Deacon’s grasp opened and she was quick to lunge away, hurrying into the main room. William was kneeling on the floor over the wiggling bundle of his jacket, too preoccupied to notice her high color. She pulled up short to take a composing breath, then was distracted from her own pounding pulsebeats.
“William! Were you outside without your coat on?”
He looked up guiltily. “But Mama, I couldn’t let Ulysses get cold.”
She came down beside him to observe the mewling kitten, immediately taken but adding a scolding aside. “Ulysses is already wearing a coat. You know what happens when you overexert yourself.”
His excitement dimmed at the thought of causing her distress. “I’m sorry, Mama. I guess I wasn’t thinking.” The sight of his bowed head was more than Deacon could take.
“No harm was done,” he interjected mildly, bending down next to the two of them. He could feel Garnet’s censure as clearly as if she’d snarled for him to mind his own business. “Let’s get a look at our new employee.” He lifted the ball of black fluff and bared claws from its worsted swaddling. “Did you check his lineage to see if he comes from mouser stock?”
William blinked then, catching Deacon’s slight wink, and broke into a wide grin. “Just look at all them claws. I’m sure he’ll scare the whiskers off them critters.”
Not mentioning that the sight of the tiny fur ball would probably send any self-respecting cheese stealer into gales of laughter, Deacon stood, casting about for an empty crate. “Let’s make our friend a bed and get him a bowl of food, then you can help me sort shoestrings while he settles in … if that’s all right with your mother.”
When both looked up at her, William through great pleading eyes and Deacon with the glow of her hand print still fading, Garnet felt cornered into saying, “Just be a help and not a hindrance.”
She watched them together, feeling both pleased and powerless. It was so unlike her shy son to warm so quickly to an adult, and the prickly Deacon Sinclair seemed such an unlikely subject for his admiration. But the two had formed a firm bond whether she was comfortable with it or not.
But William wasn’t her concern. Her own reactions were.
Perhaps she’d been wrong to place her and Deacon into such close proximity. She’d underestimated the dangers that accompanied the rewards. They would be behind closed doors, often just the two of them together. Romance wasn’t what worried her, it was retribution.
She’d struck him, for heaven’s sake! Her own actions appalled and frightened her, making her as much a stranger to herself as he was to her.
She’d taken his heritage. She’d battered his pride. Now she was threatening his future. Was she naive to think he would accept all that without malice?
Watching him with William, those uncertainties fled and her answer was no. Here was a man of innate decency who was somehow, somewhere, led to stray into darkness. By his severe father? By the hardships of the war? She could only guess at this point. But she wanted to know. She had to know.
If only to see if he could be coaxed back.
Montgomery Prior leaned back with a good cigar and a glass of Fairfax bourbon warming in his hand. He smiled at his host’s inquiry as to his comfort.
“I assure you, I am as content as a babe.”
Tyler Fairfax exchanged a knowing glance with Judge Banning, who had opened his home and his box of fine Havanas for the occasion.
“I thought the two of you would get on well,” Tyler boasted. “The judge, like yourself, sir, enjoys playing at politics. He can fill you in on the local climate much better than I.”
“Are you a member of the legal community, Mr. Banning?”
The handsome older man chuckled. “An honorary name, I assure you. It comes from folks ‘round here deferring to my advice. And you, Mr. Prior, are you looking to get your feet wet in our community pool?”
“I think one is obligated to take an interest in his surroundings.”
“Well, we would more than welcome your input and influence, isn’t that right, Tyler?”
Tyler smiled and swallowed the contents of his glass in a single gulp.
Monty chuckled modestly. “I’d be more than happy to lend you my opinions, but as for influence, I fear I’m just a stranger in a strange land.”
The judge waved aside his misgivings. “Nonsense. You own Sinclair Manor and are now privy to their power in the community. And I assure you, it is considerable. If you speak, folks ‘round here will listen.”
