Beyond Betrayal (12 page)

Delilah stared at him. Memories of how difficult life had been after her father's death came crashing in on her, and a rush of anger and bitterness suffused her, stiffening her spine and enabling her, for the first time to meet his eyes without losing her equanimity. "Oh, yes, Sheriff," she said caustically. "There are any number of occupations available for a lady like myself. I could have become a whore. Though of course I wouldn't have been a lady for very long in that occupation, would I?” Without giving him the opportunity to respond, she continued. "Or, I could have continued to work my fingers to the bone doing mending and laundry until my hands crippled and my eyesight went from working for long hours by lantern light. Or, hallelujah!” She mimicked the tone of someone having just made a wonderful discovery. "Perhaps I could have married into unpaid servitude, becoming old before my time. I mean there are any number of men out there looking for a woman to keep their house, do their laundry, and warm their beds. Aren't there?” Lord knows she'd received enough proposals from lecherous old men to last her a lifetime.

A moment of stunned silence greeted her outburst. "You dislike hard work?" he asked.

Realizing that perhaps her passionate response had been inconsistent with the casual nature of the question, Delilah struggled to reign in her temper. "On the contrary, Sheriff. I've never been afraid of hard work if it is necessary for my own survival or the well-being of those I love.” She paused, remembering her mother and father. "I know from observing my parents that love can make a lifestyle that is at times quite meager palatable. But, until I find that kind of love for myself . . . ” She trailed off, suddenly remembering her persona, and the lie she lived. In a choked voice, she continued, "Until I find that kind of love
again
," she emphasized the word meaningfully, "I fail to see what is so wrong with the way I make my living.” She wondered if, in her anger, she'd betrayed too much of the truth concerning her circumstances.

Sheriff Chambers looked at her then, his steel-cold eyes looking deep into her soul as though to seek out the mysteries hidden in the shadows there. "I see," was his only response. Delilah was left with the distinct impression that Matt Chambers, being much more perceptive than most of the men she encountered, was beginning to question her story. "Tell me about your husband Mrs. Sterne. What exactly happened to him?"

She'd answered that particular question often enough to be able to reply without stumbling. "Kenneth was killed by a cheater's bullet while gambling on the
Kentucky Dream
.

"That's a riverboat?"

"Yes. On the Missouri River."

"So your husband was a gambler too?"

Delilah nodded. "By continuing in my husband's profession, someday I shall meet up with the man who killed him and seek justice."

Sheriff Chambers studied her a moment. "Um-hmm," he said. Was there still a note of disbelief in his voice? Then, to Delilah's relief, he nodded and said, "My condolences," before kicking Goliath to a faster pace. Delilah nibbled the inner flesh of her bottom lip nervously, thoughtfully. He was beginning to doubt her story, she was almost certain of it, but she didn't know what to do about it.

It was past midday when he finally reined in again. Then, pointing down into the vast green valley that lay before them, he simply said, "That's the Devil's Fork ranch.” Nodding toward the east he added, "The next valley over belongs to the Lazy M."

Delilah studied him, wondering what he was thinking, and then turned to look at the valley below. It took her breath away. Bordered by cedars, pines and rocky bluffs, the valley was emerald green with rich moist grass. A narrow river ran through the Southern portion, and not far from that lay the ranch buildings. It was beautiful. No wonder Eve had ignored her husband's pride and risked incurring his wrath by asking for help. Losing a place like this would be unthinkable.

"I'll ride on down with you," Chambers said. "While I'm here, I might as well check to see if they've had any more trouble."

Delilah snapped a look at him. Was he talking about the rustling, or something else? "What kind of trouble?"

In the process of studying the valley below rather intently, he shrugged and, without looking at her, said, "The rustling. Isn't that what you so kindly informed me that I should be most concerned with?” His sarcasm was not lost on her, but before she could think of a suitable response, he added, "It's been a while since I've heard anything from them.” Then he effectively ended the conversation by nudging his horse onto the narrow trail that led down toward the Devil's Fork. Delilah was left with little choice but to follow.

