Beyond Betrayal Page 10

  A shadow briefly darkened Eve's brilliant green eyes. "He's resting," she replied. "But I'm sure he'll do his best to be up for supper.” After a brief pause she said, "Let's go out on the front porch where we can enjoy the sunshine and not disturb him with our chatter."

  For a long time they simply sat side by side on a wooden bench enjoying the sights and sounds of the ranch in the bright afternoon. Then Delilah found the courage to speak. "Your letter caught me at a bad time, Eve. I've had a run of bad luck, and my stake is sadly depleted. I've convinced Miss Cora to let me operate a gaming table at the Lucky Strike, and I believe I can have the money for you when you need it, but it means I can't stay here with you as long as I'd like."

  Eve nodded. "Sure. That's fine," she murmured softly. Then, afraid her words may have been misinterpreted, she hastily amended. "I mean I'm disappointed, of course but I might be able to get away to come into town occasionally."

  Delilah scrutinized her. "That's not it, is it?"

  Eve took a deep breath and stared out at the corrals. "What do you mean?"

  "The money's not what's bothering you, is it?"

  For a time, Eve made no response, then she shook her head. "No. It isn't."

  Delilah placed her hand on her sister's shoulder. "What is it, Evie? Talk to me."

  Eve took another long shaky breath before responding. "I think Tom may be dying, Delilah."

  Delilah's eyes widened in shock, and she set her almost-empty lemonade glass down on the weathered floorboards of the front porch with exaggerated care. "Why? What happened?"

  "His leg was broken very badly. The thigh bone pierced the skin. Doc Hale set it, but it never healed properly.” She paused, swallowing audibly. "After about three weeks, the doctor told Tom that the leg needed to be amputated before the infection that was keeping it from healing began to spread, but Tom absolutely refused. He said he'd kill any man who took his leg, and despise me forever if I allowed it done. He said he'd rather be dead than live as half a man."

  "Oh, my Lord!"

  "Between Fong and I, we've kept the leg clean and disinfected with whiskey, just like mother always said. I keep hoping the doctor was wrong. But I'm beginning to think that all I've managed to do is to prolong the inevitable. The leg looks. . . horrible, and Tom is getting weaker by the day now."

  For the first time since they'd moved outside, Eve turned to look at her. "I didn't know what to do, Delilah, so I stood by Tom. Either way, I lose my husband, but I couldn't bear his hatred. Did I do the right thing?"

  Unable to answer that question, Delilah swept her sister into her arms. Stroking Eve's tawny tresses, she murmured, "I don't know sweetheart. Only you and Tom can know what's right for the two of you."

  "But I don't know. That's the problem," Eve said over her shoulder. Delilah sensed the tension in her, the rigid control that locked in her pain. Eve lifted her head look at her. "Perhaps if I'd argued with him just one more day I might have finally changed his mind. Or, if I'd gone against him, he might eventually have forgiven me. Now. . . now it's too late to change course. All I can do is hope and pray."

  Delilah clutched her close again and closed her eyes. God help her, she didn't know what to say. Swallowing, she found words and prayed they were the right ones. "Then perhaps you should concentrate on cherishing the time you have left," she murmured hesitantly. "Build a memory strong enough to last you a lifetime, and. . . let him go."

  Eve sniffled, caught her breath in an attempt to control the emotion and then, as though Delilah's words had shattered the dam that held back the floodgates of her misery, she began to sob. Delilah ached with her, for her, yet she could do nothing but hold her and offer her the solace of her love.

  Moments later, Eve pulled out of Delilah's embrace and dried her eyes on the bandanna she'd worn about her neck. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to do that."

  "Nonsense! You needed to do that. You can't keep it all bottled up."

  Eve swallowed and sniffed. "You know what bothers me the most?"

  Delilah shook her head.

  "That we didn't have any children. We wanted one so badly, but it just never seemed to happen. We thought we had lots of time, so we didn't really worry about it. But now that time is gone, and I don't even have Tom's child to hold.” Another silent sob gripped her, and her shoulders quaked. "Why couldn't the Lord leave me with at least that much of the man I love?" she whispered.

  Feeling incapable of easing her sister's pain, Delilah shook her head in misery. "I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know."

