Hell's Belle Page 8

  So the man who'd spend his previous wedding day getting drunk while strumpets licked chocolate sauce off his buttocks now found himself eloping with a sobbing stranger who didn't even own a suitcase.

  Didn't that just fit?

  She continued to bawl all the way downstairs and out the emporium's front door. When Lucius tried to interfere, Del calmly informed him that his father had a broken jaw, and Lucius could find one or two of his own bones broken if he didn't let Twila leave. She sniffled, "That's right. If I'd been a little bigger and stronger, I would have broken your neck myself a long time ago. Goodbye, Cousin."

  Del loaded her and her meager possessions onto his saddle and stopped to stare up into her damp face. "It's going to be all right. You'll see." He squeezed her fingers, which were gripping the saddle pommel with white knuckles. "You got courage inside you. That's the main thing."

  It was only after Del swung up behind her that he asked himself if he also had it. Because it suddenly occurred to him that this was a dare he couldn't back down from, and couldn't put behind him in a matter of a few hours. This dare would shock the whole town and change the course of his life.

  She glanced over her shoulder. "Thank you."

  It wasn't much more than a hiccup caught on a sob, but Del felt it right square in the middle of his chest. Where a second ago, fear had been lacing his heart into an icy shroud of potential doom, now there was warmth and reassurance.

  Yeah, everybody else would think he'd gone completely out of his mind. Even Jordy. But let them all find somebody of their own who could muster up so much warmth inside with two little words. Gratitude was a start. Maybe someday those two words would evolve into the three a man most wanted to hear. And if she gave him those words…Well, he wasn't crazy after all.

  He made it to the far western outskirts of town before slowing his horse and telling Twila to turn just a little in the saddle. He kissed her. A chaste kiss, nothing like the ones he'd thought about the night before when he was alone, all hot and randy in his bed. Nothing like the ones he wanted to give her, with tongues tangling and hands roving. But enough so she would know he'd never been joking.

  Know this wasn't some crazy lark.

  She knew.

  She smiled and curled back against him. Del felt the small gesture of trust clear to his toes. He kneed Caramel to move faster. Reno and a seal to their bargain couldn't come soon enough.

  CHAPTER 7

  Del paid a night's boarding fee for Caramel in advance and started to tell the stable hand to hand over Twila's things when the girl shot between them and seized the brown satchel as though it contained her life savings. "Fine, you take it, then," he said in what he hoped was an amiable tone.

  Usually considered pretty glib with the ladies, Del was increasingly frustrated by not knowing the right thing to say. He'd spent over six months calling on Betty Lee before steering her toward matrimony. This situation was the equivalent of lassoing a wild horse and expecting it would gladly prance over into your corral. He needed to say a few things, but he wasn't about to bare his soul with the stable boy eavesdropping.

  Delancy led Twila around the side of the livery to an alley between rows of shops and buildings. "We haven't really had a chance to talk about this. I mean—"

  "I know," she interrupted, looking up at him with a glimmer in her eye. "If you could loan me some money, I'll pay you back. I promise. I mainly just wanted a way into town here. You didn't have to propose. It was very sweet and chivalrous, but I don't expect you to go through with it. I assume since you've had time to calm down, you've probably reconsidered the offer, anyway."

  He almost swallowed his tongue. But her clear amber eyes were boring into his, and they drove him beyond insane. Insane was belting some gal's uncle and running off with her. It had been impulsive, reckless. Stupid. They were almost total strangers.

  But now, hours later…Even he had to admit that wanting to crawl down inside that same gal, until you breathed for her? That was beyond insane. Yet nothing she's said or they'd done made him want her less. In fact, having her little round bottom in the saddle rocking against his loins had done exactly the opposite. It fired his blood worse.

  So did the blatant honesty rolling off her tongue and the look in her eyes. She naturally assumed another man was going to let her down. Assumed Del would back out, make excuses for his rash proposal, turn tail and ride out of town. Hand her some cash to salve his conscience and ride off.