Tyler stood up, wobbling slightly, a condition he’d arrived in. “Well, I’ll leave the judge to acquaint you with the community issues. And if there’s any other way I can be of assistance, you be sure an’ call on me.”
Monty gave him a hopeful look. “There is something you might do.”
“I am at your service, sir.”
“I need a knowledgeable fellow to oversee the management of my properties. I’m frightfully ignorant of such matters. My dear wife would like to believe herself capable of handling it all, but I hate to place such a burden on her.”
Both men made agreeing sounds.
“What about Sinclair?”
Monty viewed Tyler’s suggestion with disfavor. “I’m sure he is the best suited, but I prefer to distance him from the running of my estate. I’m sure you can understand the delicacy of the matter.”
“Ummm, yes. He is a difficult man to … control, though I’d say your wife has brought him to heel quite nicely.”
Monty’s jovial features went still, his eyes growing steely. “My wife shouldn’t have to handle Mr. Sinclair. I prefer to distance him there, as well.”
Tyler arranged his hat carefully as he mused, “Could be I know just the man for you. He’s clever and discreet. I had dealings with him during the war and found him … useful in many areas. Would you like me to set up a meeting, Mr. Prior?”
“You know the area and the men far better than I, Mr. Fairfax. I’d appreciate your intervention.”
“Well, now, I’ll see what I can do.”
When he was gone, the two older men enjoyed the bourbon and the silence for a long while. Then Monty broached the subject.
“Tell me, Judge Banning, how can a man go about gaining influence in this town?”
The judge grinned wide. “Mr. Prior, you’ve come to the right man for advice.”
The remainder of the workday was without incident. With William as a buffer between them, Garnet and Deacon whipped the mercantile into shape. There was absolutely no mention of what had happened earlier or trace of an apology from either side.
And in that practiced silence rose a tension to equal their explosive contact in the office. What touch didn’t allow, imagination could provide, and it made for a restless afternoon.
Finally satisfied with her arrangement of the jeweled hatpins and fancy earbobs, Garnet announced, “I think we’ll be ready for our grand opening tomorrow.”
There was a fierce curse from the back that brought William’s head up in wide-eyed alarm.
“You okay, Mr. Sinclair?”
A flurry of other soft oaths filtered out from behind a keg of nails, then Deacon stood, sucking at his thumb. The boy went bounding over.
“What happened? Did you get a splinter?”
“It’s nothing,” Deacon growled, then immediately amended his surly mood when the child’s lip quivered with hurt. With a sigh, he held his injured thumb down for the boy’s inspection.
“Mama, come quick! Mr. Sinclair’s squished his finger.”
As Garnet came hurrying toward them, Deacon withdrew his hand. “It’s nothing. Really.”
But Garnet was already reaching for him. “Let me see.”
“It’s fine. I just dropped the keg on it, is all.”
“Let me see.”
She was trying to make the gesture appear as one of natural concern, but the harder she tried, the more Deacon protested, and the more aggressive her concern became. Finally, she made a lunge forward to snag his rolled shirt sleeve, dragg
ing him toward her.
“I said let me see!”
“You better do it. She really means it when she says it like that.”
Almost sheepishly, Deacon surrendered his hand. She made a sympathetic noise at the sight of his mashed nail. “William, fetch me some water and some clean cloths.”
“It’s fine,” Deacon persisted in a softer tone, because she was holding his hand between hers and he was wondering how she’d managed to get them so silky smooth when he remembered a coarser touch.
“It’s no trouble,” she answered automatically, her voice strained because she was absorbing the warmth and strength of his grip, wondering what had happened in the last five years to build such callused roughness on his palms.
And she was wondering how that burred friction would feel against her skin.
Deacon jerked back abruptly, denying the contact, denying the hurrying of his heartbeats even as he wished for the freedom to indulge them both. He lifted the lid of one of the nearby barrels and stuck his thumb inside, withdrawing it all slathered in axle grease.
“There,” he announced stiffly. “That will take care of it.”
