Hell's Belle (20 page)

Twila realized that
while he'd been blathering, he'd also succeeded in pressing her down the
staircase. Now he was hastily scratching a note on a section of the wrapping
paper at the front counter. He tore it off and taped it to the countertop.
"Oh, goodness, I never thought! We'll most likely be gone overnight, don't
you think? It's a fair ride. Yes, I'll need a bag. I'll meet you at the buggy.
Won't be but five minutes."

He abruptly raced
back upstairs. Twila stood staring after him in astonishment.

He was up to
something, with this sudden desire to leave town. It was completely unlike her
cousin to offer her an ounce of help…vendor in Sacramento or not. In fact, she
hadn't really believed that. Lucius had looked…frightened, almost.

Which was
ridiculous. Yes, Fletcher would be furious when he saw the damage to the
kitchen and that she'd ruined his precious cigars. But the key point was
she'd
done it. Lucius had a flair for blaming Twila for every little mistake. Uncle
Fletcher would easily believe that Twila could visit and within thirty minutes
set fire to his kitchen and destroy anything in it. So why was Lucius so
anxious to avoid his father?

She didn't go out
to the buggy. She went only as far as the porch, and didn't even go that far
until she'd scanned the note Lucius meant to leave behind.

The situation only
grew stranger. He'd scrawled that there had been a fire on the premises and
he'd been forced to leave out of safety concerns. When he arrived with a small
grippe—brand new, she noted, even though she'd been told they weren't bothering
to replace their lost luggage pieces—he had yet another note. This one he
tacked up on the outside of the store. Then he shoved his key in the lock and
closed the emporium down.

The second note
said it would reopen the following morning, with Proprietor Fletcher Bell in
attendance.

"Have you been
smoking those cigars?" she demanded. "Are there perhaps more than a
few missing? Because honestly, Lucius, I can't imagine that you'd go running
off like a scared jackrabbit over that little blaze. Uncle Fletcher will—"

"Forget
Father," he interrupted, glancing around the street.

"What has come
over you? I don't understand why we're suddenly dashing off like a couple of
escaped maniacs from a mental asylum. I hadn't even packed myself an overnight
bag. I'd only brought this one…"

Twila let her voice
trail off as he rushed over to the buggy and threw his bag inside. She'd
brought Miss Vogel's satchel, but hadn't had Lucius' foresight, to realize
they'd have to remain overnight. She climbed up into the buggy—of course, he
didn't offer her his hand—and said, "We'll have to stop by the ranch
first, so I can pack some more things."

She had no idea
Lucius even knew how to drive, but to her surprise, he turned out to be rather
adept at handling the reins. "I convinced Father to buy a horse and wagon.
He's using it today, but I usually do the driving," Lucius explained. They
rolled through town in a flurry of dust and impatience. He jerked the buggy to
a stop next to the ranch house. "Don't dawdle, Twila. We have a long way
to go before nightfall. "

She went inside to
pack a change of undergarments and get her cloak. Lucius had reminded her that
the air was much cooler in the high elevation of the Sierras, which they must
cross on their way to Sacramento. She hesitated by the table. Maybe she should
also write out a note.

"Twila, come
on!" Lucius shouted.

She decided it
would be easier to leave word with one of the men. Which proved to be no
challenge at all, since when she stepped back out the front door, she found
Sandy Thayer holding the horse's bridle. "Your cousin says you have urgent
business with him in Sacramento, Mrs. Mitchell."

"Well, we both
have—"

"It's all
right, Twila," Lucius interceded. "I explained that I've got a vendor
there, and the order involves some merchandise of a feminine nature. A new line
of women's underthings for the store. I told him you'd promised my father to
help me with this buying trip. Perhaps you forgot to mention that before your
hasty marriage."

