by Shirl Henke
When Luellen Colter brought a dinner tray to Delilah’s room that evening, she placed it on the table, then stood, wringing her work-reddened hands until her friend asked, “What is it, Luellen? I know everyone’s upset about the pay we owe them, but—”
“No! No, Delilah, that ain’t it. Oh, tarnation, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but better me than you hear it someplace else. Mr. D, he’s up ’n sold his share of the Bud ’n left town. Nobody knows where he’s gone.”
Delilah sat back in her chair, utterly stunned by the information. “But…but, why would he…?” She had seen his set face when he’d asked her to trust him and told her that he had a plan to lure Riley into that poker game. Was this a part of his ploy? She had no idea. She could see the sympathy in Luellen’s face and knew the older woman thought she was a jilted lover.
“Mr. Daniels and I were business partners…and friends, nothing more.” Even as she spoke the words, Delilah knew they rang false.
“Maybe he’ll be back,” Luellen said, but her words sounded equally uncertain.
“Please excuse me. I don’t feel like eating just now, Luellen,” she said, rising and stepping inside her small bedroom, closing the door behind her. She could hear the cook’s understanding voice saying she’d be back to check on her later that evening, but Delilah did not reply. What was there to say? She was utterly alone, hopelessly in debt…and the man she loved might have simply cut his losses and ridden off.
Chapter Twenty-two
Delilah awakened red-eyed in the middle of the sleepless night after two glasses of brandy—she was quickly depleting Uncle Horace’s supply—to hear soft knocking on her door and a familiar voice urgently calling her name.
“Deelie, let me in!”
Dazed, not quite daring to believe it wasn’t some cruel dream, she yanked on her robe and stumbled to light the lantern before opening the cabin door. Clint was not at the outside door but the one to her bedroom. He must have entered the sitting room through the door adjoining her uncle’s cabin. “Where have you been?” she asked, trying to read his expression in the dim light.
“Deelie, you aren’t goin’ to believe me when I tell you. Just sit down…”
When he finished explaining what he had learned, they finalized their plans for the destruction of Red Riley’s empire…or, at least, what they hoped would lead to that end. Delilah knew that if their plan failed, Clint would challenge Riley with a gun and perhaps the cowardly king of the levee would have his men shoot his enemy. Or, if he succeeded in killing Riley, Clint would hang for it.
She had to make certain it never came to violence. And there was only one way to do that:Delilah Mathers Raymond had to be the best damn poker player on the Mississippi. She could do it. She had to, not only for Clint, but for Uncle Horace, too.
“I’m going to wake up our notary friend ’n have him make arrangements for the game tomorrow night. Will yoube all right?” he asked, taking her chin in his hand and tipping her face up to his.
“I’ve never felt more in control, Clint. Never.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Good.” With that he slipped out the door and vanished into the darkness.
During their long and earnest conversation, he’d never said a word about what would happen if their plan worked. He’d sold the Bud. Would he head back upriver? Would he leave her? Delilah still did not know. Clint Daniels was every inch as good a poker player as she was.
But once this was over, she intended to call his bluff…
Excitement crackled in the open air on the main deck of The River Nymph. With the space cleared of cargo, there was enough room for a large crowd to assemble around the single green baize table set up between the now idle boilers and the engine room. The fecund odors of river mud and rotting wood mixed with human sweat and perfume worn by various sporting women who had come to see the big game.
The levee had been buzzing all day since word had gotten out that Big Red Riley and the female gambler who’d won the Nymph from Clint Daniels were going to have a high-stakes game in which Riley might reclaim the boat. That afternoon Brad Sutton arrived on a fast packet from Quincy, Illinois. He was reputed to be one of the best players between St. Paul and New Orleans. Riley had hired him to play against Mrs. Raymond.
She had beaten Daniels. Could she also beat Sutton? Side bets were placed all afternoon and evening as the level of expectancy rose to fever pitch up and down the riverfront, spilling into the city. From high society to levee low life, rich and poor, prominent and notorious, everyone wanted a piece of the action. Many wanted to see the nasty little Riley receive his comeuppance, but lots of the smart money was on Big Red. He had not made a fortune by repeating mistakes.
