The Men of Pride County: The Pretender (28 page)

Amazing. All it took was one lusty widow to alter his entire perspective on life.

Taking his smile as an invitation, Constance closed the distance between them. When her arms slipped over his shoulders, he had no objections to her kiss or to the feminine feel of her pressed up against him. His response to both was healthy and encouraging.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, as he pulled
away. “Am I moving too fast for you? My social graces are sadly out of practice.”

Deacon stepped back. He was still smiling, still pleasantly flushed by the intimate contact. And a sudden clarity flooded his mind.

Constance released him, frowning slightly, confused by his reaction. “I’m sorry. Do you find me unattractive? You aren’t married, are you?”

“No. No to both things. In fact, I owe you my thanks.”

She was a quick and clever woman. “Why does that sound more like a good-bye than a hello?”

“My life is … complicated. You’ve just opened my eyes to some things I’ve been blind to, and for that I thank you.”

Her smile was rueful. “But you’re not interested.”

“Tempted, but—”

“Not interested.” She sighed, not at all offended by his unexplained rebuff. “Please tell me there are other eligible men in this town.”

“Eligible—and, I’m sure, more than willing to go beyond temptation.”

“Then I’ll remain optimistic.”

“Deacon?”

He was unaware of how the simple sound of Garnet’s voice impacted both body and mind until Constance’s face lit up with understanding.

“Ah, I see,” she murmured. “Yes, complicated.”

Garnet appeared on the open stairs, pausing as she took in the two of them together. Though her features betrayed nothing, it was a moment before she could speak naturally.

“Have you seen William? I thought perhaps he’d be with you.”

She took his breath away. After all the years, all the changes, all the agonizing choices that pushed them apart, she was the only woman to work so sweetly upon his soul. He’d known it when he’d ridden away the first time and the certainty was stronger now. They were meant for each other. And now, instead of avoiding it with bitterness and anger, it was time to deal with those complications that kept them from finding happiness.

“Is he here?”

Her worried prompt shook him from his concentration. “No. He’s probably still at the Dodges’, playing with Christien. Do you want me to go check?”

She backed down a step, her shadowed gaze still drawing a connecting line between him and their new tenant. “I’ll go. You stay and make Mrs. Collier feel welcomed.”

He was so stupid.

Of course, she still loved him. It was evident in the pained smile she gave the two of them. And in the way she hesitated, just for an instant, before descending the stairs.

She loved him, and as his sister told him, all was not yet lost.

Filled with renewed purpose, he made his excuses to a too-intuitive Constance Collier and went below, hoping to catch up to Garnet. The time for brooding was done. Action was long overdue.

He saw a figure moving toward the front of the dimly lit store, but it was Herschel Rosen finishing up the sweeping. Garnet had already gone.

“A fine day’s business,” Herschel commented, leaning on the broom.

“Yes, it was. A good day.” He looked about the well-stocked room, feeling a surprising sense of accomplishment. He shook his head, truly mystified. Who would have thought Deacon Sinclair would take pride in clerking behind a counter?

“I haven’t told you how grateful I am for what you’ve done.”

He glanced at the other man. “What have I done?”

“You got me this job. You gave me purpose again. And for dat, I thank you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Please, no modesty. It’s a time for truth. I had my doubts at first. I did not think you could embrace this work, but you’ve proven me wrong. The customers trust you. They listen to your advice. Dat’s not something a man can learn—how to gain the respect of others. I am happy to come here each day to work beside you, Deacon Sinclair. You are a good man.
There, I’ve said it. Words I needed to say dat you probably hear much too often.”

A good man …

“No. It’s something I haven’t heard at all.” What surprised him more than the sentiment was the way it brought a lump of emotion up to wedge in his throat, making his words sound thin and strained.

Herschel patted his arm and carried the broom back into the store room. He returned with his hat and coat. “I will see you in the morning, then. We have that shipment of horse collars coming in. And I want to show you how to read the merchandise marks so you can learn the bookkeeping.”

That was an unexpected honor, being invited into Herschel’s secret circle of mark-ups and profit margins. Garnet knew it, of course, but it was her store and she had that phenomenal head for figures.