  Del slid his arms around her waist and bent his head, kissing her as thoroughly as he'd been longing to since that first day of July at her store. She hesitated a fraction of an instant at his tongue's urging, then opened her mouth. He didn't stop kissing or let go of her waist until he felt her go limp and pliable, lean against the wood siding for support. "Now what do you think I should do, give you money for a stage or train ticket…or get us a room and see about a preacher? Still think it was only chivalry rode us out here?"

  "You don't even know me," she whispered, but even as she was saying the words, her eyes said something else entirely.

  "Nope. That's the truth. You don't know me, either. You make it a habit to run off with every fella crazY enough to ask you? You let a dozen others kiss you like that?" Before she could answer, he rushed on, "Because for somebody who does this a lot, you sure should've replaced that luggage and learned how to kiss a man by now."

  She began to laugh. She laughed so hard, her knees gave out. Del watched her slide down helplessly against the wall, until she was sitting in a puddle of dusty skirts and rumpled petticoats. Damn, but she was cute.

  He stepped back. "What do you truly want, Twila? I can understand you probably hate Wadsworth, after all that's happened. You want a ticket on the stage?"

  "I…" She started getting to her feet. Conveniently, he thought, so she wouldn't have to look him in the face as she answered. "I need to go to California. I have…others there. People my uncle holds in disfavor."

  Del snorted. "Doesn't that include just about everybody on the whole planet? Don't reckon he's any too fond of me, either. So are you saying you'd rather go live with them than me? Because the whole reason I rode out here was on account of you not wanting to get hitched in our local church. Don't have a regular justice of the peace or judge in Wadsworth."

  She frowned up at him. "You meant it? You really want to get married? Not just to me—inconceivable as that is—but to anyone? You don't seem the type. From what those women implied…I don't want to end up as one of those wives whose husband frequents bordellos and never truly wants to spend any time at home or talk to his wife. I've already—"

  "You've already lived in a miserable house that was a far cry from a real home. I know. Your uncle informed me that you all didn't converse."

  Del took a deep breath. Maybe she had the right of things. They ought to iron out a few points before rushing off to find a minister. "How about if I get us a hotel room and some grub? Then we can decide if I'm staying in it with you tonight, or riding back home."

  Twila nodded and he started walking her up the street. Right off he noticed how easy it was. With Betty Lee, he always had to adjust his strides. She was forever complaining that he was ahead of her or lagging behind her. But Twila just seemed to hover there, at his elbow. He could barely feel her hand on his arm. He spotted a hotel and began veering toward it, but she stopped him. That little hand became a grip that counted.

  "Have we fallen in love, Delancy Mitchell? I never did know how someone was supposed to recognize when that happened. Is that why we're even considering something this foolish?"

  Jesus. She was considering it.

  Del knew from breaking horses that you could spend hours trying soft talk, gentle touches, singing low, any and all manner of things to get a spooked critter to settle down. And usually after a lot of time and effort doing the same things again and again there was a moment when the animal capitulated. You had to be able to sense it, because that was the moment when a wild bronco became a
mount.

  This filly had just accepted his saddle blanket, and he sure as hell wanted to mount her.

  But he shook his head. "Not yet. Don't think so, quite yet." Then he flashed her his most charming grin. "But I'm working on it."

  First he went into the hotel, rented them a suite. Mainly it was a decent-sized sitting room with a divan and a small bedroom that adjoined it. He set her things down and announced they were going next door to the café. He'd lock her satchel up safe and sound. She agreed and accompanied him to the small restaurant, waiting until they were seated and served before she reminded, "You never answered my question before, about becoming a husband."

  Yeah, that sticky little matter. Somehow she'd heard he wasn't exactly a stranger around the Wadsworth bordellos. He managed a grunt now around the hunk of steak he'd just put into his mouth. She didn't wait for him to chew before baldly informing him, "I'm interested, I guess, because I've never been able to see myself as anyone's wife."

  He chewed, sipped some water, and met her gaze with a level stare. "Why's that, exactly? You seem—"

  "Because I'm not good at anything!" she hissed, going bright red. "Can't you tell?"

