Beyond Betrayal

by Christine Michels

  She just didn't know what to do.

  Unconsciously, Delilah resumed her pacing.

  If she'd only managed to make the money she'd planned by now, then perhaps she could have left Red Rock. Although she'd have felt guilty for not being near to give Eve the emotional support she needed to face Tom's illness, at least Delilah would have been secure in the knowledge that her sister would not lose her home. But Delilah hadn't made the money because she just couldn't seem to work with Matt Chambers watching her like a hawk.

  "Drat the man!" she muttered. At every turn his name arose as the source of her troubles.

  Having given up on diverting her mistress from her thoughts during the night, Poopsy now watched Delilah from her bed with a disconsolate expression. Delilah knew the little dog, sensing her distress, wanted reassurance, but she just didn't have any to give her right now.

  Pausing, Delilah looked in the mirror and gasped at the change in herself. Huge bluish shadows marred the flesh beneath her eyes. A frown line etched the normally smooth skin between her brows. And her typically pale complexion was downright pasty, not a trace of color remained. She didn't understand how a man, any man, could have this effect on her. She was a Sinclair, after all. She was made of sturdy stuff. But in the short time she'd known him, Matt Chambers had invaded her mind and her life.

  Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she realized she was hungry despite her inner turmoil. She welcomed the interruption. It was another direction in which to focus her thoughts, for all the worry and pacing was getting her precisely nowhere.

  She'd put on some fresh clothing, take Poopsy out for a walk, and then go for breakfast. Or rather lunch.

  Three quarters of an hour later, carrying Poopsy in the crook of her arm, Delilah made her way into the dining room. It was rather more crowded than she'd expected. A good many families seemed to have decided to treat themselves by buying their Sunday dinner at the hotel. As she stood in the entrance seeking a small table for herself, a few speculative glances were flung her way. Over the years, however, Delilah had grown accustomed to the way tongues invariably wagged about a young widow turned gambler, so she ignored them. She had never been a really gregarious person anyway, and travelling as much as she did precluded making lasting friendships.

  "Mrs. Sterne—” A sudden loud call startled her, and she turned her head to the right to locate its source. At a table near the front of the restaurant, a man had risen to his feet to wave at her. To her surprise, she realized it was Mr. Pike. "I'd be right honored if you'd join me for lunch, ma'am.” He indicated the empty chair across from him. "I'd hate to see such a pretty lady go hungry."

  And, in truth, Delilah realized that there were no vacant tables. "Thank you, sir," she said with a smile as she moved to join him. "That's very kind of you."

  He shook his head as he moved around the table to pull out a chair for her. "No, ma'am. Not kind at all. My reasons are purely selfish. I just wanted the chance to sit across the table from such a pretty lady."

  Delilah smiled and settled Poopsy on the floor at her feet where she could unobtrusively feed her tidbits. She noticed Pike's collection of WANTED posters laying on the table to his right. Nodding toward them, she asked, "Have you had any luck with your search?"

  "Not yet, ma'am. I heard this morning that the sheriff brought in a couple of rustlers last night. Thought I'd mosey on over there after I eat and take a look. I figure it could be Morgan and, maybe, Clark too. If so, it might be that I'll have to set my sights somewheres else."

  "No luck with that other one either?" she asked.

  He shuffled his stack of posters, placing one on top and turning it toward Delilah. "Towers?" he asked, pointing to the picture. She nodded. "Naw," he said, shaking his head. "It's the dangdest thing. He seems to look a mite familiar to folks round here, but most swear up an' down they never seen him. Almost makes me wonder if he might have kin in these parts or somethin'. I ran into that down Arizona way once. Trailed a fella nigh on a month cause folks kept sayin' they'd seen him. Then, when I finally caught up with him, turned out I'd been chasin' the cousin of the fella I wanted to find."

  "I take it the cousin wasn't wanted?"

  "No, ma'am. Wasn't worth a penny. And ta top it off, he hadn't seen the man I was after in more 'n two years.” Pike shrugged. "But sometimes it goes like that. It's part o' the job."