Bill Holland, the banker and notary, stood like a stooped sentinel at the side of the table, his balding head shiny withsweat in the sultry evening air. In deference to the heat of summer in St. Louis, the game was not scheduled to begin until an hour after sunset, when the breeze from the river would lower the temperature. However, the standing-room-only crowd, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, gave off enough body heat to make the table as hot as a boiler on an upriver run.
Clint Daniels stood beside Holland, wearing a ruffled white shirt and a tan linen suit with tiger’s eye studs and cufflinks. His only other accessory was the Army Colt strapped low on his hip. As he watched his business associate approach the table, he looked calm, debonair…and very dangerous.
Delilah, dressed in a low-cut gown of moss-green silk, made her way through the crowd. She looked as cool as an April garden. Her hair was piled in a tumble of curls atop her head, held in place by ivory combs. Square-cut emerald studs in her ears and a matching bracelet on her right wrist were the only jewelry she wore. The slim gold wedding band was missing from her finger, but the crowd was too caught up in the excitement to notice.
Clint was not.
He eyed her bare hand and wondered why she had taken it off—for the first time since he’d met her aboard their boat. No, make that my boat—before she won it away from me. He felt the warmth of a smile begin deep inside him before it spread visibly to his mouth. Realizing what he was feeling, he assured himself it only signified that she was going to win again tonight.
The crowd parted as if she were Moses leading the Israelites through the Red Sea. She offered her hand to Clint for a proper salute, then did the same for Holland. In spite of the formality of the gesture between Daniels and the widow, Eva St. Clair watched the display from the sidelines with a pained expression on her beautiful face. That was when she, too, noticed the wedding band was missing.
Coming up the gangplank, Red Riley and Brad Sutton had their path cleared by several riverfront gunmen in Riley’s employ. Silver-haired and patrician, Sutton was well-built andsignificantly taller than the scrawny Riley, a fact that was noticed and commented upon by many—but not within the king of the levee’s hearing. If Riley was willing to hire a man taller than himself, the fellow must certainly be an excellent player.
There were no polite formalities among the opponents, other than Sutton’s nod to the lady when Holland cleared his throat and started to speak. An expectant hush quickly fell over the rowdy onlookers as he said, “This will be five-card stud, St. Louis style. First and last card down. I will deal.” He glanced between Delilah and Sutton. Both nodded. He con-tinued,“ Only funds already on premises can be put into play.”
“We don’t want you runnin’ back to your office safe, Red,” Clint said to Riley. Daniels’s hand rested lightly on the handle of his Colt.
Red smiled expansively. “Since I already advanced the little lady—” he leered insultingly at Delilah—“ten thousand against this here boat, I reckon there ain’t no reason to be worried. You got the deed?” he asked Holland.
The notary pulled a sheaf of documents from his jacket and handed them to Riley for perusal. “I trust this is in order. If your player wins, you shall have the title to The River Nymph signed over and notarized, free and c
lear. However, if you lose—”
“We ain’t gonna lose, are we, Sutton?” Riley asked with a nasty sneer. He handed the gambler a hefty stack of bank notes.
Sutton’s expression was serene, unaffected by his employer’s crude remarks. “I surely do expect to win, ma’am,” he said to Delilah.
“Just to sweeten the pot,” Clint interjected, “I’m placing an additional vote of confidence in my associate. Eleven thousand dollars’ worth.” He plucked a large wad of bills from the wallet in his jacket and laid them in front of Delilah. A chorus of oohs and ahhs echoed around the crowded deck, and one fellow standing on the periphery called out to those standing on the levee, “Daniels just gave her all his money from selling the Bud!”
At the table, Delilah said, “Why, Mr. Daniels, how you do flatter a lady.” Like Riley, she emphasized the word, giving Clint a dazzling smile. Then she nodded coolly at Riley as if he were a particularly insignificant species of dwarf cockroach. “The time for talk is over. It’s time to play poker.”
