Their lovemaking had been spectacular. In fact, he couldn't remember ever being so aroused. He had wanted nothing more than to drive himself into her slick sheath, to bury himself within her to the hilt. But Delilah had needed gentleness, she had needed to take it slow. And he wanted to give her everything she needed and more. He wanted to erase every other man she'd ever known—whether the recollection be pleasant or otherwise—from her memory until he filled every crevice of her mind. He'd wanted to teach her what lovemaking should be. And he thought that perhaps he'd succeeded in that last goal.
But somehow he was going to have to get her to tell him about herself. So much of what he'd thought he'd known about her now seemed in doubt that he wondered exactly how much of Delilah was a lie. Yet, for the moment, with her in his arms, he was content to simply hold her and dream. Dream of what life might have held for them had he not been a wanted man. Dream of taking Delilah as his wife. Dream of the children they might have had.
His eyes flew open. Oh, damn! He'd completely forgotten about the necessity of taking precautions. For all he knew Delilah could now be pregnant with his child. The thought pleased him even as it terrified him. What kind of life could he offer a child? Children needed security, the one thing he would never have.
Then, deciding there was no sense worrying about it at this point, he closed his eyes and rested his nose next to Delilah's lavender-scented hair. He would simply have to ensure that he took precautions in the future and pray that this once had not borne fruit.
* * *
Delilah opened her eyes to the grayness of predawn. She frowned dreamily at the strangeness of her surroundings. There was a delicious heat at her back, and an unaccustomed weight laying across her waist. Slowly memory returned. Moving carefully, she looked over her shoulder to see Matt, or rather Samson, sleeping behind her, his big body curved around hers.
She studied his features in repose, noting how sleep softened his expression. He had an aquiline nose, thick dark lashes that Delilah envied, and full sensual lips. She remembered all the things those lips had done to her the previous night, and flushed even as she felt a faint stirring in her loins.
Who would have guessed the pleasure to be found in a man's arms? Certainly not her.
She wondered if there was more lovemaking techniques that Samson could teach her, or. . . And then reality came crashing in with a vengeance.
There would be no time for him to teach her anything. Because of her, Telford's men were even now on their way here to arrest Samson. Because of her, he would lose the respectable life he'd created for himself here in Red Rock. Because of her, he might hang for a crime he had not committed.
A sob caught in her throat at the thought of him dying.
Oh, no! She had to warn him. She had to tell him what she'd done.
But she was afraid. Afraid of his anger. Afraid of his hurt. And most of all, afraid of his hate.
Why? If you want him out of your life, why should you care what he thinks of you? a voice argued in her mind.
But she did, she realized with a suddenness that surprised her. She cared a lot. When that change had been wrought, she didn't know. Perhaps sometime during his revelation the previous evening. Perhaps at some time during the past weeks, without her realizing it, as he'd relentlessly but gently pursued her. Or perhaps, during his caring lovemaking last night. But suddenly the thought of a life without Samson in it was more frightening than it was desirable.
She no longer wanted Samson out of her life!
The realization stunned her. She looked over her shoulder at the man sleeping at her back again. Had she grown to care for him? In that instant, with stunning force, Delilah received a revelation: She not only had grown to care for this big, intractable male, she loved him.
How could she have fallen in love when everything within her had been afraid of intimacy? Although from the first kiss she'd shared with Matt she'd realized that not all aspects of a relationship with a man would be repugnant, she hadn't known until last night that the sexual aspect of lovemaking could be anything other than painful and disgusting. So how could she have fallen in love? It didn't make sense. One simply did not fall in love overnight.
Somehow, when she hadn't been expecting it, hadn't been looking, Samson Towers alias Matt Chambers had wormed his way into her heart. And now, thanks to her, they had no future.
A sob caught in her throat. What was she going to do? She couldn't bear the thought of Samson losing his life because of her. There had to be something she could do. Some way to undo what she'd done without making Samson hate her.
