Hell's Belle (25 page)

The man who'd never
had a plan, never cared about tomorrow, who took dares because he was
essentially both reckless and rootless…Now he was a different person. Had to
be, because now he could close his eyes and see a dynasty. A future with family
reunions at his thriving ranch, children and grandchildren, a whole circle
bound by blood and love.

There was so much
he wanted to tell her…but then again, she probably didn't need telling. The
same gal who'd trusted him with a fortune was smart enough to see a lot without
being told. Del's lips quirked at the thought of their wedding night. He'd
believed he was coercing her into matrimony. Into his bed and into his arms.
Where she already knew she belonged.

* * *

"I wonder
what's become of your cousin, Mrs. Mitchell." Manus Vogel speared a
sausage and chewed it thoughtfully. "He hasn't arrived. I do hope he
hasn't become lost somewhere in town."

Twila acknowledge a
tiny pang of guilt. She'd barely noticed Lucius' absence. She'd been far too
busy being romanced by Del. She didn't dare look over at her husband, who sat
before a heaping plate of sausage, toast and eggs prepared by the Vogels'
housekeeper. Del didn't usually have such a mammoth appetite. She didn't want
to reflect on what he'd done recently that might have increased it.

"Perhaps he
found a card game somewhere and simply lost track of the time," she
answered. "I understand he's developed a penchant for gambling halls since
we came West."

"Yeah,"
Del agreed. "I've heard mention from the boys they've seen him around town
in a couple of the gambling spots. Which I thought a little odd. Guess he
doesn't take after your uncle. You think we should wait here for him and not go
to the church social?"

"Oh dear, you
wouldn't miss that?" Hilde seemed genuinely distressed. "I do so hope
to introduce you to my other friends."

"My joints are
too swollen for me to be about these days," Manus volunteered. "You
young people go along and enjoy yourselves. I'll entertain Mr. Bell if he turns
up while you're gone."

Twila threw Del a
questioning look. "Maybe he'll turn up before we have to leave. What time
is that, Miss Vogel?"

"Not until
noon. Yes, let's hope your cousin arrives before then. We have numerous
unattached ladies who might appreciate a bachelor in their midst. We're to have
dancing, you know."

Twila bit into a
square of toast to keep from laughing aloud at the notion of Lucius Bell as an
eligible bachelor, dancing, charming the young women from Hilde's church. About
as likely as a hog wearing a bow tie.

When they left the
Vogel house at a little after twelve, Twila told herself she benefited the
local ladies by not subjecting them to the obnoxious personality of her missing
cousin. "Guess his business took longer than the thought," she
remarked to Del.

"We're leaving
before nightfall, whether he makes it back or not. I need that palomino more
than I need him. If it weren't for the fact I lent him my horse, I'd just as
soon forget the idiot."

Twila wanted to
agree, yet she was plagued by the nagging worry Lucius might have fallen ill or
victim to foul play. However, she couldn't fret long. Miss Vogel kept her
distracted much of the afternoon, introducing her to this person and that,
insisting they wander the booths and sample all manner of delicacies and
treats. After a biscuit with fresh honey, Twila asked Del if he'd fetch both
her and Hilde a cup of punch.

Some time later,
she realized he still wasn't back. She didn't see him near the punchbowl, or at
another table offering pitchers of fresh lemonade. He wasn't over near the food
tables, grabbing another fried chicken drumstick or biscuit, either. Maybe he'd
sought the men's privy.

She rose and wended
her way through the crowd, but stopped short when she finally spotted Del at
the large gathering.

He was talking
intently to a titian-haired woman. Even as Twila watched, the woman pressed her
hands against Del's shirt and stood looking up into his eyes with a pleading
expression.

Twila stared in
disbelief. Clearly this wasn't some female Del had just met. Everything about
the tableau suggested familiarity. Intimacy. The low murmuring of their voices,
the way they stood so close together, looking intently at one another. She
swallowed and edged closer, using a clump of nearby folks chatting about bingo to
screen herself from view.

