The Outsider

by Rosalyn West

  “You’re very lucky.” The weight of earnest in that claim surprised and moved him.

  “Yes, I know. I guess I’m going to sound spoiled and ungrateful when I say their love was smothering me to death.”

  “Are you? Ungrateful?”

  He shook his head. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, walking away. I grew up the youngest of seven, the only son. I never lifted a finger for anything, I never wanted for anything, so I guess—yes, I was spoiled, spoiled by the love of my family, by the certainty of it. I grew up with the comfort of knowing exactly what was in store for me. I’d work with my father and his father to learn wood shaping and furniture making, and someday I’d teach those skills to my own sons. I was safe, secure and soft, never having to make a decision for myself.”

  “What happened?”

  “Reality. The knowledge that everyone wasn’t decent and honest and caring, like my father. He got swindled by one of his customers and nearly lost everything; the business he’d inherited, the house he’d built with his own hands—everything. I saw fear in my father’s eyes and that shook me out of my complacency. It made me realize that I couldn’t go through life with blinders on, taking what I had for granted.”

  She inched closer to him, intrigued by his story, unaware of the way her nearness catapulted his heart into his throat.

  “Did he lose everything?”

  “Almost. We went to a banker, our neighbor. He sat in my father’s office while my mother and sisters cried in the other room, night after night, working on ways to save what we had. He worked numbers like he was doing magic, pulling loans and collateral out of a hat in ways that amazed us. But what struck me, really struck me, was the way he took away the fear, the way he gave my family back their sense of security.”

  Her hand rubbed along his arm in an absent caress. “And that’s what you wanted to do for others.” The admiration in that statement warmed all the way to the soul.

  “Yes. I couldn’t think of anything more worthwhile than working those same kinds of miracles. I got a job in the bank the very next day.”

  “And your family disapproved? Why? Couldn’t they see what you were trying to do?”

  “They saw what I was leaving behind, and they thought that included them. I was turning my back on family tradition. I was taking a risk with my future. My father yelled. My mother cried. My sisters were furious with me for refusing to see reason, for not doing the right thing.”

  “But you were. You were doing what was right for you.”

  “And doing a damned good job of it, too. I’d become a partner in the bank when the war started up. Then that became another right thing to do that they couldn’t understand. They haven’t forgiven me—for enlisting, for endangering the family line for four long years, for coming home just long enough to make them angry and hurt all over again when I got a telegram from Reeve asking me to come to Kentucky to save his neighbors’ security, for getting shot, then for not coming back home to let them fuss over me. That’s what they don’t understand, why I’d chosen to make things hard for myself.”

  Her fingers pressed the swell of his forearm. “I do. You needed to feel free.”

  It was that simple, and that complicated.

  “I can’t go back with them, not as a failure.”

  “You’re not a failure.” Her indignation squeezed his chest the way her hand did his arm, with a fierce, reaffirming pride. “You’ve done good things here for the people of Pride. You’ve given them the chance to keep what they have, whether they know it or not. Another man might have taken over the bank and stripped them of everything right down to their dignity. Someday they’ll realize that and thank you.”

  “Well, that someday isn’t tomorrow or the day after. And I’m nowhere near on my feet, either businesswise or personally.”

  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you, then? Are they?”

  Those were just the right words to summon his determination as he growled, “No. I won’t tolerate anyone’s pity.”

  “Then what about your wife’s help?”

  His silence was steeped in wariness and reluctant pride. Starla rushed on before her courage failed her.

  “I can’t cook or clean house, but I know my numbers. I could help at the bank—”

  “No.”

  “I could help with the filing and the accounting while you talk to the people to let them get to know you. We could have parties and invite those who wouldn’t dare spurn a Fairfax—”

  “No.”

  “Why not? I could help you get back the strength in your legs with exercises, and—”

  “No!” That escaped him fiercely in a strangling of fear and stubbornness—at the thought of her subjecting herself to the daily dangers associated with the bank and its enemies, of her exposing herself to the frailty of his body and its failings. “No.”

  “But I can help you. Together, isn’t that what you said?”

  “I’m saying no, now. I don’t want—”

  “You don’t want my help. I see.”

  She obviously didn’t see, but he couldn’t explain without stripping himself bare to the insecurities of self. To the lingering fear that he’d lose her if she knew just how helpless he really was. That she’d lose respect for him as a husband, as a man, if she knew he couldn’t respond to her as one. So he let her roll away from him, balling up in a knot of unwarranted hurt and dismissal, letting her believe that he didn’t value her offer, when in fact it worked upon his heart as nothing had before.

  But he couldn’t soothe away the pain without admitting the whole truth: he was afraid and he was in love with her. And by hiding both things for the wrong reasons, he was unknowingly destroying what he’d hoped to preserve: their marriage.

  Waking beside her husband, Starla had never felt such tearing loneliness, because everything around her was an illusion. She had no marriage, not the kind she dreamed of. That was her fault, her failing. That would have been all right if she’d had a partnership, the kind Dodge had promised. But he’d taken that hope from her, too. He wanted nothing from her but a child to promote his family’s lineage. And even that was a lie. There was nothing else he would take, nothing she could give. Not comfort, not companionship, not cooperation. They were strangers and he seemed to prefer it that way.

