The Outsider

by Rosalyn West

  Maybe he wouldn’t.

  That fierce thought intruded upon the other cutting miseries, pushing them aside to let a glimmer of hope flicker through. Perhaps Hamilton Dodge could handle her sordid past, if they were presented to him in small doses. If he was given enough time to adjust.

  Better than to risk the danger of him learning all in one unforgivable jolt.

  “It was after my mother ran away.”

  “What was?”

  “I was very young and I didn’t understand. I couldn’t believe she’d abandon me.”

  Dodge’s arms drew her closer, making a safe haven for her confession.

  “My father … was so angry, and Tyler was so stunned. I couldn’t stop crying, and finally the doctor was called in to sedate me. Between them, they decided it might be best for me to be taken from the site of my loss.”

  “They institutionalized you.” He said it softly, without condemnation, but a sliver of steely fury lanced through his words.

  “For a month. I don’t remember much of it, except for the terrible loneliness. It was Tyler who finally made my father bring me home. I don’t know what he did or how he did it, but he saved my sanity.”

  She lifted her head to look at him, her features pale and drawn, her expression earnest.

  “I’m not unstable, Dodge. But I will go crazy if I have to go back to Fair Play.”

  Without hesitation, he replied, “You’ll never have to.”

  A sudden flurry of emotions crowded through her, pressing upon her heart, confusing her mind. And then came the movement of his hand upon her head, a feather-light caress, like his quiet whisper as he pulled her back into the lea of his shoulder.

  “I love you, Starla.”

  She wasn’t prepared for his show of tenderness. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she pretended it didn’t affect her. It was a lie: he couldn’t love her; he didn’t know her. If he did, he’d never say those words and mean them.

  She didn’t want him to love her. She wanted him to want her, to need her, to desire her beyond reason or restraint. She understood those things and their rewards. Love was something else, altogether foreign, something that scared her. Something that made her hate herself for doing what she had to do to provide for the child she carried and the child she refused to lose.

  Using Dodge’s passions against him was one thing. Abusing his heart was another.

  I love you.

  Just words. They didn’t mean anything.

  She blinked away her tears.

  Having Starla in the bank did nothing to relieve Dodge’s workload, because he simply couldn’t concentrate upon anything but her. She graced his front counter in a gown of lavender broadcloth, its tiers of satin-banded flounces and lacy bodice inset too dressy for common daytime wear. But there could be nothing common about his wife, even if she’d been clad in homespun.

  She hadn’t misled him about her gift for numbers. In the hour since they’d arrived, she’d worked her way down half the length of his weekly ledger, correcting mistakes and making proper tallies in a neat feminine script. With her head bent over his books, her teeth worrying the corner of her ripe lower lip while she concentrated, Dodge felt sure he was either the luckiest man alive, or the most cursed.

  She took his breath away; unfortunately, with it went his power of reason. Yesterday they’d thrown out nearly all the rules of their nuptial arrangement, but today they were like strangers again. He never should have said the words. She’d been nervous as a hummingbird around him ever since. She’d said nothing about it, and he’d have doubted she’d heard him except for the pointed way she’d avoided eye contact. Hell, she’d had no problem making contact a lot more intimate than that. Shockingly so.

  Where had she learned tricks that would make the boldest harlot blush?

  She glanced up then and caught him scowling. Immediately he altered his expression to one of amicable welcome and her eyes darted away in alarm, and, he thought, in irritation.

  What had he done? What had so changed their relationship? Her trip was the reason for her change in behavior since her return, for her almost desperate need to please him. It was pretense. He’d seen her genuine emotion shine through enough to know the difference—when she was watching his sister’s children, when she gazed up at him after their first kiss, when she spoke about her brother. That was the real woman he’d wed, the one he loved. How was he to reach her when she was determined to play the role of another?

  Usually he enjoyed a challenge, but this one was getting too damned frustrating. The only mysteries he wanted in his marriage were those he uncovered in the dark.

