“Mama!”
Deacon’s gaze went flinty and ice cold.
Roscoe dragged Garnet’s limp form up in front of him, hiding behind her as he edged back toward the door. Deacon took a step to follow and Roscoe’s pistol touched to her temple.
“Don’t try it, Sinclair.” He cocked the pistol, backing out into the hall. “You’re not that good.”
“Yes, I am.”
With that steely claim, Deacon fired. His entire life stopped in a heartbeat as Garnet was pulled over backward to land on top of Roscoe as the roar of a gun’s discharge echoed down the hall. On the periphery, he heard screams and shouts of alarm, not even registering them as coming from the servants, from William and his own mother. His whole being channeled down to one narrow, desperate focus: on the woman lying motionless on the floor.
God, let me be as good as I needed to be.
Roscoe Skinner was dead, a neat hole in the center of his forehead, no longer a threat to anyone. But had he had time to pull the trigger in a last gesture of hatred and defiance?
He took a stiff step closer.
Her eyes were closed, her features gently composed as if she were sleeping. The blood in her hair and pooling brightly on the floorboards beneath her head said otherwise.
He went weak. Darkness and despair dropped him to his knees, where he was vaguely aware of Boone brushing past him. As he wondered numbly how he was going to survive, the dog began whining and licked at Garnet’s face. After a moment, her hand lifted frailly to push the slobbery-tongued animal away. And Deacon’s breath returned in a mind-blinding rush.
She was alive.
Wedging her elbows beneath her, Garnet angled up, one hand touching the nasty split Skinner’s gun butt had made at her temple. She gazed blankly at Deacon, then blinked.
“Deacon, are you all right?”
He grinned wide. “Well, you wanted me on my knees, and here I am.”
She returned his smile, bewildered and disoriented until she saw William. Her arms flew open and the boy was quick to fill them.
And never had Deacon witnessed a sweeter sight.
Roscoe Skinner’s body was removed and the nearest authority sent for. Monty stirred from his stupor and was able to confirm all that Tyler had said about the attack on the road. Doc Anderson, fresh from pronouncing that Tyler would indeed survive, checked on the Englishman to his satisfaction, then took two small stitches in Garnet’s brow, assuring her the scar wouldn’t show beneath her hair. Deacon gave his statement, then retired to the parlor to pour a deep glass of bourbon. He was startled by the sudden press of Boone’s nose into his palm. Gently he rumpled the dog’s ear.
“Nice work, old friend.”
The dog sat contentedly at his side, tongue lolling out in a happy doggy grin. Deacon returned it somewhat wryly. That was one less problem on his mind. The dog approved of him.
He’d just taken the first sip from his glass when he became aware of a small, frowning visage at the door.
“Will, is everything all right?”
“Are you my father?”
The boy’s bluntness took him aback for a moment. “What does your mother say?”
“I haven’t asked her. I was hoping you’d tell me.”
Such a somber soul. How could he have looked upon the slender boy with his direct eyes and proper manner and not have seen himself? He smiled slightly, still uncertain of how to proceed.
“Would you like it if I was?”
His sober expression never altered. “I’d like that more than anything.”
“So would I. Let me talk to your mother and we’ll see, all right?”
He nodded and ventured a faint smile. Then another serious thought struck him. “What should I call you?”
“How about Deacon for now.” And “Daddy” later. A giddiness even the entire bottle of bourbon couldn’t produce swirled about in his mind and warmed deep in his belly. Daddy, not Father.
“I’m going out to play with Boone. Think that’d be all right … Deacon?”
“I’m sure it would, as long as you stay close—and dress warm.”
“I will,” came the promise that settled satisfyingly in his soul.
God above, he wanted that boy to be his own. Not just in fact, but in name as well.
From out in the hall, he heard cautioning words: “Stay close and dress warm.”
“I will, Mama.”
He was smiling as Garnet stepped in.
“What?” she asked in bemusement.
“That’s an amazing boy. So resilient. So like his mother.”
“And his father,” she added softly, her telling gaze saying everything without words.
The sensation of fullness about his heart just kept getting bigger. He had to turn away or risk shedding some very unmanly tears.
Garnet wasn’t sure what to make of the sudden presentation of his back. Was he displeased? Angry because she’d said nothing? She couldn’t guess and she couldn’t read anything in the squaring of his posture. She ventured on like a blind man groping along an unfamiliar road.
“That much was true about what Skinner said. What about the rest of it? About my father?”
He looked at her then, his gaze steady, unwavering, totally sincere. “That wasn’t true. Your father never betrayed anything—not his country, and certainly not you. He was a true hero with unbreachable integrity, nothing like Skinner … or me.”
