The Outsider

by Rosalyn West

  She’d thought nothing of accepting Reeve’s offer of a ride into town so she could do some shopping while he took care of business. The peaceful surroundings at the Glade felt more like a prison after several days spent mostly in her own company. Not that her hosts ignored her, but the air of urgent intimacy sparking whenever the two of them shared the same room excluded Starla and made her chafe with restlessness and reminders of her own failures, of the way a true marriage was meant to be. Her friends would never say they’d prefer to be alone. It wasn’t necessary.

  Starla kept to herself to give them their privacy, and in her solitude she had ample time to think: about what she’d do, about her argument with her brother, about other fears that had yet to surface beyond uneasy suspicion. Fears that would change everything. The silence and space began to mock her state of indecision, echoing the magnitude of the uncertainties ahead. Finally she knew it was either escape her perpetual brooding or go quite mad.

  So a trip to Pride seemed a godsend. Its streets were in an exciting flux of growth, new businesses springing up on the ashes of old. Strangers filled the crowded walks and it was easy to blend within that anonymous bustling stream. So many blue uniforms. Though she was used to seeing them after living in an occupied city, they looked glaringly out of place in Pride, where Southern sympathies had always held sway. She had no fondness for the loud, rude Yankees who pushed past her without so much as a glance of apology, but today she held no malice. Today she was enjoying her independence.

  An independence that became an illusion as two burly figures blocked her path.

  “Why, Miz Fairfax. I thought that was you!”

  She stared up at the two workers from her father’s distillery in a moment of abject panic. She recognized them both, not by name but by their reputation as harsh taskmasters eager to do whatever was necessary to earn her father’s favor. And right now, she was afraid to find out what that might be.

  The larger of the two grinned wide, displaying tobacco-stained teeth. “We heard you was back and was wondering why you didn’t come home, instead of staying out there with that turncoat trash. Your daddy was just saying to Benson and me that we should keep an eye out for you, and should we see you, we was to bring you home for a visit.”

  Terror gathered cold and heavy in the pit of Starla’s belly, but she scrambled to gather her wits. The three of them were standing on a busy walkway; what could happen?

  “Why, how nice to see you boys again.” Her smile was spun sugar, coating the bitter taste of fear. “You can tell my daddy that I’ll be over to see him just as soon as I can. I’ve got myself an appointment with the dressmaker in just a few minutes, and you know how prickly they get if you make them wait.”

  The one called Benson returned her smile. It was more sneer than amicable gesture. “She’ll just have to wait, missy. Our orders was to bring you direct.” And he put one huge hand on her arm, his fingers banding about her elbow like the hoops around a cask of Fairfax’s finest.

  Starla fought to keep any tremor from her voice. “Take your hand off me, sir. I will not be pawed in public.” When he didn’t relent, she made her tone icier. “My father will have you horsewhipped.”

  “Your daddy’11 be givin’ us a right nice bonus for seeing his little girl home again and that’s what me an’ Milton mean to do.”

  The brown-toothed Milton gripped her other arm in a painful clamp. “Don’t go makin’ no trouble for us, missy. We won’t get rough ‘lessen you make us.”

  Trapped between the two behemoths, Starla reeled with panic and indecision. She could either scream for help or be towed back to her father’s house like a truculent mule that had slipped its lead and run away. Four years ago, she’d sworn she’d never return there. She thought of what waited in those closed-off rooms that reeked of stale mash and forbidden secrets. Her palms dampened. Her lungs expanded, readying to force a shriek for help from the pinch of her vocal cords. She wouldn’t go back, not even if it meant causing an unforgivable scene in the center of town. She’d rather die of shame than suffer under her father’s rule again.

  Abruptly their path was barred by the cross brace of one of Hamilton Dodge’s crutches. Starla’s gaze flew to meet the single question in the lieutenant’s dark eyes.

  Do you want my help?

  She could have asked for a more preferable rescuer, but having no choice in the matter, she signaled a frantic Yes!

