Dancing With the Devil (13 page)

“How is your brother?” Donnelda’s sudden question made them all stop and stare for a moment.

“Well, he’s fine, thank you.” Rhea frowned a little, then added, “I’ll be sure to tell him you were asking.”

A flash of embarrassment crossed Donnelda’s face, but she quickly recovered and returned her attention to the scandal at hand.

“What about your husband?” Suzanne pushed. “Did he really walk all the way back?”

“Every step.” Perhaps she should consider writing a dime novel one day.

“Oh my.” Donnelda looked as though she’d faint right there in the store. “That is so romantic.”

“Yes.” Suzanne nodded. “It is.”

Annabelle didn’t look so convinced. “So why on earth did you shoot him?”

Rhea pressed her hand over her heart and forced a look of affront. “What would you do if a man you believed to be dead suddenly turned up on your front porch?” she asked. “For all I knew, he was the devil himself.”

That put the little busybody back in her place for a minute. They all stood in silence for a long moment, staring at the curtain. Finally Annabelle cleared her throat quietly. “Does he always stay back there?”

“Most of the time,” Rhea said solemnly. “I’m afraid he hasn’t completely recovered from the shock of everything’s that happened to him.” She opened her eyes a little wider and tapped the side of her temple.

“You mean—” Donnelda started.

“He’s mad?” Annabelle finished.

Rhea nodded slowly. “Still as handsome a man as God ever put on this earth, but his mind isn’t what it used to be. We’re hopeful, now that he’s home, we can help him make a full recovery and he’ll soon be as right as rain.”

After another few minutes of curtain-staring, Annabelle gathered her wits and blinked several times.

“That is certainly a distressing story, Rhea. I hope he recovers soon.”

“Yes.” Rhea smiled brightly. “Thank you.”

“Perhaps I’ll check back tomorrow for those earbobs.”

“You can check,” Rhea answered, “but I’m not expecting any new shipments for a while yet.”

Her words went unacknowledged as all three women were already sashaying toward the door, whispering furiously among themselves. When they’d finally left and Rhea was once again left to the quiet of her store, she exhaled a long breath and grinned.

She’d made some rather fine adjustments to Deacon’s story, if she did say so herself. If they were going to gossip about her, at least it wouldn’t be the pathetic truth.

“So let me get this straight.” Deacon’s voice from behind the curtain made her start so suddenly, she knocked one of the candy jars sideways and had to scramble to right it. “After defending your virtue, I was beaten, stripped naked and left for dead out in the middle of the desert, causing me to lose most of my mind.”

“You were listening!” She tugged the curtain open a little to find him sitting on the chair with his arms crossed and his crooked grin mocking her.

“A story like that,” he answered, “was too good to miss.”

“Your version was fine.” She couldn’t help grinning, too, as she moved away from the curtain and back to the counter. “It just lacked the extra little spark that made it more about you and less about me.”

“I especially enjoyed the part about me being so handsome. ‘As handsome a man as—’ ” He leaned forward and pulled the curtain open a bit more. “If only they knew God hadn’t put me here.”

“Yes,” Rhea retorted, rolling her eyes. “Let’s tell them that.”

She stared at the door the girls had walked out and chuckled. “You should have seen their faces. They’ll be talking about you for months.”

“Lying well is a talent,” Deacon said. “And while I’m impressed with what appears to be your natural ability, don’t you think your good friend Mrs. Foster is going to be a little put out that she didn’t get to hear the added details firsthand?”

She didn’t even try to hold back her laughter this time. “She would have had apoplexy right there by the buttons if you’d even thought about saying some of the things I did.”

Turning slightly, she was able to keep an eye on the door, while still keeping Deacon in her peripheral vision as she went over the accounts book.

“You’re probably right.” He stretched his legs out and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “And while that may have been unfortunate, it would have given the town vultures someone else to stare at for a while.”

“The last thing we need to do is make trouble for anyone else.” Rhea chuckled. “Especially when it’s all just a wild made-up story.”

