“This is all fascinating, Mr. Buskett,” Fiona said innocently. “Especially when we have our own Miss Hammond sitting right here. If Luke hadn’t told us that she was from St. Louis, why, I would wonder if she weren’t this spoiled little rich girl running away from her father.”
Sharisse forced herself to appear calm. She wanted to scream. The woman was only being bitchy, but she was doing more damage than she could ever know. Lucas’s expression indicated that.
Her eyes darkened to violet, but her lips were fixed in a smile. “Why would you say a thing like that, Mrs. Newcomb? Such a fanciful notion I might expect from the senile, or from someone who had imbibed too much. But you’re notthatold, and you’ve barely touched your wine. So what excuse do you have for making a ridiculous speculation like that?”
Fiona came half out of her chair. “Why you little—”
“Now, now,” Sam interrupted, chuckling. “Why don’t you call it a draw, Fiona?”
“But—”
“Forget it,” he said forcefully. “Go powder your nose or something while I order you a dessert to cool you off.”
She left in a great spurt of indignation. But Sharisse rose immediately afterward.
“My nose could use a little powdering as well. If you will excuse me, gentlemen?”
“Sharisse.”
She deliberately ignored the warning note in his voice. “Don’t worry, Lucas, I won’t get lost. I’ll just follow the sound of the door that just slammed.”
With a brilliant smile, she left the table and was gone before he could call her back. Now to see how Mrs. Newcomb handled herself in a private confrontation.
Lucas sat there scowling, drumming his fingers on the table. Sam, on the other hand, could barely contain his amusement. Emery was simply perplexed.
After a moment, the noise coming from around the corner in the ladies’ retiring room, though muffled, was still loud enough to make Lucas jump to his feet.
“Oh, let them be.” Sam stopped him, his good humor increasing. “What harm can a couple of women do to each other?”
“That’s hardly the point,” Lucas snapped.
“Have a heart, for my sake,” Sam cajoled. “If Fiona doesn’t get this out of her system, she’s going to be pure hell to live with. And, really, what harm can they do to each other? Women don’t resort to violence. Shouting abuse is their specialty.”
He was right, Lucas reasoned. Slowly he sat down again. The shouting died down. The sound of a door slamming signaled that whatever had happened was over with. Yet neither woman returned. Lucas’s anxiety mounted again.
He was about to rise once more when the desk clerk brought Sam the message that Mrs. Newcomb had retired to their suite.
“Without any more explanation than that?” Sam demanded.
The clerk knew his boss well enough to grin. “Well, sir, I don’t think you’d care to hear the rest of what Mrs. Newcomb had to say.”
Sam cleared his throat. “No, I don’t suppose I would.” He dismissed the man, turning to Emery and Lucas. “Please forgive my wife, gentlemen. She’s not usually so rude.”
“So you’re staying here at your hotel tonight, Sam?” Lucas commented.
“Yes. I’m thinking seriously about moving into town permanently,” he replied. “Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Fiona. She’s been so bored at the ranch, she doesn’t know what to do with herself.”
Lucas silently congratulated Sam on coming up with that plausible excuse. He had been wondering how Sam would explain the move without admitting that he had sold the ranch.
“You could always dismiss your servants,” Lucas chuckled. “That would give Fiona something to do.”
“Ha! She’d leave with them. No, I’m afraid I’ve spoiled that woman terribly. Make sure you don’t make the same mistake, Luke, with your pretty little gal.”
“Spoil Sharisse? I’d have to take her back East to do that. She’s not exactly suited to this kind of life.”
“You thinking of moving away then?” Sam’s interest perked.
“I thought you just advised me not to spoil her.”