  “Excuse me, gents. Don’t be hurrying Miss Fairfax off so quick. The lady promised to join me for breakfast, and I hate to drink my coffee alone when I can enjoy it in such lovely company.”

  Starla flashed him a dazzling smile. “Why, Mr. Dodge, how could I have forgotten you? Please forgive my rudeness.” To the men who still retained her arms, she said with frosty clarity, “As I said, gentlemen, we’ll make it another time.”

  But they didn’t release her. They paid her no mind at all.

  “Stay out of it, Yank,” growled Benton. He gave Starla a jerk toward the street to circumvent the barrier of Dodge’s crutch.

  “I can’t do that,” came Dodge’s quiet reply. For all its lack of volume, his statement carried an unavoidable challenge. The two men paused to reassess him. They smirked between themselves.

  Her look of entreaty never left the stocky banker’s face. Starla knew she was asking him to take her part against insurmountable odds. Her father’s men were brutal creatures, weighted down with more muscle than brain. Next to them, the upstart Yankee appeared small and insignificant, offering about as much opposition as a crippled bug beneath an upraised boot sole. She should have felt guilty about encouraging him to take an inevitable beating while she escaped, but she hadn’t called to him to interfere. And he didn’t look as though he had the least intention of backing down.

  In case they misinterpreted him the first time, Dodge said, again with bulldog tenacity, “Let the lady go.”

  Milton gave a gruff laugh and shook his head. “And just what the hell are you going to do if we say no?”

  He didn’t have long to wait for an answer.

  Dodge’s crutch swung downward in a fierce arc, smashing into the side of Milton’s knee with enough force nearly to turn it inside out. The giant staggered back, only his hold on Starla keeping him on his feet. Immediately Dodge jabbed the crutch like a lance into the instep of Benton’s foot, causing him to howl in pain and surprise. When Benton took a lumbering swing at the banker, the crutch flashed up into the man’s groin. Benton froze, his features purpling as he dropped to his knees.

  Freed of Milton’s grasp as he bent down to assist his friend, Starla skirted them both with an anxious two-step to slip behind her surprisingly effective rescuer. Dodge could hear her rapid breathing at his back, detailing her fright, and it made him angry enough to think about finishing off the two bastards. But it was more important to get her away from the increasing curiosity of those around them than to exact a justifiable revenge.

  He glanced around to where Starla stood in a quiver of delayed shock. His slow smile was meant to calm her.

  “They won’t be bothering you again for a while, ma’am.”

  Starla wet her lips. “Thank you, Lieutenant Dodge.” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  “I meant what I said about that coffee.”

  Her stare had all the expression of green bottle glass.

  Very gently he placed his palm at the small of her back. He felt tremors racing along her spine in frantic ripples and knew her composure wouldn’t last more than another moment or two.

  “C’mon, Miss Starla. Sit down with me for a while.”

  He thought she’d continue to balk when abruptly she gave before the persuasion of his guiding touch and preceded him to his destination of Sadie’s boardinghouse. She made no objection when they were shown to a back table in the dining room. There she sat posed for flight on the edge of the chair, her eyes huge and gem-bright in a face pale enough to alarm him. He ordered his usual breakfast without taking his
eyes from his strangely inanimate companion, then asked, “Coffee, Miss Fairfax?” No response. “She’ll have a cup, too,” he concluded with a warm smile for the timid girl who took their order.

  Silence settled when they were left alone. Dodge guessed Starla’s rigid corset frame was all that kept her upright. She stared straight through him with those expressionless eyes, and he wondered what went on behind them.

  The confrontation on the walk had obviously upset her, but instead of becoming vaporish or even angry, she withdrew behind an eerie stillness that had him on edge. He’d seen the look on the faces of men in his unit when they were traumatized beyond their ability to cope. Something had scared the brash Starla Fairfax to the point of blankness, and it was more than just the manhandling of a couple of bullies.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d welcome my intrusion after you sicced your brother on me.”

  She blinked slowly. A furrow of confusion marred her brow. It was a response, anyway.

  “He paid me a visit the other night and warned me to steer clear. I was afraid my stepping in out there might be interpreted as another nuisance.”

