?"

Her eyes opened wide. "You do?"

"I'm willing to give it a try." His voice was low and smooth. "If you are."

"I am." Relief made her giddy. "I definitely am." Her heart fluttered with misgivings, then her spirits lifted. "Do you think it can?" The world was suddenly a bright and beautiful place.

"Maybe, if we can be realistic and if neither of us expects too much."

She walked to the window to stare at the dismal scene outside. A north wind was sighing through the bare tree branches. The earth was flat and brown, even the grass on the lawn had withered and died. "We don't really know each other very well."

"We know we're sexually compatible." He smiled at his own words.

"From one time you could tell?" Zoe had not always achieved satisfaction when she and David had made love. Never before that night in the attic had she reached such a shattering climax.

Clint's smile gave way to a deep chuckle. "Yes, couldn't you?"

If she told him the truth it would mean having to confess that her sex life with David had been bland and sometimes unsatisfying. She couldn't do that to a man who had meant so much to her. "Are you telling me it could be that way every time?" Her eyes dilated with wonder.

"You thought it was some isolated happening?" His head wagged from side to side. "How may men have you slept with, Zoe?"

He must be remembering that morning in the attic when she had let him think, no she had led him to believe, she was a very experienced woman. Much more of this, and he'd catch her in yet another lie. Brazenly, she asked, "How many women have you slept with?"

"Touche." A caustic smile curved his lips. "I see no reason why it can be 'that way' for a long time to come."

She reasoned that he should know. He was an experienced man who had probably made love to scores of women. He was telling her also that sooner or later the attraction would wear away. She could only hope that his desire for her would fade later, rather than sooner. "What else don't I know about you?"

"I have to have room."

With her arms across her chest she studied his renegade face, before asking, hesitantly, What. . . . kind of room?"

"Geographical space, for starters. I can't be fenced in, I have no intention of being accountable to anyone for where I go or what I do."

Did that mean he had no intention of being faithful? What else could she expect? He was Holt Hamilton's son. "Is that all?"

"No. I need psychological space too. I don't want anybody trying to get inside my head. My thoughts are my own. I'm a loner. I don't pull well in double harness."

"Do you have some idea that I will try to change you?" She knew better than to try that.

"I was thinking more in terms of reform." He was being painfully honest.

"I have no intention of trying to reform your wicked ways."

Those words brought a wry smile. "Ouch, maybe you do understand."

She came across the room and sat on the bed. "But you must understand some things about me, too."

He leaned forward in his chair. "Shoot."

"I will be a good mother, but I have other interest too. I need to be involved in causes that I think worthy of my concern. I don't want anyone dictating to me about my outside interests or curtailing my efforts."

"Outside interests? Like what?" He seemed more curious than concerned.

"For three years before I came to Triple H, I was a volunteer teacher in a program that provides free tutoring to adults who are functionally illiterate. After my baby comes, I would like to continue that work."

"Our baby," He corrected, gently. "I have no problem with that."

"That's not all. I work each year in campaigns for candidates I wish to see elected to public office."

"Suppose we don't agree politically?" His amusement was showing.

"I don't expect you to champion my causes."

"Causes? There's more?"

She kept her tone light. "I care very much about children." Her voice dropped, became more intense. "Do you have any idea how many children are abused or neglected in this country each year? Do you know the number of teenagers who drop out of school, run away from home, or become pregnant?" She stopped, suddenly, realizing that she was being swept away by her own words. "I would like to devote some time to working toward solving those problems by helping to right some of the wrongs that contribute to them."

He was no longer amused. "You're a crusader. Don't you know by now that you can't change the world?"

"But I have to try." She stared down at her hands folded in her lap and realized that she was wearing the wedding ring that Holt had given her, the one that had once been Sarah's. "My first commitment would be to my own child, of course." She turned the ring around on her finger. The diamonds caught the light and reflected it into a rainbow of colors. "The most important thing a parent can give a child, besides love, is time."

She slid the ring from her finger and laid it on the table beside the bed. "This was Sarah's wedding ring. Did you know that?"

"You want another ring?"

"Yes, please, a plain gold band." She nodded toward the sparkling circle. "You can take this one back."

She was surprised when, with a condescending smile, he agreed. "You can have another ring. I'll put that one back in the safe deposit box where the old man kept it." He slipped the ring in his shirt pocket. "You don't like Sarah very well, do you?"

Zoe sensed she could be treading on dangerous ground. She cleared her throat. "I never knew Sarah personally. It's difficult to assess what she was really like from her public image."

Suddenly, vehemently, Clint declared, "Sarah was a bitch."

How right Zoe had been not to tell him that Sarah was her mother. Relief brought a tremulous smile. Thank God she had been able to destroy all the evidence that tied her to Sarah and with no time to spare. Standing, she extended her right hand. "Then we have a deal?"

Clint moved across the space between them and took her hand in his. "We have a deal. I'll make the arrangements today. We can be married by the end of the week. Would you prefer Friday or Saturday?" He released her hand, and turned to go then he looked back to asked, "Do you want the ceremony to be here or at the court house in Andrews?"

"We won't have to go to Midland?" Zoe was afraid the media would appear on the scene and turn the ceremony into a three-ringed circus. "I can't face a television camera and prying reporters."

"Andrews is a small county seat. I know the county judge there. I can arrange for us to be married in the judge's chambers. I'm due a few favors. The judge can be persuaded to keep the ceremony quiet."

"Can we do it Friday?" Good heavens, she sounded like an anxious bride.

"Friday it is. Be ready by nine o'clock. It's a good hour's drive to Andrews." The door closed softly behind him.

Zoe put her hand over her mouth. Such a strange marriage proposal. No. It hadn't been a proposal, it had been an agreement. Clint hadn't kissed her. Except for a handshake, he hadn't even touched her or indicated in any way that he had any desire to do so. Her hand fell from her mouth to rest on her stomach. "Don't start building impossible dreams." She must not delude herself. Clint's main concern was the child who nestled under her heart. She would have to accept that. "I can," she told herself with a determined lift of her chin. "I can, because I have to, if I want to hold on to the man I love."

Like a bullet fired at close range, the words she had so recently loosed into the open air pierced her thoughts with devastating force, shattering her equilibrium. "I'm in love with that renegade." No! She couldn't be. She loved David. Then she was compelled to admit the truth. What she had known with David paled like a fading dream in the bright reality of the intense emotion she felt for Clint.

From nowhere came a sudden, volatile anger, coupled with a sense of betrayal. They had no right to do this to her! David had no right to die, and Clint had no right to make her fall in love with him. It was almost as if they had conspired together to do this to her. With a rigorous effort, she subdued her wrath. Where was her common sense? David didn't choose to leave her, and Clint was not responsible for her foolish mistakes. She took a deep breath. "I'm in love with Clint McCann, and I have about as much chance as a ten-gallon hat in a windstorm of him ever loving me."

Two days passed with Clint nowhere in sight. Even though she took all her meals downstairs and sat for sometime after each meal in the living room, Zoe saw only the household staff, and some of them only on rare occasions. She suspected that both Sally and Nancy were avoiding her. Farnsworth was strangely quiet and distant. When Zoe tried to speak with Mrs. Mendez, the rotund lady replied in Spanish, thus ending the conversation almost before it began. Even Bridget refused to answer Zoe's questions. "Mr. Farnsworth says I am to keep my mouth shut if I want to keep my job."

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, Zoe had decided that Clint must have had a change of heart and was now searching for someway to break that news to her. A dozen doubts and fears sprang up to plague her, sprouting in her mind like ubiquitous weeds in a well-kept garden. What if Clint had learned she was Sarah's daughter? He had said that he was going to open Holt's safe deposit box. What if, by some treacherous stroke of fate, she had overlooked some of the evidence there? She covered her face with her hands. "Please, God, don't let him find anything there."

What if Amy had intervened? Maybe she had persuaded Clint that marrying Zoe was a bad idea. Amy was not the type of woman who would let go of her man without a fight. Had Clint spent the last three days with Amy? God forbid! The agony of that thought sent Zoe into a frenzy of agitation. She jumped to her feet and began to pace across her bedroom floor.

A knock from outside caused her to turn and stare at the closed door. "Who is it?"

A voice boomed from the other side. "Clint."

When had he ever before bothered to knock? He was going to tell her he had changed his mind. "Come in."

Opening the door, he came into the door and with arrogant ease folded his lean body into a chair. With a nod of his head, he indicated the chair across from him. "I have something to say."

Zoe sat down in the chair, wondering as she did so if he would offer any explanation as to where he had been for three days. He didn't. She recalled what he had told her about not wanting to be fenced in and decided not to ask. "I hope it's good news."

He pushed his hat back with his thumb. "Everything is set, if you haven't changed your mind."

The knot of tension in her stomach began to untie. "No." Dropping her eyes, she studied the floor. "I haven't changed my mind."

"Can you be ready to go to Andrews by nine in the morning?

Relief made her knees weak. "I can be ready." She searched frantically for something else to say and couldn't come up with a single appropriate phrase. When she lifted her head, Clint was staring directly into her eyes, his expression so charged with puzzlement that she winced before asking, "Did you think I would? Change my mind, I mean."

"I thought you might." He put his hand into his shirt pocket and drew out a small velvet box. "I bought your ring." He held out his hand with the box balanced in his palm. "See if you like it."

She took the box between her fingers and opened it with slow deliberation. The ring that nestled in the velvet holder was wide and plain, and to Zoe, absolutely beautiful. Her breath caught in her throat. "It's perfect." She lowered the lid and gave the box back to Clint.

He set it on a nearby table, then put his hand back into his pocket and produced a second, identical, box. "I bought one for me too."

Her happiness almost outran her astonishment. "You're going to wear a wedding band?"

"You don't like the idea?" His tone was teasing.

"I do like the idea. I think I love the idea." She looked at him with love spilling from her eyes, irradiating from her face. "I'm just a little surprised."

"Pleasantly, I hope."

Her joy reached all the way down to her toes. "I think it's wonderful." Then she caught herself. A voice inside her cautious mind warned, careful, don't let him see how much you care. "Is that everything?"

Clint put both boxes back into his pocket. "Not quite. I called Mamma this morning and told her we were going to be married. She seemed more than a little upset that I was going to marry my late father's wife."

Again, Zoe's spirits took a nose dive. "I can see how it must look to her."

"I had to tell her." Clint said with a sigh. "I couldn't let her read about it in some sleazy tabloid."

Zoe asked, "Did you talk to Maggie?" Maggie had made it more than clear the day she left Triple H that she never wanted to see Zoe again. How would she react when she learned Zoe would soon be her sister-in-law?

Clint's hesitation made Zoe wary. "What did Maggie tell you?"

"I didn't talk to Maggie. I asked Mamma to tell her we were going to be married."

What if Maggie decided to tell Clint what she and Zoe had done to his father? Zoe was mulling over that possibility when Clint lifted himself from his chair. "I'll see you tomorrow morning." He pushed his hat more firmly down on his head and stepped toward the door. "At nine o'clock."

Zoe was so caught up in worrying about what Maggie might do or say that she almost failed to answer. "Tomorrow, yes, at nine."

With a wave of his hand, Clint hurried away, leaving a troubled young woman standing and staring at the closing door.

"What should I do," Zoe asked herself, then answered her own question. "Nothing at all. If Maggie doesn't call by tomorrow morning, I can assume she has decided to keep her mouth shut."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Friday morning dawned, dismal and cold. A wintry wind blew a fine mist of freezing rain across the countryside. Thin sheets of ice veneered the trees and coated the roadways. But nothing, not even an early unexpected freeze could dampen Zoe's spirits. Maggie's silence told Zoe that she must have decided to keep their little secret. That meant that at eleven o'clock this morning Zoe could look forward to exchanging wedding vows with the man she loved.

Thrice married. The thought chilled her. She was stabbed by a sharp recollection. Sarah Clarke was married and divorced three times before she became Holt's wife, and Zoe had judged - no condemned her for that. "But there's a difference," Zoe explained to no one in particular, "Sarah was divorced three times, both of my husbands died." Those words brought very little comfort.

"Stop it." She buttoned the last button on her blouse. It was not enough that everyone else compared her to Sarah, now Zoe herself was finding similarities and searching for fine lines of distinction.

The drive to Andrews was slow and treacherous, but Zoe didn't mind. She was wrapped in a warm blanket of happiness.

Clint was strangely subdued. After asking if Zoe was warm and comfortable, he put a tape deck into the car stereo, turned it up, and gave full concentration to keeping the large sedan on the road.

The sweet, clear voice of George Strait floated out into the car. Zoe put her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. She deliberately made her mind a blank. If she let herself think about what she was about to do, all those fears and doubts would come back to torment her.

As they turned off the interstate, Clint asked, "Are you feeling sick?"

Zoe opened her eyes. "No. The morning sickness is slowly going away."

"I'm glad," he said, then tagged matter-of-factly, "Just before we left Triple H, I instructed Nancy and Sally to move your things from the third floor to a large suite in the east wing of the first floor. The morning sickness may be over, but Doctor Michaels says you should be careful. No more climbing stairs and no more horseback riding until after our baby's born."

The glow that fanned through Zoe would have warmed her if she had been barefoot and coatless at the north pole. "That's very thoughtful, thank you." She looked out the car window at the freezing landscape as her all her little fears and misgivings floated away on a warm flush of happiness.

They veered off the access ramp and drove down the streets of Andrews. The court house, like almost every county seat in every little village or hamlet in Texas, was located on a square in the center of the city. A strong north wind banged signs and pushed debris around in circles through the winding streets. Pedestrians with coat collars pulled up and hats pushed down against the freezing rain, hurried along the narrow sidewalks.

Clint parked on the west side of the square and set his brake, then gripped the steering wheel with both hands and sat staring through the windshield toward the antique edifice that was the courthouse. His silence was like a cavity in time.

Cold began to seep into the car, causing Zoe to draw her coat about her. "It's not too late to change your mind."

Clint's mind seemed to snap back from another place. His head pivoted in her direction. "Is that what you want?"

"I want to go inside. I'm beginning to get cold."

"We can go in the side door and up the back stairs."

Clint held onto Zoe's arm as they made their way up the walk and into the building, then passed unnoticed through the side entrance and up the stairs to the County Judge's office.

Judge Wingate was a tiny, extremely attractive woman. Clint introduced her to Zoe as Winnie. Zoe recalled him telling her earlier in the week that Judge Wingate was beholden to him. For what? she wondered.

Winnie grasp Zoe's hand. "So you're the filly who finally hog-tied Clint. I don't know if I should congratulate you or offer condolences."

A benevolent smile creased Clint's handsome face. "And I thought you were my friend."

Winnie feigned a scowl. "Clint and I go way back, all the way back to third grade to be exact. All joking aside, you're getting quite a man."

"Thanks Winnie for doing this as quietly as possible." Clint glanced around the room. "I see you've chased everybody away."

"They seemed happy to go." A frown knitted Winnie's forehead. "But you do know that sooner or later what is happening here this morning, will find it's way out of my office and into the media, and when it does, who knows what stories will break. I wish it could be among the three of us, it can't. You have to have two witnesses. My secretary will be one witness, Commissioner Burke will be the other. Neither of them will go out and immediately spill his guts, but I can't guarantee what will happen later, when they're approached by some tabloid and offered money and fifteen minutes of fame to tell their story."

Clint seemed unperturbed. "I think most of the publicity will die down now. The old man was the last link with Sarah Clarke." He placed an affectionate hand on Zoe's arm. "Neither Zoe nor I have any claim to fame, and we have no connections to Sarah Clarke, thank God."

Winnie agreed, "Perhaps you're right. Shall I call the witnesses and get on with the ceremony?"

A gnawing nervousness found its way around Zoe's joy. Once again, Sarah's ghost had returned to mar her happiness. Would she ever be free of that woman's haunting presence?

Zoe smiled when she was introduced to Winnie's secretary. Billy Jack Keller was tall and dark, with the physical attributes of a first string quarterback, and a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial. Perhaps there was some justice in the world.

