Secrets (35 page)

Slade said tightly, dropping his own valise, “We have no choice. What do I have to do to convince you of the facts?”

“We are not farmers, dammit! We can slaughter more beef. I've thought about it and I've been talking with packers in Chicago. They're eager to do more business.”

“I'm happy to slaughter more beef, but that's not going to solve our problems.”

“Maybe if you hadn't sent your wife away we could solve our problems, as we originally planned, without becoming farmers!”

“Leave Regina out of this!” Slade shot back. “And 'we' never originally planned anything. I always planned to take over this ranch and make it profitable!”

“How?” Rick challenged. “By borrowing more money from Charlie Mann? That's just what we need, more damn debt!”

“I did borrow thirty thousand dollars from Charles,” Slade said coolly, “and we have enough capital to operate for a few years. Either we take Miramar into the future and make the rancho profitable, or we'll be facing bankruptcy again. If you object, then not only will I leave, I'll take the cash with me.” It was a bluff, because Slade wasn't leaving, but he also knew Rick could not allow him to leave with the money. “I paid off our old debt, but I imagine the banks will lose patience with you again pretty quick once you fail to make more payments.”

“You are a sonofabitch.”

Slade looked at Rick. “I mean it. We're going to do things my way. I put the thirty thousand in my own account. You can't touch those funds. If I leave, the money leaves. You have no choice.” He kept his voice calm, which was no easy feat. He knew Regina was right. Living at Miramar would be a nightmare if he and Rick did not reach some kind of understanding. At the very least he and his father must be able to work together. But with his mind—and his heart—he knew that was only a superficial solution that could not heal the wounds that were so very old and went so very deep.

Rick was furious. He paced around the courtyard. “You are a heartless bastard. Blackmailing your own father!”

“I'm sorry it has to be this way. You need time to think it through?”

“I guess I have no damn choice,” Rick gritted. “Fine, turn us into farmers. My pappy's gonna turn right over in the grave. Why in hell did I ever ask you to come home?”

The words hurt. They shouldn't, but they did. But there would be no going back from this point, because Slade had come home to stay, and he was determined to get to the truth—no matter how painful it might be.
“You asked me to come home because you need me,” Slade said bitterly. “Because you need the money I've acquired. Not because you have any feelings for your second son!”

Rick paled.

Slade was stricken with a sudden, wrenching insight. He wanted this man's affection more than he wanted almost anything, and it made the moment even more painful.

Rick recovered first, his face suffusing with color. “You're the one with no feelings for me!” he shot back. “You're the one who left me! I didn't leave you! Remember?”

Slade shook with long-repressed emotions: anger, pain, need, desperation. Regina chose that moment to come to him, so strongly it was as if she were present. She had wanted to reconcile father and son from the moment she had first set foot on Miramar soil. “You didn't try to stop me.”

Rick was incredulous. “You were determined to go. Determined! When you decide to do something, boy, nobody can stop you and we both know it!”

Slade stared at his father. He was acutely aware that he had come home, finally and irrevocably. Miramar had always been his great love, now only second to his wife. He had given her up, but he was not going to give up Miramar, his last chance at happiness, even though it would be incomplete without Regina. Fleeing Miramar—fleeing Rick, his feelings—has no longer an alternative. He was afraid. The feelings had been buried so deeply for so long.

There was no turning back. “But you should have tried.” Slade faced his father, feeling at once a tough man of twenty-five and a vulnerable boy of fifteen. “You didn't care enough to try.”

Rick was ashen. “How in hell would you know what I feel?”

“You had James. Who was perfect. You didn't give a damn about me.” Suddenly his control shattered. “I want you to admit it! I want you to be honest! Once you
admit it we can go forward, as business partners and nothing else. We can forget we're father and son.” Slade had never been more furious. “Admit it!” he shouted. “Admit it, damn it, admit it now!”

Rick was speechless.

Slade erupted. He reached his father in a stride and grabbed him by the fabric of his shirt. Rick was taller and bigger than he was, but he was so angry he lifted him several inches off the ground. “Coward!” He realized he was echoing Regina's words and that this situation was almost exactly the same as the one in which he and his wife had confronted each other. Only then it had been an ending, and now he prayed that this was a beginning.

Rick finally knocked his hands away. “
You
left
me!
You were the one with no feelings, no loyalty, no love! You left me, dammit, just like your damn mother left me!”

Slade was shaking. For one aching heartbeat he stared at his father, the man who hadn't cared enough to stop him from leaving when he had waited so desperately for some indication, any indication, of affection. But none had been given then, and he knew none would be forthcoming now. “
You
let me go!”