Riley smirked and counted out another stack of bills, slapping them down on the table in front of Sutton. “Like the lady says, let’s get to playin’.”
And play they did, for several hours without a break. Sutton lived up to his reputation. The balance of cash on the table shifted from him to Delilah and back. The ten thousand Riley had advanced to her for a table stake and Clint’s eleven thousand from the Bud were all in play, lost and won again repeatedly until Holland called for a break. Delilah retired to her cabin while Sutton and Riley smoked on the aft section of the boat. Clint remained with Holland at the table under the gimlet eyes of Riley’s minions, both armed to the teeth.
When the game resumed a quarter hour later, it appeared that the tide of victory began to move in Sutton’s direction. Twice Riley threw in another few thousand, allowing Sutton to meet Delilah’s bets and raises. With this help, the money in front of the lady gambler began to dwindle. But Delilah appeared as cool and collected as ever. The heavy night air wrapping around the assembly like a coil of wet rope appeared not to disturb her one whit.
With little more than twenty-five hundred dollars in front of her, she looked at her first up card, a jack of diamonds, and gave no indication of whether it boded well or ill. Sutton did the same when he was dealt an ace of diamonds.
“I bet five hundred,” he said.
“Call,” she replied, shoving the money to the center of the table.
The second card up was a nine of diamonds for her and a three of hearts for Sutton. His ace still being high, he again bet five hundred. She again called.
The third and last card up was a king of diamonds for herand an ace of spades for Sutton. He increased his bet to a thousand. The crowd began murmuring now as it appeared the Illinois gambler was ready to pounce for the kill.
Unperturbed, Delilah again met his bet. But now she had only five hundred dollars left in front of her.
Holland dealt the last card down to both players with considerable deliberation. No one on the boat made a sound until Brad Sutton said, “I believe I will bet my pair of aces for all they are worth. Five thousand dollars.”
A collective gasp rose, some people in indignation, others with satisfaction. Without enough money to call his bet, Delilah would automatically forfeit the game…and the boat. No one saw the tall man hidden in the shadows at the top of the stairs as he slowly began to descend. Clint looked into Delilah’s expressionless eyes. He nodded as if confirming something for himself. “Mrs. Raymond calls and raises.”
“Ten thousand,” she said coldly, staring at Riley, whose head jerked back in amazement.
“You can’t call with what you ain’t got, gal,” Riley sneered. “Remember rules ’o the game—only what’s brung to the table can be bet. ’N you got squat.”
“No, only what’s already on the premises, according to the rules you agreed to,” Clint said. “Uncle Horace, time to bring in the reserves.” The crowd parted to admit two men who had just descended the stairs from the hurricane deck.
“It’s Banjo Banks ’n thet bodyguard feller ’o the widda’s,” one man said.
“Damme, I heerd he wuz kilt by river pirates,” another added.
“Er, Riley’s men,” a third witness whispered.
“Don’t look half bad fer a dead man,” the first said, with a nervous laugh.
“Don’t look thet good neither,” replied a new voice, this one female, as everyone noted the cuts and yellowing bruises on Horace Mathers’s face and the splint on his left arm.
Horace limped slightly as he approached his niece. For thefirst time that night Delilah Raymond allowed her face to reveal emotion. She gave her uncle a warm smile. “Once again, you’ve come to my rescue!”
She squeezed his uninjured hand as he tossed a well-worn leather satchel on the table. “There is more than sufficient to meet Mr. Sutton’s bet and my niece’s raise,” Horace said, while the crowd once more hushed, everyone expectantly waiting to see what would happen next.
“You can’t let him git away with this!” Riley sputtered to Holland. “He warn’t part ’o the game.”
“But, as Mr. Daniels already said, you agreed to the rules. This money has been on the premises. Nothing was said about who brings it into play,” Holland replied primly.
Riley glared at Sutton. “I near shot my wad bankrollin’ you. You sure you got a winner?”
Sutton nodded gravely. “Yes, I believe I do.”
Riley dug into the pockets of his garishly tailored suit and pulled out a final bundle of cash. “Go fer it.”
