Beyond Betrayal (9 page)

Cora paused. "There's been some trouble out that way recently. Rustling mostly. I haven't heard anything about the Devil's Fork, though, so it may not have affected them much."

She walked the few steps to the door and said, "Well, Delilah, let's see what you can do, shall we?"

"Certainly.” The knot in Delilah's stomach tightened another notch. She ignored it.

Cora began to open the door and then stopped. After giving Delilah's attire a thorough examination, she asked, "Did you want to borrow a room to change in?"

"Change?" Delilah echoed. "Is there something wrong with what I have on?"

"You look like a preacher's wife. It's going to be kind of hard to dazzle the men with your charms when they can't see them."

Delilah compressed her lips. "I do not intend to use my charms, such as they are, to dazzle anyone. As I said, I play an honest game of poker."

Cora considered her with astute eyes that saw far too much, Delilah felt certain. Then, she held up her hands briefly as though in surrender. "Fine. I just thought I'd mention it. Most women like to make the most of what they have.” She opened the door and wordlessly indicated that Delilah should precede her.

Minutes later, Delilah took her place at the newly dusted gaming table, settled Poopsy firmly at her feet, and began shuffling cards. Laying the deck down she spread the cards into a perfect fan-shape before lifting the edge of one card with a fingernail and flipping the entire deck over and then back again. Scooping the cards up in a practiced sweep, she shuffled. The room was unnaturally silent as drovers and miners alike watched her. Then, she lifted her gaze and smiled.

It was the practiced smile she'd learned to use. A smile that rivaled the sunlight for brilliance and made every man who received it feel as though it shone just for him. It was her professional smile, and the only artifice she used to dazzle.

It was enough.

"Come on up gentlemen," she called in a soft but carrying voice that conveyed culture and decorum. She sounded like a society lady inviting the men into her private drawing room to have their brandies. "Come on up and put your money down.” She launched into the spiel she'd learned to use to attract her customers. "Lady Luck is smiling on the Lucky Strike tonight, gentlemen. It could be your night to strike it rich."

A few of the men began to stir. "I ain't never seen no lady dealer afore," one voice grumped.

"I have. Hell, once I played with Poker Alice herself."

"Poker Alice weren't no lady."

Delilah returned her attention to the cards in her hands, performing all sorts of dexterous movements designed to show her skill and attract attention. "Step up, gentlemen," she flashed her smile again, making every man there feel as though Lady Luck herself had smiled just for him. "Step up and put your money down. Everybody wins when Lady Luck is in town."

A couple of cowboys near the rear of the saloon rose and took their places at the table. Delilah looked to the one on her left. He was probably about thirty, but he looked older. His skin looked like old leather, brown and lined by the elements he faced. His eyes were grey blue and his cheeks covered with stubble.

"Good evening, sir."

"You can call me Tex, ma'am."

"Tex it is. And what's your game, Mr. Tex?"

"Five card draw, ma'am. An' it ain't
mister
. Just Tex."

Delilah looked to his companion. "Draw poker sound all right to you, sir?"

The cowboy tipped a battered Stetson and slid some money onto the table. "Yes, ma'am. Stud poker is my usual game, but draw is fine an' dandy too. An' I ain't never been
sir
to nobody. The name's Lance."

Delilah increased the brilliance of her smile as she counted out chips and began to deal. "I'm pleased to meet you Mr. Lance. I'm Mrs. Sterne."

Tex won the first hand. On the next hand, the cowhands were joined by a couple of old miners, and one man Delilah couldn't categorize. He was well-dressed, but didn't have the look of a lawyer or doctor. The mayor perhaps?

As the evening progressed, the knot in her stomach eased. It looked like the few days she'd spent away from the game had turned her luck around. She'd lost only the one hand.

And then, she felt a powerful presence, and looked up to see Sheriff Chambers' gaze boring into her from his leaning position against the bar. Their eyes met and, for an instant, Delilah froze in mid deal. Then, without a flicker of expression, the sheriff mockingly lifted his shot glass as though in toast to her and downed the whiskey he held.

