by Shirl Henke
“Don’t be rude, Eva. You see, Mrs. Raymond, the reason your offer amuses my friend is that I am the majority owner of this establishment. Mr. Brummell—” he nodded over his shoulder to a thin black man who had begun to play the piano in the other room—“is one of my partners. He gets 20 percent for hiring musicians and managing musical entertainment. Eva, here, gets 20 percent for recruiting…er, other performers and managing the…ah, upstairs entertainment. I own the rest of this rather profitable business.”
He let that fact sink in before continuing. “While I thank you for your interest, I’m not in need of a job. I’ll have the bartender hail a hack for you.” His pale blue eyes went flat gray. “Good day.”
Delilah Mathers Raymond sat stunned.
Chapter Three
Horace was the first to recover. “Mr. Daniels, let us not be too hasty. Perhaps we could revise our proposition from one of employment, which you obviously do not need, to a business venture that might be of some interest.”
Clint, who had already risen, heading toward the stairs, turned and cocked his head. “A business venture? Hmm.” He stroked his jaw, allowing his eyes to flick briefly to Delilah, then ignore her and return to her uncle. “What do you have in mind?”
Bristling at his curt dismissal, she cut in. “What I have in mind is—”
“Er, would you pardon us for a brief conference?” Horace asked, now interrupting his niece. He didn’t like the look in her eyes. “Could we use one of the tables at the other end of the room?”
Clint nodded, and the old man practically dragged her across the floor. Daniels could see the fury radiating from every delectable inch of her body. Quit thinking with your nether parts, old boy, or that female will land you in deep water. Ah, but what a wonderful way to drown! Then Eva glided up to him, and he realized that it might be wise for more than one reason to put on a show of indifference to the beauteous widow. Mrs. Raymond knew how to handle a deck of cards, but he doubted she’d fare very well in a catfight with Eva. Then again…the gambling lady might just surprise him.
Dismissing the visions of a naked Delilah draped across his big bed upstairs, he resumed his seat at the table. Daniels again riffled through his deck of cards, although he watched hisguests from the corner of his eye. While Horace leaned across the table talking intently, Delilah shook her head stubbornly. Her chestnut curls bounced and those cat eyes glinted dangerously whenever she turned to glance in his direction.
Clint waited with an air of supreme indifference as Eva lightly stroked his back…more possessively than he liked. He enjoyed her company and respected her business acumen, but no female would ever again own his heart. That had only happened once and it remained a raw, aching wound. Besides, he thought, diverting his attention to the woman standing beside him, it never paid to mix business and romance. A man always ended up with a losing hand both ways.
Finally, Delilah andHorace returned to their seats across from Clint. Delilah was flushed and began to speak, “First of all—”
“Perhaps it might be wise if I do the talking, my dear.” Horace’s voice was rife with caution.
When Daniels’s whore laughed softly, Delilah could feel her cheeks burning. Slut, I’d love to give you a real belly laugh by jamming an ostrich feather right up…Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, Delilah ignored the blonde and fixed her gaze firmly on Clinton Daniels. Her nemesis…her business associate. Damn him! “I believe Mr. Daniels and I can come to an…accommodation.”
“As you wish, my dear,” Horace said in a resigned voice.
“I’ll speak frankly, sir. We are prepared to make you a very generous offer. Ten percent interest in the Nymph and, of course, in our present venture, for your good offices in obtaining a crew.”
Clint looked from her to her uncle, then back to her, riffling the deck in front of him with one hand, drawing out the time before he replied, watching her delectable derriere perched on the edge of the chair. Then he drawled softly, “By all means, Mrs. Raymond, let us do be frank. Without my help, you’ll never get the Nymph up the Missouri. Unless, of course, you can find a crew of Egyptian galley slaves.”
Eva’s beautiful laugh splashed over Delilah like a bucket of lye water, but this time she did not allow her face to betrayher fury. Think of this like a poker game. She focused on Daniels’s long tanned fingers expertly massaging the deck of cards. No, not a good idea. Think of the boat. That aided her concentration, until his next words jarred her.
