Promises Kept (17 page)

Gage Hardy looked up to see the man who had interfered when he was outside with Delilah. He thought this cowboy might know where she was living. “As long as you have money to lose,” Hardy replied in a friendly tone. “My luck seems to be running good tonight.”

Colt stuck out his hand. “Colt McBride. Mr. Hardy, right?”

“That’s right.” Hardy accepted the proffered hand.

Colt held the bottle over Hardy’s glass. “No hard feelings, I hope.”

Hardy nodded and Colt poured. “No hard feelings, but I don’t care what she is calling herself now, she
is
Delilah.”

“Well, that’s neither here nor there. Let’s play poker.” Colt put his bills in the center of the table.

“Do you know where she lives?” Hardy found himself asking too quickly.

“Actually, I’ve just met the lady in passing. Can’t say I know much about her at all,” Colt hedged.

Neither man mentioned Victoria or Delilah again. They played poker while Colt provided the whiskey.

Hardy easily consumed every glass that Colt poured. The more he drank the more talkative he became, and the more money he lost to Colt. After two hours the conversation finally got around to Victoria, but Hardy continued to call her Delilah. Fortunately, no one else at the table had the slightest notion who he was talking about.

“I’m telling you that was Delilah. She might have been a young little thing back in Abilene, but she was a looker even then.” He was slurring his words, but Colt had no problem understanding him.

“You say she worked in a saloon?” Colt prompted, filling his glass to the brim.

“The Lucky Slipper. She was the prettiest gal I ever laid eyes on.”

Colt clenched his fist, wanting more than anything to give the guy an uppercut that would land him in the next town without teeth, just for the way he looked when he talked about her. “Wouldn’t she have been pretty young to work in a saloon?” He fairly barked the question, causing the other men at the table to pause in their card playing to see if they needed to back away from the table.

Hardy had consumed so much whiskey he didn’t see the dangerous glint in Colt’s eyes. “Yeah, she was young, but I like ’em like that anyways.”

“You say that was four years ago?” Colt picked up the last card dealt to him and threw some bills on the table, trying to show interest in the hand when he couldn’t have said what cards he held. “I’ll raise.”

Throwing his cards to the table, Hardy leaned toward Colt and lowered his voice. “I walked into the wrong room. Best mistake I ever made.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “That’s when I saw her. She was . . . in a tub . . . she was so beautiful . . . sitting there in the water. I forgot all about . . .” His words trailed off, his mind going back to that night four years ago. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his whiskered face with both hands. He’d replayed the events of that night in his mind thousands of times over the years. He had been drunk that night, but not so drunk that he didn’t remember most of what happened before the bartender knocked him out.

He’d seen Delilah several times in the kitchen of the Lucky Slipper, but he’d never been able to talk to her. One night he asked Ruby who she was and she told him Delilah had been a surprise that she hadn’t gotten rid of in time. Ruby bragged to anyone who would listen that Delilah was going to be her ticket out of Abilene; she was planning on selling her to the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in San Francisco. Ruby was a fine-looking woman in her day, but she didn’t have a decent bone in her body. He always thought she hated her own daughter because she was more beautiful, and her own beauty was fading.

Kitten told him that night that she was leaving Abilene the next day with Ruby. They were headed to San Francisco, and he figured they meant to take Delilah with them. When he walked into her room it was like fate smiled on him. After all this time he couldn’t shake thoughts of her; she’d become his obsession. Every man who laid eyes on Delilah knew there was something special about her. She was all wide-eyed innocence, the kind of face men dreamed about.

Watching Hardy’s eyes take on a glazed appearance, Colt knew the man was lost in his own thoughts, blocking out everything but his memories.

Colt had never wanted to hit a man so badly; sheer willpower kept him pinned to his seat. Throwing his cards down with such force they skittered across the table, he grabbed the bottle instead of Hardy’s throat, and poured himself a generous portion. He had a bad feeling the man was telling the truth, or at least the truth as he thought it to be. Hardy was convinced Victoria was Delilah. As fixated as he was on the woman, it wasn’t likely he wouldn’t recognize her. Was Victoria truly this Delilah? It made no difference to Colt if he was telling the truth or not; he wanted to punch him anyway. At least he wanted to beat the memories of Victoria-Delilah from his brain.