“As if grease was the answer to all man’s ills,” she muttered, embarrassed and flustered and afraid he would notice both things. “It’s still going to hurt like a b—like the devil tomorrow. Thank you, William, but Mr. Sinclair has taken care of it himself.”
As William trotted over to add the extra water to Ulysses’ bowl, Garnet grew uncomfortably aware of the man before her. Here was no sleek aristocrat. His shirt was soiled, his bared forearms streaked with dirt and grime. His hair stood in an untidy disarray and he’d worked up a healthy sweat. And she was suddenly shivering.
Then she discovered what Deacon had seen that caused his fast retreat. The door jangled.
“Garnet, are you and the lad ready to go?”
She turned toward Monty with a quavering smile. “I didn’t know you’d come to town.” Aware of Deacon’s slated stare, she went quickly to the spotlessly attired older man, stretching up to place a fond kiss on his cheek. His gaze settled on Deacon.
“Sinclair. Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“We’re going to open tomorrow, Monty. Isn’t that exciting?” Garnet knew she was too animated not to wake his suspicions, but her nerves were shuddering and she couldn’t get them under control.
“If you say so, my dear. I’ll give you and the boy an escort home.”
“Let me get my cloak.” Without a look toward the object of her agitation, she rushed to the office to snatch up her wrap, eager to escape Monty’s curiosity and Deacon’s influence. “Come, William. Don’t keep your father waiting.”
But William dawdled. “Mama, what if Ulysses gets lonely?”
“He won’t, darling. He’ll have all those lovely little mice to play with.”
“But I don’t want to leave him here all alone. What if he misses me?”
“William …” Her head was aching with tension and she didn’t need the extra stress of dealing with his stubbornness. Monty, as usual, hadn’t a clue as to how to handle the boy’s petulant moods. He was looking with longing toward the door.
“I’ll stay awhile,” Deacon offered, winning the boy’s teary gratitude. “I’ll make sure he’s all settled in before I leave.”
“Would you?”
“I’ll let him know that this is his home now and that you’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Really?” Then the boy’s eyes narrowed. “How will you do that? Cats can’t understand people talk.”
“They understand me.” A lot better than people, he could have added. “Go on with your mother, now. She’s worked hard and is tired. You don’t want to make her cross with you.”
“I’m not cross,” Garnet argued, but her tone contradicted her message. She sighed and held out her hand. William slipped his inside it.
Deacon went tight all over watching her fingers curl about the boy’s so possessively.
“Lock up, Mr. Sinclair.”
He smiled wryly at the unnecessary reminder. “Yes, ma’am.”
He didn’t move as Prior squired his family outside and helped them up into the buggy. Then the trio left together, and that togetherness churned into a bitter aftertaste.
For God’s sake, she was a married woman!
He’d forgotten that. He’d forgotten everything but the memory of her gentle care. And to feel those tender ministrations again, he would have disavowed another man’s claim before both man and God. If William hadn’t been there, he would have taken Garnet up against him to ravish her ripe mouth, to wake her to the pleasures they’d shared between them despite all else that had happened.
His wanting her was an ache to the soul.
And that soul would be even more damned if he gave before those wrongful desires.
Garnet was no longer his to covet. She belonged to another man and all the longing, all the returning sparks of need he’d seen in those short seconds, couldn’t erase that fact. She was married. And he would not break yet another commandment.
So how was he going to work beside her, smelling her fragrant hair, hearing the swish of her petticoats without acting on what both of them were vulnerable to? She could deny it all she wanted, but he’d seen the answering passion in her frightened gaze.
“I’d like to hire Herschel Rosen to work in the store with me.”
Garnet regarded him across the supper table with surprise. “We don’t know that we can afford a second employee.”
“I’d be willing to take a reduction in salary until you absorb the expense with our profits.”
Now she was suspicious. “Why would you do that?”
