The Outsider by Rosalyn West Page A

nervous around him. He could understand that, and it made her gesture all the more significant. Under his bemused gaze, she spread his dinner out before him as if setting the table for an honored guest. Touched and amazed, he murmured, “Did you do all this yourself?”
    “You left so early this morning, I thought you’d be hungry.” She poured him lemonade, dished out a piping hot stew over fresh bread, then stood back, waiting for his reaction, the picture of a docile wife eager and able to serve.
    With one taste, he knew the truth.
    Only one place he knew of had gravy so rich and smooth. The meal hadn’t come from his homekitchen; it had been made at Sadie’s. He’d taken three meals a day there for several months, often enough to recognize the fare. He glanced up at Starla, who hovered anxiously at his elbow.
    “How is everything?”
    He swallowed and gave her a neutral smile. “It’s good.”
    She beamed with self-congratulation, as if the effort had been hers alone. But in fairness, she’d never said she had cooked the food, only that she was responsible for bringing it to him. He took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. Should whose kitchen it had been matter more than the gesture itself?
    “I appreciate you thinking of me,” he said, without looking up. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
    “Then I surprised you. Good. I’ve heard a good marriage is made on surprises.”
    He studied her features, unmoved by her flirtatious manner. “A good marriage is made on lots of things. Any in particular you’d care to discuss?”
    She blushed prettily, but beneath that coquettish shock was a deeper alarm. She forced a smile. “I’ve no great experience in marriages, good or bad. You’ll have to enlighten me. I’m sure you’re a font of knowledge.”
    Her tone prickled with impertinence, but it was a way to divert him from her original statement. He was already beginning to recognize her tactics. What kind of family had she grown up in? He didn’t know anything about them, other than that Starla didn’t want to visit her home, and her brother was a dangerous piece of business. Time to do alittle reconnoitering. He was a fair tactician himself.
    “I know your father owns the distillery, but I’ve never heard anything about your mother.”
    Starla fidgeted with the papers on his desk, compulsively straightening them into a flawlessly even stack. “I wouldn’t know what to tell you. She’s been gone since I was five and Tyler was nine.”
    That surprised him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know your mother had died.”
    She looked up, meeting his regretful stare without a blink. “I don’t know if she has or hasn’t. When I said gone, I meant left. I have no idea what happened to her or where she is.”
    He never expected to hear anything like that. He didn’t know what to say to her, but he at least retained the presence of mind to shut his sagging jaw. Five years old. A baby. How could a woman—a mother!—abandon her children at such a tender age? He didn’t ask, but she must have seen the question in his expression. He wasn’t very good at hiding his thoughts.
    Starla went on with a casual shrug. “My daddy was too busy building his business to pay us much mind, and we were pretty much left to our own devices with our maid, Tilly, to keep us from running wild. So you see, Lieutenant, what I know of family, I learned peeking through other folks’ doors.”
    The want to express his shock and outrage nearly blocked out reason, but somehow he kept from doing the unforgivable and embarrassing her further. Instead, he waved a negligent hand. “I haveenough family for both of us. I believe I mentioned my six older sisters, all but one married, supplying me with a crop of nieces and nephews. When we get together, you can’t take a step without tripping over someone.”
    He might have imagined her delicate shudder.
    “Is your father a banker, too?” She almost sounded interested. That was a