Upon nearing the ranch, a commotion from the direction of the corrals left no doubt in Delilah's mind that something of significance was taking place. Cattle bawled. Men shouted. Dogs barked. And a woman's voice rang out with a definite note of authority. The stench of burning hair hung in the still mountain air as they drew closer.

"Looks like branding time," Sheriff Chambers commented as they reined the horses in. He indicated the figure of a woman in the center of the corral. "That'll be Mrs. Cameron. Don't know how you're going to get her attention, though. She looks a mite busy, and I wouldn't recommend going into the corral."

Delilah stared in amazement. That was Eve?

The woman in the corral flipped a calf on its side with an ease Delilah would not have thought possible, hog-tied it, and then averted her face while holding it for the brander's iron. A moment later, the task completed, she released the calf and straightened.

Using a sibling's perception, Delilah studied her sister.

Eve wore what appeared to be a split skirt fashioned from leather. The garment was a little shorter than Delilah would have thought appropriate, for it fell only to mid-calf, but Eve wore high work boots which preserved her modesty to some degree. A tan shirt, buckskin vest, well-worn leather gloves, and a green bandanna completed her ensemble. . . with one single exception. Eve wore a sidearm. A six-gun in a holster rested on her hip as comfortably as though she'd been born with it. Yet Delilah knew she had not.

Eve had always been the gentle one. The child who had been most like their Southern belle mother despite inheriting their father's tawny hair and cat-green eyes. She'd always hated guns. Heavens! She'd been so incapable of cruelty of any kind that she'd been unable to so much as watch a chicken being butchered for supper. Yet here she was branding calves!

This was not the sister Delilah remembered. In the year since they'd last visited, Eve had matured from a girl into a woman. A very determined woman if appearances were not deceiving. And yet she was scarcely twenty years old. What had happened to induce such a rapid change in her baby sister?

Whatever it was, their mother would have been proud of the result. She'd always wanted her daughters to be stronger than she had been, claiming that, had it not been for Garrett Sinclair's daring last-minute rescue, she would undoubtedly not have survived the Civil War. Delilah tended to think that her mother simply had been unable to recognize her own strengths, which lay in character rather than in physical constitution.

"I wonder where Wes Powell is?" Sheriff Chambers mused aloud, interrupting Delilah's musing. When she looked at him questioningly, he added by way of explanation, "The foreman."

"Powell is the man who was supposed to meet me in Red Rock," Delilah commented. "He didn't show up."

The sheriff stared off toward the corral and said nothing. Delilah was beginning to know him, though, and she believed he appeared thoughtful. In the next instant he said, "Looks like Eagle Shadow has finally decided to acknowledge our presence."

Delilah followed his gaze and saw a dark-skinned man, his long black hair secured in two braids which hung over his shoulders, raise an arm in greeting. "An Indian?" she asked, though she was reasonably certain the man had to be of native ancestry.

Sheriff Chambers nodded. "Jim Eagle Shadow.” He looked over at her. "You don't have a problem with Indians, do you, Mrs. Sterne?"

She frowned slightly. "If you're asking if I have reason to hate them, the answer is no, Sheriff. The Indians I've encountered always remained rather distant. Neither threatening, nor particularly cordial. Although I must say that, having heard the same tales as everyone else, I am naturally wary."

"Best advice I can give is to ignore the stories you've heard as much as possible, and make up your own mind about Jim when you meet him."

Delilah nodded without meeting his gaze. "I fully intend to, Sheriff."

At that moment, a cattle dog who'd just discerned their presence commenced a raucous barking and raced toward them. His proprietary attitude immediately set Poopsy off. Never one to back down from a disagreement with another canine, no matter the difference in size, she began to yap ferociously while squirming to escape the saddlebag. She was certain, no doubt, that she could set this disrespectful hound straight if only she could get at him. However, the only obvious result of her indignation was that she unnerved Jackpot and completely confused the cattle dog, which stopped short to eye, with a rather startled expression, the big horse from which the high-pitched barking erupted.

