Donovan's Deceit

by Kathy Shaw

  “Don’t interrupt me, Donovan Angus Langley!” She cocked a warning eyebrow before continuing. “I knew the instant you hugged me. But as you so rudely pointed out, I’m getting older, so I wanted proof before saying anything.”

  Donovan fought the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his thighs. Instead, he plastered a cocky grin on his face and doubled down on the level of sarcasm in his tone. “Oh, and what proof do you have?”

  “First, Sullivan hasn’t tried to sneak up on me in years. It’s been almost that long since he hugged me. But mainly, it was the cherries.”

  “What? Why? Yes, cherries were Donovan’s favorites, but I love them, too.”

  “Until the summer after you, Donovan, left.” Nessa nodded as she folded her arms under her ample breasts. “Sullivan gorged himself on the first picking. Maybe they were still too green, or he was on the verge of getting sick, anyway. Be that as it may, poor boy was sick as a grass-eating dog for days.”

  Donovan admitted defeat. He’d been found out. “So, I’m guessing Sullivan doesn’t eat fresh cherries anymore.”

  “He doesn’t eat any kind of cherries. Cooked or raw.” She took Donovan’s hand in hers again. This time he squeezed before she did. “You might want to keep that in mind if you ever want to impersonate him again.”

  Well, crap, Donovan thought. Shit like this was what would trip him up. He needed an ally, someone to tell him Sullivan’s actions during his ten-year absence. And since Nessa had already seen through his deception—and seemed to always know everything that happened on the Legacy—she fit the bill.

  Donovan nodded, bracing himself for the question he knew was forthcoming.

  “So, where’s Sullivan?” she flicked her gaze to the back door and then the windows. “Lurking about, watching to see if you two could fool me?”

  “Nessa, where are my parents?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  A worried frown puckered her brow. “Texas. Patrick heard about a new fandangled horse breeder down there and wanted to go look at their operation. Emma insisted on going as well. They won’t be back for another month or so. Why? Is something wrong?”

  Relief and disappointment rolled over him. Relief that he didn’t have to tell his parents their son was dead. And disappointment that he would have to wait so long before seeing them. Would they be happy to have him home? Or would they resent him for using Sullivan’s death to his advantage?

  Donovan laid his other hand over their already joined ones, took a deep breath and said, “Sullivan is dead.”

  Nessa’s eyes filled with tears. “H-How? Did you—”

  Searing anger burned through him. He dropped Nessa’s hands as though she still held the hot bread pans. “Did I what? Kill him?”

  “No!” She reached for him again, but he moved away from her touch. “Did you see who killed him?”

  Donovan silently berated himself. Of course, she’d blindly believe in him. She never thought he or Sullivan could do any wrong. Hell, she probably thought the famed outlaw Donnie Langley was a spur-wearing, six-gun toting Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Not that he was going to tell her any differently.

  “Were you there?”

  Nessa’s question pulled him out of his wool-gathering thoughts. “No… Kind of. I was standing outside the old cabin and heard the gunshot.”

  “So, you saw who killed him.” Tears rolled down Nessa’s cheeks.

  Donovan swallowed the knot of emotion lodged in his throat and whispered, “He killed himself.”

  “No,” Nessa gasped, her eyes widened in surprise. “Why would he? He was happy. About to be—”

  Donovan interrupted her. “Does it matter? He’s gone and knowing the why isn’t going to change anything.”

  She waited a long moment, seeming to gather both her emotions and her thoughts, then asked, “Where?”

  “The cabin. I cleaned up then took him to our special place and buried him.”

  “Under the old oak tree by the creek?”

  Taken aback that anyone knew of his and his brother’s private place, he flinched.

  Nessa half smiled. “Secrets are hard to keep on the Legacy.”

  Jolted by her off-handed, and hopefully not foretelling, declaration, Donovan braced himself for the rest of their conversation. He took Nessa’s hands in his again. “I have something to confess and I want you to hear me out before saying anything.”

  Concern clouded her eyes as she silently nodded.

