by Rosalyn West
Tyler squeezed his eyes closed against the nightmare images his mind created. His reply was little more than a whisper.
“Jus’ like before.”
Dodge had drifted off into a restless slumber on the parlor chaise when a soft knock at the door startled him into all manner of panicked thoughts. The hour was late. Visits close to midnight rarely had good consequence.
He stared at the Fairfaxes’ maid, Matilda, with a paralyzing dread twisting through his middle. He couldn’t make himself ask it.
Is she dead?
“Mister Tyler sent me to tell you Miss Starla has waked up.”
Dodge’s knees went watery. Only the support of his crutches held him up. For a moment, he could only breathe slow and deep into his relief.
“Did she ask for me?” he said at last.
“He didn’t say nothin’ about that, sir, only that I was to tell you what I told you.”
“Thank you. And thank him for me.”
With a nod the old woman slipped away.
After the weakening sense of relief had passed, Dodge returned to the front room, to his solitary thoughts. With Starla out of danger, he had some serious consequences to consider. The baby was no longer there to hold them in an unconsummated marriage.
Cole Fairfax’s threats could become reality.
Would Starla want to come back to him? Was there anything left to keep them together? The baby was gone. Noble Banning had returned. He found himself helpless to retrieve his own wife from her father’s home. What could he do? There was no law in Pride—except that privilege made power, and might gave right to those who could claim it. He had the military expertise and the simple daring to plan an assault upon Fair Play to retake his bride. A fierce possessiveness growled through him, pushing him to make that commitment to a cause, the same commitment that had made him a good, even great, commander on the battlefield. But he wouldn’t commit without that cause. And he had to know if Starla wanted to be claimed. She’d had enough bullying men in her life, pulling her in all directions without a care to her feelings.
He had to know the state of her heart before he could act upon the forces driving his.
It was early. Dawn had just begun to sketch pastels along the horizon and the town of Pride slumbered lazily in the dog days of summer.
Dodge had finally fallen deeply asleep, so the sound of another visitor at his door dragged him up out of a healing oblivion. He tried to stand and found he couldn’t. The effects of his beating several nights before—though now it seemed like weeks—had congealed into a solid protesting ache, making movement next to impossible. Until his guest gave a yell.
“Hey, Yank. You in there?”
Tyler Fairfax?
Dodge pulled himself up onto his crutches and moved painfully to the door to open it. It was Fairfax, all right, standing on his porch with a bundle in his arms.
“Got something for you, Yank. Where do you want her?”
Dodge stepped back, stunned past coherent thought as Tyler carried Starla inside. One look at her still, wan face snapped his stupor.
“In the back.”
Tyler followed and carefully laid his sister out on the bed she shared with her husband in all ways but those of a wife. After solicitously tucking her in, he turned to Dodge.
“She belongs here with you, not in that house with him. You take care of her, Yank, or I’ll know about it.”
“I don’t—”
“I know you don’t.” Tyler grinned at him wryly. “So don’t try. I heard tell about your run-in with the Dermonts. Figured you’d done my job for me there, so I’d do you this favor in return. Guess I was wrong about you not being able to hold your own. Jus’ don’t go turning your back so easily.”
“I won’t.”
They exchanged measuring looks, each reassessing what he’d originally seen in the other. Tyler nodded toward his sister.
“He ain’t gonna like it that she’s here. You be careful now, y’hear?”
“What about you? He’s going to know it was your doing.”
Tyler smiled again. “What can he do to me?”
But the haunted shadows in the back of his eyes had Dodge wondering. He put out his hand. Tyler gave it a look, then laughed.
“Let’s not get sentimental ‘bout this. I still don’t like you, but she does, an’ that’s all that matters, I guess.”
He never did take Dodge’s hand or stay to hear his thanks. And Dodge found himself hoping that Tyler Fairfax’s act of uncommon decency wouldn’t land on him with brutal consequence.
The doctor paid a visit mid-morning. He had nothing to say about Starla’s change of residence but examined her and pronounced her safely on the mend. He did have a word of warning for Dodge, though, cautioning him not to let her fall too deeply into melancholy over the loss of the child. Dodge agreed while not knowing how to lift himself out of his own.
He sat with her steadfastly, heartened by her improving color and by her longer bouts of awareness. She recognized him, finally, but had yet to understand what had happened to her. He despaired over how to tell her.
It was the next morning, when she met him with a lucid gaze and a furrowed brow, that he knew the time he dreaded had come.
It was something terrible. That truth came to Starla slowly as her strength began to gather, and with it, the knowledge of her own discomfort. She waited until Dodge bent to brush his knuckles across her brow to ask him to explain.
“What is it, Tony? What’s happened?”
His dark gaze canted away from her in an uneasy evasion, quickening her anxiety. “What do you remember?” he asked.
“Going to Fair Play to see Tyler. The Dermonts were there. I remember falling on the steps, and pain in my head and in my—” Her hand pressed to her side, and Dodge’s stare following the movement then darted away as she drew her own conclusions. “Tony?” The rest came out in a fragile tremor. Her voice fractured. “The baby?” she whispered.
