Authors: Shirl Henke
He did as she asked, then combed his fingers through his hair, muttering, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Women!”
She placed her hand over his gently. “No, I am not. I can see when you’re hurting and I understand why. Which is the reason
you must apologize. If you didn’t already know that yourself, you wouldn’t be sitting here stewing.”
He looked up, his expression grim. “She’ll gloat. She’ll probably throw things, maybe even use that little pea-shooter of
hers on me.”
“Better that than Uncle Horace’s more formidable Colt,” Sky said dryly.
“I’m only doing this because we’re business partners and can’t afford to be at each other’s throats for the rest of the trip.”
As he stood up and began to put on his jacket, which he’d hung across the back of his chair, Sky hid her smile. “Just so you
make a handsome apology,” was all she said.
“Yep, I’ll use my Southern charm. We both know how much she likes that.”
Like a man facing execution, Clint walked to Delilah’s cabin and paused before the door. Dinner was in half an hour and he
had to get this over with before they were forced to sit at a table together with her glaring daggers at him…or, fearfully
looking away. No, she was too much woman to do that in spite of his abysmal behavior last night. He’d seen her watching him
this afternoon. If she were afraid, she wouldn’t have stood out on the deck and stared down at him as he toiled with the roustabouts.
Delilah Mathers Raymond was calm, brave and incredibly self-possessed—when she wasn’t displaying the devil’s own temper. Then
bravery became reckless abandon. Somehow the vision of her with green eyes flashing and a gun in her hand ignited a fire deep
in his belly. How in hell could he desire a woman he mostly wanted to strangle? Sighing in resignation, he raised his hand
and knocked.
“I have something to say to you, Deelie. Please.”
Inside, Delilah had heard his approach and peeked through the window curtains, watching as he stood motionless for several
moments before he announced his presence.
I bet he
choked on the
please
part.
Deelie, indeed! He was dressed in what she had come to think of as his gambler attire, an expensive dark suit, ruffled white
shirt and polished black boots. He looked obscenely handsome. She made him wait for several more moments, then opened the
door.
“Yes, Mr. Daniels?” she asked coolly, not inviting him to enter.
She wore one of her best gowns, a deep violet silk with a low neckline and clever cap sleeves. The neckline and skirt hem
were trimmed with matching violet lace. She knew the cut of the dress emphasized her cleavage and small waist. As his eyes
swept over her, she felt an odd frisson of excitement mixed with perversely pleasurable fear.
Clint glanced away from the incredible enticement of her body, checking up and down the walkway to be certain no one was near.
“This is very personal business. It might be better if I spoke my piece in private.” He gestured toward the sitting room behind
her. “Unless you’re afraid to let me in. I’d understand if—”
Delilah yanked open the door and spread her arm to indicate he should enter. “By all means, do come inside to —speak your
piece,— Mr. Daniels. I am
not
afraid of you.” To empha-size that, she closed the door, even though she could smell whiskey on his breath. Then she walked
purposefully to the settee and plunked herself down. It was that or fall down most ungracefully. Her knees and heart were
pounding counter-rhythms as he stood in the center of the room, hat in hand.
He cleared his throat. “Look, what I did last night after the fight, it was abominable. I deeply regret losing my temper and
hurting you. Please accept my apology.”
“Handsomely done. Apology accepted, Mr. Daniels,” she added with a half smile to calm her nerves. When he nodded and turned
toward the door, she found herself blurting out, “Tell me, did it take a full bottle of contraband whiskey to work up your
courage?”
His pale eyes bored into her when he turned back. For a moment, Delilah was afraid she’d pushed too far. In poker she’d done
it. Now she was doing it again. And her aggressiveness always cost her dearly. When would she ever learn? She forced herself
to stand up and face him in spite of her pounding heart. But he surprised her with a long, slow grin that spread across his
face, adding to the sun creases at the corners of his eyes, revealing the startling whiteness of his teeth in that bronzed
face.
“Nope. But it did take half a bottle.”
With that, he tipped his hat and walked out the door.
She fought the urge to throw a handy statuette from the side table after him. Instead, she settled for a pillow from the settee.
He wouldn’t be able to hear it bounce off the door.
