Dancing With the Devil (25 page)

He twisted his mouth to the side. “You sure you ain’t gonna fire me?”

“Never.” She forced a bright smile. “You sure you don’t want to quit?”

“No, ma’am.” He shrugged slowly. “Just don’t know what to say to people now.”

“Easy.” She pushed up from her chair and reached for the aprons. “If they should ask me, I’m simply going to tell them how happy I am to discover I have a new brother, especially one who cares about the people in his life, who has already proven himself to be a hard worker and who is a fine young man.”

Color raced up Ernest’s face and settled on his scalp.

“You don’t gotta say that stuff,” he mumbled.

“Why not?” she asked. “It’s the truth.”

“But w-what if they ask you about my ma?”

Deacon stepped closer, but didn’t touch her.

“I-I…” Rhea stopped and took in a long breath. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive our parents for
what they did to our families. But that doesn’t mean I have any interest in speaking ill of your mother to anyone—she’s been through enough, don’t you think?”

The boy nodded and accepted the apron she held out to him.

“Can we open now?” Her question was directed more toward Deacon, in jest, but Ernest was the one who nodded.

He sniffed a few times as he tied his apron, then breathed deeply and stepped through the curtain. Rhea turned to follow, but Deacon blocked her again.

“You really are an amazing woman.” He cupped her face in his palm and smiled down at her. “He’s lucky to have you for a sister.”

She chuckled quietly. “Somehow I doubt Colin would say the same thing.”

“Colin’s an imbecile.”

“Miss Rhea?” Ernest’s voice beckoned from the front of the store. “The sheriff’s here to see you.”

“Speak of the devil.” Deacon grinned wickedly, but Rhea didn’t smile back.

“I don’t know if I can talk to him right now,” she said, taking a few steps backward. “It’s too soon.”

Deacon caught her hand and pulled her back to him. “How much worse can it get at this point?”

She didn’t answer.

“I’ll stay right beside you.”

She still didn’t speak, but she nodded briefly and let him lead her out front. Ernest was taking stock of the tools, his back to the room, and Colin stood just inside the door, as though taking one more step would be too much for him.

“Colin.” Deacon dipped a nod at him, but Colin didn’t respond.

He looked about as grim as Rhea had ever seen and
for a moment, she considered running, but the only way out was through the backroom to the upstairs room, and she wasn’t nearly ready to go back up there yet.

“I’ve got news.”

“About what?” Deacon’s hand squeezed hers tighter.

Though he answered Deacon’s question, Colin kept his gaze fixed solely on Rhea. “The judge.”

“What’s the news?” Again, Deacon’s question.

Colin frowned, flashed a pointed look at Ernest’s back, then cleared his throat.

“Ernest, would you mind giving us the room for a minute?”

The boy made no sound, just turned and hurried into the backroom, pulling the curtain behind him as he went.

Colin watched him go, then swallowed hard. “He expects to arrive tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Rhea gasped.

Colin nodded grimly. “He’ll be on the afternoon stage.”

“There’s no chance he’ll be delayed?” Deacon wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“Not unless the stage tips over.”

Rhea looked up at Deacon, whose eyes widened as his brow shot up.

“No.” Colin glared at both of them. “Don’t even think about it.”

“How can I even look at that man now?” What started as a small tremble in Rhea’s knees quickly turned into a rumble up her spine.

Without another word, Colin yanked open the door and was gone.

“Tomorrow.” How could a single word, one she’d used a million times in her life, suddenly sound so daunting? She stood staring after her brother long after he’d disappeared from her line of vision.

“Rhea.”

She turned at the sound of her name and blinked up into Deacon’s face. It was his face she saw in her dreams. It was his face she loved, even after she learned the truth about him. And it was his face she could look at and see through to who he really was.

More than just the devil’s son, Deacon was his own man. The confidence and arrogance he put on view for everyone else was nothing more than a distraction so they wouldn’t see his insecurities.

But Rhea saw them. And standing there looking at Deacon now, the answer suddenly became clear.

If he could overcome those insecurities, it might just save them both.

Deacon inhaled slowly and drew Rhea close. He seemed to do that a lot lately, but since she no longer objected, he was going to keep on doing it.

