The Outsider

by Rosalyn West

  Tyler smiled with him, a fierce baring of his teeth. “Maybe not, but it makes me feel better to think I do.”

  “Ty, this is important. You know Judge Banning wants this done, and he’s willing to be generous.”

  “Split the money among yourselves. That ain’t why I’m in it, anyway.”

  “It’s ‘cause you’re a true patriot to the South, right, Ty?” Poteet sneered.

  “That’s right.”

  Ray gave him a narrow look, trying to penetrate the wealthy Creole’s mask to see what was really behind his reluctance. “I don’t like leaving you behind, Tyler.”

  “Why? You think I’m going to go to the law on you?”

  They all laughed at that. Tyler tossed Virg a bottle of Fairfax Bourbon. “That’s to get ready. When you boys are finished, stop on by and we’ll share another.”

  “I still don’t like it.”

  Tyler stared through Ray Dermont with a .44-.40 caliber intensity. “An’ I don’t like anybody making rough with my sister. You want to carry this further, Ray?”

  The tip of Tyler’s knife suddenly notched in under Dermont’s ear, next to the faint welts left by Starla’s fingernails, pressing slightly for emphasis. Ray smiled carefully.

  “Nossir, Ty. Let’s just let it go.”

  The blade disappeared and Tyler was all charm once more. “I got me some business to tend to myself this afternoon, so if I ain’t back when you get here, jus’ make yourself to home down at the office.”

  That meant plenty of free whiskey, and they all were agreeable to that.

  After they’d gone, Tyler paced the porch, his mood restless, his mind too clear for his own comfort. The conscience he vowed not to have was stirring up trouble, goading him to do something he’d regret. He’d already warned the obstinate Yank; what more could he do? If the fool decided to throw caution to the wind, it wasn’t his problem.

  He wanted a drink—a long, tall tumbler of his daddy’s finest. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and fought to suppress the need.

  He hadn’t forgiven Ray Dermont for what had happened to Starla. Someday he’d exact a payment. If Ray was smart, he’d know better than to turn his back ever again. But neither Ray nor his brothers were terribly bright, which was why they were easy to lead. And he liked that about them. They were pack animals, loyal to whomever intimidated them, but what they didn’t realize was that Tyler was loyal to only one thing, and that was his sister.

  Which was why Tyler found himself loitering by the bank, carefully out of sight and cursing himself for being a fool. His hands were shaking for lack of fortification, and that clarity of thought was beginning to make his head ache.

  Maybe Ray and the others had changed their minds. Or gotten too drunk to carry it off.

  Then he saw a faint curl of smoke seep out from under the front door to the bank.

  He waited.

  No alarm sounded. There was no sign of Dodge or any activity in the bank.

  Surely the dumb bastards hadn’t killed him, or left him inside to burn to death.

  He’d lit his share of torches without remorse, but he’d never had a hand in murder. Was that the difference between where he and the Dermonts drew the line? He paced the sidewalk opposite, watching as uneven flickers of light flashed against the bank’s leaded panes.

  Was everyone else in town blind?

  He glanced about anxiously, but no one strolling the walk was paying any mind to what was happening across the street.

  Cursing in his mother’s native French, he grabbed the arm of one of the area’s dirt farmers.

  “Hey, what’s going on at the bank?”

  As the man looked, Tyler slipped away, leaving the fellow to draw his own conclusions. He couldn’t get caught up in the matter. But he couldn’t keep himself from wondering what would happen to his sister if the scrappy little banker died.

  Obviously, the Dermonts had come out through the back, so that was where Tyler headed. Against his better judgment, he slipped inside. And it was there that he found Dodge, sprawled facedown, blinking blood out of his eyes as he tried to crawl toward the smoldering fire. Tyler gripped the back of his coat, hauling him away from the smoke.

  “My records,” Dodge was groaning.

