Delilah's Flame

by Parnell, Andrea

  Nobody knew Delilah’s real name, nor any more about her than was told by the handbills advertising her act. Rumor was that she was British and spent only a few months each year performing in the States. He’d heard men speculating she was a baroness or duchess keeping up one of those large British estates gone penniless. He could believe that. Delilah was as fine a woman as he’d ever seen, certainly not the usual dance hall doxy. Everything about her bespoke class, and that custom-made costume she wore would cost six months of a cowboy’s pay.

  Tabor’s eyes surveyed every curve of Delilah and every detail of the costume. The rows of black satin ruffles on the sleeves made the mass of red hair tumbling over one shoulder look like a cascade of fire. Silver shoes drew his eyes to black stockings and lace garters. Delilah showed more leg in her dance numbers than most men ever saw on their wives.

  As she propped her foot on a chair and swung her skirt up over one knee, Tabor exhaled a breath and threw his half-smoked cigarette to the sawdust floor. He crushed the smoldering butt with his boot heel, never taking his eyes off Delilah. Certainly no performer since Lola Montez had taken California with such intensity. Miners and cattle hands rode as much as fifty miles to see Delilah’s fire act and hear her sing. Not one ever complained the trip wasn’t worthwhile.

  Delilah, hands on her hips, bent over the footlights and sang to a man at the table nearest the stage:

  She’ll tempt you, she’ll tease you, she’ll raise all your hopes.

  Then leave you standing with your arms full of smoke.

  She bent lower, tickling the man’s nose with a feather-trimmed fan. A unified gasp rose up in the room as the rough crowd waited in hopeful expectation for Delilah’s bosom to fall free of the daring neckline of her costume. She shimmied provocatively, heightening the anticipation, then reached into her bodice and drew out a lacy black hanky.

  With languid movements, Delilah trailed the scrap of cloth over the curves of her breasts. With absolute silence reigning in the room, she tossed the handkerchief toward a dusty cowpoke, who surged to his feet and caught it. A cheer boomed out from the crowd as the lucky man pressed the perfumed handkerchief to his lips and gave a whoop.

  Tabor smiled a knowing smile. That fellow wasn’t the lucky one. He knew the way Delilah played her game. In a minute, as part of the finale, she would produce a small silver mirror from her pocket and reflect a beam of light into the room. The man that light settled on would be the one who received an invitation to join Delilah for the evening. Sometimes the invitation led to the privacy of Delilah’s hotel room—if the man was lucky. He’d planned on being that man and being lucky. As women went he had a weakness for redheads.

  You think that if you hold her it would be paradise,

  But if you love Delilah there’s a terrible price.

  So listen to me, stranger, whatever your name.

  You can get burned in Delilah’s flames.

  The melodic strains of her voice floated through the saloon and gave every man listening the feeling of having a sweet, burning fire licking over his skin.

  If she takes a shining to you and takes you to tame,

  You’ll find you’ve been burned in Delilah’s flames.

  On the last line Delilah pirouetted slowly, slipping the small mirror from her pocket as she turned. The light flashed on a portly man dressed in a blue serge suit.

  “Hell,” Tabor mumbled beneath his breath. She usually went for the fat prosperous types. She had again. Damm it! His disappointment was enough to choke on. If ever he needed to lose himself in a woman, it was tonight. Scowling still, he glanced hastily around. The saloon girls standing back in the shadows looked like wilted roses with Delilah in the room. Several eyed the lean, handsome cowboy hopefully. Tabor gave them no encouragement. His gray eyes went back to Delilah. He’d settle for a soft bed alone.

  Delilah smiled, made her bows, blew kisses during a couple of curtain calls as the Indian girl and a pair of dandies who rounded out the troupe joined her. A short while after she left the stage, one of the male performers delivered a note to the man in the blue suit. Grinning, the fellow fished a few coins out of his pocket and tossed them on the table, then hurriedly left the saloon.