  At that moment, Mrs. Schmidt approached the table with a plate for Pike. "Missus Sterne, I didn't know you vere comink or I vould haf brought you a plate too.” She set Pike's plate down with a smile and looked back at Delilah. "You vant dinner, no? It is roast turkey today."

  Delilah's stomach rumbled at the mere mention of food. And turkey. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had turkey. "Oh, my, that sounds lovely. Yes, please."

  Freda smiled her friendly gap-toothed smile and winked. "I be right back.” Delilah wondered where she got the energy to cook and serve so many people every day. Oh, she knew that Freda's husband, Marc, did a lot of the cooking, and her son, Erich, helped with serving the guests and washing up. Still it was a lot of work, even split between three people. But when Delilah had suggested once that they might hire help, Freda had very decisively said, "No, missus. Zis is a family business."

  Despite his rough appearance and roving lifestyle, Pike obviously knew his manners. He politely ignored his dinner and continued to regale her with tales about his work as a bounty hunter until Freda Schmidt returned with a plate for Delilah. Then, conversation waned as they both delved into the delicious meal. In the silence, Delilah stared sightlessly at the poster still lying on the table and found her thoughts returning once again to the intrepid Sheriff Chambers.

  The kiss they had shared last night had been. . . wonderful, and terribly frightening. Instinct told her that she was in more danger from Matt Chambers than she had been from any man since Sterne. Yet Matt was nothing like Sterne. And perhaps that was exactly where the danger lay: in the subtle seductiveness of his caring attitude and the erotic power of his kisses. A knot clenched in her stomach at the mere thought of what he wanted from her. And yet she found herself yearning for the gentle warmth of his embrace. Remembering the intoxicating pressure of his lips on hers. Visualizing his hard masculine features.

  She blinked to dispel them, but they obstinately remained. Then, slowly, Delilah came to the realization that the features she's been seeing in her mind's eye were actually quite similar to those in the likeness on the poster of the WANTED murderer, Samson Towers. Very similar. Almost identical, in fact.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and her gaze sharpened. A coincidence, surely?

  Once more, she superimposed the image of Matt Chambers over that of Samson Towers. If one removed the large walrus mustache from Samson Towers' image. . . it could be. The shape of the face was the same. The hair line was the same. Even the contour of the eyes was the same. Towers' nose looked a bit broader than Matt's, but that could have been an error on the part of the artist.

  She read the description again:

  ~~~

  Samson Towers is a big man in both height and figure being more than six feet tall with a muscular build. His size seldom goes unremarked. His eyes are dark, either black or dark brown. He has no distinguishing marks or scars.

  ~~~

  With the exception of the eye color, which again could be just an error on the part of the observers, the description fit Matt Chambers.

  Was it possible?

  But, with each passing second, Delilah grew more certain. How a wanted killer could have become the sheriff of Red Rock, she didn't know. But she'd have bet her last dollar that Samson Towers and Matt Chambers were one and the same man. The depiction in the poster was not that good, for the mustache altered his appearance considerably, concealing his upper lip entirely. Undoubtedly, nobody had yet put it together because they didn't expect to see it. After all, who would suspect a sheriff?

  The question was, now that she'd put it together, what did she do about it?r />
  She'd been raised to believe in justice. Any man guilty of murder, no matter how nice he might seem, had to stand trial for his crime. It was the way things were. But. . . an image of Matt being hung invaded her thoughts, and she almost choked. No! If he was innocent—which, knowing him, she was almost certain he was—then a trial would simply clear his name and set him free. That was what needed to be done.

  She paused in mid-bite as she realized she just might have the means to expel Matt Chambers from her life, and help her sister. Could she do it?

  She squirmed inwardly at the mere thought of turning him in. Had she been faced, merely by her own desire to be quit of him, then she would not even consider it. But. . . there was Eve to consider. With Matt out of the picture, perhaps Delilah's luck would turn.

  But, even if she did turn him in, how could she go about it?

