Dancing With the Devil (31 page)

“Thank you for your concern, but I’ll be fine.” She hugged him tight, kissed his cheek and headed for the door. “People will find someone else to talk about sooner or later,” she said. “Just pray it isn’t you!”

She stepped out onto the boardwalk and took a moment to catch her breath. The street was oddly quiet, considering the number of people milling about.

They stood in various groups, talking quietly and glancing around as though expecting something to pop out of the air.

Rhea kept her head down, putting one foot in front of the other and silently praying the odd distraction would be enough to keep their attention away from her.

She was halfway across the street when she felt it: a disturbing shift in the air that made her stop and look around. Nothing. The quiet vibrated against her nerves, pushing her back into motion.

A few more steps and it came again, not so much a breeze as a definite shift.

“Rhea.”

Her heart stuttered up into her throat; her brain screamed at her feet to keep moving, to move faster, but they wouldn’t listen. Instead, she stood in the middle of the street, frozen in a cloud of disbelief.

The lingering crowd seemed to move as one, closing in around her like predators circling their prey.

Her name came again, carrying above the constant buzzing of whispers. “Rhea.”

She turned slowly, half afraid she’d imagined it, half afraid she hadn’t.

And there he was, stumbling through the crowd,
barely keeping upright and grimacing with each new step. His eyes were fixed on her, his stride determined and looking like he’d been dragged behind a wagon for the last ten miles.

Rhea clutched her hands to her stomach and forced breath into her lungs. She made no move toward him, nor did she speak. If she did either, surely she’d wake up and he’d be gone.

He kept moving toward her, stopping only when he was an arm’s reach away. If she did reach out, would she touch him, or would he turn out to be nothing more than a mirage?

His clothes all but hung from his body, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his shirt wasn’t silk, but—could it be?—Kit’s blue chambray shirt! His hair hadn’t been combed in too long to tell, whiskers covered his cheeks and chin and the toe of his left boot was ripped open, leaving his sock to push out the end.

Even his eyes were different. Still as blue as the sky above, but there was something more, a look of solid determination she’d never seen in him before.

He tipped his head to the right and smiled that crooked little smile of his. “Hello, Rhea.”

She forced her heart back down into her chest and laced her fingers so tight, her knuckles ached.

“Well,” she answered slowly. “Look what the wind blew in. And me without my rifle.”

A glint of laughter sparkled in his eyes as the crowd closed in around them, buzzing like the bloodsucking insects they were. Rhea didn’t care anymore; let them buzz.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming back,” she said, fighting for control of her voice.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he said, taking a small step closer. “I always come back—you know that.”

Not only was he back, but he was standing there in front of the whole town, looking as if he had, in fact, died and come back to life this time.

Rhea thought she’d die right then and there if he didn’t kiss her.

“But what about…” She lowered her voice. “Kit said you wouldn’t…you couldn’t…”

“Who do you think dragged my sorry hide back here?” His head barely moved, but it was enough to make Rhea look around him, back to where he’d come from. A flash of red hair was all she saw before it disappeared like the wind.

“But how—?”

“You loved me,” he said. “Even when you shouldn’t have, you did. And you made me realize I could…” He hesitated, glanced around at the crowd and then smiled down at her again. “You made me realize that
the thing
I felt for you was more than just a
thing
.”

“Is that right?” She let herself smile back at him, even if it was small and quivery.

“That’s right. I love you.”

The oddest feeling spread through her veins. Hope mixed with anxiety, worry and confusion.

“You…?”

“I do.”

From somewhere behind Rhea, a woman sighed.

“You said you couldn’t,” she murmured.

“Ah, but you said I could.” He reached to tuck her hair back, and Rhea found herself leaning into his touch. “It’s what got me through every…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. Rhea knew what he meant, and that was all that mattered. His father had tried repeatedly to beat the love out of Deacon, but he couldn’t do it.

“It must have been horrible,” she choked out, feeling the bile creep up her throat. “We should get you to Doc Jamieson.”

