Firestorm Read Online Free PDF Page B

truth is, she’s never been in a situation like this, and she’s nervous. It’s my fault. I raised her with her brothers, as if she were a boy. I don’t think she really knows she’s a woman yet. She’s at home in the saddle but not in the parlor.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” Grant said, “I understand perfectly.”
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    Storm had brought one good outfit, which Miranda had altered at the last moment because it had been too tight in the chest and shoulders. It was a traveling suit in brown serge, with a short-waisted jacket, trimmed with black lace, and a matching skirt. Beneath it Storm wore a shirtwaist, white, frilled, and high-necked, and her only chemise, pantalets, and two petticoats. Storm felt strangled and ungainly in the outfit, which her father had insisted she wear to meet Marcy.
    Storm had tried again, begging her father to take her back home, but Derek’s tone had been hard and inflexible, and she had known he would not cater to her this time. Now he was gone. Just like that, abandoning her…She stared out the parlor window.
    An elegant carriage pulled by a beautiful bay gelding and driven by the single occupant, who must be Marcy Farlane, rolled up the drive. Storm turned away as the vehicle approached the front entrance. Storm was alone in the house except for the servants, since Paul had gone tohis office at the bank, which he owned. Some crisis had arisen.
    Storm was standing nervously in a corner of the parlor when Bart announced Marcy. Marcy bustled right past him, a beautiful woman with chestnut hair and blue-green eyes, shorter than Storm by several inches, a bit on the voluptuous side. She was wearing a blue gown that seemed to Storm scandalously low-cut. White lace gloves protected her hands, and a matching hat, trimmed with ribbons and lace, sat at a jaunty angle on her head. She moved forward with abundant energy. “You must be Storm. I have been looking forward to meeting you for months, ever since Paul first told me of your coming.”
    The greeting seemed genuine. Marcy’s face was a perfect heart shape, her lips red and full, her skin the color of creamy magnolia blossoms. In contrast Storm felt like a freak. Marcy was beaming and clasping her hands warmly. Storm managed a smile.
    â€œHow do you like San Francisco?” Marcy asked.
    â€œFine,” Storm managed.
    â€œMiss, would you like some refreshments?” Bart inquired.
    Storm was at a loss. Marcy said swiftly, “No, Bart, thank you. Storm and I have our day cut out for us. I’m going to take her to Madame Lamotte’s and give her a tour of our fair city. It’s such a beautiful day. Perfect for a carriage ride.”
    If Marcy noticed that Storm was unusually quiet, she paid no mind. Before Storm knew it, they were ensconced in the carriage and driving through town. Marcy pointed out landmarks and gave a running commentary and history: “See that building? The brick one with the gargoyles. It was burned down fifteen times in the past eight years. See that house? The St. Clairs live there. He’s in publishing. She is the biggest gossip in town—next to her daughter, Leanne. Don’t worry. You’ll get to meet them.
    That’s the Miner’s Girl. Brett D’Archand used to own that saloon. That’s where he got his start. You met him last night, I believe. Oh! There’s my brother-in-law. Randolph! Randolph!”
    Storm was staring at the Miner’s Girl with interest. It was a typical saloon, and from the sight of two men clad in flannels and Levis, she guessed its clientele consisted of regular laborers. One of the windows was broken. The building needed paint, badly, and the letters in the sign were incomplete. What a squalid place, she thought, curious.
    â€œStorm, this is Randolph Farlane. Randolph, Storm Bragg, Paul’s cousin from Texas.”
    Storm looked up to see a handsome younger version of Grant, except for