  If she told Pike, she had little doubt that he'd take advantage of the information. And Delilah would get Matt Chambers, or rather Samson Towers, out of her life. Which was what she wanted. She ignored the twinge in her chest and hastily propelled her thoughts onward. But, even with Matt gone, she was no longer certain that she had the time to win the money she needed to help Eve and Tom. And she'd promised to help.

  She lay her fork on her plate as she considered the WANTED poster once again. One thousand dollars reward for the return of Samson Towers—alive—to the authorities in Cedar Crossing, Wyoming. Surely, she should be entitled to a portion of that if she supplied information that led to his capture. How else could she get the money to help Eve save the Devil's Fork?

  "Is something wrong with yer dinner, ma'am?" Pike interrupted her thoughts.

  "Hmm? Oh, no, it's delicious. I'm just. . . not as hungry as I'd thought."

  "There's carrot pudding for dessert," he informed her. "Might want to save some room for that."

  "Yes," Delilah responded distractedly. Picking up her fork, she began to pick at her meal once more.

  She simply was not capable of returning Towers to Wyoming on her own. Pike was, but she was under no illusions as to the nature of his character. He was a bounty hunter. He would do the work, collect the reward, and keep it. The thought of offering her a portion of the reward would never occur to him. At any rate, doing things that way would take too long. She needed money within two weeks.

  Poopsy nudged her leg, and Delilah automatically leaned down to offer her a small piece of turkey.

  For a moment, she was appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken. Not only was she postulating the betrayal of a man for whom she had feelings—confused though they were—but, she was contemplating doing Pike out of the reward for a man he'd obviously spent considerable time tracking. Perhaps she should just tell him and let him take Matt back.

  Matt.

  Lord, she'd begun to care for him despite her fear of getting too close to him. But, if he was innocent of the charges, he would be freed. She had to believe that. And if he wasn't. . . if he wasn't innocent, then he was not the man she thought he was; he was not the man she had begun to care for.

  And letting Pike take him back to Wyoming would do nothing to help Eve. There had to be a way to turn this into a positive thing all the way around. A way to help Eve and Tom save their ranch. A way for Matt to face justice and clear his name. And, a way to free herself from Matt's attentions, allowing her to return to her safe, untouched existence.

  And slowly, as she ate her delicious meal without really tasting a morsel, Delilah came up with a plan. It was risky. It might not work. But she had to try. Knowing that it was too late to accomplish her plan that day, she resigned herself to waiting for the morning, but refused to allow herself to falter in her decision.

  It was the best way. The only way to accomplish all that had to be done.

  * * *

  Dawn the next day found Delilah at the livery stable putting Jackpot's bridle on and coaxing him from his stall. She'd left Poopsy in the care of Mrs. Schmidt for the day and managed to escape without telling the gregarious woman where she was going. Or why.

  As she put the saddle on his back, Jackpot nudged her shoulder and Delilah produced an apple for him. It was a bit wrinkled and soft from having been stored in the hotel's root cellar over the winter, but the horse didn't seem to mind. He munched happily while Delilah cinched the girth and slid her Winchester into the scabbard.

  She was just mounting when Mr. Metter's voice came from the shadows behind her. "You're up right early this mornin', ma'am."

  She sighed inwardly, wishing she'd been just a few minutes faster, then turned to face him. "Good morning, Mr. Metter."

  "Mornin' ma'am. Where you off to?"

  "I just have a couple of errands to run in Butte City. I'll be back by nightfall."

  He frowned. "If you don't mind me sayin' so, ma'am, that's a long way to ride for a couple of errands. Unless you turn around an' come back near as soon as you get there, you'll be hard-pressed to make it back 'fore dark."

  Delilah mounted and looked down at him. "I'll be fine, Mr. Metter. Really.” And she kicked Jackpot into motion, ducking beneath the stable door, before the well-intentioned stableman could delay her further. Within moments, she'd cleared the confines of Red Rock and was on the road the Butte. Not allowing herself to think about what she was doing—it was the right thing after all—she thought instead about Eve and Tom.