  “Pour me one, Jake,” Tabor called, having made his way to the bar ahead of the crowd. As he sent a shot of whiskey down his throat, Tabor Stanton told himself there would be another time. He’d have been lousy company anyway. Settling up his father’s affairs wouldn’t be a pleasant business. Frowning, Tabor flipped Jake two bits for the drink and headed next door to the Holman Hotel.

  * * *

  “Loo, help me with this screen,” Delilah, smelling freshly of expensive perfume, said in her soft but aristocratic voice.

  Loo, Delilah’s half-Chinese companion, a woman ten years her senior, placed a decanter of whiskey and two crystal glasses on a small game table. That done, she helped Delilah adjust the dressing screen so that it concealed the door that opened into the adjoining room.

  Meanwhile Delilah spread a white linen tablecloth over a larger table and hurriedly opened a traveling case. From it she took two English bone-china dinner plates, two silver goblets, and place settings of sterling flatware. Last she removed a silver candelabrum and four scented candles wrapped in blue paper. When all was as she wanted it, Delilah stepped back to the dressing table to splash a bit more scent on her throat and in the cleavage between her breasts.

  “You’ll suffocate the man if you use any more of that,” Loo said.

  “I wouldn’t want to do anything that kind to Hoke Newell. I want the old cuss to writhe and squirm with the agony of having what he wants most snatched away from him.” Delilah’s tightly clenched hands reddened. The muscles in her face tensed. All trace of the aristocratic British accent deserted her. “I remember my poor papa lyin’ in the dust, hurt and bleeding. And Hoke Newell sittin’ on his horse glaring and cursing. I remember it all.” Her fingers went to a point just inside the hairline on her temple. “I still carry a scar—”

  “Hush,” Loo said. “You’ll spoil your looks if you get any angrier. I lost my grandfather that night. Remember?”

  “I know, Loo,” Delilah’s voice softened and regained the cultured tone. “This is for all of us.” She filled her lungs with a deep breath. “Have Seth and Todd got the girl ready?”

  “They’re ready. Calm yourself. You weren’t this nervous before.”

  “I know. But according to the detective I hired to investigate those six, Newell was the leader. In a way, he’s more guilty than any of them.” She took another look in the mirror at her pink satin gown trimmed with yard upon yard of frothy white lace. The bodice, fitted with long loose sleeves, dipped as shockingly low as that of the black stage costume. To make her appearance even more tempting, she unfastened the top two of a row of tiny silver buttons. “How’s Dinah?”

  Loo handed her a pair of pink slippers. “Fussing because she always has to go to bed early.”

  Delilah stepped into the shoes. “Stay with her. I don’t want Newell to see her.” She glanced anxiously at the door. “I’m ready.”

  Loo looked her over. “You’re very unsettling in that color.”

  “I know.” Delilah smiled.

  Normally pink was forbidden to redheads. Delilah, however, liked the clash of color with her fiery hair and the interesting effect pink displayed on her fair skin. Fortunately she lacked the florid complexion and freckles common to many with her hair color. Her younger sister, Dinah, hadn’t been as fortunate and bore a sprinkling of pale freckles from head to foot.

  Delilah fought back a twinge of guilt as she thought of Dinah. Maybe she had been wrong getting Dinah involved in this. She hadn’t seen any other way, though, and she really couldn’t take the time to worry about it now. She wanted to satisfy herself that all the preparations were complete and were flawless.

  “You’ve forgotten the diamonds,” Loo said, and went quickly to the dressing table, where she opened Delilah’s embossed leath
er jewel case. Loo lifted out a necklace containing a central tear-shaped diamond centered in a setting of twenty smaller stones. With deft hands Loo fastened the gold chain of the necklace around Delilah’s neck. “Now you’re ready,” she said, smoothing a tier of fire-red curls back in place.

  A knock sounded from the door. “And not a minute too soon. Newell’s here. I can’t wait to have the old coot squirming.” Delilah again squeezed her hands into fists. “I keep picturing Papa that night—”

  “Hush,” Loo said, placing a finger to her mouth. “Watch your temper. Don’t lose it before the job is done.”

