The Darkest Heart (13 page)

He didn’t smile, and he didn’t look away.

Down came the handkerchief, and Candice began biting her knuckle. He looked so lonely—and alone. So separate from the crowd of laughing friends. Not able to come any closer, watching from afar. And he was extraordinarily handsome.

Her heart twisted.

Tim returned with the lemonade, and Candice was quick to pretend to be inspecting a cut on her hand. She gave him a brilliant smile. “Thank you, Tim.” She took his arm and pulled him away.

Jack shoved his hands deeper in the pockets of his new trousers. The sun was moving, and the shadows around him were getting darker. Which was a good thing, because he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. He knew he should never have come.

All around him there was laughter and camaraderie. It was something he had been very conscious of from the moment he’d arrived. Just like now, alone under this tree, he was very conscious of being apart from it all. The not-belonging was as old as he was, but the way he was feeling it today had never been so new.

Some of the women were dancing to a fiddler and a harmonica player. Candice had been dancing in McGraw’s arms not too long ago, just the way he’d imagined, with laughter on her face, looking impossibly beautiful. The jealousy he’d felt then, and the jealousy he was feeling now, was like a clamp around his chest.

Another man had joined her and McGraw, and they were all sharing a blanket and the shade of a tree. Someone else, a third man, came up to her and asked her something—for a dance? She gave him a wonderful smile while declining. He imagined how it would feel to be on the receiving end of
that smile. Then he grew angry with himself for even thinking it, for doing this to himself, for being such a fool as to buy all these clothes and using the last of his cash. But he didn’t push away from the tree.

She was looking at him.

Jack was very much aware of his heart fluttering when she excused herself from her admirers and started walking toward him. Perspiration gathered under the crown of his hat and beneath his arms. She couldn’t be coming this way. She was looking at the ground, stopping to talk to a couple. Laughing, darting him a glance, and breaking free. She
was
coming to him. But it took her a small eternity.

“Hello … Mr. Savage.”

He tried to sound casual. It was hard, when he couldn’t even swallow. “Miss Candice.”

She stared at him—big navy eyes that he fell into. He shifted. “You look beautiful today.”

She blushed. “It’s just mourning gray.”

“I know.”

“I … I don’t know if you should be here.”

He felt anger, and his tone was sarcastic. “Don’t worry—I’m keeping my distance.
You
shouldn’t be
here.”

She was wringing her hands. “I know, but …”

“But what?”

“You don’t have anyone to talk to. You haven’t even taken any food.”

“Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not!” Her eyes flashed. But, oh, she did—in a different way than she’d ever felt pity before. She longed to hold his face and smooth the lines of despair away, and make him smile. Just once, for a short time. She hadn’t been able to bear seeing him standing so alone beneath the tree.

He relaxed. She smiled, but he didn’t return it. His eyes searched hers unwaveringly. It made her skin tingle and flush. “Would you—would you like me to get you some food?”

“I’ve eaten.” Then he added, “Thank you.”

Candice bit her lip. The fiddler was playing, and they were all talked out. But she didn’t want to leave him, not just yet. They stood in an awkward silence for a few minutes more.

“You’re a good dancer,” Jack said unexpectedly His
mind was on McGraw. He wanted to ask her what their relationship was.

She smiled radiantly. “Do you want to dance?”

He went stiff. His heart was beating too hard. For a minute he couldn’t say a thing. Then: “I don’t know how.”

Her face fell, but only for a moment. She reached out and took his hand. “I’ll teach you,” she said.

When he didn’t answer she moved closer, taking one of his hands and putting it on her tiny waist. She took his other hand in hers. Jack was assaulted by the fragrance of her, the feel and closeness of her. It was almost too much.

“It’s very easy,” she said, smiling.

“I might step on your feet.”

“I don’t mind. I hope those handsome new boots don’t hurt your toes.”

“They don’t,” he lied. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered—except her.

“Two steps and a skip,” Candice said. “Follow me. One-two-skip!”

He was worse than a lumbering ox, filled with self-consciousness and unable to think about much, other than her. He took two steps and a skip; she laughed. It wasn’t laughter at his effort, but a happy tinkle of sound. One, two, skip … one, two, skip … Jack kept his eyes on his feet.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Candice said, looking at his brow as he bent his head to watch his steps. “But you don’t need to look at your feet. Look at me.”

He did.

And he promptly stepped on her foot.

“Oh!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, freezing and feeling like a fool.

“No, no, you won’t get out of it that easily,” she said, urging him back into the dance. “One, two, skip!”

He followed her lead perfectly for two sets, and she laughed, watching the small area of exposed skin on his throat, between the bandana and the shirt. He looked up suddenly, smiling. Candice stared.

It was the first time she’d ever seen him smile, and it was devastating.

“Is something wrong?” His smile was gone.

“No, I—” She stopped when she saw him look over her
shoulder. He dropped her hands and stepped to the side, away from her. Candice turned to see Mark pell-melling his way toward them, his face red with fury, and McGraw behind him—trailed by Luke and a few other men. Her heart constricted.

“I’ll kill him!” Mark shouted, breaking into a run.

Without thinking, Candice leapt between them, her hands coming up to Mark’s chest. He was so angry he threw her violently off, and she sprawled onto her face in the dust. That was all Jack needed.

Before Mark could even haul off with a punch, Jack landed a bone-cracking right to his jaw—sending him reeling backward onto the ground. He stood, waiting. Candice struggled to her feet, her petticoats twisted and entangled, hampering her. “No! Stop it! Please!”

Mark got to his feet slowly, murderously.

Luke grabbed him from behind and spun him away. “Get over here, Candice,” he ordered.

