by Alden, Dana
And now, again now, these new desperados were poking about her stacked boxes. She was going to end up with nothing when she’d already thought herself nearly there.
“Whose boxes are these?” demanded the tall, skinny one with black hair and greasy beard.
Delia didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself. But she realized after a moment that while none of the men were pointing to her, neither did they want the personal attention of the gunmen.
“Now, Freddy,” said Mr. Daily, leaving his hands on the bar top carefully, but speaking confidently. “You know I have an agreement with Red Charlie. You shouldn’t be in here bothering me or my patrons.”
Delia saw that his speaking distracted the two troublemakers and allowed Mr. Stevens to unholster his own weapon. The man sitting near the window held very still, but she thought, poised for action.
Freddy said, “We’re not bothering you.” He moved his gun down, holding it alongside, pointed at the floor, but he didn’t holster it. His friend kept his gun high and swung around to aim at Mr. Stevens, who stilled perfectly. “We’re here to greet the young lady.”
He turned to Delia, and she felt herself freeze. Was this more than a robbery? Oh, Lord, she thought, please help me.
“Freddy, you leave her be.” Mr. Daily suddenly had his own gun in hand, resting on the bar top, cocked and aimed toward Freddy.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Daily,” said Freddy with a sly smile, his eyes on Delia as he walked. “I just want to chat.”
He’d reached Delia’s table by then. He pulled out a chair and sat down, half facing her and half facing the rest of the room. He had rotten, yellow teeth and disgusting breath that made Delia lean back when he spoke to her.
“What’s your name, little miss?”
Delia looked over at Mr. Daily, hoping for a clue as how to proceed. He gave her a slight nod.
“Mrs. Cordelia Watson.”
She saw a flicker of…something…in his eyes.
“You married?”
“Yes. No. Uh, widowed.” She could tell by how he nodded in response that he somehow thought that was better than being married.
“What brings you to our neighborhood?” he asked as he tipped his chair back onto two legs. He proceeded to rock it back and forth.
She wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted him to think she had support that she wasn’t a lone woman in the middle of nowhere with no protection. But she didn’t want to lie, to get him angry if he found out.
“Family.”
He sat forward eagerly. “Family. A brother?”
“No,” she answered too quickly, because she could tell that’s the answer he wanted.
“No,” he paused, and then gave that sly smile again. “Are you here to visit your mother?”
His friend across the room laughed. Delia knew there were so few women out here that he’d never believe it, even if she thought she could bluff her way though the interview. She glanced around the room and caught the eye of the man by the window. She realized everyone in the room was listening intently.
“My fiancé.”
Freddy leaned forward so quickly his chair legs slammed into the floor with a bang. Delia flinched. He asked, “Do you mean Samuel Emerson?”
She could tell her answer was important and was so relieved she could say truthfully, “I don’t know that gentleman. My fiancé is Mr. Calvin Ayers.”
Freddy and his friend both looked surprised. “Mountain Man Cal?”
“I don’t know him by that name.”
Freddy looked at her speculatively, trying to decide whether to believe her.
“I have a letter.” She reached for her carpetbag and then froze when she saw that Freddy had pulled out his gun. It was aimed directly at her.
* * *
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About the Author
I live in Bozeman, MT, with my husband and three children. I've lived in Canada, Japan, and parts of the U.S., but my heart is in Montana.
I was introduced to romances as a a teenager. One of my fondest memories is sitting on the beach on Cape Cod reading romances that had all the naughty parts blacked out with a thick black marker.