Delilah's gambler's heart beat just a little faster, but she ignored it. What she sought at the moment was not a saloon, but a telegraph office. For what she was about, she couldn't risk using the telegraph office in Red Rock.
She passed a number of banks, hotels, insurance companies, and laundries. Even a jewelry store which she would have loved to have browsed through, but dared not take the time. A beautiful blue gown displayed in the window of one ready-made clothing store slowed her as she gazed at it with envious eyes. She passed the post office where a sign in the window reminded customers that postage was now two cents per ounce. And then finally, a little further on, a telegraph office.
Dismounting, she secured Jackpot to a hitching rail with a convenient water trough beneath it and, as the horse drank, she went inside. The telegraph office was quite dark, being fashioned almost entirely of wood, probably mahogany, and it took a moment for Delilah's eyes to adjust to the gloom. The first thing she noticed was the young man behind the counter. He wore a white shirt, thin black neck tie, and a small black cap. The second thing she noticed was a strong smell of peppermint. "Afternoon, ma'am," the young man greeted her.
Delilah smiled. "Good afternoon. I'd like to send a telegraph to the sheriff's office in Cedar Crossing, Wyoming."
"Sure thing, ma'am.” He placed a piece of paper and a pencil on the desk for her. "You just write out what you want to say, and I'll get it out right away."
Delilah went still. She hadn't thought about what to say. Looking around a little desperately, she spied a small table and chair in the corner. "Is it all right if I do it over there?" she asked. "I. . . I'm not certain how to word it."
The young man nodded. "You just let me know when you're ready.” He immediately returned to whatever task he'd been doing when she entered. Slowly, thoughtfully, Delilah walked over to the table, sheet of paper and pencil in hand.
After much deliberation, wasting more time that she could afford, she finally came up with:
~~~
Have information regarding S. Towers. Stop. How much reward for details leading to capture? Stop. Will wait two hours for reply. Stop. Delilah Sterne.
~~~
She gave it to the young man, paid for its transmission, and then asked where she might go while she waited. The telegraph operator suggested a restaurant just down the street.
An hour later, having drank enough tea to set sail and having eaten her fill of pastries, Delilah returned to the telegraph office to see if she'd received a response yet. To her disappointment, she hadn't. With a sigh, she took up residence in the corner chair to wait out the second hour. If she didn't hear by then, she'd have no choice but to return to Red Rock without an answer. As it was, she might be late getting to work tonight, though she doubted Miss Cora would say anything.
She observed as people came and went. Sometimes people came in themselves to retrieve messages, but in a number of instances the clerk would send young boys racing off with messages to be delivered. A man, whom Delilah took to be a miner due to the grimy state of his clothing, came in to send a message. He paid, and left.
"Ma'am," the telegraph operator called twenty minutes later just as Delilah was about to give up.
"Yes?"
"Your message is here."
Having convinced herself that, in all likelihood, she would not receive a response, Delilah only stared at him for an instant. Then as his words sank in, she rose and quickly made her way to the desk. He handed her a piece of paper on which the communiqué had been transcribed.
It said simply:
~~~
Five hundred dollars. Stop. Half now. Stop. Will send to your bank. Stop. Other half when Towers in custody. Stop. Waiting reply. Stop. Paul Telford.
~~~
Delilah swallowed. Good Lord, it was going to work. Her hands began to shake from a combination of fear for the irrevocable act she was about to commit, and relief, for finally having the funds to help her sister. She was certain that the immediate two hundred and fifty dollars that she would receive for the information, on top of what she'd already deposited in their behalf, was more than enough to meet Eve and Tom's mortgage payment. She sighed, not realizing how worried she'd been until the weight was lifted from her shoulders.
* * *
It had been mid-afternoon before Samson learned that Delilah had left town, unescorted, to go all the way to Butte. He'd spent part of the morning talking to Pike, the bounty hunter, about Morgan and Clark who had been the two unknown men he'd captured the other night. And, of course, all the time he'd talked to Pike, he'd done his best to conceal his own features. Keeping his hat brim pulled low. Never looking right at the man as they talked. Until,finally, Pike had left.