“Was I supposed to beg you to stay?” Rick cried.

“Yes! Yes!”

Slowly, painfully, Rick said, “You're your mother's son, and so much like her. I loved your mother. She broke my heart, Slade. Then you did the same damned thing.”

Slade was speechless.

“I didn't beg her to stay when she left me, an' I didn't beg you. I don't regret not begging her, but I've been regretting not begging you for the past ten years.”

“God,” Slade whispered. “I thought you hated me.”

“How can a man hate his own son?”

“But you were always pointing out how perfect James was, while I could never do anything right.”

“I was on your back because you were too much like her and I was afraid you'd fail me the way she did. But
it boomeranged. I wanted to beat that rebel streak out of you. Instead, stubborn as you are, it just grew and grew. I didn't have to worry about James or Edward—but I spent sleepless nights worrying about you.”

“You worried about me?”

“I've been worrying about you since you were three months old.”

“That's when she left.”

“That's when she left,” Rick said heavily.

Slade was shocked.

“The funniest part is that you look like her, but it's taken me a long time to figure out that you're not like her at all. You're a Delanza through and through.”

Slade bowed his head. “No, I'm not like her at all.” His voice wavered.

“What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry,” Rick said. “I'm sorry. I've been sorry for ten years!”

Slade stared at his father. “Why in hell couldn't you say so sooner?”

“Maybe I just didn't know how,” Rick whispered. “Maybe I needed that little bird chattering away in my ear to make me realize my priorities. Maybe I had to lose one son in order to realize I can't take a chance on losing another.”

Slade had to wipe moisture away from his eyes and take a deep breath. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined Rick revealing so much love. He was overwhelmed. But so was Rick.

Rick coughed. “I'm gonna go get a drink. After all this jawin' I sure as hell need one. I'll see you at supper.”

Slade nodded, still unable to speak, still reeling, aware that he needed a long private moment to recover his composure, too. He watched Rick walk across the courtyard and go inside the house. He took a shaky breath. But he wasn't about to recover his composure, not just yet. For he turned toward his room, picking up both bags, and looked up.

Regina stood there, tears streaking her cheeks, crying silently. And it wasn't a dream.

R
egina could not stop crying, but her tears were those of happiness. Despite the anguish of the past month she was thrilled that Rick and Slade had finally found the courage to delve into the past and unearth the truth of their love for one another.

She wiped her eyes, watching Slade tremulously, waiting for him to recover from the shock of finding her here at Miramar. This was the moment she had been anxiously awaiting—Slade's homecoming—and she was afraid and apprehensive. How could she not be? She expected him to be very angry with her for her defiance of him and his wishes.

But she would face his anger. She hoped she would be able to diffuse it. The night of the gala she had said things she regretted, but she had also spoken the truth. Slade had chosen to end their marriage rather than fight for it—a cowardly way out. That night she had been pushed to what she had then felt to be her limit. The tension and stress of the days prior to the gala, coupled with Slade's astounding statement, had provoked her into her spontaneous eruption and flight. It hadn't taken her very long to recoup her strength. Not even an hour later, in her mother's arms, she had known she would not divorce Slade, that she would not and could not let
him destroy their marriage or their future. She intended to fight for what she wanted, no matter how hard or how long that fight might last. And she wanted him. He was worth it.

Now Slade was stunned, as if confronted with a ghost. Only seconds ticked by before he moved. He gripped her arms, pulling her close, his eyes wide and incredulous. “What in hell are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” she said simply.

He inhaled hard. She felt him shaking, but then, so was she. “I thought you went back to England!”

“I was afraid to make myself too clear in my letter,” Regina told him softly. “But you cannot chase me out of your life, Slade. Maybe you had better state your intentions now.” She lifted her chin, preparing for the worst—afraid of the worst.

Slade's grip tightened. “You've been here this entire time?” he asked in amazement.

“Yes.”

“This is like a dream.”

“I am no dream,” she whispered. “Just an imperfect woman, one who has made mistakes, a flesh-and-blood woman, one who misses her man.”

He groaned, pulling her into his arms.

Regina threw her arms around him. She was filled with many conflicting emotions, not the least of which was a good deal of anxiety over what his reaction to her would be. But there was also boundless joy in being with him again, and there was acute physical awareness. She fully intended to do whatever she had to do in order to remain with him at Miramar. He was not indifferent to her. Not emotionally and not physically. She pressed more fully against him. She turned her face so she could kiss his jaw. “I missed you, Slade,” she said.