They settled into a routine as the steamer struggled mightily against the powerful Missouri currents. Tying up nights, and
sometimes during the days when torrential spring rains came sweeping down, they were always forced to stop midday for loads
of wood. Several times, when wooding stations were not nearby as the fuel grew low, the cautious Dubois had them pull over
and the crew went ashore with axes and saws to chop dead falls for the voracious boilers. Clint alwayswent with the men and
returned as sweaty and disheveled as any of them.
Sky told Delilah after his first chopping foray that she’d had to treat his hands with herbal ointment because of blisters.
His once-callused palms had grown soft dealing cards in St. Louis. Clint’s sister, along with Horace, had become intermediaries
between the two, who spoke politely at dinner but avoided each other the rest of the time.
The
Nymph
dropped off cargo in Hermann, a small, bustling German settlement around a hundred miles upriver. The picturesque river town
was situated on the bluffs in a heavily forested area that the industrious farmers were quickly taming to the plow. Vineyards
stretched their long, twining branches in rows following the contours of the rolling hills. For the first time, Delilah left
the steamer after finishing her tally of the goods unloaded and money collected for plows and other farm implements.
It felt good to plant her feet on solid ground, and the town was charming in an old-world way. Horace accompanied her and
Sky on an excursion to the merchants on the main street. A dressmaker’s shop caught her eye when Sky pointed out a gown in
the window.
“It would be perfect for you, Delilah! Look at the color. Why, it matches your eyes exactly,” she said, tugging her friend
across the street.
“I already have several green dresses, Sky. I don’t need any more, and besides, we can’t afford—”
“Tut, my dear. If you want the dress, we can afford it,” Horace said, taking her other arm.
Standing in the door of a beer hall down the street, Clint watched them coax Deelie into the dressmaker’s place. He found
himself wandering casually, too casually, nearer to that shop window. Before the proprietress removed the mannequin with the
gown, he saw why they wanted her to buy it. The deep green velvet rippled with light, changing from almost black to vivid
grass green.
Green as cat’s eyes.
He banished the thought, or tried to, then waited in the shadows across the street, watching to see what would happen. Soon
Deelie emerged from a fitting-room door wearing the green velvet. At Sky’s urging, she turned in a circle. There was some
exchange between the seamstress and the potential customers. In a few moments, the trio left the shop sans dress.
Clint waited until they were out of sight down the busy street, then entered the shop, all the while cursing himself for a
damned fool. A thick-set, gray-haired woman with wire-rimmed spectacles squinted as she smiled at him.
“What can I do for you, sir?” she inquired in a heavy German accent.
“That dress—” he gestured to the green velvet folded over the counter behind her—“why didn’t the lady buy it?”
“Ach, first it cost too much, she said. Then the alterations I could not do before their boat leaves. Too many excuses to
me it seemed for such a dress. Made just for her it was and her uncle, to buy it he offered, but no, no, said she.” The old
woman threw up her hands in disgust.
Obviously the gown must cost a pretty penny, but he’d seen the way Deelie had touched the fabric, the way it matched her eyes
and set off the fire in her chestnut hair. “Tell you what, we leave in three hours, give or take, when the cargo’s unloaded
and passengers come aboard. Will you have time to take in the waist about so?” he asked, holding his hands in a small circle
to indicate the size of Delilah’s waist. “And let out the bodice about so?” Again, a gesture. “Length looked all right.”
The German woman nodded. “Ya, and it is a good eye you have for the lady’s measurements,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Is she your
schatz?
”
“My fiancée? Lordy, no! Er, that is, well, let’s just say I owe her one and am trying to make peace.”
Her shrewd blue eyes now measured him as her grin widened. “And you are willing to pay how much extra forthis peace, hmmm?
I will have to close my shop and work without stopping.”
Clint threw down a wad of bills on the counter beside the glistening velvet. “If you need more, just send the bill along with
the dress to
The River Nymph
by three this afternoon.”
“This I can do,” she said, scooping up the money.
Clint ambled out of the shop, cursing himself for ten kinds of a fool. Deelie’d probably throw the damn gown into the Big
Muddy before she’d give him the satisfaction of wearing it…unless he convinced Horace to lie and say he’d bought it
for her.