  “Tyler spoke to you?” Vague puzzlement reached through her daze.

  “I understood it was at your request. I hadn’t realized I’d made that big an impact on you. Folks don’t usually dislike me until after they’ve met me more than once. If you’d told me yourself to go to hell, I’d have gotten the idea right off. You didn’t have to send someone to give me that message.”

  “Lieutenant, if I wanted you to drop off the edge of the earth, I’d have said so. I wouldn’t send Tyler.”

  He grinned. “That’s the impression I got, ma’am. Just checking. Does that mean you don’t want me to fall off the face of the earth?”

  A faint curve touched her lips. “I’m reserving judgment, sir.”

  Dodge relaxed back in his chair, now that he was certain she didn’t plan to bolt from the table. She was looking better, the color edging up into her parchment-pale cheeks, the glassiness in her stare becoming a gradual awareness. Her fragile defenselessness had him knotted up with the need both to protect and to comfort her. The first she’d allowed. The second he approached more cautiously. When their coffee arrived, he watched her unsteady hands curl about the cup as if desperate for the heat. An unsettling fierceness threaded about that want to see her safe. A desire to punish those who’d shaken her from her confidence.

  “Did those boys hurt you? Maybe you should talk to—”

  “Maybe you should mind your own business, Lieutenant Dodge.”

  The steel in her tone cut rapier sharp. Apparently her recovery was progressing quickly.

  “That wasn’t the impression you gave me earlier.”

  His reminder brought a flash of temperament to her gaze. He liked the fire better than the chill.

  “I appreciate your help, sir, but don’t think my gratitude extends to an obligation to bare my soul.”

  “Consider my presumptions duly corrected.”

  She glanced about as if aware of her surroundings for the first time—and of whom she was with. She studied him for a long moment, her look more suspicious than flattering. He could see her asking herself what his motive might be, so he figured it was time to relieve her mind.

  “I can’t abide bullying. You don’t owe me any thanks. Any ‘gentleman’ would have come to your rescue.”

  But not any “gentleman” had. Starla frowned slightly. The only one to step in on her behalf was this brash Yankee who now felt entitled to intrude into her life. She couldn’t allow that.

  “I have to go.”

  His hand covered hers in a staying gesture. There was no pressure, no clutching fingers, just that firm, warm covering. An unexpected spark of response caused her breath to catch. That spark Patrice had foretold. She didn’t pull her hand away.

  “You haven’t finished your coffee,” he pointed out agreeably.

  “I really don’t—”

  “—Have a choice. You don’t want to risk bumping into those fellows.”

  Her features adopted that still mask again, but fear glittered in her eyes. He was right, she realized. She needed to be careful.

  “How did you get to town?”

  “With Reeve.”

  “You can keep me company until he’s ready to leave—all right?”

  She chafed at the lack of options, alarmed by her own willingness to remain as much as by the danger of leaving. Noting her reluctance, he smiled.

  “If you can get past my accent, I’m really not such bad company. Some people actually find me amusing.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not one of them, Lieutenant.”

  He grinned, not offended. “Damn, at least you’re honest. Can’t fault you for telling the truth. All right. I’ll eat my breakfast and keep my mouth shut. You can sit pretty and pretend you’re at a table by yourself. When I’m finished, we’ll find Reeve, then I’ll fall off the face of the earth and never bother you again.”

  He seemed sincere enough, even a little peeved, but Starla doubted that Hamilton Dodge would be that easy to get rid of. She’d already seen that hint of bulldog in him. Once he sank his teeth in, she doubted he was quick to let go. Why was that knowledge as welcome as it was worrisome?

  But he did keep his word about not burdening her with conversation. His breakfast arrived and he tackled it in silence. And while he ate, she watched him, with displeasure at first, then with begrudging interest.

  He wasn’t hard on the eyes. His features were cut with a pleasant symmetry, regular rather than dramatic. He wore his dark hair close cropped and paid scant attention to his razor. His dark-stubbled jaw was strong and squared, an indication of that bulldog again, as were the thickness of his upper body and the breadth of his shoulders.