  “I came to the Legacy to tell Sullivan not to trust the stories of my death. I’d planned to stage an accident that would have the world—and more importantly, the law—believing the outlaw Donnie Langley was dead. Then I was going to find some quiet corner of the world to live out my life as a law-abiding rancher. When I found Sullivan’s body, it was like seeing me dead. And then I thought maybe…I could step into Sullivan’s life.

  “This is my chance…” Donovan hesitated, unsure how Nessa would react to his intended ruse. It all hinged on her silence. “The world would never have to know of Sullivan’s suicide and wonder why. And I could live out my life surrounded by my family.”

  Nessa sat completely still. Time crawled as Donovan watched the woman he loved like a second mother sort through her thoughts. Finally, she nodded her agreement.

  Donovan released his breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

  “But we tell your parents the truth.”

  “Of course.”

  Nessa rose from her chair and returned to the stove.

  Donovan relaxed against his chair. “So, other than the cherry aversion, is there anything else I need to know?”

  Nessa wiped her hands on her apron with a devilish grin twitching at her lips and an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Sullivan’s getting married in four days.”

  Chapter 3

  Rachel Hale tried to squelch the persistent doubts clawing at her stomach. Her marriage to Sullivan Langley was only four days away. It was too late to call off the wedding now. That would be heartless—and cowardly. And she was neither.

  Her best friend, Becky Tomer, paced in front of the fireplace. “Rach, please don’t do this. Don’t marry Sullivan. The talk around town says he’s not the fine, upstanding man he wants everyone to think he is.”

  A tiny flicker of hope ignited in her chest. “Do you have any proof?”

  “Not the written-in-stone kind of evidence you require,” Becky countered. “But I know it to be so.”

  Disappointment snuffed out her ember of hope. But she would not let it commandeer her good mood.

  Rachel fought to restrain her grin and lost. Becky’s gossiping was notorious. If there was no fuel for the town’s rumormongers, they’d natter on about Becky’s penchant for knowing other people’s business. Thankfully, she wasn’t spiteful or jealous, just curious.

  “Mrs. Campbell told Mrs. Lowry who told Nancy Fisher over at the dry goods store who told me that Sullivan spent the night with Widow Sewell last week. It wasn’t the first time, either.” Becky stopped in front of Rachel and planted her fists on her hips. When Rachel didn’t react to her nugget of news, Becky added, “It’s the truth. Mrs. Campbell is the Widow Sewell’s neighbor. She saw it with her own eyes.”

  When Rachel still didn’t say anything, Becky stomped her foot. “Dang it, Rach!”

  Rachel shrugged one shoulder as she continued hemming her wedding dress. “So, he’s sowing some wild oats before he marries. I imagine most men do.”

  Becky plopped down on the well-worn couch beside her. “Come on, I know you don’t love him. Why are you being so hard headed?”

  Rachel dropped her sewing into her lap and focused her attention on her friend. She had to make her understand. She needed Becky in her life now and in the future more than ever before.

  Becky would ground her, support her, remind her to laugh. Always had, always would. Just as she would always be there for Becky.

  “Papa said,” Rachel recited his word
s back to her friend, “love will come. Marriage is like a garden. You have to nurture it and give it time. Emotional love, physical love, trust and honesty are just a few pieces that make a good marriage. Tend your garden well and you will find happiness.”

  “With all due respect to your father, the man’s as crazy as a bed bug.”

  Rachel’s temper sparked to life. “He is not!”

  “He is if he compares marriage to a crop of potatoes and carrots.”

  Just as quickly as her temper flared, it flashed out. She smiled. “It does sound a little silly, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, about like calling an ocean a pond.”

  Both girls laughed, dissolving any lingering tension between them.

  After a moment, Becky asked, “So, why are you marrying Sullivan if you don’t love him?”

  Rachel hesitated for a heartbeat. Her best friend had heard the story of her mother’s death and what her father had sacrificed to keep his only child with him. Rachel owed him her life, her world. And he’d never asked for a thing in return.

  “Papa asked me to.”

  What the Hell was he thinking!