  Delilah laughed lightly and pressed Loo’s hand. “You’re right. Now you’d better go.” Quietly she opened the door behind the screen. “And don’t forget to turn the light out in there.”

  Loo smiled. “I know what to do.”

  Giving her cheeks a pinch and taking a deep full breath, Delilah moved quickly to the door, where another soft knock sounded.

  “Come in,” she said to the man in the blue suit, at the same time giving a nod to the two tall young men who accompanied him.

  They nodded back in understanding. A handsome pair, blond, brown-eyed, with attractive regular features and full, luxuriant mustaches, they made a marked contrast to the older, much shorter Newell.

  “Todd, you and Seth stay by the door and see that we’re not interrupted,” Delilah instructed. Almost soundlessly the pair left. Delilah turned her eyes on Newell and gifted him a look full of promise. “I’ve ordered supper for us, Mr. Newell.” The words rolled out slowly, like honey pouring. “I hope I haven’t been presumptuous.”

  Taking Newell’s hand, she drew him toward the settee. No doubt he had been a handsome man a decade or more ago, but now his too-strong jaw had softened to jowls. A decided paunch hung at his middle; his dark hair remained as little more than a circle at ear level. Newell’s deep-set eyes, however, still bore a hint of the ruthless vitality of earlier days.

  “Not at all, Miss Delilah. Nothing would please me more than having supper with the most beautiful woman in California.”

  Newell smiled at his good luck. Not many conquests were left for a man who had carved an empire out of this rugged land. Not much challenge at all. Running for governor offered a little excitement. But hell. He was a shoo-in. What popularity couldn’t get, money could buy. He’d already put his money where the votes were—in the right pockets. Yes, by God, he would be the next governor. But in the meantime, Delilah would be a mighty fancy pastime.

  “You flatter me, Mr. Newell,” Delilah said, and followed with a light little laugh. “I hope you won’t stop.”

  “Call me Hoke.” Newell settled his large frame onto the velvet-covered settee and leaned his head against the crocheted antimacassar. “And don’t you worry, madam, I won’t stop until you tell me to.”

  “Why, Hoke, honey.” Her voice smoldered and Hoke Newell felt the heat of it stirring his passions in the hot, quick way of his youth. She went on, “I believe we are beginning what will prove to be a long and delightful evening.”

  Hoke Newell agreed. It had been too long since he had felt arousal such as this Delilah made him feel. Years had passed too since women had offered him any challenge. He found most of them all too willing to tumble with a man of his means. For him things that came too easy were hardly worth having.

  His eyes dropped to the necklace that dangled a diamond pendant on Delilah’s porcelain skin. She’d done well for herself. Not a simple woman like most. She had an amazing way of making him feel he was in the presence of a great lady. He was certain morning would find him in Delilah’s bed. He was just as certain nothing would be usual or dull about the preliminaries.

  When Todd served their supper of roast partridge, venison, boiled potatoes and carrots, and fresh-baked bread, Hoke had already consumed nearly a full bottle of wine. Delilah fussed over her guest, tucking the linen napkin into his collar, adding a second serving of venison to his plate, and keeping his wineglass full whenever he drank it down. For dessert she served him fresh strawberries and insisted on feeding him each plump berry with her fingers.

  “Delicious, madam,” he said as she offered him the last of the berries. He bit into the red morsel, letting the juice dribble onto his lips and chin. “But not the tastiest delicacy here, I daresay.”

  “Perhaps not,” she answered, dabbing his chin lightly with a napkin. “I’ll call Todd to take these dishes away and then we can get on to more stimulating activities.”

  “About these boys you travel with—is there any...?”

  “Todd and Seth?” Delilah smiled seductively. She knew what Newell thought, what anyone might think, having seen the two men who, along with Loo and Dinah, traveled with her. If only he knew how wrong he was, he wouldn’t be giving her that hopelessly lecherous smile. “Now, aren’t they handsome young men?” she went on. “They’re brothers, you know. I must have interviewed a hundred performers before I found the perfect two. Don’t you think Seth and Todd add a distinction to my acts?”

