by Rosalyn West
“When did you get back?” Patrice demanded.
“Day before yesterday.”
“I hope you got your wanderlust out of your system and will be content to settle down.”
“Like a good wife, you mean.”
Patrice arched an eyebrow. “Exactly.”
“I’m doing my best, Patrice.” But the shortness of her words betrayed her.
“I can’t believe Dodge is making it difficult for you.”
No, not her perfect paragon, Hamilton Dodge. Starla gritted her teeth and murmured, “No, of course not. As you said, he’s a good man.”
Knowing her too well, Patrice was immediately suspicious. “He wasn’t harsh with you because you left, was he?”
“Dodge?” Her surprise was genuine, much to Patrice’s relief. “Gracious, no. He’s … very tolerant.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Starla, tell me.”
“Nothing’s wrong. Why should anything be wrong?”
“Because you leave town at a moment’s notice. Because you’re married to a wonderful man and you’re about to start crying.”
“Oh, Patrice,” Starla sniffed miserably. “Things should be wonderful.”
Patrice hauled her over to a low chaise, then hurried to close the doors to give them privacy. “So what’s wrong?” she demanded, as she dropped down and seized Starla’s cold hands.
“He—he told me he loves me. What does that mean?”
Patrice laughed in delight, then grew somber in the face of her friend’s obvious distress. “It means you’re very lucky.”
“But what does it mean? That he wants to sleep with me? That he wants my child to have his name?”
“It means he cares about you, Starla, for yourself.”
Ebony curls swung wildly as she shook her head. Patrice gripped her hands harder.
“Why is that so difficult for you to believe? You’re smart, as sassy as blackstrap molasses, and so beautiful there were times I wanted to just slap you for blinding every boy to my appeal. You could have had any man in Pride County.”
She made a wry face. “They only wanted to get into my petticoats and show me off on their arms. They didn’t want me.”
“And is that all you think Dodge wants?”
“I don’t know. I thought I did, but all the rules have changed.”
“You do know. That’s why you’re so afraid. If he only wanted a petticoat and a pretty face, you wouldn’t be scared to death of him. You’d lead him around by the nose the way you have every other man you’ve ever met.”
“He wants more than I can give him, Patrice. He deserves more. He wants a big, happy family like the one he has up north. He wants a wife to meet him at the door with kisses. He wants someone who’ll never lie to him, and I’ve told him nothing else since the day we met.”
“And you’re crazy about him, aren’t you?”
“No!” She took a sobbing breath, then admitted, “I don’t know. I’m all mixed up, half the time wanting to hate him, half the time wanting him to hold me.”
“You’re in love with him,” was Patrice’s sage decree.
“But I don’t want to be! It hurts too much to care. When you love someone and they let you down, it’s worse than dying.”
“There are things worse than love, Starla, things like loneliness. He’s not going to leave you. He’s not that kind of man.”
“But if he knew some of the things I’ve done—”
“Tell him.”
“I can’t.”
“Then how important is it for him to know? Live from today onward. It’s the only way you can be happy.”
Patrice waited for Starla to respond. When she didn’t, all her friend could do was sigh and hope she’d made some impression on the wall around her heart.
Because although Starla couldn’t drive Dodge away with the truth, Patrice knew she could well lose him through neglect.
“Have you made any progress in breaking that son of a bitch’s hold on my property?”
Dodge eased back on the sofa and watched an agitated Deacon Sinclair attack the length of the room in long angry strides. “The papers you signed are legally binding.”
“Are you saying that little weasel can throw my mother and me out of our home and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it?”
“Sure,” he wanted to say to the arrogant aristocrat, “there was something you could have done about it by not being so blinded by greed and pride that you’d sign away your family’s future to the likes of Tyler Fairfax. There was something you could have done about it if you’d bent that damned Southern snobbery to come see me when I still could have made a difference.”
But Dodge didn’t say those things and was rather surprised at himself for thinking them so strongly that they must have shown on his face, for Deacon stopped and gave him a narrow look.
“Out with it. ‘I told you so,’ right?”
“No one can tell you anything, Deacon. Far be it from me to be the first to try.”
Patrice’s brother glared for a moment, then had the good sense to look chagrined. In a more contrite tone, he asked, “What can we do?”
Dodge took another long swallow from his whiskey, sucking air into the burn as it went down. He’d hoped the liquor would dull the ache that had been massing in his back all day, but all it did was slow his mind.
“I can advance you the money to buy your mortgage back.”
“The bastard won’t sell it to me. Not even for more than what I originally borrowed.”
“Have you tried appealing to his better nature?”
Deacon scowled. “Does he have one?”
“Not that I’ve ever seen. So what does he really want?”
“To make me squirm.” And how that grated on a man like Deacon Sinclair.
“There must be something he cares about, some leverage we can use.”
“He doesn’t care about money or honor or anything a gentleman holds dear. Reeve was once his friend and he was ready to let him hang.”
“He cares about Patrice,” Dodge remembered.
