The Men of Pride County: The Pretender (26 page)

Patrice Garrett greeted her brother with a smile and a shushing gesture. The babe in her arms had finally drifted off to sleep, freeing her for the moment. Instead of waiting for her in the parlor, he followed her upstairs, into the room made up for the child’s nursery. He lingered beside the bassinet as she gently placed the boy upon his back, pausing for a tender moment as the little miracle she’d created whimpered, then took comfort sucking on his own tiny fist. In a matter of seconds, he was as limp as one of the rag dolls she’d played with when only a child herself.

To Deacon, it didn’t seem like so very long ago.

Patrice motioned for him to come with her. He hesitated, staring down at the child for another moment at a loss with his silence.

“I’m exhausted and still plump as a Christmas goose, but I’m happy, Deacon. I’ve never been so happy.”

He smiled thinly, glad for her, yet never so aware of his own empty existence. “Where’s your husband?”

“Reeve’s out in the stables. We’ve a mare about to foal, and he’s concerned about her.”

“Things are going well for you, then?”

“Everything is wonderful.”

He nodded. “Good.” A pause, then another, more distant, “Good.”

“We’ve decided to name him Jonah. Jonah Garrett Glendower.”

Again, Deacon nodded, noting the significance with a deepening isolation. Jonah, after Reeve’s half-brother and his sister’s first fiancé. The man who’d stepped in front of a firing squad in his place, altering the future of everyone around him with that martyred act. Vaguely, he asked, “Glendower?”

“A promise Reeve made to his father that our children would carry on his family name. A shame he couldn’t be alive to see his heir. He would have been so proud, I think.” Momentary sadness etched her features.

“So would our father, Patrice. It might not have been the man he wanted for you, but it was the match.”

“Yes, a great joining of the Manor and the Glade.”

“Or it would have been, had I handled things better.”

“Stop it.”

The sharpness of her tone cut through his melancholy. His manner immediately toughened. “Stop what? Beating myself with the truth—that you, his wayward daughter, found favor, while I, his chosen, failed him?”

“Stop living in his shadow. He’s dead, Deacon.”

He flinched, but his reply was icy. “I know. And I’ve allowed all his dreams to die with him.”

“His dreams, Deacon.
His
dreams. What about
yours?
”

He regarded her so blankly she wanted to slap him just to knock a bit of sense into his thick head. With a sigh, Patrice changed her tactics. Confrontation would only force her brother to retreat further behind his armored shell. That wasn’t how to reach him. She knew little of the mechanics of the great war that had taken so much from her family, but she understood how a flanking maneuver worked. And if she was successful, Deacon would never know what had hit him.

“When I was a child, winning Father’s approval was all that mattered to me,” she began, laying a careful groundwork. “I was so focused on what would please him, I never gave a thought as to what might please me. After he died, I put you in that same position. I needed to make you proud of me by making the choices you wanted me to make. I was a child who was afraid to recognize what
I
wanted, what
I
needed. You yourself were the one who told me to grow up, to think for myself.” She smiled faintly. “Well, that’s not quite what you meant but it’s what I took to heart. Deep down, I’ve known what I wanted since I was a little girl, but I allowed pressure from Father, from you, to cloud my thinking.”

“I never—”

She touched a gentle hand to his lips to still the rest of that protest. “Of course you did. I don’t blame you for that. I blame myself for allowing you to have that kind of control over
me. You were doing what you thought was best, what was required of you by all our traditions, by all our rules of conduct. Well, I’ve never been one for following rules.”

That wrung a reluctant smile from him. Encouraged by the fact that he still listened, she continued.

“Yes, I wanted Father and you to be proud of me, but I didn’t let that interfere with my decision to marry Reeve. He was what I wanted for myself, not for the good of the family name or anything else that you men dwell on. I wanted him for me, for my happiness. If things had been different and I had married Jonah to please the Sinclairs and the Glendowers, I don’t know if I would ever have felt the contentment I feel right now. I did the right thing, for me. You see that, don’t you?”

“Now I do. I was a little slow to be convinced.”

