PRAISE FOR
CHRISTINE MICHELS’
BEYOND BETRAYAL
“What a GREAT STORY! . . . Fast paced, great plot, and intrigue keeps you turning page after page. Ms. Michels brings readers an outstanding story. . . FANTASTIC!”
— Bell, Book and Candle
“As each chapter unfolds, one cannot help but laugh with the delightful characters. Christine Michels has a great sense of humor. Her creative BEYOND BETRAYAL gives a happy ending to [two] of history’s most tragic names: Samson and Delilah.”
— Romance Communications
“In BEYOND BETRAYAL, Christine Michels has created characters you laugh with, cry for, and care about—characters with heart and soul who spring to vivid life on the page. They live on in your imagination long after the last page is turned.”
—Anne Avery, Author of The Snow Queen
“Readers better set a block of time before plunging into this fast-paced western: they will keep turning pages until the delightful end! The snappy, sparkling dialect gives a sense of realism to the [] characters.”
—Calico Trails
“Christine Michels does a great job of creating deep, multi-layered characters. BEYOND BETRAYAL is an entertaining fast paced read.”
— The Literary Times
“. . . a tremendous reading experience. . . BEYOND BETRAYAL is a crafty retelling of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah, but in a. . . frontier [] background. Ms. Michels is one of the top guns of American romance.”
— Harriet Klausner, Reviewer
“. . .a real adventure set in the Old West, with a strong, intriguing heroine and a secret-past, to-die-for hero. . .it will become one of your keepers.”
— Trana Mae Simmons, Author of Winter Dreams
~~~~
LOVE’S BETRAYAL
Samson shrugged off Delilah’s restraining hand. "It's okay," he murmured without taking his eyes from the man who faced him. He let his gunbelt drop to the ground. Almost immediately, the two men who'd dismounted kicked Samson's gun aside and then grabbed him by the arms, roughly turning him around to secure his hands behind his back. Casey saw the badge on Samson's shirt and removed it. "You won't be needing this anymore," he said with a smirk as he threw the piece of metal to the ground.
Samson turned and looked at Delilah. The sadness in his charcoal-hued eyes was enough to make her heart bleed. "Thanks for. . . the time we had. It meant a lot. Take care of yourself, Delilah.”
"Delilah?" Casey repeated, looking at her and moving forward before Delilah had a chance to respond. "Are you Delilah Sterne?"
She wanted nothing more than to deny her identity, but she saw by the confusion in Samson's eyes that it was already too late. "Yes," she murmured, not taking her eyes from Samson's.
"Mr. Telford wanted me to thank you personal like for sendin' that telegram.” A horrible stillness came over Samson in that instant, like the heavy stillness before a ferocious prairie storm. Denial and disbelief flared to life in his eyes, replaced only a moment later by a terrible bleakness that cleaved her heart in two. "It's taken a long time for us to collar Towers, here," Casey went on. "And we might not'a ever done it without your help. Here's the rest of the reward Mr. Telford promised ya.” He held out a thick brown envelope.
Delilah shook her head. "I. . . I don't want it."
Casey's eyes widened. "Well now—"
"Take it!" the voice was Samson's.
~~~***~~~
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~~~
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BEYOND BETRAYAL
BY
CHRISTINE MICHELS
~~~***~~~
“Beyond Betrayal” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are entirely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BEYOND BETRAYAL
Copyright © 1998 by S.C. Michels
Originally published in mass market paperback edition by Leisure Books, an imprint of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Cover Art © 2011 by Esther’s Creations
All Rights Reserved. With the exception of brief passages used as quotes in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled or used in whole or in part by any means existing without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
~~~***~~~
Kindle Edition
Published by
Northern Fire Publishing
PO Box 153 Redcliff, AB. Canada T0J 2P0
January 2012
~~~~
ISBN: 0-505-52264-0 (Paperback Edition)
eISBN: 978-0-9876883-5-4
~~~~
DEDICATION
In memory of some dearly missed four-legged family members,
First, three precocious pooches:
Candy, the Yorkshire terrier, who inspired Poopsy. I’ll never forget her smiles.
Nikki, the faithful and brilliant Maltese terrier, who was my constant companion for 13 years.
And, Dusty, a wonderful red sable Pomeranian whose loving antics I’ll always remember.
Also in memory of Pugsley, a Himalayan cat with natural acting ability,
Buddy, a lab-chow mixed breed who liked to play with ponies,
Princess, an aristocratic and reclusive Persian cat,
and Spikey, a small hedgehog who wasn’t afraid of cats in the least.