“Everybody on the levee knows that Riley’s blackballed you. No one else will work for you because…” Clint paused and smiled at Delilah. It was not a nice smile. “Let’s just say they have the bizarre notion they might end up working mother naked.”
“You…” Delilah choked on her rage.
“You…—;bastard—?” Daniels offered helpfully.
“Yes,” Delilah snapped.
“You chamberpot with ears? Son of a bitch?” Clint added.
She was furious and didn’t give a damn if he knew it. “Yes, all of the above, and any more filth the cesspool of your mind can dredge up!”
“Ah,” Clint said pleasantly. “We’re making progress. I’ll take two-thirds of the boat.”
Delilah gripped the edge of the table with both gloved hands to keep from pounding on it. “Never!”
“Everybody on the levee knows everybody else’s business,” Clint said relentlessly. “You have a serious cash problem. Even if you can afford to buy what you want from Krammer, you’ll need to move your goods to storage. Then to have them loaded on the boat in spring, you’ll need teamsters. While the goods are in a warehouse, you’re going to need guards. A good upriver captain, or pilot, costs a thousand a month, his second six hundred to seven hundred dollars, not to mention a chief engineer and assistant, a first and maybe a second mate, even a meat hunter. Oh yeah, and a crew. They’ll all expect a month’s salary in advance before you pull out of your berth.”
Delilah pursed her lips. “My uncle’s research indicates that your figures are inflated, especially the captain’s pay.”
“Mr. Mathers, where did you get your information, sir?”
Horace cleared his throat nervously. “From what I wasgiven to understand was an impeccable source of river lore, a Mr. Claude Beloit.”
Daniels cursed, disgusted. “What did he tell you was the going wage for a captain?”
“Six hundred to seven hundred dollars.”
“Did you tell him that you intended to take a boat up the Missouri?” Clint asked, already knowing the answer.
Horace felt like a schoolboy who had botched his homework. “I don’t believe so, no.”
“The Mississippi and the Missouri aren’t the same beast. Claude figured you were askin’ him about downriver runs from here to New Orleans. That’s all he does. He couldn’t get a canoe past Kansas City without ripping the bottom out of it. Upper Missouri men are a different breed, and they’re damned expensive.”
Clint turned his attention from Horace back to Delilah. Her fierce anger had faded, the poker professional’s control gone. Her expression now was an open book. He read desperation, despair and denial. There was far more to the widow than he’d ever imagined. Why would she want to leave what was obviously a comfortable life to brave the hardships and take the financial risks of going into the Fort Benton trade?
She started to speak, but he raised his hand. Holding her eyes with his, he asked the woman behind him, “Eva, didn’t I see Ronnie Bates come in a while ago?”
“Yeah, he came in just before these two.”
“Darlin’, send Walter upstairs and ask Bates, if he’s not busy, to come down here for a minute.”
Eva snickered, “Clint, honey, Ronnie’s so quick on the trigger he should’ve been one of those Texas gunmen instead of a river man. I’ll guarantee that his busy has been over for at least five minutes by now.” She sauntered to the bar, hips swaying, mules clicking. The bartender hurried around the bar and headed upstairs.
Clint leaned back in his chair and spread his hands on thetable in front of him. “Ronnie Bates has been a mate on Missouri River boats for over twenty years. You can double-check your information on crew salaries with him.” Goddamned greenhorns! He refused to admit that he couldn’t bear to see the expression on Delilah Raymond’s face.
Delilah felt nauseous. Every night since she had won the Nymph she had gone to bed with fear gnawing at her. It had seemed too good to be true, given the hard knocks life had dealt her in the past decade. The riverboat was to be their transport back to respectability, yet each night in the silence of her cabin a bone-deep foreboding seized her. Things were going too smoothly, moving too fast.
Under her lashes she studied Daniels, who oddly for once did not boldly return her perusal. His straw-colored hair fell across his forehead, but he made no effort to shake it back. The indolence of his lanky body belied an underlying tension that she could not identify. But one thing she did feel for certain—he was not gloating. In fact, he appeared to be holding back anger. Why?