Commissioner Burke was elderly, but robust, with a bald head and jowls that shook when he spoke. The penetrating sharpness of his yellow eyes denied the joviality of his speech and mien. A man to watch, Zoe thought, as she shook his hand.

The ceremony was short but impressive. Winnie had festooned the room with flowers. A chilled bottle of champagne and a tiny cake were tucked away atop a file cabinet. When Clint offered a token protest, Winnie guffawed, "Forget it. I have you to thank for helping me get elected to this job in the first place."

"You got yourself elected," Clint argued. "I supported you because I thought you were the best man for the job."

Winnie sent Zoe a sly wink. "The best man for the job is a woman. That sounds like a trite political slogan." She sipped from her plastic wine glass, then held up one hand, "But I like it, yes I do."

It was well past noon before Clint and Zoe could exit gracefully from Judge Wingate's office. The judge and the two witnesses stood at the top of the stairs and waved their goodbyes. When Billy Jack opened his mouth to shout congratulations, Winnie put her hand on his arm and admonished, "Just wave, Billy Jack."

Billy Jack flashed his toothy smile, then shut his mouth.

As Zoe and Clint pulled away from the courthouse square, the rain stopped. By the time they reached the highway, the sun was sending weak rays of light through the drifting clouds. A good omen, Zoe decided. She stole a glance at the man beside her. His outlaw face was expressionless. "It was a very nice ceremony." That had to be the ultimate in trite comments.

Clint seemed to sense her discomfort. "Why don't you try to relax? I'm not sure all that cake and champagne was a proper lunch for a pregnant woman."

"I only ate a bite of cake." His concern moved her. "And I didn't touch the champagne. I wouldn't dream of consuming alcohol or any other drug while I'm pregnant. I've even given up coffee."

"We can have a proper meal when we get back to Triple H." Clint reached for his cellular phone and began to push buttons. "Farnsworth?" And after a brief pause, "Yes, we are. Have Mrs. Mendez prepare an early dinner for Mrs. McCann and me."

Mrs. McCann, Zoe didn't need anything more than those words to lift her to a state of euphoria. She was Mrs. Clinton McCann. Happiness flooded her heart. That bliss was followed by a sharp pang of fear. Everything was perfect, too perfect. What if. . . ? She banished her fears to the back of her mind.

Clint's sudden outburst brought her back to reality with a jar. He barked into the phone, "If the bastard tries that again, call the sheriff." Putting the phone away, he turned to smile at Zoe, causing color to rise to her cheeks.

"Problems?" she asked.

"Nothing I can't handle." In an instant, Clint's face turned to granite. "Hartford bulldozed his way into Triple H just after we left for Andrews." His uncompromising tone and hard look made Zoe shiver. Too often in the past she had been on the receiving end of Clint's wrath. She knew how obstinate and vindictive he could be. "What happened?"

"Hartford intimidated the guard at the gate into letting him inside, then he came to the house, demanding to see Bridget, and threatening to bring charges against me because I fired him without notice, and refused him severance pay or references after he was dismissed."

"He must have been waiting for us to leave," Zoe reasoned. "He wouldn't dare come to Triple H while you are there."

"He won't get in again, period." Clint's voice was as calm as it was deadly. "I'll see to that. But enough about Hartford. We can talk about something more pleasant."

Shyly, she questioned, "Did you tell the household staff we were going to be married today?"

"The household staff, Gimpy, all the boys in the bunkhouse. I even told that blasted attorney from your old hometown of Summerville."

Her mouth fell open. "Robert Patton? You told Robert we were going to be married? When? Why?"

"When? The last time he called, which was yesterday. Why? So he would butt out of your business, and leave you alone."

Zoe hadn't realized that Robert was still calling. "I thought he had forgotten about me months ago."

That hard edge was back in Clint's voice. "Well, obviously he hasn't."

Zoe knew she was flying in the face of common sense. Clint was already upset, almost angry, but she had to know. "Did you tell Amy we were going to be married?"

What she had thought would send him into a rage made him smile. "Are you jealous of Amy?"

"A little, are you jealous of Robert?"

"Touche." His anger dissipated in the warmth of Zoe's frank admission. "I told Amy, Carter, and Judge Fields. They all had a right to be told before they read the story in the newspaper or some tabloid rag."

"You're concerned about the publicity we may be subjected to, aren't you?" Why hadn't she realized that some sordid publicity was almost inevitable? "Is there some way we can stop them?"

"You're not to worry." Clint stopped the sedan before the gate that guarded the entrance to Triple H. "You take care of the baby. I'll handle the publicity," His eyes flashed in anger, "and Hartford."

The guard waved them through the gate. Clint pushed down on the accelerator, and the car roared toward the house. His seething rage was evident in the curling flare of his nostrils, the hard grip on of his hands on the steering wheel. "No son-of-a-bitch comes into my home and threatens me and gets away with it." The veins in his neck stood out like livid welts.

Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, Zoe reached across the seat and brushed his arm with the tips of her fingers. She felt the muscles in his arm contract with her touch. "Hartford is no match for you. Don't let him upset you." Not today, anyway, she thought as she laid her hand back in her lap. Let today belong to you and me.

As quickly as his anger had erupted, it disappeared, replaced by brutal skepticism. What a volatile, unpredictable man he was. "What makes you think I can handle Hartford?"

"I think you can do anything you set your mind to."

"Are you putting me on?" He sounded reproachful.

Had he taken her honest admiration as rebuke, or worse yet, did he think she was trying to flatter him in a effort to curry favor? "Can't you take an honest compliment in the spirit it was given?"

"So I'm your hero?" Knifing harshness gave his voice a cutting edge. It was almost as if he wanted to find a reason to quarrel with her.

They were pulling into the driveway. "Not exactly." Her calm was being replaced by a rising indignation. "Outlaws and renegades lack the essential ingredient that it takes to be a hero. You may be brave and determined, even fearless, but you don't have an ounce of compassion."

Clint hit the brakes hard. "Compassion, like love is an insipid sentiment without mettle or backbone. If someone deceives me or betrays me, I get even." The car ground to a screeching halt. "It's as simple as that." He pulled his keys from the ignition. "Get inside before you freeze."

Farnsworth greeted them at the door, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him the household staff was assembled; Sally, Nancy, Bridget, Mrs. Mendez, even Gimpy and Hank Howard, the ranch foreman.

"Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. McCann." A wide smile stretched Farnsworth's mouth, creased his gaunt face. "Your dinner's waiting for you in your rooms."

"Doesn't anybody around here have work to do?" Clint tossed his hat on a table in the foyer. His gruffness couldn't hide his pleasure. "You are very kind."

The group behind Farnsworth broke into a babble of laughter and well wishes.

Clint cleared his throat. He was obviously touched by this display of approval and affection. "Thank you, thank you all very much. Now if you will excuse us, Mrs. McCann and I will have a go at that meal you have prepared." Taking Zoe's arm, he led her down a long corridor.

The suite in the east wing was a strange contrast to the other suites and rooms Zoe had seen at Triple H. It's simple early American decor and sturdy maple furniture made it look more like a setting for a modest farm house than a suite at the fabulous Triple H Ranch. Zoe's appreciative eyes scanned the sitting room, taking in the simple drapes that covered the windows, the braided rug on the floor, the Currier and Ives prints that decorated one wall. "This is very nice."

Clint followed her inside and closed the door. "Do you really like it?"

Zoe sat down in a chintz covered chair. "I do, very much."

She was rewarded with a smile that sent her heart spinning. "There's a small study and a kitchenette through that door." Clint pointed to his right. "Our bedroom and the bathroom are there." He nodded toward the door at the far side of the room.

A sudden singing joy ran like quicksilver through Zoe's veins. He had said our bedroom! Did he plan to sleep here with her every night? That was more than she had ever dreamed possible, a fairy tale wish she had never dared hope would come true. "It's so comfortable and warm."

The dinner cart stood in one corner of the room. Clint rolled it to the coffee table and took away the cloth that covered the silver serving dishes, and the elegant china. "This is quite a spread." He lifted a lid and inhaled the aroma. "Smothered steak, my favorite. Shall I serve you madame?"

They ate in awkward silence. The food was delicious, but Zoe couldn't manage to get much of it down. After awhile, she laid her napkin beside her plate and sighed. "The meal was delicious."

A wedding ceremony and threats from a former employee hadn't affected Clint's appetite. He ate a hearty meal. Like any other condemned man Zoe thought, with a wry smile. She watched as he helped himself to a second portion of peach cobbler, then garnished it with a glob of whipped cream. Her meandering thoughts wandered back to another time. "Peach cobbler was my father's favorite dessert."

Looking up, Clint asked, "What was your father like?"

His question caught her unawares. Should she admit that Colonel James Adair was not her father, that she had never known her father? No! Never! "James Adair was an officer and a gentleman. He was every inch a military man, but he had a soft side, too."

Clint laid his fork across his plate and pushed it from him. "You loved him, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. So much. I didn't realize how much until he was gone."

Clint stood and tossed his napkin on the serving cart. "I'll stop by on my way to my office and have Bridget come for the cart."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "You're leaving?"

"I have things to do, business to attend to."

Zoe was beginning to suspect - no, beginning to fear, that Clint's desire for her had died away as suddenly as it had flared. Except for a few affectionate pats on her arm, he hadn't touched her since that night in the attic, nor had he shown any desire to do so. She wanted to ask him to stay. Instinct told her that a show of possessiveness now would be a fatal mistake. Zoe stood on unsteady legs. "It must be very important." Slowly, she turned. "The bedroom is that way, I believe." Disappointment edged her trembling voice. "I'll look around the suite, then find someway to pass the rest of the evening." Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Damn it, this was her wedding night, and she was going to spend it alone. She took an uncertain step toward the bedroom door.

From behind her, Clint asked, "Is something wrong?"

A stab of rejection shafted through her, making her forget every resolve to be cool and indifferent. Without turning, she lifted her chin as another arrow of pain struck with deadly accuracy. "Yes. Something is wrong." She spun around. "No, everything is wrong." Splendid in her resentment, she charged, "This is our wedding night, and you're going to spend it working. I'm your bride. How do you think that makes me feel?" Tears clustered like little jewels across her thick lashes. Her head dropped suddenly. "I'm sorry." A sigh escaped through her pouting lips. "Go, if that's what you want." Her faltering feet moved toward the bedroom door.

Clint caught up to her before she had taken three steps. His hands locked around her shoulders as he spun her around to face him. He swallowed before asking, "You want me to stay?"

Could it be that he had been waiting all this time for her to take the initiative? That seemed highly unlikely, but under the circumstances, it appeared to be true. "Oh, Clint, you idiot, of course I want you to stay."

He took her in his arms and held her as if she were something very dear and precious. His mouth nuzzled her hair. "I thought you might not want to - I don't want to push you."

His reticence moved her to still more tears. She stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear, "I want to, I ache to. Please, Clint, make love to me."

"Yahoo!" His Indian war whoop echoed around the room and bounced off the walls as he scooped her into his arms, and made rapid strides toward the bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Clint kicked the door shut with his foot, then set Zoe on her feet and began to undress her. His hands shook as he struggled with the tiny buttons on her blouse. "Are you sure, sweetheart?"

She lifted her face to stare directly into his eyes. "I'm sure." Pleasure ran like warm wine through her as she closed her eyes and parted her lips for his kiss. Somewhere in the back of her dazed mind, the thought emerged that she would pay for this pleasure with pain, and in double measure. When passion does battle with logic, reason is seldom the victor. She pushed those whispered suspicions aside and surrendered to his erotic assault that severed her mind from her body and sent her spinning into the world of promised sensual fulfillment.

The kiss that began as a soft exploration soon deepened to an insistent invasion that led to a ravaging demand for total surrender. It was an onslaught of tender intensity that sent a wave of sweet, intoxicating desire flowing through her. Reality receded until there was no world except his sucking mouth invading hers, his demanding hardness pressing against her body, his tormenting hands slowly sliding her blouse down over her shoulders.

She unbuttoned his shirt. Just touching him sent an electrifying current of desire ripping through her. With throbbing eagerness, she helped him shed his shirt and his boots, then watched with rapt enchantment as he removed his pants to stand before her, wearing only tight fitting briefs that bulged and distorted, revealing his own pulsating need.

Of their own volition, her hands tugged at the skimpy garment. She knelt before him and pulled them down over his ankles. As he kicked them aside, those same roving hands reached to stroke and caress him with tender wonder. "You are so magnificent." Her lips feathered across his engorged body as her fingers danced over his thighs and across his muscular stomach.

With controlled eagerness, he lifted her to her feet and stripped her of every stitch she wore. His hands moving over her body tenderly, as with maddening restraint he teased her nipples with his mouth. Then he lifted her in his arms, laid her on the bed, and came down beside her with amazing speed.

"Clint?" her voice caught in her throat as once again reason challenged reverie.

His fingers toyed with her swollen breasts. "Yes?"

Reason retreated, "Kiss me here," leaving only the desire to love and be loved.

This was a time of uninhibited discovery. Searching hands groped and explored to stroke and caress secret places of pleasure. Seeking mouths investigated crevices and hollows that responded to each breathless touch with abandoned bliss.

There seemed to be no end to the ways they could please and excite each other. Breathless little words, gasping phrases, whispered instructions brought eager responses.

"Here? Now?"

"Oh, yes, please."

"Touch me here."

"Like this?"

"Oh, God, Yes!"

The searing, climbing need inside Zoe invaded every cell of her being. Blood hammered in her ears as her breath was captured in a throaty gasp. Her last lingering doubts drifted like shadows over the edge of her passion drugged mind.

"Now, Clint, I need to, now!"

"You are wet and so soft."

Her answer was a primitive thrust toward him. "Love me." She gasped with pleasure as he entered her body and pushed, hard.

A triumphant, "Mine!" exploded from his mouth on a gust of expelled breath. Pagan, primitive, his thrusting movements were slow at first, up then down. Then they escalated in speed and force, but always in perfect rhythm with her spiraling need.

She locked her legs around his back and cried out as he moved in and out, plunging then retreating. They were no longer two people caught in the throes of enjoined pleasure, they had become one sweating, reaching, clinging, entity as they grasped, climbed, soared to the ultimate heights of ecstasy.

The world exploded, splintering around them like shattering glass. In unison, they emitted unchained cries of gratification, holding onto each other as climax brought a mind-boggling mutual release.

Zoe relaxed her grip, her legs unclenching as her arms fell to her side. She floated on the gossamer wings of sated contentment back to reality. A slow, secret, sensuous smile curved her lips, joy filled her heart. The experience had been overwhelming, and she knew, through some primeval feminine instinct, that it had been just as wonderful for Clint.

Clint's body pressed her into the mattress as his breath slowly returned to normal, and his heart decelerated to a regular beat. He kissed her tenderly before rolling onto his side and pulling her into the safe circle of his arms. "Sleep now, sweetheart."

She was too gloriously relaxed to offer anything more than a token dispute. "But it's still early evening. What will everyone think?"

"No doubt they will think I am making love to my beautiful wife." Clint yawned as he pushed a strand of hair from her face. "Do you mind?"

She didn't, not in the least. "I should, but I don't. But what if. . . ."

He stopped her question by kissing the side of her damp mouth. "Rest, sweetheart. Tomorrow is soon enough to think about all those what-if's."

Clint fell almost immediately into a sound sleep. Zoe lay in his arms and savored each precious memory of their recent encounter. She was Clint McCann's wife. She was carrying his child. She yawned and began to plan for the future. Somewhere between remembering and anticipating, sleep caught her.

Zoe woke the next morning to see sunlight streaming through the window. She felt the space next to her. Clint was gone, but the warmth of the hollow beside her told her he had only recently departed. She stretched and sat up on the side of the bed as the memories of the night before brought a smile to her lips and a blush of color to her cheeks. Their first coming together had been glorious, wonderful, fulfilling. Then they had slept the drugged sleep of sexual gratification. Sometime near midnight, Zoe stirred, and turned in Clint's arms.

