Hell's Belle (18 page)

Much as his father
fought the notion initially, Lucius had convinced Fletcher to invest in a horse
and wagon. They often needed to pick up goods in Reno at the train depot.
Wadsworth and its outlying farms and homesteads sprawled over a wide area. Not
every customer could walk the equivalent of a couple city blocks, as patrons
had in Omaha. Here in Nevada, having their own rig allowed them to compete
successfully with the dry goods store. So they'd established delivery service
for a modest fee.

Lucius had happily
volunteered for delivery duty. Anything was preferable to standing behind a
counter all day. Fletcher enjoyed waiting on customers, so the division of work
suited them both. The recent break-in had been confusing, and the sheriff had
nothing new to report. But then Lucius believed he'd spotted someone who didn't
belong in town. A fellow he'd recognized. And he began to wonder.

Not that it was
impossible those English fellows might migrate here from some other locale. He
just didn't understand why they'd want to. They'd been headed for Oregon, or
maybe the Yukon territory, the way he remembered the conversation on the train.
So why would they turn up here, months later? And why would either of them
skulk around in his wake?

He had the
uncomfortable suspicion he knew the answer. They might still believe there was
a gold mine and a map, even though he'd confessed the tale had been invented
purely as a joke. He wasn't laughing now. The more he thought about it, the
more certain he became that he'd actually seen both men. Several times. First
in Reno near the depot, then in Wadsworth.

If they were holed
up here in town, a saloon was the logical choice. From what Lucius remembered
of them, they dressed well and seemed cultured, educated. But they weren't
registered at the tiny hotel near the post office. Lucius had checked, asking the
postmaster if he'd seen two gentlemen fitting their descriptions. Stanislaus
was pretty much the local busybody and generally knew everything that went on.
He hadn't seen them.

Their delivery
service having increased store profits and Twila's departure reducing overhead
costs for the household, Fletcher Bell had turned his attention to a certain
local widow. He no longer kept such a tight watch on his grown son. Lucius made
a point of visiting bawdy houses and drinking establishments. He'd already been
to several, including Minerva's, the most infamous of the lot.

They weren't hiding
away in Minerva's.

But then Lucius
spotted one of them at a table far in the back of Jacob's Ladder.

He might have
guessed. They seemed like gents who appreciated a touch of irony. Jacob's was
the only house of ill fame which tried to disguise the fact, feigning some
nobler purpose. The stairway to depravity was well hidden at Jacob's, and the
local jest was that a fellow needed a ladder to get back down to the gaming
parlor when he'd completed his other business. Honest women were told the
upstairs rooms were for storage and emergency shelter. This was usually
proclaimed with a wink.

Lucius wondered
what kind of "shelter" the English fellows were currently obtaining.
He paid a strumpet who'd had her eye on him earlier to get some information.
She didn't mind a bit curling into his lap and laughing while he pretended to
drink and fondle her charms.

"They've been here
a month or so," she murmured into his ear. "Have a couple rooms way
up in the back."

"Girls say
anything about them, anything odd?"

She gave him a
suggestive snicker. "There's odd, and then there's unnatural. Which sort
do you mean, sugar man?"

"I've seen
those two somewhere before. There was a robbery then. There's been a break-in at
my store now. I'm wondering if it's pure coincidence."

The trollop sat up
straight and stared Lucius in the eye. "You saying they're confidence
types or thieves, or something? I heard whoever got in didn't even take
anything from your emporium."

"If these men
are who I suspect they are, they didn't find what they were looking for. But
they haven't left town, which means they could be back. I just want to know, so
I can be ready."

She thought for a
minute. "Maybe. They flash a bit of coin now and again. But they don't
seem obnoxious about it, you know? A lot of fellas, after hitting big in the
gaming hells or striking it rich, come through here and brag. These men are
pretty quiet. But they do have unusual tastes."

"Like
what?"

Her open palm
waited. Once Lucius dropped another folded bill into it, she tucked it into her
corset and snuggled closer to whisper in his ear. Lucius knew he'd flushed
bright red at her description. He'd gone pretty stiff himself, which was even
more embarrassing.

"Well,"
he choked out, clearing his throat as if casual and unimpressed.

"We could try
that too sometime," she purred, stroking the bulge in his pants. "You
obviously like the sound of it. Want a little taste? I'll give you a sample up
in my room."

As much as he
wanted to say no, to keep himself focused on the investigation behind the
scalawags, Lucius was only human. And actually a goddamned virgin to boot.
Looking on the bright side, he didn't need any more money for drinking and
gambling, searching the town. He'd found his quarry.

So he followed her
upstairs, determined to find out at least part of what his quarry knew that he
didn't.

Twila reviewed the
second missive from Hilde Vogel. As Twila had suspected, the girl hadn't
realized she'd accidentally swapped their look-alike satchels. She'd tucked what
she thought was her brown satchel into the far back of her sleeping berth, and had
never seen it again after the robbery. She was very sorry Twila's possessions
were gone.

And beyond relieved
to hear that her own were safe in Twila's care.

She'd be thrilled
for Twila to pay them a personal visit, perhaps plan to stay over a night or
two. Her grandfather was anxious to play host to Twila and whomever would
escort her to Sacramento. Surely someone must—for as they all knew too well, a
woman shouldn't risk traveling alone in these dangerous times.

No, Twila
reflected, she couldn't do that.

First of all, she
was sure Del would never permit it. She knew how closely he monitored daily
routines at the ranch. He knew each chore assigned; Sandy Thayer, his foreman,
seemed to know every time someone went into town. Twila knew Del himself had
gone alone to town more than once to confront people like her uncle, and that
he surreptitiously watched how people treated her at church or anywhere in the
heart of Wadsworth when she was there with him.

