Hell's Belle (9 page)

He started to drop
her hand, but her fingers closed around his and he felt a mild tug. He dropped
his gaze from Henry seated in the buggy back to her face. "Thank
you," she whispered.

Seconds later she'd
climbed aboard and Del watched them ride off.

Wasn't that just
like a damned woman?

He'd gone out of
his way to make everything smooth and easy. To give them both an out, to stage
a harmless little play…with roles so easy, anybody could fall right in and know
the lines to say. She was supposed to change her mind about staying for supper.
She was supposed to accept his earlier invitation and then let
him
drive
her home.

Any other gal,
Betty Lee or one of the town fillies, would have picked up the cue and gone
along. But this one had to go and blow the whole deal to smithereens with two
words.

She hadn't been
thanking him for the use of his wrangler or his buggy or the supper invitation.
Or learning her first name, or any of that.

She'd thanked him
for caring enough to see the real woman behind the rotten talk.

And that was not
playing fair at all. That was just plain lethal. Dammit!

His gut was in such
a knot, he doubted he'd even be eating any supper now. Cause in Del's
experience, once a man began to see the real woman, he also began to see the
real possibilities. He'd glimpsed a couple, just for a second…but a second had
been enough.

And a whole lot
more disturbing than any crazy talk of hexes and spells. Del figured an evil
spell wouldn't work on someone who didn't believe in it. Now powerful animal
attraction? That was another story. One that probably couldn't have a happy
ending.

Twila kept silent
for most of the drive back to the emporium. She'd assumed it would be easy
enough to hail Henry and speak to him privately. Indeed, he'd spotted her
immediately and gone out to meet her. But she'd attracted all the men's
attention, and the notice of Del Mitchell. Absolutely not what she'd intended. Poor
Henry had looked so guilty and miserable, she couldn't bring herself to admit
the real reason she'd suddenly appeared at the ranch.

So she got an
update on any news he had about the Vogels, then admired the scenery. Just as
any normal girl would do during a buggy ride. She said nothing about her
distress over the visit from the local minister or the real reason she'd gone
out to the ranch.

After Henry left
her on the front porch and wheeled away in the buggy, she unlocked the emporium
back door, chastising herself for letting her imagination get the best of her
earlier that day. She now knew the pounding out front had been Delancy
Mitchell, wanting to discuss the cost of repairs. She locked the door behind
her and headed upstairs, quickly washing up the remains of the squash bread and
tea she'd offered Reverend Phillips.

Maybe she'd
misconstrued the whole nature of their discussion also. She'd already seen for
herself that people here seemed clannish and superstitious. Maybe the reverend
took his role a little too seriously, worked too hard at trying to sway folks
the other way.

And then too, she
reminded herself, she wasn't used to being alone with men. Fletcher and Lucius
rarely let her go anywhere, see anyone, without constantly hovering nearby and
watching everything she did or said. She knew nothing of how to behave without
one or both of them as chaperones. Witness that uncomfortable moment today, on
the porch outside Mitchell's ranch house. There in the shadows of his porch,
she'd thought there was a fleeting sense of something linking them, almost a
palpable force.

It wasn't the first
time she'd had that odd notion. The first time she'd seen him, as he thumped
into the store the morning of the Grand Disaster—as Uncle Fletcher had
rechristened their Grand Opening—she'd felt much the same. Like all the air had
been sucked out of the place, like no one and nothing else existed but Del
Mitchell. Today it had been stranger still, for it seemed she'd no sooner form
a thought when he somehow seemed to know what it was, responding with a shift
in his facial expression or stance. With either darkening clouds or brightening
glimmers in his blue eyes.

Later, seated in a
hot hip bath, she worked a small cake of soap into a lather and wondered at her
own foolish notions. A small-town preacher with brimstone and fire in his gaze…A
rancher she barely knew somehow reading her mind. She hadn't been inclined to
imagine such bizarre things before coming here. What had come over her, Nevada
brain fever?

But then, back in
Omaha, she never would have imagined her uncle's penchant for upbraiding her smallest
action could congeal into a deep-rooted belief she was actually somehow cursed.
She would never have guessed that a cowpuncher passing by the store with a
skittish horse would lead to the second worst disaster of her young life.

Tears welled in her
eyes as she acknowledged the loss of her parents would forever be the ultimate
worst. If they were still alive, she wouldn't
be
in this horrible town.
A dusty hellhole where mean-spirited people eagerly took up Lucius' vile
accusations about witchery. She wouldn't have had to face a preacher who'd left
her shaken and questioning her own salvation. She wouldn't be hearing herself
called a Jonah.

And then there was
also the matter of the Vogels.

If she'd never been
on that ill-fated train west, she wouldn't now have anything to apologize for.
She hadn't stolen the necklace, or in any way coveted it or schemed to obtain
it. Still, she was convinced no good could come of it remaining in her
possession. Having a costly item like that around was akin to keeping a pet
rattlesnake or a stick of dynamite. Trouble would inevitably result.

In fact, if she accepted
the notion of sins coming back to roost—as the preacher had described her
present woes—she might be inclined to see a pattern to recent events. A pattern
she'd almost expanded by running away from her family and guardian this
afternoon.

Yes, she'd tried
very hard not to face the embarrassing truth. She'd gone along the riverbank in
search of Henry hoping to run off for good. And somehow Delancy Mitchell had
guessed it. She hadn't admitted it, even to herself, instead painting a false
picture of simply having "wandered" too far from town.

But the bitter fact
was, neither her uncle nor her cousin honestly cared about her. They controlled
everything in her life, left her nothing of her own. Wait. That wasn't exactly
true. Her wits were the only things she'd ever really had. She wasn't about to
let the small-minded people of this town or her detestable relations steal them
away or force her to lose them.

