The Men of Pride County: The Pretender (25 page)

And in doing so, give them an opportunity to discuss the proposition he’d laid on the table next to his hand.

He’d stood on the Bannings’ front porch for all of thirty seconds before the judge joined him.

“I like your vision, Prior. And I’d like to discuss this idea of an improvement bond. It would take a certain amount of influence away from our local banker, and that would please me.”

Monty smiled. “And do you have any choice in mind for supervisor, Judge?”

“Oh, I think that’s a hat I might like to wear.”

“And you’d wear it well, sir.”

After Banning returned to see to his other guests, Tyler Fairfax came to stand next to Monty. The Englishman wasn’t misled by the younger’s obvious intoxication. There was an edge to Fairfax that all his daddy’s bourbon couldn’t dull.

“I don’t know how things work where you come from, Prior, but ‘round here, we wash each other’s backs.”

Monty blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“If you want me to invest in your scheme, you help me in one of mine.”

“Ah! Reciprocal interests, so to speak.”

“Whatever.”

“And what is it that I can do for you to guarantee your support?”

Tyler let loose of a wide grin. “You can place a certain order for me through your store. You see, I’m into community improvements, too.”

Deacon stared down at the order form and then up into Tyler’s smugly smiling face.

“Is there something wrong with the order, Reverend? It seems pretty black and white to me.”

“Wrong? You were wrong in thinking I’d fill this for you and your hooded friends.” He let the offensive form flutter, discarded, to the counter top. Tyler picked it up and gave the writing on it another look.

“Why, if my eyes don’t deceive me, the signature on the bottom of this order is Montgomery Prior’s. Isn’t he your boss man? Are you sayin’ he don’t have the authority to choose merchandise for his store?” Green eyes slitted. “Or that you have the authority to defy him?”

Tyler’s casual claim drew attention from those lingering by the stove. And from another source.

“What’s going on here, gentlemen?”

Garnet slipped up to the counter with her best diplomatic smile. She looked between the two men who held each other’s glares with the intensity of wolves guarding territory. Tyler was the first to break free, turning to Garnet with his most charming manners.

“Why, I just don’t understand it, Miz Prior. Your clerk here is refusing to fill an order for me that’s been authorized already by your husband. Is there some problem?”

Garnet glanced at the list. Winchesters and Henry rifles with 45-70-caliber bullets. She schooled her features to reveal none of her alarm. “Are you planning to wage your own war, Mr. Fairfax?”

Tyler laughed. “Oh, no, ma’am. Nothin’ like that a’tall. I’m a member of a shooting club.”

“Tell her what you shoot at.”

Garnet ignored Deacon’s fierce challenge to say calmly, “It’s none of our business, as long as it’s legal.”

“Legal, my a—”

“Mr. Sinclair, please take care of this order.”

Deacon met her demand with an equally terse, “No.”

After a moment of tense exchange, Garnet called, “Mr. Rosen, please take care of Mr. Fairfax and see his order is filled to his satisfaction.”

Herschel approached cautiously, but nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Prior.”

Garnet leveled a look at Deacon. “I’d like to speak to you for a moment, Mr. Sinclair.”

She led the way to the feed room. When he closed the door behind them, she turned on him in a cold rage.

“How
dare
you question my husband’s orders?”

“Do you have any idea what he wants those guns for?”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care? They put a bullet in our banker because they didn’t like his politics, and
you don’t care? They try to hang my sister’s husband and burn his roof over his head, and you don’t care?”

She sighed fiercely. “Of course I care. I just can’t allow you to make a forum of it in front of half the town.”

“What better place to make a stand for what’s right?”

“We’re here to do business, not make judgments.”

“You’re wrong.”

She drew a breath, frustrated by his stubbornness, by his correctness. It was no longer the issue that fueled her anger with him. It was the sleepless night she’d spent, fighting the desire to seek him out, hating the fact that she was still no closer to understanding his motives than she was while watching her home burn to the ground at his command.

“And who are
you
to be the moral conscience of this community?”

The slight flicker behind his eyes before he assumed his impassive face told her she’d hit the mark. She pressed on ruthlessly.