  “Good morning, Mr. Dodge.”

  He stood awkwardly to greet Myrna Bishop, noting the way her gaze cut between him and Starla with a knowing pleasure.

  “I cannot apologize enough for delaying your homecoming celebration with your wife. I trust it went well.”

  “Yes, thank you. Very well.”

  “And you, dear,” she cooed to Starla. “So lucky you are to have such an attentive husband. Did he surprise you with his greeting?”

  “Oh, yes. I was quite surprised.” She neatly evaded his look. “Mr. Dodge tells me you’re expanding your shop. How exciting. I’ll make sure all my friends are aware of it. Heaven knows, none of us can get enough of the latest fashions after that beastly war.”

  Practically salivating at the thought of the elegant Starla Fairfax Dodge’s patronage, Myrna collapsed in the chair before Dodge’s desk and urged him to begin drawing up the papers. While he was finishing and Myrna gushed over Starla’s gown and offered free alterations, Starla had no opportunity to wonder how the news of her condition had spread so quickly. Charles Fielding stood hat in hand, his head hanging.

  “My Irma Sue tol’ me some a what happened yesterday, and I come to tell you both how sorry I am for the way she behaved. I hope she didn’t cause neither of you fine folks any embarrassment. It weren’t my idea for her to baiter her—well, you know—”

  “No need to worry, Mr. Fielding. I am glad you came in, though. I’ve been considering your note and thinking up ways we might make payment easier for you. Have a seat.”

  Overwhelmed with gratitude, the scruffy farmer took the proffered seat, his attitude toward Pride’s banker totally reversed.

  Starla glanced up from her accounts to watch Dodge work with the people of Pride. He was firm and fair, and after they got over their initial distrust of his accent and his occupation, his customers were quick to warm to him and his creative approach to their finances and their futures. When they left, it was with feelings of relief and hope, and their glances in her direction made one clear statement: You ‘ve found yourself a good man.

  Part of her silly self still wanted to believe it.

  Part of her was afraid it was true, and that she was using him disgracefully.

  “Well, I declare, I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. A Fairfax working for a common wage.”

  Her annoyance was tempered as she recognized the voice behind the drawling criticism.

  “What would you know about the word ‘work,’ Tyler Fairfax? You’ve never done a lick of it in your life.”

  Tyler leaned across the counter, his grin sassy, his eyes full of hell. Starla was so glad to see him like his old self that she reached out to drag him up against the teller bars to press a wet kiss on his cheek.

  “Hey, kin I have one, too?”

  She scowled at Virg Dermont, the mildest of the brothers. “I save them for family.”

  “I’m practically family, ain’t I, Ty?”

  “Leave her alone. Besides, she’s stingy with them kisses, now that she’s got herself a husband. Hey there, Yank … nobody put another hole in you yet?”

  “Not yet,” Dodge replied with a smile of tolerance, because he enjoyed seeing Starla so genuinely happy.

  “He been treating you all right, Star? Give me the word an’ I’ll put one in him right now.”

 
; Starla grabbed both her brother’s hands, just in case he wasn’t fooling. “He’s treating me fine.”

  Tyler snorted. “Makin’ you work like a shop girl? You call that fine?”

  “It was my idea. I was going plumb crazy sitting around the house.”

  He grinned wider. “Nothing domestic about you, darlin’. You’re pure extravagance. An’ worth every penny.”

  Bubbling over his flattery and the fact that he appeared for the most part sober, she laughed and prodded, “What do you want, coming in here with all that silky talk?”

  His smile faded and his green eyes grew opaque. “I heard you was expectin’ and come to hear if it was true.”

  “It is,” she replied carefully.

  “Are you happy about it?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  He glanced in Dodge’s direction, his look far from friendly. “Jus’ makin’ sure.” Then he was all smiles again as he slipped her grasp. “I gotta go, little sister. You take care an’ try not to get no blisters on them lily-white hands.”

