She hated it when he talked over her head. Her sullen face told him this was one of those times. “Parrish, sometimes you don’t make a dab of sense,” she said tartly.
“Don’t get yourself in a stitch,” he replied. “This is a job to your liking.” He had her curiosity up and she hung on his arm. Her long nails were raking him. She was listening intently as he went on. “I want you to butter up that Frenchman who drops by for a drink most nights.”
“The handsome one?”
“The one Honor’s always rubbing on. See if you can do more with him than she can. I want those shares he’s holding. If he won’t take money for them maybe he’d be willing to trade. For something.”
“How much do I do with him?” Norine licked her red lips and eyed her husband suspiciously. The job was to her liking but she knew better than to take anything her husband said at face value.
“Just make him hungry,” Adams said. “Don’t feed him. Not until I say so.”
“Madame. Sir.” A red-haired, bushy-bearded Englishman interrupted the discussion. “I’m a stranger here and I’m looking for the best place to get a shot of good whiskey.”
“Look no further.” Adams beamed a friendly smile at the well-heeled gentleman with the blustery, out-of-his-element look. He appeared the sort of man who might easily be parted from his money. Stepping aside, Adams pushed the wide doors open for the Diamond’s newest customer. “Step up to the bar. Tell the man the first one is on me.”
“And to whom do I owe my gratitude?” the Englishman asked.
Adams nodded. “Parrish Adams is the name. I own the Diamond and I try to see that a man can find most any kind of refreshment he wants inside.”
“Derby Seward.” The red-haired man tipped his hat. “And may I say your hospitality overwhelms me, sir.”
Chapter 30
Derby Seward kept a supper date with Ada Penrod the next evening. She had invited him to her brother’s modest house. Just as Seward had expected, his acquaintance with the homely woman was paying immediate dividends. Milt Penrod, a talkative sort, was easily directed to recount the names of recent arrivals in Wishbone. He soon mentioned a Frenchman called Delmar.
Seward was surprised that Delmar had not taken the precaution of assuming a new name, but then, if Delmar had been that clever he might not have needed to flee London.
“Wishbone’s a jumping-off place for prospectors,” Milt Penrod explained. “We get all kinds here, mostly farmers and ranchers who are looking for an easier way to get money out of the ground, but we also get our share of tradesmen and clerks. There’s even one genuine doctor up in the hills. He’d rather set a pick in rock than set bones.”
“Plenty of odd fellows here,” Seward said. “I should have no trouble writing my articles.”
“Almost everyone who comes to Wishbone passes through Milt’s store now and then,” Ada explained. “Either buying supplies or sending mail.” She had worn her best gown for this evening. It was made of rose-colored silk that played havoc with her florid complexion. But she had been unable to resist it when she had seen it in the window of her favorite dressmaker. “I’m sure Milt wouldn’t mind if you dropped in now and again to talk with some of them.”
“No trouble if you do,” Milt confirmed. “Always a prospector or two trading a little dust for supplies.”
“My gratitude,” Seward said in the gushing, effusive tone he had adopted for his stay in Wishbone. “I will, you may be sure, avail myself of your hospitality.” Pausing a moment, he pulled a snowy linen napkin to his face and gently blotted his mouth and spattered beard. “I wonder though,” he queried when he was done, “what becomes of those sojourners who do not become prospectors?”
“Ain’t many of them,” Milt said, missing his sister’s grimace at his lapse in grammar. “Can’t think of any this year but Rhys Delmar—I mentioned him to you—and that fellow who was his valet.” Milt wagged a finger while he munched a bit of biscuit. “Now there’s an odd pairing for you. Delmar’s as dapper a fellow as you’ll ever see, and he winds up riding shotgun on the stage. The valet fellow’s left him and is running a faro game over at the Brass Bell.”
“Interesting,” Seward said and smiled at Ada, sending her heart fluttering. “I may confine my articles here entirely to the aberrant, the eccentric prospector or pilgrim in Wishbone. And may I say I am grateful for the information you’ve provided.” He gave Ada a warm look. “Your sister said you would be helpful.” Boldly, he reached across the table and patted her spindly hand.
