The Outsider

by Rosalyn West

  What had he done? Had he somehow hurt her, made her feel afraid? The possibility tore his heart asunder. Cautiously he placed his hand upon one quaking shoulder and said her name. She went instantly still.

  “Star, what is it? If I’ve done something—”

  She rolled into his arms, burrowing against his chest like a wounded animal, to wail as if it was the most awful thing in the world, “I love you, Tony.”

  For Dodge the world stood still in a moment of private thanksgiving. Then he went on to address Starla’s tears.

  “I love you, too. Is that something terrible, sweetheart? It shouldn’t be a reason to cry.” He began stroking the sleek line of her back and soothing repetitions.

  “I’ve done such shameful things! I’m so afraid you’ll come to hate me.”

  “There’s nothing you could ever do that would make me love you any less.”

  Her head shook violently. “You don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t matter, not to me.”

  “But it will. You don’t understand … I let it happen. It’s my fault. My fault for being weak and foolish.”

  “Shh. Star, you don’t have to tell me any more.”

  But she continued in a frantic whisper, as if digging in tainted soil to uncover a secret better left buried. Each moment brought that evil closer to the light.

  “I was very lonely and I wanted to be loved. That’s what I thought it was, the holding and the kisses. I thought it was love.”

  The bastard! Dodge fought to keep his fury contained. He continued the gentling caresses while in the darkness of his mind he was planning a retribution that would go beyond pain, beyond ruin, to the total destruction of the son of a bitch who’d so abused this woman’s fragile trust.

  Her voice gave a painful hitch. “He hurt me and he called me a whore and said I’d led him on. And then there was the baby and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell him; I couldn’t tell anyone. And I must be an awful person, because I prayed so hard that the baby would die, that I would die. How could you love me, Tony? How could you?”

  He gave a low, passionate curse, then took her damp face between his palms, lifting her head, holding her so she couldn’t evade the sincerity in his stare.

  “I love you because you’re smart and brave and caring and beautiful, and you have nothing, nothing, to apologize for or be ashamed of.”

  Her tears scalded the backs of his hands as she held his gaze, daring to believe what she was hearing.

  “I love you, Starla. I will never, ever stop loving you.”

  He spent the rest of the night convincing her of it, giving her all he could because she’d already had so much taken from her unfairly. And much later, just as dawn was creeping up on the darkness, she slept in his arms while he rested easy, forgiving her for her imagined sins without another thought, believing that her confessions centered on a selfish son of a bitch in New Orleans who’d used her for his own gain.

  But not knowing the confessions weren’t about her relationship with a spoiled Southern lawyer.

  They were about her relationship with her father.

  Chapter 23

  Since Starla had anticipated the embarrassment of having to retell her story to Noble Banning, somehow it didn’t seem quite so awful in their well-lighted parlor with her husband, solid and supportive, at her side.

  Noble was a stoic witness, asking brief questions and making quick notes. When she was finished, she felt drained, not only of energy, but of some of the guilt as well. Especially when Dodge’s arm stole about her shoulders for a bracing hug.

  “So, what do we do?”

  Nothing sounded better to Starla than that all-inclusive “we.”

  “First, I’ll go over to the hotel and introduce myself to that lowlife as your new counsel. Then, with luck, I can reduce him to the cowardly pile of boot scrapings he is with my plan to travel to New Orleans to do extensive interviewing in regard to his character and that of your first husband. Then I plan to gather sworn affadavits in Starla’s favor from her banker husband, from her influential distillery owner brother, and from Kentucky’s most powerful horse breeder, and I’ll even see if I can twist a few good words out of Deacon Sinclair.”

  Starla clutched at Dodge’s hand, her expression filled with disbelief. “And they’d do that for me?”

  Noble dazzled her with his smile. “Darlin’, we’ve all known you since you were a baby. How could you think any of us would have a bad word to say? You’ve got yourself a decent, hard working husband, you’re a solid member of a growing community, and you’ve got ties to some mighty powerful political forces, and I don’t think you’ve got a thing to worry about.”

