Beyond Betrayal (8 page)

"The road is free, Sheriff. You may, of course, ride where and when you like. I should think you'd be more concerned with catching the rustlers and returning the stolen cattle to the people to whom they belong, however, so please don't concern yourself on my account."

"Wouldn't think of it, ma'am," he drawled. Delilah thought she noted a trace of Texas in his tone. Either transplanted many years ago, or the son of Texans, she concluded. "And don't you worry your pretty little head about how I do my job.” The statement was calculated to inflame her ire and it served its purpose.

Bristling at his condescension, Delilah resisted the impulse to lambaste him—just the response he was seeking do doubt—and returned to her supper. Moments later, Sheriff Chambers and Mr. Metter rose to leave. Both men tipped their hats, and, as they walked by, Chambers said, "I'll see you in the morning, ma'am."

The devilish impulsiveness she'd inherited from her dear Irish mother came to the fore and Delilah responded, "Or, if you're planning to be at Miss Cora's this evening, perhaps you'll see me again tonight."

Whyever had she reminded him of that, she asked herself the moment the words left her mouth.

Chambers turned back to look at her, his stone-cold charcoal eyes pinning her in her chair. Then slowly, he smiled. The expression transformed his hard features and for the first time Delilah realized that the man was quite handsome. Yet the smile did nothing to negate the aura of danger that clung to him. In fact, it aggravated that quality for, like the snarl of a wolf, its only purpose was to show teeth. "Maybe," he acknowledged slowly in a tone barely above a whisper. Somehow the single word sounded vaguely threatening. And then he was gone.

Delilah shivered. The man didn't smile when he was supposed to, and then smiled when he was challenged. It could take a long time to figure a man like that out. More time than she had. . . or wanted.

*   *   *

A few moments later, Delilah reentered her room with the intention of putting Poopsy on her leash and taking her with her to the Lucky Strike. As usual, after having left the dog alone, Delilah was greeted by a chorus of complaints that sounded very much as though Poopsy was trying to talk. "Rr. . . ow, rah, rah, rr .. ow.” Delilah knew when she was being given what-for. She had come to the conclusion that Poopsy simply did not know that she was a dog. After all, Edwina Sharp had gone so far as to dress her canine companion in specially fashioned clothing and style her long silky hair. Quite simply, Poopsy thought she was entitled to go anywhere that Delilah went.

Being of an entirely different opinion, not to mention a different temperament than Edwina, Delilah simply could not cater to the animal the way Edwina Sharp had. Since she had been saddled with the little rascal, she had decided that the only way to save her own sanity was to make Poopsy understand that she was a
dog
.

Now, stopping just inside the door of her room, Delilah placed her hands on her hips and stood looking down at Poopsy. "How many times have I told you that I will not tolerate that kind of behavior, Poochie? If you want to come with me, I suggest that you start behaving yourself immediately."

"Rraw, rrow, ruff.” The little dog bobbed her head as though straining to form words.

"Poochie," Delilah said in a warning tone. "I
will
leave you here. Now do you want to come or not?"

As though sensing that her new mistress was at the end of her patience, Poopsy abruptly sat down, lifted her head, and curled her upper lip, baring her teeth. Delilah winced inwardly—to her the expression was a snarl—but she ignored her inner response because she knew that this was Poopsy's version of an agreeable smile. Why Edwina had ever bothered to teach a dog to smile, was beyond her, but she had. It was only one of Poopsy's bizarre little behaviors.

"That's much better. Now where's your leash?"

Poopsy cocked her head for an instant and then obediently pranced over to the carpetbag that, when laid on its side, doubled as her bed, and extracted her leash. Gripping the strip of leather in her teeth, she dragged it over to where Delilah waited.

"Good girl," Delilah praised. Bending she fastened the leash around Poopsy's neck. "And I want you to continue to be a good girl tonight. Is that understood?” Poopsy didn't respond. "I mean it Poochie," Delilah reiterated. "You should know by now that the people we meet in saloons will not meet Edwina's high standards. There is to be no biting or peeing on people's feet. All right?"