~~~~
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Reviews
Excerpt
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Books by Christine Michels
Acclaim for the Author
About the Author
Reader Letter
CHAPTER 1
________________________
Montana Territory, May 1887
Immune to the soothing clackety-clack rhythm of the train, Delilah Sinclair tightened her black-gloved fingers on her reticule as she fell prey once again to anxious thoughts. The paper on which her sister's letter had been written crinkled beneath her grasp. She'd read it so many times she had it all but memorized. Still, with disquiet in her mind and a chill in her heart, she removed it and read it again.
~~~
Dearest Delilah,
I hope this letter finds you well. It seems that it has been much more than a year since we last saw each other, though I know it has not. I think of you often, and miss you dreadfully.
I wish I could tell you that good news had prompted the writing of this letter, but I cannot. Although the hellish winter is thankfully over, the recovery process continues. The brutal winter hit us hard here in Montana. We lost much of our stock. Some of the cows calved too early, and Tom broke his leg badly when he and some of the men were
out trying to rescue the little beasts from the terrible cold and waist deep snows.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, we lost to rustlers a number of the cattle that had survived the winter. These were cattle that we had planned to sell ourselves. Many of our neighbors have suffered similar losses. The sheriff is investigating, but thus far the rustling continues.
In addition, the annual mortgage payment is due on the ranch in June. Having already spoken with the banker on numerous occasions, I can tell you that he is not in the least sympathetic to our situation. There are simply too many others whom hardship has hit as severely. In fact, some of the larger ranchers, not having had any hay stores at all, are even worse off. So I guess I shall be grateful for small blessings.
I despise the necessity for asking, dear sister, but I must, though I do so without Tom's knowledge. If you have any means of assisting us, your kindness would be greatly appreciated. You know that I will repay you as soon as I am able.
Your loving sister, always, Eve.
~~~
Delilah closed her eyes briefly as she considered the implications hidden between the lines of script. Eve had as much pride and independence as any Sinclair. She'd never ask for help unless there was dire need of it. And, although she'd alluded only to the need for financial help, Delilah couldn't shake the certainty that there was something her sister wasn't saying. Regardless, the problem that Delilah faced at the moment was that she wasn't much better off financially than Eve. Yet somehow, in some way, she had to find the means to aid her. She'd promised Daddy long ago that she'd always look out for her younger sister.
With single-minded intensity, Delilah stared at the passing landscape as though the answer to her problem lay out there somewhere. Perhaps in the lee of a hillock or boulder where, in the higher altitudes, dirty clumps of snow still battled the inevitable onslaught of spring. Perhaps beneath the warmth of the sunlight in the greening meadows, where the spring warmth had coaxed the tender young grass and crocuses to the surface. Or perhaps in some of the more distant mountain peaks, where the snows receded, crowning the peaks while leaving vast valleys green with the moisture of their runoff. Valleys free at last for the cattle who had survived the winter to graze upon.
But she saw no answers there. With a sigh, she returned her gaze to the nearer landscape, and stared sightlessly at the newly-emerged tender silver-green leaves on the sagebrush lining the railroad. In the seat across from her, she heard the rustle of Mrs. Higgins' skirts as the lady shifted position. She was no doubt settling her three-year-old daughter's head more comfortably on her lap; the child had been asleep for some time.
Mrs. Higgins was young—certainly no older than Delilah's own twenty-two years—and, Delilah had noted, she seemed rather naive.
On the seat next to Delilah sat a man who'd gotten on at the last stop—continuing a journey he'd begun some time ago, according to his initial conversation with the man across the way. From his direction came the periodic crackle of paper as he sorted through a sheaf that he'd pulled from a worn leather satchel shortly after seating himself.
"Are you a bounty hunter, sir?” Mrs. Higgins's quiet voice attracted Delilah's attention, the question piquing her own interest, and, despite herself, she listened for the reply.
"Yes, ma'am.” The man's drawl was definitely Southern in origin, diluted by years in the West. "Joseph Pike's the name."
"Mrs. Higgins. Clara Higgins," Clara introduced herself. "This is my daughter, Sarah."
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am.” Pike cleared his throat. "I'm looking for these here three men.” More crackling paper. "Heard they'd been seen up this way."
Her attention captured, Delilah looked. Noting her regard, Pike tipped his hat and introduced himself again. "Mrs. Delilah Sterne," Delilah offered with a nod, the lie coming easily to her lips after years of use. She'd been only seventeen when she'd claimed it as her own.
"It's right terrible to see such a young woman dressed in black. You been widowed long, ma'am?"
"Not long enough to forget him," she replied in a suitably subdued voice, as her blue-eyes misted. Her statement confirmed her widowhood even as it erected a barrier against unwanted male attention.