"Are you awake, Sweetheart?" In the darkness his voice was deep, mellow.

Zoe laid her arm across his hairy chest. "Only barely." She inched nearer and kissed his chin.

It was like touching a match to dry grass. He molded her to his body and kissed her with passionate urgency. Her response was immediate and incandescent. She became a liquid flame in his arms. There followed a fiery conflagration that left them both spent and sated. Zoe fell asleep almost before Clint could pull himself from her.

In the wee hours of the morning, as dawn reached rosy fingers of light across an obsidian sky, Zoe awakened again. Her eyes opened slowly as her stirring memory recalled where she was and the events of the night before. She moved, like a magnate drawn to steel, to fit her body next to Clint's. "Darling, are you awake?"

He shifted and mumbled something unintelligible.

Later, Zoe would remember her wanton behavior with contrition and a touch of shame. Now her only thought was of her rising desire, and Clint's ability to plunge her into the wonderful world of sensual ecstasy and fulfillment. Her fingers waltzed down his muscular stomach and lower as she whispered her need into his ear, then added a breathy, "Please."

This time, his lovemaking was slow, sweet madness; teasing, taunting, first advancing, then retreating, calling on his experience and expertise, until, with consummate skill, he brought her to the brink of sweet agonizing torment.

"Please, Clint, please, I can't stand it."

The climax unraveled like a shimmering length of silk material flung to the winds, leaving Zoe shivering and exhausted. When Clint had once more settled beside her on the bed, she trailed her fingers across his chest. "This could become addictive."

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that began low in his stomach and floated upward. "Woman, you are insatiable. Much more of this, and I won't be able to get out of bed in the morning." He hugged her to him. "Go to sleep and let this weary man rest."

Remembering now made Zoe smile. "Enough of this," she admonished herself, as she slipped her feet into her slippers and padded to the window to look outside. The world was a brand new creation. Yesterday's storm had vanished, leaving a sparkling, shining, sun bathed universe. "Oh, what a beautiful morning." Zoe sang out as she opened her arms, then let them fall to her sides. A knock at the door brought her about face. "Yes."

Farnsworth came inside, dressed as always in scruffy jeans and a western shirt. He was carrying a tray that held a pitcher of orange juice and a small glass. Stopping just inside the door, he set the tray on a low table. "Mr. McCann would like to see you in his office as soon as possible." He was staring at Zoe with a mixture of indecision and disdain. "He says it's important."

Zoe wondered why Clint had sent Farnsworth to deliver juice and a message. It seemed such a mundane task, almost beneath the dignity of the little man who obviously ran this household with an iron hand. One of the maids, or Bridget, could have done it just as well. The first threads of apprehension begin to unravel inside her. "Is there some problem?"

Farnsworth backed out the door. "Mr. McCann is waiting for you in his office. He would like you there as soon as possible."

Zoe sipped her juice as she dressed. "Don't borrow trouble," she told herself, as she slipped into a blouse and jeans, but she couldn't shake a nagging little trickle of fear.

Clint's office was across the house from Zoe's suite, that meant she could detour by the kitchen to leave her glass, and the empty pitcher. She found Mrs. Mendez standing beside the center island stirring ingredients around in a big bowl.

Zoe set the tray on the edge of the island. "Good morning, Mrs. Mendez."

Mrs. Mendez halted her spoon in mid air and glanced in Zoe's direction, her look reproachful. "Como esta usted?"

What was this, disapproval from Farnsworth and Spanish from Mrs. Mendez? Something was definitely amiss. Zoe hurried from the room and sped down the long corridor toward Clint's office. As she neared his office door, her qualms subsided. Last night had been perfect, too perfect to last. So morning had brought some minor problem. Whatever it was, it could be solved. In an earthly paradise, allowances must be made for imperfections. She lifted her hand and rapped on the door.

From the inside, Clint barked, "Yes."

When Zoe came inside, he was standing by the window, looking out at the sun drenched countryside. He didn't bother to turn. The muscles in his shoulders tensed. "Sit down."

Zoe stopped beside a chair near Clint's desk. "Farnsworth said you wanted to see me?"

He swung around and walked to his desk, being careful not to let his eyes meet hers. "Sit down, damn it."

She perched on the edge of the chair.

"Have you read the morning papers?"

So that was it, there had been some adverse comments in the paper about their marriage. "No. I haven't."

"Or seen the morning television news?" He pulled his chair out and sat down behind his desk.

His coldness froze her. "What are you trying to tell me?"

For the first time his icicle gaze met her baffled stare. She saw the challenge there as an emotion akin to hate flashed in the blue depths. He tossed a newspaper across the desk. "The party's over, Sweetheart. Read it and weep."

Emblazoned in bold letters across the top of the page were the words: SARAH CLARKE'S DAUGHTER WEDS HOLT HAMILTON'S SON. Zoe grasped the sides of the desk as her world shifted and distorted like a cracked kaleidoscope. "Oh, God! No!"

"Is it true?" He asked with deadly calm.

Through a distortion of tears, she tried to decipher the small print. "Is what true?"

"I'm in no mood for games." He was making a visible effort to stay in control. "Just tell me if it's true. If it isn't, I'll hang Willis Hartford to the barn rafter just after I flay him within an inch of his life."

"Hartford?" Spots were gathering before Zoe's eyes. Don't faint, she warned herself, as her fingers tightened around the edge of the desk. "What does Hartford have to do with this?" She pushed the paper back.

"Hartford is the source of this little revelation." Perspiration beaded Clint's upper lip. "All I need is one word from you. Are you Sarah's daughter?" His voice cracked like a whip. "Answer me!"

"How could Hartford know?" Zoe's dazed cry was sucked away on a recalled breath. "Nobody knew. I saw to that." She was too shaken to realize she was confessing what she'd sworn so solemnly never to divulge. "I kept the evidence in my suitcase, always in my suitcase, locked away and safe." She knew she was babbling, almost incoherently, but she couldn't stop. "I tossed it into the flames myself, I watched it burn to ashes . . . . " From the chaos of her troubled mind, a memory as clear as a bell rang through. The night she had stayed with Holt while Hartford had run his so-called errands, that damning envelope had been in the library, on the desk, in open view. With one swift insight, she knew. "He took the envelope and copied the documents," Striking the paper with her open hand, she cried, "then put the envelope back." Her insides had turned to jelly. "The bastard!"

Clint's cutting question knifed through her turbulent senses. "Were you blackmailing my old man?"

He knew, Clint knew who she really was. Black tragedy had let slip her grim pretense. The whole world knew now, Zoe Adair was Sarah Clarke's daughter. Pain flattened Zoe's voice to a monotone. "No, it was the other way around."

Weariness etched itself into the hard lines around Clint's mouth. "Prove it."

Zoe clasp one shaking hand in the other. "The information that Hartford took, the documents that told who I was . . . who I am, were Holt's. Hartford took them from the library."

Clint's eyes narrowed. He leaned across the desk. "You just said that you kept them locked away in your suitcase."

"I took them from the library, but that must have been after Hartford took them away long enough to make copies." Her rising protest was edged with hysteria. "Can't you see?" She bit her lip, trying to gain some control. "I took them after Hartford took them, made copies, and put them back."

"What kind of a fool do you take me for?" Clint was on his feet and walking across the floor. "My old man would never have given anyone the originals of evidence he had against them." He pivoted and put both hands on his hips. "Why don't you admit that my old man never saw any of that evidence until you came to Triple H and showed it to him?"

With a sinking sense of disaster, Zoe pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. "The originals were in Holt's safe deposit box."

Clint's hands fell to his sides. "You will have to do better than that. I went through everything in that box." He was trying and convicting her before he gave her any chance to explain. "There was nothing about you being Sarah's daughter anywhere in it." He came back to the desk, picked up the paper, and demanded, "Read this and tell me how much is fact."

She shook her head. "I can't, I just can't." Tears were streaming from her eyes. She wiped at them with the back of her hand.

Clint let one lean hip rest on the edge of the desk. "Then I'll read it to you." And he did just that, in tones clear and concise he related in brief outline form the whole sordid, miserable tale, from Sarah's affair with Senator Zoeller all the way through to Zoe's marriage to Clint the day before. Then his restless eyes moved from the newspaper to Zoe's pale face. "I have omitted some of the more depraved speculations, like are you my step mother or my sister, and now that I'm your husband, am I still also your son or your brother or both?" Folding the paper, he laid it on the desk. "There's also some hint that we were lovers before your late husband, my late father, passed away."

Zoe was stunned. "When you say those things You make it sound like we committed. . ., like it was . . .." She couldn't bring herself to speak that forbidden word.

"I say?" Clint raised a winged eyebrow and tapped the paper with his finger. "Not 'I say', Sweetheart. This is a, 'they say'. Only they don't say, they only insinuate, infer, and then presume. That ugly little word that you seem to be too modest to articulate is incest."

Zoe's stomach was a miserable knot of pain. "But it wasn't, it isn't. Our affair was not like that."

"It was not even a full-blown affair, it was a one night stand." There was ridicule in his voice and a touch of venom. "That's all it was, that's all it ever can be."

Something fragile and precious fluttered then died inside Zoe. "You aren't even going to allow me to explain?"

Clint's shoulders lifted then fell in an indifferent shrug. "Go ahead."

Zoe opened her mouth then closed it again. To extricate herself she would have to involve Maggie. What if Maggie in turn denied everything? And well she might. Who would Clint believe? His sister no doubt. "I can't."

"Of course you can't. How can you explain away blackmail and conspiracy?"

She didn't understand, and she told him so. "Just what have I conspired to do?"

"You set out to get your claws into the old man and his money. When I thwarted that little scheme, you found a way to trick me into marrying you." He stood and hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. "If it hadn't been for Hartford, you might have succeeded." Moving around the desk, he dropped into his chair. "Maybe I should thank him." Then put his feet on his desk. "Maybe someday I will."

"I can set this all right." Zoe began, then stopped. Even if she could explain without involving Maggie, she would have to admit to being involved in criminal activities. A terrifying thought impinged. Clint could bring criminal charges against her. He could have her arrested and put in prison. Zoe's breath escaped from her mouth like a slow leak from an old tire as the full impact of the situation hit her. "I'll leave tomorrow." Her one thought now was escape. "You can do what you choose about a divorce or an annulment."

The vehemence in his voice sent another shiver of fear down her spine. "You are not going anywhere until my baby is born. After that, I'll decide what I'm going to do about your blackmailing my old man."

Zoe pushed down a wave of panic. "What will happen to my baby?"

"The baby stays here at Triple H with me. You're an unfit mother, and I can prove that, in any court in the land, if I have to."

She was appalled by his brutal threat - no it was a brutal promise. "How can you be so inhuman, so cruel?"

"Cruel? Inhuman?" He questioned with scorn. "Sweetheart, cruelty is the most human emotion I know."

"I won't stay here and take your abuse." She shuddered at the chilling implacability that carved his features into a cold mask.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I won't abuse you, I won't even come near you." His feet fell with a thud to the floor.

Didn't he know that he was abusing her now with his lurid accusations and his vicious threats? Why couldn't he understand that his rejection of her was far worse than any abuse he could heap upon her. This heartless spurning was devastating her. She felt like a poorly mended statue, apt to shatter again at any moment. "I will never give you my child."

"The child is mine, too, and if you won't surrender it willingly, I'll take it from you, and if I have to do that, I will see to it that you never see my child again as long as you live."

With searing certainty, Zoe knew that Clint could and would do just that. She couldn't hope to win against him in a custody battle. There had to be some other to keep her child. How? She struggled to bring her thoughts into focus. If Clint couldn't find her, he couldn't take the baby from her. The answer to her pressing problem crystallized in her frightened mind. She had to escape, and as soon as humanly possible! "I'm tired. May I go now?" How pitiless fate was. Once Zoe had scorned her mother for letting her child be taken from her, now she faced the same grim possibility. She wouldn't let history repeat. She had to get away from Triple H as soon as possible.

For an uncertain second, she thought Clint might relent, then he spoke, and her hopes were swept away like withered leaves in a windstorm. "I make only two stipulations. So long as you are at Triple H, you will refrain from speaking to the press, and you will stay out of my sight."

"Clint, please." She lifted her hand in supplication.

He turned away from her. "Get out."

So this was the way it ended, this marriage that was over even before it began, not with her dream of happy ever after, but in the miasma of her worst nightmare. She had committed the perfect crime, and with catastrophic impact. She was too numb to feel anything, too traumatized to think clearly. She walked out the door and moved, trance-like, down the long hall.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Zoe reclined on her bed and stared with unseeing eyes at the ceiling. The initial impact of discovery and rejection was wearing away, leaving regret and sorrow overlaid by excruciating pain. Now she must find a way to deal with the heartbreak of losing Clint and the notoriety of being publicly branded as Sarah Clarke's illegitimate daughter. She pushed aside the pain and a profound sense of irreplaceable loss. The pressing issue before her now was to escape. She was damned if she was going to lose her child too.

She thought about driving her Toyota to the gate and demanding that it be opened. After some consideration, she discarded that idea. Even if she succeeded in getting through, Clint would catch up to her before the gate had slammed shut behind her. She realized, then, that her only hope was Carter Fields. But would he be willing to chance Clint's wrath to come to her rescue? There was only one way to find out. She reached for the telephone, then reconsidered. There would be less chance of someone overhearing her conversation if she waited until the wee hours of the morning to call Carter. Leaning back against her pillow. She sighed and began her long vigil. Slowly, the electronic instrument flashed the passing of another minute, another hour. Aeons existed between each dismal digital change. She reminded herself that patience was bitter, but its fruits were sweet. As Zoe waited for time to catch up, she prayed that Carter would be brave enough, or was it foolhardy enough? to aid and abet her in a daring scheme to run and hide.

The next few hours were an agony of waiting as Zoe vacillated between defying Clint and leaving immediately, and patiently planning secret flight. By sheer sternness of will she forced herself to bide her time. Her patience was rewarded, when, at one thirty in the morning, she rang Carter and heard his sleepy, "Hello," on the other end of the line.

"Carter, this is Zoe. I need your help."

"Who?" Carter sounded half asleep.

A note of urgency crept into her voice. "Zoe, Zoe Ham . . . Zoe McCann."

"Zoe?" Carter questioned, then paused for what had to be a yawn. "I've been reading the papers. This story is pretty potent stuff."

"Listen to me," Panic was very near. "I need to get away from Triple H. Will you help me?"

"I don't understand." Carter was wide awake now and beginning to ask questions. "Why don't you just leave? What is this all about?"

"I don't have time to explain. Will you help me? I'll tell you everything when I see you."

"I don't think so. Clint was jealous enough when you were his stepmother. Now that you're married to him, I can imagine what he must be like."

She clutched at the receiver with sweaty hands. "Listen to me, Carter, this is a matter of life and death. I have to get away!"

"Yeah, my life and my death if Clint catches me making off with his bride."

Fear was flying to dark desperation. "Please, Carter, please."

"I can't just show up at Triple H and whisk you away." Carter's exasperation sounded across the wire.

"I don't expect you to do that." Zoe was adamant. "In truth, that's the last thing I want." Carefully, she outlined her daring plan. "Early in the morning, I will ride on horseback to the far southwest corner of the ranch. I'll leave the barn just before daylight. I should be at the corner by sunrise. Will you meet me there and take me to Midland?"

"But Zoe, the fence around Triple H is six feet high," Carter protested, still reluctant to become involved in what he must consider a reckless venture.

"Damn it, Carter, will you help me?"

"Considering what you've told me, I don't think I dare refuse, but that fence. . . ."

Zoe cut him short. "Bring a step ladder, and for God's sake, be there." She hung up, afraid that Carter might change his mind if she lingered to explain or argue.

Zoe was sure she wouldn't sleep a wink, but she did, a troubled slumber that left her restless and unsettled. She awoke in a cold sweat and threw her covers aside. The clock on her night stand flashed five-thirty-seven.

