Beyond Betrayal (28 page)

"I managed to avoid killin' him. Heck I beat him to the draw by a mile. He was still tryin' to get his gun out of its holster when I asked him if he wanted me to pull the trigger or not. Scared the daylights out of him. He ran off and I never saw him again.” Samson looked at her. "I was more prepared after that and usually found a way to avoid the kids."

Delilah nodded, waiting for him to continue, but the next part was going to be the hardest to put into words. Rising, cup in hand, he walked to the window and stood looking out at the darkened streets of Red Rock. The town had become his home. He liked it here. It was quiet—leastways it was now that he'd cleaned it up. He liked the people—most of them anyway. And he didn't want to lose the life he had here. Was he doing the right thing in confiding in her? Yet this conversation had become irrevocable in its conclusion the moment that he'd admitted he was Samson Towers.

"I guess I should have figured that my luck wouldn't last forever and that I'd have to face down some kid eventually. But I didn't. And I was in a little town called Cedar Crossing in Wyoming when I came across a kid that wouldn't bow out. His name was Boyd Telford. 'Course I didn't know at the time that his last name was Telford, or that his daddy was Paul Telford, or that Telford owed the whole blamed town. The young fool was callin' himself Kid Boyd and aimin' to make a reputation for himself no matter what. The first time he came gunnin' for me, I made the mistake of embarrassing him in front of the townfolk by takin' his gun away and kickin' his butt into a water trough to cool him off. He came back the next day, just as I was about to leave town."

Samson stared at the blackness beyond the window, not seeing it or the town or anything but the scene in his mind. God, he hated remembering.

"What happened?" Delilah's voice prompted from the room at his back.

"He was about to shoot me in the back, but I heard the click of the hammer. I drew, turned, saw a man with a gun aimed at me, and fired. It was pure instinct. The same instinct that had kept me alive in my line of work.

"I didn't realize until he lay dead on the ground that it was the kid.” Samson shook his head, swallowing the lump of regret that still lodged there. "Aw, heck, Delilah, he was just seventeen. A kid. But with a Colt six-shooter in his hand, he could kill like a man, and he was bound and determined to do just that.” Samson shrugged. "I wasn't ready to die."

"So, if it was a fair fight, why have you changed your name?"

Samson shrugged. "It was in the minutes following the kid's death that I found out Kid Boyd was Paul Telford's
only
son. The kid had been spoiled since the day he was born. Paul Telford was one of the most influential men in the territory—had the biggest cattle spread for miles around—and, like I said, he owned that blamed dirtwater town. So, what it came down to was my word against his. A gunfighter against a respected businessman."

He turned to look at Delilah over his shoulder, but she was staring down at the table. "Who would you believe?"

She lifted her gaze to his and he was surprised by the depths of the sorrow he read there. She shook her head. "Weren't there any witnesses?"

"A few. But none that couldn't be bought.” He shrugged. "I'd killed Telford's only son, and he wanted revenge. He was willin' to use the law to get it.

"You know what's really funny is that I've never even met the man. I wouldn't know him if he passed me in the street."

"So, how did you get to be Matt Chambers?" Delilah asked, her tone scarcely above a whisper.

"Telford had men tracking me all over Wyoming territory—it was getting harder and harder to avoid them—so I headed up into Montana. I was travelin' one day when I noticed something in the distance that looked like it could be a downed man. I found Matt Chambers. He'd been on his way to Red Rock to take the job as sheriff when he'd had a run-in with some horse thieves that shot him, stolen his horse and left him for dead. He was gut shot, so there wasn't anything I could do for him except stay with him. And since he was dyin' and not likely to try to arrest me, I told him my story. It was him that suggested that I take his identity and come to Red Rock. Said that that way I'd be able to keep anybody from seein' the
WANTED
posters Telford was sending everywhere. I figured it was worth a shot, so I took the job. Even swore an oath of office on Chambers' bible.

"After Chambers passed on, I buried him, shaved my mustache, took his spectacles and badge, and came on to Red Rock where I took his identity.” He stared thoughtfully at the streets for a time, remembering, then murmured, "I never could get the hang of wearin' those spectacles. They made me trip over my own feet."

"How long have you been here?" Delilah asked a moment later.

"Goin' on three years I guess. Took the whole first year to clean the place up."

The silence stretched after that, and Samson waited. What was she thinking? Did she hold him responsible for the kid's murder because he'd chosen to live by the gun? Did she understand?

"Samson—”

He closed his eyes. God, it was good to be addressed by his own name. It had been a long time. "Yeah."

"Why have you told me this?"

He turned to face her. God, she was beautiful—even in the yellow lamp light. "Because I like you Delilah. I like you a lot. And I wanted you to know who I am. Who I
really
am. You know what I mean?"

She considered him silently for a moment. "I think so," she whispered. Then, "Why haven't you tried to clear your name?"

He shook his head. "As long as Telford is alive, it isn't possible. He's too rich and too powerful, and there are too many people out there who can be bought."

Like me
, Delilah thought, staring at the big obdurate male whom, only a few hours ago, she'd wanted so badly to get out of her life. For to be blunt with herself, she had to admit that she'd been bought by the reward offered for this man. This man, who had one of the finest characters of any she'd ever known, with the exception of her father. The thought of the wheels she'd set in motion made her want to vomit, and she sought desperately for some thread of hope that what she'd done could work out for the best. "Surely not all the judges are corrupt?"

He shrugged. "Maybe not. But knowing Telford's reputation, I doubt that I'd live long enough to stand trial."

Oh, God!
"So you just live another man's life, always afraid that your past will catch up with you? There has to be something you can do? Some way to clear you name?"

