Divine Deception

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “You think I want your money?” Fallon snapped, suddenly furious with him. She lowered her voice when she noticed the workmen had look in their direction. “You really think that’s my concern?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “Well, it’s certainly not my handsome face or magnificent body that you want, now is it?” Fallon felt herself blush. His outburst was entirely vulgar! And yet she could not help her eyes traveling the length of him quickly. “Why did you marry me, Fallon? It wasn’t for my charming personality nor my dashing heroics. And considering that we know no intimate, physical relationship that might find you wanting to sleep in my bed—that leaves my money.”

  She felt the tears of hurt and rage begin to fill her eyes as he continued.

  “And that’s fine because that is why we married, so you would be secure. So never you fear, Fallon; I’ll not die anytime soon, and even if I do, you’ll have everything you have now so—”

  She couldn’t contain herself any longer. Reaching out, she shoved him as hard as she could.

  “What?” he exclaimed, stumbling backward several steps.

  “You’re an idiot, Trader Donavon!” she snapped again, capturing the attention of the workmen. “You think I’m some kind of spider, don’t you?” she continued. “Just waiting for you to die so I can have all your ridiculous land and money. I don’t care about your possessions, Trader! I just want to be able to feel secure…to know I have years and years before I have to worry about being alone. You’re such a horse’s…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Instead, she took a deep breath and turned to mount Kelly.

  “I’m not as old as your imagination is conjuring, Fallon,” Trader muttered quietly. She didn’t look at him.

  “Thank you. That makes it all right for me,” she snapped, clicking her tongue to Kelly.

  Trader reached up, taking hold of the animal’s bit, stopping her.

  “Fallon,” he said hesitantly, “I’ve…I’ve sent for your mother. She’ll be here tomorrow. I felt you should have her here. She’s much worse.” Fallon looked down at the hood.

  “You what?” she whispered.

  “You heard me,” he said.

  “Is she well enough to travel? And what right do you have to send for her? I’ve never asked you to, and besides, the skunk that got into the house ruined the guest room. Where on earth did you think we will put her?”

  He cleared his throat. “In your room,” he said. “It’s the nicest, and I knew you’d want her in there. I’m sure you can endure staying in my room during your mother’s visit. The sofa in the parlor will serve me.”

  Fallon felt the tears escape her eyes. “Why did you send for her?” she whispered.

  “She’s your mother, Fallon. You need her, and she needs you, and you don’t have to hide your uncle’s character from her now. She thinks you’re happily married, doesn’t she?” he asked.

  Fallon looked away, ashamed. It was true. She had written her mother that she was deliriously happy and in love and loved in return. It was true; she was in love.

  “The doctors say she hasn’t much time, and she wrote to me asking if she could visit you. And of course, I wanted it for both of you,” he explained.

  Fallon humbly looked down at the hooded figure. “Thank you,” she said. Trader nodded, slapped the horse’s flank, and sent her off in whirl of confusion and conflicting emotion.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Fallon had been stunned at her mother’s weakened and pallid appearance when she stepped from the train. Summoning her innermost courage, she had joyously embraced her mother, trying to ignore the scant, frail figure that returned her loving embrace. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she seemed unable to keep them from springing.

  “Oh, Mother!” Fallon said once they were comfortably settled in the backseat of the buggy “You’ll never know how I’ve missed you.” Ben clicked his tongue, signaling the team to move on.

  “Darling, I know. I’ve missed you all the more,” Mary Etta Ashby said. “I had to see you once more, my angel. You understand, don’t you?”

  Fallon nodded. She knew her mother was dying. She was living out her last days. She would not worry her by pretending to think differently. Still it was excruciating, the pain in her heart, the overwhelming feeling of impending loss. How would she find happiness knowing her mother was gone?

  “Tell me about your Trader,” Mary Etta remarked, coughing into her handkerchief. “He seems so…mysterious. Yet from his letter, I can tell he’s a magnificent man.”

  “He’s a wonderful man. A completely compassionate human being,” Fallon said somewhat hesitantly.