She watched him draw a deep, composing breath, heard the rattle of his inhalation. But his tone was steady, almost too calm, when he relayed what the doctor had told him, finishing with, “I’m sorry, Starla.”
When the numbing shock wore off, Starla experienced a strange sense of sorrow over the little life she’d secretly resented, the child she’d feared she wouldn’t be able to mother. It was Dodge’s excitement over the birth that had finally awakened a similar enthusiasm within her. It was through him that she’d begun to believe she could learn to love what had been created in terror and violence. And now the opportunity was no more. It left her empty inside, and unsure of how to grieve.
Just as she was suddenly unsure of Dodge.
If only he’d look at her, or tell her how he was feeling…. Was he blaming her?
If he did, he never expressed it. For the next weeks, he was tender and solicitous about seeing to her every need. When she was capable of moving around on her own, he went back to work at the bank, then spent the early evening hours telling her about his day. All very nice, like they were the best of companions. But never did the subject of the child come up. And never did she see a spark of anything beyond compassion in his dark eyes.
During the long, sweltering days that capped the end of summer, she had her share of visitors: Patrice and Reeve, her brother, even Noble Banning. All were careful to tiptoe around the topic of her loss in their determined cheerfulness.
They must have all held her to blame. She didn’t care what they thought; only Dodge mattered.
And she was losing him.
She could feel it, day by day, the gulf between them widening. He was polite, and he smiled, but when she caught him unawares, she could see such sadness in his eyes that it broke her heart with guilt and shame. He was thinking about the children they’d never have, that she could never give him. And he was thinking about the only chance at a family they’d had. It was only a matter of time before that sorrow steeped into resentment and he grew to hate her for trapping him
in a marriage that couldn’t give him the one thing he wanted most—a family.
Her hope of a future, her blanket of security, was beginning to unravel.
She owed him everything and now could give him nothing … nothing but the guilt of having destroyed their future, nothing but the shame of what she hid in her past. He deserved better. He deserved happiness.
A package arrived that morning from Michigan. Dodge had already left for the bank and Starla sat staring at it, debating whether or not to look inside. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Dodge. Curiosity finally won out.
A card lay on top of a tissue-wrapped bundle from Alice.
“For the next addition to the Dodge family.”
A clogging tightness burned in the back of her throat as she opened the tissue to find a neat stack of infant garments. She lifted one out, fingering its tiny sleeve and delicate ruffles. She blinked against the tears that wouldn’t come.
These were the clothes Alice’s children had worn, all painstakingly kept to hand down to the next generation of Dodges. Clothes perhaps that her husband, himself, had worn. Heirlooms. Treasures. Meant to be used.
But not by her children.
Very carefully she refolded the miniature gown, placed it with the others, then carried the box upstairs to the room that would have served as a nursery. There she tucked the box away where someday Dodge would find it. And someday make use of its contents.
She’d just returned downstairs when a soft tap at the door drew her away from melancholy thoughts. Upon answering it, she found a distressing visitor.
“Hello, Starla. I had a hell of a time finding you. You didn’t tell me you’d married again so soon. May I come in?”
She stared at Beau LeBlanc as he stood there smiling on her front porch. A terrible weakness quaked through her legs, but she forced them to hold her. She wouldn’t show weakness before a man like LeBlanc. She opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
He glanced around the house with a casual assessment. “Not quite up to what you’ve been used to. I thought you’d have chosen better.”
“What do you want?” Anxiety raced through her mind. What if Dodge were to come home early? How would she explain her visitor? What if someone had seen the lawyer arrive and mentioned it to him? A sickening fear tightened about her heart.
“You left New Orleans so suddenly, we didn’t get the chance to conclude our business. But it did give me some time to check up on you and what you’ve been doing. A Yankee banker? You’d settle for that after casting me away?”
Not wanting to discuss Dodge with him, she snapped, “Why are you here?”
“To give you one more chance. After all we’ve been to each other, I felt I owed you that much.” He reached out a hand, but Starla shrank back. Beneath her fear, and growing stronger, was a fierce rage that he would come here, that he would play upon her vulnerabilities, as he’d tried once before.
“Don’t you dare put a hand on me. Speak your mind and get the hell out of my house.”
LeBlanc let his hand drop to his side. His smile warped with amusement. “If that’s the way you want it. The hearing’s a week away. When you ran out, Mrs. Fortun felt it implied a disinterest on your part to make any trouble. I told her she was wrong, that she didn’t know you the way I did. Was I right, or were you planning to let things proceed quietly?”
“You’re not getting my son.”
LeBlanc laughed. “I told her you had more spunk than you let on. So I figured I’d take a little trip up here so we could have a chat. You, me, and your husband.” He pounced upon her sudden pallor. “You have told him about Christien and your troubles down in New Orleans, haven’t you?” At her silence, he grew bolder. “You’re a smart girl, Starla—a survivor—or you wouldn’t have put up with Stephen for so long. You’ve started a new life here, with a new man, a man in the community’s eye. Have you considered how that man’s business is going to suffer from the scandal you’re going to bring him?”
She hadn’t … not until this moment.
