“Pay no attention to Papa, Barrett,” Lilah interrupted, laughing lightly. Her father’s good spirits heightened her own. “Papa’s trying to provoke me, but I refuse to let him.”
Dinah, whose mood had undergone another remarkable change, lifted a beaming face to the others. Any annoyance she might have felt about Barrett’s presence seemed to have dissipated. Looking older than her years in a moiré silk gown of lemon yellow, she wore her hair pinned high on her head with a pair of tortoiseshell combs. Dangling emerald earrings brought out the light in her deep green eyes; her smile had been constant.
“She’s a rare woman, Barrett. Not a trace of a temper,” Clement said. “Nothing ever gets her ruffled. You’ll appreciate that in years to come, I’m sure.”
Barrett smiled at his future father-in-law. “Yes, sir,” he agreed. “There’s never a surprise from Lilah.”
Lilah’s and Dinah’s eyes caught knowingly for a moment, but neither face registered what they thought. Barrett and her father made her sound like a docile old horse, which was about as far from the truth as it was possible to be. But since neither man was slated to know the other side of her nature, Lilah smiled serenely and didn’t refute the assessment. Clement Damon had no idea how many times in the last four years she had nearly bitten her tongue off rather than say something which might upset him. His infirmity was burden enough for a man to bear. Lilah always tried to spare him any other.
“I suggest we retire to the library for our coffee,” Clement said. “We can all be more comfortable there.”
Ching immediately rolled out Clement’s chair and led the way to the library. Barrett followed, Lilah on one arm, Dinah on the other. Like all the rooms Clement used, the library was on the main floor. Paneled in dark oak and furnished with a large desk and leather-upholstered chairs, the library also served as Clement’s study. In addition to an excellent selection of books, the room contained Clement’s business papers, those that were not kept in the bank’s vault.
Clement also had his collection of ivory and jade figurines from the Orient displayed in the library. Elsewhere in the house he kept an extensive collection of Indian pottery recovered from old burial grounds, some pieces undoubtedly hundreds of years old.
With Ching’s assistance Clement moved from his wheelchair to one of the leather chairs near the fireplace. A warm feeling filled him as his eyes went to Lilah and Dinah. He hadn’t realized just how empty Damon House had been the three months his daughters had been away on their excursion to St. Louis. He never forgot how much they meant to him. What he had told Barrett was true: a man couldn’t ask for two more even-tempered young ladies. Admittedly, Dinah was a bit sulky at times, but no more than any other young girl trying to grow up.
If he had a complaint about either of them, it was that they were too temperate. Their mother had been a fiery woman whose red hair was a warning to tread lightly around her. Neither Lilah nor Dinah had inherited Marie’s volatile nature. As a child Lilah had promised to be a firebrand like her mother, but the ten years she had spent under Emily Dearborn’s care had converted her into a mild and perfectly mannered lady. He couldn’t recall ever hearing her raise her voice during the years she had been back in California.
That had been a pleasant surprise. He had expected the girls to have their seasons in London, marry, and remain there. But Lilah had refused all offers of marriage and insisted on returning to her father in California. Seeing she was determined, he’d had Damon House built. And he had no regrets, unless it was that he hadn’t brought them home sooner.
Barrett removed a newspaper from the arm of his chair. The paper was open to an article about a woman singer who had created a sensation in mining and cattle towns. He laid the paper on the table separating his chair from Lilah’s.
“Did you hear about her in St. Louis?” he asked, observing Lilah’s awestruck look as she read the prominent caption.
“Who?” Lilah mumbled, passing a warning look to Dinah.
“Delilah, Flame of the West. She’s all the talk. A stunning woman, if her picture does her justice.”
“There’s a picture?” Lilah paled.
“Only a drawing.” Barrett, who prided himself on staying abreast of all the news, flipped the folded paper over. He pointed to the drawing of Delilah in her silver-and-black costume. “Apparently this Delilah refuses to be photographed or interviewed. It’s darned clever of her,” he added. “Keeps her in a cloud of mystery.” He held the paper for Lilah. “There’s talk she’ll perform in San Francisco.”