He didn't respond and finally Delilah rose from the table to approach him. He must have heard her footsteps but, even as she stopped directly behind him, he didn't turn to face her. Finally, she placed her hand gently on his shoulder. The tense muscle beneath her hand leaped in response. "Matt—?”

He turned, and she reeled beneath the force of the pain in his eyes. "So tell me what you would have me do, Mrs. Sterne."

And as he spoke the name she'd appropriated for her own, Delilah realized with sudden startling clarity that they were not so very different, she and Samson Towers. She too had assumed an identity to protect herself. Only she had been protecting herself, not from a rich man's vengeance or a hangman's noose, but from the ostracism of so-called polite society. Society had insisted on telling her what was acceptable for one
in her position
, so she had altered her position in the eyes of society and in so doing had found the freedom to live.

"What would you have done?" Samson asked now, in the face of her silence.

Delilah gazed up into his handsome face, into the dark charcoal-grey eyes that, against her will, she'd learned to read, and shook her head. "I don't know.”
Probably the same thing you did
, she admitted silently, as shame threatened to choke her. She stared into storm-dark eyes burning with pain and need, and felt something within her respond to that elemental call. "Oh, Matt, I'm so sorry."

He frowned slightly, as though not understanding. "Delilah, I . . .” But whatever he'd been about to say faded into oblivion as Delilah, heeding impulse, placed her hands on his broad shoulders and rose onto her toes to place her lips against his. She sensed his surprise as, for a brief moment, he failed to respond. Not knowing quite how to proceed, she was about to break away when, groaning deep in his throat, he swept her into his embrace and deepened the kiss.

His tongue invaded her mouth, stroking and coaxing, and Delilah's toes curled. He caressed the soft interior of her mouth, stoking a passion she was only just learning, and her pulse roared in her ears. His hands crept downward to grip the twin cheeks of her bottom, and Delilah's heart fluttered wildly in her chest. More confidently this time, she sent her own tongue forward to explore the mysterious recesses of his mouth, to do erotic battle, and was once again rewarded for her efforts by a very masculine growl.

He broke off the kiss then to feather soft little kisses along her hairline and over her temples. "Damnation woman," he murmured in her ear. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?"

With her eyes still closed, the better to bask in the sensations he bestowed by tracing the whorls of her ear with his tongue, Delilah gasped and shook her head slightly.

"As much as I want my life back," he murmured.

Delilah moaned as a tangled combination of passion and guilt, impossible to separate, rose in her throat.

"Do you have any idea how much I need you?" he whispered.

"No," she murmured as she too sought his ear and lightly nipped the lobe before soothing it with her tongue.

"As much as my next breath," he murmured before slanting his mouth across hers in another consuming kiss.

Tears of self-reproach burned Delilah's eyes as the memory of what she'd done that afternoon intruded on the moment, and she responded to him almost desperately, seeking forgetfulness in the passion he spawned with his caresses. His hand closed over her breast, testing its weight, inflaming the nipple with his thumb through the fabric of her shirtwaist, until Delilah could do nothing but clutch him to her. For he was suddenly the only stability that existed in a dizzying world of pure sensation.

And then, without quite knowing how it happened, she felt his big warm hand on bare skin as he brushed aside the lacy fabric of her camisole to caress the soft flesh of her breast. They groaned in unison. And then, abruptly, he slowed. "Delilah, darlin'—”

But she didn't want words right now. Words. . . and thinking. . . and guilt. She wanted only to feel, to forget, to. . . truly live as other women did. And so she covered his lips with hers once again.

But the distraction only worked a moment. "Delilah, are you sure? I promise I won't hurt you, but you have to be sure honey, because. . . well, I don't think I'll be able to stop if we go much further."

As his words penetrated her consciousness, Delilah went still. He was talking about doing. . . that. Her stomach fluttered nervously as remembered terror struck fear into her heart. But this was Matt. The man who'd never been anything but gentle with her. The man she had betrayed with her unthinking actions. The man she had perhaps condemned to death. After what she had done. . . perhaps she owed him the momentary comfort of her body. Perhaps she even deserved a measure of hurt.

"Delilah?" he asked again.

She looked up at him and her heart tripped a beat at the emotion blazing in his eyes. He cared for her, of that she had no doubt. He would not hurt her unnecessarily. "I'm sure," she murmured.

~~~*  *  *~~~

________________________

He crushed her to him then, brushing her face with little kisses. "You won't regret it," he murmured.

And he lifted her in his arms to carry her into his bedchamber where he stood her next to the bed while he lit the bedside lamp. Delilah received an impression of a large, pine-framed bed draped by the colorful pattern of a homemade quilt. A mirrored dresser in the shadowy edge of the room. And a chest of drawers upon which rested a set of books bracketed between horse-head bookends. Then he turned her toward him, once again becoming all that existed in her immediate world.

His arms encircled her and his lips claimed hers, masterfully, fiery with passion. He demanded a response she was powerless to deny as his hands began to roam her body, investigating, exploring, testing. Her breath caught in her throat at each tantalizing caress. "Matt," she breathed.

"Call me Samson," he urged. "Just for tonight."

Eyes closed, she nodded and whispered. "Samson."

As though her acquiescence to his simple request had given him immeasurable happiness, he clutched her more tightly for a moment before backing away slightly to finish undoing the buttons on her shirtwaist. Within very short order, he had removed her outer garments and petticoats, and he stepped back to study her as she stood before him in her thin camisole, bloomers, silk stockings, and shoes. Feeling more than a little shy, Delilah's hands fluttered in a self-conscious attempt to conceal what was not yet revealed. He gently gripped her wrists to still them. "Beautiful," he pronounced with a tense smile as his eyes glittered with a raw hunger that should have frightened her, but didn't.

This was Matt, or rather
Samson
. But whatever name he used, she knew he would not hurt her. Not the way. . . but she wouldn't think of that now. She wouldn't!