“If you want to open tomorrow, you’re going to need someone more knowledgeable than me to greet your customers. I know how to purchase a stamp but haven’t the slightest idea of how to post one. I can’t make heads or tails of Rosen’s credit files. So if you want things to run smoothly, I suggest you hire the man on, at least until I know what I’m doing.”
“And Mr. Rosen is agreeable to this?” Her wariness was far from eased.
“I spoke to him this evening. He’s an old man with no family. That store was his whole life. He’d be willing to do just about anything to remain a part of it.” How well he’d understood that bit of perverse humiliation. He wouldn’t share how the man had gripped his hands and wept in gratitude. “Besides,” he added reasonably, “the townsfolk are used to seeing him there and it would build their confidence in trading with us.”
“Sounds logical, Garnet dear,” Monty murmured. He was watching Deacon’s expression for signs of what he suspected. He knew the man was still attracted to his niece and that the interest was mutual. The idea of a mediator at the store where he couldn’t be present was a good thing. Now all he had to figure out was Sinclair’s motive for suggesting it. He didn’t believe the man was prompted by good business sense or humanitarian leanings. Despite all Garnet’s talk to the contrary, she was still soft on Sinclair, so it was up to him to see to her safety where the slick Southerner was concerned. “I think you should hire the man on.”
Garnet thought a moment, then nodded. “All right. If Mr. Rosen is willing, he can speak to me tomorrow morning.”
“I’m sure he’ll thank you for your generosity.”
She waited a moment to see if the sentiment was attached to some sarcasm, but Deacon returned to his meal in silence, never answering her curiosity.
They weren’t partners in business or in anything else, and it would be best for her to remember that. If only she could.
Chapter 13
All day Prior’s Mercantile was packed with the citizens of Pride. Drawn more by curiosity than necessity, they lined up to buy ribbons and fruit-jar rings, a handful of nails or a slate pencil just to get a look at the proud Deacon Sinclair working behind a counter.
By noontime, the circular space in the center of the store was crowded with old-timers perched on kegs of horseshoes and knife-scar
red benches pulled up within easy spitting distance of the glowing stove. There, they sat, whittling, chewing, gossiping and mainly speculating on how long Deacon could maintain his rigidly correct demeanor, as if he were somehow above cutting chewing tobacco or matching threads from the walnut J. and P. Coats cabinet. The measure of a successful storekeeper was his ability to relate to those he served with understanding and a sense of humor. No one in Pride could accuse Deacon Sinclair of having either, so they approached him as something of a novelty, half intimidated, half bemused; many were smug over his reduced stature.
But the old gossips gave him credit: the man held tight to his dignity, even though he was aware of all the whispering and smirks aimed in his direction. And none would dare mock him to his face, once he’d fixed them with that bared-blade stare. Even those with questions approached with caution.
“There’s something wrong with this sugar,” a matron too old to fear a stony gaze claimed in a loud tone. Conversation hushed in the vicinity of the counter as Deacon glanced at the sack he’d measured out only that morning.
“Ma’am, it arrived fresh yesterday.”
Refusing to back down from his quelling look, she pulled the bag open. “Then you taste it.”
To humor her, he wet his finger and took a sample. His brow puckered. “It tastes like kerosene.” Frowning, he strode to the back of the store where the barreled goods were stored; sugar, rice, salt … and kerosene. His mood darkened dangerously.
“What seems to be the trouble, young Sinclair?”
Deacon kept his voice low as he explained to Herschel Rosen. “Someone has contaminated our supply of sugar with kerosene. If I find out who did such a thing—” He broke off as the older man chuckled.
“Why, my boy, it is nature that played the prank on you. The oil, it just sneaks along the floor to spoil everything it touches. You must keep the other barrels up off the boards or they will be forever soaking up the flavor.”
“So all this stock—”
Rosen shrugged. “A lesson you won’t need to be taught again.”
Calculating the loss grimly, he returned to the counter. “I apologize for your inconvenience, Mrs. Crawford. Let me refill your order from one of our counter bins … at no charge.”
The Men of Pride County: The Pretender Page 14