Poopsy smiled agreeably, and Delilah wondered what she'd missed outlining in her list of undesirable behaviors. The little dog appeared entirely too cocky.

*   *   *

Along with the warm yellow glow of lantern light, the lively and somehow bawdy sound of “The Yellow Rose of Texas” being played on a tinny-sounding piano spilled from the doors of the Lucky Strike into the dark and otherwise nearly silent streets. Studiously ignoring the painful knot in her stomach, Delilah took a deep breath and stepped into the hazy blue atmosphere of the saloon as though she belonged there.

She'd never grown accustomed to being around so many men.

Still, gambling was much better than doing laundry until her hands bled, or taking in mending and working by the light of a lamp until her eyes teared from the strain. Her mama, Morgana Sinclair, had always said that everyone had a God-given talent, and it was their duty to discover where that talent lay in order to make the best of life for themselves. Well, Delilah had discovered hers and was following her mother's advice. It was simply an example of nature's perversity that the gentle graces Morgana had taught her daughter aided her so well in a profession that she would have abhorred had she lived.

Viewing Delilah's aptitude for the gambling game as sinful, Morgana Sinclair had always compressed her lips with disapproval whenever her husband had bowed to Delilah's pleas and had sat down to play poker with his daughters. Garrett Sinclair had done his best to convince Morgana that, when playing for nothing more than matchsticks, poker was merely good wholesome family entertainment. He had even managed to convince Morgana to play the game herself on occasion. But no matter how much she might have enjoyed the game she would never have admitted it, for she could not quite forget the strictures with which she'd been raised.

"Sorry, Mama," Delilah whispered now as she looked around, studying the crowded tables. Most were occupied by miners, she thought, although a few cowhands seemed to have come to town. They were a loud, unruly bunch, and at a couple of tables the mood was distinctly ugly as the men argued.

The knot in her stomach tightened a notch, but she knew from experience that once she started playing the tension would ease and she'd be in her element. So, taking a deep breath, she ignored it. Besides, she told herself, on the whole, she'd run into very few men over the years who didn't treat a lady like a lady. It was simply a twist of fate that one of those she'd met had had the power to ruin her life.

She walked slowly through the room and approached the bar. As her presence was noted by more and more men, the noise in the room slowly decreased. She could feel their eyes on her, but she ignored the sensation. If she dwelled on it, she'd run out screaming and never again find the courage to face another man with hot greedy eyes.

And Delilah Sinclair refused to hide.

"Good evening, sir," she said to the bartender, her tone clear and full of confidence. "Is Miss Cora in?"

"Yes, ma'am. She is."

"Would you tell her that Mrs. Sterne is here to see her, please?"

"Sure thing.” The middle-aged bartender considered her gravely. "You want something to drink while I go get her?"

Delilah smiled absently, her thoughts already moving on. "I'll have another peach cordial if you don't mind?"

"Comin' right up."

In the past three years, ever since she'd seen Eve safely married off at the tender age of seventeen, Delilah had supported herself with her facility for gambling. As one of the West's few women gamblers, and certainly one of the youngest, she'd actually done quite well for herself. She'd definitely earned more than she had when she and Eve had taken in mending and laundry to keep the wolf from their door after their father had been shot, leaving them orphaned at the ages of seventeen and fifteen respectively. And gambling had been a lot less painful.

The problem was that luck came in streaks, as any gambler could affirm, and Delilah's luck hadn't been the greatest in the last few months.

"Mrs. Sterne, I presume," a woman's voice said. It was a low-pitched voice, but musical and clear.

Delilah turned to see a tall statuesque redhead considering her with an astute brown-eyed gaze. "That's correct," Delilah said. "And you would be Miss Cora?"

The woman nodded. "Mitch tells me that you want to speak with me about working here."

