Beyond Betrayal

by Christine Michels

  Discretion being the better part of valor, Delilah cautiously sidled toward the dressing screen in the corner of the room. She set Poopsy down at her feet and ordered her to stay while she dressed.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Telford escorted her, with Poopsy in her arms, up the steps of his home as though she'd been invited for dinner. She jerked her arm from his grasp. "Why am I here?" she asked coldly, not taken in by his solicitous attitude.

  "Why you're bait, my dear. I thought a smart lady like you would have figured that out by now."

  "Bait!" Delilah echoed. "Do you honestly think Samson is going to come after me?"

  "Yep. I do."

  "You're crazy!"

  Telford's eyes took on an extra layer of ice. "I'd watch it if I were you, my dear. I can always have you killed with your lover."

  "But, it's simply not going to work," Delilah protested. "After the way I betrayed him, the man doesn't trust me. He'll never believe that I'm not in on any trap you have devised."

  "Well now, I sure hope that's not the case," Telford said. “’Cause if he doesn't show up, you're gonna wish he had. After all, you're the reason for him getting away the last time. Not to mention the pain you caused me in the process. Yessir, I just might enjoy taking a little payment for my suffering out of your hide.” He ran a finger over her collarbone. "And such pretty hide it is too."

  ~~~* * *~~~

  CHAPTER 18

  ________________________

  Samson stared down at the Cross T ranch in an agony of indecision. He had known that Delilah would follow him—the damnable woman had refused to listen to reason—but, short of tying her up and leaving her, he hadn't known what to do about it. He had assumed that she'd be safer alone than with him. Having been betrayed once by her, Telford should have realized that Samson would not have confided his plans to her. And her solitary arrival in Cedar Crossing alone should have enforced that perception. So what was going on?

  For a moment, he entertained the thought that Delilah was, once again, siding with Telford. But he really didn't think that was the case. From the way she'd yanked away from Telford's grasp, she didn't look any too happy to be there.

  Frowning thoughtfully, Samson considered the situation. His own strategy in showing up in town and then disappearing had been to get Telford's men combing the hills for him. He'd planned to taunt them with his presence occasionally, facing them one by one until Telford, finally lacking his army, would be forced to confront him man to man. Perhaps Telford's abduction of Delilah was the reverse side of the same strategy. Perhaps her presence was designed as a taunt for Samson. Bait to draw him in.

  What he didn't understand was why Telford thought such a strategy would work. Samson wasn't even certain himself how he felt about it. After all, he still wasn't one hundred percent sure where Delilah's loyalties lay, except perhaps with herself and her sister.

  Then again, he was reasonably certain that she was carrying his child.

  Could he allow a woman he had feelings for—although those feelings refused to be defined at the moment—to remain in possible danger? He grimaced. No, probably not. Could he allow the woman who apparently carried his child to remain in potential peril? No, definitely not. So, he guessed that left him with only one course of action: He had to rescue her.

  "Damn!" he swore beneath his breath. He sure as hell wished he was the type of man who could walk away because this time he had the feeling that Delilah Sinclair just might get him killed.

  He watched the ranch closely for two days, learning the movements of Telford's men. From what he could discern, Delilah appeared to be well-treated during that time. She certainly looked as beautiful as ever.

  Finally, Samson felt confident enough to move in. It was near midnight on a night that was cursed with a clear sky and bright moonlight. He pulled Goliath up in a clump of bushes as near to the ranch buildings as he thought he dared go on horseback, and then continued on foot. At the near end of the house, he could see Delilah's silhouette pacing back and forth in the room she'd been given. At the opposite end, the silhouette of another woman made an occasional appearance in the window as well. He didn't know who she might be, for he'd never seen her outside the house. Possibly Telford's wife; the man was said to be married.

  Although there were a number of men patrolling the perimeters of the ranch, there were only three guards near the house—two that made periodic circuits of the immediate grounds, and one that simply lounged on the porch leaning on his rifle and smoking cigarettes. Samson watched the men circling the house. His plan was to move in as soon as they'd passed Delilah's window, and break her out before they came around again.