Zoe dressed in the dark, donning jeans, boots, and a heavy denim shirt. Then she pulled on a heavy jacket and stuffed her hair under a stocking cap. Slipping her wedding ring from her finger, she laid it on the night stand.

The house was dark. Zoe felt her way down the hall through the kitchen and into the back yard. Dawn was breaking across the eastern horizon by the time she had saddled a horse and turned him in a southwesterly direction.

How she longed to give her horse his head and gallop at breakneck speed across the open plans toward Carter and freedom. She didn't dare. She wasn't even sure she should be riding a horse at all in her condition. She forced herself to pull back on the reins and coax the horse to a slow trot. The world around her was waking to a new day. A cold wind rose with the emerging sun to mingle its whistling complaint with the songs of late migrating birds. Zoe waved a hand to a straggling group of black-winged fliers that perched along the fence row. "Go home before it's too late. Fly away south before it is forever and ever too late."

She expelled a tremendous sigh of relief as in the far distance she spied Carter's low slung sports car parked just outside the tall fence. A kick in the flanks moved the horse to a faster gait.

Carter was standing beside his automobile with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his wind breaker when Zoe pulled the horse to a stop very near the fence corner. "What in the hell is going on here? I get a call in the middle of the night to come rescue a damsel in distress." He pushed his hat back with his hand. "What gives?"

Zoe slid from her mount. "Help me over the fence, and I'll tell you all about it." She slapped the horse on his rump. He took off in a high trot in the direction of the ranch house. "Did you bring a ladder?"

Carter opened the trunk of his car and produced a rope ladder. Without saying another word, he draped it across the fence and helped Zoe scale over, then descend to safe ground on the other side. A caustic smile shaped his mouth as he put the ladder back into the trunk of the car. "You're traveling light. Don't you have any baggage?" He came around and opened the car door for Zoe.

She got in and was fastening her seat belt before he could shut the door. "Carter, hurry, please hurry. I won't draw an easy breath until I am out of the sight of this place."

Carter got into the car and turned his key in the ignition. The engine purred to life. "I hope you have a damn good reason for calling me out here like this, because if Clint ever finds out, I can give my heart to God, if you know what I mean."

Zoe leaned back in the bucket seat and relaxed for the first time in hours. In spite of her apprehension, she smiled at Carter's coarse insinuation. "I'll give you an explanation but first accept my undying gratitude. I know I am asking an awful lot of you."

Carter shifted into third gear. "It does put a strain on our friendship when you call me to help you run away from your husband of one day, then meet me in a far corner of Triple H at the crack of dawn. Now I discover that you've bolted with nothing but the clothes on your back."

He had to be told, and there seemed to be no easy way to break the news. "I did bring something with me, not baggage exactly, but close to it. I'm three months pregnant, Carter, and the child belongs to Clint."

Carter's jaw fell. "Oh, my God!"

"But the marriage, such as it was, is over. The minute Clint learned I was Sarah Clarke's daughter, he assumed that I had blackmailed Holt into marrying me. He thinks I'm after the Hamilton millions."

Carter slanted a brief glance in Zoe's direction. "I always credited Clint with having some common sense. I guess I was wrong."

"We quarreled."

Carter grimaced. "I can imagine. But I can't see how running away from Clint will solve any of your problems."

"Clint threatened to keep me at the ranch until the baby comes, then sue for custody of my child and bring criminal charges against me."

"For what?"

"I'm not sure, but I've done some pretty stupid things over the last six months. Some of them were criminal." She clutched Carter's arm. "I don't want to go to jail."

"Carter shot her a troubled glance. "Careful, I'm driving."

Zoe moved her hand away. "And now I have to hide." Her teeth worried her bottom lip. "I have the money from the sale of my house. I can use that to live on until the baby is born."

The words exploded from Carter's mouth. "Good God, Zoe, you don't have to worry about money. Holt left you a bundle."

She would never touch a cent of that money. "I intend to give it all back."

"You really are a naive little babe-in-the-woods, aren't you?" Carter asked on an incredulous note. "You couldn't do that even if you wanted to, and you don't."

"What do you mean I can't?"

Carter swung his car off the gravel county road and onto the interstate. "Holt thought you might try something like this when he was gone. What he left you is in trust. Like it or not you are stuck with the oil wells and the gas well Holt left you, plus 33 percent of the stock in Hamilton Ltd. And this you don't know, but a few weeks before Holt died, he signed a bill of sale that made you owner of you half of the livestock on Triple H. You're a very rich woman, Zoe. The last thing you should be concerned about is money."

Zoe was offended that Carter would think she would take Holt's money. "I don't want anything Holt had or anything Clint owns. After my baby is born, I can find a teaching position."

"I won't argue with you," Carter cast a quick glance in Zoe's direction, "but I think you're being foolish." Pushing down on the accelerator, he sped toward Midland. "Where to now?"

It hit her like a fist in her mid section. She had no place to go. "I don't know, some place Clint can't find me."

Carted whistled through his teeth. "I didn't know you planned to leave the planet."

The pain around her heart sharpened at the thought of not seeing Clint again. "I can get a hotel room, then tomorrow I'll find an apartment."

"Clint will find you before the ink is dry on the hotel register," Carter prophesied. His brows pulled together across the bridge of his nose. "And Clint is not your only problem, lady. What about the press? You're a celebrity now. One inkling that you're in Midland, and the media people will swoop down on like you like vultures on carrion."

How could she have been so stupid? The painful recollection of her encounter with reporters at the benefit dance spun across Zoe's mind. "Maybe I can disguise myself."

"Zoe, honey, you have about as much a chance of that as a snowball in hell. And even if you eluded the media, I doubt that you could hide from Clint. Your husband is one determined man, and he has the instincts of a blood hound. He will find you, and before very long," Carter's frown eased into a broad smile. "Unless . . . . " He turned his car around in the middle of the highway and spun off in the opposite direction.

"Unless what?" Zoe asked as she watched the satisfied smirk on Carter's face transmute to a look of grim determination.

"I just had a bright idea, a brilliant revelation, really." Carter slapped the side of the steering wheel with his open hand. "Yes siree, brilliant."

Zoe grasped the sides of the bucket seat. "Where are we going?"

Carter sped around a giant Greyhound bus. "I have a cabin over by Shafter Lake. I go there to fish in the summer. It's the perfect hiding place, a little primitive, but what the hell. You can stay there until I find some safe place for you to go."

Cautiously, Zoe asked, "Where is Shafter Lake?"

"It's northwest of Andrews."

"No." Zoe reached to clutch Carter's arm. "That's not a stone's throw from the Triple H spread."

"That's what makes it so perfect." Carter smiled at his own cleverness. "No one, not even Clint will think to look there."

"What about clothes? What will I wear?"

Carter was like a small boy who had managed to outsmart his elders. "I'll stop at a department store in Andrews and pick up some things for you." He chortled with glee. "On second thought, I'll go to a thrift store and pick up some second hand things. That should throw old blood hound Clint off the scent."

Carter was enjoying the challenge of outwitting Clint. Zoe was set to tell him how trifling she thought that was when she realized that Carter's childish conduct was to her advantage. "You're going out of your way to be kind to me. I do appreciate it."

Carter was oblivious to her words. "Yes sir, old Clint has had this coming for a long time. The big macho man who has always been able to have any woman he wants can't even hold onto his own wife."

His vindictiveness disturbed Zoe and made her wonder about the wisdom of going to a deserted cabin with an immature man who obviously detested her husband. What choice did she have? None, she decided. She closed her mouth and rode the next several miles in silence.

As they turned off the interstate and onto a farm-to-market road, Carter questioned, "Did Holt know you were Sarah's daughter?" Then answered his own question. "Of course, he did. When did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him, he told me. I had been at Triple H barely three weeks when Holt sprang his big surprise. I didn't believe him at first, but he showed me irrefutable proof."

"That must have been a devastating blow to you."

Carter's sympathetic response was a welcome change from the harsh disbelief she had always received from Clint. "You believe me?"

"Why should you lie?"

From the depths of her wounded spirit, she spoke. "Clint could always think of a dozen reasons."

"Then Clint is a bigger fool than I imagined." Carter shook his head from side to side. "Clint above all people should know what an evil schemer Holt was."

Zoe had not planned to tell Carter the intimate details of her life since she'd come to Triple H all those months ago but she found her self revealing more and more as she began to tell, in its totality, the entire, bizarre tale.

Her narrative was punctuated by Carter's occasional, "Holy cow," or, "I'll be dammed."

After a while, the telling became a catharsis, a way to rid her mind of some of its confusion and to expel from her heart a portion of her pain and guilt. By the time they had come to the city limits of Andrews, Zoe had told it all, omitting nothing, not even the intense love she felt for her husband. "I know I'm a fool, but I love the rascal."

"Being in love with a man like Clint is a fate worse than death." Carter slowed his car as they passed through a speed zone. "Clint is a womanizer and a scoundrel. But, since you're carrying his child, he may be persuaded to take you back when he learns the truth about how Holt was blackmailing you."

"Not a chance." Zoe ridiculed as a lone tear slid down her cheek. "Clint wouldn't have me back even if he knew the truth. I'm Sarah Clarke's daughter." She paused for a few moments to consider. "And I wouldn't go back, even if he gave me the opportunity."

Carter raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."

"I'd have to crawl back, and I can't do that. I have too much self respect. It's over, now I have to find some way to get on with my life."

Carter stopped in Andrews long enough to buy groceries and secondhand clothes and bedding. "I picked up a few extra blankets. It's cold up at the cabin, and there's no electricity."

"So I will really be roughing it?"

"There's a kerosene cook stove, lamps, and candles. The fireplace should keep the room warm."

"Room?" Zoe grimaced. "There's only one room?"

"I told you it was primitive." Carter turned off the farm-to-market road and drove down a narrow dirt lane. "It's also very isolated. The guy who brings me wood and kerosene is the only person except me who knows exactly where this place is."

Zoe was taken by a new fear. "What if he shows up?"

"He won't, "Carter promised. "He only comes when I call him, and I seldom call him, except in the summer." He smiled his reassurance. "You'll be safe here."

"And all alone." That thought left Zoe a little afraid. "When will you be back?"

"I can't make it before next weekend."

"But this is only Sunday, that's an entire week."

"I don't want anybody getting suspicious."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" She was being ungrateful and petty. "I'm sorry. You've put yourself in harm's way to help me. I'm indebted to you."

They were traveling down an abandoned trail, driving over underbrush and through bushes that grew in the path. "You don't owe me a thing. I'm glad to help you."

In the distance, a rude cabin materialized. "You really do hate Clint, don't you?"

"Let's just say, I owe him, and this is my chance to pay him back." Carter stopped the car before a rude one-room shack. "We're here. Get out, and I'll show you around."

Zoe reached for the car door. "When you come back, will you bring a battery powered radio?"

Carter was beside her door, waiting for her to get out. "Sure."

"And some books and magazines?"

They walked toward the locked door. "You bet." In the still air his voice echoed across the vast emptiness.

With a feeling of creeping desolation, Zoe stood by and waited for Carter to unlock the cabin door.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Zoe stood by the rough hewn window frame and stared down the twisting trail, hoping for some sight of Carter's car. She had half-expected him to put in an appearance before noon. He hadn't. It was nearing sundown now, and still no sign of him. For the first time since her arrival here, she was beginning to feel some concern.

Zoe had spent the last week shut away in this tiny cabin. She had been alone but not lonely. In many ways she had welcomed the solitude and the isolation. There had been time for much needed rest and deep contemplation. Alone and face to face with her tragic loss, she had been forced to come to grips with and accept the inevitable. Sooner or later she would have to confront Clint. After she gave birth to her child, she would contact him and offer to settle their differences. Past experience had taught her to guard against any hope of reconciliation or forgiveness. The sorrow of her loss gave her a renewed appreciation for the healing powers of suffering. From the torment in her heart and the chaos of her memory, she carefully fashioned a tranquil if superficial peace of mind. Acknowledgment of what had happened came slowly, but once accepted, settled with deceptive calm over her wounded spirit.

Shadows were creeping into the cabin. Zoe lighted a kerosene lamp and set it on the table, then she threw a huge log into the fireplace. Cold, like a mantle had draped itself over the little room. The fire crackled and danced, sending a wave of warmth into the chilly atmosphere. As she straightened from her task of poking the fire, the noise of an approaching vehicle sounded in her listening ears. "Thank God." She rushed to the window and peered out into the fading twilight. Headlights reflecting into the new darkness heralded an approaching car.

Zoe struggled against the creeping shadows to distinguish the make and model of the advancing automobile. "No reason to wonder," she told herself. "Who could it be except Carter?" Nearness failed to bring recognition. It was not Carter's sports car but a Buick Regal that came bouncing over the rough terrain. Zoe flung open the door and rushed outside, ready to welcome her visitor with open arms.

The night air cut through her shirt, sending a shiver down her spine. She folded her arms across her chest and drew her shoulders up, thinking that she should have put on her sweater.

As the car came to a stop, Zoe called a cheery greeting. "Carter, hello." The biting air caught her hair, blowing it around her face.

The first alert of caution caught her as three car doors opened simultaneously. Carter had brought someone with him. "But you promised." Zoe whispered into the cold air. "You promised."

Two figures emerged from the front seat of the car. Then a third figure, that of a tall, thin man, got out of the back seat and slammed the door.

Three shadowy forms advanced toward her. In the darkness she recognized two of them. The first man was Carter. The second was Clint. The third man was someone she had never seen before. Who could this third man be? It came to her like a bolt from the blue. He had to be some law official. Clint had learned about her unlawful entry into Holt's safe deposit box, and he was going to have her arrested. Like his father before him, he was plotting to put her behind bars. A bitter afterthought made her wonder that she should have expected anything else. Her carefully constructed tranquillity crumpled like a house of cards as shock and dismay shattered her control. She put her hands over her mouth and breathed a muffled, "No. No." She couldn't stand here and let them shackle and haul her away as if she were a common criminal. Like an animal at bay, she raced around the cabin and into the darkness. Her only thought now was to escape.

She ran toward the boat landings that lined the lake's shore as if the devil himself pursued her.

"Stop! Zoe, Come back!" Clint's voice rang in her ears. Heedless of his cry, she plunged ahead, running pell-mell into the darkness, stumbling over the rough, unfamiliar terrain as one thought took control of her mind, escape! The sound of footsteps coming nearer made her run even faster. Her breath rattled in her chest, and her mind was a swirling chaos of confusion and fear. Over that din of disorder, her brain sent one clear signal, run, run, run.

They were gaining on her.

"Zoe, stop, now!" Clint's voice, deep and shaken, commanded from behind her.

Zoe made a sharp left turn and headed toward the wooded area around the lake. By now she was gasping and winded. Talons of cold wind clawed at her face and body. She drew a ragged breath as a knife of pain sliced through her abdomen, then fanned out into her back and down her legs. As she struggled to keep from bending double, her foot caught on a dry root. She pitched forward, and collapsed like a punctured balloon. Another wave of excruciating pain ripped through her as her head struck the hard ground. She was falling into swift annihilation. Another unbearable pain struck just before merciful oblivion claimed her.

Over the next few hours consciousness came and went. She was riding in a car, wrapped in a blanket, and cradled in someone's arms. The blanket was soaked with blood. Over the pain that held her like a net, Zoe asked. "Where am I?" Unconsciousness claimed her again before she heard the answer.

When she surfaced again, she was on a narrow table with lights glaring from above, and white coated men clustered around her. The pain was beginning to subside. "Help me, please help me. My baby, don't let me lose my baby."

When Zoe woke again, she was lying in a narrow bed in a hospital room. The pain was gone, replaced by a feeling of bleak desolation. She tried to sit up. A hand restrained her. "You're awake. Thank God. We were so worried."

Zoe turned to see Maggie standing beside her bed, smiling down at her. "You gave us quite a scare."

Inanely, Zoe questioned, "What are you doing here?"

"I came as soon as I saw the papers. I knew I had to set things straight in Clint's mind."