  Mary Etta put a thin, comforting hand on her daughter’s knee. “I know, Fallon. He’s told me everything.”

  Fallon looked at her mother in astonishment. Trader had told her mother? Told of their marriage being a farce, revealed Fallon’s letters as lies? “He told you?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Yes, darling,” her mother assured her. “He told me. And I will tell you this: someday he will find the courage to fully reveal himself to you. Be patient. I’m sure it must be very difficult to be in love with a man, married to him, and never have seen his face. But physical appearance is often the least important aspect of a loving relationship.”

  Fallon was bewildered. Had Trader revealed everything to her mother or not? “What…what exactly did he explain to you, Mother?”

  “Why, that he is constantly cloaked…hooded. I only assume he must bear some sort of disfigurement that causes him to hide himself from the world. He didn’t mention the exact nature of the failing, only that the two of you have found complete happiness in spite of it. Oh, I do wish I would have had the opportunity to see my first grandchild. I’ve dreamed of that moment for so long. Then again, I’ve dreamed of this. To see you happily married to a wonderful man who would care for you, protect you, treat you as the treasure you are.”

  Fallon was struck speechless for a moment. She could not begin to think of a response. Somehow her mother had been given the impression Fallon and Trader shared a normal husband-and-wife relationship despite his disfigurement. As her mother’s eyes filled with tears, Fallon’s thoughts immediately turned to the pain her mother must endure because of her illness.

  “Mother?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

  “I’m so sorry, darling,” her mother interrupted as she dabbed at her moist eyes. “Charles used to be a fine man. A very fine man! I had no idea he had sunk so low. I promise you I would never have sent you to him if I had known. And why? Why, oh why, didn’t you tell me something of it in your letters?”

  “It’s in the past, Mother. You needn’t worry about it. How were you to know? And anyway, it wasn’t all that intolerable,” Fallon lied, forcing a smile.

  “Your Trader has told me of the conditions in which you lived, Fallon. He’s told me of the marks on your body caused by Charles’s abuse!” her mother cried softly. Mary Etta dabbed at her tears, which ran freely down her once-rosy cheeks.

  “It’s done, Mother. I’m well, protected, and happy now.”

  “And you have your Trader.”

  Fallon observed the look of peace settling on her mother’s face. She could not disrupt that expression. She would not torture her mother’s tired mind with the truth. And so she said, “Yes, I have Trader.”

  

  Later that afternoon, as Fallon’s mother was resting in her room, Trader returned home. Fallon, sitting in the parlor, heard him enter through the kitchen door. Though his words were indiscernible from such distance, the low, clear tone of his speech as he spoke to Patty sent a tremendous measure of comfort as well as excitement throughout her being. She waited anxiously for him to seek her out, and in a moment he did indeed.

  “She’s resting then?” he asked bluntly.

  “Yes. She’s…she’s very tired,” Fallon answered. She fought fiercely to control the emotions threatening to burst to the surface. She was to lose her mother at any
moment, and the realization was like a million arrows piercing her heart.

  “The rest will do her good, I’m sure,” he said. He seemed distracted. He paced the floor before the chair in which Fallon sat, his hands shoved tightly into the front pockets of his trousers. Suddenly, he turned to face her and ordered, “You’re to stay here, at the ranch, at all times for a while, Fallon.”

  “What?” she asked, perplexed.

  “I mean it. I don’t want you traveling to town for any reason until—”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take Ben with me. I always do now, you know,” Fallon assured him.

  “Not at all. Not ever, Fallon. With or without Ben. You’re to stay here with Patty. Do you understand?”

  “I understand that you’re handing me such command with no explanation,” Fallon said, rising from her chair and stepping up to stand directly before him.

  “I am,” he stated. “And for reasons I choose to keep to myself for the time being.”

  “I’ll accept that, for the time being. Only because I’ve stumbled into trouble before when I’ve ignored your suggestion. But if I’m to be made a prisoner, I expect to eventually be told why I’ve been sentenced.” Fallon was distracted then as Trader folded his powerful arms across his broad chest. Her thoughts traveled back to the few, but magnificent, moments she had spent embraced in those arms, held solidly against the same chest. Goose bumps covered her flesh at the memory.