  She would have thought him placidly solid and nonthreatening, had she not seen him dispatch those two outside with such lethal speed. The crutches suggested a weakness as false as her first impressions of him. He wasn’t helpless nor made up of empty arrogance. His dark eyes warned that there was more to him than just a nice face, a negligent manner, and a clipped, fast, and often profane pattern of speech. His eyes were deep centered, patient, and alarmingly intense. That quality made her uneasy around him more than any other. Patrice called him a good man, a dependable man.

  She saw him as a potentially dangerous one.

  She started to bring her cup of coffee up for a drink when the smell reached her. Ordinarily, she enjoyed the rich scent of beans and chicory, but this morning something about the odor seemed bitter enough to make her stomach roil in protest. She set it away in a hurry and swallowed hard to keep the creep of acid from coming up the back of her throat.

  Before, she’d felt chilled. Now, the room was unbearably warm. Sweat popped out along her brow as the unsettled feeling continued to grow. She blinked hard against the sudden sense of lightness that had everything blurring out of focus. Perhaps she needed to eat.

  But one glance at Dodge’s plate discouraged that thinking.

  Then he tipped back in his chair and lit a cigar.

  The instant the first curl of smoke brushed her nose, she went racing for the door.

  She was hanging over the edge of the boardwalk, heaving ignominiously into the alley with the hope that it wouldn’t take long for her to die, when she heard him lower himself awkwardly to his knees beside her. At the first touch of his hand, she groaned in objection but was too weak to pull away.

  “Easy, now.” Something in the low croon of his voice conveyed a sense of comfort, as did the wet cloth he pressed to the back of her neck, then to her fevered brow.

  Beyond shame, she leaned into him, letting him cool her face and even open the first few buttons to her bodice without protesting. Instead, she heard herself mumbling apologies.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know what—”

  “Shhh. It’s all right. Don’t be embarrassed by something so natural. Five of my six sisters have gone through the
same thing.”

  He was stroking the reviving cloth down her neck, right to the beginning swell of her breasts, without hesitation or modesty. Caught in an agitation of relief and outrage that he should take such liberties so casually, she almost missed his meaning, until he put it plainly.

  “How far along are you?”

  “How what?”

  “When are you expecting the baby?”

  She lifted her head, staring at him through the straggle of her hair. Baby? Another wave of nausea tore through her belly, leaving her spent and trembling. She’d suspected it. She’d feared to consider it openly, but in the back of her mind, the possibility had been there, a terrible consequence of her sins.

  She was pregnant.

  And this brash Northerner, who was by his own admission no gentleman, knew it, too.

  Starla pushed up from her hands and knees to wobble to her feet. It took Dodge considerably longer to wedge his crutches under his arms and angle his unwilling legs into a position to support him. By then, Starla was breathing in hard, hurried snatches, her stare unnaturally bright with panic.

  “I’m no such thing,” she denied with a shrill vehemence. “You are mistaken, sir. It’s something I ate, is all.”

  Dodge stared back at her, his gaze knowing and strangely apologetic. She knew he didn’t believe her. So she leaned close to him, close enough for him to read the desperate sincerity in her glare.

  “If you breathe one word of that slanderous lie, I’ll have my brother come calling with six inches of steel that’ll see you never spread such vile rumors again.”

  With that cold promise to seal his mouth shut, she whirled away and ran a zigzag path toward Pride’s livery, where she’d have Reeve take her back to the safety of the Glade.

  But how safe would she be, now that the past was coming back to haunt her with a merciless vengeance?

  Chapter 5

  Few things could have surprised and alarmed Starla more than to hear that Hamilton Dodge was waiting to see her.

  Patrice relayed the information carefully. And though she hadn’t said as much, Starla was certain Reeve had told her friend how rattled she’d been on the drive back from town. Reeve had asked no questions, but it was unlike Patrice not to. Starla sensed her friends were treading cautiously around her. While she was grateful for not having to explain, she had to wonder what conclusions they were drawing on their own.