He smiled grimly. Clinton Daniels was as good at manipulating people as he was cards…except for one contrary female.
The
days grew longer and the temperatures rose higher as they reached the twisty stretch of the river bordering Kansas. In spite
of her antipathy toward Clint and her anger over the whiskey, Delilah greatly enjoyed Sky’s company. Since her widowhood and
the tragedy that followed, she had not had a woman friend. Although Sky was eight years her junior, she had seen much of life.
Being of mixed blood, she had experienced prejudice just as Delilah had as a woman in her profession.
“It must have been terrible when your husband fell in battle,” Sky said after her friend had mentioned Lawrence Raymond in
passing conversation as they strolled along the hurricane deck one sunny afternoon.
Delilah appeared to consider for a moment. “It all seems so long ago…a lifetime, really. This will sound terrible, but
there are times when I find it difficult to remember his face.”
“That’s only natural, considering everything you’ve been through. Among my father’s people, men have always prepared to face
death as part of our culture. Long before the whites came, nation warred against nation, even groups within a tribe raided
and killed each other.”
“I hope your education will help your people survive in a world where whites rule. It must have been very difficult, being
alone in a big city all these years,” Delilah said.
Sky smiled. “Oh, but I was never alone. Clint brought me here and paid for my schooling. He visited me often when I was at
the ladies’ academy, hired tutors for me and then arranged for me to read law.” She paused, as if consideringwhether she should
continue, then said, “Our lives have been rather analogous in a way—you with your uncle and I with my brother. Horace has
been your protector and Clint has been mine.”
Somehow the idea of Clint Daniels as a protector of female virtue seemed hard for Delilah to grasp. “You have remained in
the respectable world while I have been forced far outside its pale, I fear—although certainly through no fault of Uncle Horace,”
she quickly added.
Her reply was an evasion and Sky knew it. “You believed the worst of my brother from the first time you met him, didn’t you?”
Delilah could feel her cheeks heat. “I take it you heard the story about the poker game and its…er, aftermath.”
With a mischievous smile, Sky replied, “All of St. Louis heard, although please don’t tell Clint that I know he stripped naked
in front of a lady.”
“I scarcely qualify as a lady, but it was a clever maneuver on his part, the wily devil,” Delilah said grudgingly. “After
that debacle, I couldn’t get a crew or do anything to operate the
Nymph
without his help.”
“He can be trying at times, but as I told Uncle Horace, he is a good man.” Sky was not certain how much of their conversation
Horace had shared with his niece. “Did your uncle explain how he rescued me and my sister from the soldiers?”
Puzzled, Delilah shook her head. “No, only that your sister was his wife and she died. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
A faraway expression washed over Sky’s face. “My sister and I were raped by three blue coats under Clint’s command. He was
out on reconnaissance. When he returned and caught them, he killed all of them before they could fire a shot in return.”
Delilah processed this startling information as she reached out and took Sky’s hand in hers. “Oh, my dear friend, you’ve suffered
farmore than I ever did. Is…is that incident howhe earned the name you first called him by—Lightning Hand?”
“He does not like to remember it, or any of the rest…af-ter Teal died. He was a good husband to her. And I think he
needs a wife now, even if he does not yet know it.”
Wishing to divert Sky from that line of conversation, Delilah quickly asked, “He was in the Union army? But I thought he was
a Confederate, or at least a sympathizer.”
“Have you ever heard the term
Galvanized Yankee
?” Sky asked. When Delilah nodded, she went on, “Clint agreed to serve the Union out West in exchange for the repatriation
of two men under his command who’d contracted tuberculosis as prisoners of war.”
“That was a noble thing to do.” Delilah hoped her doubt did not reveal itself in her tone.
“Yes, it was. There are many noble sides to my brother’s personality that you don’t know…yet.”The gleam returned to
Sky’s eyes when she added, “But you will one day soon.”
Fort Leavenworth’s imposing stockade perched one hundred and fifty feet above the river on a high bluff, like a sentinel guarding
the mighty Missouri from trespass. In spite of its martial purpose, the outpost was situated against a scenic backdrop. Stately
elms covered the hilltop, promising shade from summer’s heat, even though their spring buds had only now begun to open.
