Beyond Betrayal (20 page)

Tomorrow, Samson would go out for another look. Right now, he'd go have a word with his deputy, Carl Wilkes, and see if anything of import had happened while he was away. Then he was going to clean up and be ready to head over to the Lucky Strike this evening.

*   *   *

A couple of afternoons later on the first truly hot summer-like day that they'd had, Samson left two recruits to watch over the cattle they'd found secreted in Brokenback Canyon and gained the complicity of Mrs. Schmidt in his pursuit of Delilah. The hotel proprietress, upon his request, created a picnic basket beyond compare, laden with fried chicken, lemonade, potato salad, and apple pie. Thus armed, Samson managed to convince Delilah to ride out with him. Actually he was a bit surprised by how easy it had been to convince her. Although he wasn't sure how he was going to go about it, Samson had decided to try the direct approach with her—especially since any attempt he made at seduction only seemed to intensify her reserve.

As they pulled up in a beautiful meadow carpeted with bright yellow and purple wildflowers, she seemed a bit quiet and thoughtful. Samson loosened the traces on the buggy to allow the horses to graze and then asked Delilah where she thought they should spread the blanket.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Wherever you think best."

Samson found himself disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm for the outing, but determined to make the best of it. So, as they settled down for lunch, he kept the conversation going, regaling her with tales of some of the town's more interesting moments. Like the time an inebriated Ray Fielding broke his brother, Tommy, out of jail only to find that he hadn't secured the horses to the rail and they'd wandered off toward home. With no way to run, Ray had joined his brother in jail until their father came to get them. Or the time a black bear had wandered down out of the hills to raid Mrs. Schmidt's garbage and had ended up getting tangled up in the clothesline. Some folks said that blamed bear was still wearin' Freda's bloomers.

Delilah’s dog interrupted them to coax tidbits of fried chicken from both Samson and Delilah before wandering off to explore the meadow again. Samson spared a moment to hope that the animal didn't scare up a skunk before concentrating once more on Delilah. He didn't seem to be making much headway with his humor either. Although she smiled politely, Delilah was obviously preoccupied with something else.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I haven't been on a picnic for. . .” She cast her gaze into the distance. ". . . a very long time."

Since her husband had been alive, no doubt. Samson found himself despising this ghost of a man who still claimed her affections. "You loved him a lot, did you?"

She looked at him then, an expression of startlement in her brilliant blue eyes. "Who?"

He frowned inwardly. "Your husband. Isn't that who you were thinking of?”

"Oh, yes. Of course.” She lowered her gaze to her lap and plucked at a lose thread on the black fabric of her skirt. "Yes, I loved him very much. I shall never marry again, for I can never love another man as much as I loved Kenneth. It would be unkind to marry and offer less than my whole heart."

Samson darn near choked on his lemonade. What she was telling him was that she'd sworn off men for the rest of her life! "That kind of life could get pretty lonely, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "I was never unfaithful to Kenneth, Sheriff. He was the dearest man imaginable. I don't see how I can be unfaithful to his memory. I feel that he is still with me, in spirit, watching over me."

Samson frowned. She was getting a bit overemotional, wasn't she? Once again a vague uneasiness assailed him, but he could never put his finger on exactly what it was about the stories of her past that bothered him.

As though she sensed his subtle withdrawal, Delilah changed the subject. . . sort of. "Actually, Sheriff Chambers. . ."

"Won't you call me Matt?"

She searched his face for a moment as though seeking something, and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, I can't. Anyway, as I was saying, the reason I agreed to accompany you on this picnic was to ask you to please turn your interests elsewhere. Knowing my feelings for my husband as you now do, you can understand why I simply can't have anything to do with you."

Like hell
! Samson thought. Being made aware of the depths of loyalty and devotion of which she was capable only solidified his determination to break down the barriers Delilah had erected around herself. He didn't want her love—he'd learned long ago that love was a painful trap that he could live quite well without—but he wanted her friendship, her loyalty. . . and, most certainly, her body. "Do you honestly believe that I will give up on you that easily?" he asked. Observing her all the while, he slowly began replacing items in the picnic basket.

Delilah stared at him as desperation flooded through her. "I had hoped. . . perhaps."

"I'm not after your love, Delilah. You can keep your heart and your devotion to your husband's ghost intact."

He didn't want her love, and yet he had kissed her. Was he proposing a marriage of convenience then? Had she not made her position on such a union clear to him just the other day when he'd questioned her reasons for gambling? Did he think her so lacking in morals as to agree to such a thing? Anger suffused her, infusing her cheeks with heat, but she held it in check as she sought to understand
exactly
what he was saying. "Then
what
, pray tell, do you want from me?"

"Your friendship and. . . companionship."

She frowned slightly, trying to determine his meaning. Just friends? Companions? But they had nothing in common. Not even conversation over a friendly game of poker. Unless he had changed his mind. "I see. And as my
friend
, you would, of course, accept my profession without reservation?"

"Actually, I had hoped that, as my lady friend, you would no longer find such a pastime necessary. At least not as long as we continued to enjoy each other's company."

Delilah's mouth dropped open. Her eyes widened. The heat in her cheeks intensified. "Good heavens! You're suggesting that I become your
mistress
!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you?"

His steel-hued eyes swept over her, as unreadable as ever. "I guess I am," he replied in a low voice. "We're both mature adults."

Delilah leapt to her feet. "I have never been so insulted in my life! I insist you return me to town immediately!"

"Now hold on a minute . . ."

"Immediately, sir! I refuse to listen to another second of your insulting insinuations and propositions. And in future, I suggest that your energies would be much better spent on recovering stolen cattle."