  Oh Lord. Del kept his ranch boss face on, pretending she was just another cowhand who'd screwed up a chore and needed an explanation that wouldn't be a big spoonful of humiliation.

  "Well now, I don't think that's precisely accurate. You got a decent sense of direction. Hit the river and walked the right way to get out to my place all on your lonesome. Weren't ever out there before, so I'd say that was fairly good reckoning. I've seen you sweep a floor. Seemed moderately talented at that. Place was spotless until my pony crashed through the window. And before you say another word, we both know that's pure hogwash about you waving your broom around and casting any spell on the animal."

  She set down her fork and smiled at him. A real pretty smile that went clear up to her misty eyes.

  He cleared his throat. "I've seen you take a set of stairs. You kept your skirts up just enough to show a teasing bit of ankle and still be a very proper young lady. Though I got to tell you, when a man's going up or down those stairs behind you, his thoughts aren't on feet. That rump of yours has a nice sway to it. Not overly exaggerated, but a man doesn't forget he is one."

  She kept smiling and blushed a bit. "Oh, and you pack real fast." She giggled then. He grinned again. "How am I doing so far?"

  "You're amusing me with your clever wit. So…say I would make an adequate bride. What makes you a good candidate for a husband?"

  "I own a few hundred acres along a decent river, have a good bunch of wranglers, some fine horseflesh as my base stock. The ranch will be even better in a couple years, but it's profitable now."

  He put down his own flatware and reached for her hand. As he expected, she stopped chewing and looked wary, but attentive. "You're going to hear about it sooner or later. I'd rather it come from me. I was fixing to marry someone else several months back. So I added a bedroom onto the house, put in a new fireplace in the front room, bought a nice rag rug. You didn't see inside the other day, but I think you'll find it comfortable enough."

  "Oh." She looked…damn it, sort of defeated again. "What happened? I know it's rude to ask, but since you brought up the subject…"

  "She took off one night with a professional gambler. Night before the wedding we had planned, as it happens. In Reverend Phillips church. So you can see that I wasn't exactly dying to go over there, either."

  "No. No." She seemed to think for a moment, and then shocked him by asking, "So you're thinking we'd better tie the knot right away, before I change my mind?"

  Hell. That made him sound like some dimwit. But it was still probably better than the bald truth. That he mainly just wanted her out of her corset and stays, and by now that want was getting so powerful he'd sell his soul to the Devil to convince her.

  "Something like that," he replied, releasing her hand and going back to his dinner.

  She spooned and forked up a few more mouthfuls, then set her utensils aside to stare over at him. "You must have heard what people in town are saying about me. It's not just that horse incident."

  "Nope, it's the fact both your cousin and your uncle are horse's asses. Fletcher told me his cockeyed story about how everything bad seems to happen to you. I told him what I thought of that." He cocked his head, peered at her closely. "You don't believe his garbage?"

  "I haven't always been fortunate," she ventured, glancing away from him. "I don't necessarily think it means I'm cursed with foul luck or—"

  "Nobody's always lucky. Hell, I told you I got jilted, left at the altar. Me being such a handsome buck, that's tough to swallow, I know. But it happened."

  Twila snorted and tried unsuccessfully to hide a laugh.

  "Don't," he admonished. "I meant for you to laugh at me. I want you to laugh at me or anyone and anything that tickles your fancy. Doesn't seem like you've had much laughter or joy in your life, Twila Bell. And another thing I'm pretty definite on, so we may as well get this straight now...I don't like that moniker your uncle stuck you with, Hell's Belle."

  Her lips twitched. "I don't think my uncle meant for it to have an E on the end, as in Southern belle or belle of the ball. It's more a play on our surname."

  "Which is another damned good reason to take mine. You going to do that, or not? You know I can support you. I'm very much attracted to you, so…you don't need to worry about me straying. If you want my promise that I won't consort with any painted cats after we tie the knot, you've got it."

  He flushed, stupidly. Somehow he felt tense, ready for a fight.