Samson's first reaction, upon talking to Metter and learning about Delilah's trip, was fury. How could she do something so irresponsible? There were bears, wolves and cougars in these mountains. Not to mention any number of two legged predators that roamed the wilds. Then, as his anger slowly cooled, he thought to wonder at its source.
After all, he had no rights where Delilah was concerned. Though, truth to be told, ever since he'd told Mrs. Williamson and the bevy of town matrons who'd come to call that his intentions toward Mrs. Sterne were honorable, he'd found himself more than a little intrigued by the thought of marriage to her. Still, it was not his place to worry about her. So why was he?
He wanted her friendship. He wanted her in his bed. Nothing more. And, if it didn't work out, well they could both move on to other things. Couldn't they? And even if she never agreed to an intimate relationship between them, he could simply go back to the life he'd led before she come to Red Rock. Delilah would move on to another town, another gaming table, and someday, another man who would teach her to love again.
Samson scowled at the thought. Dammit! He didn't want to go back to the life he'd led before she came. Contemplating life without her in it, in his thoughts, seemed suddenly exceedingly empty. And he certainly didn't want another man touching her, teaching her the joy of loving. That man was supposed to be him. He couldn't imagine it any other way without wanting to hit something.
But he wasn't supposed to care that much. His plan had been for a reserved, friendly relationship. Yet somehow, somewhere along the way, he'd begun to care about Delilah Sterne. Too much. And he didn't know what to do about it.
When dusk began to fall and she hadn't returned to town, tension began to seep into his muscles. He couldn't concentrate on the papers on his desk. He snapped at Deputy Wilkes for no good reason, and had to apologize. And he couldn't seem to stop going to the window to look for her.
Finally he gave up. Cursing, he slammed out of the office. After checking with Metter to see if perhaps she'd returned and he'd missed seeing her—though he was pretty sure this hadn't happened—he mounted Goliath and headed toward Butte. The only thing that would ease his mind would be to find her, so he might as well meet her.
Blast the woman!
He wanted to give her a good talking to for her foolishness, but didn't even have the right to do that. Somehow, he was simply going to have to find a way to marry her. He sure as hell couldn't have the woman he loved traipsing all over the countryside driving him crazy with worry and not be able to do anything about it.
Whoa! Back up there. The woman he loved? What in blazes was he thinking? He didn't love her! Did he? The idea of loving another woman scared the bejesus out of him. All that pain and impulsiveness and need. . . He never wanted to go through that again.
But he was going through that again.
"Ah, hell!” The shock of that discovery made him pull Goliath up. He considered galloping back to Red Rock as fast as the horse could carry him. Was there still time to get out of it? Could he leave Delilah to her own devices and never see her again?
He stared into the night. It was a clear night, thankfully one of the first warm ones. There was a moon overhead, but it was still dark—especially here in the forest. He could scarcely see the trail in fr
ont of him. He listened to the hoots of owls and the scurryings in the grass and the mournful wail of a distant wolf, and wondered if Delilah was hearing those things too. Was she frightened?
Well, hell, she deserved to be frightened.
Could he leave her to the night and its creatures and the fright she might be feeling?
No.
With a grimace of self-disgust, Samson set Goliath into motion once more. He'd ridden about two miles before he finally heard the sound of a horse approaching.
Delilah?
He moved Goliath off the road into the shadow of the trees to wait and watch. When the horse came into sight, he could see by the silhouette in the moonlight that the rider was indeed a woman. It had to be her.
And once again his anger returned. The blamed woman needed a good scare thrown into her, that's what. Maybe she'd think twice about taking off by herself the next time. With that thought in mind, Samson sat in the shadows observing her approach.