She rose and dried
herself off. She had to think logically. Nothing would be gained by losing her
head over some nasty rumors or unwanted religious advice from that zealot Phillips.
Twila had to locate the Vogels and return the jewelry. Maybe they'd pay her a
reward…which could be enough to kiss Uncle Fletcher and Lucius farewell for
good.

She fell asleep
with a smile on her face.

* * *

Del calculated the
sum at the bottom of the column of numbers again and frowned. He didn't want
Fletcher Bell to try to delude him as to the actual costs. Del fully intended
to ask for receipts, a copy of the glazer's bill, and other documentation to
prove the claim for damages to the emporium. But a man needed some negotiating
room in this kind of situation. And Del wanted to throw a little extra in, if
he could, to foster good will.

Problem was, he
wasn't seeing a whole lot of excess to throw anywhere. Still, he'd always been
as good as his word. If it meant doing without a few small luxuries—like poker
games and liquor at Minerva's the next few weeks—he'd cut back and scrimp. But
first he had to go into town and see what kind of agreement he and Bell could
reach. He was reviewing the numbers one more time when he heard a question from
the doorway to his office.

"You going
over to that bewitched Bell place alone? Might be safer to have somebody ride
with you…you know, in case there's trouble," Jordy observed.

"Fletcher
Bell's a storekeeper," Del reminded tightly. "I think I can hold my
own with him, even if things get heated. Which they won't. I'm there to make
amends."

"Ain't him you
need to worry about," Jordan muttered half under his breath.

"I told you what
I think about the talk of hexes and spells. It's bull crap," Del snapped.

Jordy's manner was
casual. "Kind of touchy on the subject of gossip about the Bell girl,
aren't you?"

Del huffed in
exasperation. "Look, Jordy. Leon and I both explained to you, Sandy, and
half the crew that the whole accident didn't happen like folks are saying. To
blame some female who just happened to have a broom in her hands is plumb
crazy."

"Her cousin's
the one who started telling it that way," Jordan countered.

Del's eyes
narrowed. "You sure about that? Or is this just another of your little
digs, a way to provoke me into picking a fight, cause you're looking for some
free entertainment? You'd love for me to go over to that emporium and kick up some
more dust."

"I swear, Del,
I was in the barber shop and I heard him tell the tale myself. He swore his
cousin waved her broomstick and said some mumble-jumble, and the next thing he
knew, he flew off that ladder and the horse was snorting and pawing, out to
kill him."

"That pony's
beginning to sound more like a fire-breathing dragon than four hooves with a
tail," Del noted in disgust. "The animal wasn't within six feet of
him once they both fell inside that store. Pony went left, he fell right. Can't
believe he'd say his cousin waved her broom and put a hex on the beast."

Jordy shrugged.
"If you think she's getting the short end of the horn due to her cousin
lying about what happened, maybe you should say so to her uncle while you're
there. He probably doesn't know what his son's been saying. If you're going to
settle things, maybe it's best to settle them all the way round."

Del hated to admit
that for once Jordy might be right. Del grabbed his hat off the table and
crossed to the front door, stepping out in the sunshine beside Jordan.
"Reckon that's just what I should do. I heard the locals are even giving
her the cold shoulder
at church
. Now how neighborly is that? Ain't
right, especially if it's cause her own cousin's been poisoning people against
her."

"Maybe he
wishes he was as good-looking as she is."

Del paused on his
way to the barn. "You think she's nice looking? You barely got a glimpse of
her."

Jordy grinned.
"She had a right decent figure, shiny hair. I'll just bet she's got those
big, soulful brown eyes I like, too.

"You lose.
They're not cocoa brown. Lighter, more like bottled honey. Golden."

Jordan snorted in
derision. "Now how the hell can anybody figure her for a witch, then?
Everybody knows witches have dark eyes. Black. Fathomless, like pits."

Del kept walking
toward the barn. Jordan trailed along, chattering about nothing. Del saddled up
his favorite mount, a big palomino. He'd just led Caramel out of the barn when
Jordy struck pay dirt with his next remark.

"Well, you
done put a whole new coat of paint on things from what I'd been thinking. Since
everybody knows you were figuring to get hitched months ago, maybe you ought to
talk to her uncle about courting her, too."

One minute they'd
been speaking reasonably about Del removing a blot on the girl's reputation.
The next, Jordy made a leap of logic wide enough to cross the Truckee. "
Courting
her? You been chewing on loco weed again?"

"She's near as
pretty as Betty Lee was."

"No, she's
not. They're nothing alike."

"Well, she's
not so busty, but also not pushy. From everything you fellas said, this one
seems biddable and quiet. You ever think maybe that's better? Wouldn't catch
her telling you what socks to wear, or ordering you not to play poker on
Thursday nights."

"Shut up,
Jordy."

But of course, he
didn't. If anything, that wound him up tighter. His eyes widened, grin
broadened. He was on to something now. "And since most every man in town's
afraid of her putting the evil eye or some terrible curse on him, you wouldn't
have to worry about this one getting away with some other fella. She wouldn't
be able to cheat on you."

Del swore and swung
up into his saddle. "That was a damned low blow right there. Even for
you."

"Heck, if it's
not true, though. Much as it galls you to admit it, this gal's as different as
could be, and maybe that's what scares folks a little. Seems to me you're
mighty interested in local gossip all of a sudden. Never listened to it before,
or Betty Lee never could've hoodwinked you. If you'd had your ears tuned, you probably
wouldn't have proposed to a faithless gal like that. Now you're paying
attention, and I think it's cause you want to go sniffing around those Bell
skirts. I'm just saying maybe you should make it official. Cause if all the
ruckus dies down, and folks get to realizing it was baloney about her being
cursed, you'll have somebody else chasing 'em."