Beyond Betrayal (41 page)

With the beans cooking, Delilah eyed the pond speculatively. After days in the saddle, she was aching for a nice warm and
thorough
bath. Glancing at Samson who sat drinking coffee and brooding next to his own camp fire, she contemplated the situation. Then, finally, she called, "Samson?"

"What?"

"Um. . . would you mind turning around?"

"Why?"

"I'm going to take a bath."

He scowled. "So take one. You're the one who insisted on camping here."

Delilah stared at him. Darn him anyway! He thought by refusing her request she'd either go without her much-desired bath, or get angry and go off and find another camp. Well, he had another think coming. Raising her chin in determination, Delilah removed her jacket and began undoing the buttons of her shirtwaist. From beneath her lashes, she peeked at Samson to see what his reaction to her unaccustomed boldness might be, but the blasted man wasn't even looking in her direction. He was writing something onto a piece of paper. Which, when she thought about it, should have been exactly what she'd wanted, for she'd asked him to avert his eyes. So why did she feel so disappointed?

It was because his not looking when he
could
be looking signified a distinct lack of interest on his part, she decided. And that was hurtful.

Sighing at the havoc her own mercurial emotions were wreaking lately, Delilah placed clean, dry clothing where it would be within easy reach of the pool. Then undressing down to her bloomers and camisole—she simply didn't have the courage to bathe stark naked in the open as Samson had—she walked to the water's edge.

Despite his determination, when Samson next looked up from the plans he was making, he couldn't help glancing in Delilah's direction. Unfortunately, he'd also just taken a sip of coffee which went spraying everywhere. Good God! "What in blazes are you doing?" he yelled. But his shout only made matters worse because it startled her, making her stand up in the water, and the white camisole and bloomers she wore, now wet, left little to the imagination.

"Taking a bath," she responded evenly. "You said to go ahead.” Then, as though realizing her predicament, she hastily sank back down into the water, but it was too late. The image of her, with her beautifully seductive body accentuated by the sheer fabric, would keep him awake for many nights to come.

This was too much! She was deliberately taunting him. And he was through being a sucker for her machinations. From now on, he was going to do what
he
wanted, and to hell with how she might feel. And right now, he wanted her. Striding toward the edge of the pond, he began to strip off his clothing.

"Wh. . . what are you doing?" Delilah asked, as her big blue eyes widened to the size of saucers.

"Joining you," he said smoothly. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

"No, I. . . that is, I never thought. . .  Oh, my!” She hastily turned and headed for the opposite bank as he slid his trousers off. But she wasn't fast enough. With three large strides, he caught her, grasped her arm and turned her toward him. Her hands came up to press against his chest, a barrier between them. Yet, as her fingers came into contact with his chest, she curled them into fists, so that she touched him only with the less-sensitive heels of her hands. Samson smiled, for it was a very informative gesture.

She stared up at him with wide eyes and asked, "What. . . are you going to do?"

He smiled again. "I'm going to make love to you."

She flushed a very becoming shade of red. "But. . . but you're angry with me."

He nodded. "That's true, but in your case my anger doesn't appear to have any adverse effect on the part of my anatomy that's required."

She seemed to ponder that in confusion for a second and then, with a sudden widening of her eyes and a very telling glance downward, said, "Oh! Oh, no! I really don't think this is a very good idea. I had meant only to invite you to share my supper. And, if you're still angry with me—”

He cut off her flow of words with a kiss. It was a deep, hungry kiss, and Delilah seemed to freeze in surprise for a moment before tentatively responding. Ah, yes! Slowly, he broke off the kiss to feather kisses over her cheek and temple, and then down to her ear. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "You were saying something?"

"Hmm? Oh. . . yes, well, I just think . . . ” Focusing on the fact that she could still talk, Samson let her words blur as he concentrated on changing that. Pulling back a bit, he slid his hands up her arms and casually extended his thumbs to brush over the hard nubbins of her nipples. He was rewarded by a halt in the flow of words from Delilah's mouth as she gasped.