"You told Clint the truth?"

"He already knew most of it. I filled in the gaps."

Zoe supposed she should feel gratitude. She would when she could feel again. She closed her eyes. "What time is it?"

Maggie glanced at her watch. "Ten-thirty."

Zoe ran her hands around the bandages that swathed the space between her legs and wrapped around her hips. "I lost my baby?"

"I'm sorry, Zoe, but count yourself fortunate, you almost lost your own life too. You were hemorrhaging when you got to the hospital and suffering from a concussion."

"Fortunate?" Zoe's eyes flew open as her voice rose. "You think I'm fortunate because my baby is dead?" She turned her face to the wall and wept. "I killed my own child. I murdered that baby." Her voice rose in pitch and volume. Hysteria that had been very near the surface burst full blown into the charged air. "No! No! No!"

"Zoe, please, don't." Maggie pulled the cord that was suspended over Zoe's bed. "You mustn't blame yourself, honey. It wasn't your fault."

A white uniformed nurse bustled into the room. "It's all right, Mrs. McCann."

Zoe screamed even louder. Her cries echoed down the corridor and bounced off the walls. Didn't they know? Nothing would ever be all right again.

The nurse gripped Zoe's shoulder and coaxed her to lie down before pushing a hypodermic needle into her arm. "What you need now is rest."

Slowly the hysteria subsided. The nurse pulled Zoe's sheet over her swath of bandages and nodded toward Maggie. "Call me, if you need me."

The crying stopped as Zoe once more, fell into a drugged sleep.

When she awakened again, it was dark outside, and Clint was standing over her bed, staring down at her, his mouth a grim line, his outlaw face an inscrutable mask. With a formality that chilled her, he questioned, "How are you feeling?"

She turned her face from his probing eyes. "Where am I?"

"In a hospital in Andrews." Clint sat in the chair beside her bed. "You've been here for three days."

She turned her head and let her hungry eyes feast on the sight of his outlaw face. Lines of fatigue deepened the brackets around his mouth. His complexion was ashen. A warm glow of love bathed her heart. She wouldn't have him feeling guilty for her foolishness. "I've given you a bad time. I'm sorry."

"Don't, for God's sake, apologize."

"I'm sorr. . ." She stopped short. "All right."

The air hummed with tension. Finally Clint broke the rigid silence. "Would you like me to raise you to a sitting position?"

Zoe found the button on the side of her bed. "I can do it myself. I know about hospital beds. David spent the last several months of his life confined to one." She elevated her bed until she was resting in a sitting position.

Once more, an awkward silence fell. Zoe creased her sheet with her fingers. "I lost the baby." Her heart swelled inside her. How much she loved this man. The baby was the only part of him she could ever hope to possess, and now it was gone, destroyed by her own foolish actions.

"We can talk about the baby another time, when you're feeling better."

"It was an accident. I didn't intend. . . ." A sob broke her sentence in half.

Clint's expression was unreadable. "Maybe what happened was for the best."

She remembered the terrible accusations he had hurled at her the day he had learned she was Sarah's daughter. Was he relieved that she was no longer carrying his child? "Maybe you're right."

"We can discuss losing our baby later when you're back at the ranch and have had some time to regain your strength." The muscle along Clint's jaw tightened, signaling his intense emotion.

She would not burden him with her presence at Triple H ever again. How guilty he must feel to offer her the refuge of his home after all she'd done. "I can't go back there. You must know that."

"Yes, you can, and you will. There are some things you must be told first. Will you listen?"

"Like you listened to me that morning in your office?"

Clint's teeth clenched as if he were doing battle with some profoundly disturbing emotion. "You have every reason to be angry. Still, I need to explain."

He was ready to explain but not to apologize. Maybe he didn't think she deserved an apology. Maybe she didn't. From the beginning, she had done nothing but deceive him. Zoe's hands clutched at her sheet. "What happened wasn't your fault. You shouldn't feel guilty for my stupidity."

"Don't. . . ." He stood and drew a deep breath, "Don't be kind to me. I don't deserve your pity," then sat back down. "Will you listen?"

"I wasn't offering pity."

"Whatever it is, I don't deserve it."

Her nervous fingers stilled. "I'm listening, say what you have to say."

"I. . . . " He started, then stopped. "I don't quite know how to begin."

Clint at a loss for words? That was a novelty. Zoe didn't offer assistance or comment, just reclined in her bed, and waited until after some time, he spoke again. "The morning you left Triple H, after I was forced to conclude that you must have run away, I realized I had been unnecessarily harsh. I didn't know all the facts, and I spoke in haste."

"Harsh? Yes," Zoe agreed with a nod, "but you were also honest, and even if you did speak in haste, you meant every word you said."

Her response converted his calm to suppressed rage. "You are one. . . ." He bit down on his fierce reply.

"Go ahead and say it. I am one snotty broad. I agree."

"I don't want to upset you." Clint's determination to stay in control was evident as his breath exhaled in a gust through his mouth. "Gimpy found your horse about eight that morning. He called me. I went to your room and found that you'd vanished into thin air. You didn't take your wedding ring. I had to assume you had left of your own volition. It didn't take long to conclude that you'd had some help in leaving."

"I couldn't stay, not after what happened." She fastened her eyes on the top gripper of his shirt because she couldn't bear to look into his anguished face. How sad it was that there was no way to repair her damaged past. She concealed her grief behind a benign smile, wondering if, once again, she should try to defend her position. Even if she could justify what she'd done, there was no defense against who she was. If Clint had felt contempt for her before, how much more profound must that contempt must be now that she had destroyed her own child. "I plan to move to Dallas as soon as I'm able."

Clint bolted to his feet. "Will you listen to what I have to say before you decide to do something else foolish?"

He could talk until doomsday, but she doubted he could change her mind. "Say what you must. I won't interrupt again."

Clint sat on the edge of the chair. "Before I could alert the sheriff of your disappearance, Maggie called. She had seen the story Hartford had sold to that rotten tabloid, and she wanted to talk to you. I said you'd disappeared." Clint stood and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. "Maggie said she had something to tell me. She hopped a plane, and three hours later she was at Triple H."

Cautiously, Zoe asked, "What did she tell you?"

"Everything." Clint walked to the door, closed it, and returned to stand beside the bed. "She told me how the old man had blackmailed both of you, how the two of you had conspired to steal the evidence he had against you, how you had destroyed what you found in the safe deposit box." Clint closed his eyes and swallowed deeply. "I had no idea the old man was blackmailing Maggie and had been for years." He opened his pain-filled eyes. "How could I have been so blind, so incredibly stupid?"

Uneasiness slipped in around Zoe's sadness. "Will we be prosecuted for illegally entering Holt's safe deposit box and stealing from him?"

"My God no! What ever gave you such an insane idea?"

"We committed a crime." Zoe reasoned aloud. "There was a third man in the car with you. I thought he might be some kind of law official."

"After what Holt did to the two of you?" Clint's eyes were unusually bright. "No. You won't be prosecuted. When I think of what that man did to my sister and to my mother." Clint spoke in low, grating syllables. "My own father had a video tape of him and my mother having sex. Their little tryst took place long after Mamma had married Maggie's father. Maggie would do anything to protect her father and me from that kind of shame and hurt, so for five long years, she let my old man blackmail her into doing whatever he said."

Zoe thought it was important that he understand. "I didn't know what was on that video."

Clint's mouth twisted into an ugly smirk. "Do you want to hear the clincher? Mitch, Maggie's father, knew about that indiscretion. Mamma had told him shortly after it happened. She confessed, and he forgave her. When I think of what my old man put Maggie through. . . ."

Zoe interrupted, "It's over now, Clint. Can't you put it behind you?"

"No. I can't forget or forgive that easily."

If Clint couldn't forgive his own father, there was no hope he would ever forgive Zoe. Her present sorrow was not so hard to bear as the thought of the emptiness of the months and years that lay ahead. She was and would forever be Sarah Clarke's illegitimate daughter. "I tricked Holt into signing a power of attorney," Zoe admitting, hoping to ease some of the guilt she felt.

"With a great deal of help from Maggie. She told me all about it. She admitted that she approached you and asked for your help."

"You mustn't blame Maggie." Zoe came to Maggie's defense. "She wanted to protect you."

"I think there is blame enough to go around, and Maggie must bear her share."

What a hard, unforgiving man he was. "I used my resemblance to Sarah to confuse and confound a sick old man. If you must place blame, I'm the guilty one."

The lines around Clint's mouth hardened. "While we're handing out blame, don't forget your friend, Carter Fields."

"Carter?" Zoe's head came up in defiance. "You can't blame Carter. He was as much a victim as Holt was. I duped him too."

"Like hell!" Clint barked. "Carter knew the score. And he has to answer for much more than aiding and abetting you with your plot to fool the old man. The moment Maggie told me how Carter had gone along with your outrageous scheme, I knew that he was the one who helped you run away from Triple H."

She couldn't let him believe what wasn't so. "No, Carter had no part in our scheme. He merely did what he thought Holt wanted him to do."

Clint's anger intensified. "Maybe Carter wasn't a party to the plot you and Maggie hatched, but he damn well knew that the old man was in no condition to sign a power of attorney. Physically he was at death's door, mentally he was a basket case. Don't try to defend Carter! He should be disbarred for what he's done." Clint flung out one arm in an outraged gesture. "And look what he did to you. My God, Zoe you could have died, and you damn near did."

"What happened to me wasn't Carter's fault."

"Yes it was. He took you to that God-forsaken cabin and left you. Anything could have happened while you were there, all alone."

Clint's anger struck like flint against Zoe's indignation. "Carter was only trying to help me. He's a friend."

"Carter didn't help you get away from Triple H, then hide you in some isolated cabin in the name of friendship. He saw his chance to strike out at me. Carter wanted to settle an old score." With a visible effort, Clint reined in his anger. "You are in no condition to be upset. Forget about Carter for now. I have something else to tell you."

Again fear surfaced. "Am I going to be questioned by the authorities?"

"You're paranoid about being questioned or arrested."

"I guess I am. Holt said so many times that he could bring charges against me. He threatened over and over to have me carted off to prison. I know the stranger with you when you came to the cabin was a police officer."

Clint's jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed. "The stranger with us wasn't a law official. You are not going to be arrested or questioned."

At last, Zoe believed him. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

"About that stranger, Zo. . . ."

Zoe raised her hand. "That's all I need to know"

"No. Damn it, it's not."

"I don't want to hear anything else you have to say." Her own ambivalence amazed her. Five minutes ago, Zoe's heart was spilling over with love for this man. Now she felt only a desire to inflict on him a portion of the hurt she was feeling. "I want to see Maggie."

"In due time." Clint rubbed his hands together. "I suppose I shouldn't be too hard on Carter. He did finally tell us where you were, then agreed to take us there."

Zoe questioned, "Us?" Then waved her hand again. Never mind." I'm sure you intimidated him into telling you." She sent him a sidelong glance. "Did you threaten him with physical harm or use your terrible tongue to whip him into submission?"

"I made no threat, and I didn't have to resort to violence." The hint of a smile shadowed Clint's face. "I told Carter that your brother wanted to see you, then introduced the two of them to each other."

Had Clint taken leave of his senses? "I have no brother, and you damn well know it."

"Half-brother then." Clint shrugged. "Charles Zoeller is your half brother, and he's come all the way from the east coast to see you."

So now she must do battle on yet another front. "I have no idea of trying to lay claim to the Zoeller name or the Zoeller fortune. Tell Mr. Zoeller he can go home and feel safe. I don't want anything he has."

"That's not why he's here." Clint's gaze softened. "Are you suspicious of everyone?"

"Not without reason."

"Charles Zoeller wants to meet you and get to know you."

"Is this another one of your tricks?" Zoe was torn by ambivalence. She would love to meet Charles Zoeller, if indeed he was here because he was anxious to establish some friendly relationship with his sister. But what if he had come here because he saw Zoe as a threat, or worse yet, because he was ashamed that she had been exposed as his half sister? "Later, I'll see him later. I want to see Carter first."

"Carter?" The word exploded from Clint's mouth. "What the hell do you want to see Carter for?"

"Carter's my attorney. I need his advice." Zoe folded her arms across her chest. "I'll call Carter and ask him to come here as soon as possible." After a moment's consideration, she added, "I probably should have talked to Carter before I talked to you. You will, no doubt, find a way to use everything I've told you against me later."

"Against you? Later?" Clint asked the question as if he were genuinely surprised. "Later when?"

"Later, when we go to court, but you have no cause for concern. I want nothing you have, either." Nothing but your love, she thought sadly, and that's the one thing you can't give me. "So the divorce should be no problem."

Clint looked thoroughly shocked. "Is that what you want, a divorce?"

"Don't you?"

"I think we need to talk about this."

"Not until I talk to my attorney." Zoe reached for the telephone beside her bed.

Clint laid his hand over hers. "You don't have to call. Carter's in the waiting room. I'll get him." He sounded hurt, no offended. She couldn't hurt Clint McCann, but she had obviously aggravated him. Irritation clipped his terse tones. "I'll ask Carter to come in."

Chapter Thirty

Carter came into Zoe's hospital room and closed the door behind him, then sat in the chair beside her bed. "Clint says you want to see me?"

"Don't look so apprehensive." Zoe's heart went out to this man who had gone far beyond the legal constraints required to help a client, and as result, now found himself caught up in her messy marital problems. "I need your legal advice."

A smile spread across Carter's face. "You aren't thinking of firing me?"

"I was afraid you might decide to quit. I've been a terrible trial to you."

Carter crossed his legs and tugged at his vest. "No way. I thought you might take Clint's advice and tell me to get lost."

"Never," Zoe asserted emphatically. "I need your help and your guidance."

"Tell me what you want but make it fast. I don't think Clint's going to give you and me much time alone." Carter glanced anxiously toward the closed door. "He's pacing around out there like a caged lion."

Zoe waved away Carter's concern. "Who cares?"

"Maybe you should. Clint is one determined man once he sets his mind to something. I, for one, don't care to cross him in the mood he's in now."

"Clint is afraid that I'll try to make him pay for his freedom. I won't." Her misery was a weight in the pit of her stomach. "I want you to do two things for me."

Carter leaned forward. "Such a decisive lady. That reminds me of a trivia question I have been dying to ask you."

Zoe couldn't help but smile. After all the difficulty she had put Carter through, and Clint had no doubt made his life miserable for the past several days, he was making an effort to lift her sagging spirits. "Ask away."

"Who played the strong-willed Eleanor Roosevelt to Ralph Bellamy's Franklin in Sunrise at Campobello?"

Zoe's brow furrowed. "I can see her face. She had huge eyes and a sweet smile. . . .I can't seem to recall her name."

Carter laughed. "She also has red hair, just like another decisive lady I know."

Zoe was laughing now, too. "Stop it, you flatterer, and tell me her name."

"Greer Garson."

"Of course." Zoe found herself relaxing for the first time since she had awakened in this place. "Thank you, Carter, for being so kind and so understanding."

"Shucks, ma'am, it weren't nothing," Carter drawled, then moved back to the business at hand. "What two things can I do for you?"

"Can you find me a place to live when I leave the hospital?"

"That won't set well with Clint. He's making plans to take you back to Triple H as soon as the hospital releases you."

She could not endure the pain of being so near Clint, loving him, wanting him, and all the while knowing that he felt nothing for her but contempt. She covered her heartbreak with more decisive words. "Then Clint will have to make other plans. Because I am not going back to Triple H."

"Do you have any idea what it will be like for you once you show your face in the civilized world again? You will be hounded by the media, plagued by paparrizi, and tormented by the public. Maybe it would be better for you if you did go back to Triple H for a while."

"If I have a choice, I prefer the paparrizi, the public, and the media, to Triple H." Zoe looked directly into Carter's surprised eyes. "I'm going to divorce Clint. I want you to file for me as soon as you get back to Midland."

Carter took his time digesting Zoe's words. "Clint won't like that."