  As Fallon attempted to rub them from her forearms, he said, “Are you catching cold?”

  “No. No, of course not,” she stammered.

  “Very well, then. I’m off to Julia’s. I’ll be back before dark.” And he turned to leave.

  “Why?” Fallon asked angrily.

  He turned to face her once more and muttered, “What?”

  “Why?” she repeated. “Why must you forever be running to Julia Salazares? One night it’s the cattle are out. The next time it’s a worm in her corn. Tell me the truth of it, Trader,” she begged.

  “She’s sent for me. She has a prize mare delivering a foal at any moment. I’m good with cattle and horses. She doesn’t want to lose the mare or the foal,” he explained.

  “Doesn’t she keep ranch hands for that? Why do you have to do everything for her?” Fallon asked.

  A low chuckle emanated from within the hood. “You’re jealous.”

  “What do you mean?” Fallon asked defensively, though she knew she was, indeed, insanely jealous. She knew Julia spent a great deal of time in Trader’s company. She further knew he did it without his concealing hood. In a sense, he was more intimately acquainted with his female neighbor than he was with his own wife.

  Trader took several steps toward Fallon. As he stopped directly before her, she dropped her eyes to the floor and covered her blushing cheeks with her hands. “Your concern is sweet, Fallon—completely unfounded but sweet all the same.”

  As Fallon drew back her hands, intending to plant them firmly on his chest, thereby shoving him backward as she had done on other occasions, Trader simply caught her wrists in his powerful hands.

  Chuckling, he asked, “Why are you always shoving me away, Fallon?”

  Wrenching her wrists from his grasp, she answered, “Because I wouldn’t dare try to slap your face!”

  He chuckled and turned to leave. “It’s quite childish, you know, Fallon, shoving your husband at every turn.”

  As indignant anger and jealousy swelled within her bosom, Fallon lifted her skirt and petticoats and planted one petite foot firmly in the seat of Trader’s trousers. He stumbled forward and then turned toward her once more. “I’m surprised your uncle had the nerve to treat you as he did. I’ll be back before dark,” he said, chuckling to himself and dusting off the seat of his pants as he left the room.

  But Trader did not return before dark. Nor did he return before dinner. Late in the evening, one of Julia’s hands arrived to deliver a message to Fallon and her mother.

  “The mare’s in a bad way, Mrs. Donavon. We’re really hopin’ to save the foal. He apologizes to you as well, Mrs. Ashby, and wants ya to know he will be home to greet ya as soon as the birthin’ is over,” the young man told Fallon and her mother as they stood on the porch.

  “If it’s all right with you, darling, I’d like to retire if he won’t be home anytime soon,” Mary Etta said. It was obvious to Fallon her mother was overly fatigued. “I’ll see him tomorrow. Explain to him, will you?”

  “Of course, Mother,” Fallon assured her. “I’m sorry he was called away, but I understand the mare is a very valuable animal.”

  

  The hour was late. Very late. As the parlor clock struck three, Fallon wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled a large quilt tightly about her shoulders. Drawing her feet up under her in the chair, she sat awaiting Trader’s return.

  Disturbing thoughts had tortured her mind throughout the long night and only increased as time passed ever so slowly. Surely he had been telling the truth, she thought. He was indeed at Julia’s helping a new foal into the world. He wouldn’t engage in a dalliance of any sort with Julia. He was, after all, a good man, and good men were faithful to their wives no matter what the circumstances. Weren’t they?

  Fallon drew in a quick breath and listened as she heard the kitchen door open, followed by the distinct sound of heavy boots on the floorboards.

  “It’s very late, Trader,” Patty whispered. Fallon crouched further down into the chair. For some reason, she didn’t want Trader to find her waiting up for his return. “Is it a colt or a filly?” Patty asked in a low voice.