  She sagged into the circle of Dodge’s arm, sighing as his kiss brushed her brow.

  “Just one more thing,” Noble added. “Starla, is there anything else you can add that might weaken their claim on the boy?”

  For a long moment, she kept her face buried in the clean starchy scent of her husband’s shirt. Then slowly, very slowly, she faced Noble and told him, “Nothing I can think of, no.”

  A lie. A lie because the truth, though it would win her back her son, would also cost her her husband.

  Dodge rose up awkwardly along with Noble and extended his hand. “I appreciate all you’re doing. I know you had other plans.”

  “Plans I can postpone for a little while. Starla’s always been special to me and she deserves a chance to be happy, especially after the good advice she gave me the other night.” He smiled down at her and she managed to return it.

  Dodge saw him to the door, and both of them stepped outside to meet Tyler, who was just coming up the front steps.

  “I heard you was back,” was all Tyler had time to get out before Noble lifted him up into a rib-crunching hug that lasted until Tyler was wheezing. Back on his feet, his breath restored, Tyler was all grins. “Didn’t think no Yank prison could take the starch outta you, Noble. How the hell are you? Plannin’ to stay? Starla get a look at you yet?”

  “Fine, for a while, and yes. I’ve got some things I’ve got to do. They’ll take me about a week. Then I’ll be back for some of your daddy’s finest.”

  “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  Noble nodded to Dodge and went down to collect his horse. Tyler looked after him with a bittersweet smile.

  “He used to be a damn good friend.”

  “He still is.” Dodge made no attempt to explain himself.

  “Always thought him and Star….” Tyler shrugged. He gave Dodge a long, gauging study. “I want what’s best for my sister. That appears to be you, whether it’s what I’d want for her or not. You make her happy, and for that I’m in your debt.”

  “You don’t owe me for that.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “Starla’s inside, if you want to see her.”

  “Not just now. Actually, I came to see you.”

  He walked to the steps and paused, looking off toward town. Without turning, he mentioned casually, “Yank, were I you, I’d take out fire insurance on that bank of yours. Might come in handy in the next day or two. Tell my sister I said hey.”

  Perplexed and alarmed by the nonchalant warning, Dodge stared after him as Tyler made his way down the walk and took the turn toward Pride. He heard Starla come out of the house and sensed her concern in the way she clutched his arm, figuring she’d overheard that last part.

  “Think he was serious?”

  Starla shivered. “Does it matter?”

  “Can I trust him, you think? Was it a warning, or could he be setting up some kind of trouble of his own?”

  “I don’t know, Tony,” she confessed. “I don’t know what kind of man my brother’s become.” And it upset her.

  Dodge tucked her up against him. “I’ll trust him … with due caution.”

  Later that night, while Starla knelt on the mattress, massaging her husband’s legs, the matter surfaced again.

  “Don’t go in to work tomorrow.
”

  Dodge dragged himself up from his blissful luxury and blinked his eyes open. “What?”

  “Stay home. Stay here with me.” She continued kneading his muscular calves, refusing to meet his questioning stare.

  “Not that I’m not always looking for excuses to stay home, but if your brother’s friends have something planned, I need to be there.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because it’s my job, Starla. The people of Pride expect me to protect their investment in the bank. I can’t do that hiding under the covers at home.” He made it sound reasonable, but to Starla it was sheer insanity.

  “I’d rather have you home under the covers than at the bank risking who knows what. If Tyler was warning you of something that’s going to happen, you owe it to yourself, to me, to heed his caution.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen if I’m ready for them.”

  “Then I’ll come in with you.”

  “No.” His answer brooked no argument.