  “What do you know about blisters, you ne’er-do-well?”

  Tyler and Virg sauntered by Dodge’s desk, both of them adopting vaguely menacing smiles. Tyler leaned closer to say, “Can’t hide behind her skirts forever, Yank.”

  Dodge was still bristling long after he and his companion had strutted out.

  So they thought he had Starla working in the bank as insurance against their threats. Insulting, irritating, and totally untrue. But let them think that, let her think that rather than the truth.

  The truth was, he feared leaving her alone or out of his sight for long, lest Cole Fairfax make good on his claim to snatch her back home again.

  Better she stick where he could see her. And that was a pleasure he’d never get tired of.

  But tired was the word for the rest of him when at last it was time to shut down for the day. He’d had a steady run of customers, all of whom had asked about his pregnant wife. It was no difficult stretch, connecting one to the other. The people of Pride were doing business with him so he could provide for his growing family.

  That’s what a small town family did for its members.

  Were they beginning to accept him as one?

  Cautious yet optimistic about the state of his business and his marriage, he worked his way over to the teller’s cage where Starla was counting out the day’s deposits. A tidy stack.

  “A good day’s work,” she commented, the pride in her tone soothing him like a caress.

  “Must be they like seeing your pretty face there better than mine.”

  She smiled at him and his heart was gone.

  “We’d better put that in the vault. Wouldn’t do for mice to eat up our profits.”

  While Starla banded the currency, she noted the way he was rubbing at the small of his back as lines of tension creased his brow.

  “I’ll put it away for you,” she offered.

  He heard nothing beyond her kindness. He saw nothing beyond her want to help. And he gave her the combination without a second thought.

  As she dialed the lock on the great steel vault and slipped the deposits inside, her gaze did a quick inventory and her mind carefully filed away the sequence of numbers in the combination.

  Should she ever need it.

  Chapter 16

  An invitation to dinner at the Sinclair Manor was a welcome break. Eager to dress up and go calling, Starla raced about like a summer storm, all hurricane force and drama. Dodge watched in amused tolerance as she discarded a fourth gown with a petulant kick.

  “It’s just Reeve and Patrice, her stuffy brother, and her mother,” he reminded her.

  She had no patience with his practicality. “I want to look nice. Where’s the harm in that?”

  “You always look spectacular, Star. Wear the bright pink. It makes you dazzle.”

  She held up the magenta silk with its overlays of sheer pink lace before her image in the mirror. The neckline was a trifle daring for a less than formal dinner, but he was right about the color. Its vivid hue rouged her skin and made her eyes spark like emerald chips. And the snug-fitting bodice with its plunging waistline would make the most of her trim figure, while she still had it.

  She disappeared for a moment beneath a brilliant pink waterfall, emerging flushed and mussed as she turned her back to Dodge.

  A bit flustered by the domestic intimacy of her request, Dodge leaned on his crutches, freeing his hands to work up the small fastenings at the back of her dress. The hooks and buttons were devilishly tiny, but harder than making them behave was keeping his thoughts in line as the warmth of her skin heated his knuckles.

  “All done.” He hoped she didn’t notice how oddly breathless he sounded.

  Starla tugged at the bodice, fluffed the off-the-shoulder lace, then glanced into the mirror only to be startled by the sight of them together.

  Dodge stood behind her, his clean-shaven face pleasantly handsome, his broad-shouldered build framing her own petite form with support. He smiled when their gazes met in the glass and wondered why she’d thought him only average looking. There was an attractive aura of power about her husband—of confidence steeped in his dark eyes, of compassion softening the curve of his lips. She saw a depth to him that went beyond the surface prettiness of many of the men she’d known and admired. And that strength of will and determined purpose stirred a sudden and quite unexpected flurry of response within her, making her press her palm to her middle to still the quivering.