“You condemn them for doing with guns what you did with words and false charm.”

“I was fighting my country’s war. They’re creating their own.”

But she could read him well enough to see he didn’t completely believe his own argument.

“What war, Deacon? A war against a decent farmer who only wanted to make a difference
for a cause he was devoted to? A war against an unworldly backwoods girl who was foolish enough to believe every word you told her? And you argue the moral Tightness of what my husband does? How dare you? What makes you any better or any different than they are? They hide under sheets, and you hid behind lies. You both prey upon the weak to get what you want, and you do so without the slightest degree of remorse.”

She wanted him to argue that it wasn’t true, that he was better, different, more noble in his ideals. But he said nothing in his defense.

And that made her all the angrier, because if he was guilty of everything she said, she was a fool for loving him.

When he finally spoke, his words were no comfort.

“I’ve had to live with the consequences of the choices I’ve made. If you deal with Fairfax, be prepared to do the same … Mrs. Prior. Just be sure you know why you’re willing to sacrifice your conscience. That’ll make all the difference in how well you sleep at night.”

He started past her to the door. Her question made him pause.

“And how well do
you
sleep, Deacon?”

He turned slowly, fixing her with a steady stare. His voice held no inflection.

“The last time I rested well was the night I slept with you.”

Riotous emotion brought tears to her eyes
and a shiver of fury to her tone. “Damn you, Deacon.”

His half smile mocked himself, not her, as he opened the door. Sound from the store rushed in but couldn’t drown out his quiet reply.

“I’m sure you’re right about that.”

“Mr. Sinclair!”

Assuming a tolerant smile, Deacon went to join Myrna Bishop. He glanced curiously at her companion, a slender blond woman with an unnervingly direct stare.

“Mr. Sinclair, may I present my cousin, Constance Collier? She’s the one I spoke to you about.”

“The hatmaker.”

“Actually, I’m a teacher by trade,” the woman corrected, as she extended her hand in a forthright manner. Her accent was decidedly Northern. Deacon took her hand, slightly surprised when she gave it a vigorous shake. “But dear Myrna has convinced me that millinery work is the safer profession.”

Myrna shot her a disapproving glare, then turned her charm back to Deacon. “Constance is interested in your upstairs rooms.”

“There are no living accommodations, Miss Collier.”

“It’s Mrs.,” she amended again in her pleasantly low voice. “And that’s quite all right. Myrna has convinced me to stay with her for the time being. At least until I can get my feet under me again.”

He felt Garnet beside him before he actually saw her. “Mrs. Prior, this is Mrs. Collier. She’d like to discuss leasing the upstairs for her millinery shop.”

Garnet smiled. “How nice. We’d hoped to put the space to good use. How soon would you like to occupy it?”

“As soon as we can come to financial terms.”

Garnet glanced about. “Is Mr. Collier with you?”

“I’m a widow, Mrs. Prior.” Her attention slipped casually to Deacon. “I’ve been handling my own affairs for some time now.”

Garnet’s smile stiffened. A widow. She reassessed the other female, who had suddenly gone from safely married to dangerously unattached and openly flirting with Deacon Sinclair. She was of good height, though lithely built, attractive in a rather angular way. There was a quick intelligence to her gaze and a simmering sensuality to her bowed smile. And Garnet felt the threat to her territory, though it wasn’t truly hers to protect. She was supposedly wed, and Deacon and the slyly smiling widow were free of any entanglements.

At that moment, she would rather have leased her upstairs rooms for Klan meetings than to one available milliner.

“I’m not a wealthy woman, Mrs. Prior, but I would be agreeable to any fair amount. I’m looking forward to establishing myself in Pride as soon as possible.”

And staking her claim on its unattached men. Garnet bristled. Forcing herself to remember that she had no apparent cause to reject the woman’s offer, she gestured toward the store’s office. “Let’s talk, Mrs. Collier.”

The bold blonde paused to bestow another come-hither look at Deacon. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sinclair. I’ll enjoy being above you.”

That was one image that would keep Garnet from finding a decent night’s rest.