"I didn't want
to settle here," the woman was saying, almost in a protesting tone.
"It was happenstance. After Dan left, I didn't have much money. A woman
who attends this church lost her husband. In fact, they were laying him out for
his wake when I turned up, looking for some kind of traveler's aid."

This lady had been
so indigent that she'd come to a church to beg for alms? She didn't look poor
or downtrodden. She was attractive, shapely, not much different in age than
Twila herself. What could have befallen her, and how did she know Del?

"So the
gambler stranded you. I ought to be happy to hear that. Considering you left me
literally standing at the altar, looking the damned fool. Thought you had big
plans, you and your fancy man."

Twila swayed as the
room unaccountably dimmed and the air grew thick and cloying. If she didn't
leave the hall right now, she might well collapse in a heap on the floor. She'd
never felt faint like this, she acknowledged as she grabbed the back of a chair
for support, then lunged for the wall and used it to lean against as she made
her way to the rear exit. She felt so faint, near to swooning. Of course, she'd
never before been pregnant…or faced with the woman who'd jilted Del. He'd been
set to marry that woman. The shapely female with the long auburn curls, who
even now clutched at Del and blinked up at him with tear-stained cheeks.

Twila knew the woman
still wanted Del Mitchell. She was even now begging his forgiveness, trying to
get back in his good graces. That was obvious. What wasn't was how he'd react
to her crying and pleading, swearing she'd made a horrible mistake. He'd added
on to his house, bought a rug, planned a future for that attractive woman. Maybe,
confronted with her again, Del would reassess his feelings.

Had he really
fallen in love with Twila, or was his proclamation just the excitement of
learning he'd soon be a father? Twila knew some men reacted that way. Her
mother had often spoken of a distant male relation who professed to love his
wife madly every time she made another impending birth announcement—all five of
them. Yet in between the births of those children, and long after there were no
more, he continued to bed a series of mistresses.

Oh, Lord. Twila
felt truly ill now. Maybe there were too many people around. Maybe she
shouldn't have eaten that gooseberry pie, or the biscuit and honey. Maybe she
never should have come to Sacramento and tried to play savior . She groaned
aloud as her stomach knotted and she fought a wave of nausea.

Hilde found her. "Twila!
My word, aren't you feeling well? You look terrible. Rachel, get Mrs. Soapstone.
We must help my poor friend find somewhere to lie down."

Twila closed her
eyes, fighting a combination of mortifying sickness and impending tears. She
would never forget the sight of Del and that woman. Was he even now cursing the
fact he'd settled for less by marrying Twila?

If she could take
back one instant, it would be crossing the room to go see where Del had
disappeared to and seeing the sad truth.

She'd let herself
believe in dreams. She should have known better. Her name might now be Twila
Mitchell, but she was still and always Twilagleam Bell. Hell's Bell.

She didn't want to
face him. Didn't want to hear whatever false, jovial words he'd toss out,
listen to whatever lame excuse he'd offer for having been gone so long. Her
eyes flew open. Hilde was probably running over to tell him his wife was ill.
"Hilde!"

The girl hadn't
gone far. She spun back to face Twila. "Oh, dear. I've got someone going
for the church secretary. How dreadful that you've taken ill! I hope it's not
something in the food someone prepared, or—"

"I'm pregnant,
Hilde. It's…"
Del. I've lost Del .
"It's not the food. I'm not
far along and there's sickness sometimes. It will pass, I think. Just let me
sit here and—"

"What seems to
be the problem?" An older woman asked.

"My friend's
expecting and rather queasy."

"Ah, that
would explain it. A little dizzy, maybe?" Twila nodded, closing her eyes
as she bit back another groan. Mrs. Soapstone seemed hard of hearing and
practically shouted every word that left her mouth. Now she was prattling on
about illness and babies, drawing all sorts of unwanted attention as she helped
Twila back to her feet.

