Devil Moon

by Andrea Parnell

  “Teddy has an aversion to social graces, you may have noticed,” Felicity commented as she gracefully unfolded a crisply starched square of linen and placed it in her lap.

  “She is—” Rhys looked at Teddy and deliberated for a moment. Untamed, he thought, like one of the wild, spirited mustangs he’d seen from the window of a train during his long journey. One in particular, a splashy golden steed, had seemed to delight in racing the engine, or the wind. Teddy had that same wildness, that same air of challenge about her. “Original,” he remarked, pleased to note that his comment made Teddy squirm.

  “I see you are not without tact, Mr. Delmar.” A hint of a smile turned up the corners of Felicity Gamble’s lips. “You’ll find yourself in the minority at the Gamble ranch.”

  “If you two are through discussing my character maybe we can have breakfast,” Teddy said curtly. “Rope’s got to get into town to see the first run out.”

  “And we do have a little business to talk over,” Rope said, aligning himself with Teddy but clearly deferring to Felicity’s wish for civility at her table.

  Felicity, still smiling faintly, motioned for a servant to bring the food. “Maude is part of the family,” she explained, as a plain-faced woman in a blue gingham dress and white apron dished helpings of eggs and sausages from a crockery platter. “This house couldn’t run without her.”

  “Not if anyone wanted to eat,” Maude said good-naturedly. She was nearly the same age as Felicity but Maude moved with a youthful energy born of fresh air and simple living, breezing around the table and serving everyone in a few short minutes, then repeating the circuit and handing round a basket of steaming biscuits. “Mrs. Gamble’s cooking is too fancy for the ranch hands,” she said. “And Teddy wouldn’t know flour from grist.”

  “Thankfully,” Teddy retorted. Her brief glance at Maude unexpectedly caught Rhys’s eyes on her.

  The others were busy buttering biscuits and stirring cream into the coffee Maude had poured. Rhys did not bother to pull his gaze away, even though Teddy’s face looked as if it ached to scowl back at him. She hadn’t put up her hair today. It was combed back and tied at her nape with a strip of beaded buckskin—the sort of adornment he imagined an Indian woman might wear. Her hair was pretty, nearly down to her waist, the whole skein of it was glistening like honey pouring out of a jar.

  He kept staring, realizing, at length, that Teddy Gamble fascinated him. She was original, quite a change of pace from the women of his experience. He was accustomed to faces masked with powder, paint and guile. Hers was scrubbed clean as that of a child who had just walked away from the washbowl. She seemed to wear her feelings up front—no pretense about her at all. He found the trait commendable, even if the feelings she had for him were mostly unfriendly.

  What’s more, she seemed less forbidding in her grandmother’s house, where she was surrounded by fine polished furniture and delicate lace curtains. Yesterday at the scarred table in the saloon she’d seemed so much a spitfire he hadn’t known how to react to her. But here, at a table covered with snowy linen and set with porcelain china, Teddy was the one who looked out of place and acted out of sorts.

  Made her even prettier, he decided. And easier to read. He considered himself a master at reading people. With Teddy there was agitation, and display of her formidable temper. He suspected it was even shorter than usual today. If he did not miss his guess there was something afoot here. He thought of the invitation Rope had extended for him and Lucien to move into quarters at the ranch’s bunkhouse. Not given out of charity. Oh no, not from Teddy Gamble. When she pretended to be nice she had something up her sleeve.

  An idea came to him all at once. This was a contest, the same as a game of chance. Teddy’s brashness, her refusal to accept the legitimacy of his claim was a bluff. She was stalling. But for what reason? He considered, uneasily, that perhaps his share of the Gamble Line was not as valuable as Zack Gamble had represented it. Or perhaps it was worth much more and Teddy did not want to ante up so much. Or maybe she did not want to ante up anything at all. Maybe she was stalling until she could find a way to cut him out of what was rightfully his.

