Firestorm by Brenda Joyce Read Free Book Online Page B

glance.
    Despite herself, Storm gazed after him.

Chapter 3
    On Friday morning Storm woke up sick with dread. She refused to get out of bed, and soon Paul had sent for the physician. She was flushed with anxiety—tonight was the dinner party in her honor. She intended to stay in bed all day, pretending to have the flu so no one would make her go.
    Dr. Winslow arrived just before noon, as did Marcy. “What’s wrong?” she cried, genuinely worried, rushing to Storm’s bedside before Dr. Winslow could enter.
    Storm felt ashamed. Over the past few days she had been squired around town by Marcy, and she had quickly realized that the older woman was unaffectedly warm and friendly, with nothing but kind intentions. Storm liked her, grudgingly. Just as she liked San Francisco, grudgingly. Now she saw Marcy’s white, worried face, felt a hand on her forehead, and was at once guilty. Worse, she knew her father would be ashamed of her for acting this way.
    â€œYou might have a slight fever,” Marcy cried, agitated.
    â€œPlease, Marcy, let me decide that,” said the man standing in the doorway. He stepped inside carrying a battered doctor’s bag.
    â€œI feel much better,” Storm said, sitting up. “I’m fine, really.” Marcy had gone to so much trouble for this dinner party. Storm couldn’t lie to her.
    Dr. Winslow pronounced Storm healthy and strong—stronger than most women, in fact—and he soon left, escorted by Paul. Marcy sat down on the bed next to Storm, who couldn’t meet her gaze. Marcy held her hand.
    â€œI think I understand,” she said slowly, in a soft voice.
    â€œNo,” Storm protested. “I did feel ill this morning, but it was probably something I ate last night. I feel fine now.”
    â€œWere you trying to avoid coming to dinner tonight?” Marcy’s direct question took Storm by surprise, and she flushed guiltily. Marcy’s gaze was knowing. “Everyone will love you, dear,” she said. “You’re a vibrant, beautiful girl.”
    Storm bit her lip. She couldn’t lie. “I’m sorry. I—I couldn’t go through with it, not after you’ve been so kind to me.”
    â€œRandolph would be so disappointed.”
    â€œWhat?” Storm was ridiculously pleased. Randolph had taken her riding two days ago, and, because Marcy had made her aware of him, she had noticed that his gaze was openly admiring. In her new riding habit, which, upon her insistence, had a split skirt, Storm had felt very attractive. She knew now that Marcy had been right. Randolph thought she was pretty, and the idea produced a heady sensation. She felt wonderfully feminine, even powerful.
    â€œHe’s been raving about you ever since he first laid eyes on you,” Marcy said with a smile.
    Storm smiled, too.
    â€œIt will be a wonderful evening, you’ll see. I’ll send Marie over to help you dress and do your hair.” She rose, her gaze warm and compassionate.
    Storm watched her leave. Although she was still nervous, she felt relieved to be attending the dinner party after all. Marcy had been kind, and she didn’t want to hurt her. Nor could she shame herself or her family—even though they wouldn’t know—by pulling such a poor prank.
    Marie arrived in midafternoon. Storm bathed in scentedwater, then rubbed the lotion Marcy had given her all over her body. It smelled of roses, like the bathwater. She especially massaged the lotion into her chapped hands. Remembering how Brett had kissed her knuckles, a flood of color filled her cheeks. Marcy’s hands were lily white and as soft as down. What had Brett thought when he’d touched Storm’s callused palm? Even then she had been aware that something was wrong, that she didn’t have a lady’s hands.
    But, dammit, I’m a Texan, and I work a ranch!
    She knew Brett was going to be there tonight.
    Thinking of him brought