She pursed her lips. “Just a little? Deacon, I love you, but you are so dense sometimes. How a man with your intelligence can be so singularly dim—” She broke off, sensing from his bristle of defensiveness that she was taking the wrong track. She regrouped behind a smile. “I love you, Deacon, and I want you to be happy. What is it that you want for yourself? Not for Father, but for yourself?”

“I don’t—”

She cut off his stiff reply with an impatient wave. “Yes, you do. You wouldn’t be so miserable if you didn’t.”

His brows puckered. Anger touched his tone. “What do you want from me, Patrice?”

“Honesty would be nice. Openness. We’ve had little of that between us over the years. You never know, I might even be able to help you.”

He didn’t laugh or say something sarcastic. That in itself proved how forlorn he was. Patrice’s heart broke for him, but she couldn’t do anything for him until he was ready to do for himself. To begin with, he had to admit what was in his heart.

“At one time, I could have helped myself to everything you have here—a lifetime with the woman I loved, a baby to carry on our family name, a happy home, all of it, Patrice.”

“What happened?”

“Just what you said. I let the idea of duty and Father’s dreams get in the way. And now someone else has everything I ever wanted. And I have my empty nobility.”

She rubbed his coat sleeves, stunned by his unexpected candor. She returned it. “Are you sure you’ve lost it?”

He made an anguished noise. “She’s married to another man, Patrice. They’re living together under the roof I wanted to provide for her. I’d say that makes her pretty much out of my reach.”

“Does she still love you?”

“What? What difference does that make now?”

“It’s the only thing that really does matter, Deacon.”

“I betrayed her, Patrice. It’s my fault her father died in prison.”

“A woman can forgive a lot of the man she loves. Is she in love with her husband?”

Again, the blank look. She held to her exasperation. “Deacon, she was alone, deserted by all she’d known and loved. Can you blame her for grabbing at the first chance of rescue? She might be grateful, but that’s a poor substitute for true feelings.”

“They share a child, ‘Trice. That’s a bond not easily broken.”

“No, it’s not.”

She debated then on whether she should tell him what she knew. Would knowing that he was William’s father clear the path toward his happiness or just compound his misery? She’d seen the wistful softening of his gaze when he looked down upon her slumbering son. Was it fair to deny him the privilege of feeling those tender emotions for a child of his own? Or would the knowledge of how much he’d missed already be too great a pain to forgive? Garnet had kept the truth from him. She’d had her reasons, and from what she knew of the situation, Patrice had to respect them. But she loved her brother and knew how much he’d be capable of if just allowed the chance to express himself. In his mind, Garnet was the only woman for him. Having experienced that certainty herself, she couldn’t
make light of it. But was now the right time for her to interfere?

“Does she love you, Deacon?”

He raked a restless hand through his hair and admitted, “She loves what we had together but now believes it was all a lie. I don’t think she’d believe me if I told her the truth. And why put us both through the torment of what we’ll never have?”

“Don’t be so sure it’s impossible,” was all she’d say.

Because he was right. The bond between a woman and the father of her child contained a strength she wouldn’t have understood before Jonah was born. Even if Garnet didn’t trust her brother, that connection still pulled them together. And gratitude for the man who’d rescued her couldn’t compare.

“Don’t give up, Deacon. You may be closer to that happiness than you know.”

“You have a beautiful wife.”

Monty stopped chafing his hands against the miserable cold and cast a sidelong glance at Roscoe Skinner. “Yes, I do. I’m very proud of her.”

“As smart as she is lovely, a talented hostess, a shrewd businesswoman.”

“Yes, my Garnet is all of those things.” His affability took on an impatient edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I probably shouldn’t say anything …”

“What is it, Roscoe?”

“It’s just that I’ve developed a respect for you and a fondness for the lady and I would hate to carry tales that would distress people—”

“What’s on your mind, Skinner?”

“Your wife is young, so you can forgive her a certain … impulsiveness.”

“Just say it!”

“I came upon her and Sinclair in a rather indelicate meeting. They didn’t see me, so I place the matter entirely at your discretion. I only beg that you not judge your wife too harshly.”