Moments ticked by before Hardy started talking again, telling the end of his story. “The bartender cracked my skull with the butt of a shotgun. Next thing I know I’m in the middle of the street with one heck of a headache. The Lucky Slipper was on fire.”

“On fire?” Colt repeated. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly, since his mind was numb after hearing Hardy had obviously tried to take advantage of a young girl. Thank goodness for that bartender.

“Yeah, the saloon burned to the ground that night.” Hardy leaned back in his chair and whispered, “That was the last time I saw her. Until tonight. I thought she might have died in that fire. But she’s been right here waiting for me.”

Colt didn’t comment because Maddie leaned over his shoulder. “Are you winning, honey?”

“A few hands,” he replied.

“Would you like me to get you a steak?” she asked, trying to keep him in the saloon as long as possible.

“No, thanks. I’m getting ready to call it a night.” His mind was still chewing on the story Hardy told him, and he couldn’t summon up the interest to spend time with her. He knew she wanted him to stay, and he wondered if she needed money since he hadn’t been around for a while. She didn’t make any tips off his table tonight because Colt had poured the drinks, trying to get Hardy loosened up and talking. When he stood and stuffed his winnings in his pocket, he discreetly passed a handful of bills to her.

“You don’t have to give me this, Colt. I didn’t earn it.” She tried to put the bills back in his hand.

He leaned down and whispered, “Yes, I do.”

She watched as he walked out the swinging doors. Something had changed between them, but she didn’t know what or why.

Chapter Seventeen

Judd Detrick from the Cross Bar D ranch was walking into the saloon as Colt exited. “What are your men doing on my range, Colt?”

“We’re just rounding up strays, nothing unusual about that. And it’s open range,” Colt reminded him as he released Razor’s reins from the post.

“Your men are crossing my land to get there. My men will round up any strays and bring them to you. We’re finding enough dead cattle without letting cowboys ride to and fro as they please.”

Colt clamped his teeth together, swallowing what he really wanted to say. “What’s this really about, Judd? We’ve never had a problem before.”

“That was before. Now I’ve got enough problems, and until I find out who’s rustling my cattle, and sending squatters, no one is coming on my land that don’t work for me. I’ve burned out three squatters just this week.”

Colt stared him in the eye, forcing himself to keep his temper under control. “As I said, it’s open range. I’m dealing with rustlers same as you. We never once had a problem until Wallace showed up, and we don’t need to be fighting each other now. That’s playing right into his hands.”

“We don’t know if Wallace is behind this,” Detrick countered.

“Let’s call it a strange coincidence then,” Colt replied, grim faced. Detrick wasn’t the kind of man who made friends, but they had always been able to work out any differences in the past in a peaceable manner. “I’ll be speaking to the judge when he gets here, let him know what’s been going on with the sheriff. Maybe he knows something about Wallace that we don’t. At least he’ll be aware we’re having trouble.”

“Judge Ross?” Detrick snorted. “I guess you haven’t heard then.”

Colt pushed his Stetson back on his head. “Heard what?”

“Ross was ambushed on the trail into town. A couple of my boys found him dead last night. Shot in the back.”

Colt rubbed his hands over his face. “Aw hell.” He hated to hear that news. He’d always been fond of Judge Ross. Last time he was in town, Colt invited him to the ranch for dinner. The Judge told him he was planning on retiring in a year, moving back to Texas and teaching law to one of his nephews.

Detrick walked into the saloon without further comment, and Colt stood with his arm braced on a post, thinking over everything that had taken place since Wallace came to town. Nope, not a chance in hell it was a coincidence.

He was so preoccupied thinking about the Judge being ambushed that when he drew Razor to a halt at the front porch of the Barlow farm, he surprised himself. Obviously Miss Victoria Eastman had also been on his mind. After listening to Hardy’s story, he wasn’t sure what he believed about her. But, Delilah or Victoria, the gal sure had a storehouse full of secrets.

He barely made it out of the saddle before Bandit began barking from the other side of the door. He rapped soundly on the door, though he doubted Victoria could hear him above the dog’s raucous yelping.

