The Outsider (4 page)

Once Reeve was lured downstairs by the scent of fresh-brewed chicory coffee, the newly weds disappeared shortly thereafter, leaving Starla to her own devices once more. A reprieve. She knew it was no more than that. Sooner or later she wouldn’t be able to escape the questions. She knew she had to think of what to do. Returning to her family home of Fair Play was out of the question. If she had her way, she’d never set foot in there again. At least, not while her father was alive.

So many decisions, all so weighted by circumstance and heavy with consequence. Her head pounded, denying the clarity she needed to make the right choice.

So instead of spending the day in determined decision making, she used the time to heal her weary spirit, soothing her senses with what went no deeper than the surface. She shook the wrinkles out of her travel wardrobe, clucking over their sad, dated look. Before the war she’d always been dressed in the latest Paris had to offer. Now she was realistic enough to be glad for clothes on her back.

She’d had to look stylish for the role she’d played over the past four years. She’d had to act as if she hadn’t a care in the world while inside she was constantly on the brink of emotional collapse. Nothing new—playing dress-up like an animated
doll and hiding the truth behind a painted-on smile. It was a role she was born to.

As exhausted as if she’d waged her own war, she was eager to accept the terms of truce by coming home again. As long as that compromise didn’t include a return under her family’s roof. There must be a solution; she knew it. But today she would retrieve her strengths and revel in the sense of safety.

Even if it was only temporary.

The last thing Starla expected was for the new couple to be entertaining company on their first day of married life. The last thing she desired was for that guest to be the obnoxious Northerner Hamilton Dodge. He grinned at her dismay without the least bit of shame. She’d never seen a man who found so much to smile about—not in foolish gregariousness, but with genuine amusement for the circumstance. She didn’t care to be the source of his entertainment and glared to let him know it. He grinned wider, a wolfish, faintly predatory gesture that brought a prickle of threat to play upon her expression.

“Good evening, Miss Fairfax. You’re looking even lovelier than last night, if that’s possible. Probably because no one can outshine a bride in full regalia. Not that you look any less stellar this evening, Patrice. Just more out of reach.”

He bent to accept Patrice’s kiss to his rough cheek, lingering comfortably within the circle of her arms. The sight unnerved Starla. How quickly this stranger insinuated himself into the lives of
those she’d known since the days of swaddling clothes.

“Come in, Dodge. Let me rescue you before you trip over your tongue with all those compliments.”

“Are you suggesting they’re not sincere?”

Patrice laughed and looped her arm through his, mindful of the crutches supporting his weight. “Gracious, no. You haven’t enough tact for flattery so I’ll just have to believe you. Reeve’s already poured you a brandy.”

Starla stood at the doorway, watching the two of them head across the cavernous foyer toward Byron Glendower’s study, Patrice slowing her step to pace Dodge’s awkward use of the crutches. Not used to being ignored, she fumed for a moment, wondering how to upstage the ingratiating Yankee, then growing angrier because she’d have to. These were her friends. This was her homecoming and she was being pushed aside in favor of some hobbling outsider with a grating accent and a pushy manner.

Then Patrice glanced back. “Starla, aren’t you going to join us?”

That Northerner looked back, too, one brow arched in mocking question.

She affixed her most dazzling smile. “Just closing the door to keep out the pests, honey.” And she glared at Dodge to let him know that in her opinion, she hadn’t been entirely successful.

Again his toothy grin flashed in recognition of her testy mood. What an aggravating man. He didn’t care that he was being insulted. Nor did he
bother to disguise the blatant interest in his stare. She prepared herself for a long defensive evening.

As to Dodge, every moment at the Glade was treasured by this man who’d spent too much time alone. Since coming to Pride, he’d poured his energies into reviving the bank set up by Reeve’s half brother, Jonah. The establishment had closed with Jonah’s death and Reeve had called him down from Michigan to see what he could do about helping it, and the people of Pride, back on their feet.

The hard part was getting the stubborn community to see him as something other than a forked-tongued devil come to steal their last cent. Like Starla, they winced at the sound of his voice, looking no deeper to discover what kind of man he was. If they bothered, they’d know he was as honorable as he was determined to succeed. He’d learned an important piece of advice from Reeve: the only way to win them over was one at a time. And tonight, the one he wanted to win was Starla Fairfax.