The gesture doubled as a warning and a dare, and they both knew it. He was daring her to cheat—which she wouldn't do, anyway, of course—but she hadn't realized how difficult it would be to play beneath Matt Chambers' watchful gaze. She made an error, throwing away a card she should have kept, and lost the hand.

Blast it all! She couldn't afford stupid mistakes like that. Not now.

Determination tightened her jaw. Somehow, she was either going to have to learn to ignore the sheriff's potent gaze, or she was going to have to get rid of the man.

At the moment, the latter option had some definite appeal.

Maybe she could stage a robbery and send him off chasing bad guys for the few weeks that she'd be here. Foolish thought. If she couldn't play an honest card game beneath his too-observant gaze, how in blazes would she plan and execute a robbery?

No, there had to be another way, an easier way, of keeping the good sheriff out of her hair. She just had to find it.

~~~*  *  *~~~

________________________

The mountain morning dawned crisp and clear as Delilah made her way down the boardwalk toward the livery. It felt good to have an excuse to don split skirts and her black lady-sized Stetson again. Her father's Winchester, buried so long at the bottom of her trunk, felt familiar and reassuring in her hand. She had decided to risk the tarnish on her "helpless lady" image that carrying the Winchester might create, for the small derringer she carried in her reticule would be all but useless in the wild. Thanks to the absence of her escort from the Devil's Fork, she had little choice but to venture out on her own.

Lifting her head slightly, she took a deep breath of the fresh morning air and smiled. She was looking forward to escaping civilization for a time. It had been so long since she'd ridden a horse and travelled to places that a wagon would never go. So long since she'd camped and fished in the wild. So long since. . . her father had died.

The smile faded as memories stirred of a past that could never be recaptured. Years ago, Garrett Sinclair had taken his wife and daughters camping in the wilderness often. After they had established a base camp, he'd hunt venison while Morgana, Delilah and Eve fished. Delilah remembered cleaning fish, smoking and preserving them until the barrels were full enough to supplement their larder for another winter. It had been hard work, and yet it had been a time full of laughter and promise.

Those carefree days had ended with her mother's death when she was just fifteen, and Eve thirteen.

It had taken over a year for Garrett Sinclair to begin to live again after losing Morgana. And even when he had, and had begun to take his daughters on wilderness treks again, their times together had never been quite as joyful as they once had. In the days after her mother's death, her father had focused more on instruction than on enjoyment. Although always a stern taskmaster, he'd also been kind, invariably offering praise or encouragement when it was due. He'd seemed determined that his daughters learn how to take care of themselves. Looking back, it seemed to Delilah almost as though he'd known he wouldn't be around to protect them much longer.

Lord how she still missed him.

The swipe of a moist doggy tongue across her nose suddenly tugged her from her melancholy thoughts. She was carrying Poopsy in a saddlebag over her shoulder at the moment, and the little dog, no doubt sensing the abrupt despondent direction of her mistress's mood, had decided that she had to do something about it quickly. Now, she curled her upper lip and offered Delilah one of her most engaging smiles.

With a small hitching laugh, Delilah returned the smile and reached up to scratch gently behind Poopsy's left ear. "You're right, Poochie. Today is no time for thinking of things best left in the past.” Poopsy, her mission accomplished, turned her head to gaze around from this new vantage point with glistening black eyes, her small pink tongue lolling from her mouth as she panted with excitement.

Delilah was just about to cross the street toward the livery when the stable's wide double doors opened and a buckboard wagon pulled by a familiar team of bay horses rolled into view. "Mornin' ma'am," Ronnie Didsworth shouted without heed for those who still lay abed on this fine morning. Then he pulled the wagon to a halt while somebody behind the conveyance—Mr. Metter perhaps?—loaded something onto it.

