Divine Deception

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Hours into the night, however, she was awakened by a commotion in the hall outside her door. Tossing her warm quilts aside, she carefully went to the door and listened.

  “Ben, ride over, and tell Julia I will be there as soon as I am ready,” Trader said, his voice lowered but very audible.

  Fallon was wounded, angered beyond rational thinking. She drew in deep breaths attempting to calm herself. A few minutes later when she heard Trader’s boots in the hall, she opened her door.

  “What’s the matter? Where are you going at this hour?” She had obviously startled him, for he whirled around. Again, he was without his cloak but still hooded. His shoulders were so broad. Fallon had forgotten how enormous he was in the few hours since she had last been in his presence.

  “Mrs. Salazares of the ranch neighboring ours has lost part of her herd due to a broken fence. I’m going to help round them up.” The hood moved as he studied Fallon from brow to boot. “Now go to bed. I imagine you’re quite chilly in such attire.” Fallon blushed, realizing that in her jealous anger she had neglected to gather some sort of modest covering. She shut the door and tried to hold back the tears. How humiliating to have one’s husband go to another woman on the night of her wedding. But then, he wasn’t wholly her husband, and she had agreed to it.

  She lay in bed for hours unable to sleep. Dawn was at hand when she heard his footsteps in the hall.

  “Are they all accounted for, Trader?” she heard Ben ask.

  “Not all. What a night—rounding up cattle in the dark! I’ll rest for a while before leaving again, Ben. It looked to me as if that fence had been intentionally damaged. I wonder…anyway, ask Patty to hold my breakfast for a while.” Fallon heard the door to Trader’s room close, and finally she drifted off to sleep.

  She awoke as Patty was filling her washbasin with fresh water. “Good morning, Patty. Is it very late?” Patty smiled and came to sit next to her on the bed.

  “Almost noon, dear. You must have been very tired!”

  Fallon sat up. “Yes, I heard Trader leave last night and had trouble sleeping afterward.”

  Patty stroked her hand. “He’s often about at night. It’s his liberated time, you see. You’ll get used to it. He’s already left again. He should take some time to settle down, but work is his remedy, I suppose. Now come into the kitchen when you’re ready. We’ll bake up some pies today if you’re up to it. Not much of a wedding night, was it, love?”

  Fallon forced a smile, “It wasn’t meant to be much, Patty, and that’s the way he…we want it.”

  “Is it, love? Really?”

  Fallon stood up and smiled. “Now, I’ll be out in just a minute. It’s been ages since I’ve made pies! I’m so glad to have you here, Patty.”

  “And I’m glad to have you here, sweetheart,” Patty said, smiling. “You’ve no idea how glad.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next few weeks were agreeable enough for Fallon. She began to be more comfortable at the ranch house, to feel as if she actually belonged. Trader was kind, but gruff, and had presented her with a lovely bay mare just days after their wedding. Fallon had named the horse Kelly and relished the freedom of riding for several hours each day. Patty was a great comfort and friend, and Fallon found great satisfaction in helping Patty with planning and preparing meals. Everyone in the household ate together, and it made for a comforting, safe atmosphere. Trader was at home most evenings. Things were moving smoothly with his properties, and he and Ben worked daily repairing the fences on the ranch and attending to other matters. He spoke to Fallon quite often, and she savored her time with him. He was more than merely civil and seemed to almost enjoy conversing with her at times.

  Several days after the wedding, Fallon found herself browsing through some sheets of music she had found lying on the piano in the parlor. Included were several Stephen Foster pieces. As she sat down and began to play, however, her momentary joy at finding the music was lost as tears welled up in her eyes. Her father and mother had both loved Foster’s music and lyrics, and she was put in mind of a particular evening in the past.

  Her mother, while sitting near to her father as he read, began singing a very familiar piece. Her father had looked over and smiled at her mother. Fallon had realized, in that moment, the deep love they shared. Her mother set aside her sewing, and her father discarded his book. They stood and waltzed together, singing the song to each other and ending with a kiss. Fallon had watched in awe, wishing from that moment on to be blessed with a love like theirs when she was grown. Her fingers faltered on the keys as Trader unexpectedly spoke from behind.

