Hell's Belle (16 page)

And then he
silently reached for her, and she snuggled close. Moments later he could tell
she'd fallen asleep, wrapped in his arms, so soft and precious. He had no
laughter left. He was physically and emotionally spent. Felt like he'd been
dragged by a horse across fifty miles of desert. But he grinned as he snuggled
against his bride.

And just before he
fell asleep, he hummed a few bars. Bombs bursting, huh? He'd had some wild
women, some crazy times. But this was the first time any gal had ever compared
his lovemaking to mortar rocket fire.

* * *

Twila thought she'd
forever look back on her second afternoon as a married woman with genuine
wonder and bemusement. They'd done such very astonishing things the afternoon
before, and later in the middle of the night. The second time Del had made love
to her, she was grateful for the deep darkness of the ranch house bedroom,
grateful he couldn't see her face as she put into words thoughts no decent
woman should entertain.

Sex with one's
husband was indelicate, to say the least. After polishing off the tray of
victuals Biscuit had left out on the front porch early that morning, they'd
napped briefly. Then Twila awakened and had asked Del if she could take a bath.
Del put on his work pants and left the house—instructing her not to dare leave
the bed. He was back a short time later with a big tin tub. A knock came at the
door and he hollered to just leave the buckets.

Del's crusty old
ranch cook surely must know why they wanted so much hot water, Twila had
observed. Del had only laughed. "Honey, they know you're not about to take
a cold bath down in the Truckee. Some of the hands do it, during warmer months.
But I always make Biscuit boil hot water for me. He'll just be boiling it more
often now." This last came with a devilish quirk to one eyebrow, and Twila
wasn't surprised when he quickly divested himself of his pants and started
filling the tin tub with the hot water, settling in himself before he beckoned
for her to join him.

"Oh, I don't
know," she demurred, feeling her face burn. "I'm a little sore to…you
know."

Del guffawed almost
as hard as he had the previous day. She offered a rueful smile. He kinked his
index finger at her again. "I know, honey. Just settle here in front of me
and I'll wash your back."

She climbed into
the hot water and immediately decided this pleasure might even surpass conjugal
acrobatics…might, though she had to admit, she'd been truly amazed at how
wonderful the other had felt. "Umm." She squirmed as his warm, wet
hands reached around to cover her breasts.

"Are your
nipples sore?" came a rumble behind her ear.

"A little, but—oh!"
She might have known Del would know the secret of hot water and soap lather.
"Uh…oh.
Del
." His name had come out on a long groan.

"Just put your
head on my shoulder and rest your weight against my chest. Yeah, like that. I
can work any soreness right out. Just close your eyes and relax, Twila."

His big fingers
worked her flesh, rolling, massaging, tweaking, pulling. Pinching, then rubbing
and rolling again. "Del, I…" Her words dissolved into a moan.

"I know,
sweetheart. Just let go. Trust me. It's not going to hurt a bit, Twila.
Remember how I promised to look after you. Let me make things better now."

But they didn't get
better. Twila went from loose and relaxed to tight and needy, squirming, unable
to sit still atop his thighs. "Del, it's not…I need to…I feel like I'm
going to just—oh!"

He pinched one
nipple at the same moment she felt two of his fingers slide up and into her.
Then his thumb—then Twila shuddered and gasped and came. And came. And came,
until she was helplessly moaning. He began lathering her breasts and belly
again, then pressed her forward so her hair dangled into the hot water as her
chin dropped to her chest. "Better?"

She couldn't answer
him. Thank God he couldn't see her face. Had she really? Had he really
just…they were
bathing
, for pity's sake! But then she recalled her own
assessment of him. She'd credited him with being able to quickly get right to
the root of a matter and deal with it directly. She shouldn't have expected
anything less when it came to the female anatomy. He hadn't exactly been a choirboy.

"Del?"
she peeped.

"Mmm?" He
was lathering her hair now.

"Did you do
these things with Betsy or that other girl who came to the emporium that day?
Or with the girl you originally intended to marry?"

He began using a
pot to rinse her hair. A few sloshes and he told her to get out of the tub. She
was done. She grabbed a towel and stepped back, half afraid to look at him. He
did indeed look angry. "Can I ask you a question, too?" he asked
harshly.

"Yes, but you
know I haven't been with any other men." She began using a second towel to
dry her hair as he began soaping himself.

"Is the answer
going to help you somehow? Will you like me touching you more? Or will you
maybe like it less, because now it's not just you and me, but some other people
getting between us, when they don't have anything to do with this house and
this bedroom?"

Twila heard
censure. Nothing new, she'd heard it for years from her uncle. But she also
detected a little hurt, and she immediately regretted that she'd opened her
mouth. "I'm sorry. That violated our sanctity. Forget I asked."

She saw his
eyebrows shoot up at the pivotal word. But then they lowered into a scowl, and
as he began rinsing off his body, he said, "Well, since we're washing away
the last of whatever we'd covered up from each other, let's set a rinse cup to
this. Why don't you tell me why you act so funny every time I say anything
about the church or Preacher Phillips? I used to think it was cause folks had
shunned you when you went there, but my own wranglers are a little leery and it
shows. You stand up to that all right. So what is it about the church?"

"It's not the
church," she muttered.

"The reverend?
Spit it out, Twila."

"The day you'd
knocked at the door of the emporium and found it locked…The same day I said I'd
wandered along the river and ended up here at your spread?"

"Yeah?"

"I hadn't been
walking by the river and the emporium wasn't empty. Reverend Phillips had
stopped by unannounced. He said my uncle wanted him to talk with me, but we
couldn't be disturbed by customers coming in, so I should lock the door. We
needed to go upstairs, to pray."