"Is something wrong?" he asked with feigned innocence.

"No. . . of course not.” But a pulse pounding in the base of her throat belied her words.

"That's good," he said. Then, he gently squeezed that taut nipple of her left breast between his right thumb and forefinger, rolling it slightly.

Delilah gasped and sagged toward him, breathing an, "Oh, my!" as her equilibrium deserted her.

"Delilah—”

"Hmmm?"

"I'm afraid I've lost track of the conversation again. What were you saying?"

She looked up at him with passion-glazed eyes that did one heck of a lot for his ego. "I. . . I don't remember."

"Well, then, I guess it couldn't have been too important," he murmured as he lowered his head to capture her luscious full-lipped mouth in a ravenous kiss.

Delilah tried to remain unmoved, to discourage his passion. She really did. But within seconds, her own body betrayed her. She was completely unprepared for the onslaught of sensation that catapulted her from the realm of reason into the foreign territory of passion. It was as though her body, having once experienced the delights to be found in Samson's arms, was now starving for more. And suddenly she was kissing him back with a fervor and intensity that startled her as the hunger consumed her. She couldn't get enough, couldn't touch enough, couldn't feel enough. She threaded her fingers into his overlong hair, reveling in the coolness of the silky strands. Her hands swept downward, learning the texture of his body, delighting in the strength of him. Her mouth left his to taste his smooth skin, nibble his earlobe and rain tiny exploring kisses over his chest. And then, abruptly, Samson lifted her in his arms and began carrying her toward the shore.

"Your ribs!" she remembered to protest.

"They're fine," he murmured. And then, for a good long while, the only words spoken were words of love-play and passion.

*   *   *

Some time later, they sat companionably sharing the beans Delilah had cooked. "Mmmm," Samson said appreciatively. "You're a good cook."

Delilah colored beneath his praise. "Thank you. I did a lot of cooking when I was younger, but I haven't had much opportunity in recent years. I'm glad I haven't lost my touch."

And then, unfortunately, at that point Samson's expression grew grave, and he changed the subject. "You can't come with me Delilah. It's too dangerous."

She frowned. "Which is precisely why I must come with you," she argued. "Two guns are better than one."

He scowled. "Dadburnit woman! Can't you trust me to know what I'm doing? I have a plan."

"Do you trust
me
enough to share your plan with me, so that I won't worry."

He stared at her with steel-hued eyes that, for the first time in a long time, Delilah couldn't read. Then, finally, he shook his head. "After what you did, Delilah, I don't know that I'll ever be able to trust you again, no matter how much I might want to. And I certainly can't trust you now. Not yet."

She nodded, expecting and accepting his words. "Well, then I'm afraid I can't trust your judgment either," she said. "Too many things can go wrong, and then I'd never know what had happened. I couldn't stand that. Especially since your going to face him is my fault. I need to be there, Samson. Can't you understand that?"

He scowled, but said nothing, and Delilah thought that finally he had accepted the inevitability of her involvement. They slept together that night, or rather part of the night. A good portion of the night was spent making love. Gentle, compassionate love. Hot, hungry love. And intense, passionate love. Delilah learned more about the bond between men and women in that single night than she had ever thought to learn. Unfortunately, though, she'd not learned enough to be prepared for what faced her at dawn.

Samson was gone. Again. Blast the man!

After another bout of the sickness that seemed to plague her most mornings, Delilah set about preparing herself to move on.
Morning sickness!
Having just picked Poopsy up to settle her in the saddle bag, Delilah froze in midgesture. Poopsy licked her nose, releasing her momentarily from her sense of shock.

Oh, my! She'd heard women speak of morning sickness. They'd associated it with the early months of pregnancy. Swallowing, Delilah frantically tried to remember when her menses were due.