Later that evening he got an even greater dividend when Ada suggested that since the hotel accommodations in Wishbone were deplorable, he should be their guest during his stay. With a suitable display of gratitude and surprise, he agreed. “This way Milt and I can personally introduce you to many of the people you are interested in,” Ada insisted.
Seward again thanked brother and sister for their hospitality. “Of course I shall have to mention your altruism in one of my articles, dear lady,” he said.
Ada Penrod preened like a mating bird, completely beside herself with joy at having successfully maneuvered the Englishman into such promising confines.
***
Seward made a point of visiting the Brass Bell late that evening. He wanted to meet Lucien Bourget, who had been Delmar’s valet. If the fellow had been dismissed after loyally following Delmar from London to Arizona, he might not feel too charitable toward his former master. Seward’s experience was that disgruntled servants were free with information about those they once served. He wanted to know more about Delmar’s plans, and his frame of mind. Then Seward would make a decision on whether to kill the man or sell out Knox to him. He particularly hoped to get an indication as to whether or not Delmar had any suspicion he was being cheated out of an inheritance back in England.
He had to join in the busy faro game to talk to the lame Frenchman. He didn’t mind that too much when his luck ran good and he won a small sum. He was glad though, that half an hour before the saloon was to close, the gamblers deserted the game for another round at the bar, leaving Seward and Lucien alone.
Seward seized the moment to tell Lucien who he was and why he was in Wishbone. “Doing articles for my paper,” he said. “Thought I might make you the subject of one.”
Lucien shook his head negatively. He was pleased with his fresh start at life and anxious to forget most of the former one. “Monsieur,” he said. “You could find a better topic.”
“Don’t know that I could,” Seward persisted. “Heard you came out here as a valet then lost your position. Don’t suppose you feel too kindly disposed toward the fellow who let you go.”
“Au contraire,” Lucien said, wondering why the Englishman seemed vaguely familiar. He decided at length, there was something about all Englishmen that made them seem one and the same and preferably to be avoided. Politely, but reluctantly, in response to the man’s probing he said “He did me the grandest favor. I am forever indebted to Monsieur Delmar.”
“Delmar is it?” Seward spoke the name as if he were hearing it for the first time. “Hear the man is working as an armed guard for a stage company. He’s come quite a way down the ladder, hasn’t he?”
Pride overcame prudence for Lucien. He felt compelled to set Seward straight about Rhys’s status with the stage line. “Monsieur Delmar is one of the owners of the stage company,” he said.
“That so?” Seward replied.
“That is so.” Lucien had the final word as he closed up his game and hobbled across the saloon, leaving Seward at the faro table. He looked forward to the end of the long day and welcomed the pleasurable nights spent with Carmen. The sight of her cheerfully shooing out the last of the straggling customers so that she could close, brought a swell of love to his heart. He remembered as he watched her what he had said to the overly inquisitive Englishman. He was indebted to Rhys Delmar, more than he could ever repay. The man had once saved his life, but Lucien was grateful for more than that. Had it not b
een for Rhys Delmar he’d never have come to Arizona, never entered the Brass Bell, never known Carmen.
Lucien slowly climbed the stairs to the big room he shared with his ladylove. He didn’t see enough of his friend anymore. He ought to remedy that.
***
Rhys had a day off and planned to drop in on Lucien then spend the rest of his free time in a leisurely game of poker if he could find one. He didn’t expect to join a game in the Diamond, but Honor had sent him a note asking him to drop by next chance he got. Today was it.
He stepped through the Diamond’s doors and into a haze of smoke, and air strongly scented with whiskey and beer. Someone in back was experimentally plunking out chords on the piano. Honor hadn’t come down yet. Rather than go up and take a razzing from the girls, Rhys asked the barkeeper to send for her.
He ordered a drink while he waited. He was nearly done with it when someone tapped softly on his shoulder. He turned to look into the face of a stunningly beautiful woman.
“Honor’s busy today,” she said. “I’m not.”
