Hell's Belle (24 page)

All he scribbled
were his recollections about daily events, his impressions of this person or
another, and maybe even his pathetic romantic yearnings concerning the Widow
Johansson. If they enjoyed reading melodramatic ranting, those journals might
entertain them for a spell. In any case, the tale of robbers returning to the
scene of the crime would cover Lucius' theft perfectly.

He grinned as he
dismounted form Mitchell's beast. Perhaps it would be content to water itself
out here. The wide porch rail hovered above an equally wide horse trough. He'd
worry about oats later.

Right now his own
wild oats were his only focus. From the word he'd pick up in a flourishing
barber shop, this was the place to scatter them. He acknowledged a brief twinge
of remorse. He'd stolen money from the till and lied to Twila and her husband,
merely pretending to go along with their plan of meeting at the Vogel home. He
dimly recalled the Vogels. Boring, stuffy Germanic people. A doddering old coot
leaning on a cane. The girl hadn't been a total washout, though. There was
something almost fetching about her, but she was fresh and wholesome. Not what
Lucius craved.

Maybe it had been
all that "research" he'd done in Wadsworth, but once he began
visiting brothels and saloons and partaking of the amusements in them, he found
he quite enjoyed certain activities. The kind impressionable, proper young
misses like Miss Vogel would swoon at the mere mention of.

Let his twit cousin
and her scowling farmer sip tea and admire Miss Vogel's latest tatting project.

Before his father
laced the storekeeper vest so tightly around Lucius that he'd never be able to
unwind again, he resolved to have a fine fling. With his father's money. Which
wasn't such an odd notion. He'd had friends in Omaha who'd gone off to study at
university or enlisted in the military and done the same thing…spent their old
man's money on cards or horses or dice or women. It was part of a young buck's
initiation into manhood. Some fathers understood this. Some who weren't so
miserly as his. If he'd even suggested wanting an outing like this one, his
father would have snorted in derision and calmly told him to go reorganize the
stockroom.

Swaggering up onto
the porch of the establishment, Lucius smoothed his hair and puffed out his
chest. He actually prayed deep down he'd live to regret this decision. What
tale of crossing from adolescence into manhood didn't feature at least one
horrendous error? He licked his lips, hoping he was about to make one that
would be worthy of retelling in years to come.

"Delancy."
There was a mild rebuke in Twila's soft whisper in the darkened guestroom.
"It wouldn't be right. Someone might hear."

Del paused,
mentally debating. She'd given him a list of reasons why they shouldn't make
love tonight, here in the Vogel house. Starting with the fact it
was
the
Vogel's house, not their ranch bedroom. Talking about proper manners and
consideration as guests, the fact they'd just had a very intense romantic
interlude the previous night at the inn, there'd been a lot of excitement
earlier…She had a pretty decent tally going, he'd give her that.

But he had an
overwhelming need to show her how he felt. She didn't seem to understand that
his feelings had undergone a major shift today, and he didn't think he could
exactly put that into words. He'd discovered another side to Twila, a depth
that surprised him.

He'd always been
her champion. But today he had to admit that part of the attraction from the
first was enjoying the mental picture of himself that way—riding in and saving
her, taking her away from that bastard Fletcher Bell and her useless cousin,
defending her from the nasty rumors in town, giving folks his steely glare of
warning that they best not disparage his bride.

Del staunchly
denied that he'd married her out of pity. He'd felt sorry for her
predicament
,
not her as a person. He'd been obsessed with Twilagleam in the usual way a man
could get tangled up inside over a woman. From the first morninig he'd laid
eyes on her. Part of him had been intrigued before he knew anything about her.
He'd been ensnared with just one look. And
that
was no cause for anyone's
pity.

He groaned and
Twila heard it. "Are you going to be churlish about this?"

The perfect
opening. Yes, he was. He was going to be petty and churlish and pout until she
softened and let him have his way. Or at least part of it.

"Yep, I reckon
so. The old man's half deaf, Twila. That girl sleeps clear at the other end of
the house, and I'm not planning to break the bed frame. I just want to be
allowed to touch my wife and have her touch me. That's not going to happen if I
go sleep on their couch in the parlor. It's important, Twila."

She abruptly sat up
and stripped off her chemise.

Oh, Twila,
honey. Oh, heaven above, but you're just the perfect woman for me.

He quickly peeled
away his drawers and slipped into bed beside her, holding her as tightly as he
dared against his bare chest. Against his heart. That was the first thing that
had profoundly changed. Her place was going to beside him now in bed, not
underneath him. All that mounting and male domination was fine when she was
just a skittish young filly he'd been out to tame..but now…Now she was a brood
mare. There was a baby inside her. The biggest reason he couldn't behave like
some randy cowpoke at the end of a three-month cattle drive.

No, from now on
he'd be extra careful. Gentle. Use finesse.

And there was
another reason, too. Tonight wasn't about hot, demanding thrusts, the need to
conquer and take pleasure. It wasn't about
him
. It was about her. For
her.

He kissed her,
stroking the inside of her mouth slowly, savoring. And she melted right there,
with the sun clear on the other side of the earth, in that dark room in a
strange house. He let his hands just slide over her flesh as he kissed her,
letting his tongue tell her of the awesome need and respect he felt for her.
Damn if he wasn't humbled by it.

Truly it should
have frightened him. With any other woman, Del was pretty certain he would have
been terrified. If he'd ever felt this vulnerability toward Betty Lee, he would
have felt utterly sunk. Trapped. Betty Lee would have reveled in the power and
turned it on him some day. Look at what she'd done with the limited power he'd
given her. He hadn't loved her with this depth of devotion—nothing even close.
And still she'd had him tied up in knots for weeks after her abrupt departure.