"The moment Clint understands that I am not going to make some claim to Holt's estate, he will be glad to be rid of me. Stop worrying. Clint won't be a problem. Can you find an apartment for me in Midland?"

"I can do better than that." Carter reached out and caught Zoe's hand. "The firm has a suite atop the Gas and Oil Building. We use it for out of town clients and visiting dignitaries. It's empty now. I can arrange for you to stay there."

"That would be wonderful." Gratitude made Zoe tighten her fingers around Carter's hand. "What would I do without you?" She was holding Carter's hand and smiling at him when the door opened, and Clint came into the room.

"Charles Zoeller is waiting to see you." He nodded toward Carter. "Get out."

His arrogance set Zoe's teeth on edge. "No, I want Carter to stay."

Carter moved toward the door. "I don't think I should intrude."

Zoe's voice rose. "Sit down, Carter. I want you here when I meet Mr. Zoeller."

Clint had come across the room and stood at the foot of Zoe's bed. "Carter has no reason to stay. This is a family matter."

"Maybe you're right," Zoe agreed, too sweetly. "Why don't you and Carter both get out?"

Carter was already in the hall. "I'll take care of both those matters for you, Zoe. I'll be back tomorrow." He disappeared, leaving the door swinging behind him.

A tall man with angular features and steel rimmed glasses perched on his coronoid nose appeared in the space Carter had vacated. "My patience is wearing quite thin. May I come in?" He spoke with a heavy New England accent.

Zoe called on every ounce of her courage. "Yes, please do. Clint was just leaving." She sent Clint a look that dared him to defy her.

"I'll give you a few minutes alone." There was a hint of impatience in the shrug of Clint's broad shoulders. "I'll go for coffee and be back soon."

Zoe turned her attention from Clint to study Charles Zoeller. What, she wondered, did this man expect from her? Very much on her dignity, she invited, "Would you like to come in?"

Clint brushed past Charles and was gone.

Zoe pushed her hand through her hair, thinking as she did so, that this middle-aged man bore a marked resemblance to the picture of the teenaged boy she'd seen in the newspaper that night in the library at Triple H. "Close the door please, Mr. Zoeller."

Charles pulled the door shut and stood with one hand resting on the knob. "This is at best a rather awkward situation. May I sit down?"

As she pointed toward the chair beside her bed, Zoe suddenly realized that it had taken a great deal of courage for Charles Zoeller to come here and insist on meeting her. She wondered what had motivated such a bold move on his part. "Please do."

Charles folded his angular body into the chair by the bed, and pushed his glasses further up on his nose. "So you are Zoe. I have wanted to meet you for a very long time."

Zoe folded her hands across the sheet that was tucked around her middle. "Have you? Why?" How belligerent she sounded.

"Why wouldn't I? You are my sibling and my only living relative."

Zoe took a deep breath and resolved to be a little more tactful. "I can understand your being curious, worried even, but you have no reason to be."

Charles's eyes widened behind his glasses. "Why would I have reason to worry? After all these years, I have found my sister."

Eight months ago, Zoe would not have harbored suspicions about Charles's motives for rushing to Midland the moment he realized she was his sister. Her involvement with Holt had changed all that. "To discover that you have an illegitimate sister must have come as quite a surprise."

"I have known of your existence since you were a baby. I didn't know where you were or how to find you."

Zoe was too surprised to do more than nod and gasp, "You knew?"

"An explanation is in order. Are you up to listening to the intricacies of my rather lengthy story?"

"Oh, yes. I want to hear everything. I've wondered about so many things ever since I first learned of my true parentage." Zoe was set say so much more when the door burst open and Clint entered, with a cup of coffee balanced in each hand.

"Sorry I took so long. There was a line in the cafeteria." Clint put the cups on the table beside Zoe's bed then dragged a chair from the corner of the room, and sat beside Charles. "I trust you two have had a chance to get to know each other."

His intrusion brought a flush of color to Zoe's cheeks. "Charles has been here less than ten minutes. That's scarcely time to establish a close relationship."

Clint reached for one of the cups. "Good, then I didn't miss anything." He extended the cup toward Charles. "Coffee?"

"Thank you." Charles's dignified voice with its polished New England accent was a strange contrast to Clint's rough Texas drawl. "I was about to tell Zoe the story I related to you a few evenings back."

Resentment stung Zoe. Clint had no right to intrude into her relationship with her brother. With a resigned sigh, she realized that asking Clint to leave would be an exercise in futility. He wouldn't go, and he already knew everything, anyway. She sent him a particularly dirty look and was repaid with a benign stare. "Then my father - our father knew of my existence?"

Charles sipped from the Styrofoam cup. "Yes, he knew. He wanted to adopt you. He was adamant on the subject. He gave my long suffering mother an ultimatum: accept the child or lose me. As you can imagine, that caused my mother no small amount of grief and pain."

Zoe's compassionate heart wrenched. In her selfish concern for her own suffering, she had not once considered what the other participants in this lengthy, unhappy drama had endured. "I know your mother attempted to take her own life. I read that in one of the many newspapers Sarah had collected and saved."

Charles took another sip of coffee. "I do believe that my mother's intent was to frighten my father and make him abandon his scheme to adopt you and make you a part of our family. She never forgave herself for that rash act that sent my father rushing home in a snowstorm and ultimately cost him his life. She was convinced that God punished her by taking my father away. She blamed herself for my father's untimely death. She died of a broken heart six months after his fatal plane crash."

A tear slipped from Zoe's eye. "I am so sorry. I had no idea."

"Of course, you didn't. How could you?" Charles wiped his glasses with his fingers as he struggled to control his emotions. After a brief time, he regained some of his composure, and continued his narrative. "After my father's death, my mother was bent on finding you and making amends to my deceased father. She contacted Sarah Clarke and offered to adopt you. Sarah's refusal was swift and cruel."

"But I wasn't with Sarah," Zoe argued. "I had been taken by the couple I believed to be my parents, Colonel and Mrs. James Adair."

"I know that now." Charles set his empty cup on the table. "But there was no way for my mother to know what Colonel Adair had done." He sighed. "Sarah Clarke was a very clever woman. She suggested that my mother set up a trust for you. My mother was a very rich woman. She was also gullible. She set up the fund. The amount she set aside was astronomical. She was in effect offering you payment for taking your father from you. She made Sarah the administrator."

"Why didn't Sarah ever tell the Adairs of that trust fund?" Zoe wondered aloud.

"I don't believe Sarah ever intended that you should have that money." Charles shook his head sadly from side to side. "But to get on with my story, two months later, my mother died, and I was shipped off to boarding school where I remained for the next two years. Then there was college and graduate school. All that while, I made cursory attempts to find you and couldn't."

"And all that time," Zoe's lower lip trembled, "I had no idea that you existed. Until I came to Triple H, I believed myself to be the only child of James and Rachel Adair."

"So Clint and I surmised after we discussed his father's clever scheme to bring you to Triple H under the ruse of hiring you to write Sarah's biography."

"Why," Zoe questioned, "did Holt decide after Sarah's death to find me and bring me to Triple H? It doesn't make sense, that after all that time Sarah ask him to find me."

"Is that what Mr. Hamilton told you? That he didn't know of your existence until just before Sarah's death?"

Zoe was sitting up, now, leaning forward, hanging onto Charles's every word. "He said he knew of my existence all along, and that it was Sarah's dying wish that he locate me and find some way for me to inherit the fortune Sarah left."

Charles ran a weary hand through his thinning hair. "I suspect that Sarah was afraid she was facing some divine retribution for stealing a fortune from her own flesh and blood. That must have been her main reason for pleading with her husband to make recompense to her daughter.

On an incredulous note, Zoe asked, "How can you know that?"

"Through simple, deductive reasoning," Charles lifted one bushy eyebrow. "Can't you see yet what must have happened?"

Zoe put both hands over her mouth. "No." For the first time since Charles had begun to speak, Zoe looked at Clint. His face betrayed no emotion whatsoever. She shifted her gaze back to Charles. "I can't see. Tell me."

Charles sent a melancholy glance in Clint's direction. "I don't enjoy saying these things." When Clint made no reply, betrayed no emotion, Charles grimaced, then went on. "When Holt Hamilton met Sarah Clarke, he was head over heels in debt. He had neglected his business and depleted his fortune through years of court battles in an attempt to gain custody of his son. He was on the brink of bankruptcy. His instant affinity with Sarah must have been a case of likes attracting. They had known each other scarcely two weeks when they were married. Holt jilted his current finance when he eloped with Sarah. A month after becoming man and wife, Holt and Sarah managed to break the trust my mother had set up. They siphoned the money away and invested it in Holt's failing business enterprises. Over a period of time, they recouped their losses and went on to become fabulously wealthy, but they never restored the fund my mother left for the child Sarah Clarke had borne my father."

So many things were falling into place now. "Holt told me so many times that Sarah would be a wandering spirit condemned forever to perdition if he couldn't see to it that I inherited Sarah's millions before he too passed on."

"I'm sure Sarah had convinced him of that eventuality." Charles spread his hand in a helpless gesture. "Sarah was a very clever woman, but from all I can learn of her, she was also very superstitious and given to trusting in the prophecy of physics and predictions of soothsayers. And she was able to give her world of physic logic a very rational appearance. In the end she must have persuaded Holt to embrace her warped reality."

"So Holt did everything he did for Sarah?" Zoe was dumbfounded by Charles's revelation. "Everything is so much clearer now." Impulsively, she extended her hand in Charles's direction. "I was afraid when you came here that you would be ashamed of me and would see me as a fortune hunter who wanted to lay claim to Adrain Zoeller's estate." Her hand dropped to her side. "I won't."

Charles blinked back tears. "Such a ridiculous idea never entered my head. I am quite alone in the world. It brings me great joy to be able to find you and relate to you the truth as I know it." He removed his glasses, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. "As for the vast fortune my parents left me, it seems to multiply in geometric proportions and provides me with everything except the one thing I desire most, a family."

Zoe smiled at her brother, feeling a closeness she had never felt with another human being before. "Some good has come from this terrible mess. We have found each other."

Charles eyes filled with tears. "I was afraid too, as you can see. I didn't know if you would accept me as your brother." He cleared his throat. "If you have no objections, I plan to spend the next few weeks getting acquainted with you."

"I think that would be wonderful!" Zoe was elated. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Clint looking at her in the strangest way. She swallowed her resentment and asked him, "When can I leave here?"

"In a few days." Clint put his hand on Charles's shoulder. "You are welcome to stay at Triple H while you are here. That would enable you and Zoe to spend a great deal of time together."

Clint was running roughshod over her again, assuming that he could dictate the terms of her existence. "But I told you." Zoe stopped. She saw no reason to air her differences with Clint in Charles's presence. She bit down on her anger. "We can talk later." A steely determination reinforced her words. Why was Clint so insistent that she return to Triple H? Did he feel guilty for the shabby way he had treated her? Did he still believe she was a fortune hunter bent on getting her hands on a portion of the Hamilton wealth? Or, God forbid, did he think she would use the information that Charles had given her to claim ownership of the entire Hamilton estate? A shudder ran through her small frame.

Clint was immediately solicitous. "You must be very tired." He stood. "We'll leave you to rest." He carried his chair back to its corner spot.

Charles stood and brushed his hand through his hair. "I will return tomorrow." His voice broke. "It has been so good talking to you."

Zoe extended her hand. "Thank you so much for coming."

Charles held her hand for a few moments, then lifted it to his mouth and pressed a kiss on her palm. "Until tomorrow."

Clint stood by his chair and waited until Charles had stepped through the door before saying, "We have several things to discuss." He invested his short pronouncement with profound significance. "I'll see you tomorrow." One graceful, fluid movement carried him across the room and out the door before Zoe could find an answer.

Zoe watched him disappear down the long corridor, his stride sure, his head held at an arrogant tilt. Was there anything more heart rending than loving someone who couldn't return that love? A cloud of despair drifted across her hazy thoughts. She loved Clint McCann, and there existed the treacherous probability that she would always love him. She found in her bitterness a sullen delight. Once she had lain in his arms and known the rapture of his love. No one could take her memories from her. On that somber note, she closed her eyes and wept silent tears.

Chapter Thirty-one

Zoe watched as Maggie bustled around the room, straightening pillows, rearranging magazines, and in general, giving vent to her nervous anticipation. "Will you sit down? It's thirty minutes before Charles is due." Over the past six weeks Zoe had watched an unfolding romance as she observed her brother and her sister-in-law fall in love a little more each day. "And the room is spotless."

Maggie collapsed onto the couch. "Do you know how fortunate you are to have found Charles after all these years?"

Zoe had to smile. "I didn't find him, he found me, and yes, I know how fortunate I am."

Maggie was positively starry eyed. "He's such a wonderful man, kind, considerate, and very courageous. Not many men would have rushed to your bedside in the face of what happened with the media and Hartford's terrible accusations."

"I am beginning to suspect," Zoe made a frown, "that you have stayed with me for the past six weeks, seeing to my needs, bullying me into following the doctor's instructions, not because of concern for my well being, but because you want to be near my kind, considerate, courageous brother." Her frown faded, replaced by a knowing smile. "You're in love with Charles, aren't you?"

Maggie twisted her hands together. "Is it that obvious?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Do you think he knows?"

Zoe's heart went out to the slim woman who sat across from her. "He probably does. Charles is a very astute man."

"Oh, dear me, "Maggie lamented, "He must think I'm a complete fool."

"I rather suspect that he might feel the same about you."

"Don't be absurd." Maggie's denial was genuine. "What would a sophisticated man like Charles see in a plain Jane like me?" She began to weep softly. "He's suave and experienced and so handsome, and look at me. I'm plain." Maggie's lower lip quivered. "And completely inexperienced."

"Maggie, you are far from plain, and you know it." Zoe's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Are you saying you are a virgin?"

Maggie nodded. "I know at my age that's inexcusable, but I never found anyone that I wanted to give myself to, not until now."

"Oh, Maggie, you are an idiot. No man objects to being a woman's first lover." In her delight for Maggie Zoe almost forgot her own unhappiness, almost, but not completely. If Clint could have been the first man to make love to her, would it have made a difference in the way he felt about her now? Would he then have known that what she felt for him was so much more than lust? Color climbed into her cheeks as she remembered her wanton behavior on their wedding night. She had begged him to make love to her, not once, but over and over again. If she could go back in time, would she behave differently? In her memory, she had relived that sweet experience a hundred times, each recollection brought a little more remorse. There was nothing more tragic than the utter impossibility of changing the past.

Maggie fingers lacing themselves around Zoe's wrist broke her morbid chain of thought. "Are you all right, Zoe? You look flushed."

Zoe couldn't tell Maggie that she was far from all right, that her heart broke a little more each day. "I'm a little tired. Why don't you check on dinner?"

As Maggie hurried toward the kitchen, Zoe rested her head on the back of the couch and wondered if anything Clint could say to her, anything he could do, would be more cruel that his long silence? He'd made a token protest when she had refused to go to Triple H the day she had been discharged from the hospital. That had been over six weeks ago, and since that day, he had not contacted her in anyway, not even a telephone call. A week ago he had been served with divorce papers. Not even that had elicited a response. Zoe could only conclude that he was glad to be rid of her. The last time Clint had spoken to her had been the day she left the hospital, and even then his words were formal and cold. Maggie will stay with you until you've recovered sufficiently to care for yourself.

Zoe had welcomed having Maggie take up residence with her, even on a temporary basis. Was that because she was so happy to have Maggie back as a friend or had she unconsciously seen this as a tenuous tie to Clint? Reluctantly, she forced herself to admit that even if the latter were true, it had been to no avail. Clint continued to ignore her completely.

In the past six weeks Maggie had not once mentioned Clint. That silence further reinforced Zoe's belief that Clint hated her. No, it wasn't hate he felt. Hate came from the heart. He felt contempt, a reasoned, cold, rational, contempt that was a product of his sharp, analytical mind. Tears trickled across her temples and ran into her hair.