  They fell silent for a while, each staring out at the bright spring day but seeing only shadows. Delilah was worried about her. After a time, she asked, "How will you manage if Tom goes, Eve? Will you move to town?” But she knew as soon as she voiced the question what the answer would be. The Eve she'd known a year ago might have moved to town, but not this newly determined young woman at her side.

  Eve shook her head. "This is my home. My ranch. I love it here, and I'm not going anywhere if I can help it.” She looked at Delilah. "I've been learning as much as I can, from Tom and the hands that have stayed on. I've had to take Tom's place as much as possible from the start. The hands who refused to work for a woman have already quit.” She took a deep breath. "I'll manage."

  Delilah believed her. For even in thought, in conversation, Eve was preparing herself to stand alone. I can't afford, she'd said earlier. My ranch, she'd called her home.

  * * *

  Eve spent the remainder of the afternoon proudly showing Delilah around the Devil's Fork. Following Fong's assurance that it would be all right, Delilah had left a sleeping Poopsy safely ensconced beneath the table. While riding through an area Eve called the South quarter, they stopped to allow the horses to refresh themselves at the river. Stepping beneath the shady boughs of a weeping willow, Delilah sighed and took a deep breath of mountain air heavy with the scent of spring wildflowers and evergreens. As Eve joined her, she smiled. "I can certainly see why you love it here."

  "You're welcome to come back and stay, you know.” Her eyes were alight with an inner glow of pride and hope. "Between the two of us, we could not only save this ranch, we could make it prosper."

  Delilah considered. The offer was tempting; it really was. Sadly, however, she shook her head. "No, Sis. This place is yours. It's in your blood, a part of you. Beautiful as it is, it would never mean quite the same thing to me, and I'd always feel like a visitor.” She looked at her younger sister and smiled to soften her words. "If you ever need me, you have only to ask. You know that. But I can't stay."

  Eve nodded, appearing suddenly more serious. "I thought you'd say that, but I had to ask just the same."

  "Something's worrying you. What is it? Are you afraid the remaining hands will quit if Tom . . . ?" she trailed off, but the words didn't need to be said to be understood.

  Eve frowned in reflection. "I don't think so. Most of the hands I have left are a ragtag bunch that nobody else would hire. Mr. Wright is a drunkard whom we constantly have to keep away from whiskey or his usefulness decreases proportionately. Mr. Stone is a good hand, but, like a good many Westerners, he has a past he doesn't want to share. He said he wouldn't work for anybody who didn't know how to mind their own business.” She shrugged. "He might leave I suppose given the right offer."

  She squinted into the sunlight, looking back toward the ranch. "Eagle Shadow and Mr. Fong are both good and reliable. But, if somebody did hire them for their abilities, they would be treated with less respect. They might trade respect for more money, but I don't think so. And lastly, there's old Rattlesnake. He's so old he doesn't even remember his age.” She shook her head. "He's slower than molasses running uphill in January, but he manages to tend the hogs and chickens adequately. Best of all, he doesn't demand much in the way of wages."

  Delilah's brows arched. "Rattlesnake?" she repeated incredulously.

  Eve nodded. "He calls himself Rattlesnake Joe.” Then grinning, she stuck her thumb
s in her pockets, puffed out her chest and shoulders in obvious imitation of a strutting male, and said in a deep voice, "It's on account of bein' bit so many times he cain't hardly feel it no more."

  They laughed. And, once started, it was difficult to stop. They laughed until they couldn't stand any more. Until tears rolled down their faces. Until their sides ached. Not because anything was that funny, but because they needed the release of mirth. Then, slowly, they sobered.

  "Oh, my, it's been a long time since I laughed," Eve murmured as she watched the horses graze along the river bank. Delilah pretended to do the same but, in reality, she was observing Eve.

  "You never did answer my question, Eve," she pointed out.

  Eve looked over at her. "What question?"

  "Is something worrying you? Something besides Tom?"

  Eve turned to stare thoughtfully at the swiftly flowing river. "Nothing definite," she said with a shrug. "Just a feeling."

  "What kind of feeling?"