  Donovan jerked the reins through the hitching ring stationed in front of the Hale house, angrier with himself for doing this nasty business in person than the fact he was about to break a woman’s heart. Hell, he could’ve sent the woman an expensive piece of jewelry wrapped in an ending-our-engagement note. Only she wasn’t just any woman; she was his brother’s woman.

  Damn it to Hell and back!

  But it had to be done. He wasn’t going to marry a stranger.

  Not even for Sullivan.

  Nessa tried to tell him about Rachel Hale, but he wanted none of it. He’d told her twice he didn’t want to know any details before he finally gave up and left the kitchen.

  The less he knew about “his fiancée and their courtship,” the easier the task at hand.

  He glanced around, surveying the easiest course of escape in case things didn’t go well inside. If Rachel saw through his pretense, he’d hightail it out of town before God got the news.

  The white clapboard house surrounded by the standard white picket fence made him uneasy. But what really had his hackles rising was its proximity to the jail. If he figured right, the back of the Hale house and the sheriff’s office shared the same alleyway.

  If Rachel Hale screamed loud enough, the sheriff or one of his deputies could be there before he made it out the front door.

  Maybe he should have listened to Nessa. The smallest detail could tear down his house of cards. Except for an unwanted fiancée, he was in a pretty sweet spot. And he intended to stay there.

  Determination hummed through him. Nothing, especially not Sullivan’s love life, was taking his second chance away.

  He strode to the front door and knocked.

  A woman’s voice, followed by footsteps descending stairs, drifted through the door. “I’ll see to it, Papa. You two finish your coffee.”

  Damn, her father was home, and they had company. Well, nothing to do about it now, but solider on. He’d bluffed his way out of tighter spots than this. He could do it again.

  He would do this today.

  The door opened and an angel with strawberry blond hair and crystal-blue eyes stared up at him. “Sullivan, what are you doing here?”

  “May I come in?” he asked with more starch in his tone than he intended.

  The angel stepped back, allowing Donovan to enter. “Of course.”

  “Rachel?” a baritone voice boomed from the side parlor. “Who is it?”

  “Sullivan, Papa. We’ll visit in the front parlor so we won’t bother you.”

  A barrel-chested man, maybe six foot tall, thick gray hair—and wearing a badge!—stepped to the doorway of the parlor. “Nonsense, honey, you and your beau come have coffee with us.”

  Panic hit Donovan in his chest—hard. The urge to run ripped through every nerve in his body. But somehow, he managed to keep his feet planted in place and his expression neutral.

  The sheriff? Sullivan had fallen in love with the daughter of the town law?

  Well, wasn’t this just rosy.

  Now, more than ever, he needed to cut Rachel Hale out of “Sullivan’s” life. But was that wise?

  The last thing he wanted was to make an enemy of Sheriff Hale. Out of spite, he might dig deep enough to figure out the real Sullivan was dead and then assume Donovan killed him to take his place. Still, Donovan couldn’t imagine having years of Sunday dinners with his lawman father-in-law, waiting for his secret to be exposed.

  One thing for sure, Donovan wasn’t going to break his brother’s engagement this afternoon. He needed time to look at the situation from all angles before he did anything.

  “I’m never one to turn down coffee,” he replied, accepting the sheriff’s invitation to join them. Placing his hand at the small of Rachel’s back, he gave her a gentle nudge forward.

  So focused on the sheriff, Donovan didn’t notice the man sitting in the corner—until the double click of a pistol being cocked reverberated across the parlor.

  Instinct kicked in. Donovan shoved Rachel behind him with one hand and reach for the gun on his hip with the other. Only it wasn’t there.

  Damned Nessa. She’d insisted he not wear his sidearm to town. Apparently, Sullivan rarely did.

  “Put that gun away, you idiot,” Sheriff Hale barked as he pulled his gun and pointed it at the chair in the corner.

  “Not until I’m convinced that’s not Donnie Langley,” replied the man, his half-hidden face in the shadow of the chair’s winged back.

  Shit! Donovan leaned slightly to his left to get a better look at the asshole holding a gun on him just as the man in the chair leaned forward into the light. Sam Carter!