  She frowned in frustration. “Then ask Reeve to spend the next few days with you. Please. No one would think less of you. There’s no civil law in Pride. You have to do what you can to keep yourself safe, and if that means having an extra gun at your side to go up against those cowards, then ask. Tony, please. I’d feel so much better knowing you weren’t there alone.”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  Starla leveled herself along him, her body a silken enticement, her soft kiss a velvety reward. “Thank you, Tony.”

  He’d already forgotten the conversation because of something else that had come up, demanding immediate attention. He gripped her slender waist, lifting her to her knees and settling her back and down atop his urgent manhood, taking a moment to absorb the indescribable sensation of her wrapped hot and tight about him. Then he moved her in an increasing rhythm until they both took their pleasure in noisy abandon.

  As she curled up against her husband’s side, her fingers playing through the matting of his chest hair, Starla’s thoughts grew serious.

  “Tony?”

  “Hmmmm?”

  “Do you mind about Christien coming to live with us? He’ll be no trouble. He’s a beautiful little boy. I just know you’ll love him.”

  “He’s a part of you, Star. That means he’s already family.”

  “I love you, Tony,” she cried, pulling him down to smother his face with kisses. Then she hugged him tightly, trying to crush the guilt from her heart.

  She was bringing her son home.

  Dodge woke early, warmed by the figure of his wife draped over him, and more deeply by his feelings for her. He hadn’t thought to ask for more than just her to complete his life, but now she’d given him an unexpected gift, the hope of a family after all. Once he’d gotten over the initial surprise, the notion had settled in, curling contentment about his soul. A son, a boy to nurture and raise, to encourage along the path to manhood to make his own choices and know his own strengths.

  Christien. Christian. Chris. Even as he let the name play about his heart, he warned himself not to get excited too soon—not until they knew for sure that Noble could sway LeBlanc and the Louisiana courts. He tried to ignore the quicksilver pang of worry, for already he’d opened his arms to embrace this boy he’d never met.

  Too energized to spend another minute abed, he slipped away from Starla, leaving her to a well-deserved slumber, and began to ready himself for work. It was early, but he had things to do if he was to get the jump on those who would jump him.

  Placing a light kiss upon his wife’s glossy head, Dodge started for the door. He was halfway there before he realized he wasn’t using his cane. He’d been so preoccupied, he’d forgotten he needed it.

  Perhaps he no longer did.

  Grinning in self-congratulation, he snatched up the cane, and with a twirl, tucked it under his arm, proceeding with a bit more care out into the balmy morning. With a fresh cigar clenched between his teeth, he walked toward the bank, enjoying the day and his freedom to move through it on his own.

  He was only slightly disturbed by the news that Reeve had gone to Lexington for the day to talk with a prospective horse buyer. Feeling strong enough to hold off the gang of cowards with his bare hands, Dodge went for coffee at Sadie’s.

  “ ‘Morning, Delyce. Is that coffee thick enough to float a horseshoe yet?”

  “Almost, Mr. Dodge.”

  “How are your brothers?”

  She looked alarmed by the question and stammered, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what have they been up to lately?”

  “They don’t discuss their plans with me, Mr. Dodge. Did you want anything else with that coffee?”

  “Bring me everything but the hooves and tail, cooked just long enough so it doesn’t moo.”

  She smiled at him shyly, then her eyes went round to see him standing on his own.

  Taking advantage of the moment, he asked, “Where are your brothers this morning?”

  “What? I think they were going over to Fair Play later on. Mr. Dodge, you’re up and walking. That’s wonderful!” She gave him a quick hug, then stepped back, embarrassed by her own boldness. It was no secret that her brother Poteet had shot the town’s banker in the back. If none of the no-good scoundrels had the decency to feel bad about it, she vowed to make up for it with her own sense of guilt and shame.

  Dodge devoured his breakfast, plotting as he chewed. Fair Play. Going to fetch Tyler to participate in their party? Or to lead it? He wished Starla’s brother was less of an enigma.

  And by the end of the day, he wondered if the sly Southerner had just been fooling with him.