“I raise another ten thousand,” Sutton said calmly.
“Call and raise ten thousand more,” Delilah said as she counted out thousand-dollar bills from the huge bundle of cash inside Horace’s satchel.
Sutton looked at Riley, who almost choked. He let out a foul string of oaths and pounded on the table. “I ain’t got me no more cash money ‘on the premises,’ ” he said through gritted yellow teeth.
“Rather shortsighted of you,” Horace said dryly as his eyes fixed on the king of the levee. The gaze sent a shudder through the crowd. It was as if someone had just walked over Big Red Riley’s grave.
“I may have a solution to your problem, Riley,” Daniels said quietly. “We might be willin’ to waive the rules for this final raise. You foreclosed on Mr. Krammer’s mercantile.” He turned to Delilah. “Would you be willin’ to take a notarized deed as call for your raise?”
“Yes, I would,” she replied, still icy calm. Once again, there was no hint of emotion in her cat-green eyes.
Sputtering oaths, Riley sent one of his gunmen to fetch the deed from his office. “Now, with all these here witnesses, can we git on with the game? I’ll make good on the deed…if’n I have to,” he said, glaring at Sutton. Then he crossed his arms over his banty chest and stuck out his chin defiantly, after pausing to spit a glob of snuff on the deck near Delilah’s silk skirt.
Many in the crowd murmured about his lack of social graces, although no one phrased it in those words. Neither Delilah nor Clint reacted in any way. Horace, having already made his chilling visual inspection of Riley, stood stone still.
“Sign over the mercantile with all its stock and both our players can turn up their cards,” Clint said after allowing Riley to stew for a moment. “We’ll collect the deed later.”
Riley snorted in disgust while Holland obligingly offered blank paper and a pen. In his semiliterate chicken scratching, Big Red did as Daniels had suggested, eager to get his hands on the boat. Wasn’t Brad Sutton the best on the rivers? He damn shittin’ well better be!
Without a trace of condescension, Sutton turned over his down cards. The ace of clubs and ace of hearts. Echoes of “Four of a kind!” spread through the crowd.
“Four aces! Damn, no wonder he was sure he could beat her!” Teddy Porter crowed triumphantly. “Riley’s done won back his boat!”
But before the noise grew any louder, Delilah calmly flipped ov
er one card. It was the ten of diamonds. The last hole card was the queen of diamonds. “I believe a straight flush beats four of a kind,” she said gently to Sutton.
“If that don’t beat all,” Porter muttered. “King-high-diamond straight flush. Damned female’s a witch.”
Brad Sutton nodded politely to her. “It most certainly does, ma’am. You are a most skilled and fortunate player.”
“Sutton, yer through in this town!” Riley yelled, leaping to his feet and pounding on the table. “Yer through from St. Paul to New Orleans, by damn! Time I’m through with you, you’ll be haulin’ shrimp on one of them stinkin’ scows in the Gulf.”
The distinguished-looking gambler gazed at his employer much the same way Delilah had when Riley had neared the table at the beginning of the evening. With a shrug, he said, “The odds were in my favor. I regret both our losses.” With that he watched Riley stomp toward the gangplank, where he collided with the gunman he’d sent to collect the deed.
“I think when you disembark, you will find a most unwelcome welcome committee awaiting you on the levee, Mr. Riley,” Horace Mathers said. “The men whom you employed to wreck the packet on which my companions and I were traveling have confessed everything. You see, after they left everyone for dead, a handful of survivors followed them into the next town, where they had commenced to celebrate with Mr. Daniels’s and my niece’s money. They retrieved the additional stake for this game that I was able to provide.” As an aside for only Delilah and Clint to hear, he whispered, “The whiskey profits alone were sufficient.”
“The police are waiting to arrest you formurder and robbery, Little Runty Riley,” Daniels said with a grin slashing white on his tanned face. A raucous chorus of laughter followed. The king of the St. Louis levee had just been dethroned.
“Damn, wonder if’n she’ll make ’im strip nekked like she done Daniels,” some wag speculated in a stage whisper.