  “Easy, Yank. A little fire ain’t gonna touch that big old vault.” He dragged the nearly insensible banker out into the back alleyway, where the fresh cut of air got Dodge coughing. He didn’t look good, his face all sweat-slicked, his eyes glazed over. “Sit tight. Help’s coming.”

  Tyler started to stand when Dodge’s hand cuffed his wrist, pulling him back down.

  “My papers … in my desk.”

  Tyler glanced down in dismay at the key Dodge pressed into his palm before swooning dead away. Tyler looked from the key to the smoke-filled interior.

  “He think I’m crazy?” he muttered to himself.

  He’d done enough already, first in giving a warning, then in spreading the alarm. Now the damn fool Yank was asking him to risk his life to rescue papers he’d just as soon see destroyed.

  “Just because I don’t jump to cut your throat don’t mean I’m anxious to cut my own. I ain’t that crazy.”

  Chapter 24

  He was drowning.

  Try as he would, he couldn’t make his legs respond to lift himself out of the ever-deepening pool of blood. As it closed over his mouth and nose, his hands flung out wildly. And found solid purchase.

  “It’s all right, Tony. You’re all right,” somebody said.

  Dodge blinked his eyes open, scattering the last vestiges of his nightmare by clinging to Starla’s hands. He focused on her lovely face, bringing the rest into view around her.

  She sat on the edge of the bed he was lying in. It wasn’t theirs and they weren’t at home. It wasn’t until he saw Doc Anderson that everything fell into place.

  He tried to sit up, a mistake. Agony stabbed through his back, blanking his awareness in a sudden red-hot haze. He fell back, breathing hard to get on top of it while his feet twitched and jumped in their own disassociated rhythm. An equally distressing misery pounded through his head.

  “Mr. Dodge, how are you feeling?”

  “Like somebody shot me again.” Abruptly, his mind was wide awake. “What happened?” He put his fingertips to his temple, feeling a huge contusion there:

  “You took a hard hit, Mr. Dodge. But apparently you’ve got a harder head. As soon as you feel up to it, you can go home. I’ve given your missus some powders you can take, if the pain gets to bothering you too much. Make him rest, Mrs. Dodge.”

  Starla looked pale and shaken, but she had a nod for the doctor as he left them and a smile for her husband. It trembled like the damp jewels clinging to the ends of her lashes.

  “When they came to get me, I thought—Oh, Tony, I was so scared.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She took a breath. “Someone will be sorry. Who hit you?”

  “I don’t know … I could guess.”

  “Tyler?” Her eyes begged him to say it wasn’t true.

  “I don’t think so.” Blurred images began to come together. He remembered Tyler being there. Help’s coming. And he remembered the key to his desk…. “My papers?”

  “They were stacked beside you. How did you ever go back in for them?”

  “I didn’t. Your brother did. The bank?”

  Her somber expression told the worst. He cursed low and passionately, quieting when she stroked the side of his face.

  “I want to see for myself.”

  “Tony, the doctor said—” But at his determined frown, she sighed and went to fetch his crutches.

  Wanting to get out of bed and actually accomplishing it were worlds away, Dodge soon discovered. Something was wrong. Something a hell of a lot worse than a headache. Every move he made was accompanied by splinters of pain and numbness shooting down his legs. It scared him, but the alternatives scared him more. Going under the doctor’s knife … waking up paraly
zed, or not at all … failing Starla when she depended upon him the most … failing Pride just when its citizens had begun to accept him.

  Some of them, anyway.

  Gritting his teeth, he used his crutches to lever himself to his feet, swaying there as suddenly all went black. He was aware of Starla steadying him, of her cautioning him to go slowly. He focused on the tender concern in her voice to bring him back from the edge of darkness. And he would concentrate on the way she smiled up at him, with confidence, pride, and love, to keep him from crumpling.

  He had too much to do to just curl up and die now.

  But that was what he felt like doing when he saw what was left of the bank. The brick walls still stood, an empty shell. From out of the steaming ash of roof timbers and woodwork rose the soot-stained vault.

  “Every step I’ve taken, I’ve had to take one back.”

