Dancing With the Devil (11 page)

She shifted her reticule to the one hand and used the other to steady herself against the button table. “But once you’d recovered,” she said with a frown, “why didn’t you wire her with the good news?”

Deacon suppressed a sigh and forged on with the growing lie. “I’m afraid,” he said, lowering his voice, “my injury was brought on after an unfortunate incident with a group of gun-toting card players.”

“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Foster gasped softly. “Did you…surely you hadn’t…”

“Did I cheat?” He cast a furtive glance around at the growing group around them, then leaned closer. This was more fun than he’d imagined. “To my eternal shame, I did, so you can understand why these particular gentlemen were intent on causing me significant bodily injury.”

The old lady clutched her reticule to her chest.

“Fortunately,” he whispered, “I was discovered by some Apaches.”

He gave the old woman a moment to catch her breath at the mere mention of natives.

“Perhaps they thought to ransom me, or perhaps they had some other purpose for keeping me alive, I don’t
know. What I do know is every day I lived in fear for my life, even as they tended my injuries and nursed me back to health.”

Mrs. Foster’s mouth hung open. “But Apaches don’t do that…they’re savages!”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “So you understand my fear. I could never be sure if it was medicine or poison they were feeding me. Never sure if their knives were going to be used on my beard or my throat.”

The old woman grabbed her own throat as if Deacon were slicing it open right there in the store.

“For some reason,” he continued, “the chief took a liking to me. But because we didn’t speak the same language, it took a long time to make him understand I had a wife waiting for me.”

Deacon raised his brow and forced a look of admiration to his face. “They might be savages, Mrs. Foster, but even Apaches appreciate the quality of a good woman.”

Her only response was to swallow hard beneath her hand.

“The chief eventually agreed to let me go, but because of my previous transgressions, I had lost all my money and had no one to borrow from.”

“And the Apaches? They couldn’t offer you any assistance?”

Deacon spoke with just a touch of condescension. “Mrs. Foster, you must understand, these people barely survive as it is, and even if they could have helped me…” Deacon tsked and shook his head. “I’d imposed on them for too long as it was, eating their food, sleeping in their tents, and I knew full well that I was lucky to still be alive. I couldn’t possibly ask for anything else.”

“So what did you do?” Try though she might to hide it, the woman’s excitement over this titillating piece of gossip outweighed her concern for Deacon’s welfare.

“The only thing I could do,” he answered, standing up straight. “I walked back home to my wife.”

The rest of the group gaped openly.

“You didn’t!”

“I did.” He nodded for emphasis, fighting back the laughter that tickled his throat.

“All the way from Houston?”

“I had to get back to my Rhea,” he answered with a wink and a grin.

“You dear sweet man, of course you did.” The smile that lit the old woman’s face nearly blinded him. “And all this time, she’s been thinking you were gone forever. The poor thing’s been in terrible mourning, you know.”

“Yes,” he said, forcing a look of great concern. “I’m sure she was devastated.”

Mrs. Foster patted his sleeve and nodded slowly. “We’re all very glad you’re here now. It’s not right for a woman like Rhea to be widowed so young.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

The old woman kept looking at him for a long moment, her face flushed with the excitement of his story. “Well,” she said at last, “I best go, but perhaps we’ll see each other again.”

“Perhaps.” He dipped a nod and hastened his retreat through the crowd to the backroom, trying to sort out the lie he’d just fabricated and the hostile glares Ernest and Rhea had been shooting him since he’d walked in.

The backroom, while not huge, was large enough to hold a small table and chair, as well as boxes and shelves of merchandise Rhea either hadn’t inventoried yet or simply didn’t have time or space to put in the store.

Looking around, it was a wonder she could find anything when she needed it. Organization was obviously not one of Rhea’s priorities.

Perhaps a little help from him would soften her heart. He slipped off his jacket and replaced it with one of the long cream-colored aprons on the hook. Reduced to a store clerk; his father would no doubt find a great deal of humor in that.

Shelf after shelf, he emptied, washed down and replaced the items in proper order. Bolts of fabric were stored among bags of rice and cans of beans. How could that possibly make sense to anyone? No wonder her button bowl was such a disaster.