Ronnie Bates bounded down the stairs. Delilah thought that for a man with over twenty years of river experience, the slender, smiling fellow seemed exuberantly youthful.
“Didn’t see ya when I come in, Clint. What can I do ya fer?”
Daniels made introductions and said, “Just answer some questions for my guests. I’ll be over at the bar. What if I send you a bottle of sour mash to oil your brain? On the house, of course.”
Ronnie grinned. “Hell, man, for that I’ll give ’em the wisdom of the ages. Or at least tell ’em where half the bodies on the levee’s buried.”
Clint rose and headed for the bar. Walt quickly appeared with a bottle and a glass. Horace and Delilah commenced their interrogation. Half an hour and half a bottle later, the question-and-answer session ended. Bates wobbled to his feet and started to the bar, the remainder of his whiskey in hand.
Eva, who had been lounging at the bar with Daniels, waved the man up the stairs. “Keep the bottle, Ronnie, andtell Stella that you’re a guest of the house…but not for too long.” She laughed, and once again fey music filled the room.
Clint returned to the table and took his seat. With a proprietary air, Eva returned to stand beside him. He said, “Other river men will give you the same information. Hell, go ask Beloit. See if he doesn’t agree with Bates.”
Horace held up his hand. “Mr. Daniels, I appreciate your, ah, straightforward dealing. My niece and I are satisfied that Mr. Bates knows whereof he speaks. And it would seem that you, yourself, have somewhat understated the case. Apparently Captain Grant Marsh commands fifteen hundred dollars a month.”
Daniels shrugged, “Maybe so, but Marsh and his Far West are now Custer’s —navy— in the war against the hostiles. The army is making the land safe for civilized people.”
The way he stressed the last words and the harsh cast of his features indicated great bitterness. Delilah could sense his hatred of the blue-coated soldiers, even a decade after the war had ended. Well, he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered…Her uncle’s response brought her back to the matter at hand. The Nymph was her ticket to freedom, well worth the price of dealing with the Yankee-hating Mr. Clinton Daniels.
“Mr. Bates left a list of top-notch men, all of whom demand at least a thousand dollars a month,” Horace said. “You have made your point, sir. We sorely underestimated start-up expenses…and we need your good offices to obtain a crew. Now, shall we craft a deal?”
Daniels smiled. “I’ll have to contribute several thousand dollars to the venture. And you won’t obtain a crew without me. Does my request for majority control still strike you as unreasonable?”
Horace started to reply, but Delilah placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Uncle, allow me.”
When she turned to face Clint, he was surprised to see a devastatingly beautiful smile. Damn, those lips…those eyes.
“It would appear, Mr. Daniels, that while distasteful to us, a business arrangement with you would be mutually beneficial. You’ll obtain a crew and contribute a few thousand dollars for the start-up. None of which requires much financial risk on your part.” She paused. “So you can see why we’re fiscally compelled to reject your request for a two-thirds share of the venture.”
Clint slouched farther back in his chair. “Go on.”
“We’ll give you 20 percent. Quite lucrative for a one-hundred-percent return on your investment, don’t you agree?” Her husky voice was genial; her entire presence radiated friendliness now.
Daniels felt as levelheaded as a drunken teamster when he looked at her plump pink lips, but he forced himself to focus and return her smile. “On reconsideration, I agree a two-thirds share was perhaps a touch greedy. An unfortunate failin’ of mine.” Now it was his turn to pause. “But since the venture’s doomed without me, let me revise my offer. Sixty percent.”
Her smile never wavered. She was hitting her stride now. Clint had to hand it to her. He watched with admiration that he skillfully hid. The woman wanted the boat and this business venture so bad she could taste it. But she was up against a stacked deck, forced to salvage what she could. He’d bet the sweat was rolling down her back or between those breasts that needed no corset to push them high and taut.
Mind on the game, Daniels. He waited her out.
“All right, Mr. Daniels,” Delilah replied congenially, “we both know you have us over a barrel. I’ll make my final offer. A forty-nine percent interest in the Nymph and our present venture in return for your assistance in obtaining a crew and for providing us with additional funds.”