Last week! Her monthly flow should have begun while she was at the cabin. Her knees suddenly lost their strength, and she sat down hard on the ground. She was pregnant! She, who had never even prepared herself for the idea of marriage let alone children, was going to bring a child into the world. She was going to be a mother!

Too numb with shock to know how she felt about the idea, Delilah placed her hand over her abdomen with a sense of mingled wonder and unreality. And then she thought to wonder how Samson would feel about it, and some of the wonder faded. The way he felt about her right now, he would probably think she was trying to trap him into marriage. She'd heard of that happening, although no one had ever explained to her how one got pregnant without the man's cooperation. Still, she decided she wouldn't tell Samson about her condition. Not yet. Not until he forgave her enough to ask her to marry again. That would be the proper time to tell him.

An hour out of camp Delilah, lost his trail. It wasn't the first time, but on each of the other occasions she'd been able to pick it up again. This time, the trail seemed to have vanished. Obviously Samson had taken care to ensure she
couldn't
follow him. Halting, she looked around thoughtfully.

The town of Cedar Crossing had to be fairly close. She was in Wyoming territory, after all. Since Cedar Crossing was undoubtedly where Samson was heading, if she just kept going, she'd eventually encounter him in the town. She hoped.

She hated to think of him doing something rash like heading directly to Telford's ranch. But since she hadn't a clue where the ranch was anyway, she had no choice but to seek Samson in the town.

Dirty, tired and disheveled, Delilah reached Cedar Crossing two afternoons later. From her point of view, the town didn't have much going for it. Many of the buildings were dilapidated, some looking like they'd never received a coat of paint, and the people seemed surly, watchful and unfriendly.

Stopping off at the hotel, Delilah left Poopsy and her supplies in her room before taking Jackpot and the packhorse on to the livery. The Cedar Crossing Hotel proprietor wasn't nearly as friendly as Mrs. Schmidt had been. Neither were his rooms quite as spotless. But with much more important things on her mind, Delilah didn't pay the conditions much heed. The important thing was that she'd learned that Samson wasn't registered at the hotel under either his own name or the name of Matt Chambers, and the proprietor said that no one matching his description had been in. Of course, Delilah hadn't been certain if she could expect to find Samson there or not. Since he'd refused to share his plan with her, she didn't know if he'd planned to be overt in his pursuit of Telford, or inconspicuous.

After arranging for the stabling of the horses, Delilah was on her way back to the hotel when she suddenly halted in her tracks. There was a group of armed men coming toward her, two of which were limping rather obviously, and one of which leaned on a crutch. They looked familiar. Very familiar. And it was only as she recognized the fact that Paul Telford's distinctly cold-eyed gaze was centered on her that Delilah stopped to consider the fact that he and his men now had reason to dislike her almost as much as they apparently hated Samson. "Oh boy," she murmured. She'd been so worried about Samson that she'd forgotten to consider that. But running from them wouldn't help. Violent men were a lot like vicious animals: If they sensed fear, it increased their ferocity. So, swallowing her trepidation, she resumed walking. When she reached them, however, she was forced to halt for, although the men stopped, they did not make way for her. She stared Telford in the eye, but nobody spoke. The silence stretched. Finally she said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Telford."

A shadow of surprise flickered through his eyes. He nodded. "Mrs. Sterne."

"I wonder if your men would be so kind as to let me pass?"

He stared at her for a moment, the enmity glowing from his eyes like madness. And then he smiled. It was the most chilling smile Delilah had ever seen. "Sure, why not," he said quietly.

Slowly his men opened ranks, but just barely enough for her to pass through them. In fact, she felt a bit claustrophobic in doing so, as, for one brief instant, she was surrounded by them. And then she was through and continued on her way. Her face reddened as she heard a lewd comment made by one of the men. It was immediately followed by the rumble of crude male laughter, but she refused to allow them the satisfaction of acknowledging their rudeness in any way.