Delilah waved, but waited until she'd closed the distance between herself and the wagon before returning his greeting. "Good morning, Mr. Didsworth," she said just as Didsworth climbed down to move around the wagon and do some rearranging of its contents. Then, she smiled at his son who, for the return trip, was seated on the wooden plank seat. "Good morning Master Tyler Didsworth."

The boy's eyes widened with pleasure at her very proper greeting. "G'mornin' ma'am," he returned as he reached one hand to tip a hat that was not in place. His straw-colored hair, still uncombed after his night's sleep, stuck up in odd directions. Faced with the presence of a lady, he hastily raked it with his fingers before reaching behind himself in blind search of the misplaced hat which, once found, was immediately plunked on his head. That accomplished, he looked back at Delilah. "Whatcha doin' up so early?" he asked, with the honest curiosity of youth.

Her smile widened. "I'm going to visit my sister. I haven't seen her in a long time, and I'm very excited."

"Oh.” He looked vaguely disappointed by her response. "I got sisters, but I see 'em all the time.” He shrugged. "Sometimes I wish I didn't.” He glanced back at his father. "Pa has a sister too, but we ain't seen her in a long time."

"That's unfortunate."

The boy shrugged. "It don't make no never mind to me. Truth be told, she's kinda uppity, if'n you know what I mean."

"Yes, I believe I do."

At that moment, Didsworth shook hands with Metter in farewell and climbed up onto the buckboard seat once more. "Well, I guess we'll be off. Ma'am, you just have Mrs. Francis down at the telegraph get hold of me whenever you'll be wantin' a lift back to Butte City. You hear?"

"I do, sir. Thank you.” With a nod of acknowledgement, Didsworth clucked to the horses, and the wagon began to roll. "Have a safe trip," Delilah called in their wake.

Both Didsworths raised their hands in farewell. As the morning once again regained its quiet, Delilah found herself scanning the area, seeking the tall muscular form belonging to Sheriff Chambers. He was nowhere in sight.

Dismissing as mere loneliness the faint surge of disappointment she felt, Delilah turned toward the stable-master, who'd moved forward to stand at her side. "Is the Appaloosa ready, Mr. Metter?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. His name's Jackpot.” With a grin, he added, "I guess you'll be appreciatin' that more 'n most.” It was obvious that either Sheriff Chambers or the local grapevine had made him aware of Delilah's occupation.

She smiled without comment. "May I see him?"

The livery owner led her into the warm, musty-smelling stable, indicating a stall about half way down on the left. "Here he is."

Jackpot's head hung over the gate studying them with a bright-eyed curious gaze. A good sign. "Can you bring him out please, so that I can get a good look at him?” Another of the many things she'd learned from her daddy was the value of a reliable horse.

"Sure thing.” Metter removed a halter from a near-by hook and slipped it over the gelding's head with ease. A moment later, he opened the stall and led the animal out into the open.

Delilah studied Jackpot. He had good lines, strong hind-quarters and a nicely arched neck. There was no sign of lameness when he walked. She ran her hands over him. The muscles were smooth and in good shape. There were no saddle sores or scars to denote poor treatment. Bending, she lifted his hooves and noted that the shoes were in good shape, the hooves themselves well-trimmed. There were no imbedded stones which would bring the horse up lame as he began to move.

"You know horses, do you?" asked Metter.

"Yes. . . yes, I do," Delilah acknowledged absently without offering the explanation she knew he wanted. Satisfied, she gave the animal a pat on the rump. "He's a good-looking animal. What's the price?"

Metter named a sum. "That's for horse, saddle and tack since you don't got yer own."

Delilah considered. It seemed reasonable. "And how much will you refund when I'm finished with him?" she asked. She had never liked surprises. They haggled a moment more and then, content with the deal, Delilah saddled Jackpot. While Metter moved about his business, she settled her bedroll, canteen and the saddlebags containing Poopsy and a change of clothing into place.