And that phenomenal figure.

Restless energy growled through him. He held the door open, anxious to be on his way.

“Good night, Herschel. I’ll see you in the morning.”

And just then Constance bustled down the steps, heavy cloak concealing her charms just as her smile for Deacon disguised her disappointment.

“I must be going, too. Myrna will be waiting supper. Good night, gentlemen.”

They both murmured polite responses, then
Deacon received Herschel’s wink with a slight scowl. Yes, he needed a woman. No, that woman was not going to be Constance.

He was latching the heavy window shutters when the front bell rang again. Thinking his partner had forgotten something, he was slow to turn around. Then, when he did, he was momentarily taken aback.

It was Roscoe Skinner.

“If you’re looking for Mrs. Prior, I believe she’s over at the banker’s home.” Hostility rippled through his words.

“No, actually, I’m here to see you.” Skinner smiled, a feral baring of his teeth. “I came to say good-bye.”

A swift spike of satisfying good riddance was tempered by Deacon’s mild reply. “You’re leaving?”

“No. I’m not. You are.”

Chapter 20

W
illiam enjoyed playing at the Dodges’. Mrs. Dodge, who was as beautiful as the fairy queens in the books his mother read him, was as nice as she was pretty. She didn’t follow them around, warning them to be careful, to stay warm, not to run so hard or go so far, as his own mother did. He knew his mother worried that he might get too tired and have one of his attacks. She fussed so much because she loved him. But still … sometimes it was nice not to be reminded or to see the fear pop up in her eyes every time he got a little winded.

He knew she was thinking about Grandpa William, who had died in prison, and that scared him. He didn’t want to think about dying, not when he finally had the chance to play like a normal boy his age who had his first friend.

Christien said he was a friend, but sometimes he didn’t act like it. He was mad about what had happened in the store, but he’d smiled and pretended he wasn’t. After they’d had battles and
won wars with his fancy soldiers, had built corrals for his kitten out of blocks and picture books and grabbed for the most jacks, Christien had given him that funny smile and emptied out his coat pockets. They were full of all sorts of odd things from buttons and a hatpin to a small can of pomade and fruit jar rings.

“Where’d you get all this stuff?” he’d asked with wide-eyed innocence.

Then Christien’s grin had widened as he’d revealed with an unholy pleasure, “From the store.” And he’d waited, just daring William to do something about it.

William studied the handful of ill-gotten items in horror. “You have to take it back.”

“Who’s gonna make me?”

“Your mama will.”

“If she knew. But who’s gonna tell her?” His jewel-bright eyes narrowed in challenge, trapping William in an unwanted dilemma. When he said nothing, Christien sat back smugly. “I didn’t think so.”

At the sound of Mrs. Dodge’s tapping footfalls, Christien gathered up his treasures and greeted her with an endearing smile.

“You boys ready for some hot chocolate?”

Christien bounded up. “You bet, Mama.”

William remained seated on the rug, his brow furrowed, his gaze somber.

“Don’t you want any, William?” Then, with a mother’s intuition, she prompted, “Is something wrong, honey?”

“If somebody takes something that don’t belong to them, like something from my mama’s store, is that stealing?”

Christien froze up, his stare glittering with warning, and for the first time, with a vulnerable alarm.

Starla frowned. “Why, yes, honey, it is. Why are you asking?”

“Christien said it wasn’t and I said it was. Just wanted to know for sure.”

“Well, Christien knows better. Stealing is stealing, whether it’s candy from the store or money from Mr. Dodge’s bank. It’s wrong and it’s against the law.”

“Would we get put in jail?”

She smiled indulgently. “No, honey, but your daddies would switch you until you wished they had. Now, come on down for that chocolate.”

William trotted behind her with a sullen Christien bringing up the rear. After the mugs were emptied and the chocolate smiles wiped away, Starla shooed them outside so she could start dinner. It didn’t take Christien long to get over his silence once they were alone.

“Think you’re pretty smart, huh?”

“I told you it was wrong.”