  "Well, this is prime ranch land.” She frowned as though trying to put her worries into words. "There are a lot of men in the area who don't have very open minds when it comes to a woman running a ranch. I learned that with Wes Powell.” She turned to meet Delilah's gaze. "I guess I'm afraid that men like Powell might take it into their heads to try to drive me out."

  Delilah's spine stiffened. She despised men who thought that the brute strength of a male made him superior, granted him entitlement to more than a woman. "Maybe it's a good thing Powell didn't meet me in Red Rock," she said.

  Eve looked at her curiously. "Why's that?"

  "I probably would have shot him with my derringer and landed up in Sheriff Chambers' jail."

  "I would have busted you out," Eve promised confidently. She pulled her Colt revolver out and sighted down its barrel. "I can shoot the neck off a whiskey bottle at forty paces."

  "Have you ever shot anything that bled?" Delilah couldn't help asking wryly. She knew from the days that their father had taken them target shooting that Eve had steadfastly refused to kill anything. Even to eat.

  Eve looked a bit sheepish. "Not yet," she admitted. "But I'm working on it. I almost shot a fox that was after one of my hens the other day."

  "What made you start carrying a gun?"

  "Tom did," Eve replied. "He said I had to know how to protect myself."

  Delilah nodded. "I agree."

  They sat in companionable silence for a few more moments and then Eve checked the position of the late afternoon sun. "We'd better be getting back," she said, rising to her feet. "I like to help Fong with supper preparations whenever I can. I know how much work it is cooking for so many male appetites. And," there was a teasing glint in her eye as she looked at Delilah, "we want to make a good impression on your sheriff. Don't we?"

  In the process of standing up, Delilah froze in mid-rise. "He is not my sheriff!" she snapped. "Besides, he may not even show up."

  Undisturbed by her sister's anger, Eve simply arched a brow. "Oh I wouldn't worry about that, dear sister. I think I can pretty much guarantee that he'll be here. No man who looks at a woman the way he looked at you can keep himself away for long."

  "You're imagining things!" Delilah protested. "That man's eyes are gun-metal cold."