Mr. and Mrs. Worth started past the window, both openly staring inside with looks of utter disapproval.

Rhea stiffened in his arms, but he wouldn’t release her. Instead, he tucked her head under his chin and held her tighter.

“Let’s get naked and give them something good to stare at,” he murmured against her hair.

Rhea snorted, choked, then buried her face in his shirt and laughed ’til she shook. Didn’t take long to realize her shaking wasn’t caused by laughter anymore; the whole front of his shirt was damp and wrinkled.

“Come on,” he said once the town criers had passed. “I’m giving you the day off.”

“I-I can’t.” She sniffed again, but didn’t pull out of his arms.

“Of course you can.” Pressing a kiss against the top of her head, he took her by the hand and led her toward
the back, where Ernest was still hiding. He left her standing at the counter and ducked behind the curtain.

“Rhea’s taking the day off,” he said. “Can you manage the store by yourself?”

“No, I’m not.” Rhea’s voice called from the front of the store, but there was no strength behind it.

Deacon rolled his eyes and lowered his voice. “Yes, she is. Can you manage?”

Ernest nodded silently, his eyes round.

“Good. There’s one other thing…”

“Is she all right?” Ernest asked. “She don’t look very good.”

“She’s fine, or she will be.” He could hope, anyway. “I need you to do something for her. For us.”

Ernest nodded eagerly.

“Have someone pack our things upstairs and send them over to the hotel. Room four.”

Another nod. “’Course.”

“And make sure it’s someone who’s not going to go whispering about this to everyone on the street.”

“No, sir. I’ll ask Polly to do it.”

Deacon frowned, but before he could argue, Ernest said solemnly, “Polly would never say anything against Miss Rhea.”

“Fine, then. I appreciate your help.”

“And I appreciate being able to give it,” Ernest said. “Don’t expect anyone else in this town woulda kept me on after what’s happened.”

“No,” Deacon agreed. “You’re probably right on that.”

Without another word, Deacon pushed through the curtain and headed straight for Rhea. She was standing over the button table again, sorting colors and doing a horrible job of it; reds mixed with the pink and greens in with the blue.

If it wasn’t so sad to see, it’d almost be funny.

He pressed his hands over hers, easing them open until the buttons she was holding fell back to the table.

“Let’s go.”

“I can’t.” She didn’t try to pull her hands away, but she didn’t look at him, either.

“I know these buttons are making you crazy,” he said, “but I think they can wait one more day.”

“I—” After a moment’s hesitation, she curled her fingers around his and smiled up at him. Fear and desperation shone through her unshed tears. “Okay.”

Without giving her a second to change her mind, Deacon started tugging her toward the door.

“What about—”

“Ernest can manage.”

“But—”

“He’ll be fine, Rhea.” Deacon stopped at the door and, though it pained him, he released her hand and let it fall to her side. “If you honestly want to stay here today, we’ll stay.”

She worried her bottom lip for a long moment, glancing back at Ernest, who’d made his way out front again, and then at Deacon, who stood as stoic as he possibly could.

It didn’t take as long as he thought it would for her to decide. Taking one of his hands back in hers, she smiled one of her forced and painful smiles and nodded.

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“What will we do?”

He shrugged. “Anything. Everything.”

“Don’t you worry none, Miss Rhea,” Ernest said. “I’ll manage your store just fine.”

“Yes,” she answered quietly. “You’ve proven that enough this week, haven’t you?”

Before she had a sudden attack of second thoughts, Deacon pulled open the door and led her outside, but he had no idea what to do next. Where should they go?

“Let’s walk.” He slipped her hand beneath his elbow and started down the street as though they were simply out for their daily stroll. No one need know it was likely their last.

Halfway down the boardwalk, Rhea pulled her hand from his arm and laced her fingers through his instead. Her thin fingers were cold between his, even after he wrapped his other hand over top.

The silence was next to unbearable. There was so much he wanted to tell her. But coward that he was, he didn’t say anything. And neither did she, which was what worried him the most. When had Rhea not had something to say?

On they went, past the newspaper, the restaurant and the bank, looking for all the world as though everything was as right as rain.