His first assessment of her as a fluffy southern belle had been blown to hell during their first conversation. Now he was possessed by the need to discover just what she was. Intriguing, definitely. Gorgeous, beyond belief. And more than just a bit of a brat.

She was determined to dislike him and now was intent upon pretending he didn’t exist as she steered their dinner conversation toward a past he didn’t share and people he didn’t know. She did it so skillfully, perhaps their hosts didn’t see her behavior for the snub it was.

She’d glance at him while speaking, giving the pretense of including him in the conversation but the cold sheen in her stare might well have been a wall denying him access. He didn’t mind. He usually did so much talking, it was a relief to sit back over Fairfax Bourbon and simply listen and learn.

And he was learning fast—learning that Starla Fairfax was a complicated piece of work, with as many convolutions as her brother. For all her flashy charm and animated gestures, if one paid attention, he’d see they were all for effect, for keeping others at a distance while she remained safely untouched by the world that moved around her.

Most beautiful women loved to gush on and on about themselves, but that was a subject Starla avoided, deflecting personal questions like the surface of a mirrored pool—making it an irresistible challenge for Dodge to test the waters underneath. Would they be hot and agitated, or cool and murky with mystery?

Only one topic seemed to stir a response in her, and Dodge noted with little enthusiasm that it involved another man.

He’d heard of Noble Banning. He knew Banning had been Reeve’s best friend before the war, that his father was a ruthless manipulator in the political arena who owed no allegiance save to himself. And he knew Starla Fairfax lit up like a rocket trail when speaking about him.

“Last I heard,” Reeve was saying, “he earned a release from Point Lookout Prison by joining up with the Frontier Brigade.”

“Prison.” Starla’s bright eyes glossed over with
real dismay. “I hope it wasn’t terrible for him. One hears such rumors.”

Reeve gave her a smile of reassurance. “Noble’s a born negotiator. He probably had the prisoners organized and petitioning for starched linens with every meal on his first day there.”

Starla rewarded him with a wan smile. “Noble could sweet-talk an old maid out of her garters when he set his mind to it.”

Seeing the wistfulness softening her expression, Dodge wondered, with a prick of irritation, if the southern paragon had ever tried charming her out of hers. Or if he’d been successful. Time to wade in, if he had any hopes of ever seeing those garters for himself.

“Offering captured enemy officers a chance to serve in the Western Theater is a fairly common way to control the population since they stopped prisoner exchanges. If your friend was smart, he jumped at the chance right off.”

Starla fixed Dodge with a quelling look, incensed that he’d offer comment, outraged by his opinion.

“Noble Banning was a Confederate officer, sir. I doubt he’d jump at the chance to betray the South by joining an enemy army just to escape a little discomfort. Our boys are bred for better fortitude and honor than that.”

Dodge didn’t back down from her cutting claim. Instead he said, “Funny, how eating biscuits crawling with weevils tends to change a man’s thoughts on honor.”

Starla set down her tableware with a demonstrative force. “What an unappetizing observation,
Lieutenant Dodge. Apparently you have no consideration for the delicate constitutions of those with whom you dine.”

Dodge blinked. “Beg your pardon, ma’am, but you don’t look all that delicate, and I was just stating a fact to make a point.”

“And your point was what, sir? That our men are spineless cowards who value their personal comforts over the duty they swore to uphold?”

“That’s not a conclusion I would ever draw after facing so many of them in battle, ma’am.”

“Or were you merely judging them on the basis of your own lack of fortitude? I am sure that, had you found yourself in such a situation, you’d have been quick to do the smart thing and betray the Cause you professed to follow.”

Patrice looked anxiously between her guests, then to Reeve, who simply leaned back in his chair as if watching a mortar volley. He rebuffed her pointed stare imploring that he do something, offering her a bland smile that forced her to say with false gaiety, “Would anyone care for pie?”

But Dodge and Starla were locked in a battle of wills across the tabletop. Neither looked ready to concede an inch in philosophy, because the tension tugging taut between them had as much to do with attraction as it did opposing politics—unwise attraction on Dodge’s part, unwilling on Starla’s.