  Oddly, he felt himself almost immediately restored in body and mind, though the trip west had been physically grueling, and his head had never been at rest over what he had left behind in London. Almost as quickly, Rhys understood what had energized him. Teddy Gamble had issued a challenge, whether she had meant to or not. No matter. She had made a mistake. Rhys Delmar had never been bluffed out of a hand, nor had he ever walked away from a challenge. Indeed, only once had he ever run from trouble.

  “Do you find our food unpalatable, Mr. Delmar?” Felicity’s question broke his train of thought.

  He realized he’d not even picked up his knife and fork. Smiling, he did so at once and took a bite of flavorful sausage, finding he was suddenly ravenous. “Excellent,” he insisted before taking another mouthful. “How fortunate you are to have Maude.”

  Grinning, her cheeks a candy red, Maude made her way to the kitchen. A few minutes later she was back with a fresh jar of prickly pear jelly and was insisting that Rhys try it with his biscuits. He did, and swore it was easily the best treat he’d had since leaving France. He had not forgotten Jenny, nor his vow to avenge her. But for now he must make the most of life in the Arizona desert. And Teddy Gamble was about to learn that Rhys Delmar would play the fool for no one.

  Teddy thought Rhys looked exactly like a fox at the coop. What’s more she had the distinct feeling the coop was hers and that she was powerless to save her prized hens from the likes of Rhys Delmar. Briefly she closed her eyes and asked the powers above what she had done to deserve so much adversity in so short a period of time. The powers, however, did not answer. Teddy was left with the uncomfortable task of figuring it out and combating it on her own.

  As for Delmar, he troubled her more than a little bit by looking so at ease and confident in her grandmother’s house. She’d preferred keeping him confused and defensive. A man was easier to handle when he was like that. But here he sat, cocksure and smiling with her grandmother and Maude fawning all over him. If she dared she’d give both of them a tongue-lashing for making such a fuss over him. Didn’t they realize that the scoundrel was threatening to take their livelihood? Uncle Zack, at least, had been an easy partner, not bothering himself with how the Gamble Line was run as long as the company periodically sent him money.

  Well. She sighed and pushed her plate aside. Her usually hearty appetite had departed, and her breakfast was mostly uneaten. She and Rope had concocted a plan for keeping Mr. Delmar and his claims at bay until they were better prepared to settle with him—or could find a way of sending him packing empty-handed.

  “Mr. Delmar,” she said resolutely.

  “Rhys.” Smiling slyly, he cut her short. “This is an informal land, I have learned. You are plain Teddy. I am Rhys.”

  The day before, she had made fun of the string of names he’d used to introduce himself. Today he was taunting her with her own words. Teddy’s temper flared but she dampered the heat. Flying into a rage wasn’t going to accomplish what she and Rope wanted to accomplish.

  “All right, Rhys,” she said, giving a flat pronunciation to his name. “Rope and I have come up with what we think is a fair arrangement until we get an answer on the validity of your claim.”

  “Something other than cleaning stalls?”

  The words annoyed her, the tone raised an alarm. Not trusting herself to speak and knowing Rope had an I-told-you-so-look on his face, Teddy locked her tense fingers around the handle of her coffee cup and raised it to her lips. She wondered what had happened in the past twelve hours to give the Frenchman all that brass. For a few seconds she wondered if he was even the same man she’d backed down at their last encounter. This Rhys Delmar looked larger and—dammit—virile as a stud horse.

  She could see him quite clearly over the rim of her cup. She noted the sardonic smile, and the peculiar gleam in the pale e
yes. An apprehensive shiver came unexpectedly. The way his eyes shone, and the way he was looking at her gave her a perverse and puzzling mix of aversion and excitement. Men around Wishbone had long ago given up thinking of Teddy as an available woman. She was one of the boys to them. So it had been a stretch of time since a man had looked at her in a predatory way, as if he noticed her curves, wanted to see them uncovered, wanted her.

  Teddy felt more heat building inside her—not her temper but something wilder, something unfamiliar. She was, abruptly, too acutely aware of the man. Her vision was made keener by the strange heat. She saw what she had refused to notice before, the luster of his black hair, the enticing way the overlong locks curled over his crisp collar. He had a way of giving a half smile. When he did, she felt the power of it like the flame of a match to tinder. She put down her cup. Her hand slid to her throat where she felt her wide silver and turquoise necklace growing hot as a branding iron against her skin.

