Beyond Betrayal (27 page)

"I guess maybe you do.” His tone was tense.

"You're darned tootin' I do."

"Then why are you out here alone?"

She whirled to face him. "Because I value my independence. Unless I need a guide, I see no reason to sacrifice my liberty for the company of a man. Would you have me cowering in my room afraid to venture out without an escort?

"Most women would consider waiting for an escort simple good sense."

"Well, I'm not one of them. In case you've forgotten, in my profession, I travel alone all the time. I go into places where few women go and associate with men whom decent women won't even allow to brush against their skirts.” How could she make him understand without revealing too much of herself? Or perhaps it no longer mattered where he was concerned. "And every time I do, I feel sick to my stomach with fear. Frightened that I'll encounter another brute who will. . .” She broke off, unable to put her repulsion into words. But he remained silent, waiting, so she took a deep breath and continued. "I live with my fear until I get to know the people in the town. Until they have accepted me for who I am.

"You mean until they accept the boundaries you establish?"

Delilah turned away from him to gaze into the blackness of the forest lining the narrow road. How very perceptive of him. "Yes," she agreed. Though that was something
he
had refused to do, she might have added.

"So, why do you do it?” His quiet baritone came out of the darkness at her back.

Delilah tilted her chin up as though looking at the stars and closed her eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

She took a deep breath. "I do it because I am a Sinclair by birth, and a Sinclair always faces her fear. I do it because being with people, lots of people, keeps me from remembering too much. And, I do it because gambling is the only work for which I have a certain amount of talent and which I truly enjoy. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"But. . . you're a woman, darnit!"

She whirled to face him. "And because I'm a woman, I must enjoy sewing seams in men's shirts or trousers day after day for a few coins that barely keep starvation at bay? Well I don't! The tedium drives me so crazy that I could scream with the frustration of it all."

"There are other professions, and not just menial ones. I heard tell there's a woman doctor somewhere in Colorado. You're good at doctoring. And there's a lady newspaper reporter in Idaho or Wyoming I think. You're good with words too. I bet you could do something like that. Heck, you could probably do anything you set your mind to."

Delilah stared at him, puzzled by the admiration she heard in his words. Matt Chambers admired her despite every attempt she had made to drive him away. He had faith in her intelligence, in her abilities, in
her
. And she had just betrayed him. Guilt rose in her throat like bile, choking her into silence.

"You should do something less dangerous," Matt was saying. "I don't like wondering night after night if some drunken cowhand is gonna take it into his head to try to recoup his losses at gunpoint. And I don't like worrying about you when you go off half-cocked all by yourself."

Delilah could only continue to stare at him. Was that where all this was coming from? He had been worried about her. Would a cold-blooded murderer, the kind that would shoot a kid in the back, care that much about a woman like her?

So, he would be cleared of the charges against him.
But what if he wasn't?
Oh God! What had she done?

"Ah, hell! I don't know why I'm standin' here talkin' to you about this now. Come on. I'll get you home. We'll probably catch up to that blamed horse of yours a mile down the road.” He turned and mounted Goliath, then extended a hand down to her.

She looked from his big capable hand to his hard night-shadowed features and shook her head in protest. "I'm not going to ride double with you."

"Well, I'm not walking. So unless you intend to walk, you have about one minute to make up your mind."

Delilah looked at the narrow band of road that faded into absolute blackness ahead. There wasn't much moonlight.

"Delilah—" he said with a note of warning in his tone.

"Oh, very well," she responded less than graciously as she grasped his hand and felt herself hoisted with surprising ease onto the big horse's rump. It took her a moment to get her split skirt arranged so that it covered her legs properly. Once settled, she reverted to conversation. "You know, since it was you who got me into this predicament in the first place, I should think you would have offered to walk. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do."

"I'm not a gentleman. Leastways, not tonight. I'm not in the mood."

Delilah didn't know how to respond to that, so she said nothing. Besides she was busy trying to figure out how to hold onto him firmly without pressing her body against his in an unseemly fashion. She settled for knotting her fingers into the sides of his leather vest. This worked quite adequately until he quickened the horse's pace. Then, however, she found herself being jounced from side to side in a manner that could easily result in mishap. He seemed to realize this too, for he grasped her hands in his and pulled them about his waist, joining them securely together. This position, of course, had the disadvantage of bringing her front up solidly against his back, which was disconcerting to say the least. Still, there was little sense in protesting so she supposed she must bear the discomfort as well as possible until they reached town. God willing, it would not be long.

They rode in silence for a time. . . until Delilah's stomach growled rather loudly. "What was that?" Matt asked.

Delilah flushed. "Don't concern yourself, Sheriff. It seems that my stomach is protesting the lack of a decent supper."

"What did you have to eat today?"

Delilah thought back. She'd left before breakfast had been served. "I had some pastries around lunch time."

"That's it?"

"Don't worry yourself, Sheriff. I'll have something at the restaurant when I get to the hotel."

"I don't think so."

She regarded the back of his head quizzically. "Why do you say that?"

"The restaurant is closed. It's after eight."

"Oh.” She hadn't realized it was that late. "Well," she said, after a moment's thought, "I'm certain I shall survive until morning. I'm not exactly undernourished."

No, she was nicely rounded in all the right places, Samson concurred silently. The sensation of her nicely rounded breasts pressed up against his back was one that would no doubt invade his dreams for nights to come. Still there was no need for her to go hungry when he had a larder full of food at his place.

"Or perhaps I can get something from Miss Cora's kitchen," Delilah continued, unaware of the direction of his thoughts.

"I told Cora that you might not be in tonight."

