Authors: Christine Michels
Delilah shifted uncomfortably. "I haven't been having the best of luck lately," she conceded. "But tonight went well. I'm hoping that's an indication of a turn for the better."
Cora regarded her silently. Finally, she said, "Me too. And I don't mean that just for my sake, Delilah. I'll have your cut ready for you in the morning, as usual."
"Tomorrow is Sunday," Delilah reminded her.
She smiled. "I know, but I'll be here regardless so you can come by if you like."
Delilah nodded and rose. "Thank you, Cora. And, don't worry, I'm fine. I'll see you tomorrow then, all right?"
"Sure. Get a good night's sleep, honey. You look like you need it."
A minute later, Delilah headed for the main door of the saloon. Since there was no option but to walk past the bar, she prepared herself to very composedly pass the sheriff. She'd nod in acknowledgement perhaps, but she had no intention of speaking to him. He, however, forced a change in plans.
"Hold up a minute, Mrs. Sterne," he said. He'd resumed calling her Mrs. Sterne when in public. "I'll walk you back to the hotel since I'm goin' that way anyway."
"Thank you, Sheriff, but there's really no need," Delilah protested. "Stay and finish your drink."
He tossed back the whiskey remaining in his glass in a single swallow and said, "I'm finished."
Furious, Delilah could only nod and resume her walk toward the door as if she couldn’t have cared less whether Matt joined her or not. But of course he did, grasping her elbow solicitously in the process. The heat of his hand burned through the fabric of her gown, deriding her guise of indifference.
Once they'd gone a short distance from the saloon and the clamor began to fade, Delilah heard Matt take a deep breath. "Nice night," he commented.
She looked up at the sky overhead with its myriad of diamond-like stars. It
was
a nice night, but she refused to be lulled into complacency. "It was.” The tone of her voice left no doubt as to her meaning, but Matt ignored the bait.
Seeking to change the subject, Delilah asked, "Did you find the rustlers yet?"
"Sure did. I've got them locked up in my jail right now. All except the one that Doc Hale's got, that is."
"Thank heavens!” Delilah halted to face him. "Were any of the cattle recovered?"
"Some, but not near as many as were stolen. Seems like they probably shipped some already."
"Were any Devil's Fork cattle amongst them?"
He shrugged. "It was too dark and too late to try to sort out the brands. Wilkes will be goin' on out to do that tomorrow."
Delilah nodded, taking in the lines of fatigue around his eyes and resumed walking. "Is that why you were late tonight?"
Silence, and then, "Why Mrs. Sterne, you didn't miss me by any chance, did you?"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
They came to the edge of the boardwalk and Matt gripped her elbow more firmly as though to support her when she stepped off to cross the street. Heavens! One might assume her completely incapable of navigating the vast distance between boardwalks without the assistance of a man! A tart statement to that affect hovered on the edge of her tongue, but she merely tugged her arm from his grasp and quickened her step in the hope that he'd get the message.
"Is something wrong, Delilah?” The humor underlying his tone suggested a combination of intimacy and banter.
"Wrong? What could be wrong, Sheriff? You know how very much I enjoy your company."
"'Bout as much as that dog of yours enjoys rain?" he ventured.
Delilah had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. Blast the man! He did have a certain appeal. "Less," she said. "Much less."
"I aim to change that."
"Really?" she asked. "I didn't know you knew any magic?"
"Magic?"
"Of course, Sheriff. If I remember my mother's Irish tales of enchantment correctly, there are only two ways to change my opinion of you. Either you become someone else, or you use sorcery on me. Both options require magic."
"I see.” Samson considered the woman at his side. Even in the moonlight, she was beautiful. His eyes slowly tracked over her, touching upon her face, her very kissable lips, moving over the fat sausage curl that fell artfully from the crown of curls upon her head to rest upon her right shoulder, down to her breasts. Perfect breasts, neither too small nor too large. "Well, I think I might know some sorcery," he murmured.
They halted in front of the hotel, and Delilah looked up at him. There was a slight frown between her brows. "What kind of sorcery?” Samson was staggered by the innocence in her eyes.
How could a married woman be so innocent of the ways of men? Of the courting rituals and sexual innuendo? Of kissing?
"Why don't you let me accompany you to the church social on Wednesday night, and perhaps I'll tell you," he said.
Delilah stared up at him. "You never give up do you?"
He shook his head. "Never was a quitter.” Especially when it came to something he wanted as much as he wanted Delilah. "We're meant for each other."
"What you mean is that
you
think I'm meant to be your mistress, isn't it?"
Samson wasn't stepping into that mess again, so he stayed silent. It didn't seem to matter though. Just the memory of that conversation seemed to make her mad as a wet hen all over again. Her lips thinned. Her eyes flashed. And, even in the moonlight, he could see the color in her cheeks deepen. She sure was pretty.
"No answer, Sheriff? Well, I guess it doesn't matter since you made it perfectly clear the other day what you thought. So my answer is: no, thank you, Sheriff Chambers. I have no desire to be insulted again. Neither do I have any desire to listen to another of your lectures on the evils of my gambling life. I'm here to make the money my sister needs to keep her ranch out of the hands of the bank, and then I'm moving on."
Samson filed away that piece of information for future reference. It seemed that the ranch wasn't as financially sound as Tom had believed when he'd given Samson the money to hire Colton. But, the money was already in an account at the bank in Colton's name, so there wasn't much he could do about it now. He returned his attention to the woman at his side and the goal he had in mind.
"Will you go with me if I give you my word I won't lecture you or insult you in any way?"
Delilah gave a rather indelicate snort. "I don't believe you."
"Blast it all woman!" Samson said, losing his patience. He didn't know how to woo her let alone win her. "I can't be that bad."