“Really?” Lilah remarked as she studied the drawing and decided it was a poor likeness. The color came back to her cheeks. “Perhaps you would take me to see her.”
“Certainly not,” Barrett said quickly. “This Delilah doesn’t give the kind of performance a lady should see.”
“Does it say anything about the others in her troupe?” Dinah asked, bounding out of her chair.
Barrett reluctantly handed Dinah the paper. “Not much. There’s mention of an Indian girl and a pair of cowboys who do rope tricks,” he said. “Apparently no one notices much in the show except Delilah.”
“Bring me that paper, Dinah.”
Dinah, her lower lip protruding slightly, did as her father asked.
“Oh, Papa.” Lilah’s cheeks grew pale again. “Surely you aren’t interested in reading about Delilah.”
Clement laughed. “I believe I’ve shocked my straitlaced daughter,” he said to Barrett. “She doesn’t think I could be interested in a look at a fine woman.”
“You might as well have a look too,” Dinah said sourly, handing the paper to Clement. “Everyone else does,” she mumbled beneath her breath.
The room grew quiet as a servant arrived and poured the coffee. Clement read the article about Delilah, scrutinized the drawing, and then put the paper aside. “The reporter says she has a fine voice.” He glanced up. “Not as good as yours, Lilah, I’ll warrant.” He gave her a fond smile. “Perhaps you’ll sing for us once we’ve finished our coffee.”
“Oh, Papa. Not tonight,” Lilah protested. “We’re comfortable in here. We’d have to move to the music room, and I really don’t feel like singing.” She hastened on, “I’m sure Dinah doesn’t feel like playing either.”
“Of course I do,” Dinah returned quickly, flashing her eyes defiantly at her sister.
Taken aback, Lilah felt a surge of temper and had one of those occasions to bite her tongue. Dinah surely understood she didn’t want to sing tonight, not for days yet, maybe weeks.
“Another time, Papa,” Lilah offered sweetly, glancing around at Barrett and touching his hand. “Barrett, you don’t mind, do you? I’m tired. I’d like to retire early.” She almost added that Dinah was tired too, but didn’t, guessing she might again find herself without her sister’s confirmation.
Barrett shook his head. “You do look a bit flushed,” he answered. “And I still have some figures to work on tonight. I ought to go.” He stood, thanked Clement for the dinner invitation, and said good night to Dinah.
Lilah rose quickly and slipped her arm through Barrett’s. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she told him.
Lilah apologized again for cutting the evening short, all the while hoping her father hadn’t dropped too many hints in Barrett’s ear about setting a wedding date. She still wasn’t ready for an engagement and she didn’t want to be forced into inventing new excuses.
A large gilt mirror hung over a table in the foyer of Damon House. As she and Barrett passed it, Lilah caught a glimpse of Dinah hurrying out of the library and up the staircase. She and her little sister were due a serious talk. Dinah’s deliberate obstinacy and moodiness were beginning to wear on her nerves.
Barrett paused at the door, slipped his hands to Lilah’s shoulders, and looked expectantly at her. She lifted her face for his kiss. It came, a quick brush of the lips, affectionate but devoid of real passion. Lilah had an unconscionable memory of the last time she had been kissed, of the way he
r whole body had burned from the crush of Tabor Stanton’s lips.
Shocked at herself for even making a comparison, she whispered a goodnight to Barrett and watched him walk to his carriage. She much preferred Barrett’s undemanding kiss, she told herself. No question about it.
Hurrying past the library, Lilah climbed the stairs quickly, hoping to speak to Dinah before she got into bed. A rap on Dinah’s bedroom door received no response. Lilah entered the room. Dinah hadn’t heard because she stood on her balcony blowing kisses to the moon. At least that was what Lilah assumed until she stepped onto the balcony and saw Barrett below, just climbing into his carriage.
“Dinah.”
Dinah spun around. “How dare you come in without knocking!”
Lilah gasped, surprised at Dinah’s abruptness. “Is this a new rule?”
“Yes, it is,” Dinah snapped back. “I’d like to think I can have my privacy.”
Lilah’s brow creased. “We’ve never locked doors between us.”
Dinah tossed her head and hurried back into the bedroom. “I’m sure you’ll be locking doors between us when you marry Barrett. Why postpone it?”
