Hell's Belle (21 page)

Henry nodded and
released the pommel. "And you don't go flaying her cousin, neither. Maybe
he does have business in town. Maybe not. Could be he wants to keep an eye out
for Twila, against his own pa's stubborn outlook. That Fletcher Bell is about
as sour a man as God ever made. Surprised he didn't grow on a lemon bush. I say
if the younger Bell's willing to accompany Twila and see them Vogels, it's to
his credit. Buryin' the hatchet, and all that."

Del went back to
the house and studied the surroundings, looking for any sign, no matter how
small, that something wasn't right. Surely if Twila were being coerced into going
with Lucius against her will, she would have found some way to leave a clue.
But there wasn't one.

The only strange
thing he noticed, after scouring the place for half an hour, was the mysterious
brown leather bag she was so touchy about was missing.

She'd never let Del
so much as lay a finger on it. Kept it clutched to her chest all the while that
first ride together, out to Reno. Again all the way riding back here. She'd
tucked it away in the back of a bureau drawer Del had emptied for her use,
behind a petticoat, where he might not see it.

If he hadn't peeked—well,
outright
spied
—while she'd been asleep one night as his new bride.
His
bride.

Dammit! The phrase
wasn't just some technical description of the place she occupied here on the
ranch, a minor legality. She was his woman, his mate, the closest person he had
left in the world now that Jordy had gone out of it, and he'd come to care
deeply for her.

The insidious voice
of doubt whispered that she might be little better than Betty Lee. Only this
gal hadn't run off with some fancy man. She couldn't run off to get married.
But she'd as much as admitted that she'd tried to run off from Wadsworth
before. Maybe this time she'd bade her cousin take her to freedom. To
Sacramento…or even further west? To San Francisco, and a steamer?

Christ, she could
go anywhere from—but she didn't have any money to speak of. Or did she?

Del jerked on his
coat and fairly flew into the saddle, digging in his heels so the big palomino
hit the dirt at a full gallop. Del realized he'd never looked
inside
that precious brown leather satchel. The way she obsessed over it…was just like
someone who kept their life savings in the thing. She might have been skimming
profits away from her uncle, embezzled from him even before they headed West.
She'd made it clear that the entire four years she'd lived with the Bell men
had been a miserable hell for her.

She hadn't come out
here that pecuculiar afternoon in search of Henry specifically, he saw now. Not
Henry himself in a personal way, but because of Henry's connection to the other
folks, those Vogels. Whoever the hell they were. Del was positive he'd never
heard the name before today.

And now she'd left
town with the precious mystery bag, their address, and a couple of hours head
start.

Nice try, lady,
Del glowered as he hunkered down
for the long ride.
But you've never seen me truly angry. What I did to your
uncle is nothing compared to what I'm going to do to everybody I meet up with
in Sacramento, if they figure to help you get away from me. God better help
those Vogels!

* * *

"The Lord does
indeed work in mysterious ways, my friend," Cookson chortled as they
boarded the train for Sacramento.

Just when they'd
been wondering how to get the information they needed from their elusive young
friend, Lucius Bell, they learned of interesting news hailing from the Mitchell
ranch.

Having become
semi-permanent residents of Wadsworth's Hell on Wheels, they'd discovered that
the Bell girl had eloped and run off with a local rancher by the name of
Mitchell. They'd dug up what they could about him, but that seemed a dead end. No
one seemed to offer much explanation for the sudden nuptials, save for the
remark they'd heard more than once in town—that the groom had been jilted by
his previous intended. Maybe he simply wasn't willing to take chances with
another formal "engagement." Perhaps it had been lust at first sight.

"He'd have to
be in rather desperate marital straights to go for that gangly young ninny from
the train," Marquardt theorized when they'd first learned about it. He'd
certainly seen nothing in her to inspire lustful cravings.

But now Cookson
wasn't so sure about the Bell family and their odd doings.

They'd operated
under the assumption that there was no love lost between the Bell cousins. Yet
as soon as they'd left the emporium that afternoon, unable to question Lucius
as intended, he'd apparently gone straight out to the Mitchell ranch, and
ultimately left town with his young female cousin.

More intriguing was
the rumor they'd caught over a game of poker at Jacob's Ladder that same night.
A cowboy from the Mitchell ranch said everyone working for Del Mitchell had
been startled when he'd suddenly ridden out of town, as well. Except the
foreman appeared convinced it was because there was something suspicious about
the wife's story concerning supposed pressing business in Sacramento.

"I'm telling
you, my nose it itching again," Marquardt confided in a hushed whisper as
the train began steaming out of the station. "There's something strange
surrounding those Bells. Maybe the whelp stole his father's map, or maybe he
invented that tale to hide the true source of their means…but I've caught a
whiff, my friend. The Bells have
something
of rare value clinging to
them. Gold, jewels, stocks…treasure of some kind. I can smell it."

Cookson settled
against the seat and tugged his hat brim down to cover his eyes. "We shall
see. But if your nose is wrong, I'm going to find myself a new partner. Your
nose was certain the book with the treasure map was hidden somewhere inside
that store, too. Nothing there but a few farthings and a crude assortment of rubbish.
Americans," he tsked, "so woefully rustic."

* * *

"So these
people in Sacramento," Lucius said, pulling back on the reins as they surmounted
the crest and then began their gradual descent on the winding mountain road,
"who are they again, and why is it important that you call on them?"

Twila bit her
bottom lip. She'd never admitted about the mix-up on the train and saw no
reason to launch into a convoluted explanation now. She would greet Hilde Vogel
and return her satchel. That would end the matter. The less Lucius knew, the
better. Besides, he hadn't exactly been forthcoming when she'd questioned him
about his sudden desire to rush out of Wadsworth.