“You’re Adams’s wife,” he said, remembering that Honor had pointed Norine Adams out to him once when she had walked through the saloon.
“I’m Adams’s wife when I want to be.” Her silky voice was matched by the smooth strokes of her fingers massaging his shoulders. Her potent perfume evoked images of dim lights and satin sheets. “Today I want to be whatever you like, Mr. Delmar.”
“I see nothing about you to change,” Rhys said cautiously, aware that various patrons had grown interested in Norine’s attention to him. “Would you join me for a drink?” He rose and offered her a chair, certain she would be less conspicuous merely sitting at his table.
“Glad to.” She purred like a cat as she sensuously slid her voluptuous form against him and moved around him. She was dressed to kill—or to get someone killed—in a dress of ebony silk overshot with sheer red lace. The plunging neckline revealed fully half her large, lush breasts. As she lowered herself into the chair Rhys held for her, she made sure he got the full view.
Rhys didn’t like it. Intentionally or not she could be setting him up for a scrape he didn’t want. Some husbands, he knew, gave their wives free rein to roam, provided they were discreet. Evidently Norine Adams didn’t know the meaning of discreet. He had no inkling how long a line Parrish Adams gave his spouse. Nor was he especially interested in finding out.
Norine motioned to Harley at the bar and momentarily the big bartender brought over her favorite refreshment. His big, round face showed no reaction to seeing his boss’s wife sitting intimately close to another man. That made Rhys marginally calmer at sharing a drink with her. He noted too, that, as he had hoped, the curious patrons who had been staring at Norine had found other interests. Which was exactly what he wanted to do as soon as he could finish his drink and politely excuse himself to Norine.
“To your beauty, madame,” he said, raising his half-empty glass to the cloying woman, “with apologies that I cannot stay and enjoy it longer.”
He started to rise but Norine quickly caught him by the wrist and held on. Her sharp nails were digging into his flesh. “I’m not accustomed to men walking out on me,” she said. Her lash-shaded eyes slowly, suggestively, descended from his face to his groin. “Stay a while. Parrish isn’t here. We could have another drink—in my private room if you like. I think you’ll find I make a much better deal than he does.”
Deal? He was puzzled but too anxious to get away from Norine Adams to search out what she meant. “I am sorry to have to decline,” he said and slowly unlatched her fingers from his wrist, briefly held her warm hand and bowed over it, lightly grazing the back of it with his lips. “I only stopped by to visit a friend,” he explained, letting go of her. “Honor. One of the girls who works here. Perhaps you’ll tell her I couldn’t wait.”
Norine raised the hand he had kissed to her lips and slowly pressed her lips to the exact spot his had touched. “Nobody ever kissed my hand like that,” she said. “It feels good.”
He nodded to her. “You will remember my message.”
“Oh, forget about that girl,” Norine retorted, her full red lips drawing up in a pout. “I’m the one that asked you over here tonight. All the good it’s done me.
“Madame,” Rhys said, making a slight bow and moving away. “It has been a pleasure.”
“It could have been,” she said. Not quite ready to be dismissed Norine jumped up and insisted on taking his arm. Hanging on so tightly that their thighs bumped she accompanied him all the way to the street. When he tried to extract his arm from hers, she clandestinely slid her arms around his neck and in a last attempt to change his mind about staying, pulled his head down, ground her hips against him and hotly, hungrily kissed him. “Anytime you want more,” she said, “you come back.”
Teddy, winding up a long day of bookkeeping and schedule shuffling saw the whole torrid exchange. And imagined the rest.
Chapter 31
Norine’s disappointment heightened as she twisted through the crowded, noisy saloon and through the doors which led to the private quarters she and her husband shared. The big bedroom with the full tester bed was dark except for the light of one candle in a twisted silver sconce. The door to the adjoining dressing room stood open a few inches and it was toward that darkened portal that Norine spoke.
“I’m alone,” she said. “He wasn’t interested. Tonight.”
Parrish Adams, a revolver in his right hand, shoved open the dressing room door and confronted his wife. “How did you know I was here?”