Deacon bristled like a wolf protecting its cubs. “I don’t want my sister involved with him. This doesn’t concern her. She’s made her own life. She doesn’t need me complicating it with my problems.”
Dodge could sympathize there. Tyler Fairfax was no one to mess with. He finished off his drink and nodded for Deacon to pour him another. It was hell to remain seated with the constant pins and needles stabbing him from the small of his back to the soles of his feet. He shifted but could find no relief. Then Deacon distracted him from his discomfort.
“There is one other person he might listen to.” He fixed a long stare on Dodge.
Dodge laughed. “Oh, he’d rather shoot me than listen to a word I said.”
“I meant your wife.”
“Starla?”
“If she was to talk to him, maybe he’d see reason.
“You can ask her.”
Deacon pursed his lips. “She’s never cared much for me. It would be better if you asked her.” His gaze slid to Dodge on that silky suggestion.
On the surface, it didn’t sound too unreasonable a thing to ask. Then the connotations sank deeper through the haze of alcohol to kindle a slow-burning ire.
“No.”
Confused, Deacon was ready to argue when Dodge came off the sofa, his teeth gritted against the pain and the insult.
“I will not use my wife and her family to further my business or your ambitions. Tyler Fairfax may be scum on your little pond, but he’s Starla’s brother and I have to respect her feelings for him. I don’t have a problem with you pleading your case to her, but I’m not going to place her between me and Tyler. There are certain things I value more than my business, Sinclair. If you felt the same way, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
Dodge didn’t wait for Deacon to rage at him. He angled out of the study and into the hall, bellowing, “Starla,
we’re leaving.”
She and Patrice came running, alarmed by his display of temper.
“What’s wrong?” Starla asked in a low aside.
“It’s time to go. Patrice, thank your mother for her hospitality and say good night to Reeve for me.” He was out the door before Starla, racing after him, had time to question him further.
Their carriage was halfway down the drive before she dared put a staying hand on his arm.
“Dodge, what happened?”
Tension spasmed through his jaw, but he said nothing. He whipped the horse up to a greater speed, the ride growing bumpy and precarious.
“Dodge, what’s wrong? Tony, talk to me!”
He glanced at her then, surprised by her use of his abbreviated name. “It shouldn’t involve you.”
“Oh. I see.” But the coldness in her tone said she didn’t.
“It’s business, Starla, and should stay business.”
“Of course.” She looked straight ahead, her fine profile a chiseled perfection of hauteur.
Dodge cursed fiercely to himself. “It has to do with your brother and Deacon Sinclair. Sinclair wanted me to stick you in the middle of it and I refused. It didn’t make him very happy with me.”
“What’s Tyler done?”
“Starla, I don’t want to drag you into this.”
She gave him a stern look.
“Deacon was desperate for money and borrowed it from your brother, using the mortgage to his properties as collateral. Now Tyler’s threatening to sell and he won’t let Deacon buy the mortgage back.”
“So that’s what he’s been up to. Why would he want to steal their home from them?”
Dodge shrugged. “I don’t know. All that was going on before I got here.”
“Why didn’t Deacon just borrow the money from you and the bank to begin with?”
“You know Deacon….”
“He’s arrogant, prideful, and sometimes so stupid you wouldn’t think he had a brilliant mind. To gamble his home, his history.” She shook her head, mystified. Then her expression sharpened. “And Deacon wanted me to go to Tyler to get him to do the right thing.”
“That’s about it.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because he’s your brother, Star. And I’m your husband. And this is business, not a personal matter. I didn’t want to put you in the position of having to choose between us. You told me you wouldn’t let me, and I won’t.”
She stared at him, stunned to think he’d protect her feelings over his profits. And she told him quietly, “Sometimes I like the chance to do the right thing. I’ve no fondness for Deacon Sinclair, but his family practically raised me at that house and I don’t want Tyler to tear it from them on some petty whim. I’ll talk to him.”
“Only if that’s what you want to do, Starla.”
“It is.” She touched his arm again. “And thank you for not pushing your choice on me.” She wondered if he realized how much the gesture meant to her. It gave her a sense of value she’d never known before, raising her above his business, his earnings, and his customers in a way her father would never have done for his family. He amazed her by taking that stand.
And she loved him for doing it.
The carriage wheels struck a deep rut in the road, sending them off the seat to land with spine-shattering impact. Dodge’s hoarse cry had Starla turning toward him just as he pressed the reins upon her.
“Take these,” he groaned, sliding off the seat to his knees in the carriage’s boot.
“Dodge?” She wrestled for control of the horse, guiding the animal to a standstill and looping the reins about the whip post so she could give full attention to her husband.
He was in pain. Why hadn’t she seen that at dinner? Why hadn’t she guessed that he was using the Sinclairs’ fine liquor to quench not a thirst, but the fires of agony?
“What can I do?” She touched his shoulders, feeling frightened and helpless.
“Nothing,” he said through gritted teeth. “It comes and goes. Ahhh … God!” He glanced at her, seeing her alarm, and managed a strained smile. “I’m sorry. Don’t be scared. It just gets to be a little more than I can handle at times.”
