Hell's Belle Page 7

  One minute they'd been speaking reasonably about Del removing a blot on the girl's reputation. The next, Jordy made a leap of logic wide enough to cross the Truckee. "Courting her? You been chewing on loco weed again?"

  "She's near as pretty as Betty Lee was."

  "No, she's not. They're nothing alike."

  "Well, she's not so busty, but also not pushy. From everything you fellas said, this one seems biddable and quiet. You ever think maybe that's better? Wouldn't catch her telling you what socks to wear, or ordering you not to play poker on Thursday nights."

  "Shut up, Jordy."

  But of course, he didn't. If anything, that wound him up tighter. His eyes widened, grin broadened. He was on to something now. "And since most every man in town's afraid of her putting the evil eye or some terrible curse on him, you wouldn't have to worry about this one getting away with some other fella. She wouldn't be able to cheat on you."

  Del swore and swung up into his saddle. "That was a damned low blow right there. Even for you."

  "Heck, if it's not true, though. Much as it galls you to admit it, this gal's as different as could be, and maybe that's what scares folks a little. Seems to me you're mighty interested in local gossip all of a sudden. Never listened to it before, or Betty Lee never could've hoodwinked you. If you'd had your ears tuned, you probably wouldn't have proposed to a faithless gal like that. Now you're paying attention, and I think it's cause you want to go sniffing around those Bell skirts. I'm just saying maybe you should make it official. Cause if all the ruckus dies down, and folks get to realizing it was baloney about her being cursed, you'll have somebody else chasing 'em."

  Del didn't even dignify all that with any kind of response. He just set his spurs to Caramel's flanks. If he'd stayed in the ranch yard about a minute longer, he seriously might have committed outright murder.

  Jordy and his damned smart mouth. Jordy Zoyer, who wasn't worth a plugged nickel, barely put out a lick of work to be entitled to sleep in the bunkhouse or eat at the same chow table with the rest of Del's men. Jordy, who'd pulled Del out of the Truckee and revived him when Del nearly drowned as a kid.

  Goddamned Jordy.

  Who always saw through people and shams. Who would dare Del to do anything, and as long as he was there, Del knew he could do it. Knew he was infallible, damned near invincible. Because ever since that day he'd nearly died at age ten, Jordy Zoyer had stuck to him like glue, promising to watch Del's back. And as wild and rampageous as the pair of them might get, Del somehow believed in the magic of their friendship.

  Even though Jordy could drive him crazy and make him mad as hell a lot of the time.

  He knew what had just happened. He'd sensed from the second he'd spotted Jordy in the doorway that his buddy hadn't come for some idle chat. Sidling up, feigning disinterest, acting nonchalant…those were Zoyer's way of disarming a man. He had that damned grin, that lazy demeanor, a way of seeming as harmless as a rattler asleep in the sun fifty paces from you.

  But he was as lethal as one right at your feet when he chose to strike.

  And Del only had himself to blame. His warning senses told him there was a dry rattle behind Jordy's first words, a whispery hint of danger at the first mention of the Bell store. Del should have ordered Zoyer off to work someplace or kept his mind locked shut. Never should have listened, particularly when Jordy had started on the whole subject of the girl.

  Del knew exactly what had just happened, all right.

  Jordy had thrown out another demented dare. And this one was crafty, almost perfect in its malevolence. By tossing local gossip and Betty Lee Lydecker into the mix, he'd all but assured Del's pride would be stinging. Guaranteed Del couldn't ignore the implications—that Del had been partly to blame himself for Betty Lee's treachery, for looking stupid in front of everyone in Wadsworth when she'd jilted him.

  And the subtle message that if Del failed to heed what swirled and churned around town now, he'd end up sorry again.

  Jordy knew Del wanted the Bell girl. Damn, but he itched and burned and craved for no reason at all. He'd been up late last night, half stiff, still thinking the should have kissed her. Yeah, he wanted her and he'd tried to hide that fact, but Jordy had seen anyhow.

  Goddamned Jordan.