She needed to get
away from that church. Clutching Hilde's forearm, she asked if Mrs. Soapstone
could get word to her husband that they'd returned to the Vogel house, even as
Hilde nodded and encouraged Twila to lean on her for the short walk back.

"Her husband's
the young rancher in denim dungarees and a white shirt. Over there," Hilde
pointed.

Twila heard a
commotion and Del's voice downstairs just minutes after she'd collapsed on the
bed in the Vogel guestroom with a damp cloth on her forehead. Twila could hear
Hilde protesting that Del should just let her rest.

Yes, please
, her mind begged.
Let me
rest, Del. I don't have the strength for the ugliness that has to be faced just
now.

Twila closed her
eyes, let silent tears mingle with the moisture from the dampened cloth over
them. She wasn't sure she even possessed the kind of strength she'd need to
endure whatever hogwash he planned to dish out…let alone the strength to get up
and say goodbye to Del.

The last time Del
felt this strange traveling itch under his skin, a horse lay foaming at the mouth
in the barn.

He clenched his fists
and told himself to buck up, not make insane mental comparisons. Twila wasn't
about to die; she'd just eaten too many rich foods and had a brief fainting
spell in a public place. The older matron who'd summoned Del assured him that
sort of thing happened fairly often to women who were "in the family
way."

Del had naturally
been concerned, despite the reassurances. Partly for Twila's welfare, and
partly for himself. He'd never been comfortable around swoonish females with
delicate constitutions.

He also didn't much
like the fact he'd returned to the Vogel household to find himself barred from
Twila's side. He couldn't very well pitch a fit and bellow at the young Vogel
girl. He'd only just met her. This was her home, after all, and he was an
invited guest…which meant he was expected to act like a gentleman. And the girl
was only trying to help, he reminded himself.

Couldn't very well
grouse at the old man, either. He'd been sitting home the whole time nursing
his gout and waiting for that pus pocket, Lucius Bell…who still hadn't turned
up.

Del could hang
around waiting for Twila's fainting spell to end…or he could do something
useful—like track down that errant storekeeper's son. Always a man who opted
for action over mental debates, Del announced he'd take the buggy and head out
to scour the city for young Lucius and the missing palomino. When Twila arose
from her nap, hopefully she'd be pleased to know Del was on the trail of her
cousin.

Manus Vogel nodded
and told Del not to worry. Del's wife was safe and secure. Hilde assured Del
she'd be there to look after Twila, and they had a family doctor nearby should Twila
need medical intervention. More likely she just needed a rest and a cool bath.
Del didn't have anything more to say, so he crammed his hat on his head and
stalked out of the house.

Thinking he'd
witnessed one rotten turn of events that day.

He'd had a vision
in his mind when he agreed to staying over to attend the social, thinking it
would be his chance to make up to Twila for never having danced with her. What
he didn't stop to think is Twila hadn't danced with
anyone
before. He
should have guessed that skinflint uncle of hers wouldn't have paid for dancing
lessons or ever allowed her to socialize…No, Fletcher Bell would have been
talking potential catastrophes and kept her home, sweeping and dusting.

She'd been game
enough to try, but mostly stepped on Del's feet and apologized profusely every
thirty seconds or so. He could see she wasn't having any fun…and he wasn't
making a dashing romantic gesture, the way he'd hoped. Nope, he was actually
embarrassing his bride again in front of strangers. So then he'd suggested they
give up dancing and try sampling the various foodstuffs…which had apparently
made her sick.

And as if those
developments hadn't been disappointing enough, it turned out he'd stumbled into
the very same church where one Betty Lee Lydecker was a pew-camping regular.
And of course, he had the ill fate to run smack into Betty Lee while trying to
rustle up some punch for Twila. Betty Lee…a woman he'd thought never to lay
eyes on again.