The River Nymph (16 page)

“I’ll stall the captain while you fix yourself up.” He splashed to the shore where his clothing lay and fished through the
pockets of his shirt, holding up a small comb. “Not much for all that hair, but it should work. You untangle that lovely mane
and I’ll slip aboard while no one’s lookin’ and send Sky back to help you dress. She got you into this—she can help get you
out of it.” He tossed her the comb.

She caught it deftly, then started to work furiously, detan-gling her hair. All the while she tried not to watch as he slipped
into his clothing. He was bronzed as a savage everywhere except—no, she vowed never to think of that part of his anatomy again.
He was the one who ought to worry about snapping turtles! Delilah was unable to keep her eyes from straying toward him as
he slid into those indecent buckskins and slipped on his moccasins. He started toward theriver, then stopped suddenly and
turned around to face her with a serious expression on his face.

“We’ll talk some more, Deelie. After we’ve both had time to think about it.”

Was that a threat…or a promise? Delilah was not certain at all. But she would have the last word.

“Don’t call me Deelie!”

Chapter Thirteen

Sky
and Delilah returned to the boat before the captain blew the deafening whistle signaling their departure. All the wood had
been gathered and stored for the voracious boilers. Within a quarter hour of their arrival, the boat was once again fighting
the upriver current. No one appeared to notice that Clint had returned not long before the two women. Sky and Delilah had
obviously been bathing, but no one else knew about the private pool. A dip in a secluded brushy area of the river on a hot
day was perfectly reasonable for the two friends. Delilah’s reputation was intact.

But her peace of mind was not. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” Sky asked Delilah as the two women stood on the upper deck
watching the muddy water churned up by the big paddlewheel.

Delilah’s eyes remained on the wildflower-strewn hill receding in the distance, remembering the taste and feel of Clint’s
body. “More with myself, I guess,” she equivocated.

“Did you not enjoy it—oh, I know ladies aren’t supposed to admit such things, not even talk about them, but the Ehanktonwon
view has always made more sense to me when it comes to making love.”

Delilah could feel the heat in her face but kept it turned steadfastly toward the cooling river breeze. “Yes, I enjoyed it,
just as you were certain I would,” she admitted grudgingly. “Altogether too much.”

Sky’s face lit with a big smile. “I knew you were destined to be together. Anyone with eyes, including your uncle, agrees
with me. One has only to watch the way you look ateach other to know.” Then she sobered. “Don’t feel as if you’ve betrayed
your husband. Surely he would wish you happiness after all these years.”

“I have no idea what Lawrence would’ve wished. We were two children, fumbling in the dark. Oh, that sounds terrible…
but it’s the truth.”

“And there has been no other man since,” Sky said with certainty. “You have a right to be happy, my friend…and so does
my brother. He, too, has suffered much.”

“Does he still mourn his dead wife?”

Sky’s expression grew troubled. “He mourns…other things, I fear. His spirit has been wounded. But you can heal it,”
she quickly added.

“I’m not certain of that. I don’t understand him…and I’m not sure I want to.”

To that, Sky made no reply. Horace hailed them from across the deck. If Delilah noticed her friend’s sudden hesitation defending
Clint, she said nothing.

Delilah dreaded the evening meal, having to face Clint across the table and act as if nothing had happened that afternoon.
She felt certain every intimate detail would be etched clearly on her face for the entire assembly to read. And his parting
words promising further talk did nothing to reassure her. What was there to say? Did he regret it? Did she? In the midst of
passion, she had loved it, but now, as she sat before her mirror, untangling the makeshift hairdo Sky had created, she grew
increasingly wary. What was he going to say to her? Would he smirk or tease…or even blackmail her over the management
of the boat? She knew from experience that he had not been above such things before.

When she and her uncle had been forced to support themselves by gambling, she’d been cast outside the social pale. No offers
of marriage would ever be forthcoming from respectable men. Yet those same respectable men felt no qualms at all offering
her very disrespectable propositions at every opportunity.
I might as well be a member of the demi monde.

As the years passed, it had been she and Horace against the world. All she wanted was financial freedom and to be quit of
smoke-filled card rooms and leering gamblers. But when she finally felt the first stirrings of attraction for a man since
Lawrence, who did that man turn out to be? Another gambler, a rogue who represented everything she had come to detest. As
if that were not bad enough, he brought a violent and troubled past with him. Clint was a man she knew little about—and every
bit she did know should have warned her off instead of stirring her desire.