Return the money?
No, that wouldn't work because it had been deposited directly into Eve and Tom's account to which Delilah had no access. Besides, Telford already had the information he needed and, even if she tried to recant, he would no doubt insist that the details be checked out. He wanted Samson.
Oh, God, she had to get away. She had to think. The thought of facing Samson with the knowledge of what she had done standing between them was more than she could stand.
Moving carefully, a tiny bit at a time, she slid out from beneath Samson's arm and made her way to the edge of the bed. Pausing, she held her breath as he stirred slightly. When he resumed breathing evenly, she hastily sought out the articles of her clothing still scattered about on the floor and dressed. Deciding that she'd put her shoes on in the main room where walking in them stood less chance of disturbing him, she picked them up and slipped out of the bedroom.
The fire in the stove had gone out, and the early morning chill of the house brought goose-bumps to her arms, yet her internal anguish was such that she scarcely felt it. All she could think of was escaping before she had to face him again. Escaping while she thought of a plan to help him, to help them both. Escaping. . . the tremendous guilt that weighed her down, though she doubted that she would ever do that.
She tied her shoelaces with shaking hands and then rose to tiptoe to the door. "Don't tell me you're leaving without saying good-bye," a deep male voice rumbled behind her.
Delilah jumped, squealed and turned to face him. Wearing nothing but his denims which he'd not yet buttoned, Samson was leaning against the doorjamb of the bedroom, looking more appealing than any man had the right to look. Delilah's heart flipped over. "I. . . yes. . . I have to go."
"Without saying good-bye?"
"I didn't want to wake you."
He smiled then, a devastatingly seductive smile that showed strong even white teeth. "I wouldn't have minded," he said as he strolled slowly toward her.
Delilah read the purpose in his eyes, and knew she had to escape before he wove his way even more firmly into her heart. She jerked the door open. "I have to get back. Poopsy has been alone for too long," she explained hastily, forgetting in her anxiety that she'd sworn never to utter the dog's name aloud.
"Poopsy?" he asked, frowning. Advancing until he stood before her.
"My dog.” She looked up at him, into eyes the color of old steel, and wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms, forgetting everything. But if he was to stand any chance, then she had to come up with a plan of some kind. And she couldn't do that with him distracting her.
"I thought her name was Poochie."
"It is. I mean her name was actually Poopsy when she was given to me, but I call her Poochie."
His hand snaked out to grasp her wrist. "Don't go yet?" he asked. "Stay, and I'll make you breakfast."
"No!” His brows arched at the panic in her voice and she swallowed. "No," she repeated more calmly. "I have to go."
"All right," he replied, frowning as he tried to understand her decision. "I'll let you go if you agree to accompany me to the church social tomorrow night."
Tomorrow? Of course, it was now Tuesday morning. She tugged at her wrist, but he wasn't releasing his grip without an answer. "I. . . oh, all right. I'll go with you to the social."
"That's about the most ungracious acceptance I've ever received," he dra
wled, "but I'll take it.” And again he smiled. "I'll pick you up at six."
Delilah nodded and tugged her wrist from his grasp before racing toward the lean-to stable where he'd put both horses the previous night. "Good-bye," he called after her. Delilah glanced over her shoulder and raised a hand to wave but didn't reply. After swiftly saddling Jackpot, she mounted and left at a canter.
Samson watched her ride away. "Now what in blazes got into her?" he murmured to himself.
~~~* * *~~~
CHAPTER 13
________________________
By midday, Delilah had come to the conclusion that all of her parents' lessons on strength of character had come to naught. Not only had she set a sequence of irreversible events in motion without sufficient consideration, but she was a coward to boot. Having come to the conclusion that there was no way out of the mess she'd created that would not hurt either Samson or herself, she'd decided to leave Samson a note and run away. Hopefully, the note would allow him to elude his pursuers if not retain the life he'd made for himself. And by running away, Delilah would avoid facing him, avoid seeing the hurt and anger that she knew she would see in his eyes.