Twila, on the other
hand, didn't even seem to understand she held power over him. She'd slain him
with a damned necklace worth a frigging fortune. A necklace that never even
belonged to her, that he'd never known the existence of until a few hours ago.
And that was the crux of the truth, right there.

He'd asked for her
trust, thinking it was scarce. She was living with harsh, condemning people.
Men who lashed out at her for the slightest thing. For nothing. Aware of that,
Del figured it would be a pretty big step to ask her to trust him, a total
stranger. He'd asked a boon that wasn't small to her, but neither was it
untenable. He was taking her as his wedded wife, promising to keep her and care
for her. To ask in return that she be faithful and trust him seemed perfectly
fair.

But he'd cheated
her with that bargain, he saw now. That's what didn't sit right.

He'd cheated her
because when he'd asked for it, he had absolutely no idea how enormous her
faith was, how doggedly she would cling to it, how callously he would live
every day paying no heed. Twila had entrusted him with a fortune. Trusted that
he'd keep it safe. Trusted that he'd come after her, instead of going about his
business of breeding and selling horses and barely notice she was away for a
spell. Trusted that he'd understand her thinking, that he'd come to know her the
way she knew him. Almost instinctively.

He didn't think
he'd found a way to show it. He'd come to love her more than he ever believed
possible. He'd taken her to wife because he didn't want to give the town more
ammunition against her—he'd never tolerate anyone in Wadsworth adding "whore"
to "witch" or "harbinger of bad luck." He'd assumed she'd
make a passable spouse, and believed they'd get along well enough together.
He'd been powerfully attracted to her, and sensed at least part of that
attraction was mutual. But he hadn't expected…Christ.

He hadn't expected
the reality. Twila
wasn't
the person others believed her to be—the shy,
ungainly sort, hovering in the background mostly unseen until the next spill or
bumbling misstep. She was lightning in a bottle. Perception and sensitivity.
Bravery and perseverance. The quiet of approaching dusk. The silence of
midnight at the end of a grueling, long day.

And having her in
his life was turning it upside down.

"Twilagleam,"
he breathed, stroking and loving every inch of her within reach. "Next
time tell me. It scares me to death, thinking of all the time you were in the
ranch house alone with those jewels. Somebody could have been on the trail of
that missing necklace. Someone could've killed you for it, and I never would
have even understood why."

"Oh, Del, now
you're being silly. No one—"

"I don't care.
And don't you tell me it's silly to worry about you, woman. Don't you tell me
not to feel terror at the idea of life without you. It's too damned late for
that." He'd all but growled that last part, and now Twila had broken out
in tears.

Oh God. Del thought
of the tears when she'd admitted she didn't have a decent grippe to elope with
him. Tears that meant she'd seen the enormity of what loomed ahead…

"Aw, sweetheart,"
he whispered. He knew she'd never tolerate him penetrating her. But he also
knew Twila's buttons and exactly how to press them. "Stop crying, honey.
It's been a crazy day and you've had a lot of stress. You just need some rest.
I'll be fine, now that I can feel your naked skin against me."

What a lie. He'd be
trying to fall asleep with an erection the size of Montana, but his rest and
stress relief weren't important tonight. He gently circled one nipple with his
thumb, smiling as it immediately drew taut and she let out a little moan.

"Del,
please…we can't. Not here. It wouldn't be—"

"How about
just petting you and kissing you? If we're quiet, if we don't disturb anybody
else, I don't see what's wrong."

She hesitated, but
he also felt her torso press against him…she all but thrust both breasts into
his waiting hands. He began kissing her again and rolled her stiff nipples
between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching just until she made the little
sound that always signaled her growing arousal. "You want me to
stop?" He did.

"No! I
mean…I…"

He chuckled softly,
working her into a nice, fine lather. She came apart in one of the strongest
orgasms she'd ever had without him mounting her, then snuggled up against him
in the dark. "Thank you, Del. You take such good care of me."

Oh, that's where
she was both right and wrong. He needed to straighten out a couple things
between them. "Thank you for taking a chance on me, Twila. I never
much…before you there was Jordy. Always pushing at me, always in some nearby corner,
smirking. He made me so god-awful irate sometimes, guess I worked like a demon
to show him I wasn't going to give up the way he did. He was a smart man. He
could have been more than some dusty pair of boots."

Twila sighed,
nudged gently. He knew she was listening, letting him vent.

"I never
really had any big plans for my life," he confessed. "I just wanted
to raise horses. I've never been too good at looking down the road, seeing
forks or reckoning which way I'll turn. Truth is, part of your appeal to my
mind was that I figured you wouldn't much care."

"What do you
mean? I wouldn't care what you did? I don't—I mean, not like that. I'm not an
ambitious person. If you were happy shining shoes or growing beans, I'd be
content too."

Del shook his head.
"Can't be that way. Might have been with another woman, but not with you.
I'm just realizing that. I can't waste the kind of belief you've got in
people…in me. Don't you see what a shame that would be? A woman like you, who
believes her man is—I don't have a word for it. But that's how you make me
feel. Like I can slay dragons. And that's exactly why I
should
."

"Thank
goodness the last of the dragons was killed centuries past, back when they had
knights and armor. I'm getting sleepy, Del. Can we talk about this tomorrow
morning? Or when we get home?"

"Sure,
honey."

But Del knew they
wouldn't. They'd never talk about it again. He'd brought an essential truth out
into the light and they both admitted seeing it. She'd let it go and so would
he. He drank in the feel of her in his arms as she drifted off, sated and warm.
So fragile and yet so strong.

She would be the
mother of his children…and what children they would be! Every hope and promise
a parent could ever have for a bright future—Twila would put her faith and love
into each one they'd be blessed with, and those children could go out and
conquer the world.