Dinner was a pleasant meal, with Charles regaling the two women with tales of his past experiences as a Vermont State Senator, and Maggie hanging onto his every word. "Do you plan to run again?" Maggie questioned after Charles had related a lengthy tale of his struggle to push a difficult piece of legislation through a divided state senate.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Charles laid his napkin on the table. "I must go back to Vermont in a few days to officially declare myself a candidate for the United States Senate."

"You're leaving?" Maggie asked, her disappointment sounding in her voice.

"I'm afraid I must, but before I go." Charles pushed his chair from the table. "Zoe, would you mind terribly if Maggie and I went for a little drive? Maggie has promised to show me some of the local landmarks."

"I think that's an excellent idea." Zoe refrained from adding that any sights to be seen would not be visible in the dark of night. "Maggie needs to get out of this stuffy apartment for a while."

"I'll get my coat." Maggie jumped up from the table, calling over her shoulder as she left the room. "Leave the dishes. I'll do then when I get home."

But later, when she was alone, Zoe cleared away the dishes, and stacked them in the dishwasher, thankful to have something to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.

At ten o'clock, Zoe retired to her room and curled up in her bed with a paper back novel. After a few minutes of trying to concentrate on the book, she laid it aside and forced herself to think about her future. Doctor Michaels had released her from his care, declaring her completely recovered from her miscarriage. She had filed for her divorce from Clint. Charles would soon be going back to Vermont. Everything in her life seemed to be winding down. She must shake her lethargy and make some definite plans. That should begin with finding a permanent place of residence. Carter had been very kind, but she couldn't stay in the law firm's VIP suite forever. She put her hands under her cheek and curled up in a ball. She was weary, so weary. Her thoughts drifted down the hazy corridors of her troubled mind toward slumber.

"Wake up, Zoe" A firm hand on her shoulder shook Zoe to wakefulness. "We have something to tell you."

"Maggie?" Zoe questioned as she sat up to see Charles and Maggie stand beside her bed, holding hands and smiling. Zoe looked at the clock on her night stand. "It's four o'clock in the morning. Is something wrong?"

"Quite the contrary," Charles pulled Maggie a little nearer. "Everything is perfect. Maggie has agreed to marry me."

Zoe realized she was still wearing her jeans and shirt. "That's wonderful! When?"

"It took some doing, but in approximately six hours Miss Margaret Anne Sullivan will become Mrs. Charles William Zoeller."

Zoe scooted to the side of the bed. "This is so sudden." She ran her fingers through her hair. "I'll make some coffee, and you can tell me everything."

"Not quite everything." Charles hugged Maggie to him. "But I will tell you this, I have never been so happy or so surprised before in my entire life."

Maggie's blush and Charles's possessive smile told Zoe more than any words could ever have related. Charles and Maggie had made love. She pushed her envy aside. "Where will the wedding be?" She motioned for Charles and Maggie to follow her into the kitchen.

Charles helped Maggie into a chair and sat beside her. "Downstairs in Judge Field's office."

Zoe switched on the coffee maker and took cups from the cabinet. "Have you spoken to the judge?"

"Oh, yes," Charles reached to catch Maggie's hand. "Clint made the arrangements for us tonight while we were at Triple H."

Zoe set cream and sugar on a tray. "You went to Triple H?"

"Yes" Charles couldn't take his eyes off Maggie. "I felt I should properly ask for Maggie's hand. I spoke to Clint, then we called Maggie's father and mother. We are flying to the valley just after the ceremony. Then it's on to Burlington."

Zoe sat down to wait for the coffee. She turned to Maggie. "Then your parents won't be at the ceremony?"

"No." Maggie's adoring glance moved over Charles's face. "Charles has asked Clint to be his best man, and I hope you will be my matron of honor."

Zoe stood, as if standing would alleviate the stab of pain that tore through her. "I'll pour the coffee." Her first impulse was to refuse, to plead poor health, a previous commitment, temporary insanity - anything to escape the anguish of seeing Clint again. Zoe poured the hot liquid into cups. Charles was her brother, and Maggie was Clint's sister. They were going to be married. Under those conditions. Seeing Clint occasionally was inevitable. She may as well face him now and be done with it. "I'd be happy to be your matron of honor."

Five hours later, Zoe stepped from the elevator and made her way to Judge Field's office, still wrestling with second thoughts. She stepped into the office and her heart fell to the toes of her shoes. Clint was standing just inside the door with his arms around Amy Fields. As Zoe entered, his mouth came down over Amy's in a passionate kiss. After what seemed an eternity, Clint lifted his head. "Hello, Zoe." He made no effort to move away from Amy.

"Excuse me." Zoe turned to go, intent on escaping as soon as possible.

Clint released Amy. "You're early, too. Come in." Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped at the smudge of lipstick that decorated his mouth. "The others should be here soon."

For a devastating instant, anger and hurt, such as she had never known, blazed to an inferno inside Zoe as her unbelieving eyes collided with Clint's cold stare. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, those emotions smoldered to ashes and blew away on the winds of sorrow, leaving her numb and unfeeling, almost paralyzed with anguish. When she spoke, her voice sounded dead and empty. "Hello, Amy. How are you?"

Amy had the decency to look chagrined. "Quite well, thank you." She moved away from Clint. "I have to go now."

Clint called as she went through the door. "See you later."

Zoe had always known that Clint felt no deep regard for her, but to realize that she had meant nothing at all to him, that in less time than it had taken her to recover from her miscarriage, he had reinstated his affair with Amy was more than she could bear. A soothing, anesthetized trauma took command of her emotions, deadening the excruciating pain and allowing her to function, at least on a superficial level, in a rational manner. "I've been intending to call you." She hadn't, and he probably knew that she was lying, but she had to say something.

His voice was cutting, caustic. "Have you?"

Zoe was past feeling anything. His sarcasm scarcely registered. "Yes." How calm she sounded, how unemotional, how dead. "My car is at Triple H. If you will have someone drive it to Midland, I won't bother you again."

In a more conciliatory tone, Clint reminded her, "You have more than a few belongings at Triple H. What about all those things in the attic that belonged to your mother?"

Must he bring to her attention, again, that she was Sarah's offspring? Zoe opened her mouth, and the words that begged utterance shattered before she could say them. "I . . . Maybe. . . ." Dropping into a chair, she balled her hands into tight fists. "I'll make arrangements to have them shipped to some museum somewhere. All I want now is my car."

"Why don't you go back with us after the ceremony and get your little Toyota yourself?"

"Us?" Zoe's voice was an agonized whisper.

"Yes, us, Amy and me. You can go with us when we go home."

Did this mean that Amy was living at Triple H with him now? She had always known Clint was a ruthless man, but until now she had not known how ruthless, how heartless he could be. "I don't have time to make the trip," she explained in that same dead voice. "I'm leaving tomorrow, and I still have some packing to do. I'll ask Carter to find someone to go for me." She was not lying now. She was leaving Midland as soon as possible. She had to escape before her emotional tranquilizer wore away, and reality caused her to collapse under the weight of her own grief.

Clint shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Zoe had only a hazy recollection of the next two hours. She moved through the ceremony and the champagne toast afterward like a zombie. She could be thankful for one thing, Charles and Maggie were too rapturously happy to notice how near the breaking point she was.

She did have the presence of mind to ask Carter to send someone to Triple H for her car.

It was then that Carter began to scrutinize her with anxious eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Why shouldn't I be?"

"You don't look fine." Carter narrowed his gaze and moved closer. "Maybe I should call Doctor Michaels."

They were interrupted by goodbyes, well wishes, and congratulations, as Charles and Maggie made their exit.

Carter put his hand on Zoe's elbow. "I'll see you upstairs."

Zoe couldn't find the strength to object. She put her hand through his arm and watched as Clint followed Charles and Maggie down the long corridor.

Carter insisted on staying until Zoe was settled on the couch with a stack of magazines and a TV guide. "Try to relax, and get some rest."

Zoe's reply brought him up short. "I can't. I have too many things to do. I'm leaving Midland in the morning. So I want to take this time to thank you for all you've done for me."

"Where the hell do you think you are going?"

"Back to Summerville, first, then," She shrugged, "somewhere - anywhere."

Carter was visibly shaken. "Does Clint know you're going?"

"He knows."

"And?"

She couldn't very well tell Carter that Clint was too involved with his sister to care what Zoe did. "And nothing."

"I don't think you should go, Zoe." Carter's concern was touching. "Not yet, anyway. Don't you realize that you're still the subject of endless gossip and speculation? Why do you think Charles and Maggie opted for a quiet, private wedding ceremony?" He didn't wait to hear her answer. "They wanted to avoid any further publicity."

"Will you get my car from Triple H, please."

Carter swore under his breath. "Damn it, Zoe, you haven't heard a word I've said. And you can't go tearing off cross country in that little car. Let me help you choose a new car before you leave."

"Thank you, Carter, but I can't afford a new car." Zoe's emotional opiate was wearing away, leaving her raw and aching with pain.

Carter's hands flew up in sheer exasperation. "You are a millionaire many times over! What do you mean you can't afford a car?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't intend to take a cent of Holt's money."

Carter pulled a chair directly in front of Zoe, sat down, and took both her hands in his. "Listen to me, Zoe, and try to comprehend what I'm telling you. The money you have is not Holt's, it never was Holt's. He stole it from you." He rubbed his fingers over Zoe's hands. "You're cold as ice."

"I don't intend to touch any of that money, ever."

Carter relented, a little. "Then take some of Charles Zoeller's money. He has more than he'll ever spend, anyway."

She couldn't do that, either. And she needed to be alone so she could give way to the rising agony that threatened to pull her into an undertow of misery. "Will you get my car for me, please?"

"It's useless, isn't it?" Carter stood slowly to his feet. "Clint McCann should be horsewhipped for what he's done to you, for what he's still doing."

"I have to get away, Carter. Will you please get my car to me?"

"If I promise to get that little tub of bolts to you by tomorrow," Carter reluctantly conceded defeat, "will you promise me that you'll take it easy until then?"

"I promise. I need some time alone."

Carter dropped a kiss on Zoe's cold cheek. "I'll send someone for your car, I promise."

If he didn't, Zoe decided, as Carter shut the door behind him, she would rent a car in the morning and be on her way. Having finally made a decision, Zoe went to her bedroom and began to cram her few belongings into suitcases.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Light was breaking across the Midland skyline. Zoe stacked her suitcases beside the door and sat on the couch to wait for Carter, or his messenger, to put in an appearance. She had stripped the beds and cleaned the apartment. An envelope containing a thank-you note and the keys to the apartment was propped up against the empty sugar bowl on the kitchen table.

Sleep for Zoe had been an impossibility, so through the long night she had packed her bags, cleaned the apartment, written a letter to Charles and Maggie, and a note to Carter. Now, as she relaxed on the couch, weariness closed around her like a net. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten. The fragile control she had held onto with an iron will since seeing Clint with Amy threatened now to shatter like brittle glass. Zoe's head fell to one side. She dropped into a troubled sleep.

A noise outside her door pulled her back to wakefulness. Someone was inserting a key into the lock. Carter was here and so early. It wasn't yet seven o'clock.

It was not Carter, but Clint who opened the door and strode into the room. With one sweeping glance, he took in the entire scene. "Carter sent someone for your car. I refused to let him have it," he announced with an insolence she knew so well.

He was still angry and vindictive and sparring for a battle, but every ounce of fight was gone from Zoe. She could scarcely find the strength to ask, "Where did you get a key to this apartment?"

His rugged countenance was like granite. "From Maggie."

Zoe shrugged. "Did you bring my car?"

"No." The word exploded from his mouth.

She closed her eyes against his piercing gaze. "Then why are you here?"

"I need some answers." His mouth was set in a hard line, his jaw tensed with suppressed emotion. "Answers only you can give me."

The odd catch in his voice made her open her eyes and look up at him. "I want my car."

He stood in the center of the room with his feet wide apart and his hands on his hips, looking every inch the renegade that he was. Then his chest expanded and deflated in a heaving sigh. He shook his head from side to side as his anger seemed to float away on his expelled breath. "That rattletrap that you call a car is unsafe to drive. You can't take it out on the highway."

An ache of bitterness rose in her throat. "That's not your decision to make. I'll ask Carter to take legal steps to get my car if I have to." She stiffened her spine and waited for him to let go with some scathing reply.

Instead, he moved across the room and dropped down beside her on the couch. "The car was just an excuse." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "I had to see you." Cold from the outside still clung to his coat. He smelled of leather and spicy cologne.

"You saw me yesterday." Her head ached, and her throat was tight. "Wasn't that enough to satisfy you, or are you still out for blood?" A sob caught in her throat. She was like a spring wound too tightly and ready at any moment to fly apart. "You wanted me to pay for what I did to you. I have paid and paid and paid, I can't take anymore. Go away and leave me alone."

"I want to talk about what I did to you." He lifted his hand as if to touch her face, then let it fall to his side. "I stayed awake all last night, trying to find some way to live with what I've done. It should bring you some comfort to know that I can't." Once more his chest expanded in a tortured breath. "I'm not altogether at fault. You let me think, no you led me to believe you were a cold-hearted, gold digging little bitch. That morning in the attic. . . ." His voice broke. After a struggling moment, he began again. "You could have told me the truth then. Why didn't you?"

She whispered, "The truth would have destroyed you." Tentatively, she asked, "Would you have believed me?"

"Probably not. I'm not good at recognizing the truth even when it's staring me in the face. Is that why you let me believe the worst? Was it to protect me?"

She bowed her head. "You'd suffered enough."

"I deserved everything I got. Can you ever forgive me? Will you let me try to make amends?"

His contrite and controlled request took her by surprise. He was treating her with esteem. In the short time she had known him, he had never shown anything but contempt for her. Why now should he feel the need to make amends? "There's nothing more you can do."

"Maybe not, but I have to try." Restraint was not one of Clint's strong points. He made a discernible effort to reign in his frustration. "There were so many things that I couldn't face, couldn't admit, not even to myself. Now I want to try. Will you help me?"

"What can I do?" She cautioned herself not to let her love for him override her good judgment. She must not read too much into his quasi-apology. He was feeling guilty because he'd misjudged her, nothing more. "What do you want to admit?"

His eyes were dark with pain. "Where do I start?" He swallowed deeply. "I never wanted to believe that Holt was an insidiously evil man, but he was. His wickedness tainted the lives of everyone around him. He made my mother's existence a living hell. He blackmailed my sister, taking away from her five years of her young life. I've finally faced what I could never admit until now. I've stopped finding excuses for my old man."

Zoe knew what it was like to wrestle through a long night with unwanted revelations. "But you said he had no evil intent."

"That was my way of handling the problem. I was deluding myself." Clint sent her a glance that pleaded for belief, for understanding. "I can look back now and see that my relationship with Holt always had a destructive bend. He took an evil delight in hurting me, and I always retaliated in a like manner. At the same time, I invariably found some excuse for each atrocity he committed, each outrage he executed, until he began to taunt me about having you." His voice was heavy with anguish. "His lies and taunts devastated me. In my torment and frustration, I struck out at you, too."

How Clint must have suffered thinking his father was being taken by a no-good tramp. "Would he be that cruel to his own son?"

"He would, he was." Clint squared his shoulders and lifted his granite jaw. "He tortured me, telling me what it was like to make love to you, of his sexual prowess when he was with you, and it was all a treacherous and willful lie. Holt was evil to the core."

She had never known Clint to refer to his father as anything but the old man. "I never heard you call your father Holt before."

Clint's mouth twisted into a self depreciating smile. "I wanted to separate Holt Hamilton from the idea in my mind of what my father should be. I've stopped doing that. I may not accept or approve of the man he was, but like it or not, Holt Hamilton was my father. Maybe someday I can call him Dad. Holt is a start."

Zoe searched for some way to ease his suffering. "I'm sure Holt didn't want you to know he was impotent." She was stunned that Clint would reveal to her such intimate feelings. "Maybe his talk was more to brag than to hurt."