Chapter 18

T
he first sound to greet her as she entered her front door was that of delighted female laughter. Her already testy mood darkening, Garnet passed her cloak to a waiting servant and went to find the source.

It was a cozy sight, Hannah Sinclair and her supposed husband seated side by side on the parlor sofa. Almost like a courting couple. It would seem every female in Pride was actively in pursuit of romance, with herself the one obvious exception. The moment Hannah saw her frowning in the doorway, she jumped up as if caught by a displeased chaperone. Murmuring that she had to check on the kitchen, she excused herself from the room.

“Rather inappropriate of you to be entertaining our housekeeper in my absence, wouldn’t you say?”

Undaunted by her tart assessment, Monty quirked an eyebrow. “My, we are on edge this
evening. Anything you’d care to discuss, my dear?”

No, she didn’t care to go into what weighed upon her heart, so she vented what was on her mind.

“You and Mrs. Sinclair have become very close.”

“She is a charming woman. I enjoy her company.” His mild smile said he missed the point.

“And if others suspect you enjoy more than that?”

There was no mistaking her meaning, and clouds gathered upon Monty’s brow.

“Mrs. Sinclair is a lady. Who has suggested otherwise?”

“No one … yet. But if you continue to seek her company as if—” she checked the hallway, then continued, “you were not already married, people will talk.”

“People will always find something to talk about, whether it’s the truth or not. Come, child, what’s really bothering you this evening?”

She could hardly say she was chafing over the possible attraction between Deacon and their new tenant. Instead, she picked a safer yet no less volatile topic. “Why did you agree to sell Tyler Fairfax guns?”

His brows soared, but he refused to look guilty of anything. “I thought our business was to sell things. Is that a crime?”

“It could be the cause of many.”

“My dear, you yourself encouraged dealings with Mr. Fairfax, and I believe it was also you who wanted me to belong in the community. I’ve done both those things, and yet you fault me for them now.”

She scowled at him, not quite taken in by his expression of innocence. “Lately, I’ve heard unsavory things about your new friends.”

“From what source? Your Mr. Sinclair? I would hardly expect him to be approving. Are you now accepting his judgment over mine?”

“Perhaps he knows these people better than you or I.”

“If he was such a good judge of character, why did he lose his home? And why did he let you go?”

She winced at that rapier-sharp question. “Perhaps he’s learned from his mistakes.”

All traces of the befuddlement fell away as Monty demanded shrewdly, “Is that what you think has happened where you’re concerned?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Pride starched up her posture, but it was hope quavering in her voice. A fragile hope that what she and Deacon had had was strong enough to prevent him from turning to another woman—even if he had every right to, and she none to protest. Monty’s attitude softened with care.

“That a man would call himself ten times the fool for missing the chance to marry you? No, darling, that’s not so far-fetched. But this particular man—?” He shrugged eloquently. “Perhaps he
does regret it now that you hold all that once was his.” As a startled pain crossed her features, he added gently, “That may sound cruel but it is also true.” He embraced her gently. “Now, my dear-ling, think on that while I’m away this evening and guard your heart from foolish wishes.”

To distract herself from the ache his words woke inside more than from real interest, Garnet asked, “Where are you off to?”

“I’m going into town to play a few hands with my new friends. Now, now, dear, do not look so disapproving. I am nobody’s mark when it comes to scheming. I’m not above a plot or two myself when it comes to seeing your future secured. The day will come when you’ll want a real husband instead of an uncle to act the part. I’m looking to that end, my dear, and I’m not looking in Sinclair’s direction.”

Had she been less wrapped up in her own misery, she would have latched on to that odd claim with a demand to know what he was up to. She accepted his quick kiss to her brow and didn’t question his hasty escape. Only one thought plagued her turmoiled mind.

Was she being manipulated once again by the coldly cunning Deacon Sinclair?

And Hannah Sinclair, who’d been about to enter the room with a warm toddy for her distraught mistress, paused as if struck by lightening as she heard what passed between the supposed man and wife.

Of course. Now it all made perfect sense
.

Slowly, she smiled to herself, then carried the soothing mix into Garnet, keeping the newfound knowledge to herself as a comforting secret.