  Hoke snorted. “I don’t think they’re part of the attraction at all. When you’re onstage, nobody’s eyes are on anything else. Don’t see why you use them.”

  Delilah thought she detected a note of jealousy in his voice, and it pleased her. To have Newell feel possessive would make it much easier to do what she intended.

  She thanked Todd as he loaded the soiled dishes onto a tray while Seth stood guard at the door. Todd’s face betrayed no emotion. He was well-coached. Both were, not only for the acts in which they portrayed Indians or other characters, but also as bodyguards.

  Slowly sipping her wine, Delilah thought more about Newell’s comment. The acts, to be sure, were not Todd’s and Seth’s most important function. Delilah needed her privacy to carry out her plans. And on such occasions, she preferred not having even the hotel staff in her room.

  Todd and Seth, handsome, muscular, and strong, were handy with guns if necessary. Best of all, both were loyal, and even if they didn’t know just what went on in Delilah’s rooms after performances, understood it was in their best interest to do as instructed and make sure she was not disturbed. Neither brother actually aspired to gracing the stage, but had been persuaded by Delilah’s promise that the pay they received after three seasons of performing would be enough to pay for the ranch they wanted.

  For that promise the brothers agreed to do whatever she asked. For her own protection she told them as little as possible. Seth and Todd asked no unnecessary questions of Delilah. Even the brothers didn’t know her other identity. After months of travel together, however, the pair regarded Delilah and her female companions with brotherly affection that went beyond the bonds of the working agreement.

  The lock clicked shut as Todd closed the door behind him. Delilah turned her gaze fully upon Newell.

  “You really must tell me about yourself, Hoke. I particularly want to know what your passions are.”

  She offered Newell an imported cigar from a wooden box and struck a match.

  Hoke laughed and leaned forward for a light. He was right. Nothing usual about Delilah. Briefly he told her how he started in California with little more than a pick and a tin pan and built one of the largest mining and cattle empires in the state.

  “Of course some figure I don’t have a legitimate claim to my land. Some say I got most of it claim-jumping and running off squatters. Back in those days a man owned what he could hold on to. If somebody stronger came along and took it, a fellow got what he deserved for not being man enough to keep what he had. I keep what’s mine.”

  “A remarkable story,” she said when he finished. “But you haven’t told me about your passions.”

  “I believe, madam, I have only one passion left. That is to be governor of California.”

  Delilah poured two brandies from the crystal decanter. “Surely, Hoke, for a man of your experience and with the ambition it must have taken for your accomplishments, there must be more you want than simply to be
called governor.”

  Newell drank deeply and puffed smoke from the cigar. “You are perceptive, madam. Truly perceptive.”

  Delilah smiled and insisted he have more brandy. As she turned to pour it, she cautiously opened a tiny snuffbox and sprinkled a white powder in his glass. “I hope you’ll tell me what it is you’re after as governor.” She handed him the brandy, waited until he downed a swallow, then patted his hand and smiled. “I can be very discreet.”

  “Of course you can,” Hoke agreed, slurring his words slightly. “It won’t be a secret much longer anyway. There’s quiet talk of a new rail line in this territory. I want it run by my ranch. Got a big stake in beef cattle. A rail line would triple my profits.”

  “And as governor you would have the means of assuring the line goes where you want it.”

  “As governor I would have the means of assuring everything in California goes where I want it.” Newell took hold of Delilah’s hands and tried to look her in the eye. He found it difficult to focus. “I’m a man who gets what he wants,” he said thickly.

  “I’m sure you are,” Delilah remarked sweetly, slipping her hands free. Her voice turned chill. “And I haven’t a doubt you’ll get everything you deserve.”

  * * *

  Tabor Stanton heard the door of the room next to his close for the third time. She must be having a parade march through, he thought irritably. What lousy luck he was having today. After missing his chance at spending an evening with Delilah, he had had the misfortune to occupy the room next door. He could just visualize what was going on with that bald bastard she had singled out in the saloon. Through the wall he heard muffled laughter and even detected an occasional word, neither of which painted as clear a picture as his imagination.