"My sympathies, ma'am.” Pike returned his attention to the WANTED posters and angled them so that both she and Clara could see them. "These here are the men I'm lookin' for. You jest let me know if you've seen any of 'em. Murderers and thieves, the lot of them. Butch Morgan, here," he said, pointing to the first poster, "is a rustler and a bank robber.” The rendering on the poster revealed an individual with a long narrow face, unshaven appearance, and cold eyes. Pike slid Morgan's poster behind and revealed the next man he hunted. "This here's George Clark. He's wanted for robbin' a bank and killin' the clerk in Pine Bluffs. Word is he's travelin' with Morgan now.” George Clark appeared to be a clean-cut looking man with a large walrus moustache. Had it not been for the scar on his left cheek, he would not have appeared dangerous in the least.
"My parents live in Wyoming," Mrs. Higgins offered. "Not far from Pine Bluffs."
"That's nice country, ma'am," Pike commented and switched posters. "This here feller is wanted for murderin' a kid in Cedar Crossing.” He met Clara Higgins gaze. "That's in Wyomin' too, ma'am.” She nodded, and he transferred his gaze to Delilah. "Samson Towers is his name."
Despite the crudeness of the sketched likeness, Samson Towers was not an unhandsome man. He had dark hair and a strong jaw. "He shot the kid in the back, they say," Pike continued. Delilah listened to him with polite disinterest until she caught sight of the size of the reward offered for bringing Towers in alive: One thousand dollars!
"Big mistake him shooting Boyd Telford," Pike was saying. "He was the only son of Paul Telford.” He raised his left brow as though that name should mean something to her. When Delilah merely shook her head, he looked at Clara Higgins expectantly, but she seemed at a loss as well. "The rancher," he explained. "Owns blamed near half of Wyoming territory."
"Oh," Delilah said weakly. On second thought, she probably had heard the name, but her mind was still on that thousand dollars. "And you say Mr. Towers has been seen in Montana?"
Pike nodded and glanced around, ostensibly to ensure that none of his competitors were near. "Up near Helena or Butte, I hear," he replied in a low voice. "But you don't need to worry ma'am," he said to Delilah. "I doubt he'd be stupid enough to be in town. He'll be hidin' out in the hills somewhere. And I aim to get him."
Delilah didn't bother telling Pike that her own destination was neither Helena nor Butte, but Red Rock, a small town situated between and West of the two towns. Tom and Eve's ranch lay just South and a bit West of Red Rock. Anxious to see her sister, Delilah would be continuing on from Butte as soon the train pulled into station, if that was at all possible.
At that moment, a sharp yap from the direction of Delilah's open carpetbag drew three pairs of eyes and she reached down automatically to comfort the small furball which had recently become the bane of her existence. The dog had been a gift from an elderly woman Delilah had befriended. She didn't know why she'd allowed Mrs. Sharp to convince her to accompany her on her health-seeking excursion to the Soda Springs in Idaho Territory. Having learned long ago that self-reliance was the best policy, Delilah wasn't ordinarily prone to sentimental friendships. Nevertheless she had accompanied the lonely old woman who'd travelled half a continent seeking a cure for her pain-ridden body. Perhaps she'd agreed because Mrs. Sharp had in some way reminded her of the mother she'd lost long ago. But regardless of whatever uncharacteristic and indecipherable reason she may have had, her compliance with the woman's wishes had resulted in her being at Mrs. Edwina Sharp's bedside in the Soda Springs Hotel when she passed on.
On her deathbed, Edwina had bequeathed to Delilah the thing she loved most in the world: her dog, Poopsy. She'd insisted that Poopsy had taken a shine to Delilah, and she could leave her with no one else.
And now Delilah was stuck with a burdensome pet whose name sh
e refused to utter. And, for the longest time, the dog had disdained to answer to any other appellation. She and Poopsy had, however, finally arrived at a compromise. She called the dog Poochie, and Poopsy tolerated her mispronunciation enough to respond.
"Perhaps she's hungry," Clara suggested.
Delilah shook her head. "Actually, I think she has to go. I just hope she can hold it until the next stop."
"What is it?" Mr. Pike asked, eyeing Poopsy with a kind of curious disdain.
Delilah looked at him in startlement. "Why she's a dog, Mr. Pike. Of the Yorkshire breed I am told."
Pike's brows arched doubtfully. "Don't look like no dog I've ever seen. Way too small to be any good. One kick from a cow, and it'd be done for."
"Indeed," Delilah acknowledged. Privately, she found herself more than half in agreement with Mr. Pike. She'd spent much of her life on a farm where animals either earned their keep or ended up on the dinner table. "However, I don't believe this breed was meant for herding, Mr. Pike. The elderly woman who owned her formerly regarded her as a companion, and nothing more."
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