Good God, they
were
escaped lunatics. Whatever "business" Lucius was about, there was
something decidedly shady about it. This wasn't a flight from repercussions for
damage to the Bell kitchen. Lucius had some other agenda. She was certain of
that. Then again, she wasn't going to enlighten him as to her own motive for
going to Sacramento, so perhaps she shouldn't cast any stones.

"I did tell
Del that I'd need to go to California. I just wasn't sure when. You might
remind him…Is he available?"

Sandy squinted and
shook his head. "No, ma'am. He's clear on the far side right now, rounding
up some of the last of the stray mares. So you're bound for Sacramento with
your cousin here. And you'll be—how many days did you say, Bell?"

"Two,"
Twila replied.

"Three,"
Lucius answered at the same time.

Twila flushed and
stammered. "Beg pardon. I thought you said 'we' when you must have meant
the duration. Yes, three. No longer, surely."

"Uh-huh. Well,
you slow down, son. I seen you barreling in here like your wheels was on fire.
Need your word you won't drive on the open road like that, or I can't let Mrs.
Mitchell go along."

"Oh no,"
Lucius chuckled. "I was only hurrying because she'd forgotten her
things."

"What's that,
then?" Sandy pointed to a woman's satchel on the floor.

"Part of my
necessaries," Twila lied. "But I needed my cloak, too. Chilly up in
the mountains, my cousin advises. We'll be fine, Mr. Thayer. Tell Mr. Mitchell
I'll be home as soon as possible. Not to worry. Be sure to get enough
rest."

"Yes, ma'am.
I'll be sure and tell him."

The foreman tipped
his hat and they were off.

Twila glanced back
as they crossed the gentle knoll marking the outskirts of Del's land. Sandy
Thayer was on the porch, arms folded across his chest, his expression shadowed
by his hat brim and the overhanging roof. He didn't appear particularly
different than any other time, but Twila detected something about his stance.
Something like suspicion or wariness.

She smiled as the
first of her tiny hopes came true. Someone in this town other than Del actually
seemed to give a damn what might happen to her. A small victory, but she'd take
whatever she could get.

"One more
time, from the beginning." Del square his shoulders and set his hands on
his hips, watching as Leon saddled Caramel in preparation for Del's ride out.

Sandy heaved a sigh
and went back over what little he knew. "She asked to take the buggy into
town earlier. Leon and Tommy had shown her how to handle the rig. You know
Patches is the easiest nag on the whole spread."

That much was true,
Del reflected with a measure of relief. The mare most often used with the buggy
was amenable to commands, even from a novice, and smart enough to find her way
home without any instruction at all.

"She went into
town alone, came back an hour or so later with her cousin. They claimed to have
urgent business in Sacramento. Something about women's undergarments and Twila
having promised her uncle to go along. She said you knew. That she told you
she'd have to go to California, but she hadn't known exactly when."

Del cast his mind
back. It was damned hard, with all the turmoil recently. Jordy's death put a
pall over everything, still numbing Del's thoughts. Del visited the grave every
evening—was secretly glad Jordy was buried on his land so he could—yet somehow still
was barely able to force his mind to accept that Zoyer truly lay in it. He kept
expecting that cocky grin, some smart-ass remark, or Jordy to pop up out of
thin air and boast he'd
really
pulled a hell of a stunt this time.

And beyond the
stunning blow of the sudden death itself, Del had taken powerful comfort in
Twila's presence in his life. He mentally kicked himself now, thinking how he'd
carped to Jordy and others that she seemed barely cognizant of him before that
awful day. Since then, Twila dogged his movements, held his hand or his whole
body when he needed warmth and a safe place to reflect and mourn. He let
himself weep, fall apart. She never laughed, never made him feel weak for
hurting so badly at his loss.

Even their
lovemaking seemed different in recent weeks. Slower paced, richer, more tender
and satisfying. When he'd believed it was about as good as it could possibly get,
it had gotten even better. She'd become more important to him than anything on
his spread. So of course it annoyed the crap out of him that she'd taken off on
a jaunt without even saying goodbye in person.