“Let me get you to the doctor.” She started reaching for the reins.
“No. There’s nothing he can do.” He leaned against her knees and she was quick to support him with the wrap of her arms. “Just have to work through it.”
“You need to lie down.”
“No. If I don’t keep moving, everything stiffens up. I can’t bend … God … I’m sorry.”
She held him while his hands clenched in the bright silk and lace of her skirt. Holding him steady within the curl of one arm, she picked up the reins with the other.
“Hang on for just a minute longer. I’ve got an idea.”
He half-lay across her lap, nearly swooning in and out of consciousness. He was dimly aware that they’d left the main road but was not sure of their destination until she asked, “Do you think you can stand?”
He looked around through the veil of pain, surprised to see she’d brought them to a pond. “Why are we here?”
“I thought the water might make it easier for you by supporting your weight and taking the strain off your back.”
Simple yet brilliant. Why had he never thought of it?
She hopped down from the buggy, then extended her hands to him, coaxing, “Come on. I’m not that delicate.”
With plenty of effort they managed to wrestle him down from the buggy and over to the wrought-iron table and chairs by the water’s edge.
“We used to come here as children. Tyler taught Patrice and me how to swim under the moonlight after we sneaked out of our rooms. It was Reeve and Jonah’s favorite fishing hole, too. It doesn’t look very big, but it’s deep. Can you swim?”
“Usually.” It was his way of saying he wasn’t sure if he could manage it in his present state.
“I’ll go in with you, then.”
She presented him with the back of her gown, and when he’d worked his way down that row of maddening hooks, she released the tape on her hoops so they’d collapse on the ground, then let the weight of the voluminous skirt carry the gown after it.
Starla Fairfax Dodge, bathed in moonlight and clad in only her chemise and drawers, was all the anesthesia he required.
With her tiny feet bare and her slight form wearing little more than the wrap of his arm about her shoulders, Starla stepped into the tranquil water, gasping at its sudden chill. Just as she’d said, the bottom dropped away rapidly, and soon they were immersed to their armpits.
“Now, just float and let yourself relax. I’ll hold onto you.”
He placed himself in her hands, letting his body become buoyant, supported by the prop of her palms beneath his shoulders. He let his head rest on the cushion of her bosom and his legs ride the gentle current, closing his eyes, consciously disconnecting himself from the knot of pain in his back. And gradually it eased, allowing him to move his feet in slow kicks.
“Better?”
He opened his eyes to see Starla’s face outlined by the heavens, her beauty outshining them. The pain of his injury became nothing compared to the pain of her indifference.
But if she was indifferent, would she be shoulder-deep in water, tending him with tender ministrations? She’d shaken the walls of those glorious heavens with her silken touch and her sensuous kisses. Again he felt the sharp stab of jealousy for whomever had taught her to wring such pleasure from a man. But he wondered now, as he’d wondered then, if any man had shown her a reciprocal paradise.
He didn’t think so.
And on this deep-starred night, beneath the heaviness of a harvest moon, he vowed not another day would pass without her knowing exactly what it meant to be loved.
Chapter 17
There was tremendous satisfaction in feeling her husband’s discomfort ebb away. Gradually the tension drained from his shoulders and the creases smoot
hed around his closed eyes. His breathing altered from harsh snatches to deep sighs of relief as he began to tread water on his own. She continued to support him, not because he needed it, but because she was rewarded by the connection.
No man had ever depended upon her before.
No man had ever said he loved her before, either, no one except her mother, just before she’d disappeared. She’d had but a fleeting time to experience that love, and now she was afraid to when the chance came again.
She didn’t want to love the man she’d married. She didn’t want to be drawn into caring about him, into feeling his pain, into sharing his dreams, because if she lost him, she’d die. It was that simple.
“I want you to go back to the doctor in the morning.”
Dodge didn’t open his eyes. “I already told you there’s nothing he can do. If it were up to him, I’d be in a wheelchair or under his knife. But dead either way, to my thinking.”
“Then we’ll go to another doctor. Pride’s a small town.”
“Reeve already had two of the country’s best specialists come down. They said the same thing. To take the bullet out would probably leave me dead or totally paralyzed. But leaving it in’s like carrying around an unexploded bomb. They said it was my life and up to me how I wanted to spend it, sitting safely in a chair, or pushing the limits as far as I can stand it. Some days I can stand it better than others.”
“You could die.”
Starla realized the impact of the words for the first time. She’d never given much thought to his injury, thinking of him as working his way through a slow recovery. But never had she considered the danger he was in with that bullet nudged up against his spine.
She spun away from him. Without her support, water closed over his head in a rush. He came up sputtering, splashing after the figure of his wife.
“Starla. Starla.” He caught her arm, but she refused to be turned toward him.
“You didn’t tell me you could die. You never told me that.” Her voice was thin with shock and shaking with anger and accusation. “Let me go. Let me go!” That last sobbed from her, and with it went her resistance.