After Captain Dubois pulled the boat close to the shore, a hand-picked group of roosters quickly lowered the barrels of contraband
whiskey over the starboard side in specially designed nets that would hide them under the now still paddle wheels at the stern.
Clint oversaw the process while the captain watched from the wheelhouse, keeping lookout for the army inspector coming down
from the fort. Delilah paced nervously in her cabin, terrified that all their plans and dreams might be swept away in one
brief moment.
“You’re going to wear out that lovely hand-braided rug, child,” Horace chided from the settee where he reclined. “Perhaps
a tot of that whiskey might soothe your nerves.”
She looked at the twinkle in his eyes and smiled in spite ofherself. “You know I never drink anything stronger than sherry,
and that only when I’m not working.”
“These days, you appear to be working without respite,” “These days, you appear to be working without respite,” he replied,
gesturing toward the neatly stacked piles of inventory listings on the small desk in the corner. “The captain tells me there
is a lovely spot a few days upriver where we can stop for a picnic, providing that we continue making such excellent progress.
The wildflowers are in bloom, and their color should create quite a scenic panorama from the bluffs above the Missouri.”
Delilah gave an indelicate snort. “Providing we still have a boat in which to travel and aren’t in federal custody, awaiting
trial. Do you think the inspector will ask to see my cargo manifest?”
“I’m given to understand the inspections are fairly cursory, so I doubt it. But if they insist on seeing the manifest, I will
deliver it to them without the page listing the whiskey barrels. You will not be involved, my dear.”
“And what? Allow the army to carry you off in chains because Mr. Daniels insisted we carry contraband? No, if anyone is going
to lie to the inspectors, let it be Clinton Daniels.”
Horace watched her expression change as she chewed on her lip, turning over the situation in her mind. “Now, Delilah, what
are you thinking?” he asked uneasily, knowing that look on her face often meant she was planning some deviltry.
“Perhaps it would be best if neither of you spoke with the inspector. I’ll do it.”
“Now, my dear—” Before Horace could remonstrate, he knew he was defeated. When Delilah made up her mind, nothing could change
it.
“I’m the principal stockholder, and when need be you know I can charm birds from trees. Let us hope the inspector can fly.”
Just then a hail sounded from the shore and they could hear men’s voices below, welcoming aboard visitors. Withone quick glance
at the wall mirror to inspect her appearance, Delilah opened the door and stepped into the bright morning sunlight with Horace
behind her.
Clint knew the minute he saw the little runt that they were in for trouble. The army inspector, a shave-tail lieutenant from
West Point, walked up the gangplank as if he owned the boat. There was a scent about men who came from old money that Daniels
could always smell. Usually it worked to his advantage—when he sat across from them at card tables. But this was not a game
of chance. He remembered Delilah’s fear and fury about the illegal whiskey. Judging from the look of self-righteous priggishness
on Lieutenant Grayham Astor’s face, Clint would’ve known bribery was not an option even if Captain Dubois had not recognized
the young man from his last trip upriver.
“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Clint said to the bandy-legged little man, being careful to conceal any trace of Southern accent,
something he had trained himself to turn off and on at will, depending on circumstances. The little fellow wore a heavy mustache
whose bright red color ill matched his auburn hair.
Probably thinks it makes him look like a grownup.
“Welcome to
The River Nymph.
Can I offer you—”
“I’m here to inspect your cargo, sir, not socialize,” Astor replied curtly. He was flanked by two well-armed soldiers who
knew what they were supposed to do. They snapped to attention, then swarmed over the densely packed stacks of cargo like angry
ants.
Delilah could sense the short, homely little man’s imperious dislike of the tall, handsome gambler. She was glad she’d worn
flat-heeled slippers, else the lieutenant would have had to look up to her, too. Never a good idea when appealing to male
vanity. “I do declare, Mr. Daniels, where are your manners?” she asked, brushing past Clint to beam at the officer. “You must
forgive my business associate, sir. My uncle and I are principal owners of this boat, and as such I should be the one to make
you feel welcome. I am Mrs. Raymond.”