  It sounded simple. He just hoped it would be. That blamed dog of Delilah's was an unknown element. If it barked . . .

  Once away from the house, they had to avoid the other guards. He planned to spirit Delilah off the ranch by following a path that would primarily keep them in the shadows. That meant, however, that he'd have to take the guard near the barn, and the guard near the chicken coop, out of commission on his way in. And that blamed ramrod, Casey, was a wild card: he seemed to roam where and when he willed, following no particular pattern. Still, Samson doubted that the situation would ever improve from his point of view, so he might as well get it done.

  * * *

  Delilah thoughtfully chewed a fingernail as she paced the room that had become her prison, her steps soundless on the thick Turkish carpet that blanketed the floor. In the two days she'd been on the Cross-T ranch, she'd learned a lot about Paul Telford, about his passions, ruthlessness and arrogance. His only real passion was gambling which, had he been an honest gambler, Delilah might have been able to turn to her advantage. The problem was that he was not honest, and he didn't care a fig how he won, as long as he did. He liked to brag that he was a more accomplished gambler than most professional gamblers, and that he had, in fact, won his ranch in a poker game.

  And as for Telford's ruthlessness, well. . . The man's poor wife, Melissa Telford, a pale blonde wraith of a woman whom Delilah had caught a glimpse of, had descended into laudanum addiction to escape his tyranny in the only way she could. Or so the cook had said in a whisper when queried by Delilah. Mrs. Telford would certainly be of no help to her.

  Telford's arrogance was his belief that everyone else, lacking his ruthlessness and immoral nature, was somehow inferior to himself. He showed respect for no one, treated his employees like dirt, though he paid them well, and assumed that money could buy anything or anyone. Including Delilah as his mistress.

  In just two days, Delilah had come to despise him.

  But that didn't help her escape. And escape she must, for Telford's sexual advances were becoming more and more bold. The fact that he carried the only key to her room worried her.

  At just that moment, Poopsy growled deep in her throat, and Delilah's gaze flew to the door. But she didn't hear or see anything. Looking back at the little dog, she noted that Poopsy's attention was, in fact, focused on the window. What the . . . ? Could it be Samson? she thought in a moment of almost breathless hope. She'd almost given up on him. Then she remembered the way Casey had been looking at her earlier. Oh-oh!

  She looked around for something with which to defend herself if need be, but came up empty. Then she remembered the lady's hat on the upper shelf in the armoire. Rushing across the room, she quietly opened the armoire door, removed the hat, and examined it. Yes! The hat pin was still attached. Upon extracting the eight-inch-long makeshift weapon, she positioned herself next to the window and waited, watching Poopsy as the little dog continued to growl quietly. Delilah didn't know how whoever it was planned to get the window open, because she'd already tried that and had come to the conclusion that it had either been painted or nailed shut. But if they managed to get it open, she fully intended to take advantage of it.

  A moment later, the window broke as an arm wrapped in the protection of some black fabric plunged through it in a short, controlled j
ab. Delilah jumped, startled by the explosion of noise in the dense silence, although in reality the sound created by the breaking glass as it landed on the thick carpet was little louder than the tinkling of wind chime.

  Well, shoot! Why hadn't she thought of breaking it?

  "Delilah?" came a hoarse male whisper as the protected arm continued to clear the glass from the window ledge.

  Delilah blinked and froze in place for second as she struggled to identify the caller. "Samson?" she whispered in return. As though to confirm her conclusion, Poopsy leapt down from the bed and ran happily toward the broken window. Without preamble, a hand reached in to scoop the little dog up.

  "Come on," Samson said, tilting his head to see Delilah as she stood to the side. "We have to get out of here. Hurry!"

  Delilah hesitated no more. Dropping the hat-pin, she grasped Samson's offered hand and sat carefully on the window ledge to swing her legs out. A second later, still clasping his hand, she followed him through the darkness. She was frightened to death of being caught—more for Samson's sake than her own—yet through it all her heart soared, singing one joyous refrain: He came for me.