  Why'd he have to go and save Del's miserable life? So he could own it ever afterward? So he could run it, like one of those costumed clowns at the county fair, dangling puppets on a string? Maybe so he could make something of it, unlike his own.

  "Goddamn you, Jordy."

  Del slowed as he reached the outskirts of the town itself and the two-story Bell & Son Emporium loomed up ahead. He'd spent a good hour calculating about money, rehearsing in his mind how to approach the elder Bell, how he'd handle negotiations…and now every bit of what he'd planned seemed pointless.

  He was dying of snakebite, and the only thing he feared more than death itself was the cure.

  Fletcher Bell was on the porch, handing several wrapped parcels to a fellow loading his buckboard when Del rode up and tossed Caramel's reins over the hitching post of the store.

  "Ah, so you've come back."

  Del didn't bother reminding the man he'd given his word, even underscored it just the day before with his niece. He slid out of the saddle and onto the planking. "Stopped by early yesterday. Found out you'd gone out of town. Did your niece give you my message?"

  The older man waved as the driver headed off, then turned back to Del. "My niece and I do not converse. If you have information of any importance related to my enterprise, you'd best impart that directly to me or my son. You don't see mention of her on our business name, do you? There's good reason for that."

  Well, he'd certainly opened himself up for what Del planned to "impart" on him.

  "All right," Del said amiably as he could. "Where do you want to have this little set-to? I've got a couple of things to say and we need to review your facts and figures."

  The man stared at Del as if just now discovering this wasn't another pup he could order around like his worthless son. "Upstairs, shall we? That way it won't interfere with Lucius seeing to customers." They stepped inside the store and Fletcher waved to his son. "Lucius, you're on the counter. Twila, look sharp in case he needs assistance."

  Del followed to a staircase partially hidden near the back storeroom, and could have sworn he heard the older man grumbling under his breath as they took the stairs to his living quarters. He waved toward a small kitchen table. Del kicked a wooden chair around and plopped down, not even bothering with the courtesy of removing his cowboy hat. He wouldn't be staying long.

  "First of all, I gave you my word I'd pay for your damages. I assume you've got a total prepared."

  "Oh, yes." The man reached inside his coat and withdrew a small book. He consulted it, flipping a couple pages, and looked back at Del, naming a figure that was frankly lower than Del anticipated.

  Del nodded. "Sounds equitable. Here." He reached inside his vest for his money pouch and peeled off a number of bills. "By the way, I don't believe I caught your given name in all the uproar the other day." It wasn't true, but Del was mending fences here. "Mine's Delancy, but folks mostly call me Del. Would help if I knew your first name, so people don't think I've confused you with your son."

  "His name's Lucius. I'm Fletcher," the fellow replied, counting out the money Del had just given him. "I appreciate your prompt remuneration."

  The way he'd said that made Del want to pop him one right on the end of his pointed nose. Del had met his share of sore losers, but this pompous ass excelled as a sore winner.

  "Now, another thing." Del cleared his throat and glanced around the modest living quarters. "When I got back from selling my stock, I heard a pretty bizarre recounting of why I owed you that money. And since then, I've heard a couple of other strange rumors. Also heard that young Lucius is the one who started them. Now why do you suppose he'd want to do that? Can't be good for business, having local folks afraid to come within spitti
ng distance of your niece."

  Del reached to stop Fletcher just as he was about to tuck the counted money into his little book. "And we both know Twila had nothing to do with what caused that pony to shy."

  Fletcher Bell didn't flinch. "Maybe not. But are you going to tell me she also had nothing to do with her parents drowning, or our train being robbed on the way out here and our luggage going missing? To Lucius' dog being struck and killed by the iceman, or any of a number of other unfortunate events that have occurred since Twila became my ward? Oh, indeed, it sounds preposterous to lay blame for such misadventures, doesn't it? Having my window smashed before I'd even waited on my first customer is just typical of the kinds of calamity that follow that child."

  Del wasn't biting. "You and your son have just as much connection to those events as she does. Ever ponder that? Her parents were your kin, too."