“Who is she?” Rhea’s tight voice snapped his attention away from the case of cutlery he’d been wiping and sorting.

Instead of answering, he pointed toward the cutlery. “Forks and knives in the same box?” He shook his head, pushed the box aside and rose to his feet. “Honestly, Rhea, that’s no way to run a store.”

“Who is she?” With her hands fisted on her hips and her chin tipped up that way, she was like a compact ball of fury waiting to explode.

“Who?”

“
That woman
.”

Deacon frowned. “The old woman in the store earlier? She said she was an old friend of your parents. Mrs. Forster? Mrs. F-Something-Or-Other.”

“Mrs. Foster,” Rhea snapped. “And that’s not who I mean.”

Her eyes blazed fire. If she stiffened her spine any more, it would probably snap in half.

“Then who—”

“The woman who gave you those clothes,” she seethed. “The pretty one in the denim trousers.”

“Wha—” Deacon snapped his mouth closed. Damn Kit. “Oh, her.”

“Yes,
her
.”

He took a step toward her, but a blast from those eyes stopped him cold. “It’s not what you think.”

“No? Then what is it?”

“I think you need to sit down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, and don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

Deacon took his time untying his apron. With his back to her, he could release the grin that sprang to his face. Rhea was jealous. That shouldn’t make him happy, but it did.

It made him
very
happy.

“I’m waiting.” Her toe tapped out her impatience against the floor. “You knew who she was when she came in yesterday, didn’t you? That’s why you hid back here.”

“I did not hide,” he lied, forcing the smile from his face before he turned back to her. “But yes, I knew who she was.”

“Is she—” Rhea’s voice cracked slightly, but she swallowed quickly and tightened it again. “Are you and she…?”

“Rhea.” He held out his hands, but she ignored them. “I would never do that to you.”

Even as the words fell from his tongue, a flash of something worse than anger flickered across her eyes. It was a flash of physical pain, and the only reason he recognized it was because he’d felt his first physical human-type pain the other day when she’d shot him. The rip of pain he’d just watched shoot across her face and deeper into her eyes was the exact same rip he’d felt when the bullet hit him.

But how could words cause that kind of pain?

“Yes, you would.” Rhea blew out a short breath. “She’s
obviously someone important to you, or you wouldn’t have accepted such an expensive gift from her.”

“I don’t know that I’d use the word ‘important,’ ” he said, “but she does play a significant role in my life.”

“You rat!” Rhea’s fists came down on both his shoulders, making him suck in a breath and dodge out of her reach. “It wasn’t enough that you humiliated me with Salma, but you’ve been in town less than two days and you do it again with that…that
Kit woman
.”

“Whoa.” He ducked away from her next swing, then grasped both of her wrists in his hands. “Listen to me, Rhea. Just listen.”

She continued to struggle until he wrangled her arms behind her back and held her up against his chest. What a hellion she was!

It was wrong to let her think this way about Kit, but her jealousy soothed his ego and also reinforced what he’d been thinking all along. If Rhea was envious, it could only mean one thing: she really did have feelings left for him. A sigh of relief threatened to escape, but he swallowed it back and smiled down at her.

“Kit is nothing like Salma, but I’m sure she’d find some humor in your thinking so.”

“Don’t lie to me, Deacon,” she spat. “Ernest sold her the very suit you’re wearing, so don’t try to deny anything.”

Tears clung to her lashes, but did not fall. Even her tears were stubborn.

“I don’t deny it.” He moved her wrists into the grip of his left hand and wiped one of her eyes with his right. She tried to jerk her head away, so he waited until she’d settled again, then wiped her other eye. “Kit gave me this suit—and she chose very well, don’t you think?”

“Women don’t just give expensive gifts to men without expecting something in return, Deacon.” She continued
to struggle, but he held her fast. “And I can just imagine what you gave her as payment.”

Deacon threw his head back and laughed. “What a dirty little mind you have.”

“This isn’t funny,” she snarled. “You said you’d act like my husband until Colin figured out a way—”

“And I’m doing that.”