Yes, she'd talked
about having to go to California…just after they'd taken their vows. Maybe as
they'd ridden out here, or back in Reno. He couldn't recall exactly when, but
it sounded vaguely familiar. He couldn't recall her precise words, but he was
certain they didn't have anything to do with that abomination of a general
store. Not the store…

"She said
something about folks in California. People her uncle didn't hold with."

"Uh,
Boss?"

He pivoted to find
Henry Dobbs standing there, throat bobbing nervously, ears red as
ripe-for-picking-apples. "What do you know about this, Henry?"

Impossibly, the
ears went even redder. "Well, sir, I didn't think you knew about 'em, or I
wouldn't speak up, but you seem to have forgotten what Mrs. Mitchell must have
told you. About them Vogels and how the Bells hate 'em."

"Vogels?"
The name meant nothing to Del. On the other hand, his wrangler's obvious
discomfort meant there was more to this than Del knew…and he didn't like
feeling left out of whatever had been going on.

"Yep, the
folks in Sacramento. She thought they'd settled in San Francisco. When that
didn't work, I tried Washington and Oregon…case it weren't even California, at
all. But it was, and not San Diego, or Luey Obispo. I must've tried all those
places before we found where they'd settled  and they wrote her back."

Sandy whistled low
and mumbled an excuse about having something needing his attention. Leon
scuttled off in search of some horseshit that needed scooping up. Bobby Chang
announced his mother was fixing him supper that night over at her Chinese
laundry in town.

That left Del and
the idiot alone in the barn.

"You're saying
Mrs. Mitchell wrote to strangers that you helped hook her up with? In San—excuse
me, in Sacramento?"

"Uh, not
strangers," Henry stammered. "Her other kin. Grandpappy on her ma's
side or something. She told me she didn't like living with the Bells…you know
all about that. So I agreed to put a few advertisements in newspapers around
the countryside, seeing if she could find her other folk."

"Didn't it
ever occur to you to wonder why she was still doing that, when
I'm
her
other folk now?"

Henry scratched at
his elbow. "Well, the thing is, we'd stopped placing them ads, but then
one day this letter come for her. You remember, couple months back.
Before…before we had the problem with that bronc."

"Oh, right…I
remember now. Yeah, I recall her sitting by the fireside one night, reading
it." That wasn't complete fabrication. Del did indeed recall her sitting
in the front room perusing something. He'd been too aggrieved to ask her about
it—she'd also been trying to shield him from all the letters and notes of
condolences.

Del adjusted his
hat brim. "Nice folks. Glad to find out she'd been looking for them."

Henry immediately
brightened. "Sure as the day is long! That's right. She wrote back that
she was fixing to visit pretty soon. But you know, that was before. I reckon
she waited until you were back on your feet—I mean, busy working. And she
didn't want to bother you."

Del's eyes smarted.
"It's all right, Henry. Fair assessment of things around here. I wasn't
exactly running this spread for a couple weeks there. So you figure she didn't
tell me she was going this morning, cause she didn't want to give me anything
else to worry about. You know, cause another distraction."

"Yessir,
that's it exactly. You know your missus clings to you like fleas love a hound.
'Bout busted her spirit to see you so low and hurting We all was, but I know he
was your best friend, and I'm sorely grieved by your loss, Mr. Mitchell."

Del grunted and
checked his cinch. He straightened and was about to mount up when Henry set a
hand on the pommel, blocking Del. "Hey, don't you think you better take
your heavy coat? Mrs. Mitchell will tan my hide if I let you go through them
mountains without your warm coat. Might want your gloves, too."

Christ. Del had
nearly forgotten he'd need warmer duds, being so caught up in his anger.
Righteous anger, he told himself. Because no matter the reason for it, he still
didn't like this sudden trip or the fact she hadn't discussed it and prepared
him. Hadn't kissed him goodbye.

"Yeah, thanks.
I'll ride up to the house to get it."