Clint leveled a hard look in her direction. "We both know better than that. Stop trying to spare my feelings. I can handle this."

"Can you?" Zoe wondered if he could. "Have you come to terms with his deceit? Can you let the past go now?"

"Not entirely, but I'm trying." This time his hand brushed across her face. "And you? How are you dealing with the past?"

She drew back, shrinking from his pity. "I'll survive."

"Will you?" The taunting tone had returned. "I'm not sure."

Anger bubbled up inside her. He had hurt her enough. He had no right, no right at all to come here and poke around in her private heartbreak, stirring up all those terrible memories, recalling a past beyond repair. "I am no longer your concern. You can go now."

"Not until we get some things settled." Clint's outlaw face set in swift hard lines. "I have some things to say, and you are going to listen."

Was he still afraid that she would make some claim to Holt's fortune? She could soon set him straight on that issue. "I want nothing that was Holt's. I know he complicated things by leaving some kind of irrevocable trust, but Carter says there are ways around even that. As soon as I can, I will sign everything he gave me back to you. I asked Carter to convey that message to you."

"Oh, yes, Carter conveyed your message." Clint was struggling, once more, to retain his slipping composure. "He also told me that you didn't want to see me or talk to me ever again. Carter's exact words were, 'Zoe wants nothing from you but a divorce'." His eyes clashed with hers as he demanded, "Did you say that?"

"I said," She wondered why she even bothered to explain, "there was no point in us discussing money, that you didn't have to buy your freedom."

"What I have to say has nothing to do with money." Anger, swift and volatile, gave his words a sharp edge. "Holt's or anyone else's. I don't give a damn about Holt's ill gotten gains. If you knew anything at all about me, you would know that." He rubbed his hand across his face. "You don't really know me at all, and that's sad because I think that if we could have met under different circumstances, we would have been friends."

She doubted that, and she told him so. "You hated me from the first moment you laid eyes on me." She recalled with vivid clarity that first time she had seen him coming across the hotel lobby, bearing down on her like some marauding bandit with fire in his eye and insolence in his voice. "Maybe that's because I look so much like my mother."

"You can admit that Sarah is your mother?" Clint seemed surprised at that thought. "Does this mean that you've made some peace with the past too?" He was observing her with narrowed interest.

"I try, every day I try." Zoe admitted on a ragged sigh. "There are times I struggle just to know who I am." She spread her hands in a helpless little gesture. "Everything happened too fast. One day I was Zoe Martin, decent upstanding citizen, the next day I discovered I wasn't Zoe Martin at all, I was Sarah Clarke's bastard daughter and Holt Hamilton's wife. Before I could assimilate all that, I was Holt's widow, and like my mother before me, pregnant with an illegitimate child. I was forced to admit some frightening realities. I was more like my mother than I had imagined. I was capable of terrible acts, horrible atrocities. I lied to you and to Holt. I took advantage of Holt's illness and failing mentality to deceive him and steal from him. I even used Carter in a way that made him partner to my illegal activities. I committed adultery, and I am guilty of the ghastly crime of incest." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "I'm a murderer, too. I killed my baby. I ran off into the night, thinking only of myself, and killed what I wanted most in the world." She collapsed in a pitiful heap, giving vent to the grief and remorse that had been building inside her for all these months.

Clint's stern face crumpled like old parchment. "Dear God, what have we done to you?" Taking her in his arms, he held her to him as if she were a baby. "Don't cry, please don't cry." When it became clear that stopping was not an option, he cradled her in his embrace, smoothing her hair, and whispering words of comfort in her ear, until at last, she laid her head on his chest, and sniffed like a chastened child.

After a period of forgiving silence, she lifted her head and tried to free herself from his grasp. "I'm all right now."

His arms tightened around her. "No, you're not." He brushed his lips against her hair before he pushed her from him and began to speak, slowly and distinctly. "You are none of those things you accuse yourself of being, and I won't have you saying you are. Nothing that happened to you is your fault. The blame lies with me and with Holt. You were caught in the battle that we had been waging for years. Holt used you to get at me. He was diabolically clever. He knew how I would react. I passed my anger and jealously on to you. You fought back with the only weapons you had. You weren't seeking revenge, you were struggling to survive. You're not an evil person because Sarah was your mother any more than I am inherently wicked because I was sired by Holt Hamilton." Pulling her back into the comfort of his embrace, he whispered, "You have to believe that."

"Then why do I feel so wretched?" She didn't dare remain in the warmth of his embrace. A quick movement sent her scurrying to the other end of the couch where she wrapped her arms around her waist and huddled in a corner. She was beginning to believe that Clint's reasons for coming here were well intentioned. He had said that under ordinary circumstances they could be friends. She doubted that she could bear being near him, seeing him with Amy, knowing that he would never love her and not collapse under the weight of her own grief. But she could, she must, for Charles's sake, forget their differences and part friends.

Then she could go away with a clear conscience, put miles of country between them. In the future, if - no, when she was forced to be near him, she would do her best to handle the situation with dignity and constraint. "When can I have my car?"

"You can't leave, not yet anyway."

Sitting up, Zoe stared at him in surprise. "Why not?"

"Because our divorce isn't final."

It was, she knew it was. All that remained now was for Clint to sign the decree. With a new-found dignity, she told him, "Carter assures me that all that is lacking now is your signature, then the papers can be filed."

"But I haven't signed them, nor do I intend to." His old arrogance was back and more forceful than ever.

"Don't you think that's a little unfair to Amy?"

"What the hell does Amy have to do with us?" He sounded hurt and angry.

"It's not fair that you should take her to Triple H to live with you, and then refuse to divorce your wife and make an honest woman of her." Zoe reached for flippancy and missed it a mile when her voice choked on the tears in her throat.

Clint's eyes closed as if he were in pain. "Damn! Yesterday, in Judge Field's office. You thought. . . .?"

"No," She was quick to interrupt, "You said, at least you implied, that Amy was living at Triple H."

"Did I? The only excuse I can offer is I was dying inside. I didn't know what I was doing or saying. You were so cold and distant. I knew I had to do something to get a reaction from you. So I kissed Amy. Believe me, she was as surprised by that stupid move as you were." Moisture gathered in the corners of Clint's eyes. "I thought, for one little second, that you would object, say something, anything, to let me know that you felt at least a little jealously. Then I saw the revulsion in your eyes, and I knew you didn't care enough to object." A tear slid from his eye. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. "I won't sign those divorce papers, not until I've had a chance to make things right between us."

She opened her mouth to speak. He stopped her by lifting his hand. "Don't say anything, not yet. If I don't say this now, I may never find the courage to speak again."

She had never before known Clint to lack for courage. A flutter of hope danced through her. She held it in check and sat mute and resigned as he began to speak.

"Please believe me. I don't hate you. I know that in the light of what I have done and said to you that may be hard to believe." He was still having trouble with his breathing. After a caught breath and little pause he went on. "I was a teenager when Sarah Clarke came into Holt's life. He took one look at her and fell in love, hopelessly, helplessly, irrevocably. I detested him for what I considered a weakness. He was Sarah's slave, her lackey, she dominated him completely. He had never given a damn about any woman he had ever been involved with before, not even my mother. My relationship with my father had always been rocky. His marriage to Sarah only aggravated that already unfortunate situation. Is it any wonder that I learned to hate Sarah and resent Holt?"

The tension drained from Zoe's body as she became totally engrossed in Clint's surprising confession. "I do understand."

Clint shrugged. "I'd persuaded myself that I would hate Sarah in particular, and women in general for the rest of my life, and for the next twenty years, I did just that. Then I looked across a hotel lobby that day in May and saw you walking toward me. I felt an attraction that I knew was forever and already out of control. I was disturbed at first, then deeply troubled. Maybe I could have handled those powerful emotions better if you hadn't borne such a striking resemblance to Sarah." Tears glistened in the corners of his pain-ridden eyes. "It was like all the devils in hell had risen up to jeer at me. I couldn't allow myself to follow in my father's footsteps. I wasn't man enough to admit that I was falling in love with you, so I took the coward's way out, I became hostile, arrogant, and viciously malicious. I wanted to hurt you, make you as miserable as I was. I never once dared inquire as to why I felt so strongly the need to wound you." He lifted his hand in a pleading gesture. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"I think I could forgive anything you ever did if it carried with it the assurance that you didn't hate me." Had he said falling in love? She hardly dared to ask, "What do you want from me, Clint?"

Clint's relief shone in his face. "Probably more than you can give. I know, at one time, you felt at least a sexual attraction toward me." The muscles along his jaw tightened. "I want another chance."

"Chance to do what?" Her voice trembled with hope.

"I want to try to make our marriage work. Do I have a prayer, or have I killed any feelings you might ever have had for me?"

"I do care." Fears and hope were mixing to create a dazed confusion. "But I . . . ."

"If you care any at all, that's all that matters." Tears rolled down his cheeks. He made no effort to wipe them away. "I don't expect that you will ever feel as strongly about me as I do about you. I can live with that. All I'm asking for now is a second chance."

"Oh, Clint!"

"Please, don't say no." Intense emotion pushed him to his feet. "I never expected to make this admission, but I'm as much Holt's son, as you are Sarah's daughter." He dropped down beside her. "I love you, Zoe. Will you consider coming back to me? You can name the terms. I have finally admitted another truth to myself. Life without you is not worth the effort it takes to exist from day to day."

It was as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from Zoe's heart. "Oh, my darling, don't you know that I was falling in love with you too? That attraction is as strong for me as it is for you." A delight of quicksilver joy sang through her veins. "Don't tell me you didn't know that?"

They moved, like two magnets, into a close embrace, and then they were holding onto each other and laughing through their tears.

After he had kissed her with tender passion, Clint asked, "How can I ever make up to you for what I've done?"

She feigned deep thought. "It will take years and years of tender loving and even then I'm not sure I can forgive you."

He held her so tightly that her breath was trapped in her lungs. "Don't tease me, not now, not while my misery still threatens my happiness and pain rubs raw against a delight I'm almost afraid to give way to."

How fragile their love was now, subject to questions about the future and fears from the past. But it would grow and flourish, nourished by trust and the knowledge of reciprocal feelings. "Don't be afraid, don't ever be afraid to love me." She lowered her eyes and smiled up through her lashes. "You could show me now, how much you love me."

He kissed her again, this time with the gentle assurance that his need was not purely physical. When they could breathe again, he said, "I would like to take you to the bedroom and love you senseless, but I won't. You've suffered a miscarriage and a concussion, and when I start to love you, I won't be able to exercise caution or restraint. We have a lifetime to love each other. I want you, but first I want Doctor Michaels's word that you've fully recovered from your miscarriage, and some assurance that you're protected against another pregnancy."

Those were the thoughts and words of a man who truly loved his wife. "I hope you aren't always so sensible."

"I'm not sensible, I'm thankful. Will you come home with me and let me spend the rest of my life showing you how much I love you?" He kissed her again. "Are you ready to go home?"

Oh, yes, she was ready, so ready. After all this time, all the pain, all the misunderstanding and intrigue, she could put the past behind her. She could reconcile herself to the memory of a mother who had abandoned her, forgive a father who had gambled with fate and lost, and absolve her foster parents of any crime, even loving to excess.

There were no more doubts about Clint's love for her. They had so much to look forward to, years of happiness together. They had each other, and they had a family; Charles, Maggie, Clint's mother, and his stepfather. And there would be children, laughing, happy children. Clint was giving her not only his love, but his life. Secure in that knowledge, she reached for her coat. "Let's go home."

Zoe held the door open as Clint hoisted a suitcase under each arm, then gripped a third in his right hand. He stooped ever so slightly and kissed her cheek, then together they walked down the empty corridor, toward the elevator and the dawning of a bright new day.

Epilogue

It had been a long day but a happy one. Zoe stretched out on the bed, and watched Clint as he stepped from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel that he had knotted around his waist. After five years of marriage, the sight of him still sent her heart lurching.

Clint smiled as he sat on the side of the bed. "Tired?"

"A little," Zoe covered her mouth to stifle a yawn. "But happy. This has been the best Thanksgiving ever."

"Maybe that's because we have so much to be thankful for." Clint stretched out beside Zoe and pushed a pillow under his head. "It's too bad Charles and Maggie couldn't stay a little longer."

"Charles feels he should go back to Washington." Zoe's heart swelled with pride when she thought of what a prominent political figure her brother had become over the past five years. "He has some committee meeting to attend tomorrow."

"Mamma and Mitch will be here until Monday." Clint's smile was wry. "I suspect they will spend most of their time with their grandson."

Zoe's smile widened as she thought of how much their son Joel enjoyed being with his grandparents. "They tend to spoil him."

Clint laughed aloud. "They give in to his every whim, and he takes full advantage." His laughter died away as he suggested, "Maybe you and I can slip away to the attic while they baby sit."

"I have a meeting in Midland Monday afternoon with the Literacy Council." Zoe ran her fingers across Clint's hairy chest. "But I'm free until then."

"Maybe you should ask the Council to come to Triple H for that meeting." Clint laid his hand on Zoe's slightly extended stomach. "You shouldn't overdo. You have to take care of yourself and Joel's little brother."

"Joel's little sister," Zoe corrected. "This baby is definitely a girl." It was an argument she and Clint had carried on with rare good humor since Zoe had learned she was expecting a second child. "My daughter is going to love having a big brother." Joel had turned three a few months back. Just when they had begun to fear that he would be an only child, Zoe had discovered she was pregnant again. A serious note threaded through her voice. "I wish I could have known Charles when I was a child. Growing up with a big brother must be wonderful."

"A big brother and five older male cousins." Clint's eyes twinkled with amusement. "That would be a burden for any female. Maybe you should take a page from Maggie's book and shoot for twins or even triplets."

Zoe laughed. "I don't think I should try to compete with Maggie when it comes to producing offspring." She cuddled nearer. "In that field of endeavor Maggie has no peer."

"I have to agree. When it comes to reproducing, you're not in Maggie's league." Pulling Zoe into his arms, Clint kissed the tip of her nose.

A year after Maggie and Charles were married, Maggie had given birth to twin boys. Fourteen months later, she had produced another set of Identical twin boys. The second set, like the first, were as alike as two peas in a pod. The latest addition to the Zoeller family was barely six months old. He was the image of his four older brothers, who were all small replicas of Charles.

Zoe had to concur. "Maggie has a penchant for producing strapping males. "This baby," She moved her hand to her stomach, "is a girl, and her Aunt Maggie's namesake."

"That should make Maggie happy." Clint's mouth moved to the soft juncture where Zoe's throat joined her shoulder. "Mamma will be pleased, too."

"Today was such a joy," Zoe murmured. "Having all the family here, seeing Charles and Maggie so happy together, spending time with my nephews, watching your mother and Mitch with their grandchildren,

it was perfect. Now we can begin to plan for Christmas."

"Can you handle that?" Clint asked with loving concern.

"Mamma is flying up from the valley a few days early to help out. We're going to redecorate the nursery then too. Mamma says this time everything should be done in shades of pink."

"What if little Maggie has red hair? Pink clashes with red, you know."

"Little Maggie will cope." How far they had come in five years. Zoe studied the contented face of her dear husband. In the beginning they had been so careful, each one being reluctant to voice an opposing opinion, neither daring to push an issue too far. That had only served to build up a tension that after three months, exploded into a verbal free-for-all.

The anger had lasted until the end of the day. After a passionate reconciliation, they sat down and talked the matter through. In the process, they discovered, much to their mutual surprise, that their love was strong enough to survive the many stresses of day to day coexistence. After that they had relaxed and begun to enjoy the closeness that springs from a reciprocal commitment and flourishes in the warmth of enduring, unquestioning love.

"Did you hear?" Zoe asked.

"Uh, huh." Clint's mouth was making erotic forays down Zoe's middle. "You smell like wild flowers."

"I love you," Zoe whispered as Clint's touch began to carry her into that magical world of the senses. His lovemaking grew sweeter, more satisfying each time they came together. "Love me, my darling."

"I do. I will." And he did.

The End