Nonchalantly, she sat at her dressing table and, guided by the scant light of the flickering candle, began plucking pins from her upbound hair. “I know you,” she said tartly. “You thought I’d bring Delmar up here and—give him a few nibbles, enough for you to come rushing in playing the wronged husband to the hilt.”
Adams slid the revolver into the waistband of his black trousers and walked up behind his wife. His long dark fingers slid around her slim white neck. “And you let me down.” He brought his fingers over her windpipe and tightened the pressure of his grip. He’d looked forward to the scene of the Frenchman, distraught, pleading for his life, finally trading his Gamble shares to keep it. Breathing heavily, he squeezed a little tighter and was pleased to see a look of fear flicker onto his wife’s expertly painted face. “Losing your touch, Norine?”
Gasping for breath, her hands fell to the dressing table as silently she stared at the vicious reflection Parrish Adams made in the shadowed mirror, behind the helpless woman whose throat his hands encircled. And then she twisted away from him. “No!,” she said acidly. “I’m not through with him yet. You’ll get what you want.”
His hands found their way to her shoulders, making red marks on her pale flesh as he jerked her to her feet and spun her around. “Will you get what you want?” Adams demanded. “From him?”
Norine’s head rocked back. A sound of rending cloth filled the room and her expensive gown, torn in two, floated down around her feet. “Ummmm,” she said. “From somebody.”
***
A week passed with no raids on the stage and Teddy began to hope the holdups had been enacted by a band of renegades who had moved on to other pickings. Maybe Adams had given up taking over the routes. Maybe she was crazy as a loon. Maybe he hadn’t been behind these last attacks like she had thought. The boys who had lived through them described a different set of outlaws than those who had first given the line trouble.
As for Rhys Delmar, she hadn’t said two unnecessary words to him since she’d seen him kissing that hussy Norine Adams. Lately she had been wishing that letter from London would hurry up and arrive. She no longer cared whether his claim was legitimate or not. All she wanted was to get him out of her hair. Seeing him nearly every day, being reminded, painfully, of what had occurred between them, was, loaded on the rest of her problems, more than she could bear.
He had betrayed her. How that was so she didn’t bother to
reason out. She felt betrayed and it was interfering with everything else she had to do. What’s more she didn’t seem to have the stamina she used to have. By midafternoon most days she was weak as water.
“It’s the strain,” Felicity Gamble said. Concern for her overwrought granddaughter showed in her face. “Teddy, you’ve done all anybody could to keep this line running, but maybe it’s time to sell out. If you can’t stand selling to Adams, find another buyer. We’d still have the ranch if we did that.” Fearing she wasn’t getting past Teddy’s stubborn resistance, Felicity continued. “Nobody who matters is going to think worse of you if you give up now. Your father would understand. You know he would. Why, I don’t think even he could keep going in the face of all you have to contend with.”
“I’ll never quit!” Teddy paced the dining room where she and Felicity met for breakfast. Always. Felicity insisted that the household run as it had when Theodor Gamble had been alive, that schedules be kept, routines followed. Teddy was grateful for the order and comfort Felicity added to her life. This morning, though, she hadn’t touched her breakfast. She had no appetite at all, though she knew she had a hard day ahead and would need the nourishment of a good meal. Felicity, as usual, was a step ahead of her and had already wrapped up two fat biscuits filled with ham. She was tucking them in the saddle pack hanging on the back of Teddy’s chair.
By then some of the sting had gone out of Teddy. She stopped her pacing and kissed Felicity’s papery cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve got no cause to shout at you, but I do mean it. I’ll never quit. Cabe Northrop will be here today and I’ll tell him the same thing.” Looking for tolerance, at least, from Felicity, she threw the saddle pack over her shoulder and continued, “If he wants to cancel my contract I’ll fight him all the way. If he wants the shipments coming through safe let him get one of his detectives in here to help instead of threatening to shut me down. Maybe if somebody went looking for those outlaws instead of leaving it up to Len Blalock we’d be through with them by now.”
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