There was a second of stunned silence. "Whyever did you do that?"

"When you were so late getting back to town, I thought something might have happened to you. Since I remembered that you'd used the last of my saddlebag whiskey on those cougar scratches, I stopped at the saloon to get another bottle. And, well, it just kind of came out.” He paused, waiting for an angry response, but there wasn't one. That made him even more uncomfortable because he didn't know what in blazes she was thinking. "Are you upset?" he asked, wishing he could see her face.

"No actually, I'm a bit relieved. I'm quite tired and the idea of sitting in that smoky saloon until midnight did not appeal to me. However, I do not want you to think that gives you free rein to interfere in my life whenever the inclination takes you. Is that understood?"

There she went with her school teacher voice again. Samson grinned. "Yes, ma'am."

They were on the outskirts of Red Rock before they finally came upon Jackpot, who was grazing at the side of the road. Rather than dismounting and allowing Delilah to ride her own horse, Samson simply gathered Jackpot's reins, wrapped them around the pommel of his saddle, and kept going.

"I'd like to ride my own horse now," Delilah protested.

"No, ma'am," he said, knowing that should he allow her to ride her own horse she would refuse to accompany him to his home. "You can ride later."

"Why. . . but. . . this is . . . ," Delilah sputtered. "Well, this is very high-handed of you, Sheriff."

"Yes, ma'am."

She didn't seem to know what to say when he agreed with her. Silence prevailed for a moment. Until she noticed he had turned off of main street and was not heading toward the hotel. "Where are we going?"

"I thought I'd take you to my place and cook you an omelet.” Thank goodness he'd taken an hour to clean the place up after the visit he'd received the other day.

"Oh, no! I don't think that's a good idea!"

"You don't like omelettes?" he asked, purposely mistaking her meaning.

"Of course I like omelettes. I just don't think. . ."

"Then don't
think
. For a change, just
do
."

A pause. "I'm not sure I can do that," she said quietly.

"Trust me, you can. All I'm going to do is feed you."

Fifteen minutes later, Delilah sat tensely at his table, looking around his spartan cabin as though she'd bolt for the exit at the slightest noise. Samson set about stoking up the fire in the wood stove. "My coffee isn't the greatest, but it hasn't killed anybody yet either, so I figure it can't be all that bad. You want some?" he asked.

She looked at him with blue eyes as big as saucers in her pale face and nodded. "Yes, please. I feel a little chilled all of a sudden."

Samson nodded and took a couple of cups off of the hooks set into the battered sideboard that had come with the house. He wished he knew how to start a conversation that would relax her. But he didn't. Truth was, he wasn't very relaxed himself at the moment.

He'd had an ulterior motive in bringing her here, one he hadn't admitted even to himself until a short time ago. He wanted to tell her about himself. No, he didn't
want
to, but he needed to. He needed to know how she'd react, how she'd feel about his past before he got himself ensnared any more deeply in this so far one-sided relationship. But now that he'd have her undivided attention, he felt awkward and didn't know how to begin.

Considering the problem, he set about making the omelette he'd promised her, slicing bits of onion and ham into the egg mixture. He supposed he could just ask her if she recalled the name Samson Towers—which of course she had because she'd mentioned Pike showing her his poster—but somehow that seemed a little sudden. He was so deep in thought that when Delilah spoke, he didn't hear her words. "Pardon?" he asked, turning to face her.

"I asked if there is anything I can do?"

He nodded toward the sideboard. "You can set a couple of plates out, if you want. Other than that, I think I've got everything pretty much under control.” He watched her as she moved about the cabin, finding the plates and utensils they would need and setting them on the table. It sure felt good having a woman around. Now, if only he could convince her that she belonged with him, they might have a future. He hadn't decided how long he wanted that future to be as of yet. But he did know he wanted one with her.

But, when the omelette and coffee were ready, he still hadn't decided how to go about talking to her. With the exception of the occasional comment about the weather or the Wilkes's new baby, they ate in silence. Finally, Samson could wait no longer. Once they were finished eating, he'd have no reason to keep her from returning to the hotel.

"Delilah—” She looked up and waited. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

A hint of wariness might have entered her eyes, but she nodded. "All right."

He plunged ahead before he could change his mind. "I. . . I'm not the person you think I am. My name is Samson Towers, not Matt Chambers."

Her eyes widened though he couldn't quite read the expression they held. "I see.” She looked down at her plate. "So why are you going under an assumed name?"

He shrugged. "It's a long story.” Sipping at the dregs of his coffee, he rose to pour another cup for each of them as he sought the words to continue. "I told you that my father was a sheriff, didn't I?” She nodded and he went on. "Well, one of the things my father disliked about being a sheriff was that his hands were sometimes tied by the very law he was supposed to uphold. There were cases where what was morally right was not necessarily what was legally right. He told me never to let myself become the tool of rich and powerful men who knew how to make the law work for them. So, rather than following in my father's footsteps, I chose to become a hired gun. That way, I figured I could choose my fights and what side I wanted to be on.” He shrugged. "I didn't make a heck of a lot of money, of course, 'cause the side I picked was usually poor as church-mice, but at least, unlike my father, I could live without regrets.” He fell silent, remembering. "For a while," he added in a murmur.

"What happened," she asked softly, as though she didn't want to disturb his thoughts.

He shook his head. "Something I never figured on. See, I was good at my job. I watched the way the wind was blowin', picked my battles real careful, and hardly ever lost a fight. And because of that, I started to get a name as a fast gun.” He shook his head again, still unable to believe it. "I just about keeled over from surprise the first time one o' those young guns lookin' for a reputation called me out.