"Upstairs."
Del came out of the tub and seized a towel. He rubbed himself furiously. So
furiously Twila was afraid he was going to rub off part of his skin.

"He quoted
biblical references and said things about how I must have sinned against God
and that's why I'd become like Jonah."

"The
preacher
actually called you that?" Del all but hissed the question through
clenched teeth. "What else did he say?"

"I can't
remember it all, but he stressed about how I had to bare myself to him. He used
the word 'naked', saying I should bare everything to him and be cleansed. I
didn't like the way he looked at me, and he said he would be coming back
another day. The thought made me ill. I know I probably shouldn't have taken it
the way I did, but—Del?"

While she'd been
rambling on, he'd gone to dress himself and now was loading his rifle.
"Del, what—"

"That bastard
isn't going to get away with this. I wished you'd told me from the first why
you had such an aversion to the church here in town That son of a bitch—"

"Del, don't.
Please don't make an issue out of this. I don't have to see him again alone
now."

"I wish I'd
known before. We didn't have to ride all the way to Reno. If you'd said
something, I—"

"I didn't even
know you, Del. It was never the church building, though I thought maybe it was
better that it not be the
same
church…You know, where the other woman
had hurt you. I wanted you to see I'd never fail you the way she did."

He set the gun down
and turned to stare at her. "You married me out of pity, Twila?"
Before she could deny it, he laughed harshly. "Funny, that's what
everybody thinks is why I married you."

Yes, it was. How
could she have forgotten? No matter that she'd experienced sexual bliss with
this man—and it might well be temporary. Why hadn't she stopped to think that
Fletcher and Lucius must hate her all the more now, would be saying even worse
things about her? At the top of the list that she'd somehow
"bewitched" one of the town's eligible bachelors into marrying her.
It couldn't have been because he wanted to, unless he felt sorry for her.

"Why did you,
Del?" she asked quietly, even as tears formed and began to wet her cheeks.

His entire demeanor
and face changed. He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.
"I didn't mean there was anything
to it
, Twila. You know it's not
true. I've never believed rumors about you being some daughter of Satan. You're
not cursed. Christ, you're really…" He pulled back and Twila nearly died.

There were unshed
tears in his eyes.

"You're fine,
honey. And I'm glad you told me the truth about Phillips. Shows you're
beginning to trust me. I won't go make a scene over there. Already made one at
the emporium, and it's not going to help you any if people say your new
husband's going all over town half-cocked, acting like some circus baboon."

"No," she
whispered. "It wouldn't help."

He released her and
stepped away. "I should probably check on the men."

"Should I…Is
it all right if I dress now, too?"

"Do whatever
you want. If you're tired and you want to crawl back into bed, that's fine.
Nobody will pester you. If you feel up to it, we could maybe take a walk. I
won't be long."

He left and she let
herself be overcome with despair. It was worse than when she'd gotten the news
that her parents had been lost. This wasn't some unfortunate accident, a random
tragedy. She'd sold herself into this bargain, taken a wild chance on a man she
didn't even know. He'd been a handsome stranger who made her heart race. Now he
was her husband, her lynch pin. Everything depended on this new relationship.

Yet he was still a
stranger.

And he had married
her at least partly out of sympathy for her awkward situation. She'd taken the
abuse from her uncle, the cruel jokes and pranks from her cousin, the disdain
of this stupid town and its small-minded people. But this was harder to bear.
Pity from Del Mitchell, the man who'd captured a little piece of her heart.

Del watched his
bride begin to unfurl and blossom under his care. The change came gradually,
along with the change of seasons from summer to autumn. Leaves were turning and
dropping. Twila fit the landscape, brought vibrancy to his daily life, felt
like another breath of fresh mountain air.

It wasn't that she
was a raving beauty, or said or did anything to draw attention to herself. That
wasn't and would likely never be her way. But Twila Bell, now Twila Mitchell,
made the everything feel more alive just by being there on his ranch. Amazing
how the presence of one little woman amongst so many men and horses could make
such a difference.

In the weeks since
their abrupt marriage, Del couldn't count the number of times he'd come back to
the ranch house in the middle of the day just to make sure she was truly in it.
The times he'd lain awake, watching her sleep. A few of those times he hadn't
been able to content himself with just quietly looking at her. He'd untied her
nightgown, begun caressing her, kissing various parts of her, until she roused
and began to stretch and purr like a little cat. She'd never once complained.
They'd pleasure each other, curl up, and drift off to sleep. The best sleep
he'd ever known.

Naturally, there'd
been a very bad scene with her relatives across town. Her uncle sneered and
scoffed, until Del made it very clear that either the Bell menfolk treated
Twila with respect, or they could take their new business elsewhere. Del
Mitchell had been born and raised in Wadsworth. Everyone in town knew him, and
most had heard the tale of how the local rowdy bachelor had up and married
himself to the gal nobody wanted. Eloped with her to Reno, then installed her
as his cattle queen.

He'd seen folks in
town gawking, craning their necks to get a good look the first time he took her
with him in the buggy. A few kisses and cuddles within plain view of those
prying eyes had the intended result. The rumors stopped insisting Del had only
married her on a reckless dare. The tales of bewitchment either ceased or
altered, to where Del's perceived "enchantment" was the decidedly
pleasant sort. The kind men would give their eye teeth for.

Only Del knew
different. If there was something magical at work, it didn't necessarily affect
them equally. Even as he grew more intrigued and obsessed with his little bride
with every passing day, Twila appeared to have settled into something he'd
categorize as amiable contentment.