She'd have to tell
Del about the necklace and ask him to take her to Sacramento for a few days.
Henry had done all he could. She couldn't reasonably ask more of him—like make
a personal delivery out of state. And Twila didn't want the foreman or anyone
else knowing there'd been a secret she'd shared with Henry Dobbs. It was
nothing disgraceful, but she knew only too well how people hereabout talked. A
secret between her and one of the wranglers would only provide fodder for more
speculation and rumors. She didn't need more of that. Neither did Henry or Del.

So she'd just have
to explain the whole peculiar story of the train robbery, and have Del escort
her to Sacramento, either on horseback or by train. A shout broke into her
thoughts.

"Mrs. Mitchell!
The foreman said I should… come get you. Ma'am?" A loud knock sounded.

It was young Leon,
she realized as she crossed to answer the front door. And he looked upset.
"What is it?"

"Ma'am, you
got to come. There's been…accident," he panted.

He was clearly out
of breath, distraught, and only one word burned in Twila's mind.

Del.

"It's Del,
isn't it? Has he been hurt?" She clutched her skirts and got ready to run.

"No,
ma'am," he gasped out. "Not the boss. Jordan Zoyer got…thrown,
and…Mr. Thayer said to get you."

She raced with him
to a fenced ring she knew they used for training particularly difficult
animals. Her heart thudded as she took in the scene. A horse lay on its side in
the center of the ring, a trail of blood leaking from its hide. Someone had
shot it. A knot of men gathered on the far side by the fence. Those on their
feet had their hats clutched to their chests. Grim faces and traces of moisture
on their cheeks told her the worst had happened. Someone had been killed.

No, not someone.
Jordan
.
Del's closest friend. Jordan had been killed trying to tame a wild horse.

She flung herself
at the men kneeling around a still form on the ground. The human barrier parted
enough to admit her into its center, where Del sat cradling Jordan's body in
his lap. The eyes of the other men silently informed her Del himself had shot
the horse. A rifle lay in the dirt nearby. She could see what had occurred, by
the section of damaged fence and Jordan's head lying at an impossible angle.

She watched in
mingled horror and disbelief as her husband tried to massage the ruined neck back
into place and awaken the dead. He kept talking quietly to Jordan, telling him
the horse was finished, the pain would let up soon. Everything would be right
again. Nothing to worry about.

"
Del
."

She'd choked out
his name in a raw whisper. He paused and raised pools of slate blue misery to
her face. "Twilagleam, help me. If we can just hold him straightened out
until the doc gets here to splint it…"

Sandy Thayer
appeared in her line of vision. He shook his head at her, then jerked it toward
the main house. This was why he'd sent Leon to fetch her. Del had lost his
reason. She could see from the way he cradled his friend to his chest that a
part of him knew Jordan's broken neck could never be repaired. Somewhere in the
back of his mind, he knew his efforts were futile.

Sandy gently
reached for the body. "I'll take him, Del. Donald rode for the doc. You
best get your woman up to the house. She ought not to have to see something
like this. She looks close to swooning. Why don't you help her get back over to
your place? I'll look after Jord for you."

Del stared from
Sandy to Twila. She pleaded with her husband. "Del, please do what he
says. Let Mr. Thayer see to Jordan. You know we all love him. You know we'll
all—" She squeezed her eyes shut. "Take good care of him."

As Sandy and the
other men gingerly pulled the limp body free, Twila moved to fill the breach.
She went into Del's arms, wrapping him tight. She held him without speaking,
rocking him softly, until she saw that they knelt alone in the dirt ring. The
wranglers had taken Jordan and gone away.

"Del, please,
let's go up to the house. I've very tired. Jordan's resting right now, and I
think you should lie down too. Come with me, please Del. I need you alone with
me. Right now."

She thanked heaven
now for those decadent afternoons in their bedroom. Del's mind was numb. He
needed routine, sameness, safety. She somehow convinced him to get to his feet
and follow her. She led him to their bedroom, undressed him and tucked him into
bed. When she'd left the house with Leon, it had been mid-afternoon. Now it was
dusk, with the coming night the toughest she'd ever had to face.

When she would have
gone to the front room, thinking to fetch the bottle of liquor she knew he kept
in the sideboard, Del reached for her arm. "No, Twila. Strip down. Stay
with me. I don't want whatever you're going after. I just need you here with
me."

She held her
husband in her arms, stiff and cold at first, weeping and miserable much later
in the heart of that dark night. Shortly after dawn the following day, Del
roused himself and said they had to see to a proper burial. If Phillips were a
decent man of the cloth, he'd want Jordy buried in the church yard. But as
things stood, Del said it seemed proper to bury Jordan Zoyer out near the river.

The men had taken
his body to the bunkhouse, bathed it, dressed it in his Sunday best. Now they
wrapped him in a tarp from the barn and laid him to rest, taking turns
shoveling dirt over him and mumbling words of sorrow as they commended his
spirit to his Maker. Twila stood silently beside Del, holding his hand. He'd
lashed two boards together into a makeshift cross and ordered one of his
cowboys known for a talent at whittling to carve the words:  No finer man, no
fitting fate.

She didn't have any
ready phrases of comfort to offer. It didn't matter; she sensed that Del
benefitted from her calm presence beside him. So she stayed close beside him as
he went to the barn, down to the south paddock, then back to the house. Wherever
Del went, she shadowed him.

They sat in the
front room in silence, the only movement Twila's needle as she worked on
repairing his coat lining, the only sound the occasional snap from the low fire
he'd laid. Suddenly he spoke in a ragged voice.

"Twila, don't
you up and leave me like he did. I'll get through this because I have you, but
if I ever lost…I don't know if I could stand it."