She looked small and vulnerable in the moonlight, her shoulders slumped with tiredness. He hardened his heart, refusing to allow himself to be swayed. This was for her own good.
As she drew nearer, he tugged Goliath's head up from the succulent grasses on which he was nibbling and shortened the reigns. Samson waited until she'd gone about ten paces past the spot where he was concealed, then he kicked Goliath into a gallop and raced after her. She was just beginning to turn to investigate the sounds behind her when he was upon her. Grasping her around the waist, he plucked her from her saddle and pulled her into his lap.
~~~* * *~~~
CHAPTER 11
________________________
As she felt the arm clamp about her waist, Delilah screamed. Mindless unreasoning terror gave her strength, and she fought like a wildcat. With feet and teeth and nails. She would not let it happen to her again. She wouldn't! She would fight with every last ounce of breath in her body.
"No!” She screamed again, this time in rage, as her assailant pinned her hands together behind her back. She arched her body away from him, using her feet to kick at his leg, at his horse to spook it, at anything within reach.
"Goldarnit woman! What are you trying to do? Emasculate me?"
The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she was too frightened to identify it. Since her last kick seemed to have produced a result, she attempted to duplicate it.
"Oh, no, you don't," the voice growled in her ear. His grip on her shifted as he pulled her more firmly against him, limiting the effectiveness of her kicking.
"No! Don't! Please, don't," she cried out as tears of frustration and fear and rage boiled up inside her and began to pour down her cheeks.
"Delilah, stop it! It's Matt. I'm not going to hurt you."
She heard the words, but her fear rendered her incapable of understanding them, and she struggled on.
"Dadburnit, woman! Will you calm down and listen? I'm not going to hurt you. It's Matt."
She went still, not quite certain she could trust her ears. "Matt?" she echoed, hating the tremble in her voice but unable to prevent it.
"Yes, darlin'. It's Matt."
Slowly she turned in his lap to look up into his face. The moonlight had transformed his familiar visage into one comprised of shadows and angles, but it was definitely Sheriff Matt Chambers. Her relief quickly transformed into anger, however, as she realized that he had deliberately frightened the wits out of her for some reason only he knew. "You. . . you bastard!" she exclaimed, swearing for one of the few times in her life. She swiped in embarrassment at the tears still tracking down her cheeks.
There was a moment of tense silence. Then he spoke. "I know you won't believe this Delilah, but I'm sorry. Really sorry. I. . . forgot that. . . God, I'm a fool."
"Well, you won't get any argument on that score," Delilah said stiffly. "Now, put me down please.” She wanted nothing more at the moment than to put some distance between them.
Obligingly, he carefully lowered her to the ground before dismounting himself. To her further dismay, Delilah noted that Jackpot was nowhere in sight. No doubt the poor horse had been as startled as she was, and had taken off at top speed for the security of his stable.
Buoyed by her anger and not much else, Delilah turned to face the cause of her current distress. "I'd appreciate an explanation for your outrageous behavior, Sheriff. If you would be so kind.” The sarcasm in her voice was impossible to mistake.
He considered her in silence for a moment, the darkness cloaking his expression. Then he said, "I wanted you to understand the dangers of going off alone."
Delilah's eyes widened and she turned her back to him before she did something unseemly like. . . like slapping him. Oh! The man was infuriating. "Do you honestly think I don't know the dangers, sir?" she asked in a tight voice. "From man and from beast?” Though on some occasions it was difficult to separate the one from the other.
"I guess maybe you do.” His tone was tense.
"You're darned tootin' I do."
"Then why are you out here alone?"
She whirled to face him. "Because I value my independence. Unless I need a guide, I see no reason to sacrifice my liberty for the company of a man. Would you have me cowering in my room afraid to venture out without an escort?
"Most women would consider waiting for an escort simple good sense."