"Miss Vogel
sat with me on the train, that last evening before the unfortunate incident. She
was in the sleeping car later with her grandfather. We sat up front with Uncle
Fletcher, which is why we never met up with those horrid bandits
ourselves."

"Right. And
you and this Miss Vogel have established a habit of penning letters back and
forth?"

He could be an
absolute badger when he made up his mind to unearth something, so Twila decided
to turn part of his own fabrication back on him. She opened the top of the
satchel enough to display several wisps of frothy lace. "I've made her
some love handkerchiefs and embroidered a chemise for her. I've quite a bit of
spare time now, living at the ranch."

Twila glanced back,
hoping to see a lone rider at the pinnacle behind them, but the shadows were
long, the pines thick and the road empty. She straightened and made a show of
reorganizing the items inside the satchel. Then she tucked it back under her
feet and spread her cloak over her knees. " Brrr, I'm glad we went back
for this. Do you think we'll reach the main heart of the city soon? If not,
perhaps we should take a room in the first inn we come upon. I'm not sure it's
a wonderful idea to push on once it's fully dark."

Lucius shrugged,
but she noted he rubbed his free hand over his thigh in an effort to warm
himself. "I suppose that's not a bad idea. Don't know how much a pair of
rooms might cost, though." He dug down into his coat pocket.

Twila stopped him
with a hand on his arm. "Lucius, I have some coin with me. Not a fortune,
but I can probably manage two modest rooms. It's not as though we need anything
beyond basic accommodations…and of course, livery for the mare."

Lucius threw her an
odd look and Twila couldn't help laughing. "I
do
live with a horse
rancher, remember? Give me credit for having learned at least the rudiments of
how one raises and cares for horses."

"Forgive me. Somehow
I just never imagined you as a rancher's wife…You were always just my hapless cousin,
Twila."

Oh, how well she
knew. His bald remark kept her riding in silence for the next hour or more.

They found a small
inn at the base of the Sierra Nevadas, and Twila quickly learned they were now
officially in California. She glanced around. Clearly, despite rumors to the
contrary, proclaiming gold lying about everywhere for the taking, California
was just as rugged and inhospitable as what she knew of Nevada. They paid the
innkeeper for two tiny rooms and his stable boy took charge of the mare and
buggy. Twila insisted on all the luggage being brought inside with them and the
satchel being in her personal possession at all times. Lucius had protested at
first, until she reminded him of her previous meeting with Miss Vogel. How the
train had been robbed and Uncle Fletcher had been the first to howl in indignation
about possibly being "robbed in his sleep."

Lucius grumbled,
but dropped his complaints when they were shown to a corner table for a meal of
mountain stew and thick bread. The beef was stringy, what Twila was able to
find of it in the overabundant sauce. The tomato concoction seemed to cover up mostly
undercooked carrots and chewy hunks of onion. As she hit one of those hunks,
suddenly the whole bowl nauseated her, both by its appearance and smell.

Twila lurched to
her feet and ran outside, becoming violently ill beside the far corner of the
building. She'd just wiped her face and begun to take slow, deep breaths to
calm the storm when she heard hoof beats and a man shouting that he needed
livery for his mount. He heart leaped, but she couldn't be sure she knew the
voice. Until the rider neared enough for her to see it was indeed a palomino
and a rider wearing a battered cowboy hat and coat she recognized.

"Delancy!"

The woman flew from
the shadows along the side of the inn so abruptly, Del had to rein Caramel
sharply to avoid running smack into her. He wanted to snarl that she needed to
grow some eyes in her skull when he abruptly realized she'd been shouting his
name. The hood of her cloak fell back.

"
Twila
?
For God's sake! Do you know how frantic I've been? I've been beating the life
out of that poor animal, chasing after you like the crazy woman you obviously
are, for running off without—"

His tirade got cut
short by her arms flying up around his throat even as he was trying to
dismount. He hadn't realized she knew how to get a man in a headlock, but if he
didn't manage to peel at least one arm away from his windpipe, she'd win this
wrestling match. Del just got one forearm in a solid grip when a slumping fellow
shuffled out of the livery stable. "You folks want to take that on inside?
Bruce has got beds and locks on the doors for rabbit-thumpers like you."

Twila's chuckle
rang out like music to Del's ears. "We better go on inside, Del. I already
have a room. Lucius is eating supper. Maybe you'd like some stew? I wasn't very
hungry. Couldn't finish mine."

She stood there and
beamed at him. Pleased to see him. Pleased with herself and seemingly life in
general. As if he shouldn't be taking her over his knee and walloping her for
the heart palpitations she'd caused him all afternoon long. Not to mention that
big seize-up a minute ago, when she flew at him like a bat straight out of
Hell.

Hell's Belle.

Nope. He was mad as
a peeled rattler, ready to spit on somebody and pound somebody's face into a
wall—and really didn't care if both those somebodies turned out to be her
cousin from the store. But Del wasn't going to think of Twila like that. He was
furious with her, but saw it was going to be all but impossible to stay mad at
her.

Especially since
she'd grabbed his hand and brought him into the inn. She was smiling at the
other patrons who gawked at them as they burst through the door into the warm
dining room. "Everyone, this is Mr. Del Mitchell. He's a horse rancher
from Wadsworth and my husband." She then glanced at the man scowling at
Del from the corner near the kitchen. "Is there any more stew? Mr.
Mitchell's bound to be fearful hungry."

Fearful hungry.

Whatever leftover
fury he'd so carefully stoked the past couple hours got dashed. Because those
where his own words most nights when he got back to the house. He'd go inside
to wash up and walk his woman down to the cookhouse for dinner. No matter what
Biscuit had cooking or how questionable its aroma might be, Del routinely
announced that he was fearful hungry, then sat down to make a show of eating as
though it were true.