Delilah grinned, and then, hearing her name shouted, looked toward the corral to see Eve standing at Jim Eagle Shadow's side. Her sister waved and began to run in her direction. If the Indian had been the one to apprise Eve of her arrival, thus hastening their reunion, Delilah decided she liked him already.

Dismounting, scarcely taking her eyes from her sister, Delilah secured Jackpot to the rail of the corral fence and began to move along it, closing the distance between them. It seemed like an eternity until Eve slipped through the railing to throw her arms around her. Delilah, in turn, wrapped her arms around Eve's slender form, closed her eyes and simply held on. Lord, she'd missed her.

Though Eve was only a little more than two years younger than herself, after their father's death, Delilah had raised her sister. Or perhaps they'd raised each other. Regardless, they'd grown extraordinarily close. Now, heedless of the tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks, she pulled back. "Let me look at you."

Eve obediently stepped back. With the sparkle of joyous tears in her own eyes and a trembling smile on her lips she stood waiting for Delilah's impression. Delilah saw the newly developed strength of character in the set of her sister's jaw. She saw the confidence in her stance. Saw the light of determination in her eyes and knew, without a doubt, that Eve had come into her own.

Delilah smiled tremulously. "Oh, Evie, you've grown up."

Eve smiled. "It's about time, wouldn't you say?"

Delilah spread her arms and swept her sister into another embrace. "I've missed you."

"Not half as much as I've missed you. Why didn't you telegraph that you were coming? I would have met you in town."

"I did," Delilah assured her. "I received a reply saying that Wes Powell would meet me and provide an escort, but he didn't show. So I decided to set out."

Eve pivoted slightly, sliding her arm around Delilah's waist to stand at her side. Her expression sobered considerably. "Wes Powell quit a few days ago," she explained. "He never said anything about receiving or answering a telegram.” She shrugged. "I'm glad you were able to ride with the sheriff."

Delilah opened her mouth to point out that she'd ridden over a lot of wild country without the benefit of the sheriff's protection, or anybody else's for that matter. But before she could get the words out, Eve read her expression and raised a conciliatory hand to halt her. "I know. I know," she said. "I have little doubt that you could have found this place based on the descriptions in my letters, but it's dangerous country just the same.” She scowled. "Blast that Wes Powell. He makes me so angry. But I guess I should have expected that from him."

Delilah studied her sister's solemn expression. "What's wrong, Eve?"

Eve forced a smile. "Nothing I'm going to burden you with before you've even had a chance to refresh yourself.” She looked toward the sheriff, and Delilah followed her gaze.

Sheriff Chambers had dismounted and was now talking to Jim Eagle Shadow and another hand. The dark blonde hair that spilled over this cowhand's ears from beneath the brim of his hat made him easily recognizable as being a white man though he was well tanned.

"Come on," Eve said as she began moving toward the men. They stopped to one side of the group. As soon as the men paused in conversation and looked toward them, she spoke. "Mr. Eagle Shadow. . . Mr. Wright. . . I'd like to introduce you to my sister, Mrs. Delilah Sterne. She'll be staying with us for a while. Delilah, this is Mr. Jim Eagle Shadow."

Eagle Shadow tipped his black felt hat to her just as any white man would have, though his copper-skinned face remained solemn as he said, "Ma'am."

"Mr. Eagle Shadow," Delilah nodded in acknowledgement as she studied the man curiously.

"And this is Mr. Steve Wright," Eve continued, gesturing to the man with the long dark blonde hair.

Wright offered Delilah his hand, a gesture that not all men made when introduced to women, and spoke in a deep bass voice that seemed at odds with his stature. "Always pleased to meet a lady, Mrs. Sterne."

Delilah accepted his calloused hand, met his kind brown-eyed gaze and smiled. "A pleasure, Mr. Wright."