"Well, I'm not one of them. In case you've forgotten, in my profession, I travel alone all the time. I go into places where few women go and associate with men whom decent women won't even allow to brush against their skirts.” How could she make him understand without revealing too much of herself? Or perhaps it no longer mattered where he was concerned. "And every time I do, I feel sick to my stomach with fear. Frightened that I'll encounter another brute who will. . .” She broke off, unable to put her repulsion into words. But he remained silent, waiting, so she took a deep breath and continued. "I live with my fear until I get to know the people in the town. Until they have accepted me for who I am.
"You mean until they accept the boundaries you establish?"
Delilah turned away from him to gaze into the blackness of the forest lining the narrow road. How very perceptive of him. "Yes," she agreed. Though that was something he had refused to do, she might have added.
"So, why do you do it?” His quiet baritone came out of the darkness at her back.
Delilah tilted her chin up as though looking at the stars and closed her eyes. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She took a deep breath. "I do it because I am a Sinclair by birth, and a Sinclair always faces her fear. I do it because being with people, lots of people, keeps me from remembering too much. And, I do it because gambling is the only work for which I have a certain amount of talent and which I truly enjoy. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"
"But. . . you're a woman, darnit!"
She whirled to face him. "And because I'm a woman, I must enjoy sewing seams in men's shirts or trousers day after day for a few coins that barely keep starvation at bay? Well I don't! The tedium drives me so crazy that I could scream with the frustration of it all."
"There are other professions, and not just menial ones. I heard tell there's a woman doctor somewhere in Colorado. You're good at doctoring. And there's a lady newspaper reporter in Idaho or Wyoming I think. You're good with words too. I bet you could do something like that. Heck, you could probably do anything you set your mind to."
Delilah stared at him, puzzled by the admiration she heard in his words. Matt Chambers admired her despite every attempt she had made to drive him away. He had faith in her intelligence, in her abilities, in her. And she had just betrayed him. Guilt rose in her throat like bile, choking her into silence.
"You should do something less dangerous," Matt was saying. "I don't like wondering night after night if some drunken cowhand is gonna take it into his head to try to recoup his losses at gunpoint. And I don't like worrying about you when you go off half-cocked all by yourself."
Delilah could only continue to stare at him. Was that where all this was coming from? He had been worried about her. Would a cold-blooded murderer, the kind that would shoot a kid in the back, care that much about a woman like her?
So, he would be cleared of the charges against him. But what if he wasn't? Oh God! What had she done?
"Ah, hell! I don't know why I'm standin' here talkin' to you about this now. Come on. I'll get you home. We'll probably catch up to that blamed horse of yours a mile down the road.” He turned and mounted Goliath, then extended a hand down to her.
She looked from his big capable hand to his hard night-shadowed features and shook her head in protest. "I'm not going to ride double with you."
"Well, I'm not walking. So unless you intend to walk, you have about one minute to make up your mind."
Delilah looked at the narrow band of road that faded into absolute blackness ahead. There wasn't much moonlight.
"Delilah—" he said with a note of warning in his tone.
"Oh, very well," she responded less than graciously as she grasped his hand and felt herself hoisted with surprising ease onto the big horse's rump. It took her a moment to get her split skirt arranged so that it covered her legs properly. Once settled, she reverted to conversation. "You know, since it was you who got me into this predicament in the first place, I should think you would have offered to walk. It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do."
"I'm not a gentleman. Leastways, not tonight. I'm not in the mood."
Delilah didn't know how to respond to that, so she said nothing. Besides she was busy trying to figure out how to hold onto him firmly without pressing her body against his in an unseemly fashion. She settled for knotting her fingers into the sides of his leather vest. This worked quite adequately until he quickened the horse's pace. Then, however, she found herself being jounced from side to side in a manner that could easily result in mishap. He seemed to realize this too, for he grasped her hands in his and pulled them about his waist, joining them securely together. This position, of course, had the disadvantage of bringing her front up solidly against his back, which was disconcerting to say the least. Still, there was little sense in protesting so she supposed she must bear the discomfort as well as possible until they reached town. God willing, it would not be long.
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