Deacon pressed his fingers against her mouth and smiled. “I’ll go see Kwan later. There’s something else we need to straighten out first.”

Deacon dropped to one knee, right there in the dirt, and grinned up at her with the most ridiculously painful smile she’d ever seen.

“I love you, Rhea. Marry me.”

The buzzing crowd hummed louder, one voice carrying above all the rest. “Thought they already was married.”

Rhea ground her teeth together and tried to pretend the entire town wasn’t hanging on every word she and Deacon said. Mrs. Foster would no doubt chew on this new impropriety for years to come.

“People are staring,” Rhea whispered hoarsely.

“I don’t care.”

And he truly looked as though he didn’t care; he’d hardly given the crowd a single glance the whole time he stood there.

She grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and dragged him to his feet, but before she could release him, his other hand closed around her wrist.

“Marry me,” he repeated softly, his voice barely above a desperate whisper. “Marry me, and let me be your husband for real.”

The crowd seemed to be leaning in, waiting for her answer. She searched their faces for Colin, needing someone to help her, someone who would keep her thinking straight. Her brother was leaning against the post outside the jail, his mouth set in a wry smile and his arm resting around Donnelda’s shoulders.

All these years he’d kept his secret, allowing Rhea to
live in her fantasy world of husbands and wives who loved each other enough to honor their vows. He’d only done it to protect her, she understood that now, even if she still didn’t agree with it.

And Deacon had done the same thing.

Finally she turned back to him, gazing into those amazing blue eyes, eyes that had suddenly taken on a shade of desperation.

“You don’t have to marry me,” she said. “It would seem you caused quite a stir coming back the first time, so the whole town’s been waiting for you to come back again.”

“And no doubt gossiping like magpies,” he muttered.

“True,” she laughed, “but it keeps them coming into the store to see if there’s been any news. And since they now see me as the poor lonely wife, they can’t very well come into the store without buying something, can they? Sales are up!”

“I don’t give a hot damn about sales, Rhea.” A slow and easy grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “I never have.”

He brushed his knuckles across her cheek in a slow and agonizing trail down to her lips. It took every bit of resolve she had left not to lean into the touch, not to kiss those fingers as they lingered against her mouth.

“I know you don’t need a husband, especially a sorry excuse like me, who’ll never be able to give you the children you want. Let’s get married anyway.”

“Deacon, please.” She kept her voice low. “Can we do this somewhere a little less public?”

“No.” He cupped her face in his palms and eased her chin up until their eyes met. His eyes sparkled with mirth, even as a challenge. “I’m going to make you stand right here until you agree to be my wife.”

“You’re going to
make
me?” She laughed lightly and twisted out of his hands, giving him a bit of a shove. The second she did it, she remembered what he’d just suffered through and made to grab for his shirt. He tripped over his own boot, staggered backward several feet and would have hit the dirt if three men hadn’t raced forward and caught him under the arms.

“Don’t be lettin’ a skirt take that tone with you, man.”

“A skirt?” she fumed, charging toward the offensive man.

Deacon straightened his shirt, grinned stupidly and tried to get between them.

“Out of my way, Deacon,” she warned. “I shot you once, and I’ll do it again.”

Mrs. Foster gasped sharply and crumpled to the sidewalk in a heap of green satin. When no one so much as glanced her way, Colin clicked his tongue and marched over to help.

“For God’s sake, Rhea.”

Neither Rhea nor Deacon paid him or Mrs. Foster any mind.

“You don’t have a gun,” Deacon said, taking another step.

She opened her mouth, slammed it shut and wagged her finger at him instead. “You…you…ugh.”

Deacon kept his gaze fixed directly on Rhea. “I don’t care what any man says. You can talk to me in any tone you like, sweetheart.”

“And I will!”

“I know.” He laughed softly and took her hands in his. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

Her anger melted with his touch. Her heart expanded with his smile. “You love me,” she said.