Those were the words she wanted—needed—to hear. But were they the truth? Or was Deacon Sinclair acting the part of her hero by keeping her father’s memory unsullied? He would never tell and she knew she could never ask again. She would believe because he wanted her to, and all the pain of the past was laid to rest.
That left their current complications.
“You said you love me. Another truth, or a means of manipulating Roscoe?”
“That’s always been true. Right from the first. I just didn’t know how to express it until it was too late.”
“Is it?” she asked softly. “Too late?”
“I asked you to trust me earlier today and you did. Was that just for then or for always?”
She couldn’t answer right away. There was no simple reply. Trust implied more than just belief. It signified that truth be told. And there was one more deception she hadn’t revealed.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I trust you with all the things that matter to me the most. With my love and my child.”
“And your future?”
Again she was silent, afraid to assume too much.
“You’ve let me make love to you and you’ve provided me with the fruit of that union. I wasn’t there when you needed me most, but I’m here for you now, and I want to be part of your life and Will’s.”
She stared at him through eyes large and luminous.
“Garnet, I want you to be my wife. I know that means giving up all this. I can’t provide you with a grand house and fancy things. The woman I met didn’t need them. What about the woman you are now? It’ll mean divorce and taking the whispers and shunning that goes with it. We might even have to move away from here to make a go of it.”
“You’d leave Pride?”
“I have no pride when it comes to you. Nothing matters except us being together. I’ve got nothing against Prior. In fact, I’m damned grateful to him for stepping in when I should have been taking care of you. But I’m here now, and he’s just going to have to let you go. I’ll talk to him and make him see it’s the right thing to do. No blackmail, no threats, just man to man. You love me, that’s our boy, and we need to be together. I’ll talk to Noble Banning. He can tell us what needs to be done, what papers need to be filed—”
“Deacon.”
“I don’t plan to go through another day thinking of you wearing another man’s name and my son calling him ‘Daddy.’”
“Deacon, Monty and I aren’t married.”
“He’ll just have to—what? What did you say?”
“Monty isn�
��t my husband, he’s my uncle.”
He froze like a poleaxed steer, unblinking, not even breathing while she faced him down boldly, dreading his reaction to come.
Then he chuckled, the sound escalating to a great shout of laughter. Practically in tears after the awful anxiety she’d suffered in anticipation of his temper, her own flared hotly.
“What’s so funny?”
He took a breath to get his mood under control, but his eyes still danced with a wicked appreciation. “I should have known you’d have a head for more than just figures. You would have made a formidable spy, Garnet Davis.”
“I should explain—”
He took her in his arms, drawing her tight against him. His mirth had quieted into a tender admiration. “You don’t have to explain. Not just now.”
He took her lips in a sweetly savage kiss, ravishing them thoroughly until her knees were boneless and she lay limp upon his chest. As her eyes flickered open to the sight of his adoring gaze, they were suddenly awash with silly tears of gladness.
“Marry me.”
She blinked, scattering the dampness. Her breath faltered briefly and her answer escaped on a sigh. “Yes.”
His mouth collected the salty traces from her cheeks in a leisurely sweep, then returned to her to exact a lingering possession. He leaned back at last to regard her soberly.
“Now, how do we get rid of the husband you supposedly have already?”
Montgomery Prior was propped up in bed being spoon-fed his soup by a tenderly solicitous Hannah Sinclair. Still pale and slightly haggard from his recent ordeal, Prior managed a smile for both of them, then regarded Deacon rather shamefacedly.
“I believe we have some things to discuss, don’t we?”
But they weren’t the things Monty expected.
“Garnet has agreed to be my wife, and we’d like your blessing.”
Hannah sighed happily and murmured, “It’s about time.” Deacon looked to her in surprise.
“Mama, you knew and didn’t tell me?”
“About William, from the beginning, about the marriage, I’m afraid I have to admit to some rather shameful eavesdropping. It took me a while to convince him that you’d be the best thing for her. I didn’t tell you because you had too many other things to figure out first.” She smiled. “And I see you have.” Her glance chided. “Really, darling, you didn’t think I’d be throwing myself at a married man, did you?”
He flushed. That was exactly what he’d thought and he should have known better. He turned his attention back to Monty who was no longer smiling.
“I realize that you felt you had to protect her, from scandal … and from me.”
“And from myself,” Garnet added softly as her hand tucked inside Deacon’s for an intimate linking. “But not any more.”
“It’s not going to be easy and I don’t pretend it will be,” Deacon continued. “We’ll have to leave here and start over someplace new. We won’t have much but I promise you, I will provide for Garnet and William. You won’t ever have to worry about that.”
Monty’s lips twitched in a secret smile. “Why would you have to leave? All of this is Garnet’s, after all.”