There, she had finally admitted it. Delilah put down her hairbrush and stared disconsolately into the mirror. She did desire
him, but she would never give up her hard-won freedom by marrying him. She didn’t even trust him as a business partner! But
the idea of marriage was ridiculous anyway. She was certain a man who owned a brothel would never be interested—or if he were,
he would not be faithful to his vows.

No, he only wanted to talk about continuing their liaison for the duration of the voyage. That would be convenient. He could
enjoy her—and indeed he had seemed to enjoy her very much—yet have no strings attached to lure him into matrimony. After all,
the beauteous Eva St. Clair awaited him back in St. Louis…and that was if he did not decide to remain with Sky’s people.

How should she respond to such an offer? Passion for a few months, then a mutually agreed upon parting. Delilah stared into
the mirror as if looking for an answer. But there was none. Somehow she had to get through dinner, and then they would have
their
talk
. Best to get the matter settled one way or the other, even if she had not the slightest idea what that would be.

She finished her toilette and stood just as Horace knocked on her cabin door from the adjoining sitting room. “Are you ready
for dinner, my dear?”

She stepped outside. “Yes, although I ate so much this afternoon, I doubt I’ll have much appetite.”

“Odd you should say that. Clint, too, was eager to forgo the evening repast. It seems our first mate Mr. Iversen has come
down with an infected tooth. Clint volunteered to take his place supervising the roustabouts and passengers on the lower deck.
Mrs. Colter is fussing because he wanted no evening meal sent down.”

Delilah breathed a sigh of relief. At least she’d be spared a confrontation across the dinner table before matters were settled
between them…however that would go.

Below them on the main deck, Clint checked the list of men who had boarded along the way, en route to the gold fields. The
cost of passage depended on how long the
Nymph
carried their weight and fed them. They slept with the roustabouts around the cargo, wherever they could find space. It was
the equivalent of steerage passage from the Old World to the New, a difficult voyage, but lucrative for the boat owners.

Taking over the first mate’s assignment was a welcome respite from thinking about what had happened this afternoon and what
it would mean for his business arrangement with the delicious Delilah. His first impulse had been to blame Sky for the whole
fiasco, but upon reflection he knew that was wrong. Sooner or later the inevitable would have happened, whether or not his
meddlesome little sister arranged it. She and Horace had both sensed the attraction between himself and Delilah. Hell, a deaf
and blind man could probably have done that!

The only problem was that his little sister and Deelie’s uncle expected their mutual attraction to end in marriage. Clint
had vowed on Teal’s bier that he would never again give hostages to fate. He would bury no more wives or children. The cost
was simply too high. He had yet to come to terms with his actions after tragedy had first touched his life. There was a darkness
buried deep inside him that he wanted no one in civilization to see. Nor did he wish to examine it himself. Sky knew part
of it, but she had been raised in both worlds and could understand. A woman from the East, raised in privilege such as Delilah
Raymond had been, would never understand…and he would never tell her.

But they had months before this voyage was complete. Working together in such close quarters created a situation as combustible
as dry pine branches stoking a boiler fire. He’d never be able to leave her alone now that he’d tasted the delights of her
body. And, having taught her the pleasures of making love, he doubted that she would be able to resist temptation any better
than he. But if Horace caught them together, it would mean a marriage—or a murder. Continuing as lovers was playing with dynamite.

His mind spun in circles until he threw the passenger manifest against a barrel of dried fruit and sat down beside it, combing
his fingers through his hair. Before he spoke with her again, he needed to gather his thoughts. Iversen’s toothache had furnished
the perfect excuse to avoid her until he decided what to do. That was, if he had the slightest idea what he
should
do.

The night sky was starless and dark, with a brisk wind that promised, and then around midnight delivered, a soaking storm.
The boat rocked from the onslaught even in the shallow inlet the captain had chosen to protect them from the elements. All
the better cover for a meeting with Clint, Delilah thought. If he knocked on her cabin door, her uncle, always a sound sleeper,
would hear nothing above the pelting rain. No one would be out on such a night to see him enter.

“Please come and let’s put this behind us,” she murmured to herself as she paced on silent, bare feet.

