and smiled.
“You’re trying to hate me,” he said, “and rightly so. But I can explain about Salma—”
“Don’t.” Her eyes closed for a long moment, but when she finally opened them again, there were no tears as Deacon had expected—just a haunted, bone-wear y emptiness.
He’d have preferred the tears.
“Fine,” he said quietly. “Then give me this chance to make it up to you. Let me act as your devoted husband. Once we get things sorted out, I’ll be on my way and you’ll never have to set eyes on my ugly face again.”
“You’re not ugly.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip until the urge to kiss her almost overwhelmed him. “And I don’t hate you, though God knows I’ve tried.”
“Good.” Deacon couldn’t stop touching her hair. “So all that’s left is to hope we’re able to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve the use of another firearm or”—he shuddered—“destroying any more of my clothes.”
Was that amusement flickering in her eyes? A bit of shame, maybe? He brushed the pads of his thumbs over the smoothness of her cheeks. Even his favorite silk shirt didn’t feel that soft.
“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” he said. “You won’t even recognize me.” He raised his hand, palm out, as though taking an oath. “You have my word.”
“Your word.” She snorted, stepping away from him. “No offense, Deacon, but given who you are and our history together, I’d be as dumb as a post to take your word on anything.”
Ouch.
He forced another smile and tapped her on the tip of her nose.
Smart girl.
Rhea smoothed her apron over her skirt and stepped out of the backroom, into the store. Ernest was showing Mr. Rowe the newest harness they’d just ordered in, and Mrs. Hale was fingering a bolt of pink sateen.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hale.” Rhea walked straight toward her. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Ernest glanced in their direction, started to smile, blushed, and then turned back to his customer.
“My Polly needs a new dress.” Mrs. Hale’s smile pinched the corners of her mouth for barely a moment before it faded clear away.
Rhea suppressed a sigh. Girls in Penance, Texas, didn’t need dresses made of expensive sateen, especially when the girl in question was Polly Hale. That girl would look beautiful in a plain old burlap sack, which was about the only thing her family could afford.
But Mrs. Hale had never been one to live within her means when it came to her daughter.
The woman nodded abruptly toward the sateen. “I have a pattern similar to one I saw the youngest Dietrich girl wearing last month, so I think twelve yards should do nicely.”
Mrs. Hale’s own dress, one Rhea sold her years ago, had long faded from navy blue to muted gray, but it was no doubt Mrs. Hale’s best.
Clearing her throat, Rhea lifted a bolt of pink-and-blue gingham from the shelf and set it on the table in front of Mrs. Hale.
“This is a lovely fabric,” she said, unrolling it a bit for the woman to see. “The blue will bring out Polly’s eyes beautifully.”
Mrs. Hale barely cast it a glance before patting the bolt of sateen she’d been admiring. “I’ll take this.”
“It is lovely,” Rhea agreed, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But you could buy three yards of this gingham for the same price as a single yard of that sateen.”
Mrs. Hale’s pale lips pinched white. “That may be, but a plain gingham dress isn’t going to attract the type of husband my Polly needs, is it?”
“Husband?”
“Yes.” The woman’s voice faltered for a second. “We’ve decided to send Polly to Houston to live with my aunt. She has no hope of finding a man of wealth in Penance, does she? In Houston she will have opportunities we can’t possibly give her here.”
“But what about…” Rhea glanced quickly at Ernest, whose complexion had turned a horrible shade of gray.
“It’s decided.” Mrs. Hale nodded once for emphasis. “She’s
“You’re trying to hate me,” he said, “and rightly so. But I can explain about Salma—”
“Don’t.” Her eyes closed for a long moment, but when she finally opened them again, there were no tears as Deacon had expected—just a haunted, bone-wear y emptiness.
He’d have preferred the tears.
“Fine,” he said quietly. “Then give me this chance to make it up to you. Let me act as your devoted husband. Once we get things sorted out, I’ll be on my way and you’ll never have to set eyes on my ugly face again.”
“You’re not ugly.” Her teeth worried her bottom lip until the urge to kiss her almost overwhelmed him. “And I don’t hate you, though God knows I’ve tried.”
“Good.” Deacon couldn’t stop touching her hair. “So all that’s left is to hope we’re able to come up with a solution that doesn’t involve the use of another firearm or”—he shuddered—“destroying any more of my clothes.”
Was that amusement flickering in her eyes? A bit of shame, maybe? He brushed the pads of his thumbs over the smoothness of her cheeks. Even his favorite silk shirt didn’t feel that soft.
“I’ll be the perfect gentleman,” he said. “You won’t even recognize me.” He raised his hand, palm out, as though taking an oath. “You have my word.”
“Your word.” She snorted, stepping away from him. “No offense, Deacon, but given who you are and our history together, I’d be as dumb as a post to take your word on anything.”
Ouch.
He forced another smile and tapped her on the tip of her nose.
Smart girl.
Rhea smoothed her apron over her skirt and stepped out of the backroom, into the store. Ernest was showing Mr. Rowe the newest harness they’d just ordered in, and Mrs. Hale was fingering a bolt of pink sateen.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hale.” Rhea walked straight toward her. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Ernest glanced in their direction, started to smile, blushed, and then turned back to his customer.
“My Polly needs a new dress.” Mrs. Hale’s smile pinched the corners of her mouth for barely a moment before it faded clear away.
Rhea suppressed a sigh. Girls in Penance, Texas, didn’t need dresses made of expensive sateen, especially when the girl in question was Polly Hale. That girl would look beautiful in a plain old burlap sack, which was about the only thing her family could afford.
But Mrs. Hale had never been one to live within her means when it came to her daughter.
The woman nodded abruptly toward the sateen. “I have a pattern similar to one I saw the youngest Dietrich girl wearing last month, so I think twelve yards should do nicely.”
Mrs. Hale’s own dress, one Rhea sold her years ago, had long faded from navy blue to muted gray, but it was no doubt Mrs. Hale’s best.
Clearing her throat, Rhea lifted a bolt of pink-and-blue gingham from the shelf and set it on the table in front of Mrs. Hale.
“This is a lovely fabric,” she said, unrolling it a bit for the woman to see. “The blue will bring out Polly’s eyes beautifully.”
Mrs. Hale barely cast it a glance before patting the bolt of sateen she’d been admiring. “I’ll take this.”
“It is lovely,” Rhea agreed, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But you could buy three yards of this gingham for the same price as a single yard of that sateen.”
Mrs. Hale’s pale lips pinched white. “That may be, but a plain gingham dress isn’t going to attract the type of husband my Polly needs, is it?”
“Husband?”
“Yes.” The woman’s voice faltered for a second. “We’ve decided to send Polly to Houston to live with my aunt. She has no hope of finding a man of wealth in Penance, does she? In Houston she will have opportunities we can’t possibly give her here.”
“But what about…” Rhea glanced quickly at Ernest, whose complexion had turned a horrible shade of gray.
“It’s decided.” Mrs. Hale nodded once for emphasis. “She’s
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