Hell's Belle (32 page)

Twila wondered at
that, too. They'd never actually discussed her date of conception, or when she
anticipated the baby would be born. A little flush of sexual thrill went
through her. Apparently Del understood her woman's body even better than she'd
reckoned.
Oh my.

There was a
delicious thought!

"Del, we need
to get back to the ranch. I think these folks can sort things out on their
own."

Del nodded and tipped
his hat to the woman. They he reached for Twila's hand and led her out over the
debris like a queen headed for her royal coach. As she climbed back up into the
buggy, it felt like one. "You really are an amazing man, Delancy."

He grinned.
"Yeah, I know. But don't tell everybody around here. I sort of like them
thinking I'm just a horse rancher."

The aura of pride
and self satisfaction lasted until they hit the outskirts of town. Then Del
slowed the buggy and turned to Twila. "Could you believe that store?
Raccoons nesting in it? And he tried to get them out with a shotgun, and blew a
hole clean through his kitchen wall! I mean, what are the odds of that? In the
whole town, raccoons climb into an open window and take over the store."
He shook his head in disbelief.

"Pretty
bizarre series of events, isn't it?" Twila responded. "Almost like
the worst rotten luck ever."

Del's chortles
magnified. He slapped his knee and gasped for breath. "I'm telling
you…I've never seen anything like that. Or anybody more deserving of it!
Twilagleam, this whole damned town's going to hear the story, and know you were
nowhere around when the Bell stupidity came home to roost."

Twila worried at
that last remark. "But Del, what if people say I did it…with some kind of
curse or hex, or something?"

"They won't.
Don't worry about it, Twila. Anybody seeing that blast hole in the upper wall
will know that was no curse, just bad shooting. One of the coons will turn up
dead from buckshot. There's probably a dead or injured raccoon around behind
the store in the dirt right now."

"Oh." She
hadn't thought of that. As much as she'd enjoy being exonerated, she didn't
much like the thought of dead animals.

"One of my men
will find it and wave it around in a saloon, make sure everybody hears the story.
Not that I want to cause your uncle any more grief, but we got to lay this 'curse'
gossip to rest. No child of mine's going to have folks saying his mother's a
witch."

Oh, Del.

What had she done
to deserve him? Maybe she wasn't a witch, but she wasn't particularly clever or
attractive, or devoted to church and public service. How had she ended up with
the man Betty Lee had lured to the altar? Twila couldn't think of herself as
incredibly lucky—that was too much of a stretch after hearing the opposite for
years—and yet, what other explanation was there?

Good heavens. What
if it were true? What if all this time, she'd actually been lucky, and never
knew it? She did, after all, save the Vogel necklace. And she'd had no say in
either living with Fletcher Bell or migrating west to Wadsworth. But if she
hadn't been Fletcher's ward when he hatched the notion, she never would have
come to Nevada and met Del Mitchell.

Twila was trying to
get her mind to embrace the new theory before asking Del what he thought about
it when she realized they'd arrived home. Wranglers came streaming toward the
buggy, all talking at once. Apparently Fletcher's wasn't the only business to
suffer in the absence of its owner. She had no chance to talk to Del about
anything further. She was hustled out of the buggy and taken with her luggage
to the house even as Del disappeared into the barn with his men.

* * *

Lucius was only too
pleased to climb aboard the Central Pacific railroad car.

He'd spent most of
the night at a lousy excuse for a hotel near the tracks. Naturally, by the time
he got out of Miss Adeline's place and was able to flag down a cab, he'd
arrived to see the brakeman's red lantern disappear as the last train eastward
rumbled off. He'd had no choice but to take a room in the nearest hotel and
purchase a ticket for departure the following day.

He smirked to
himself, mentally picturing how a couple of other fellows had awakened today.
He might not have been able to get a good night's sleep, but at least
he
hadn't spent it in leather restraints. He chuckled under this breath. That had
been a true stroke of genius, telling the bouncer his "friends" had
unusual tastes in gentlemanly amusements. Perversions. Almost worth the highway
robbery rate he'd had to pay to make sure they were "tied up" for the
night!

Yes, indeed, right
about now they'd be trying to fumble back into their gambler's suits, cursing
the day they ever followed Lucius Bell to Sacramento and into that brothel.
He'd wager they didn't dare show their faces in Wadsworth again.

They might have
rifled through the emporium and tried to threaten him before, but by now they
must have discovered they had a mysterious "benefactor" who'd paid
for their pleasure. Or displeasures. Unless the whores and madam had the
temerity to collect their fees twice—in which event, Lucius would only be even
happier.

Served them right,
the buffoons.

Who would've
thought they'd take a harmless jest to such extreme lengths? He put the English
fellows out of his mind as he settled into his seat and waited for the train to
pull out. He'd done well for himself. Very well, despite having to fork over
the money to the harlots and that flophouse the night before, plus a cab ride.
He was still well ahead of what he'd brought to town with him. His father would
be very pleasantly surprised.

Maybe somewhat put out
that Lucius had left him to mind the store alone for the past couple of days,
along with helping himself to a loan from the till. But once he saw that his
son had more than tripled the funds, he'd have to admit it was a great return
on the investment. More than sufficient to ensure his father's forgiveness for
the "borrowing" he'd done without asking permission first.

He slumped down in
his seat as the train began rolling forward. He'd try to catch a few winks
along the way. A smile creased his lips. He couldn't wait to see his father's
face when he waved the money in it.

* * *

"Suppertime in
under an hour, Boss."

Del nodded as he
passed the cookhouse. "I'll be there with the missus, Biscuit."

"Oh, well, if
you were thinking on gathering her to come along, she ain't over at the house. Saw
her out yonder that way, not ten minutes ago." Biscuit jerked his thumb
toward the far pasture.