Lilah’s heart softened. At last she understood. Dinah was jealous of Barrett. And most likely afraid of being alone. After all, Lilah had been both mother and sister to Dinah most of her life. Of course Dinah was upset over the prospect of losing someone she loved. But that need not happen. Lilah and Barrett could make their home at Damon House. Papa would like that too.
She spoke softly. “I’ve been thinking that Barrett and I might live here after we’ve married.” Lilah placed an arm around Dinah’s drooping shoulders. “That way, nothing much would change. I would still be here with you and Papa.”
“Oh yes it would change,” Dinah sobbed. “Nothing would ever be right again.”
* * *
Lilah and her father sat in an open carriage in front of the Damon stable. Clement’s love and appreciation for horses hadn’t diminished despite the way he’d incurred his injuries or the fact that he could no longer ride. He boasted one of the finest stables of saddle and carriage horses around. His breeding stock was of the best quality, their offspring bringing premium prices.
Lilah didn’t completely share her father’s love of horses. She did, however, love her father enough to overlook her reticence about anything that made him happy. She could hardly wait for him to see his surprise, and didn’t intend to let anything spoil it, not even Dinah’s perplexing behavior, though she couldn’t understand why her sister had refused to come to the stable to share in the event.
“Cover your eyes, Papa. I don’t want you looking until everything is ready,” Lilah said with evident glee in her voice.
“I feel ridiculous holding my hands over my eyes,” Clement retorted good-naturedly. Lilah, he understood, took it as another of her duties to keep her father cheerful. She was forever surprising him with things she thought would add to his comfort and happiness. He thought back. Just last year there had been an upholstered rocking chair with a music box built into the armrest, a frisky spaniel named Squire, and a bottle of rather repulsive Egyptian massage oil. He dared not guess what she was foisting on him now.
“You’re determined to peek, but I’ll take care of that.” Lilah laughed and whipped off her broad- brimmed straw bonnet and held it in front of Clement’s face. “Bring him out, Gus,” she called.
The thump of hooves on flinty earth brought an exclamation of interest from Clement Damon. “Lilah, what have you been up to?”
“Grand things, Papa. You’ll see.” Slowly she lowered her hat, fearful a sudden move might startle the tall black stallion standing stretched out only a few feet away. “What do you think of him?”
“I’ll be damned!” Clement said, leaning forward as he did at those times he consciously wished he could walk. “What a magnificent animal! Where did you get him?”
“In St. Louis,” Lilah said, deliberately avoiding her father’s eyes lest he see the lie hidden in them.
“Take him in a circle, Gus.” Clement, smiling broadly, watched the horse’s power and clean, solid moves as, neck arched, he pranced around behind the stable man. “An animal like that must have cost a fortune,” he mumbled. “Lilah!” Suddenly his eyes were on his daughter. “How did you pay for that horse?”
“With my allowance, Papa,” Lilah said sweetly. She caught Clement’s hand. “I suppose I’ll have to do without a few gowns, but it’s worth it to see you so happy.”
“Sweetheart...” Clement said, creases lining his brow. He had never put any limits on Lilah’s spending, but if she intended making more purchases like this, he would have to come to a new understanding with her. “Six months of your allowance wouldn’t pay for that animal.”
“He wasn’t nearly that much, Papa,” she answered, still avoiding her father’s eyes as she hugged him. “I got him at a bargain price. The man who owned him had no idea of his value. The horse isn’t well-broken. Why, it’s hard to even get a saddle on him. The owner was glad to be rid of him.” The smile on her face came from a deep-seated sense of satisfaction.
Clement saw the strange light in Lilah’s eyes and wondered about it, but he was much too entranced with the horse to give her expression any serious thought. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Take him around again, Gus. This time in a wide circle.” Gus led the horse completely around the carriage. “Pick up the pace a little,” Clement called. Gus speeded up, and the stallion followed in a trot, moving proudly, as if he knew he was being admired and knew he deserved that admiration.
“You like him, don’t you, Papa?” Lilah asked softly, pleased by the look of delight on her father’s face.
“He’s one of the finest animals I’ve ever owned.” He squeezed her hand. “Does he have a name?”