"Aww. . ." and then the sheriff cursed in a disgruntled tone beneath his breath as he rose. Delilah suspected she had not been meant to hear the word, but, once again, he had miscalculated. With a gasp of outrage at such rudeness, Delilah stalked toward the buggy where she scooped Poopsy into her arms. It was one thing to inadvertently hear that kind of language in a saloon where men liked to be free of the strictures imposed by good company. It was another thing entirely, however, to know that she was the object of it. Without waiting for Sheriff Chambers' assistance, Delilah climbed into the conveyance to sit stiffly waiting for him to drive her back to town.

The entire picnic had been a disaster. Not only had she apparently failed to convince him that he should turn his attentions elsewhere, but she had learned that his pursuit of her was not nearly as honorable as she had supposed.

In fact, the only thing that made the day itself worthwhile was that Eve stopped in at the hotel for a visit shortly after Delilah had returned from the picnic. She'd come to get some more medicine for Tom from Doctor Hale and used the excuse to stop for a brief visit with Delilah.

"Well thank goodness something good is happening today, or I should have seriously considered returning to bed to get through it more quickly," Delilah said as she hugged her sister. Eve was dressed in a more traditional green suit with a split skirt that reached her ankles, and a pleated white shirtwaist. And Delilah realized just how beautiful her sister had grown up to be.

"What do you mean? What's happened?" Eve asked as she pulled out of Delilah's embrace to look into her face.

After they were seated at the small writing table that occupied the corner of Delilah's room, Delilah told her about the sheriff's very indecent proposal. Eve was as shocked as Delilah had been. "Well," she huffed. "I would never have expected something like that from him. He's always seemed like such a decent man."

"You can bet I won't be going on another picnic with him. But, enough about that. Let's talk about something else. Has there been any change in Tom's condition?"

Eve's eyes clouded. "He's more feverish now. And complaining of the pain more. It doesn't look good."

Delilah swallowed, hating to see her sister's emotional pain. "I'll keep praying," she murmured. "Perhaps. . .” But neither of them truly believed that Tom would recover, and she broke off.

"So tell me," Eve said with false brightness as she changed the subject, "have you met any other handsome available men recently?"

Delilah shook her head. "None with whom I care to spend time."

Eve frowned. "I worry about you, Sis. You can't go through your entire life alone. You need a companion."

"I have Poochie," Delilah indicated the little dog who lay watching them with alert black eyes.

"I meant a man."

Delilah shrugged. "A man is a lot more work, and I haven't yet met one who was worth the trouble."

Eve considered her and then smiled. "Well, that's true. It has to be the
right
one to make it worthwhile. Remember old Mrs. Bitters?"

Delilah laughed. "Now there was one woman whose name definitely suited her. Up until the day she threw Mr. Bitters out into the street in his underwear, that is. I never saw a woman undergo such a rapid personality transition in my life. She became positively jovial.” The sisters passed their remaining time together in fond reminiscence of times past until the chime of the bedside clock intruded and Eve had to leave.

*   *   *

Almost a week later, Samson lay in the shadow of a huge boulder overlooking Brokenback Canyon. He had found a herd of about sixty head of cattle, just as he'd suspected he would, but so far no one had tried to move them. Only two men maintained a more or less constant presence in the canyon, and thus far—since he was forced to keep his distance—he hadn't been able to identify them. In a canyon as isolated as Brokenback, there wasn't really a need for anyone to constantly monitor the herd except to protect them from predators because there was nowhere for the cattle to go. Since he needed to catch all of those involved, if possible, Samson had little choice but to keep surveillance on the canyon and wait for the rustlers to make their move.

Normally, he would have asked the local ranchers for help with the situation. However, since in this instance virtually all the ranchers were themselves suspects, he, his deputy, and two recruits from town were doing the work themselves.

He and Bill Tillis, one of the recruits he managed to deputize temporarily, usually took watch from about midnight to early morning because that was the most likely time for the rustlers to try to move the herd out. Samson's deputy, Carl Wilkes, and the other recruit watched the canyon from late afternoon until Samson showed up to spell him at night. Tonight though, he and Tillis had come out earlier because Wilkes young wife Kimberley had gone into labor. Knowing Carl, he would have done his job anyway had Samson asked it of him, but his mind wouldn't have been on what he was doing, and that kind of thing tended to get good men killed.

It was nearing ten o'clock on a night that would have had a bright moon overhead had it been less cloudy. With the storm clouds scudding across the sky, though, the night was as black as pitch. Wind soughed through the branches of the cedars clinging to life on the rocky slopes of the gorge. He could hear the cattle lowing calmly below him. But there were no noises out of the ordinary. No hoofbeats or human voices. Keeping his senses attuned to the slightest sound or change in the mood of the herd, Samson allowed his mind to wander.

For the life of him, he could not figure out Delilah Sterne. And he didn't know what his next move should be. The only thing he did know was that, despite his frustration with her, he wanted her more now than ever. She was just about everything he wanted in a woman. And, if she was a bit lacking in the kissing department, Samson figured that was her husband's fault for not teaching her better. Samson could remedy that soon enough if she'd give him the chance.

Getting the chance was what was going to be the problem. She was still as jumpy about being touched as a jack-rabbit downwind of a coyote. Samson had come to the conclusion that, whatever had happened to her to make her fear a man's touch, it must have happened
after
her husband's death.

He recalled the way she'd jerked away from his touch on that first day when he'd tried to wipe the dirt from her face. And he remembered the fear in her eyes when she'd been treating him after the cougar attack. It had been very real. Too real. It wasn't hard to imagine what must have happened to her. Whoever the man was who had hurt her, Samson would have liked to have given him a good beating before choking his worthless life from his body. He despised such men. But, since he was unlikely to get that opportunity, he decided instead to concentrate on undoing the damage. If he could.