Of course it meant that, despite the feelings she now carried for Samson, she could no longer have him in her life. But perhaps that was as it should be. A sacrifice on her part to pay for her terrible deed.
She'd already decided that perhaps somehow she'd be able to help him. She might be able to hire a lawyer that could clear his name. She vaguely recalled that the woman she'd met on the train, Clara Higgins, had said her husband was a lawyer. But, whatever happened, Delilah knew she couldn't face Samson again.
She'd checked with the bank and had been assured that Eve and Tom now had enough money in their account to meet their mortgage payment. Delilah had kept her hotel bill paid up to date out of her earnings at the saloon, and she still had some wages coming. Enough surely to pay Mr. Didsworth for a return trip to Butte and to buy a train ticket out of Montana.
Eve!
The guilt bowing her shoulders was compounded when she thought of her sister and considered the fact that Eve might still need her emotional support. But this new, stronger Eve had not seemed to need her as badly as she would have only a year ago. That realization came with a sense of relief for, though she wouldn't have admitted it, at times Delilah had found the promise she'd made to their father to always look out for her younger sister a bit difficult. There had been occasions when, weighed down by responsibility and fear for their future, she'd wished that she might trade places with Eve.
But that was long ago, and she and Eve had weathered those trials together. They were grown now. And without the financial worries that had plagued her, Delilah was certain Eve had the strength to face whatever came her way.
Delilah would leave a note with Mrs. Schmidt for Eve explaining briefly why she'd had to leave so suddenly. Though she would be angry with her for a while for what she had done, Eve would forgive her. Eventually. If there was one thing she could always be certain of in this world, it was her sister's love. Delilah just hoped she was able some day to forgive herself, for she was finding that self-loathing was a very difficult emotion with which to live.
Her decision made, Delilah sat down to consider how to word the two correspondences she must write. She'd begin with the one for Samson. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at the blank sheet of paper before her, but they were tears of regret and self-pity, and she refused to allow them to fall. Regret for the loss of a love she had found too late. Regret for the future that might have been and could now never be. And self-pity as she pictured herself becoming another Edwina Sharp, dying alone and unloved in some distant place with only strangers to bury her.
Poopsy whined in commiseration, and Delilah automatically leaned down to pat the little dog reassuringly on the head. Then, she focused on the paper before her.
~~~
Dearest Matt,
What I have to tell you is extremely difficult, and I know you shall never forgive my betrayal which is why I haven't the courage to face you. I won't bother begging for your forgiveness. I do beg of you to try to understand, however, that my actions were the result of impulsiveness and thoughtlessness rather than malice.
~~~
At that point, she halted and simply stared at the paper. The words necessary to say what needed to be said eluded her. And despite her determination, tears began to track silently down her cheeks. She had fallen in love only to lose him in almost the same instant that she'd realized she loved him. It wasn't fair.
A knock at her door made Delilah jump guiltily. She hastily slid the letter she'd been writing beneath a stack of paper. After quickly wiping the tears from her face, she called, "Just a moment," before rising to peer into the mirror. She dabbed a cloth over the tear-stains, pinched some color into her cheeks and smoothed her skirts. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about her reddened eyes.
Moving to the door, she asked, "Who is it?" hoping against hope that it would not be Samson.
"It's Freda Schmidt, Mrs. Sterne. I haf a message for you."
Delilah quickly unfastened the lock and opened the door. Freda took one look at her and said, "Oh, my. You haf heard already?"
Delilah stared at her blankly. "Heard what?"
"Zat your sister came to town with poor Tom laid up in ze back of ze wagon. Zey are wit' Doc Hale now. Eve, she is asking for you."
"Oh, no!” Delilah stared at Freda in horror. And then, mindlessly grabbed her reticule and headed for the door. "Will you watch Poochie for me again, Mrs. Schmidt?"