  She remembered the laughing young man who'd swept her sister off her feet. At the time, she and Eve had been living just South of Salmon, Idaho in the village of Cragg Creek. A small one-room cabin had been their home, and they were taking in laundry and mending to make enough money to survive. It had been just over a year since their father's death, and she and Eve had just been leaving the mercantile when Tom, who was talking over his shoulder to his uncle, ran into them—quite literally.

  From the beginning, he'd had eyes only for Eve. Love at first sight. After apologizing profusely, he'd introduced himself with gallant flair before permitting them to pass and go on their way.

  Then, later that night, he'd shown up on their doorstep—the Lord only knew how he'd managed to find them—asking if he might call on Miss Eve Sinclair before his heart broke for lack of sight of her. Despite Delilah's determination to protect her younger sister from men, she found herself quite taken with young Tom Cameron and agreed to allow him to call while he was in the area visiting his relatives.

  He'd stayed for a little more than a month, but during that time Delilah and Eve came to know him well. A laughing, carefree young man, he was also hard-working. After saving every cent he'd earned over the last four years, he had just purchased a piece of virgin property in Montana on which he planned to build the ranch he'd dreamed of all his life.

  It turned out that, when he'd run into Eve and Delilah, he was in the area to buy reliable stock and gain a bit of advice from his Uncle Brady about the ranching business. Serendipitously though, he'd also fallen in love during his stay and when he'd left to return to Montana and his new ranch, he'd taken Eve with him as his wife.

  Delilah shook her head. The possibility that he might die, still didn't seem quite real to her. Life was so cruel at times. Closing her eyes briefly, she sent a prayer winging heavenward that the good Lord could find it in his heart to provide a miracle. Not just for Tom, but for Eve who had already lost so much in her young life.

  A short time later, Delilah took note of her surroundings and realized that she would reach Butte before much longer. Once there. . . but she refused to think about it. If she did, she wasn't sure she'd have the courage to go through with it, and she needed to. For Eve's sake as well as her own.

  She returned to her memories. It was upon finding herself alone after Eve's marriage, that Delilah had decided that preserving her reputation was not worth all the pain of dry, cracked and bleeding hands, stabbed fingers, and strained eyes. What reason, after all, was there for preserving one's reputation but to attract a marriageable man. Since she had no such desire, and Eve was gone, De
lilah saw no sense in maintaining the facade. So, she'd turned her eyes towards the saloons, and never looked back. As a young, attractive widow, she'd been accepted surprisingly easily.

  It hadn't been easy for her though. The first time that she'd stepped into the shadowy and mysterious confines of a saloon and approached the gaming table, she'd been so nervous she'd almost retched all over the dealer. It hadn't helped that the dealer was an ex-lawman with a fast draw and a reputation to match. But, for herself, Delilah had found him to be a gentleman.

  Remembering the person she'd been then, Delilah smiled and shook her head. Life was exceedingly strange at times. Looking back, she could clearly see the major turning points in her life. The moments that had propelled her in new directions, gradually forging her into the person she was today. Yet at the time those moments had been nothing more than trials to be lived through or decisions to be made.

  If she had never walked into that first saloon, where would she be today, she wondered.

  And then, there was no more time for thought as she came to Butte City. It was something of a culture shock, returning to the booming industrialized mining town after spending so much time in Red Rock. No less than ten or fifteen blocks in the down town area consisted of three and four story brick buildings, some with fanciful trim and arched windows. Electrical lighting had come to Butte and tall poles belonging to the Brush Electric Light and Power Company lined a number of the streets in the business district. Horse-drawn carriages of every description lined the streets and avenues as top-hatted gentlemen went about the business of making money. From all appearances, a good deal of money. Of course, it was rumored that there were more than 200 mines being worked in the area at the moment. Copper mines like the Anaconda and the Parrot, silver mines like the Bluebird and the Lexington which was said to ship $60,000 in bullion every month. That was a lot of money. No wonder the city looked so prosperous.