  Fallon heard Trader yawn. “What? Oh, the foal. A strong, healthy colt, Patty. We lost the mare though.”

  “Well, you need to get some rest. Fallon has already gone to bed, so try not to disturb her when you—” Patty began, and Fallon’s eyes widened. What would happen when he entered his bedroom to find it empty? Then he would surely know she had waited up for him.

  “I’ll take the sofa in the parlor, Patty,” Trader interrupted. “Just get me a quilt from the linen closet, will you, please?”

  Fallon held her breath as she heard his heavy footsteps leave the kitchen and enter the parlor. The chair in which she was concealed was facing away from the sofa. She prayed silently he would settle himself to rest without walking anywhere near her.

  “Aaahhh,” he moaned as he sat down solidly on the sofa behind her.

  “Here you go, Trader,” Patty said. “Sleep tight.”

  “This confounded hood,” he muttered. “Wake me before anyone begins prowling around in the morning, Patty.”

  “Of course, dear.” Fallon listened as Patty’s soft footsteps drifted into silence down the hall.

  She sat paralyzed with anxiety as she listened to Trader moving around on the sofa. Her only choice was to wait until he was asleep and then quietly go to his room. As the clock ticked away the minutes, Fallon sat perfectly still, trying to breathe as shallowly and quietly as possible. She was grateful for the darkness of the night, for it would surely hide her well as she tried to leave the parlor.

  When the clock struck the half hour, she waited, listening to see if he stirred. When he remained still, breathing slowly, she rose from her chair and turned to leave. As if by some odd enchantment, the bright light from the moon broke through the clouds that had hidden it only moments before. Its soft yet luminous beams streamed through the parlor window. The beams of moonlight fell fully on the massive form of Trader Donavon as he slept. Fallon stood mesmerized by the sight before her.

  He lay on his stomach. One arm, having fallen from the sofa, hung down limply to the floor. He still wore his trousers and boots but had removed his shirt and hood. Silently Fallon stepped forward, coming to stand beside the sleeping, mysterious man who was her husband. The quilt Patty provided had slipped from his body. It lay in a heap on the floor. His other arm was tucked under his body. Though his head was turned away from her, for the first time Fallon gazed at proximity at the long,
dark brown hair that covered his head and lay across his back and shoulders. Bending over him, praying inwardly for a glimpse of the face of the man she married, Fallon held her breath. The long hair covering his shoulders also lay across his face, completely hiding it from her.

  Straightening, her attention was captured once more by the intense scars on Trader’s back. She thought again how painful they must have been to receive no matter how they were inflicted. Fighting the incredibly strong urge to reach out and trace the brutally mutilated flesh, she turned her attention to his long legs. He wore tall riding boots, and she fancied his boots would probably reach up to her knees if she were to put them on. His thighs were like tree trunks, and the muscles in his arms, though he was resting, were enormous. Returning her attention to his back, she noted his skin was smooth and unblemished except for the scars.

  The temptation was too great, and Fallon watched as her own small hand moved forward. She felt confident he wouldn’t wake simply because his hair was brushed from his face. It was her blessed opportunity to glimpse the face behind the mask. She would not let it pass and be lost.

  As her fingertips touched the hair at his neck, Trader instantly turned onto his back. Before Fallon could gasp a breath, he grabbed her wrist, violently flinging her to the floor. Taking hold of her other wrist, Trader pinned her hands above her head, straddling her body with his legs and sitting down hard on hers. Though completely terrified, Fallon looked up to see the moonlight no longer fell on him; his long hair was hanging forward, hiding his face.

  “You’ll pay for that with your life, you filthy Yank!” he growled.

  His ravings instantly let her know he was not fully conscious, and Fallon began to panic. “Trader! It’s me!” she cried out. A quick vision of him breaking her arms the way he had the arms of the men at the store in town weeks back lingered in her mind. “It’s me, Trader. Fallon!” His head bent closer to hers, his long hair brushing her face. “It’s Fallon, Trader! Please! You’re hurting me,” she cried. The pressure on her wrists lessened, but he still held her tightly.