  Wasn’t it better that he didn’t truly know her?

  She’d met members of his family. If these good and decent people couldn’t understand their own son’s decisions about his life, how would they ever come close to accepting the choices she’d had to make? And Dodge, having been raised surrounded by security and love—how could he ever see justification in what she’d done in her past? In her acceptance of what had been done to her? He might give lip service to tolerance, but if the truth were told, he’d pull back in blank horror just as his god-fearing family would.

  She was living a lie. And the longer she stayed, the more she wanted to remain, to believe the pretense that he would care for her; that the child she carried would be his in name, if not in fact; that she would be safe to explore emotions long bottled up inside for her own self-preservation; and perhaps that they could build a relationship strong enough to weather the truth so she could relieve her arms and heart of the emptiness that grew more intolerable each day.

  Seeing him with his sister’s children had filled her with both anguish and hope.

  In the pale silvery light of morning, she gazed at her husband’s face. He might not be gloriously handsome, but she liked the even symmetry of his broad brow, squared jaw, and lean cheeks. Such an honest face: strong, firm, appealing. She stopped her hand just shy of touching that rough cheek, fearing she’d wake him.

  How different things would be if the child she carried was shared between them. Then perhaps he’d view the two of them as a blessing rather than a bargain.

  Deep inside, she knew from experience that that wasn’t necessarily true.

  If she were different, she could wrap her arms about him a
nd lay her head upon his chest and be the affectionate wife he deserved. She was cheating him, out of a real wife, out of a true heir. And because she couldn’t give him those things, she couldn’t share the benefits of wedlock with him, the cherished benefits of love and belonging.

  Or could she?

  Cautiously she placed her palm on his slow-rising chest, and when he didn’t stir, she was emboldened to rest her head there as well. With a quiet mutter, he moved his arm, opening a hollow in which she nestled with a disturbing ease—disturbing because it felt so right.

  She closed her eyes to absorb the confusion of contentment and conflicting alarm as his elbow bent and his hand fell big and warm upon the cap of her shoulder, securing her against him. The movement of his lips along her brow put the edge back in her demeanor, forcing her to back away, but only until he snared her with the intensity of his gaze.

  He didn’t say anything, but his eyes conveyed a multitude of messages from blatant desire to hopeful communion; She started when his hand fit to the back of her head, but her resistance was only a token one as he guided her back down to him. Her breath blew fast and faint against his mouth, halting at the first light brush of his kisses, once softly, again briefly, a third time with a lingering determination that finally loosened the tight seal of her lips. Though her fists remained clenched against his shoulders and her breaths continued in jerky gasps, her mouth yielded sweetly, parting for his ever-deepening claim. When her tongue touched shyly to his, flares of urgency streaked through his blood, pounding in his temples, blotting out thought and cautious reasoning with the roar of passion.

  She met the thrust of his tongue with an uncertain moan and a slight stiffening, but she allowed it and even encouraged it by taking his face between her hands, rubbing his stubbled jaw restlessly. Desire burned hotter, brighter, more fiercely than Dodge could control with any degree of moderation. He wanted her madly, with a mindlessness that overrode restraint, with a wild tangle of love and longing that drove him toward one goal: to move within her as deeply as she’d managed to burrow inside him. It was a goal he had thought impossible until the fire racing through his veins had begun to build and curl in his loins, beginning to push for a response that had him trembling.

  Anxiously he gripped the curve of her rib cage, hands spreading wide, thumbs cutting in beneath the plump of her unfettered breasts. He heard her sharp inhalation but was too far gone with the feel of her cushiony bosom as he filled his palms.

  When she moved against him, his body read encouragement even as his mind refused to interpret the frantic sounds he devoured with his kiss as ones of panic or protest.

  Abruptly he saw stars.

  Her sudden punch clacked his teeth together with enough force to rattle his skull. She hit him not with a maidenly slap but with a clenched fist and a hard ridge of knuckle that knocked every trace of desire from his head while she shoved off him, scrambling to a safe distance.

  Slowly, gingerly, Dodge worked his jaw back and forth. He blinked to refocus his eyes and glanced down to where Starla huddled at the foot of his bed, sucking at her bruised knuckles.

  “Lord above, you pack one helluva wallop.”

  Tears wobbled on the inky fringe of her lashes as she stared back at him, scared and angry and defiant, and ready to flee at the first aggressive movement. But flat on his back, Dodge was helpless as a turtle.

  “You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”

  She showed him her knuckles. “I hurt my hand.”

  Gently, carefully, he curled her fingers into his palm, where she let them remain while they regarded one another with a wary mix of emotions.

  “Do you trust me, Star?”

  “Yes.” An answer incongruous with the way she sat stiff and trembling.

  “Then tell me, did he rape you?”

  A horrible blankness smothered the alarm brightening her stare. She pulled at her hand, but he wouldn’t release her.

  “It won’t change how I feel,” he promised, trying to reassure her. “But it’ll help me to understand.”