Clint examined the green tabletop for a moment and then raised his eyes to hold Delilah’s. “I must insist upon 60 percent, ma’am.”
Her smile faded now. “I don’t believe you understand. Before I give up controlling interest in the Nymph, I’ll sell her to another interested buyer, anyone except you. Or…I’ll torch her to the waterline.”
“Now, Delilah—” Horace remonstrated.
But Delilah was on a roll, unable to stop. “I’ll get a refund from the warehouse owner. One way or another, my uncle and I will leave town with substantially more money than we brought here. But take this as gospel: If I do not destroy the boat, I will keep majority control of it.”
Delilah stared across the table at that handsome face, so totally devoid of expression, and hated its owner. The very absence of male superiority in his eyes fanned her rage because she knew it had to be there, hidden. This Southern lothario had the power to destroy her dreams. He’d do it with casual indifference. The thought drove her almost beyond control. Almost. She waited him out.
Across the table Clint was anything but indifferent. He studied her eyes, measuring the suppressed anger that turned them deepest green. They flashed a barely leashed wildness. The woman was magnificent. Velvet over steel. He would have to be very careful. Daniels, you’re a fool. “Forty-nine percent for me. And—”
“I give the orders.”
Clint shrugged. “Why, certainly, ma’am. As senior partner, that would be your prerogative,” he drawled. Until you get yourself in so deep you’ll be begging me to pull you out of Missouri mud.
Delilah stared at him intently. There was no hint of smirking condescension in his face or in his voice. She rose and extended her hand. “Then we have a deal, Mr. Daniels.”
He rose and shook her hand, and then Horace’s. “Let’s hope it proves profitable.” He looked at Eva and smiled. “If Bill Holland is still in with Marie, could you ask him to come down, please? My partners and I need his services.”
“Who is Mr. Holland?” Delilah asked more sharply than she intended.
Eva paused, waiting for Clint’s response.
“Bill’s a bank officer and a notary. He’ll draft a business agreement for us and then notarize it.”
Delilah froze. “Are you insinuating that my word cannot be trusted?” Her words were like icicles.
Clint lost his hard-won patience. �
�I’m not insinuatin’ your word can’t be trusted. I’m saying your word can’t be trusted. You, madam, are as slippery as cow slobber on a flat rock. God, you think the twist you turned on Riley isn’t common knowledge on the levee? The stupid ass never thought of a signed agreement.”
He walked around the table and stopped within inches of her. “I’m not Riley. And you, for certain, aren’t a poor, helpless widow. You, ma’am, howl with the wolves.” He smiled enigmatically. “My people upriver have always respected the wolves…but we sure as hell don’t trust them.”
Horace interposed himself between the two and glanced over to the silver blonde. “Miss Eva, would you be so kind as to see if Mr. Holland is available and willing to provide us his services?”
Loving the way Clint had put the gambling hussy down, the blonde smiled at Horace with his courtly manners. “Why not?” She headed upstairs.
“Please sit down, my dear,” Horace said soothingly to Delilah, then asked Clint, “While we wait for Mr. Holland, would you perchance have brandy for a toast to seal our bargain?”
“Why, certainly,” Daniels replied with a grin.
Oh so civilized. A Southern gentleman who lived in a bordello! Gritting her teeth, Delilah silently watched him select a bottle from behind the bar. His private stock, no doubt. She was certain it would be swill.
Clint poured a snifter and handed it to her, deliberately allowing their fingers to brush. She didn’t flinch. Neither did he. But both of them felt the sizzle like a lightning strike.
What the hell have you dealt yourself into? Delilah’s and Clint’s feelings, for once, were in perfect accord.
She took one sip of the brandy. Damn the man; it was excellent. Trying to ignore him, she studied the ornately framed mirrors and paintings, the heavy masculine furniture. Anything but look at her new business partner. A partner whohad outsmarted her at every turn…so far. And a man who made her feel things she had never imagined before. And would not allow herself to imagine ever again!