Their feet moved in sync, same pace and same direction. Neither was leading, yet both knew where they were going.

Colin’s animals needed tending.

Thick gray clouds rolled in from the east, bringing with them a warm breeze and the threat of a spring storm. As it grew darker, so did Deacon’s mood. It was almost as if the storm were inside him, building, pushing, and there was no telling when it would let loose.

If only Rhea would say something.

“Everything will be fine tomorrow,” he said quietly.

Facing forward, she nodded—barely—and pushed her mouth up into a smile, but still she didn’t speak. It was the longest two-mile walk of Deacon’s life.

Without so much as a pause, Rhea released Deacon’s
hand and walked straight into the barn. He, on the other hand, hesitated before following her inside.

The cow’s eyes grew wide as they rolled in Deacon’s direction. It jerked against its tether and kicked the bucket over twice before Rhea spoke.

“Are you able to make coffee?” she asked.

Deacon shrugged and half nodded. “I think so.”

“Maybe you better go do that while I get this done. Otherwise I’m likely to take a kick in the head.” She tried to laugh it off, but Deacon couldn’t even bring himself to grin.

The animals recognized his powers had returned and it could only be all the other distractions that kept Rhea from truly recognizing it, too. It would only be a matter of time. He’d not used them yet, but a tiny voice in his brain told him that didn’t matter. He should have told Rhea about what was happening to him.

He left her alone and went to start the coffee. All he knew for sure and certain was that water needed to be boiled. After that…

He stood in the middle of the room, staring at nothing and seeing only her. He’d been wrong to come back and simply expect her to forgive him. He’d been wrong to let her believe the story about him and Salma. And he’d been horribly, horribly wrong to bring her into his life to start with.

She deserved so much better than him.

Learning what her parents had done only reinforced her belief that he must have done the same with Salma. And even though he’d told her different, she didn’t believe him.

How could she?

Somehow he’d have to prove to Rhea that he and
Salma had never so much as held hands. It had all been a ruse, one that worked well.

Too well.

It would mean Rhea would have to speak to Salma directly, and that wasn’t something any respectable lady should be asked to do. And he’d have to tell her about Lucille. He had no reason to hope she could ever see her way past what he’d done, but he hoped nonetheless.

He hoped
.

He’d never seriously hoped for anything in his life, but he did so now. He was still standing there, staring at nothing, when Rhea came in and closed the door. The air crackled inside the cabin as the first snap of lightning shot across the sky.

“Coffee?”

“Oh, r-right,” he stammered. “Got a little distracted.” He lifted the coffeepot off the stove and filled it with water from the big bucket, the ladle shaking in his hand. When he reached for the bag of beans, Rhea stopped him.

“Don’t bother.” She smiled guiltily. “I don’t really want any—it was just something for you to do.”

“Just as well”—he grinned back—“because I have no idea what happens after the water boils.”

She stepped up to the stove and pulled open the door. “Here’s a hint,” she said. “The water boils faster if there’s a fire lit beneath it.”

“Wha—”

Rhea laughed at his embarrassment as she stuffed some kindling inside the oven and lit it. The fire crackled slowly, then gained strength as she fed it bigger pieces of wood.

“We’ll use the water to clean your wounds,” she said, leaving the stove door open just a crack. “Sit.”

“We can do it later,” he said. “We need to talk—”

“No.” The sound of her voice made him sit. His bandage could have waited, but Rhea couldn’t. She needed something to do, someone to look after.

He slipped out of his jacket and started to work on his shirt buttons while she searched her sewing basket for another strip of cloth.

Lightning blazed outside the window, followed immediately by a low rumble of thunder.

When he started to pull the bandage away, Rhea stopped him. “I can’t watch you do that again,” she said quietly. “Let me.”

How was he supposed to explain that the feel of her fingers against his skin was a thousand times more painful than the bandage being ripped off?

He ground his teeth and nodded, but it took her a while before she began to slowly peel the cloth away. The first layer wasn’t too bad, but the bottom one had sealed almost completely to the wounds. Unlike his way of tearing it off in one quick rip, Rhea took her time, easing the cloth away slowly, using one hand to hold the cloth while the other hand pressed against his skin.