“Indeed he does,” Lilah returned, the peculiar brightness once more in her eyes. “I call him Rogue.”
* * *
Tabor scrubbed his chair back from the bars of his cell and stood and stretched his muscles. A light breeze drifted in the small window and he had to admit his own odor was a bit ripe. Peregrine had allowed him only bucket baths. He and both sets of his clothes were in need of a good wash. The marshal didn’t seem to mind, though. Tabor wondered if being made to smell like a carcass was part of his punishment. Still he managed a smile as he tossed his last hand of cards through the bars to the marshal.
“Damn!” Peregrine said. “Reckon I better try again.”
Tabor shook his head. “Hell, Walsh. You’re wearing me out. Why don’t you forget about winning and just admit I’m too good a poker player for you?”
The marshal, his bulk straining a wooden straight chair, used his foot to push a small table away. “‘Cause you ain’t been here but two weeks and I got plenty of time to outsmart you yet.”
“Now, that’s another thing, Walsh.” Tabor ventured into a subject he’d avoided until now. In two weeks he had gotten to know the marshal rather well. Odd as it was, the men had become friends of a sort. “Didn’t you tell me you were one of the best poker players in town?”
“That’s right.” Peregrine leaned the chair back on two legs and propped his feet on the rough wood table where the cards lay. “Not a man in town can get the better of me, and that’s not just because I’m wearin’ this badge.” He reached into his shirt pocket for his tobacco pouch, and finding it empty, asked Tabor for a smoke. Tabor obliged.
“You haven’t won a game with me.”
“I reckon I know that.” Peregrine filled a paper with tobacco, licked it, and formed it into a lumpy cylinder with his stubby fingers. “You’ve damned near cleaned out my tobacco money. Had to ask my wife for two bits to buy lunch today.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something?”
Peregrine frowned. “It ought to tell me not to play another hand with you.” He struck a match on his boot sole and lit his cigarette. “But I mean to get my money back.”
The marshal threw ba
ck his head and barked a laugh. Having Stanton in his jail and listening to his tales about naval voyages to Japan and Hawaii made the time pass better, gave him something to talk to his wife about too. She had even sent the boy a slice of apple pie. Stanton offered such a believable account of native girls in grass skirts doing a dance called the hula that Peregrine could almost see brown-skinned hips shaking.
“Ever played poker with a woman?” Tabor asked.
“Nope.” Peregrine puffed on his cigarette. “Never seen a woman who knew a jack from a king. Anyhow, women are too emotional to play poker. They’d give away a hand every time.”
“You ever seen me cheat?”
“Nope. You don’t have to.”
“Think I’d lose a game with a woman?”
Peregrine guffawed at the thought. “Nope,” he said. “You’d have a woman in tears in—” He abruptly dropped the other two chair legs on the floor and drilled Tabor with a pair of deep-set eyes. “What’re you gettin’ at, Stanton? Are you claimin’ Miss Delilah lied?”
Tabor backed away a few feet, remembering how the marshal had once slammed him into the bars. “Think about it, Walsh,” he said matter-of-factly, hoping he was leading Peregrine where he wanted him to go. “Do you believe I’d lose a game to any woman?”
Delilah had left Yuba City two weeks ago. Her spell on Walsh Peregrine had faded but not died. “Aw, I don’t know,” the marshal said, scratching his chin as he thought about it.
“Would you lose a game to a woman?”
“Hell no!”
“See what I mean, Walsh?”
“Yeah, you got a point, but I still can’t believe Miss Delilah told a lie.”
Tabor pressed on while he had Peregrine thinking. “I’m not saying she told a lie. I don’t think she really understands poker. Most likely she thinks she had the winning hand. But women are...” He decided on Peregrine’s own word. “Emotional. And when they get that way, they don’t know what they’re doing.”
Peregrine nodded slowly as he remembered a recent disagreement with his wife after he had told her the biscuits were too dry. She had snatched his dinner plate from under his nose and fed the contents to the dog, then sent him packing out of the house to find his own meal. His eyes nearly got lost in the deep furrows of his brow as he frowned. Stanton was right. Women were unreasonable when they were upset.
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