LeBlanc pressed folded papers into her cold hand. “I’m staying at the hotel in town until my train leaves late tomorrow. Bring me those papers, signed, and you can get back to your banker. If not, I guess I’m just going to have to ruin you.”
Starla sat in the darkening parlor, the unsigned papers crumpled in her shaking hands. Behind her placid expression, her mind was spinning frantically.
What could she do?
At one time, Dodge had been her answer. She’d felt sure she could count on him to protect her. But that was when she was pregnant, when she had more to offer him than just trouble and ruination. How badly did he want to keep her as his wife? Enough to suffer what LeBlanc had in mind?
She had to do something about Christien. Now. She had to prepare for whatever LeBlanc was planning. She knew him too well not to figure he would strike at her through Dodge. Whether his weapons were ones of violence or ones of truth, either would wound beyond reparation. How could she wish either upon the man who’d done so much for her? She paced the house in restless circles, her heart pounding, her mind frantic.
Escape: it was the one solution she kept coming back to. At first she dismissed it in dismay. Leave her husband? Leave her home? But the more frightened she became, the more it began to look like rescue instead of running away. Rescuing Christien from his scheming grandmother. Rescuing Dodge from her father’s wrath and LeBlanc’s attempt to ruin them. Rescuing herself from an endless well of grief and guilt. If there was an alternative, she couldn’t find it.
One thing was certain: she wouldn’t give up her child. She had one chance to atone for the sins of her past—by providing her son with all the love and security she’d never known. By letting him grow up unscarred by doubt and guilt. Nothing mattered but that. Not her own happiness. Not the cold calculation of what she planned.
Only Christien mattered. And if she was smart, and quick, and clever, she would be in New Orleans before LeBlanc knew she was gone. And she’d snatch Christien from that house of opulent emptiness so they could begin their lives together. Just the two of them.
Chapter 22
Once Starla had decided upon a course of action, time flew quickly. That made it easier for her. She could pretend, as she filled a bag with her most valuable possessions, that she wasn’t going to be leaving the rest behind forever. She could hide the truth from herself so she wouldn’t see each move as taking a step away from everything she’d come to care for. It was the only way to get through what she had to do. She’d treat it all as a game, not as a very permanent and far-reaching action.
She sat down to write a quick note to Tyler so he wouldn’t worry. She’d have it delivered from the station. She didn’t think about Dodge; that was something she couldn’t do, not until miles and miles separated them. Only when she was out of reach of her weakness for him would she write to explain. She’d worry about how she could possibly make sense of her situation later. It wouldn’t matter what she said, anyway. He’d never understand.
Dodge….
Don’t think; don’t feel, she reminded herself savagely. That was how she survived. That was how she’d go on surviving.
She saw the buggy coming and forced her knees to steady and her mouth to smile. Inside, she deadened anything that might interfere with her plans. She watched him step down from the carriage, suppressing her pride in the fact that his stance was so solid. He used only a cane now. Then he turned and she steeled her heart not to soften to the sight of the weariness and troubles lining his brow. Instead she’d be thankful for his usual preoccupation with his work.
“Don’t unhitch the horse.”
He paused, glancing down at the bag she carried. “Going somewhere?”
She smiled. “Only to the dressmaker’s.” She hoisted the bag. “That blue gown she just finished for me, the fit’s all wrong. She said she could repin it after closing.” She waited, but he didn’t respond. “Is that all right?”
She smiled and relaxed a bit. “I’ll be fine. Patrice asked me to stop there for supper afterward, ‘cause Reeve’s got some business out of town, so don’t worry if I’m late. You know how we are when we get to talking. Time just flies.”
A pause, then, “Tell her hello for me.”
He was making it all so easy. Why, then, was anxiousness crowding up around her heart so hard she could barely breathe?
He stood by the buggy, waiting to help her up into it. She’d known this would be the most difficult moment, when she had to stand near him, smiling as if nothing was amiss.
“You drive carefully, now,” he told her, his tone gentling with concern. “And don’t be too late. There are some things I want to discuss with you when you get home.”
She would never know what those things were.
She smiled with a carefree wave. “All right. I’ll watch the clock.”
He took her bag and placed it in the boot. They were close enough for her to smell one of his good cigars on him. She’d grown fond of that scent and breathed it in as if to make it last. He put his hands on either side of her waist and she reached up for the seat. But instead of boosting her, Dodge held her a moment longer, his hands dangerously familiar in the way they fit her. When she glanced at him in question, she saw a glimmer of odd intensity in his eyes. Fearing that if he looked much longer she’d give herself away, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, meaning the gesture to be a quick good-bye. She hadn’t counted on how hard it would be to pull away. Her lips grazed the rough burr of his skin. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. Oh, how she wanted to cling forever to everything she had. But knowing she wouldn’t have him for much longer, even if she stayed, made it easier for her to let go.
“I left supper for you on the stove. Don’t work too hard.” She choked out the words. She had to turn away, stretching up for the seat. He lifted her and she quickly slid across the cushion, tucking her skirts around her. She found the reins and cracked them on the horse’s rump, startling it into a trot because she needed to get away before the tears burning behind her eyes began to fall.