“I didn’t fight for a cause, Miss Fairfax,” Dodge continued, as if Patrice hadn’t spoken. “I wore a uniform to hold together a country I love against those who would betray its sanctity. I didn’t see it as an engagement of ideals or an arena in which to
express political differences at the cost of thousands of lives. Honor and ideals are the first things that fall when men go to war. When you’re looking down the breeches of a dozen artillery pieces aimed to blow your gizzard to kingdom come, your only duty is to keep yourself and the men you’re responsible for alive. That’s not cowardice, ma’am, it’s survival. And it’s nothing a fine lady like you, whose family never lost so much as a night’s sleep over the compunctions of duty or honor, could discuss with any degree of insight or opinion.”

Then Dodge reared back as the contents of Starla’s glass splashed his face, stinging his eyes. By the time he’d dried off, she’d already left the table.

Patrice was quick with both a towel and an apology.

“Dodge, I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into her to behave so impulsively.”

“I’d say it’s the lady’s way of sharing a high degree of opinion.”

Chapter 3

Starla didn’t pause in brushing her hair when she heard light footsteps behind her.

“If you’ve come to scold me, go ahead. I deserve it for spoiling your dinner party.”

Patrice took the brush from her and began to sweep it through the heavy waves of black hair in steady repetitions, a task she’d often undertaken when they were younger to calm her high-strung friend.

“I didn’t come to scold you. I suppose putting you two at the same table involved a degree of risk. Something like a keg of powder and a lit match.”

“Then why invite the odious man?”

“That ‘odious man’ saved both our lives, and I happen to be very fond of him.”

Starla sniffed. “I don’t see why. Arrogant, opinionated, rude—” She broke off when she saw the smile in Patrice’s reflection.

“I knew you’d like him.”

“Like him?”

“There were enough sparks flying at that table to celebrate the Fourth of July.”

“Or burn down the house,” Starla grumbled. What was it about the man that put her in such a temper, even discussing him after the fact? She couldn’t deny he inspired
something
within her. But she refused to think of it as a spark, and said so. Vehemently. “Like him? You must be tetched.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you put that much energy into building a dislike. That must mean something.”

“It means I find him quite reprehensible.”

“And handsome.”

“Handsome? With that leering grin and bristly face?” And eyes that saw too much. Nice eyes, she remembered—dark, clear, intelligent. With an unapologetic stare that implied integrity. And an unwavering gaze meant to inspire trust. Eyes too intense in their probing, as if he knew she held secrets and was determined to discover them. She shuddered slightly, anxiously. “He’s about as handsome as an ol’ blue tick hound.”

“And just as loyal. You’ll never find a better friend.”

“Why would I want that ol’ Yankee for a friend?”

All teasing left her as Patrice said, “He’s a good man, Starla, maybe the best man you’ll ever know.”

Again the warmth of those dark eyes intruded upon Starla’s tightly held disdain, making her resolve falter. Wanting to believe the goodness in any man, let alone a Yankee, was the height of folly: a bitter lesson learned and never to be forgotten
again. Yet something about Hamilton Dodge beckoned belief. The fact that she was swayed by it made her fight all the more to deny it.

“Well, I know all I want to know about your Lieutenant Dodge. I didn’t come home to find myself some fool man to keep me under his thumb. So if you please, no more trying to push your mannerless friend down my throat, thank you. He would hardly be my choice.”

How good had her previous choices been? Starla refused to consider them.

Patrice simply smiled and continued brushing.

That knowing smile bothered Starla long after Patrice had gone to be with her new husband. Imagine, thinking she’d be interested in some dull Yankee. She paced the perimeters of her room, restless in the temporary haven. Feeling the press of her circumstances. Agitated by the persistent image of the banker’s smile. God’s nightshirt, why was the man so difficult to push out of her mind?

Reluctant to dress for bed with so much energy pulling to and fro within her, she stepped out onto the moon-washed balcony hoping to find solace in the warm evening air. As she leaned upon the rail, her wandering gaze caught sight of fleeting movement across the sweep of the lawn where a brick path led to a secluded gazebo. Her heart leapt.