“About that wild made-up story.” Deacon’s eyes snapped with mischief. “There’s something about your version that I find myself wondering about.”

“What’s that?”

He stretched to his feet, leaned against the door frame and grinned. “How much time do you spend imagining me naked?”

“What?” She jumped away from him and bumped into the counter. He remained hidden behind the curtain, which was just as well because Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Worth were standing outside on the boardwalk. If either caught sight of Deacon, there’d be no getting rid of them.

“You truly are mad,” she growled.

“Me?” He laughed; the sound—deep and velvety—bounced off the walls. “You were the one detailing how handsome your husband is, even naked. Wasn’t me.”

“Ugh,” she huffed.

“Huff all you like,” he needled. “We both know what you’re really thinking, don’t we?”

“What I’m thinking is that you truly are a lunatic,” she seethed. “And before you say another word, you should know Mrs. Worth is heading this way.”

He darted back out of sight, tripped on something, cursed and scurried as far away from the curtain as he could.

Who did he think he was, suggesting she spent any of her time thinking about him naked? She’d only used the idea as fodder for her story. It wasn’t as though she wasted her precious time thinking on such a thing. Not much, anyway.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

S
unday morning couldn’t come soon enough for Rhea. Finally a day where her cheek muscles wouldn’t ache from holding a smile she didn’t feel; finally a day where she could hide away from the entire town without having to answer questions.

Before she poked her head out from under the blanket, she knew she was alone. The room was too quiet, the air too still and the other side of the bed too empty.

For the better part of the past week, she and Deacon had spent almost every minute together, and while she’d felt overwhelmed and distracted by his constant presence, not having him beside her when she woke up was worse. Much worse.

She fumbled her way out of the blanket, took her hairbrush and made her way to the rocking chair. The morning sun teased the horizon, casting shadows over the street below as Rhea repeatedly pulled the brush through her hair. When was the last time she’d simply sat down and enjoyed the quiet of a Sunday morning? When was the last time she’d wanted to?

Any woman would be glad to have the chance to do just that, so why was she feeling so restless? She needed
to be up and doing something, making better use of this time.

Just as she pushed out of the chair, the door creaked open and there stood Deacon, a basket in his arms, looking as neat and proper as he always did.

Not only neat, but dressed in yet another new suit. Ernest hadn’t mentioned selling it, but Rhea recognized it as the last gray one she’d had in stock. She sure hoped someone paid for that one, too, because she certainly couldn’t afford something so fine.

As she took a step toward him, it hit her; the reason Deacon stood there staring at her open mouthed was because she was only wearing her plain cotton nightgown; no wrapper, no shawl or anything. And while she’d lain in bed next to him all these nights, he’d always waited until she was tucked in before he came into the room.

Rhea grabbed for her blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders as Deacon muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just sitting in the window—”

“Like
that
?” He stepped inside and kicked the door closed.

“What…?”

“Nice of you to treat the whole town to yet another scandal,” he said, his voice tight. “But next time you might think to cover yourself first.”

“No one can see me when I’m in the chair,” she argued.

“That’s all very well,” he said. “But when I came in, you were standing right in front of the window.”

“So?”

“So,” he almost growled, “anyone who cared to look up would have seen clear through your nightgown.”

“Oh.” For the amount of heat that raced over her
skin right then, she half expected to burst into flames. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Thankfully he didn’t comment further. Instead, he set the basket on the end of the bed and hung his hat on one of the hooks.

“I brought breakfast,” he grumped, tugging a cloth from the top of the basket. Inside were two plates of ham, eggs and bread, cutlery and a small blue-and-white checked tablecloth.

He spread the cloth on the floor, then set the plates on top.

“Breakfast picnic,” she said quietly. “Interesting.”

“It’s a damn sight better than sitting in that restaurant again and having every busybody in town stare at me while I try to eat.” He took a breath and waggled his brow at her. “Apparently they’ve never seen a madman up close.”