"Uf course, uf course. You go."
Delilah remembered nothing of her walk to the doctor's office, but suddenly she was standing before the door. Incongruously, she noted that the dark green paint on the door had begun to peel. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath to marshal her inner resources, then firmly reached out to turn the handle. Stepping into the waiting room, she immediately noticed the smells associated with doctor's offices everywhere: a combination of herbal remedies, strange concoctions, and timeworn books. The waiting room was small. It held two armchairs against one wall, and another two exactly opposite. Across from the entry, a curtained alcove led off into the inner sanctum of the doctor's domain.
The waiting room was empty.
Delilah stepped in, jumping as a bell over the door jangled, and then halted and stood wondering what to do. Straining her ears, she listened for the sound of voices, but the place was as silent as a tomb. Oh! She winced inwardly at her unfortunate choice of wording. Abruptly a voice bellowed, "Who's there?"
Delilah jumped—her nerves must have been positively frayed for it was not like her to be so easily startled. Then finding her voice, called back, "Mrs. Sterne."
"I'll be out in a minute," the voice shouted. "Have a seat."
Delilah heard the murmur of a woman's voice—Eve?—and then quick, light steps coming toward her. An instant later the curtain moved aside, and Eve emerged. "Oh, Delilah," she said, throwing her arms around her sister. "Thank you for coming."
There was a desperation in Eve's embrace that worried Delilah and she felt another stab of guilt—a common circumstance in the past few hours—for having considered leaving her to face this alone. "How is he?" she murmured.
"Unconscious. From all the laudanum, you know. Doc says it'll be a blessing if he goes in his sleep," her voice hitched and she broke off, swallowing audibly.
"Oh, Lord! Evie I'm so sorry."
Eve sobbed against Delilah's shoulder then. "It's my fault, Del. If only I hadn't listened to him."
If there was one thing Eve did not need to suffer it was guilt! Gasping her sister by the upper arms, Delilah pulled back from her until she could look into her face. "It is not your fault, Eve. The decision was Tom's, and he's the one who made it. He doesn't blame you, and he certainly wouldn't want you blaming yourself now, would he?"
Eve simply stared at her with misery shining from her luminous green ey
es.
"Would he?" Delilah asked again.
Slowly Eve shook her head. "No, I suppose not."
"All right then. Now what did the doctor say?"
"He said that it's probably just a matter of hours now."
Delilah studied her and put a cap on her own tear-ducts. "And has everything been said between you and Tom that needed to be said?" she asked quietly.
"Oh, yes," Eve said as renewed tears shone in her eyes and she turned away to pace the small waiting room. "More than enough I think. I'm so angry with him and I don't want to be angry with him because I love him and he's . . . ” She bowed her head and her shoulders shook in silent misery.
Delilah placed an arm around her. "Why are you angry with him, Evie? What's happened?"
Eve hiccupped. "I'm angry with him for choosing to die when I need him so. And I'm angry with him because . . . ” She broke off to stifle a sob. "He told me he wants me to marry again, Delilah.” Her lip trembled. "But only for love, he said. Not to save the ranch. Not for companionship. Not for any reason but love.” Then turning to Delilah she said, "He made me promise to let myself fall in love again. How can he think that's even possible when my heart feels like it's being shattered into a thousand pieces?"
"Hearts heal, honey. Tom knows that. He loves you and he wants you to be happy. Don't be angry with him for that. And as for marrying again, I don't think you need to worry about that now. Once some time has passed you can think about the promise you made."
Eve nodded. "You're right. Right now, I just want to sit with Tom in case he wakes again. I don't want him to be alone when . . . "
She broke off as her face twisted with grief and Delilah enfolded her in her embrace once more, her own heart aching with the need to protect her sister from her pain. But that was an impossibility. "It's all right to cry, sweetheart. Let it out."
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