His tone was so hard and authoritative, she moved to him immediately. He pulled her behind him and to the side. “Luke, we were only—”

“I’ve seen, everyone’s seen,” Luke said calmly. “Mister, I think you’d better get on that horse and ride out.”

“What’s going on?” Someone was whispering amid a flurry of excited murmurs. Candice looked around, stunned and dismayed to see that everyone had gathered around.

“Candice and the breed,” someone said.

Candice went red and looked at Jack. He was expressionless. But the crowd was changing fast, the sounds going from stunned to angry. Someone shouted, “He touched her, he dies!”

“Yeah!” roared a few men, McGraw among them.

Candice turned. “No! No—we were only dancing—”

“Dancing?” Henderson shouted incredulously. “You’d dance with him?”

Candice lifted her chin.

“Everyone calm down,” her father said, stepping beside Luke. He turned to Jack. “Ride on, boy. Now.

Candice gnawed her knuckles, watching as Jack turned, not even looking at her, and strode away. She watched him mount the stallion. When she looked back it was without
hearing the heated arguments between her father and some of the other men. Finally everyone dispersed, a few men vowing to teach him a lesson if he ever tried to come around again. Candice was precariously close to tears.

“You all right?” Luke asked with concern, his voice low.

She nodded, her eyes filling.

Luke grabbed her. “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” she cried, twisting away, furious with him, furious with everyone.

“Candice,” her father said, “I absolutely forbid you to go near that man again. Do you understand?”

She stared. “Pop—he’s not some rabid dog, he’s—”

“You are forbidden to go near him. Is that clear?”

She ducked her head. “Yes.”

Shortly after that, the Carters left.

“How could you dance with him?”

It was accusing, and it wasn’t even Mark—who wasn’t looking at her—it was John-John. Before she could explain he turned his back on her. Her father gave her a short lecture on her reputation. Luke said nothing, merely looked at her intently a few times.

One day after that, when she was saddling her mare, she overheard the hands talking—about her. Red Barton called her a “breed lover.” Candice went scarlet—with indignation, anger, and guilt.

She wasn’t a “breed lover.” She had only felt sorry for him. What harm was there in dancing? It wasn’t like they’d kissed. Oh—but they had—could she ever forget? She thanked God that Luke hadn’t caught them. Her shame was intense and burning.

Candice resolved to stay away from Jack Savage if she ever saw him again. And hopefully, she wouldn’t. After all, she was a lady, no matter if her reputation was now in shreds, and ladies did not dance with savages—even ones who were as handsome as Jack.

They certainly didn’t enjoy kissing them.

It was worse in town. The stares, the whispers. Two matrons actually crossed the street rather than walk on the same side with her. In the general store, Frank Smith propositioned her quite directly. He offered her anything she’d like if she went upstairs with him. God knew where his wife was. Candice was so stunned she didn’t even smack him. She couldn’t move. He grinned.

“Or is it only red-skinned men you got a taste for now?”

She gasped and fled. Out on the street she stood shaking, clinging to the hitching rail. When she had recovered a little, she looked up. It was to see Judge Reinhart staring at her, standing a few doors down. Her eyes went wide, and she waited, breathlessly.

He turned his back on her and walked away.

Candice raised her hand to her mouth to quell a sob. After Jack had ridden off at the barbecue, she and her family
had left abruptly—and there had been no time for good-byes. No one had come over to them, however. Not even her beaux—not Judge, not Tim. And now she understood it had been a clear rejection of her. She felt sick.

Instinct made her lift her head again.

Jack Savage stood across the street staring at her.

She closed her eyes. Oh, no, she thought desperately. Please, don’t come over here. She couldn’t handle it.

But he did. He came slowly, deliberately. He was still wearing the white shirt and black Stetson, but with buckskin pants and moccasins, and he looked more like an Apache than a white man. Candice turned her back intentionally toward him, her heart starting to race. Go away, she thought, fighting imminent hysteria.

She was a vision in blue that had stopped Jack right in his tracks, just as now the sight of her drew him forward like a magnet. He felt it inside—the leaping of his heart in a primal joy. Then he saw her deliberately turn her back to him. In that instant, a hard, cold resolve flooded him. He was assailed with his memories of the barbecue, her whirling in his arms, face uplifted to his, lips curved broadly in a smile. The sound of her laughter, and then that of her horrified protest when her brother had come at him. How it had all ended so ignominiously with his abrupt, forced departure. And now it was like the dashing of ice water. She was purposefully avoiding him, succumbing to the pressure of her family and culture. Jack could not have stopped himself from approaching her if he’d wanted to—and he didn’t.

He wanted to be cool, yet there was only a question in his tone. “Candice?”

She didn’t turn to face him. “Don’t come near me,” she warned.

There was a moment of silence.

“Just go away,” Candice added on a choked sob.

She hadn’t heard him approach, and she didn’t hear him leave, but she felt the difference, the emptiness, behind her. She finally wiped her eyes and straightened her spine and turned around. He was disappearing down the block, his stride long and hard and furious.

She wanted to weep.

Candice was wearing one of her best day gowns. Her hair was carefully done in a smooth twist and tucked beneath a blue silk bonnet that matched her dress. She was waiting impatiently on the verandah as Pedro hitched up the buck-board in the quiet of the morning. She was going to pay a call on Judge Reinhart.

It was the day after he had coldly turned his back on her in Tucson. Candice could still feel the shock and humiliation of his rejection. Before she had eloped with Kincaid, Judge had been in love with her—she was sure of it. Of course, he was not the only one, but he was the most successful and respected of all her suitors. Candice was not familiar with rejection. She could not think when she had ever been turned away or disliked or condemned. Especially by a man. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, and she had to see him and explain.