"I do."

Miss Cora considered her quite openly for a moment, her eyes travelling over Delilah's lithe form from head to toe, lingering for a moment on the strange little dog sitting patiently next to Delilah's small feet. Then, just as the piano player concluded a lively ditty with a flourish and the barroom fell unnaturally silent, she said, "Come with me. We'll talk in my office."

Cora's office was small, barely large enough to hold the walnut desk and three chairs it contained, but its white walls were spotlessly clean as were the bright yellow gingham curtains that hung over the single window. An oil lamp hung from a hook on the wall next to the door.

"You're not the usual sort of woman who comes in here," Cora said, giving Delilah another assessing glance. "Still, I'm afraid I have to tell you that I just don't have the room for any more girls at the moment."

"Oh, no! You've misunderstood!” Delilah was flabbergasted. Hadn't the bartender mentioned gambling? "I'm not here to apply for. . .
that
kind of work."

Cora frowned in perplexity. "Then I'm afraid I don't understand. Why are you here?"

"I was wondering if you'd be willing to discuss a business proposition concerning your card table. It appears to be quite vacant at the moment."

Cora's brows arched in surprise. "You're a dealer?!"

Delilah nodded. "Poker primarily. I'm not as accomplished at faro, but I've played it."

Cora leaned back in her chair and surveyed Delilah with wide, astonished eyes. "Well, I'll be!” A second later, she regained her aplomb. "Still I have to tell you Mrs. Sterne . . . "

"Delilah. . . please. Call me Delilah."

"Very well. . . Delilah. I have to warn you that, even should we come to an agreement, gamblers do not fare well here in Red Rock."

Delilah compressed her lips and nodded. "So I've heard. However, I'm willing to take that risk."

"If Sheriff Chambers so much as gets a glimmer that you're cheating, he'll throw you in jail and run you out of town the next day."

Delilah stiffened her spine. "I may be a gambler, Miss Cora, but I do
not
cheat. I was raised in a good God-fearing family where dishonesty was not tolerated.” She smiled then. "I am, however, uncannily fortunate at times which has led people to accuse me of cheating."

Cora considered her with astute brown eyes. "I see.” She drummed her fingertips on the desk thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to offer you the standard twenty-five percent of the house take."

"Fifty percent," Delilah countered.

"Fifty percent!" Cora echoed. "You've got to be joking! The highest I could go would be thirty percent."

"Forty. After all, your table is sitting there earning you nothing at the moment."

"Thirty-five," said Cora, with a steely look in her eyes.

"Forty," Delilah reiterated.

Cora considered. "I thought you said you didn't cheat."

"I don't. I am enterprising. There is a difference."

"Forty percent of the house take is unprecedented."

"So don't tell anyone. I need the money, and you stand to make money on an otherwise empty table."

"Oh, very well. Forty percent.
Provided
that you're any good."

Delilah smiled. "You won't be disappointed."

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?" Cora said. Slowly, however, she returned Delilah's smile and rose from her position behind her desk. Leaning forward onto her fists, she said, "I'll let you start tonight, to see how you do. Then, tomorrow night, you can start right after supper."

"I can give you a demonstration tonight, but I actually won't be able to start for three or four days, if that's not a problem. I'm going out of town in the morning. I just wanted to get this sorted out before I left."

She shrugged. "I can't see that it will be much of problem. As you so kindly pointed out, the table is empty anyway.

"You have friends in the area, do you?" Cora asked.

Delilah shook her head. "A sister, actually. At the Devil's Fork ranch. I want to spend some time with her."

"Eve Cameron?"

Delilah nodded. "Yes, she married Tom a couple of years ago. Do you know her?"

"I know of her.” Cora rocked back on her heels. "Well, I'll be! How long's it been since you've seen her?"

Delilah hesitated. Was there something in Cora's voice that shouldn't be there? "About a year, I guess. Why? Is something wrong?"