  Starla put her arm around him and was gratified when he shifted to let her partially support him. “Not all of them, Tony. Not all of them.”

  “I want to check inside and hire someone to stand guard until I can get the building enclosed again. Then I want to go home.”

  He looked terrible, his face sweat dappled and flushed with pain. The brightness in his eyes was part agony, part ambition. She wanted to grab onto him, to beg him to return to the bed, to lie down and be still, and to take no risks with a life that was very precious to her. But she didn’t.

  “All right.”

  “I love you, Starla.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  Dodge slept hard, aided by some strong powders the doctor gave him. Beside him Starla lay restless with anxiety, knowing she could lose everything in the space of a minute.

  She would never have believed she could come to depend so much on another human being—not just for protection and support, but for the sense of completion she felt when she was with her husband. He made her believe all things were possible … that she could put the past behind her … that she could be the kind of mother she herself had never known … that she could raise a child with love and strength so that child would never know fear or confusion … and that a man could love her enough to accept her flaws, even when he wasn’t aware of them all.

  An unpleasant whisper intruded.

  Would he continue loving her if he knew?

  Would he accept Christien if he knew the truth? She wanted to think so, but she was a coward, too familiar with broken faith to hold with any conviction. Even for this man who had never failed her.

  Dodge woke up hurting too bad to be heroic about it. He pretended it was just his head so as not to worry Starla, but he knew something was different. He sensed that the bullet had shifted in his back and was raising all sorts of hell. Prickles of hot and cold sensation tormented the muscles in his back and thighs, but they were preferable to the absence of any sensation at all, which came and went, then came again for just a bit longer each time.

  Starla allowed him to be irritable and petulant, taking his gruff complaints for as long as she could before kissing him close to mindlessness to keep him quiet. He held her tight, then slightly away, so that their gazes met and filled with one another for a long, emotional minute.

  “I want your face to be the last one I see and the first one I wake up to.”

  “It will be.”

  “I’ve never been afraid of dying before. I guess that’s because I’ve never had as much to live for as I do now.”

  “You remember that. You remember what you have waiting for you. And if you scare me like that again, I’ll wring your neck myself.” She smiled, touching his cheek, touching his heart.

  “If anything should happen—”

  She put her fingers across his lips. “Nothing will.”

  He moved her hand with a gentle firmness and repeated, “If anything should happen to me, you and Christien go north to stay with my family. They’ll take care of you. I know you’re not all that fond of them—”

  “I’ll go. We’ll go. Don’t worry about us.”

  He smiled, and it broke her heart.

  While she went to wash and dress, he went over the papers Tyler had rescued from the bank. The grant on Sinclair Manor wasn’t among them. He expressed a soft oath. Maybe it had gone up in flames. Or maybe Tyler had seen to that torching himself, upon finding it on his desk. Either way, saving Deacon Sinclair’s home was no longer in his power. Perhaps that was the payment for Tyler Fairfax saving his life. When he saw his wife enter their bedroom and experienced a swelling of love so immense he could hardly breathe through it, he knew he’d never mention the deed to another soul. This time, he wouldn’t begrudge Tyler the cost.

  “Come take a walk with me. Just a short one.” While he still could, was what he didn’t say.

  The morning was cool, a hint of autumn lingering in the air. They walked slowly into town, Dodge depending upon his crutches and momentum to move him along when his legs refused to obey him. He wouldn’t complain; he would never complain about any time spent in her company.

  He drew up short when they got close enough to see the ruins of the bank. Vaguely he was aware of Starla hugging his arm.

  Instead of smoldering beams, the building shell was full of townspeople cleaning out the debris and already pounding up new supports. In the middle of it all was Reeve Garrett, who waved when he saw them.

  “Nice of you to show up finally. I thought you kept banker’s hours. You gonna supervise this little project, or just stand around and watch?”

  Too moved to do more than try to swallow around the huge clog in his throat, Dodge let Starla answer.