Monty was silent for a long moment, his mind churning over the possible meanings of “indelicate.” None of them were good. Finally, he said, “Garnet is, as you say, very young. And she has an unfortunate weakness where Sinclair is concerned. He has managed to confuse her sound judgement before.”

“They knew each other before? I’m sorry, it truly isn’t any of my business—”

While Monty might pretend to be eager for a sympathetic ear, his reasons for disclosing so much of the truth was part of a far different plan. A plan that revolved around Skinner and his niece. Time to set the stage for that particular relationship while planting a firm wedge between Garnet and Sinclair. He knew Roscoe was attracted to his niece. What man could help that? Now, he needed to engage the man’s protective instincts to nudge him subtly in the right romantic direction.

“They met during the war. Sinclair …
seduced her to gain information for the Confederates. She was vulnerable and alone and believed the cad completely. Even after he had her father arrested as a traitor and imprisoned. The man was in poor health and didn’t survive his incarceration. As a friend of her mother’s, I was only too happy to step in and assume her care.”

“So it’s no accident that you bought his plantation,” Roscoe mused, looking suitably disgusted by Sinclair’s manipulations.

“She told me it was to ruin him but I’m beginning to suspect it has as much to do with her unhealthy attraction to him.”

“Then your wife is not from Pride.”

“No, she and her father had a modest farm in the Cumberlands. So you see, she hasn’t the inbred skill to protect herself from a man of Sinclair’s cunning.”

Roscoe Skinner knew a moment of rapturous delight. Oh, this was too good, too perfect. He’d made two mistakes in his life and here they were, both ready to be remedied in one place, in one swift stroke of retribution. Fate had delivered them into his hands. It had always been his plan to seek out Sinclair, but the woman, she was an added extra.

“Mr. Skinner, you could do me a great service if you would stay close to my wife, using your presence to remind her of her place and purpose. I don’t trust Sinclair. I know he’s not above breaking her heart all over again to gain back
what once was his. A man like that has no conscience, no allegiance, no loyalty.”

“An apt description of a dangerous man.” A description that fit him just as snugly. “You are wise to worry. I would consider it a privilege to protect your wife’s honor.” A privilege and an unexpected pleasure.

“In fact, might I go so far as to ask another rather … unusual favor of you?”

“Of course.”

“Should something happen to me, would you be willing to see to my wife’s care and protect her from Sinclair? If you agree, I would certainly make it worth your sacrifice.”

And as he guided their carriage into Pride, Roscoe Skinner listened with concealed glee and adjusted his plans to include this bonus discovery. He would have his revenge against the one man who’d bested and ultimately thwarted him and he would claim all that mattered most to Deacon Sinclair … his property, his life, and his woman all with Montgomery Prior’s blessing.

Chapter 19

D
id she love him?

Deacon’s attention drifted from the drummer trying to sell him a sample display of some new wonder tonic to the always distracting arrival of Garnet Prior. He had a brief smile of welcome for William before the boy’s mother met his stare. Her impersonal look never failed to rile him, discounting the fact that his expression was almost identical. They could have been total strangers instead of lovers who were or were not in love with one another.

Did she care?

The way she doted on her escort’s every word confused the issue. Deacon glowered at Roscoe Skinner, wondering why the man never failed to put his hackles up—other than the fact that he now stood in Deacon’s place, both on his properties and at Garnet’s side. He’d thought Garnet shared his uneasy opinion of the man but her behavior had contradicted it today She held lightly to the man’s arm and blushed at his flattery
while joining in his laughter. Deacon’s jaw ached.

“Can I set up a display for you?”

He turned back to the annoying salesman with a curt, “What?”

Ordinarily, the appearance of a drummer was an anticipated event. They arrived with the scent of the city still clinging to their coats like coal dust from the train. They knew all the latest news, all the baseball scores, the weather up north, the health of folks four counties over, and they shared that information generously with any who would listen. Only this morning, Deacon had no patience with the endless prattle. He eyed the bottle of tonic: an elixir of “exotic” herbs suspended mysteriously in a generous solution of alcohol behind tinted glass.