  “I had no notion you played. The song…is it sad for you?” he asked. Fallon could only nod.

  “It bothers me as well.” She felt his hand on her shoulder. Tears escaped her eyes and traveled down her cheeks. “But for different reasons than it does you, no doubt.”

  “They loved each other so much. Then death parted them. Mother nearly died of grief.” She turned and looked up at the towering, hooded figure. “They loved me! They were my very life. It was the song they danced to last.” Trader took her hand and coaxed her to her feet.

  “It was popular near the end of the war. The flames of many a campfire flickered to the strains of it.”

  Then Fallon could no longer restrain the pain of loss that tore at her heart. She threw her arms around his waist, sobbing. He immediately tensed but returned the embrace, patting her back soothingly, yet somewhat awkwardly all the same. His body was hard, warm, and comforting to Fallon. He smelled of hard work and lye soap and one other thing. She smiled through her tears as she recognized the aroma of peppermint. Quickly she regained control of her deep emotions and released him.

  “I’m sorry. You must think me terribly silly and emotional,” she whispered.

  “Not at all. I have only Patty left of any semblance of family. No more Stephen Foster for a while though, very well?” She nodded, feeling like a foolish child.

  “I’ll be going into town tomorrow. Would you like me to get anything for you?” Fallon asked, turning away and attempting to lighten the dampened mood she had created.

  “No, but take Ben with you.” Trader’s voice was too commanding.

  “I’ll be all right. I know the way,” she assured him.

  “You’ll take Ben, or you’ll not go,” he growled and turned, leaving. The tender moment they had shared was gone as quickly as was the man. Fallon felt lonely, disappointed. She loved Trader Donavon, and the knowledge he did not love her in return had begun to eat at her. But as had become her habit, she pushed the knowledge to the back of her mind, inhaled deeply, and left the piano in favor of Kelly and the freedom of the meadows.

  

  The ride into town was revitalizing. April showers had indeed brought May flowers, and the air was warm and fragrant. Fallon had ignored Trader’s demand to have Ben accompany her and rode alone. She felt irritated he would think her incapable of going without a guide, a chaperone. She had been to town many times alone when she lived with her uncle. Why should it change?

  Mr. Thompson was behind the counter in his store. As Fallon entered, she realized that, in her haste, she had neglected to bring her pocket purse.

  As she turned to leave, the storekeeper waved and called out, “Mrs. Donavon! What can I do for ya today?” He stood, smiling expectantly.

  Fallon smiled uncomfortably in return and stammered, “Um…I’ve forgotten my—I guess I’ll have to—”

  “Nonsense! Mr. Donavon came in the day before the wedding and told me to give ya whatever ya need whenever ya need it. What can I get for ya today?”

  Relieved, Fallon smiled. “Well, I actually came in for some thread and cloth, and Patty is out of cinnamon,” she said.

  “Wonderful! Gather what ya need, and I’ll get the cinnamon.”

  She smiled to herself. “And a large bag of those peppermint candies my husband is partial to.”

  The storekeeper chuckled. “Of course, of course. He ha
sn’t been in here to load those up in quite some time. I’m sure he has worn out his own supply.”

  Fallon smiled, delighted to be sure Trader had a taste for sweets. She wondered if the flavor of peppermint often donned his lips—wondered if his kiss were as sweet as the peppermint he savored.

  Squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment, for she knew it was not healthy for her mind to linger on such musings, Fallon shook her head and went to the sewing wares piled on a table nearby.

  Once Fallon had chosen a piece of white linen and some thread, she visited with Mr. Thompson, inquiring about his wife. He put her things in a cloth flour bag as they talked.

  “There ya go, Mrs. Donavon,” Mr. Thompson said. But as he handed the bag to her, his face suddenly paled dramatically.

  “What is it, Mr. Thompson?” Fallon whispered. He was so terribly pallid as he gazed past her. She feared he might drop at her feet of heart failure. A chill rushed throughout her body, and the hair at the back of her neck prickled. She slowly turned around and beheld a sight that sent fear piercing her very soul. Several horrid-looking and filthy men stood just inside the store. They evilly sneered, displaying brown, decaying teeth.