  He followed the involuntary movement with pale eyes that glittered wickedly from beneath thick black lashes. His gaze was like an assault nearly taking her breath. She willed herself to glare back. As their eyes met she came to the disturbing realization that he was fully conscious of the way he was unnerving her.

  Indignant, she broke her gaze away and inhaled sharply. Once, she’d been near enough to a lightning strike to feel the jarring current of it hit the ground. The same sort of electric jolt coursed through her as the thought dawned that Rhys Delmar was not the witless, dandified half-man she’d assumed he was.

  He was dangerous, definitely dangerous.

  “Teddy? You were saying?” As if to prove her the witless one, to make her wonder if she had imagined what she felt and sensed, his expression, when he called to her, was innocently benign.

  “Forget that,” Teddy said, not about to offer an apology for her hasty words of the night before, but anxious to keep her unwanted partner away from Parrish Adams. “Rope and I feel that the only fair thing under the circumstances is to put you up at the ranch until this is settled. You and your—uh, valet can keep the room at the back of the bunkhouse and take your meals with the hands. No need for you to sleep in the stable or pay for lodging in town.”

  “An interesting change of heart,” Rhys commented. Now he was sure she was stalling. She wanted to keep him close enough to keep a watch on him. Or did she want to keep him away from something? The stage line maybe? “I’ll think it over,” he told her.

  “Think it over? Now look here—” Teddy started.

  “You think it over and let us know,” Rope interrupted, seeing that Teddy was about two steps from snapping the hold on her temper. “Teddy hasn’t thought to say it but I’m the third partner in this company. I, for one, am willin’ to give you a fair shake.”

  “Shake?”

  “Deal,” Rope explained. “But anybody can understand that when a stranger shows up claimin’ part of what you’ve worked and scraped for, you want to make sure he’s not tryin’ to pull wool.”

  “Anyway,” Teddy chirped in. “I’ve already sent a letter off requesting that witness in London to give us a statement. Don’t reckon there’s any doubt what that man of yours will say.”

  “None,” Rhys replied, giving the half smile. He wasn’t happy to know that Teddy’s inquiry was already on the way, but he would not let her know that. He’d been prepared to suggest that a friend of his get the deposition, someone who could do it quietly to ensure the authorities searching for him did not hear of it. But Teddy had preempted that possibility. He said a silent touché to her. She had raised the odds. Did she know that?

  Teddy felt a flash of fire inside as he gave the quick smile and the long look. She scowled but tried to keep her voice even. “Unless there’s trouble finding that witness, it shouldn’t take more than a few months to hear back. If what you say is on the level we can pay you what your share is worth at that time.”

  Rhys shrugged indifferently, but his eyes sparkled wickedly. Let her worry. It would do her good. “Who is to say?” he asked, as if he had not a care in the world. “By then I may have come to like this land and running a stage company. I may want to keep my shares.”

  “Keep?” Teddy’s voice rose. “And where do you get the idea you’ll be running anything? Look here—”

  “Simmer down, Teddy,” Rope’s cooler voice drowned Teddy’s out. “Nothing will be running if we don’t get into town.”

  Teddy rose quickly, nearly choking on her temper as she saw Felicity Gamble’s frown.

  “Don’t concern yourself about me,” Rhys called after her, noting the quick rhythm of her hips as she stalked off—the way the buckskin fringe of her shirt danced around her squared shoulders. “I shall be perfectly content in the company of two charming ladies.”

  Chapter 9

  “If you two don’t take the prize.” Parrish Adams addressed the dusty riders who had come into his Diamond Saloon and ordered a couple of whiskeys.

  The older and stockier of the two shrugged. The younger man looked sheepishly at Adams and said “We didn’t know—”

  “Not here, Pete,” Adams interrupted. “You and Boyd come on in the office to talk.”