Clint stepped back, admiring the way she worked on theinspector’s ego, batting her lashes flirtatiously as Astor saluted the
back of her gloved hand and introduced himself. She wore a simple yellow dimity gown sprigged with tiny white flowers. Its
low neckline revealed the golden, sun-kissed glow of her skin. She had tied back her hair with a yellow ribbon. Clint found
himself imagining burying his hands in the thick cascade of chestnut-red curls falling down her back. Squelching the disturbing
image, he listened as she spoke.
“This is our very first voyage up the Missouri, Lieutenant Astor. It is so frightening, the wide openness of all this land.
And we’ve heard about terrible wild Indians and ghastly storms. You are so brave to serve your country out here.”
Astor cleared his throat, bobbing his oversized head in agreement. “It is a difficult task, but one that duty compels me to
perform. Meeting a beautiful lady such as you certainly lightens my burden, however.”
Delilah tipped her head and smiled. “Ooh, you are the charming one. And so dashing in your uniform. Please allow me to offer
you some tea. Our cook has just baked an apple pie this morning. She really is a jewel. I’m certain you’ll enjoy it. Perhaps
your men could have a piece, too…once they have completed their inspection.”
“You do understand that we must search every boat for contraband,” Astor said almost apologetically.
“Most certainly! Unthinkable for vile spirits ever to find their way to savages.”
She looks about to have a case of the vapors.
Clint hid his grin as she steered the enthralled officer to the bow of the
Nymph.
As they climbed the stairs to the hurricane deck and strolled toward the dining room, the indomitable Luellen would see that
the aroma of apples and cinnamon quickly diverted the men below from their search. Clint would bet neither of them had tasted
a piece of home-baked pie since they’d enlisted. The inspection would be cursory, indeed, thanks to his partner’s cleverness.
In a few minutes, Luellen Colter was mothering the two soldiers, urging them to have seconds of the warm pie whileDelilah
sipped tea with their peerless leader upstairs. Horace strolled toward the stern of the boat, where Clint stood with his arms
casually crossed over his chest.
“By the time those two females are through, we’ll be steaming safely upriver, cargo intact. Lord help a man faced with beauty
and good cooking,” Clint said.
Horace nodded. “I must confess that Mrs. Colter gave my niece the idea of diverting them with the pies she’d just taken from
the oven. After filling their bellies, they dare not let the lieutenant know they wasted so much time that they could not
complete their assignment with the thoroughness he doubtless expects.”
“He doesn’t strike me as the understanding sort,” Clint said dryly.
An hour later Delilah and the smitten young Astor emerged from the dining room. Sure enough, his men reported that the cargo
was all legal and everything shipshape. Luellen Colter, empty pie plate in hand, had already returned to her kitchen. Clint
and Horace watched the lieutenant click his heels and kiss Delilah’s hand again before strutting down the gangplank.
As she waved farewell to Astor, Clint walked over to her and said quietly, “If we run into any river pirates, you be sure
to invite them in for tea. You’d have ole Bluebeard himself eatin’ right out of your hand.”
“My, now your accent has returned. You are a chameleon, Mr. Daniels, as changeable as Missouri weather.”
“And you, Mrs. Raymond, are
more
changeable than Mis-sourah weather, from cold-as-ice gamblin’ lady to vaporing belle. Ever consider a career on the stage?”
“All the world’s a stage, Mr. Daniels. I do what I must to survive. You would do well to remember that.”
“You didn’t finish the quote.” Clint appeared to consider a moment, then recited, “ —All the world—s a stage, and all the
men and women merely players.’
As You Like It,
Act Two. Jacques goes on to say, —One man in his time plays many parts.— You’d do well to remember that.”
Puzzled and surprised, Delilah looked up into his pale blue eyes. “Quoting Shakespeare as well as my uncle. Since you possess
such erudition, I assume your family was wealthy before the war.”
Clint laughed without humor. “Hardly. My mother died when I was just a tadpole and my father was the town drunk. We weren’t
rich slaveholders.”
“Then why did you fight for the secessionists?”
“When we first met, you were certain I never fought for any cause,” he said, evading her question. “Have I risen in your esteem,
Deelie?”
“Not esteem. I’m simply curious about a man of mystery,” she replied, recalling Sky’s words about his
noble
virtues.