“You might have let me in on the fact you weren’t going to give up your women friends while you played the part.”

He laughed again. “Kit is not my ‘woman friend.’ ”

“No?” Disbelief oozed from her voice. “Then who is she?”

Deacon slid his thumb across her cheek again, for no other reason than he wanted to touch her skin, to feel the heat, the anger and the softness.

Could he risk telling her the truth? Satan’s children didn’t just show up for no reason, and with two of them in the same town, Rhea would have every reason to suspect the worst.

On the other hand, if he lied about Kit now, how could he ever expect Rhea to believe the truth about Salma? It was a gamble either way, and Deacon was not the gambler in the family. That had always been Kit’s area of expertise.

“Deacon—” Rhea tried to wrench free, but he didn’t release her. Not yet. One more touch—that was all he wanted. That was all he’d ever want. One more, and then one more again.

With a great deal of reluctance, he released her arms and waited for her to slam him in the shoulder again. It didn’t happen.

“She’s my sister.”

“No.” Rhea took a step backward. “You’re so…and she’s so…”

All he could do was shrug. “I know.”

Her cheeks paled and her voice quivered as she reached for the back of the chair. “W-why is she here?”

“Rhea—”

“Tell me.” She took in a large gulp of air. “Is she here for m-me?”

“No!” He rushed forward, but she held him off with a raised hand.

“Then wh-who?”

“Me.”

“You.” She looked as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. “You’re leaving.”

“Eventually, yes.” He spoke quietly, hoping it would make the truth easier to hear. “I told you before I was only staying for a short while.”

The sound that ripped from her throat came out as part chuckle, part sob. Deacon took her hand between his own and held on tight.

“I’m sorry, Rhea.”

“You’re sorry.” The words were like acid on her tongue. “Not nearly as sorry as I am.”

C
HAPTER
S
IX

B
reakfast the next morning was a horrid affair. Rhea forced herself to swallow the last dregs of her coffee while Deacon sat across from her, smiling to the other diners as though all was right with the world.

What did any of them know, anyway?

She wiped her mouth with her napkin, then set it on her plate. “I have to open the store.”

“Can’t Ernest do it?” Deacon’s plate remained half-full.

“He comes in late on Saturdays.”

For the benefit of the other diners, Rhea politely excused herself, then made for the restaurant door. Half a dozen steps down the walk, Deacon’s hand wrapped around her arm.

“Now what kind of husband lingers over breakfast while his poor wife is working herself into an early grave?” In one firm but smooth movement, he had her hand curled around his bent elbow. “It looks like I’ll be helping you this morning.”

Rhea kept her voice low and out of anyone else’s earshot. “But you might get your fancy new clothes dirty.”

They passed Mrs. Hale and her two young boys, both
covered in dust and chasing a skinny old wooden wheel down the sidewalk.

Deacon settled his hand over Rhea’s and squeezed gently. His skin was warm against hers, his fingers longer, thicker and much stronger. It was an odd sensation to have her hand pressed between the warmth of his hand and the cool silk of his sleeve.

“Don’t you worry about the clothes,” he replied, bobbing a nod at Mr. Worth as he swept the walk in front of the newspaper office. “Kit has plenty of money. She can always buy me more.”

“Why, you—” The toe of her boot caught on an uneven plank, but Deacon steadied her without missing a step.

Rhea curled her fingers into his arm until her nails threatened to damage his precious suit. They both nodded a greeting to a man who stepped out of the bank, and carried on their pretense of civility until they were inside the store. Deacon closed and locked the door behind them.

“What are you doing? We need to open.”

“Not yet.” He took her arm again, this time not so gently, and dragged her toward the backroom.

He pulled the curtain that divided the store from the back, thus preventing any prying eyes from watching through the windows.

When he turned, he stared at her with icy fury. His expression should have frightened her, but all it did was fuel her own anger.
He
was mad at
her
? Half of this mess was his fault!

“Sit down.” He jabbed his thumb toward the only chair in the room, an old wooden ladder-back with one leg shorter than the others.