  A steady flow of Pride’s citizens visited him. Some came for help, some for advice, some to actually make deposits, and a few to express their regrets over Starla’s loss of their child. Those few, with their genuine sentiments and shy smiles, were reward enough to offset any difficulties ahead. Slowly, one by one, as Reeve had said, he was making friends in Pride, and acceptance would follow. He was too smart to think it would be an easy road; hearts and minds didn’t change overnight. He couldn’t work miracles. But for every Deacon Sinclair who slipped beyond the grasp of his assistance, there were a handful of others he could get squared away and moving forward again. Those were the ones he’d concentrate on while he mourned his failure to save the others.

  And that’s when he got to thinking about the mortgage on Sinclair Manor and something he remembered glimpsing early on, just after he’d arrived in Pride—a grant of ownership to the family deeding them an inalterable right to the house and the land it sat upon.

  “Son of a—”

  That’s what he’d been missing. That old wrinkled land grant, with its florid wording and solid legal claim for as long as a member of the Sinclair family lived. The incontestable right of ownership.

  He tore through the haphazardly filed old papers in the bottom desk drawer, the ones he hadn’t had the opportunity to send for safekeeping to the state capital. Finding the one that would guarantee Deacon Sinclair a stay from his own foolishness against Tyler’s clever scheming. Tyler couldn’t refuse the buy-back offer, not under the terms of the original grant.

  “Yes,” Dodge said with a fierce sense of satisfaction. Such news wouldn’t wait until morning. He’d carry it out to the manor himself as soon as business was put away for the night. He’d found his means to settle with Tyler on a less than personal level, in a way that wouldn’t trap Starla in the middle or cause her undue pain.

  By the time he’d locked up his vault and closed his back doors, the sense of being close to meeting all his ambitions had settled comfortably upon Dodge’s shoulders. He had a beautiful wife, was soon to be a father, had a modest home and a successful business, was walking on his own two feet again, and was on the fringe of community acceptance.

  What more could he ask?

  As he stepped from the back room of the bank, smiling at his good fortune, he happened to glance at his desk and paused in puzzlement. The
heavy leaded glass windmill that Patrice had given to Jonah was missing.

  His only warning was a whisper of sound to his left. Before he could turn toward it, colors exploded through his head, making everything go black.

  The Dermonts and Tad Emmerick arrived at Fair Play to meet an unusually sober Tyler Fairfax on the front porch. They all preferred the airy setting to the stagnant interior of the house.

  “We got business to attend to, Tyler,” Ray drawled, already mean drunk and looking to cause trouble.

  Tyler gave him a steady look, seeing the mindless anger motivating the man, for the first time feeling uncomfortable at their association.

  “Well now, Ray, I don’t rightly know if it’s my business.”

  “What you talkin’ about, Ty?” Poteet demanded, as liquored up and surly as his older brother. His hand was crudely bandaged, a reminder of his personal interest in this particular business. “You ain’t goin’ soft on us, are you?”

  Tyler leveled a cold, glassy glare at him that made him step down from his combative attitude. “You know me better’n that, Po.” He flashed a lethal smile. “I ain’t about to change my spots to a yellow stripe.”

  “Then what you draggin’ your feet for, boy?” Ray patted his back in hardy camaraderie. “We got things to do.”

  “I’m jus’ saying, I think I’ll pass on this particular bit of business.”

  “You got a sudden fondness for Yankee bankers who stick their noses in our way of doing things?”

  “No. But I am right fond of my sister, and he’s her husband. I never asked questions about what happened here on this porch, and I’ll keep it that way, provided you pass me by on this one occasion.”

  Poteet sputtered in outrage. “You can’t back out, Fairfax. We need you—”

  “You need my name and my money backing you. You don’t need me to light a fire under one stubborn Yank. I’m sitting this one out. When my sister asks if I had anything to do with it, I don’t want anything hanging on my conscience when I tell her no.”

  “You ain’t got no conscience.” Poteet laughed at the idea.