  As he walked toward a doorway beneath the stairs that led to rooms on the second floor, Adams cautiously cast a glance around the saloon. The Diamond, with its gilt-framed mirrors and mahogany bar and genuine oil paintings on the scarlet papered walls, was a real showplace for Wishbone. Despite its attractiveness the saloon was usually short on patrons before noon. This morning was no exception. Only one other man stood at the bar and he had his head hung over the beer he was trying to make last. The few other men who had ventured in this early occupied tables. Most of them were engaged in a poker game. The girls Adams employed didn’t come down until afternoon, when there was enough business to make it worth their while.

  “Sorry, boss,” Pete Smith apologized. “Wasn’t thinkin’.”

  Adams closed the door behind him. “Which is usually the case,” he said testily. “Like it was yesterday when you held up that stage.”

  “Nobody told us that girl of Len Blalock’s was gonna be on it,” the other man, the one called Boyd, countered in defense of his brother. “I was funnin’ with her a little and when she told us who she was it got us rattled.”

  “So damn rattled you rode off without the strongbox, not to mention leaving Luther behind.” Adams motioned them into chairs while he perched on the corner of his big walnut desk. He was angry enough to shoot the two of them. He had not anticipated such a show of resistance from Teddy Gamble or that her drivers and guards would take such risks to defend their cargo. Most of all he had not anticipated that Boyd and Pete Smith and Joe Luther would be the most inept road agents ever to stop a stage.

  Having to use them at all irked him, not because he minded going around the law, but because he preferred outsmarting his enemies to outgunning them. Men who depended solely on gunplay to get what they wanted were liable to have short lives. Adams’s many and lofty ambitions included longevity. What was the point of getting what you wanted if you weren’t around to enjoy it? Or if the weakest link in the chain, a man like Joe Luther, could bring all your carefully executed plans to quick disaster?

  “We couldn’t help Luther,” Boyd said. The heel of his boot made an agitated tap-tap on the floor. “He was flat out and that driver had found his gun by then.”

  With fire in his dark eyes Adams leaned toward Boyd Smith. “So you rode off and left him to be taken to prison and put all of us in jeopardy if he talks.”

  “Luther won’t say nothin’,” Pete piped in. “He knows you’ll get him out. Besides, wouldn’t be no use confessin’ to Sheriff Blalock.”

  That was true but it missed the point as Adams saw it. He didn’t like failure. So far, these three hadn’t given him much else. A sneering smile showed both his distaste for his companions and his disgust for their actions. Adams fingered a waxed coil of his mustache, pausing briefly as he cut his eyes towar
d the back door of his office, where he thought he saw a shadow pass along the threshold. “I may not get him out,” he threatened. “I may let him board in that jail until he smartens up.”

  “Aw, don’t do that, boss. Luther’s all right,” Pete insisted.

  “He’s an idiot,” Adams said coldly. “Getting himself knocked off a horse by some foreigner who didn’t even have a gun.” The irritation in his voice manifested itself in the tightening muscles of his lean face. “But maybe getting his head cracked with a rock did him some good.”

  “Couldn’t have hurt him any,” Boyd said, wanting to make clear that he shared the boss’s sentiments about Luther.

  “Naw,” Pete agreed, laughing.

  Adams took advantage of Pete’s noisy hee-haw, to slide quietly off the desk and reach for the knob of the back door. Before either of the men with him realized what he was doing, Adams had twisted the brass knob and jerked the door inward. A woman in a daringly cut red dress came stumbling into the office behind it.

  “Eavesdropping is terribly common, my dear,” Adams said coldly. “Like you.”

  If she was offended she didn’t show it. She gave a coy smile and carefully smoothed her platinum curls, as she looked Adams in the eye. “I suit you,” she said.

  “For the time being,” Adams retorted, reaching around her to close the door she’d been leaning against. He took another moment to select a cigar from the teakwood humidor on the cabinet behind his desk. He trimmed and lit it and puffed, making it insultingly plain that he did not intend to offer smokes to the Smith brothers. Not that either of them minded, with the pretty blonde preening and smiling in front of them. But Adams soon deprived them of that pleasure too.