Rhea took the fork he offered, then arranged herself on the corner of the cloth, careful to keep herself covered with the blanket. He waited until she was settled before starting his meal.

“Well,” she said after a while, “I guess the gossips will find something else to talk about eventually, won’t they?”

He shrugged.

“And a lady should never complain when a gentleman brings her food.”

“If that’s your way of thanking me, then you’re welcome.” The gruffness in his voice faded a little, but not completely.

As Rhea ate, she struggled to keep the blanket up. It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world to wrangle her food up onto her fork without the use of her knife, but that would teach her not to lounge around in bed so long. Every other morning, she’d been up and dressed before Deacon opened his eyes.

His gaze seemed fixed on her throat, making her horribly self-conscious each time she swallowed.

“The store’s closed today?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He nodded briefly. “Then let’s get out of this blasted town for a while.”

“Where will we go?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He swallowed the last of his eggs and wiped his mouth. “Let’s go for a ride somewhere. Anywhere.”

She started to object, then stopped. Maybe a ride was just what she needed to sort out her thoughts. With all the customers—both buyers and snoopers—who had come through the store over the last few days, she hadn’t had time to sort out the mess she was in.

Today could be the perfect time to do just that.

“Sounds lovely,” she said. “I’ll need a few minutes…”

Deacon was already stacking the dishes in the basket.

“I’ll return these to the restaurant and rent us a buggy. Will that be enough time?”

“Yes.” Her nerves twitched uncertainly. It wasn’t as though she’d never been alone with Deacon before, so why did her stomach flutter this way?

And for goodness sake, why didn’t her head remind the rest of her body that it wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him? She pressed her hands against her stomach to quell the quivers.

If he was going to be nice to her, surely she could return the kindness without allowing herself to be charmed out of her boots this time. A tiny thread of doubt wove its way through her brain until she shook her head to clear it.

Stop it
, she silently chastised herself.
Just stop it.

All she needed to do was keep the whole fiasco with Salma at the forefront of her mind, and then she
could fight off these ridiculous feelings she still had for Deacon.

In the meantime, she had another problem.

What should she wear?

The second the door closed behind Deacon, Rhea pulled her three dresses off the hooks and spread them out on the bed. Her yellow one was nice enough but looking its age, and she’d worn it the last two days in a row. The blue print had a large stain on the bodice, which hid nicely behind her apron when she was working—but she wasn’t wearing an apron today, was she?

Her only other choice was the dark brown sateen, the dress she normally wore to Sunday ser vice. With the reverend ministering to the outlying ranches, they hadn’t had ser vices in a couple weeks, but still…the dark brown was too close to black, and Rhea had worn black most of the year.

She hung the last two dresses back up and studied the yellow one again. It was a suitably fine garment and would do nicely for today.

Problem was, Rhea didn’t feel like wearing anything she could best describe as “suitably fine.” It had been a long time since she’d bought a new dress; surely it wouldn’t be considered too extravagant if she bought one today.

She stopped, stared blankly at the wall and grinned. Who would question her purchase? Her parents were both gone, Colin wouldn’t even notice and Deacon certainly wouldn’t care.

She yanked the yellow dress over her head and fumbled with the buttons as she pushed her feet inside her boots.

Creeping through the store, she made her way directly to the ready-made ladies’ clothes. Pretty, yet sensible. Surely there was something…

The plum-colored walking skirt and white shirtwaist would look smart together and would also be suitable for work.

It certainly wasn’t anywhere near the fancy clothes the Dietrich girls wore about town, but dresses like those held little appeal to Rhea. What could a woman hope to accomplish during the day if she was constantly worrying about the size of her bustle or soiling her hem?

Back in the room, she ran her fingers through her hair, lifting it, twisting it and curling it around the crown of her head.

Why couldn’t she have beautiful hair like Kit? Now there was a head of hair to be envied. Even tousled around her head in the messy way she wore it, it was amazing, and would no doubt be even more beautiful pinned up.