Garnet stared at him, confused. “What do you mean? I came to you with nothing. You provided the funds—”
“No, my darling, you provided them. With the trust left you by your grandparents. They might not have approved of the rash step your mother took in running off with your father, but it was always their intention of seeing you well cared for. As the last of your family, it was left in my hands. And I never touched a penny of it for myself. It’s yours upon your marriage—your legitimate marriage.”
“But you didn’t tell me. Why?”
“If you’d known the house and the money were yours, what would you have done? You would have thrown it all at him in a foolish passion before discovering what you needed to know. Then you would have had doubts for the rest of your life.” His gaze filled with tender wisdom. “Now, you’ll have none, and neither will I.”
“But I don’t want to live with her under this roof pretending a lie. I want her and the boy to bear my name. That means more than all of this.” Deacon’s gesture encompassed the room that he’d dreamed for five long years would embrace him and his bride. But his dreams had changed, and the setting no longer mattered.
Monty sighed. “I can see just one solution. I’m going to have to die.” He waved off the shocked protests. “Now, now, I have no plans to really expire. We only have to make the people of Pride believe I have. I’ve been homesick for my native England. It’s time I returned. Once I’m on my way, you can announce my passing, and after a brief but heartfelt mourning, you can wed again. The property will naturally transfer to Garnet’s new husband.”
The logic was so simple, it was brilliant.
“But you can’t travel alone,” Garnet protested. As much as she disliked the idea, she said, “I’ll go with you, of course. William can stay here with Deacon and Hannah.” After all, she’d waited five years, what was a few more months? Her heart filled with an empty ache anticipating the pain of separation. “I’ll go.”
They all turned to stare at a calm and determined Hannah Sinclair.
“I’ve always wanted to see England.”
“Mama—”
“Oh, darling, don’t look so shocked. I’ve lived my life for my father, then my husband, then my children. I should like to live the rest of it for myself, if you don’t mind.” Her hand rested meaningfully upon Monty’s shoulder and his hand covered it in an affectionate press. “We won’t be able to come back here, of course, but you can visit us.”
“Mama, there are things you should know,” Deacon began grimly.
Hannah smiled. “Dear, I know them already. Monty has confessed his sordid past to me and has promised no more shenanigans. We’ll live comfortably at his family’s estate and I’ll make sure he’s not tempted to stray.” She watched her son’s face for signs of what he was feeling, unable to discern his thoughts from the blank expression he wore. “Deacon, I’m asking for your blessing, now.”
“I will miss you, Mama.”
She rose and came to embrace him, cherishing his unrestrained response.
Monty cleared his throat. “There’s the matter of the money. I’m afraid I just couldn’t help myself when the opportunity presented itself. Such dishonest men, so ripe for the taking.”
And for a moment, Deacon considered just letting Monty go with the cash. Then he thought of a better revenge.
With one arm about his mother and the other about his soon-to-be bride, Deacon had an answer. “I’m thinking of running for county supervisor. We could use some decent roads around here, and it would please me immensely to strip some of the influence from certain citizens of Pride by establishing a fair and legitimate bond for improvements. After working at the mercantile, I’ve listened to every possible grievance, and I think my neighbors will trust me to find some solutions.”
“You mean your friends,” Garnet corrected gently.
“Yes. My friends.”
Leaving Hannah and Monty to plot the Englishman’s “death,” Garnet backed Deacon up against the wall in the hallway. After first checking for any possible witnesses, she stretched up to kiss him soundly.
“I’ll be glad when we don’t have to be so discreet.”
“I told you I’d wait forever for something that I want.”
Her gaze probed his warmly. “Welcome home, Deacon Sinclair. All that you see is yours again.”
His hands delved into her dark hair, tipping her face up to his. “I see everything I need right here. Shall I get down on my knees again, or do you believe me now?”
“My heart never doubted; it was my mind that took some convincing.” Her fingertips traced over his lapels. “What do we do now?”
“I want to find our son and tell him that soon he can call me ‘Daddy.’”
Garnet’s eyes shimmered with pleasure. “Kiss me first.”
>
That was one command he happily obeyed.
About the Author
ROSALYN WEST made a smashing debut at
Avon Books with her first book, A MAN’S TOUCH.
Critics called it “one of the best books of the year”
and Rosalyn West “one tremendous talent.”
Her second book, A WOMAN’S HEART, was an
even bigger hit. THE OUTCAST is her third book.
Rosalyn West lives in southwestern Michigan
and is currently at work on a post-Civil War series
which follows friends who return from the war
to find not only their lives changed, but themselves,
as well. She invites reader to write her for
promotional materials and a newsletter update
by sending a SASE to:
P.O. Box 896
Portage, MI 49081
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
The Men of Pride County: The Pretender Page 27