  Upon reaching Goliath, they had just placed Poopsy into a saddle bag and Samson was giving her a hand up, when the sound of a hammer being pulled back on a gun echoed like a gunshot in the still night. "Hands up, Towers," a cold voice growled out of the darkness. "Less'n you want me to shoot the little lady there."

  Samson raised his hands as Poopsy barked and growled uselessly. A single glance at Samson's face made Delilah's heart sink, for he looked exceedingly grim. "Evenin', Casey," he said.

  * * *

  A few minutes later they were standing on Telford's front porch with the muzzles of numerous pistols trained on them while one of the hands woke Paul Telford. When Telford emerged from the house strapping on his gunbelt as he came, he took one look at Samson and Delilah and smiled. But it was not a nice smile. "Kill him," he said to his men. "And take all the time you want doin' it."

  Delilah panicked. They were going to beat Samson—again. And once again it was because of her. Because he'd come to rescue her. "No!" she screamed, clutching uselessly at the arms of the men hauling Samson off. She couldn't allow this to happen. "Please!" she cried, pinning her eyes on Telford, trying to appeal to any shred of mercy the man might have in his soul. "You can't do this. Please! It's not right."

  Telford looked at her only long enough to say, "I can do anything I want, Mrs. Sterne. I thought you understood that."

  Her eyes flicked briefly to Casey who'd remained standing at Telford's side, but he seemed as unmoved by her pleas as his employer. "You can't just appoint yourself judge and jury. Let Samson stand before a court of law for his crime. Let a judge decide his guilt or innocence."

  Telford shook his head. "He's guilty of killin' my son. No sense in wastin' a judge's time."

  "But it was self-defense!" she argued. "Your son was going to shoot him in the back."

  Telford pinned her with a cold stare. "Says him."

  "There were witnesses!"

  Watching his men as they began to hammer their fists into Samson, Telford shrugged without looking at her. "None that count for anything."

  Delilah stared at him. "Meaning what? Meaning that were none you couldn't buy off? Meaning that the truth only counts if it can stand up against your money?"

  Telford glared at her. "Shut up before I let my men shut you up. For good."

  Oh, God, help me. I don't know what to say to move him. Delilah wrung her hands in frustration as tears began to track down her cheeks. "Please," she said, resorting to begging once more. "Please don't do this.” But Telford ignored her. She looked at Casey. "Please Mr. Casey, don't let this happen. It isn't right."

  Casey looked uncomfortable. "Is what she says true, boss? Did the kid try to shoot Towers in the back?"

  Telford turned and glared at him. "On my land, the truth is whatever I say it is. You got that, Casey? 'Cause if you don't, you're welcome to ride out."

  Casey nodded. "Yes, sir.” He continued to look thoughtful and, Delilah thought, a bit uncomfortable, but he made no move to help her or Samson.

  The sound of a particularly loud blow landing on Samson's hapless body, made Delilah flinch. "Samson—" she cried.

  The cry drew Telford's attention again. "Shut up before you wake the whole house up. I never thought I'd see the day you lost your poker face," he sneered. "Buck up, Mrs. Sterne. This won't take that long. And then you can leave and go on with your life."

  But Delilah wasn't listening any more. Reminded of her vocation and Telford's penchant for gambling, she began to grasp at straws. Drawing her tattered pride around her like a cloak, Delilah looked up at him. "Very well, then, Mr. Telford. Since you have so kindly reminded me of my profession, may I propose a wager."

  "Wager?” He looked down at her. "What kind of wager?"

  "You stop. . . this,"—Delilah gestured to the violence taking place—"right now and we play a game of poker. If I win, you let Samson leave with me. If you win . . ." she swallowed, hating to even contemplate the outcome. "If you win, I'll leave without him."

  Telford turned speculative eyes on her. "I heard you were pretty good," he murmured almost conversationally. “’Course there ain't many men that can beat me, let alone a woman. You probably couldn't offer me enough of a challenge to make it worth my while.” Shrugging, he appeared to dismiss her suggestion.

  "Try me," Delilah returned in a soft-voiced challenge.

  "Five card stud?" he asked, intrigued despite himself.

  Delilah dipped her chin in a brief nod. "If you wish."