Immediately he lifted her into his arms, kicking open the door to his bedroom. “I missed you too. I've been miserable.” He kicked the doors closed and slid onto the bed, Regina still in his arms. An instant later she lay beneath him, staring up into his beautiful midnight-blue eyes. They were dark with passion, but Regina also
thought that they reflected a painful kind of joy and a desperate kind of relief.

“How in hell did I survive this past month without you?” Slade asked roughly, stroking his hands over her hair and then down her arms.

Regina gripped his shoulders. “Probably the same way that I did. Day by day.”

Their glances locked. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Day by day.”

It was then that she had an inkling of his real feelings for her. Briefly, she glimpsed his passion, his soul. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered.

“You,” he said. “I think I've been waiting for this moment and for you.”

A wave of desire crashed over her. “Kiss me. Make love to me, Slade, please.”

He did not need any further encouragement. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. It was thorough and endless. Regina was instantly reminded of the first kiss he had given her on their wedding night. She had never thought she would be kissed like that again—as if she were dearly loved and had been dearly missed for a very long time. But she had been wrong. He was kissing her that way again.

His kiss spoke volumes. Slade had said he missed her; she could not doubt that it was true. But what she really wanted to know was if he loved her, and this kiss was making her think that maybe, after all, he did.

“Sweetheart,” Slade murmured thickly a long time later, “I think I've been a fool.”

Regina agreed but was not given the opportunity to speak. Slade was sliding his big body into hers. She wept. She wept because she loved him and in their physical union she could sense the kind of completion she would not ever feel unless she gained his love in its entirety.

 

Regina woke up with a start, confused. Long shadows had cast the bedroom in semidarkness. Recollection
swept through her. She sat up. Slade was gone.

Fear gripped her.

She took a calming breath. They had both dozed off in each other's arms after he had made love to her twice. But making love was not enough; they needed to reach an understanding. Slade had admitted that he missed her, and he had made love to her as if he loved her, but he had had such passion for her before and that had not stopped him from trying to end their relationship. Regina was not leaving. And she wanted him to know it and accept it.

She got up, washed quickly, and straightened her clothing. She went in search of her husband. She imagined that he might be in the den enjoying a before-dinner drink, but only Rick was there. He winked at her, but Regina could not smile back at him.

Rick spoke up, saving her the effort of a search. “He went outside and headed up the path going north.”

“Thank you!” Regina hurried away from the house. The path ran parallel to the ocean, which was just out of sight, hidden by the sharp spine of a hill. The track soon crested a small rise. Behind her, the house was no longer in sight. Regina froze when she saw the small cemetery below her. Slade was there, standing in front of one of the headstones.

She approached more slowly, fearful of intruding. It flitted through her mind that there was a irony in his choosing to find solitude in a cemetery and perhaps comfort from a dead man. Or was he here to bury his emotions? That thought angered her. Slade had been fighting his emotions since they had met. She refused to allow him to bury his head in the sand any longer—and his heart along with it. She would slowly and surely coax his feelings out of him, even if it took the length of their lifetime.

Slade's hands were in his pockets, his head was bowed. She wasn't sure if he was praying, grieving, or thinking. Her skirts rustled, announcing her approach. He didn't move. She came up behind him, hesitating only a heartbeat. Then she stepped forward, obeying
her heart and her instincts, looping her arm in his and pressing against him.

He was tense. He didn't say anything and neither did she. He accepted her presence; for the moment that was enough. They stood in silence for a while, the sun setting now with finality. Gulls wheeled above them before fleeing through the incoming mist. Shadows slid out from the tombstones, long and eerie. A chill crept in with the dusk.

Finally he faced her, his eyes intent and probing.

Regina managed a brave smile. “Hello, Slade.”

He reached out a hand. Gasping with delight, she gave him hers. He gripped it firmly. “Did Edward have something to do with you being here at Miramar?”

“Edward? No.”

“I didn't think so.” He stared at her. “If I sent you away, you wouldn't go, would you?”

“No, I would not go.”

“I guess you're here to stay.”

“I am.”

His mouth slowly turned up. A single last ray of opalescent light slid over the ridge and Regina saw that his cheeks were wet and that he had been crying. “A man can only be a fool for so long. I know when to shout uncle.”

“I beg your pardon?” she whispered.

“I haven't been happy. I want to be happy, Regina.” His voice was unsteady.

“Let me make you happy! I can! I will!”

He almost laughed, the sound rough, then pulled her close and threw his arm around her. “I think you already have.”