  "I fail to understand your point, or why any of this concerns you. You've paid for the damage your animal caused. Your debt is discharged, obligation here ended. How I choose to regard my—"

  "You disregard her, from what I've seen. You and your son both. You said some pretty harsh things that morning, in front of womenfolk who'd just entered to see what the commotion was. And your son's stoked the fire with his lies over at the barber shop. Maybe you think I should just pretend I'm not offended because it's none of my funeral, but I am offended."

  "Now, see here!"

  Del shot to his feet. "No, you see here. See a decent, honest town that I've lived in all my life. Until you and your snot-nosed whelp came along, we didn't have rumors about hexes and witchcraft. We didn't have people whispering and acting wary of strangers. I don't like the whole feel of this place, now that you got folks spooked and distrusting that girl. And while you're facing facts, best face this one. I may just decide to court Twila. You got an objection to that, say so now, and I'll mop your floor with you."

  Fletcher Bell went deathly pale and dead silent.

  Del hadn't intended to blurt it out so forcefully or threaten mayhem like that, but he was boiling mad. Truth was, he wished he could march down those stairs and tell Twila to pack her things. She'd be better off in a rooming house or anywhere away from this bastard. That's how disgusted Del felt. But he merely crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

  "Well?"

  "You sir, have a reputation of sorts, from what I've learned in my relatively short residence here. You like to flaunt yourself in the face of danger and shock the populace with wild antics. Is this your latest idea of how to draw attention? Pretending to woo my niece, the girl you just described as a social outcast and potential witch?"

  Pretty good first punch, and Del honestly hadn't seen it coming.

  "What the hell would you care, even if that was my motive for calling on her? You don't give a damn about that girl."

  "And you do, after meeting her exactly…once?"

  Now Del could feel steam coming out of his ears. "Since you don't 'converse,' as you called it, you probably don't know that she walked the three miles out to my spread yesterday afternoon. She was alone with me for a spell, up at my ranch house. Go on and ask her if that's not the God's truth." It was stretched to its limits, but Del figured it still met the basic qualifications.

  And he'd deliberately emphasized the part about being alone together at the house, hoping Fletcher would jump to the erroneous conclusion that Del had already begun sparking with his niece. That she wanted Del to court her, had welcomed the idea.

  He was mildly surprised when Fletcher took him up on his taunt and bellowed down the open staircase for Twila. She appeared seconds later, a wary expression in her eyes. Del would bet she'd been listening at the bottom of that stairwell.

  "Is there a problem, Uncle?"

  Jesus, but it made Del's insides hitch just gazing at her, hearing the soft question. Jordy was right. Up close, she was every bit as pretty as Betty Lee, in a very different way. Twila was all soft peach, russets, and gold. Where Betty Lee had been bright and spring like, Twila invigorated like a whiff of crisp autumn air, with its hint of approaching winter.

  She was also accustomed to being blamed and chastised. So accustomed to it, the first words out of her mouth were already defensive. Del honestly doubted she'd ever been summoned by her uncle for a heartening reason. The bastard had spent months, probably years, cowing her. Destroying her self-esteem and shredding her pride.

  That hurt.

  Worse than a kick from a bucking horse, because a man could see that coming and understand the horse had to defend itself. But here was a gal who couldn't defend herself. The very men around her who should have protected and cherished her were the ones ripping her down.

  And Del knew she didn't deserve it. Any of it.

  Maybe she didn't deserve what he was about to do, either, but he'd be damned if he'd let her take crap from the bastard even one more time.

  "Your uncle doesn't believe you and I were alone together out at my ranch house yesterday afternoon. He thinks I'm lying to him. But my men saw you out there. And we were alone for a time, just the two of us, in the shadows of my porch. Weren't we, Twila? Tell him." Del's eyes riveted on hers.

  Trust me, girl. I've got no right to ask it of you, but follow where I'm leading. Please.

  She studied his gaze for a long second, then dropped her eyes as well as her voice, blushing profusely. "Only for a little while, Uncle."

  "A little while? What the hell were you even doing there?"