Finally, at one in the morning, Delilah gave up. She quickly and angrily undressed, yanking off her garments and tossing them
in a messy pile on the cabin’s lone chair. She donned her lawn night rail, all the while cursing the perfidy of the male of
the species. He was doing this deliberately to torture her. He’d never had any intention of talking to her. When the opportunity
presented itself, he would simply appear and expect her to fall into his embrace. “Well, you’re in for a bigsurprise, Mr.
Clinton Daniels,” she muttered through gritted teeth as she doused the lantern and turned back the covers on her bed.

She lay down and stared at the ceiling in the darkness, hearing the pounding rain lash the boat. The storm was fierce. Perhaps
Clint had been forced to remain below with the crew since Mr. Iversen was ill. The thought offered small consolation. Sleep
eluded her as the night wore on. Bright slashes of lightning ripped jagged patterns across the sky. Spring weather back East
had never been this fierce. It was as if the elements mirrored her own inner turmoil. Delilah tossed off the covers around
three in the morning and lit a lantern, turning the wick low.

Waiting out the storm was her only choice. Perhaps by dawn it would end and they could resume their journey. But she had heard
Captain Dubois and his crew talking about storms that ripped violently across the open plains, destroying everything in their
path. What if the boat was smashed against the trees lining the inlet? Or the cargo washed overboard? They could lose everything,
even their lives.

Suddenly the rain slowed to a drizzle and the wind died down. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was over! The preternatural
calm continued until she could see the faintest yellow light heralding dawn through the curtain on her cabin window. That
was when she heard the roar. It sounded like a great freight train bearing down on the
Nymph.
But there were no railroads within hundreds of miles. What on earth could it be?

Seizing her wrapper, she slipped it on and cinched it tightly, then found her slippers. When she opened the door, a dark figure
stood silhouetted against the pale light. Delilah gasped even though she instantly recognized Clint. His hair and clothing
were plastered to his head and body. He was soaked to the skin, dripping a puddle of water on the door sill. “What—”

“No time. Tornado’s coming. Everyone off the boat,” he said in low, urgent tones, speaking rapidly without a trace of lazy
drawl in his voice.

“Uncle Horace—Sky—”

“I’ve roused him. Already sent her below. She knows what to do in a tornado. Promised Horace I’d fetch you. Come on.” He seized
her arm and pulled her out of the cabin.

“I’m not going anywhere without my uncle,” she said, heading toward his cabin door.

But Clint had other ideas. “He’s depending on me to get you to safety, dammit!” he said, scooping her up and tossing her over
his shoulder as his long legs quickly moved to the stairs at the front of the boat.

She started to squirm and hit him until she raised her head and saw Horace emerge from his cabin in carpet slippers and a
robe, following close behind them. His face was grim and she knew it had nothing to do with the impropriety of seeing Clint
carry her off in her nightclothes. “Let me down. I can walk.”

“No time,” he said, sprinting down the steps.

Two crewmen had pulled down the gangplank, and passengers dashed recklessly to shore. Sky stood in the dim light, shoving
panicked men this way and that until Clint yelled for her to get away from the boat. She waved and disappeared into the darkness.
Many of the roustabouts simply leaped overboard into the muddy water.

Clint grabbed a lantern, then carried Delilah down the plank and ran toward a low thicket of willows where a small stream
fed into the river. Its banks were about three feet high, offering some protection from the onrushing wind.

She tried desperately to see where Sky and her uncle had gone but she could not discern either of them in the melee of running,
shouting men. Over the cacophony, she heard the faint sound of Captain Dubois’s calm voice ordering everyone to abandon ship.
Clint splashed down the side of the creek bed until he found a deeply eroded gouge in the earth.

“Lie down,” he commanded, sliding her from his shoulder as he knelt on the mossy ground. It was soaking wet and chilly, but
he gave her no choice. His big body quickly covered hers, burrowing them inside the shelter of muddy ground and wild honeysuckle
vines.

The noise grew even louder, closer, like some great mythological beast come to devour everything around it. Delilah could
hear the roaring as it passed overhead. Then the lantern went out and all was blackness. She closed her eyes and prayed for
her uncle and her friend.
Please let them be safe!
Almost as quickly as it had come, the deafening noise abated and the rain resumed.

Several minutes passed before Clint rolled away from her. Their makeshift little cave hollowed from the side of the creek
bed offered some protection from the rain, but the false dawn had faded into blackness once more. It was as if the tornado
had swallowed up the very sunrise itself.