“I do.” He was suddenly too close, too overwhelming. She pulled her hands away and pressed them against
his chest, but he kept coming until she was forced to back up.

“How do I know you won’t leave me again?” The strength was beginning to seep out of her body, her fears threatening to swallow everything else.

“You’re just going to have to trust me.” Another step forward, another step backward. “I love you. You love me. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“Deacon, I…” She stumbled on her next step, but he steadied her.

“Say it.”

“I do. I trust you.”

“And what else?” His voice was like a silky caress against her weary soul.

Flames raced over her skin. How much more humiliating could things get? Had she not embarrassed herself enough in front of all these people?

“Say it.” His smile didn’t tease; it didn’t taunt and it didn’t dare her. It just asked for the one thing he wanted most to hear, and the one thing she wanted most to say.

Every woman still standing moved closer; a few pressed their hands over their hearts, Mrs. Hale openly wept and Polly stood beside Ernest, their hands clasped together, both grinning like fools.

It was the same grin Deacon wore when Rhea first told him she loved him. It was the same grin she ached to see again.

“I love you.” Hardly a whisper, her voice barely reached her own ears. She let her tears burn matching trails down her cheeks, choked out a sob and said it again, louder. “I love you.”

“Say you’ll marry me.”

“Deacon—”

“Rhea.” His eyes danced, his lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Not yet. “Say yes.”

“I…” It was as if her heart had grown too large for her chest and was now threatening to break wide open. Deacon was there with her; nothing else mattered. Not her parents, not the store and certainly not the dozens of people standing around watching her make a complete fool of herself again.

All that mattered was him, right here, right now.

“Yes.”

And just like that, the grin was back. He swung her up into his arms and kissed her full on the lips, right there in front of everyone.

Rhea melted into him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with everything she had.

All around them, havoc ensued. Men coughed, shook their heads and spat wads of tobacco. Women wept, sighed and hugged whoever was standing next to them.

Mrs. Dietrich did nothing of the sort. She lifted her beaded reticule and brought it down on the back of her husband’s head. “Why don’t you ever do anything romantic anymore?”

Mr. Dietrich flushed clear up over his bald head and chased after her down the road, with Annabelle and Suzanne hurrying behind.

Deacon laughed, watching the family scurry away. “Maybe he’ll keep his nosy wife at home from now on.”

“I doubt it.” Rhea turned his face back to her. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“And you won’t ever leave me again.”

“Never.” He nuzzled her neck just below her ear.

“And you’ll bring me breakfast every Sunday morning.”

“Every Sunday morning,” he repeated, nipping at her earlobe.

“And you’ll help me sort the button bowl whenever I ask.”

Deacon’s lips froze against her skin. “The button bowl?”

“Mm-hmm.” She tilted her head a little, willing his lips back to her neck.

With a wicked grin, he kissed her throat and then stared into her face again. “The button bowl’s gonna cost you.”

“That’s okay,” she chuckled. “I’ve got lots of money.”

“Good,” he growled between kisses, “because I really need some new clothes.”

E
PILOGUE

1885

M
ail from Houston.” Deacon held the missive above his head as he walked through the door.

Rhea ran over from the stove and grabbed for it, but he dangled it higher.

“First things first.” He wrapped his other arm around her waist and dragged her up against him. “Say it.”

“I love you,” she laughed, struggling against him to get to the letter.

“Oh no.” He shook his head at her and held her tighter. Damn, but she felt good there. “Say it like you mean it.”

Rhea stopped wiggling and looked right at him. She slid both hands around his neck and leaned up until they were nose to nose.

“I love you.” She breathed a kiss against his jaw, and then one more against his mouth, tempting him to take more.

He sought out her lips with his own and feasted on everything she offered. But the second his arm came down, she snatched the letter and spun away from him.

She was quick, but not quick enough to escape his arms. Laughing as she ripped the letter open, Deacon wrapped his arms around her belly, pulling her back up against his chest.