  Noting the movement, Dodge wrapped his arms about her, one big hand covering hers, the other resting warm and easy against the curve of her waist. His expression arrested her with its tender anticipation.

  “Is it the baby?”

  “No, it’s too early for that. Just nerves, I think.”

  She didn’t move or push away his hand; she was feeling a surrounding sense of contentment edged with a shiver of longing.

  I love you, Starla.

  If only that were true. If only she could believe those sentiments would never change. She’d hungered for the taste of love all her life yet feared if she sampled what her husband offered, the result would be too bittersweet.

  He bent his head until she felt his breath blow soft and hot against the bare slope of her shoulder. A tremor raced along her limbs. She kept her focus on their reflection, watching the top of his head as she experienced the first galvanizing brush of his lips. Her trembling grew wild, quaking through her, seeming to tighten low in her belly into a strange knotting ache that had nothing to do with distress. She lifted her free hand, placing it lightly atop his head, letting her fingers thread through the dark gloss of his hair until they clenched tight when his mouth rested on the sensitive juncture of her throat.

  Alarm and awareness radiated from that tender spot down to the tips of her barely covered breasts as they shivered with her hurried breathing. A blind, mad urge to turn her head, to catch his mouth with her own in hopes of relieving the tension between them, was nearly impossible to overcome. Her willingness frightened her more than the thought of his kisses. Confused by that panicked desire, and feeling herself at a point of impending danger, she still hadn’t the strength to pull away.

  Instead, in a shaky voice she murmured, “We’re going to be late.”

  He straightened slowly, letting his freshly scraped cheek linger against the soft curve of hers as his gaze probed their reflection, searching for an honest reaction in her wild and clouded stare. After a moment he said, “You’re a vision.”

  She touched her fingertips to the cool image of his lips on the glass and replied, “You’re a dream.”

  He grinned, releasing the friction like steam from a kettle. “That’s better than when you considered me a nightmare.”

  “I never did,” she said, pouting prettily.

  “How soon she forgets.”

  As her expression grew somber, he wished fervently that it could be in his power to make her forget everything that h
ad come before their marriage. That it would be possible to erase the lines of apprehension, the pinch of painful memory that too often marred her perfect features.

  He lifted the back of her hand to his lips. Perhaps someday he could work that miracle.

  “We’d better go,” she said, this time stepping away from him with a twitch of restless energy.

  And he’d never wanted anything so much in his entire life as the love of this woman he’d made his wife.

  The manor was a tribute to Old South elegance where Starla had run wild and free, more like Patrice’s sister than her best friend. Looking forward to an evening when she and Dodge could relax and let down the barriers they held firm within the home they shared, Starla knew a stab of disappointment when Patrice greeted them at the door with a “tell me everything” look. The fond embrace she had for Starla was given with equal enthusiasm to her husband.

  “Oh, it’s good to see the two of you. Dodge, be warned, Deacon means to drag you off for business, but then that will give Starla and me time to chat.”

  Time for Patrice to try and drag out every detail of her married life, Starla thought. So much for a relaxed evening. With her hopes of claiming a sympathetic ear fading, Starla realized she’d find no neutrality from the friend who plainly adored Dodge. There’d be no dropping her pretended role with the woman who wanted so much to hear only how well things were going. Adopting her false smile and taking her husband’s elbow, Starla entered the manor as if stepping among strangers instead of friends.

  The meal was strained, with most of the conversation carried by Patrice and her mother, Hannah Sinclair. Reeve and Deacon seemed to be waiting to pounce on an oddly withdrawn Dodge, Reeve out of curiosity, Deacon in impatience. Starla made light small talk and puzzled over her husband’s mood. He was drinking way too much, for one thing, and was too quiet, for another. Hoping she’d have a chance to ask him what was wrong once they were dismissed from the table, she was disappointed when Deacon hustled him away behind the closed doors of the study. Catching his wife’s signal, Reeve escorted Hannah into the parlor, leaving the two childhood friends alone.