  “Well, well, well. What kind of sweets is you sellin’ in here today, Thompson?” one of the men asked the storekeeper, his eyes fixed on Fallon.

  “How can I help ya fellows today?” Mr. Thompson nervously inquired.

  “Oh, we was wantin’ to take a look around and see what there is to have,” another replied, winking at her.

  “Well, there ya are, Mrs. Donavon. You be on yer way, and be sure and tell yer husband I said hey, now,” the storekeeper said, motioning for Fallon to leave.

  “Thank you, Mr. Thompson. I’ll tell Trader. Bye now,” she said nervously. She turned to step past the men. The most hideous-looking one, who was no doubt the leader for he had spoken first, stepped in front of her, blocking her escape.

  “Now, where’re ya rushin’ off to, sweet thing? Why don’t ya stay and keep us company awhile?” he said, taking a lock of Fallon’s hair between his fingers.

  Fallon glared angrily at him and yanked the lock free. “I’m sorry, I’ve other things waiting.”

  He brutally grabbed her arm. “Ya ain’t goin’ nowhere ’til I says so!” Fallon gasped as the man pulled a knife from a sheath at his belt, pointing it at her stomach. “And don’t ya be pullin’ no gun out from behind that counter, store-man. This knife is purty slick—it might slip.”

  Mr. Thompson cleared his throat. “Believe me, sir—yer toyin’ with the wrong man’s wife,” he said. The heinous, villainous, foul-smelling man began to laugh. His breath was pure stench, and Fallon coughed in its wake.

  “Oh, is that so?” the degenerate snorted. Fallon struggled, but the man pushed the point of the knife firmly against her stomach. “Ya look just as sweet as candy, missy. I think I’ll have me a taste.” Grabbing a handful of her hair with his dirty free hand, he brutally yanked her head backward.

  “Don’t you dare touch me!” Fallon warned through clenched teeth.

  The man only laughed before proceeding to run his repulsive tongue across her cheek, causing Fallon to gag. She cried out in anguish at the wet stench. But the villain repeated the gesture, and Fallon thought the contents of her stomach might find a way out of her throat. “I’ll kill you!” she cried.

  The vulgar man chuckled, his wicked companions joining in. “Ya’ll kill me, will ya?” he sneered and bent with the intent of repeating the vile act a third time.

  “She won’t have to kill you—I’ll do it!”

  Fallon began to sob with relief as she looked up and saw Trader’s figure towering in the doorframe behind the men. The man released his hold on her and turned to face Trader Donavon.

  “Who are ya? The danged Angel a Death?” The villain looked to his companions, who stood watching with triumphant grins.

  “In your case…yes,” Trader growled.

  “Well now, partner, I don’t know how ugly ya actually is under that hood, but I’m sure this little lady won’t mind keepin’ one more company if ya want.” Suddenly he lunged at Trader, wielding the knife he had held to Fallon a moment before. Fallon screamed as she saw blood appear at Trader’s trouser leg.

  “You’ll die for touching her,” Trader muttered calmly, taking a step forward. He seemed oblivious to the laceration now vivid across his thigh. The vile man motioned for Trader to come at him.

  “You’ll die, Death Angel, for interferin’,” he said as he spit tobacco to the floor.

  “Trader!” Fallon whispered in terror.

  The criminal lunged again at Trader. Trader effortlessly caught his wrist, twisting his arm quickly and mercilessly until Fallon actually heard the distinct and unmistakable crack of breaking bone. The other three men looked on, their putrid mouths gaping open in shock.

  Trader still held the man’s limp and broken arm as he turned to catch the fist of one of the other men as it swung toward Trader’s head. Trader applied the same pressure to this man’s arm as well. The cracking of a second bone seemed to echo through the store as he pushed both men to the floor.

  “Okay, devil,” one of the other men growled, pulling a large knife from its sheath at his thigh. Trader reached out as if the man intended to present it to him. Grabbing the man’s hand, Trader turned his own knife back on him. He held the knife at the man’s throat even though the villain used both his hands to try to push it back.