She sighed in relief and leaned against him. He would no longer fight their marriage, he would no longer fight her. She wanted more, she wanted him to openly love her, but she could wait for that. She was inspired with confidence. She smiled, gazing past her husband at the green ridges surrounding them, the jewel-like crown of Miramar. “Look,” she whispered. “Miramar is smiling at us.”

Indeed, it seemed that way. The inky night swirled over the hills and they seemed to come alive, pulsating with mystical, magical joy. But it was only the tendrils of fog, of course, along with her imagination.

 

Life soon slipped into its own unquenchable rhythm. There was a lot of work to be done, and both father and son relished the challenge. Slade had hired a dozen men within the first few days of his return. Every day he took the crew to the site where they were feverishly at work clearing the acreage he would put to the plow in the spring. Time was not on their side and everyone knew it. Bonuses would be given if half of the land was cleared in thirty days. And Slade did not stand idly by and watch. Regina soon learned that her husband enjoyed physical labor as much as he enjoyed mental challenges. Every night he came home exhausted but satisfied, and routinely he would discuss his day with her over the dinner table. Regina was an avid listener. She fervently hoped he would succeed in what seemed to her an impossible task.

Rick never said a word about the changes taking place on the rancho. Regina knew that Slade had resorted to underhanded tactics to win that battle, but she did not blame him. When push came to shove, she would unfailingly support her husband, and Rick would always have to be pushed hard when he was opposed to something. Yet he worked hard alongside his son, as caught up in the race against time as everyone else.

Edward returned home a few days later. Everyone was happy to see him, Regina included; he was a ray of bright sunshine and she imagined that he would always be welcome wherever he went. Victoria was ecstatic. And Edward was the perfect son, patiently enduring her pampering, all smiles and indulgence.

Victoria had tolerated Regina with cool disdain since Regina had come to Miramar at the end of the summer. Regina could only assume that Victoria had finally accepted the finality of her marriage to Slade.

As for Regina and Slade, they slid so easily and so nearly effortlessly into a domestic routine that it might have belonged to them in another lifetime. For a few days there was some awkwardness and tension between them. But Regina was eager to please her husband, to bring comfort into his life, and Slade seemed to want to get closer to her now. He left her with reluctance every morning and returned home to her eagerly every night. He shared all of the happenings of the day with her, his triumphs and his disasters, his hopes and his fears. Regina had always sought to be close to him, and now that he no longer held himself at a distance, their passion grew and the camaraderie they had shared just after their wedding during those first days in San Francisco blossomed anew.

It quickly became obvious to Regina what had happened to them in San Francisco. For whatever reason, Slade had been intent on wrecking their marriage by pushing her away from him. She could not understand why. He was a complicated man, so she might never know the whole of it unless he volunteered the information himself. But as the month passed she began to have suspicions. Several times he mentioned her life-style in England, watching her closely and awaiting her response intently. Regina finally called him on it. “Are you waiting for me to tell you that I miss my home? Or that I regret returning to you?”

Slade winced. “Do you?”

It was then that she understood him. He was afraid that she would become dissatisfied with her lot, cast in as it was with his. “No, Slade. I do not.”

He studied her and slowly smiled. His next words were proof that she was right. “I think I misjudged you, Regina.”

“I think that you have,” she responded, moving into his arms.

By the first of October the roundup was completed and all the herds moved to more sheltered terrain to wait for the first onslaught of winter. Slade had finished clearing two hundred acres and it did not look as if he
would meet his goal of three hundred, half of what he eventually hoped to put to the plow, before the rains. The days were growing shorter. All the men were working in a frenzy now, trying to finish the obviously impossible project. Time was running out if they hoped to clear all the land, for once winter set in the ground would become muddy and impassable.

Toward the end of October Regina stood by the window watching the first few drops of rain begin to fall. Tension filled her. The sky was dark and gray. It was almost dusk and she prayed these few sprinkled drops were not the beginning of the rainy season. Just last night Slade had said they needed another two weeks.

Victoria came to stand beside her. “They didn't make it,” she said quietly. There was no animosity in her tone. If anyone coveted the richness that Miramar could one day bring the family, it was Victoria. “It's going to rain.”

“Maybe not,” Regina said hopefully.

Ten minutes later the drizzle became a downpour.

An hour later the men came in, exhausted, soaked to the bone, muddy and dismayed. Regina took one look at Slade's grim face and flew to his side. His eyes told her that the winter had indeed begun, before they had finished what had been impossible to begin with.

Everyone was somber at the supper table that night.

Regina spoke into the dismal silence. “Well, clearing two hundred acres is nothing short of a miracle. You will be able to plant those acres at the first sign of spring.”