  How the Hell—

  Hale cocked his pistol. “Put it down, Carter, or I’ll shoot you where you sit.”

  Carter flicked his gaze from Donovan to the sheriff and back to Donovan. Finally, he nodded once and lowered his arm. Then laid the gun, still in hand, across his lap.

  Donovan felt Rachel release her breath in a shaking sigh against his back. Warmth and a tingle of…something…skittered down his spine. He’d take time to decipher what that was all about later. First, he needed to convince the Pinkerton man he was not the outlaw Donnie Langley.

  Against every grain of common sense he possessed, Donovan turned his full attention to Sheriff Hale. It was the last thing Donnie Langley would do, but law-abiding Sullivan wouldn’t think twice about it. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Thankfully the sheriff nodded toward Carter, allowing Donovan’s gaze to naturally redirect toward the chair in the corner. “Sullivan Langley meet Sam Carter, a Pinkerton man out of Chicago. He’s been trailing your brother for the last six months.”

  More like eight, Donovan thought.

  “For some reason,” Hale continued, “Carter, here, thinks he’s headed back home.”

  “That’s ridiculous. As far as my family and I know, Donovan left ten years ago and never looked back.” Donovan made a big show of pulling Rachel from behind him, taking her hand in his and rubbing it as though she’d turned ice cold with fear. Actually, she was flushed with fury, outrage sparked from her eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

  She nodded, squinted her eyes at Carter and then turned to Donovan and smiled. “First rule of our new home together, no guns in the house.”

  A bark of laughter erupted from him. “It does have merit.”

  “I’m serious, Sullivan. Someone could’ve gotten hurt—or worse.”

  Donovan slipped her hand around his elbow. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now, let’s find out what it’s going to take to convince Mr. Carter I’m not my brother.”

  “I told him,” Hale blustered, “you couldn’t be Donovan. I’ve personally seen you at least twice a week for the last month.”

  Assuming the sheriff spoke of Sullivan’s courting of Rachel, Donovan grinned as he patted her hand
resting on his forearm. “Best month of my life—so far.”

  “You may or may not be Donnie Langley. But I’ve got a gut feeling you know where he is—and my gut is never wrong.” Carter stood, making an exaggerated show of holstering his pistol. “So, I’ll be sticking around. Watching your every move.”

  “Then you’ll be a busy man, Mr. Carter,” Rachel snapped. “We are the guests of honor at a party tonight and we’re getting married day after tomorrow.”

  Carter nodded as he moved to the parlor doorway. “Then I’ll see you tonight, Langley.”

  The Pinkerton man left.

  Sheriff Hale mumbled something under his breath as he reached for a liquor decanter.

  Rachel released Donovan’s arm and left the parlor, muttering something about idiots and their guns.

  And Donovan felt the steel trap of matrimony close around him.

  Chapter 4

  This is crazy! Donovan thought as he knocked on the Hale’s front door a second time. I should be two counties over, riding hell-bent for leather.

  But noooo, here he stood with his hat in one hand and a rose in the other. Courting his soon-to-be wife? That is, if he continued to live his dead brother’s life.

  And that was what he wanted—needed—more than…anything.

  He missed his family, missed the Legacy, missed the life he should have had if he hadn’t been so stupid. He could make this work.

  He had to make this work.

  To his good fortune, the woman he’d be chained to the rest of his life was easy on the eyes. And if what he saw earlier that afternoon was any indication, she had spunk—and a temper.

  His life was about to become very interesting.

  Finally, the door opened and the vision in front of him almost took his breath away.

  Rachel wore a moss-green dress that brought out the redder tones of her blond hair. Beige lace outlined the low-cut neckline of her bodice. Her hair cascaded down her back in soft wavy curls, tempting a man’s touch.

  Hell, all of her tempted him. His fingers itched to trace her pink lips then slowly trail downward to where wispy lace tickled her silky breasts. But mostly, he wanted to bury his hand into her waves of blond hair, pull her against him, and then kiss her until neither of them could remember their names.