“Who is it?”

“Colt McBride.” He envisioned her with that derringer aimed at the door. That thought made him smile.

The door cracked open a few inches. “Mr. McBride, what are you doing here?”

Colt eyed her through the opening as Bandit tried to inch his nose through to sniff Colt’s leg. “I thought I would stop by and make sure everything’s okay.”

“Oh . . . everything is fine,” she answered cautiously. Bandit wedged his nose through the small crack and Colt caught a glimpse of her clutching her robe together with one hand while trying to keep a firm hold on the door with the other. Bandit had other ideas; he managed to poke his head through the opening, forcing Victoria to release her grip on the door. The dog jumped on Colt like he’d hadn’t seen him in months. Colt squatted down to rub his ears. “You smell a mite better than the first time I saw you.” He glanced up at Victoria. “The dog, not you.”

She pressed her lips tightly together in an effort not to smile, but she failed. She liked the way he treated Bandit, and the dog clearly adored him. Surely if Bandit trusted him she shouldn’t be afraid of him. “I scrubbed him down earlier. I have to bathe him nearly every day since he’s always getting into something. Generally it’s water and mud.”

“Where’s Bartholomew?”

“He went back to his own cabin.”

After a few minutes of lavishing attention on Bandit, Colt stood and discreetly eyed her apparel. Under that yellow robe she was holding in a death grip, he saw a hint of white nightgown touching the floor underneath. “Do you think you could offer a neighbor a cup of coffee?”

Smelling whiskey on him made her clutch her robe tighter. “Umm . . . well, I just had a bath and I’m afraid I’m not dressed for company.”

He knew he made her nervous, but if she was determined to stay in Promise she needed to find out who she could trust. He stepped over the threshold. “Bartholomew told you we don’t stand on ceremony out here. You look fine to me.”
Did she ever.
Her robe was some sort of silky fabric, the kind of thing a man just wanted to touch. Even though she had a gown on underneath, both garments were clinging to her in all the right places.

Looming over her like he was made her feel claustrophobic. He was too tall . . . too muscled . . . too . . . everything. And she definitely smelled whiskey. She stepped back.
He was headed to the saloon when I last saw him. Why had he left so early? And why is he really here? Had he talked to Hardy?

Colt had the feeling she thought he was ready to jump on her, and she couldn’t make up her mind whether to push him out the door or run. She was right about one thing: He wouldn’t mind jumping on her because she smelled so good, like flowers on a spring day. He hadn’t been the least bit interested in Maddie tonight, but one look at this woman and his mind started going down roads that he shouldn’t travel. He removed his hat and gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. “I won’t bite.”
Not hard anyway
.

Her eyes flashed up to his and he grinned at her. That grin. That was the second time he’d grinned at her like that, and just like the first time, it was disarming. His smile totally transformed his face and he didn’t seem nearly as threatening. She could just imagine ladies falling into a puddle at his feet when he grinned at them. Definitely Lucifer himself. She told herself to relax, he didn’t appear drunk, and he’d proven himself to be a man she could trust. So far. Although she hadn’t been around him when he’d been drinking, she reminded herself. Earlier tonight she made a vow to overcome her fears, so there was no time like the present to stop acting like a simpering fool. “There’s some coffee left over from supper. It’s still on the stove.”

When she turned and headed for the kitchen, Colt closed the door and followed behind with Bandit on his heels. He tried to take his mind off how good she smelled. He managed to do that, but then he focused on her hair cascading down her back past her hips.
Aw hell
.
So much for good intentions.

Stopping at the doorway of the kitchen, he leaned against the doorjamb and looked around the room. He spied the tub in the corner still filled with soapy water. “Were you finished with your bath?” The devil in him was saying
Please say no, I promise not to look.

Victoria reached for two cups. “I was just finishing when I heard your knock.”

Tossing his Stetson on the table, he moved to the tub and hoisted it in the air. “Would you open the door?”

She turned to see him holding the tub of water like it weighed nothing at all. It was all she could do to wrestle the thing off the hook on the back porch when it was empty. She hurried to the door. “Thank you so much, Mr. McBride. I knew I would spill half of the water trying to drag it to the door.”