  “You can have him. But just for a little while.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek, her spirit taking a tender turn at the sight of the wordless sentiment shimmering in his eyes. “You take it easy, you hear me? I’ll go fetch you some coffee, but promise you won’t try climbing any ladders while my back is turned.”

  He mashed her up against him, murmuring, “I just might.”

  She pushed at him playfully and let him go, watching with a welling pride and possessiveness as he crossed the street to greet those citizens of Pride who’d accepted him among them. He was building something good in Pride—not just the bank, but the community. And she was honored to be a part of it.

  Still smiling, she turned and bumped into the hard chest of Benson, her father’s brutish lackey. She gasped and jumped back, but he had her by the arm to jerk her up close. He gestured to his companion.

  “Milton here is a crack shot. ‘Less you want him to put that Yankee husband of yours down like a dog where he stands, you’ll come along with us real quiet-like.”

  Milton parted his duster to let her get a glimpse of his gleaming pistol. She didn’t question their willingness to do what they’d promised. So she agreed.

  “I won’t give you any trouble.”

  Though eager to immerse himself in the project at hand, Dodge took a moment to answer an odd prickle of uneasiness. He glanced across the street to where Starla had been standing moments before only to find the boardwalk empty. He frowned, wondering where she could have disappeared to. Sadie’s, where she’d been headed to get his coffee, was a straight walk in plain view, yet Starla was nowhere in sight.

  “Mr. Dodge, where do you want this?”

  His attention was tugged away by the request but returned with a nagging bad feeling. He’d survived too long on intuition to ignore its cautionings.

  “Did anyone see where my wife went?”

  “I saw her yonder a minute ago talking to two of her daddy’s men. She went down thataway with them.”

  Absently Dodge nodded his thanks to Harve Bishop as his worried gaze swept the walk and the yawning opening to a back alley Harve had indicated.

  The bad feeling just kept getting worse.

  Starla stumbled as Benson shoved her roughly into the dimly lit room and closed the door to trap her inside with terror. Though she was quaking inside, she drew herself up to take an independent stance in t
he face of her father’s harsh scrutiny.

  “I’m tired of playin’ games with you, girl. I asked you nice, and now I’m tellin’ you how it’s gonna be.”

  Starla couldn’t control the shudder of dread sweeping over her like a fatal chill. She recognized the tone of determination and impatience and knew her father was about to draw the final line in their relationship. She was well aware of the penalties for crossing it and him, yet she refused to humble her stand or her attitude.

  “And how is that?”

  “Don’t make me beat that sass outta you. I can, you know. I can do any damn thing I please and no one will stop me.”

  “My husband will. Tyler will.”

  Cole Fairfax laughed, a low, gurgling chuckle like something thick and foul going down a drain. “I don’t think so, girl. You’re as bad as your mama. You jus’ don’t know how to pick your champions.”

  “Don’t talk to me about my mama.”

  “Why should you care what I say about her, the useless tramp? Remember, she’s the one who left you two younguns here so she could run off with her lover. Yeah, that’s right. She favored her pleasures over her responsibility to you. An’ you’re just like her. Only you ain’t gonna get off as easy as she did. Nossir. I know better now. I ain’t gonna turn my back on you again. You’re here under my roof, and here you’re gonna stay.”

  “You can’t keep me a prisoner here.” She meant to sound outraged, but an edge of apprehension crept into her tone. Just the possibility that he could make good on what he was saying was enough to set her shivering. “I’d rather be dead.”

  “That’s what your mama said, too. But she didn’t mean it, either. Not when it came right down to it.” Fairfax smiled to himself as if privy to some vile secret, then downed the contents of his glass. While he did, Starla observed him as dispassionately as she could.

  He was old and dying. What could he do? These weren’t the old days, when no one dared challenge a man of wealth and power. She had friends in Pride, good friends who wouldn’t stand for his ill treatment of her. This time she wasn’t a child who would take the abuse in silence, knowing no help would be forthcoming. She was married to a man who was not without a fair amount of influence himself.