Dear Reader,
True Colors was one of the first mainstream novels I wrote. It is still one of my favorites, a powerful story of revenge and its ultimate price, as well as the terrible danger of jumping to conclusions. I love this book, and not only for its plot. I wrote it in 1991, when I first went back to college, in my forties. I was bristling with courses in American history and anthropology and I had a ball putting some little-known facts into print.
I have studied the Little Big Horn battle for many years, and I mentioned some key qualities of Native American culture in this book. The heroine had Crow ancestry, but my fascination for all the protagonists in the fight has always carried me mostly toward the mysterious and intelligent Crazy Horse, who was Sioux. In fact, this great war chief was Oglala, which is one of the tribes of the Lakota (as the Sioux people I mention in the book more properly call themselves).
If youve read my books, you know that I frequently deal with the issues of native peoples. My extended family is heavily Native American. I also have a small connection to the Lakota people, since this year I established a nursing scholarship at the Oglala Lakota College in Kyle, South Dakota, in memory of my mother.
To my friend Marilyn Pourier at the Oglala Lakota College, and also to Nursing Department Chair Sarah Coulter Danner and President Thomas H. Shortbull of the same institution, I send my most heartfelt respect for your hard work and your dedication to the field of higher education.
Sincerely,
Diana Palmer
Diana Palmer True Colors
CONTENTS
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER ONE
Meredith Ashe Tennison was vice president of Tennison Internationals huge domestic enterprises, much more than a shadowy figurehead who avoided publicity like the plague. She had a shrewd mind and a natural aptitude for high finance which her late husband had carefully nurtured during their marriage. When he died, she had stepped into his shoes with such capability that the board of directors reversed their decision to ask her to step down. Now, two and a half years into her term of office, company profits were up and her plans for expansion into new mineral and gas reserves and strategic metals were well under way.
That explained the set of Merediths thin shoulders. A company in southeastern Montana was fighting them tooth and nail over mineral rights they currently owned. But Harden Properties was not merely a formidable rival. It was headed by the one man Meredith had reason to hate, a shadow out of her past whose specter had haunted her through all the empty years since shed left Montana.
Only Don Tennison knew the whole story. He and his late brother, Henry, had been very close. Meredith had come to Henry a shy, frightened teenager. At first Don, to whom business was a primary concern, had fought against the marriage. He relented, but hed been faintly cool since Henrys death. Don was now president of Tennison International, but also something of a rival. Meredith had often wondered if he resented her position in the company. He knew his own limitations, and her brilliance and competence had impressed harder heads than his. But he watched her very carefully, especially when she drew on her nervous energy to take on too many projects. And this fight with Harden Properties was already taking its toll on her. She was still getting over the aftereffects of a rough bout with pneumonia that had come on the heels of a kidnapping
attempt on her five-year-old son, Blake. If it hadnt been for the inscrutable Mr. Smith, her bodyguard, God only knew what might have happened.
Meredith was brooding over her forthcoming trip to Montana. She felt she had to make a brief visit to Billings, home of Harden Properties and Merediths own hometown. The sudden death of her eighty-year-old great-aunt who had lived there had left Meredith with the house and a few belongings of Aunt Marys to dispose of. Meredith was really her only surviving relative, except for a few distant cousins who still lived on the Crow Indian reservation several miles from Billings.
You arranged the funeral over the phonecouldnt you do that with the property, too? Don asked quietly.
She hesitated, then shook her head. No, I cant. Ive got to go back and face it. Face them, she amended. Besides, it would be a God-given opportunity to scout out the opposition, wouldnt it? They dont know Im Henry Tennisons widow. I was Henrys best-kept secret. Ive avoided cameras and worn wigs and dark glasses ever since I took over.
That was to protect Blake, he reminded her. Youre worth millions, and this last kidnapping attempt almost succeeded. A low public profile is invaluable. If you arent recognized, you and Blake are safer.