  Fallon gasped and covered her ears too late as she heard another bone break when Trader shoved his foot into the man’s knee, causing him to fall to the floor, moaning in pain. Trader then turned to the final villain, who pulled a gun from his boot and pointed it at the mighty, cloaked hero.

  “I ain’t so clumsy,” the man said, smiling triumphantly.

  “Oh, really?” Trader mumbled as his fist met the man’s jaw. The sound of another fracture resounded. Fallon stood paralyzed. “Mr. Thompson, will you fetch Sheriff Rigby, please?” Trader asked. Mr. Thompson closed his own gaping mouth and nodded before bolting for the door. Meanwhile, the leader of the degenerate group was trying to get to his feet.

  “Ya dirty devil! Ya broke my arm!” he shouted.

  Trader walked to the man and pushed his head down against the floor with his foot.

  As the man’s face contorted with humiliation and pain under the sole of Trader’s boot, Trader growled, “I could’ve broken your neck as easily. How dare you touch my wife?” The pinned criminal began cursing. “Shut up! Or I will crush you completely!” Trader growled.

  Trader turned to Fallon then. “I told you to bring Ben with you today!” he growled at her. Fallon stared at him, too stunned to respond. He looked down at the man whose face was beneath his boot. “Well, it wasn’t her fault anyway, was it?”

  “Ya dirty devil! How much did ya pay for her anyway?” the man shouted.

  Reaching down, Trader grabbed the man by the collar, pulling him to his feet in one swift, effortless movement. “What?” he growled into the man’s face.

  “Well, ya’d have to have bought her. No woman worth nothin’ would want ya to—” The savage was silenced as Trader dealt a fierce-fisted blow to the man’s mid-face, no doubt breaking his nose in the process.

  The sheriff arrived in the next moment, and Trader’s hood focused on Fallon. She was still in a state of stunned horror, humiliation, and fear, and she dashed from the store. Dropping to her knees in front of the watering trough, she began to splash the stagnant water on her face, rubbing her flesh thoroughly where the man’s mucky, foul tongue had tasted her. She continued to scrub her tender cheek even as Trader took hold of her shoulders.

  “Fallon, come along. I’ll take you home,” he said, almost softly. But Fallon continued to cup the water in her hands and bring it to her face, rubbing mercilessly.

  “Help me! Help me wash it off!” she wept in a whisper.

  “It is off. Now come along,” Trader commanded. She pulled away from him and be
gan sobbing bitterly.

  “It’s still there! I can feel it! It won’t come off!”

  Trader took hold of her arms and pulled her to her feet, turning her to face him. “It’s off! Come out of it, girl!” he ordered as she clawed at her face with her fingernails.

  “I can feel it!” she cried, tears streaming over her cheeks.

  Trader firmly took her chin with one gloved hand, he said, “Fallon! Listen to me. It’s gone. He won’t try it again. He can’t. I’ve made sure of it.”

  But Fallon was still frantic. Taking Trader’s gloved hand in hers, she began rubbing her cheek with it.

  “Take it away—that awful feeling! You touch my face! You touch me, and I can stand it. You touch me, and I’ll be all right.”

  Trader pulled his hand away quickly and paused only a moment before removing his glove. As he cupped her tender cheek firmly in his warm palm, Fallon covered his hand with her own, pressing it harder against her flesh.

  “Trader,” she sobbed in a whisper, finally able to calm herself slightly. “Trader, what if you hadn’t come for me? They would’ve…what if you hadn’t come for me?” she cried.

  “I came for you, Fallon,” he said in a soothing voice, stroking her cheek with his thumb. His hand was warm, calloused, powerfully capable of inflicting great pain. Yet Fallon reveled in the feel of it on her face. It was the first time he had truly touched her. Other than the moments, the so terribly brief moments at their wedding, the painfully brief moments when she’d slipped his wedding ring on his finger, the excruciatingly brief moment when he’d kissed the back of her hand. It was the first time Trader’s flesh had met with her own. It caused her mind to burn and her flesh to tingle. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel his touch forever.

  But as she opened her tear-filled eyes, her attention fell to the blood soaking his pants at one thigh.