  Then suddenly Telford seemed to reconsider. "I already have Towers," he said to her. "Why should I gamble for something I already have?"

  Before Delilah could reply, Casey nodded and interjected. "That's right, boss. Why should you? She's a professional gambler, after all. Got quite a reputation in some quarters.” He shook his head. "I don't think it’s a good idea."

  Delilah shot a look at him. What was he doing? Surely he knew that any intimation that she provided a challenge to Telford would only increase the powerful rancher's desire to play. Was Casey taking her side? She didn't know. Men like Casey had a twisted code of ethics. It was impossible to know what his strategy was.

  "I don't pay you to do my thinkin' for me, Casey," Telford growled. "So shut yer trap."

  Casey's expression was indecipherable; he said nothing.

  Telford looked over Delilah's head at his men. "Hold up a minute boys," he yelled. Then he looked back at Delilah with soulless cold eyes. "All right," he said, "I'll take your wager. But if you lose you're only gonna have two choices: Either you become my mistress or I'll give you to my men and you can join Towers.” He grinned evilly. "We'll bury you together."

  Delilah's heart contracted, and a pulse pounded in her throat. "And if I win?" she asked.

  Telford's grin widened. "Hell, if you win I'll let you both go free."

  Delilah considered. For the first time in her life, she was going to play a hand she could not afford to lose.

  "Well?" Telford demanded. "Those are the terms. If you don't like 'em, then we'll forget this gamblin' thing right now and get back to business. Do we have an agreement or not?"

  Delilah lifted her chin and met his gaze. "Agreed," she said quietly.

  Telford looked up at his men. "Bring Towers over here, boys. The lady here is gonna gamble for his life. We might as well let him watch, seein' as how it kind of affects him. Heck! He can use the time to contemplate where he wants to be buried."

  A moment later, both Delilah and Samson were escorted into Telford's parlor. Samson, Delilah noted, already had a swollen eye and a bloody lip. From the way he moved, it looked as though his barely healed ribs were probably bothering him again too. But it also looked as though he'd given as good as he gotten: More than one of Telford's men sported cuts and bruises. In fact one looked as though he'd run into a brick wall nose first.

&
nbsp; "Bring the cards," Telford demanded of one of his men. The house servants were all abed, and probably determined to stay there despite the noise, or rather because of it.

  "What have you done, Delilah?" Samson asked.

  Telford didn't allow Delilah to respond. "Why it's like I said, Towers. The lady is gamblin' for your life."

  "And what happens if she loses?" Samson demanded.

  Telford shrugged. "I've given her a choice actually. If she loses, she can either join you in your grave, or she can become my mistress."

  "Delilah—" Samson's tone demanded that she look at him, that she meet his gaze. The pain reflected there stabbed straight to her heart. "Don't do this, darlin'. Please. From what I saw. . . well, to be honest, you just aren't that good."

  To Delilah's dismay, Telford took in every word. Feigning a casualness she didn't feel, Delilah said, "You only saw me at my worst. I only lost when you were there."

  Samson swallowed visibly and, infuriatingly, pointed out, "I'm here tonight. You might not win."

  She wanted to explain to him that his presence didn't unnerve her anymore because she was no longer afraid of the things she felt for him, but she couldn't so she merely shrugged. "It's worth a chance."

  "No, it isn't!" Samson exploded. "Telford, you can't do this. She has nothing to do with what's between you and me. How much revenge do you need for the loss of a back-shooting kid who didn't understand the meaning of honor?"

  Telford's face was suddenly suffused with rage. "My son may have tried to shoot you in the back, Towers, but it was no less than you deserved after throwin' him in the water trough and embarrassin' him in front of the whole town. That town was gonna be his one day. He needed respect."

  Samson stared at him sadly. "You don't bully respect out of people, Telford. You earn it. Jesus! The poor kid never had a chance with you for a father, did he? You're as much to blame for his death as I am."

  "Shut up before I change my mind and kill you right now.” And then his eyes widened. "That's what you're tryin' to do, isn't it? You're tryin' to piss me off so bad I'll kill you and let the little lady here go free.” He clucked his tongue as he accepted the cards his man handed him. Then he looked at his foreman. "Casey, if he opens his mouth again, I want you to close it for him. Is that clear?"