"On the contrary, Sheriff, I find you insufferable. You profess to admire independence in a woman, yet you say a lady should not gamble while at the same time you have no such strictures against gentlemen. That's an unfair and rather old-fashioned double-standard for this modern age, wouldn't you say?"
"Old-fashioned!” Samson couldn't believe his ears. Damnation! He wasn't yet thirty years old. How in blazes could he be old-fashioned. "You think I'm
old-fashioned
?"
Delilah nodded. "Most definitely. And a bit of a hypocrite as well, I believe. You see nothing wrong in telling me exactly what is required of me to be an acceptable lady, when you yourself fail entirely to act as a gentleman should. In fact, as I believe I once told you, your manners are more suited to the bordellos, sir."
Damn the woman had a tart tongue! "Anything else?" he asked quietly, warningly. Delilah, however, did not know him well enough yet to take heed.
"Yes, sir, as a matter of fact there is. I not only have no desire to accompany you to the social, but I am completely indifferent to your presence in my life. Were I to choose a male companion to accompany me to the church social, I would choose a
gentleman
. So,
please
leave me alone."
"Indifferent!” Now
that
hurt. The blamed woman had about as much snap and sting in her tongue as a bullwhip! But if there was one thing she was not, it was indifferent to him. And he intended to prove it. Before she could protest, he pulled her into his arms. Whether from surprise or because this time she knew what to expect, her mouth was open; ready for his invasion. He took it without hesitation.
Remembering his determination to overcome her fear of men, Samson immediately gentled his embrace, simply holding her against him as his hands roamed the contours of her slender back, memorizing it even as he committed to memory the shape of her mouth. The way her lips clung to his. The way she tasted. Just holding her was heaven. But it wasn't enough. His sex began to strain demandingly against the confines of his denim trousers. But he maintained rigid control. Until. . . oh-oh.
Lost in sensation, knowing only that she wanted, needed more, Delilah raised her arms to his shoulders. His too-long hair brushed the backs of her hands with a warm, subtle caress. Heated satin against night-chilled skin. It felt so good. Turning her fingers up, she ran them through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, learning its texture. He groaned deep in his throat, an animalistic needy rumble, and everything within her went still as she strove to interpret the sound.
Had it been a response to her simple touch?
What would happen if. . . Slowly, cautiously, she began to kiss him back, guiding her tongue forward to stroke his as he'd been stroking the insides of her mouth. She was rewarded by a reflexive tightening of his embrace and another deep male rumble, almost a growl.
For the first time in her life, Delilah examined the possibility that, in male-female relationships, women, too, had power: The power to give pleasure or withhold it. It was a concept she'd never imagined, and wasn't yet sure she believed.
He lifted his mouth from hers for a fraction of a second as he sprinkled kisses over her forehead and temples, and Delilah was vaguely aware that they were moving. In the next instant, she felt the firmness of the hotel wall against her back and realized that he had moved more deeply into the shadows. Upon the heels of that observation came the realization that she was allowing herself to be kissed, very thoroughly, on a public street. No matter that it was after midnight and almost everybody was abed.
Someone
might see them. But before she could even form the words of a protest, his mouth was back on hers and the brief flash of reason fled.
At that moment in time, there was nothing Delilah wanted more than the masterful possession of his mouth on hers. Nothing she cared about more than the intoxicating sensation of feeling the fluid steel of his big muscular body beneath her hands. Nothing she needed more than that brief moment of feeling her heart beat in unison with another—just this once no longer alone. Her breasts swelled and tingled, aching with a peculiar heaviness she didn't understand. Instinctively, she moved closer to him, pressing her throbbing bosom more firmly against his hard chest, snuggling closer to the furnace-like heat of his big body. It felt so good to be held in his firm, but gentle embrace. So good. . .
And then, she froze as she felt something else. Its hardness pressed insistently against the soft flesh of her abdomen. Fear poured in upon her and she wrenched her mouth from his. Oh, God! How could she have forgotten? "Let me go, please.” Her words were little more than a whisper. He didn't respond. "Please!" she begged a little more desperately.
As though he sensed the source of her sudden fear, he tried to comfort her. "I won't hurt you, Delilah," he murmured as he rubbed her back with soothingly warm hands. "You have my word on that.” She made no response. Could find no words to say. "You believe me, don't you?" he asked.
Hesitantly, because she thought it might make him release her more quickly, she nodded. But, in truth, she didn't believe him. He might not plan to hurt her—not the way Jacob Sterne had—but he would hurt her. How could he help it? The size of. . . that part of him made it incomprehensible that it could be otherwise. How she wished that she could accept that fact as other women seemed to. Perhaps it was the warmth and gentleness they found in their husbands arms that made the other part of lovemaking bearable. She didn't know. But she did know that she simply couldn't accept it. Everything within her rebelled at the mere thought of that horrible invasion of her body. All she could think of was escape.
"I have to go, Matt," she said as she slowly, unsteadily stepped out of his embrace. Oh, Lord, she had to get away. Away from this man. Away from this town. Away from. . . the horrible conflicting emotions that threatened to tear her apart. "Goodnight," she managed to whisper.
"Goodnight, Delilah.” His smooth baritone was so gentle, so seductive that tears stung her eyes as she forced herself to turn away. Her knees trembled, but somehow she found the strength to walk toward the hotel doors. She half expected him to say something to stay her, but he didn't, and a moment later she shut the hotel door behind her with a sense of relief. . . and despair.
Slowly, with renewed exhaustion weighing down her limbs, she climbed the stairs to her room.
* * *
The next morning, Samson was in the process of washing up before breakfast when there was a knock at his door. Turning he frowned at it. After a near sleepless night, he'd slept a little later than usual. The result was that he'd missed the church service—which he usually attended. Still, it was early for callers.