  A flash of fury tightened her features as she hissed, “You don’t understand anything about me. How could you? Let me go.” She jerked harder. “Dodge, let me go. Please.”

  That last was a fierce plea, so prideful and shaky it wound his emotions in knots. He let go and she darted from the room in a flutter of pale silk.

  Muttering a curse, Dodge closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. Though she hadn’t answered him, he was sure he’d hit upon the truth. The bastard who’d gotten her with child had done so by force, shattering his innocent and once trusting wife with undeserved guilt and fear. Instead of bemoaning the broken pieces he’d inherited, Dodge would do his damnedest to put them back together. He would court his wife with tenderness and care, lavishing her with all the time and gentleness that had been denied her. If it took months, or even years, he’d heal the scars left cruelly upon her, earning her trust and then her love.

  He’d have her in his bed each night as long as their company remained, and he vowed she’d feel safe there with him, starting tonight, with his apology. He’d be patient and have all the time he needed to win her over.

  He was wrong.

  Chapter 12

  Starla dropped the bombshell over dinner.

  How clever she was to have planned the whole thing to give him absolutely no choice but to go along with her announcement. He wasn’t too worried when his mother and sister, children in tow, arrived to take him to lunch. They told him Starla wasn’t feeling well and he assumed she wanted some breathing room away from his family, so he generously gave it. When he arrived home that late afternoon, it was to find the table set formally, with extra services at one end: for Patrice and Reeve, Starla told him with a smile. After all, they’d been instrumental in bringing the whole family together. He’d disregarded a quiver of uneasiness to accept the situation at face value … only to be hit between the eyes right in the middle of the second course.

  That’s when she told him, along with everyone else, that she was leaving.

  From the first Patrice and the Dodges had hit it off famously. Marian greeted her with a warm embrace that froze Starla clear through as the woman thanked her for taking care of her only son. They chatted companionably while Dodge and Reeve shared a drink and Starla served up a meal she’d had delivered from Sadie’s. Starla watched as the Garretts and the Dodges conversed easily, and she couldn’t help think that mother- and sister-in-law would have preferred Dodge had married someone sensible and well grounded like Patrice Sinclair, rather than the flashy Starla Fairfax. Perhaps then her Southern allegiance could have been forgiven. She tried to smile and join in the comfortable laughter, but a lump was wedged in her throat.

  On her way to and from the table to deliver the main course, she paused behind her husband’s chair, giving in to the impulse to let her hand trail lightly along his shoulder. He stopped in mid-sentence to glance up in question, his dark eyes crinkled, a smile lingering on his lips from a joke Reeve had been telling. He waited, his smile growing slightly crooked, his brows knitted in question as she considered saying nothing and forgetting the whole thing.

  But it was too late for that.

  Instead, she bent to sketch a kiss across his cheekbone, straightening as he sucked a breath of surprise, turning away from his look of confusion—and worse, delight. She resumed her seat and started up before her courage faltered, before the taste of his warm, rough skin and the look in his unsuspecting eyes distracted her from her purpose.

  “Guess this is as good a time as any to tell you all good-bye. I’ve got some family matters I’ve been neglecting terribly, and Dod—Tony and I thought this would be a good time for me to go, what with his mama and sister here to keep him company while I’m away.”

  Patrice glanced at Dodge. He looked gut shot. Then she turned to her friend. “Where are you going?”

  “Louisville. To my daddy’s sister’s. I won’t be gone long. You probably won’t
even have a chance to miss me.” A dazzling smile spread to cover the tug at her voice. “I’ve been having such fun tonight the time has simply gotten away from me. If you all would excuse me, my train’s leaving in less than an hour and I don’t want to miss it. Auntie June would be so distressed if I didn’t arrive as planned.”

  Alice was aghast. “Tony, you’re going to let her travel in her condition, alone and at night?”

  “Oh, Alice, Tony knows I’m no shrinking Southern violet. I can take care of myself, the same way your daddy trusted you to come all this way without him. Besides, he can’t run off and leave bankin’ business. This town depends on him so.”

  Again her voice threatened to fail her. Escaping with dignity was harder than she’d thought. She wished she’d given in to her craven want to sneak out leaving a note for all concerned.

  But she couldn’t put Dodge in the awkward position of explaining her absence.

  He wasn’t as well versed in lies as she was.

  “I’d better be going.”

  Dodge overcame his stupor, pushing himself to his feet as she rose and readied to run.

  “I’ll take you to the station.” His calm statement betrayed none of the turmoil of the gaze locked into hers.

  “There’s no need for that, sugar. Patrice can ride with me and bring the buggy back. My things are already packed. Stay here and entertain your company. Besides,” and her tone lowered with what sounded like tender concern, “you look so tired.”

  If she was so damned worried about him, why had she waited until he was wedged like a steer in the slaughter chutes with nowhere to turn, no way to escape, before she delivered the killing blow? It certainly wasn’t for kindness’ sake. She wanted to flee him with as few complications as possible. That’s why she’d packed and loaded her things while he was treating his relatives to a pleasant lunch. That’s why she’d made her announcement before an audience—so he’d have no way to argue her decision without causing them all embarrassment.