  "Am I?” Eve mounted her horse and sat waiting for Delilah. "Gunmetal can get as hot as sin at times, you know?"

  ~~~* * *~~~

  CHAPTER 6

  ________________________

  A short time later, they arrived back at the house. After washing up in the back porch they moved inside to help with the supper preparations. Since the Devil's Fork was a small ranch, and its owners completely without pretention, Delilah had already surmised that the hands would eat in the house with the family. Therefore, per Eve's instructions, after lighting two kerosene table-lamps to dispel the gathering gloom of twilight, Delilah set the large table with nine places.

  Eve, meanwhile, carved the huge ham that Fong had set out on a platter. Fong, Delilah discovered, ruled his kitchen with an iron hand, watching their every move with a critical eye. Once, he even corrected Eve in her carving technique. "No, no, missy. You do like this," he said, firmly taking the knife from her to demonstrate. As Eve, carefully following Fong's instructions, reverted to the task at hand, the diminutive Chinese gentleman next turned his eyes to the table settings. A careful scrutiny apparently revealed nothing untoward however, for he made a strange grunting noise in his throat, which Delilah translated as satisfaction, and turned back to the pots still on the stove.

  Finished the carving, Eve wiped her hands and surveyed the kitchen for another task needing attention. Seeing nothing she turned to Delilah and said, "I'll just go change Tom's dressing and help him get ready. You won't mind helping Fong if he needs anything, will you?"

  "Of course not," Delilah assured her. With worried eyes, she watched her sister disappear into the bedroom. She hoped that Eve wasn't pushing herself too hard.

  "Missy . . . ?"

  "Yes?" Delilah turned at Fong's call.

  "You go out. Ling suppa gong. Call men. Yes?"

  "Oh, yes. Certainly.” She'd seen the triangular-shaped gong hanging from the porch rafter earlier. "Come on Poochie," she said to the small dog who had been following her around the table for the past few minutes seeking attention.

  A sharp yap and an eagerly wagging hind-end signaled the little canine's approval.

  A cold sharp wind whipped Delilah's skirts about her legs, and tugged strands of hair from her chignon as she stepped outside. The afternoon sunlight had been smothered by a preternatural twilight. The sky overhead, so clear and blue earlier, was fast filling with ominous black thunderclouds.

  They were in for a storm.

  As Poopsy sniffed around the porch, Delilah rang the bell for a good long minute, cringing a bit at the assault on her own ears. Then, seeing an acknowledging wave from the direction of the barn, she called Poopsy and turned to go inside. It was as she was turning that she caught sight of a dark form descending a hillside to the West. Though the distance was much too great for her to discern the identity of the rider, instinct told her that she knew who it was.

  Blast! Eve was right. Sheriff Chambers was coming to supper.

  Opening the door, she let Poopsy scamper ahead of her and then entered the house in time to see Eve helping Tom to the table. She closed the door quietly behind herself in an effort not to disturb them and leaned against it as she observed them. Tom was supporting himself as well as possible on a pair of crutches, but it was obvious that he'd lost a considerable amount of weight and was very weak. His complexion was pasty white, perspiration beaded his brow and upper lip, and huge dark shadows marred the flesh beneath his eyes. He should not even have been out of bed. As Tom lowered himself slowly, painfully to a chair at the table, Delilah glanced at Eve to see an answering pain etched on her face.

  Eve and Tom may have fallen in love at a young age—Eve had been just seventeen and Tom only twenty—but there was no question in Delilah's mind that they loved each other. Her heart ached for them. For her sister, who stood to lose the man she loved. And for the young man who, plagued by the insecurities and pride of the young, preferred losing his life to becoming less than a whole man. But if Tom passed, at least they had known love. Love, the kind of love shared by a husband and wife, was something Delilah had long ago resigned herself to living without.

  "Delilah!" Tom exclaimed, having just noticed her presence. "Eve told me you were here. It's nice of you to visit.” Tom's voice, labored and weak, nevertheless communicated a genuine gladness to see her. "Come on in and set yourself down, why don't you?” He continued to smile as Delilah moved forward to greet him.

  Smiling, Delilah hugged her brother-in-law and tried not to notice how thin his broad shoulders felt. "It's nice to see you again, too, Tom.” Straightening, uncertain whether to acknowledge his illness or not, she decided it would be foolish to try to pretend she couldn't see it. "I'm very sorry to hear
about . . . "

  "I know. I know," Tom interrupted her, weakly waving away her sympathy. "Let's talk about more pleasant things.” He hitched himself a bit awkwardly into a more comfortable position on his chair, and Delilah noted that his injured leg was swollen to near double its normal size. "You know," he continued, "having you here will be like a breath of fresh air for Eve. She talks about you all the time and rereads your letters until the blame things are near to fallin' apart."

  Delilah smiled wistfully. "I do the same," she admitted.

  At that moment, the door opened and two men that Delilah had not yet met swept in on the tail of a brisk, chilly wind to hang their hats on pegs next to the door. "Storm comin'," the older of the two announced without preamble.

  Moving to stand at Delilah's side, Eve introduced the grizzled old man as Rattlesnake Joe. The younger man at his side, who looked to be no more than his mid to late twenties, she presented as Mr. Stone.

  Mr. Stone looked at Eve with dark blue eyes that suddenly made him seem older than Delilah's initial estimate. "I told you before, Mrs. Cameron, the name's just Stone. Puttin' a mister in front of it makes about as much sense as spittin' into the wind."

  "Would that be your first or last name, sir?" Delilah asked.

  Stone swung his gaze to her. Looking into his eyes, Delilah would have wagered her last dollar that he'd already seen enough of life to last a lifetime. "Take your pick, ma'am," he replied coolly.

  "I see. Well, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, M. . . uh, Stone."

  For an instant Delilah thought she might have seen a glint of humor in Stone's eyes, and then it was gone. "Likewise, ma'am."

  In a gust of wind that carried the scent of moisture, the door opened again to admit Mr. Wright, Jim Eagle Shadow, and, to Delilah's dismay, Matt Chambers. As they each hung their hats next to the door, Delilah hastily turned to find something to do to occupy her attention. As though reading her mind, Fong placed a knife in her hand and indicated a fresh loaf of bread that required slicing.