Galled by the other boy’s self-righteous attitude and by the fact that he’d been made to be afraid, Christien shoved William hard into the porch rails. William grabbed on in surprise to keep from falling down. By then, Christien was up close, in his face.

“Think you’re smart, huh?” he growled. “Think you’re better’n me, do you?” His expression grew sharp and crafty as he smiled. “I got news for you. You’re just a little bastard boy.”

William blinked away massing tears. Bastard. He didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded ugly the way his friend said it. “I am not!”

“Are too! Heard my mama and Miz Garrett talking about you.”

Frightened by Christien’s mocking sneer, he demanded, “What did they say?”

“They said that man you’re living with ain’t your daddy.” He grinned as his words had the desired shock effect.

“He is so!”

“My daddy don’t live with me, but at least I know who he is. Guess that makes me better’n you, don’t it?”

Chest tightening up with a denying pain, William gave Christien a push, knocking him down on his behind with teeth-clacking force. He hadn’t done it to be mean or get even but just to get away. He slipped off the porch at a run, heading not toward the safety of the store but out into the gloomy drizzle of twilight.

To try and run from the pain of truth.

“I’m not going anywhere except home for dinner.” Deacon slipped on his overcoat, dismissing Roscoe with his indifference.

But that wasn’t Roscoe’s plan.

“You don’t have a home to go to, Sinclair.
You’re living under a borrowed roof with borrowed dreams and on borrowed time. That time’s run out and I’m stepping into that dream. What was yours is going to be mine. All of it, Deacon. All of it.”

Deacon stared at him for a long moment. Then, instead of the anticipated alarm and desired dread, he gave a short laugh and snapped, “Are you insane?”

Roscoe stiffened. This wasn’t the response he wanted. “You don’t think I’m serious.”

“I try not to think of you at all and when I must, it’s as an annoyance. Now, please excuse me.”

Roscoe grabbed his arm as he started to pass, surprised by the hard muscle he found beneath the aristocratic trappings. And angered by the hard edge of superiority in Sinclair’s expression when he looked from the offending hand on his sleeve to Roscoe’s face, intimidating him into letting go.

“Still think you’re a cut above everyone else, don’t you, Sinclair? Even measuring out tobacco plugs and ladies’ calicoes. You think these folks would still respect you if they had any idea who you really were and what you’ve done?”

Deacon wasn’t mocking him now. His features were still, his eyes bared blade-cold. Encouraged, Roscoe went on.

“You think they’d want you handling their children’s readers and their household monies if they knew how many men you’d killed or allowed to be killed just to save yourself? That
you let Jonah Glendower step in front of a firing squad to give you enough time to get away? You could have given him the information to carry and accepted your own fate. A brave and honorable man would have, but not you. You wanted the glory of delivering the message yourself. Your vanity cost that innocent man his life. That innocent man was your own sister’s fiancé and you hid behind him, letting him spill blood that should have been yours.”

Again, Deacon wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of appearing guilty. “So what if I did?” was his cool reply. “I made the decision I was trained to make, not the one I would have preferred to. Jonah couldn’t have made his way back to Richmond with that information and we both knew it. He didn’t have the experience in covert work. I had more to offer the Cause, so he stayed and let them capture and execute him. And I’ll live with that for the rest of my life. But it was war, Skinner, and I did the job I was trained to do.”

“And you were the best, weren’t you? The best at deceiving those who trusted you, the best at inventing lies, the best at making those stone-cold choices that cost other men … and women … their lives and livelihoods.”

“Yes,” he answered with the flatness of truth, not pride. “I was.”

His answer angered Roscoe further. “You may not have a problem with it, but that’s not how Garnet Davis Prior sees it.”

Deacon showed no outward reaction, but the
slight flicker of his eyes told Roscoe all he needed to know. He pressed on ruthlessly.

“Funny, how folks get to believing what they want to believe, just like they see what they want to see. She wanted a hero and there you were, a shiny substitute for her father. And her daddy, she put him up on a pedestal so high, God had to step aside to make room for him. But she wasn’t seeing things the way they were, was she? You were just a spy, using her to get information. And her daddy was just a sickly old man who turned into a traitor because unlike you, he didn’t value his country more than his family.