  She raised her head and Del wanted to whoop in triumph. Her amber eyes were hot now, defiant. "I walked out there. And I won't apologize for having gone. Nothing improper went on. It was only a harmless kiss."

  Del blinked. Did she just say—?

  Fletcher went purple. "You walked out to a horse ranch full of randy cowpokes? A harmless kiss? You worthless little harlot! I sent the preacher to straighten you out, and instead of falling to your knees in prayer, what do you do, but go sullying yourself like some common piece of trash!"

  Well, that ripped it. Del made a fist and knocked Fletcher Bell senseless.

  He landed in a cumbersome sprawl at Twila's feet. She glanced down at his limp form, then back up at Del. "My! That was something to see."

  Del massaged his knuckles, waiting. She didn't look upset or angry. Then again, he wasn't sure that look on her face was actually relief.

  "I hope you're not distressed that I exaggerated. I knew you wanted—I can't imagine why—but you wanted him to think we…that we're lovers. Didn't you?" She didn't wait for Del to answer. She just stared down at her unconscious uncle and kept talking. "I thought that's what you wanted, and honestly there was a moment yesterday when I thought you looked…as though…" She stopped, shrugged helplessly. "I think you know what I'm not saying very well. Anyway, that's why I lied about a kiss."

  Oh, hell yeah. Del must've looked real "as though" yesterday. He was feeling real "as though" right now. Kissing her was the least of what he was thinking about doing. Lovers. She'd actually come out and said the word. Which opened some kind of mental door into a world of sensual delight. He slammed it back shut.

  She'd never agree to his proposition if she sensed the erotic images in his mind. It seemed she was pretty handy at reading it.

  "I wanted permission to court you."

  She looked up from studying her uncle and frowned at him. He knew what she was going to say next. Why? That's what she'd ask, and it would kill him inside to hear it.

  He didn't stop to think, just let his tongue fly. "God's honest truth, that's not enough. I can't…we just don't have weeks or months. Not the way things are around here. I know this is insane, and you'd be perfectly reasonable to tell me to go jump in the Truckee. But I want you to pack a bag and come with me, Twila. Right now. I don't want you under this fellow's roof even ten more minutes."

  She studied his face as if trying to decide if he meant it as a taunt or some kind of joke. Del felt a rapid flush of anger, but quashed it. She might have
heard what Fletcher had said about his reputation around town. She truly didn't know him. How was she supposed to know that he'd never been more serious in his life, that he'd never joke about something so important?

  Then it dawned that he hadn't specified…made her see how vital it was. He took a deep breath, sort of knelt, though he couldn't get close enough to take her hand with her insensible uncle and the kitchen table in the way. "Marry me, Twila Bell. Right now, today. We can go over to the church and get Preacher—"

  "No, not there! I couldn't possibly go over to that—I mean, it would be terribly awkward at the church here in Wadsworth."

  Del grabbed the back of the chair he'd vacated and straightened to his full height. If he'd just understood her babbling correctly, she wasn't refusing his proposal, just the part about going to the Wadsworth church to get the deed done. Then he recalled her uncle snarling something about the preacher and her need to pray, and realized he'd stepped on a cow patty with that suggestion.

  "Reno?" he blurted. "Got to be a couple of houses of worship there, or the courthouse."

  "Yes. I'll just get my things together. When he awakens, he's going to be terribly angry. As often as he's probably deserved it, I've never known anyone to actually strike him before." She'd crossed the kitchen and seemed to be ready to disappear down a short hallway.

  "You just fetch whatever you need. I'll take care of him if he comes to."

  She smiled at him then. Really smiled. "I believe you can."

  It was the last thing she said before vanishing briefly. He heard some rummaging sounds and was about to go check on her when she appeared in the hall wearing a shawl and bonnet, and clutching a small brown leather satchel along with a lumpy bundle of brown paper and string. "You don't have a proper grippe?" Del inquired, frowning as he reached for the lumpy package.

  "Our luggage was stolen off the train. Uncle refused to replace it. After all, we were never going anywhere else ever again."

  And just like that, she burst into tears.