  "Then I accept," she said quietly. "And I'll try to make you a good wife. I really will."

  He set down his water glass. "You mean that?"

  "Yes, or I wouldn't have said it. You've persuaded me. Isn't that what you were trying to do?"

  "Reckon so. I'm just going to ask one thing, Twila. And it's really, really important to me."

  "I'll absolutely be faithful too," she volunteered, blushing again.

  He shook his head. "Pardon. I should have said two things. That's a good point, and I want that too. We'll both take vows meaning to keep them." She nodded. "I want your trust most of all. All right? I want you to trust me. Not scurry underfoot, acting intimidated, afraid to speak up the way you did around your uncle. Trust that I'll always look out for you. I'd never let anyone hurt you. Can't stomach the thought of that."

  She caressed his thumb with a slow, meaningful stroke of her index fingertip. "I knew that, Delancy. Otherwise I never would have left Uncle Fletcher's with you. So…I guess we find a clergyman and speak the vows of matrimony?"

  Del studied her eyes without answering for a moment, and there was another of those eerie pauses when Twila thought he could somehow see deep inside her. Maybe clear through her. If he did, he had to know she was scared, but intrigued, too. She never would have anticipated today's wild turn of events. But maybe for once in her life, unbelievable as it seemed, maybe reverse lightning had struck.

  Del had come to the store to pay off her uncle. Somehow that transaction led to a heated conversation—about her, of all things—and Del had crossed a line. There was no going back for any of them. But for once, it wasn't a devastating blow that robbed Twila of something precious. This seemed more like a weird blow that might provide it.

  A chance for happiness with a man she found…amazing. Utterly fascinating. Strange and wonderful, yet safe and comforting, too. She gazed into the wide blue horizon of his eyes, so steadfast on hers. All things were possible, the future awaited if she had courage enough to reach for it, there in that promising blue expanse. She offered a hopeful smile and wasn't the least bit surprised when he answered with a smile of his own.

  Not that cocky grin he'd tossed at her before, the same kind of grin he'd given her that first morning…the one Betsy and the whores in town had been treated to and obviously recognized for what it was. A ploy to charm just any woman. No,
this was a different smile, one Twila believed she was the only woman to have seen in many months. The same smile some other woman had callously turned her back on.

  A smile that promised a future to be explored together. Wide and warm and certain.

  And so, less than two hours later, Twila Bell found herself legally wed to Mr. Delancy Jones Mitchell.

  * * *

  Del lay awake listening to the rhythm of his own breathing.

  It was long past midnight. He couldn't sleep on the stiff divan in the suite he'd rented in the Dutchman's Lodge. He'd paid an excessive amount for a tiny bedroom with a large sitting parlor, purposely so he'd have a place to sleep other than in the bed with his new bride.

  The irony of the situation didn't escape him.

  He'd spent his original "wedding night" in a drunken orgy, doing anything but sleeping in a harlot's bed. Now he was married, right enough…and here he was again, not sleeping. On a horsehair sofa with stiff springs, one of which was poking the middle of his spine. While his new bride hogged a perfectly nice featherbed beyond a locked door.

  Boy, how Jordy would bust a gut over that. Not to mention Sandy and nearly every other man on his ranch. Del winced, too easily envisioning the hooting laughter and crude jibes.

  Del Mitchell could walk up to a horse and somehow sense what it was thinking, often gentle it in record time, turn the wiliest pony into a decent market commodity and make a handsome profit.

  Del Mitchell could also apparently set his mind to courting a woman, and end up ass over ears in a pile of fresh manure.

  Some fellas had all the luck.

  That word made him scowl all over again. He wasn't going to tolerate any mention of hexes or witchcraft, bad omens or worse luck, and his men better accept that's the way it was. Twila didn't need anything but someone to believe in her and a little time. Eventually, she'd come to believe in herself, and Lord, but Del wanted to be there to witness that. It just wasn't time for his butterfly to come out of her chrysalis just yet. He knew that. No matter how brave a face she'd tried to put on things, he'd seen the uncertainty in her eyes.