Del halted in
mid-stride. "You sure about that?"

"Do I look
senile to you? I was busting broncos when you were out chasing tumbleweeds with
a lasso tryin' to learn how to snag a mustang, and I know what I when I saw it.
Your wife, over by the rocks there."

Biscuit wasn't
feeling his age…just feeling ornery about having enough age that people thought
he should be feeling it.

"All right,
all right," Del said, trying to soothe the old feathers before Biscuit
launched into a longer diatribe. "You got any idea what she was doing over
that way? Why she'd be combing the rocks?"

"Hell, I don't
know. Why do women do anything?"

Dammit, Del had hit
another sore spot. Biscuit had been writing to a widow back in Delaware. Not a
courtship through the mails, or anything specific, as far as the other men
could tell. More like an idle hobby, to help pass the time. And Biscuit sure
did look forward to her letters. Until he got one saying she'd up and married a
man twenty years her junior, who'd come to her door selling bibles and prayer
shawls.

Somehow, to
Biscuit's way of thinking, she'd lost her mind—for taking a live one on her
porch over a stamped-and-sealed man three thousand miles due west. Not that
he'd ever written to her about marriage, or either of them pulling up roots and
getting hitched. Not that he was jealous. No sir. But, he'd groused to Del,
what kind of woman married a bible salesman for his talent between the sheets?
And if he didn't have any of that to speak of, what did she want with a man so
much younger than she was?

"I thought
maybe you'd spoken to Twila," Del offered hopefully. Twila and Biscuit
usually got on fairly well, which had been surprising at first. Biscuit had
more prickly sore spots than a tinhorn with blisters. Most of the local women
saw him as little more than a sour, disagreeable old man.

But Twila, being
Twila, seemed to sense the was one instance where her natural shyness would be
an asset. She didn't say a whole lot. Mostly just smiled at him when they sat
down to eat. But Del had also noticed that if she left anything uneaten on her
plate or bowl, she made a point of professing the food had been so delicious,
she'd stuffed herself and couldn't manage another morsel.

The old sourpatch
would grin.

And somehow Del
suspected the old sourpatch knew more than he was letting on about Twila right
now. "Odd that she'd just decide to go out to that section of pasture
land. And run into you, there, too. Somebody find a new stream out that way or
something?"

Del knew the area
under discussion was basically pretty barren. Some scrub grass, loose rocks,
gravel. Definitely nothing to attract visitors.

"Sometimes I
collect the gravelly grit from out that way. Helps me scrub out the
stewpot."

Oh, Lord. Del would
never sit down to a bowl of Biscuit's stew and think of it quite the same way
again. Now he'd start prodding with his spoon right off, in case something he
might assume was tough meat turned out to be a damned pebble. He wondered if
maybe Biscuit was in cahoots with Emerson, the local dentist.

"She said she
was restless. Tell you truthfully, though, I think she was a mite disappointed
and didn't want to say anything to you."

"Disappointed
how?"

"Them folks in
Sacto…She guarded that fancy gewgaw of theirs for months, spent her own money to
place them newspaper notices, and had Henry running crazy to find 'em. They
thanked her and all. But I expect she thought their gratitude would be the more
obvious sort. The kind a body can take over to the bank."

Del flushed,
recalling there was a little matter of reward money. He'd planned to discuss it
with her as soon as they got back, but with the Bell Emporium being attacked by
marauding raccoons and the problems here at the ranch, Del forgot about it.

He could imagine
Twila confessing a touch of selfish greed to Biscuit, but not saying a thing to
him. Del knew the Vogels, so Twila wouldn't want to hurt them by tainting Del's
good opinion of them. Biscuit, on the other hand, had a suspicious opinion
about everyone and most things.

Smart girl. Temporary
solace in agreement from someone whose opinion didn't count for squat, except
it may have made her feel a little better. Which was part of Del's job in life
now, and he ought to get back to doing it.

"Thanks,
Biscuit. If we're a few minutes late, just—"

"Horse
feathers! A few minutes, my scrawny ass! If I ever had me, just once, a woman
looked like her soft on me, I'd be an hour and a half late to my own
funeral!"

Del strode off
briskly in the direction of the open expanse of gravel, grinning in spite of
himself. Biscuit was indeed a sourpuss, but a damned perceptive fellow. He knew
Del was crazy in love with his young bride.

He nearly broke
into a run as he spotted her. She had her back to him. She was just standing
and gazing off into the distance, nothing moving but her hair and skirts,
tickled by the late afternoon breeze. Del halted and drew in a breath of it.

He swallowed as the
realization hit him.

She was his. Truly
and completely his. His wife, and in several more months, the mother of his
child.

Her parents had
been the only other people to see the real Twila. He knew because of what
they'd named her. Twilagleam, for the words of a poem and song everybody knew.
But looking at her now, with the sun about to set, he knew they'd chosen the
perfect name for a girl who'd never be quite like anyone else.

The sun set every
damned night. How often did a man pause to watch it, to truly take in the
wonder of God's miracle, right there before his eyes? How often did a man let
the awe wash over him, and really appreciate the wide sky, the mountains and
stars? Or the moment itself, that unique hush between day and nightfall, when
it seemed almost anything might be possible? A moment of endings and beginnings
rolled into one…

He tried to walk
softly those last few strides, but she must have heard his approach. She turned
and he saw the confusion and a sorrowful look in her eyes. "I was just
thinking how much has changed. Uncle Fletcher thinking of remarrying. Lucius
gone off, and goodness knows if he'll come back. When I learned he'd cleaned
out the till…I wonder if he hasn't run away, Del."

Del shook his head.
"He'll be back. He's just young and cutting up, blowing off steam. I
didn't want to say anything, but I found him at a house of ill fame. He'll run
out of money or spunk and come back."