Authors: Shirl Henke
Delilah felt her stomach churn during Tucker’s diatribe. Once he was out of earshot, she stood up and asked her uncle, “Any
idea what we should do now?”
“First, we depart these hostile environs,” he replied, taking her arm. Backs ramrod straight, they walked out into the bright
morning sunlight. Once on the sidewalk they headed briskly down the levee toward the
Nymph.
Later that afternoon, Delilah sat drinking coffee in the riverboat’s salon. She awaited her uncle’s return. He had insisted
that she stay aboard while he checked around to ascertain whether Mr. Tucker had indeed expressed the prevailing sentiment
on the levee. The moment he stepped in the door, the grim expression on his face indicated that “gypshun galley slaves” might
be their only option. Damn Clint Daniels and Red Riley both!
On the verge of rage, Delilah pounded the table. “This all started because that arrogant exhibitionist wanted to humiliate
me!”
“Ah, Delilah, your interpretation of events is quite at odds with the general perception. Mr. Daniels disrobed in response
to a bet that
you,
dear child, proposed. And he humiliated
you?
Don’t blame the local population if they consider you the humiliator.”
She bit her lip, a small part of her admitting some degree of culpability in the fiasco. “He stands for everything I detest,”
she said stubbornly, as if trying to convince herself she’d done no wrong.
Horace wisely refrained from comment on that remark. He’d already opened old wounds with his admonishment and did not look
forward to laying out the limited options they had left. “I fear we have only two choices:We can seek to cut a deal with Mr.
Riley…or with Mr. Daniels. Since we can safely assume that Riley would rather cut our throats than cut a deal, that
leaves…” He paused.
“That leaves Daniels. But if we go to him, it would be like crawling!”
The old man lifted an eyebrow. “My darling, I think we will find it much easier crawling to Mr. Daniels than rowing up the
Missouri.”
The next afternoon, Delilah and Horace climbed into a dilapidated hack drawn by an even more dilapidated horse that clopped
its way up Walnut Street. They left the waterfront and headed toward one of the city’s more notorious sporting districts.
Clinton Daniels resided at the Blasted Bud Café.
“Leave it to a man such as your Mr. Daniels to reside in the midst of a host of bordellos. The Blasted Bud indeed,” she huffed
as they lurched up Walnut on their way to unthinkable humiliation.
“It is rather, er, colorful,” Horace replied, suppressing a chuckle beneath a cough.
Delilah tried to keep her mind off the impending meeting by observing her surroundings. She had never been this far uptown
before and was surprised to find that it was much cleaner than the levee area. They passed rows of small shops and mercantiles.
The buildings here were mostly of brick, probably courtesy of the great fire of ’49 that had destroyed not only steamboats
but also wiped out over fifteen blocks of the city itself.
When they began to hear the tinny tinkle of barroom pianos and occasional bursts of loud, raucous laughter, she mut-tered
aloud, “It’s bad enough to be forced to seek out the man’s help without having to barter for it in a whorehouse.”
“You were the one who insisted on coming along. I would’ve approached Mr. Daniels alone,” her uncle reminded her.
“And give him the satisfaction of thinking I was afraid to face him? Never.” Suddenly, she laughed as a new thought struck
her. This meeting would not be a humiliation for her. After all, this time it would be the man forced to sell himself.
If he’s so destitute as to live in a brothel, I should be able to offer him
more than enough to work for me.
Delilah chuckled again, her mood improving.
Horace didn’t like the sound of her laughter but held his peace.
The Blasted Bud was housed in a rather large and relatively new two-story brick building. Inside, a long flight of stairs
to the top story divided the bottom floor into two large rooms. To the left was obviously a ballroom. At the far end was a
slightly raised platform upon which sat an upright piano, chairs and music stands to accommodate a small orchestra. A gaslight
chandelier hung over the center of a highly polished dance floor. Tastefully appointed settees and lounges, together with
low glass-topped tables, were positioned around the dance area.
To the right was a second room sporting a long, highly polished bar. A mirror ran the length of the wall behind it. The floor
was covered by a plush blue carpet, and paintings of hunting scenes hung on the walls. The area contained several card tables
and one billiard table in the far corner. The overall effect was not unlike a select gentlemen’s club, the antithesis of Red
Riley’s makeover of
The River Nymph
.
Hidden in the shadows at the top of the stairs, Clint Daniels observed the old man and his niece as they entered the Bud,
pausing to take in their surroundings. He had wondered how long it would take her to realize that he was the only game in
town. Again he tried to assure himself that she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
But he wouldn’t bet on it…nomatter howgood the odds.
Today, she was dressed in a slender skirt, red with thin vertical gold striping. As she had on the boat, she wore a snug-fitting
waist-length jacket of solid red, fastened all the way to her throat with small frog clasps. Her hair was piled up on top
of her head again and crowned with another foolish little hat that he wanted to pluck off that mass of curls and stuff down
a crapper. He smiled. That hat was the only frippery about the woman. She wore no bustle and, in spite of her tiny waist,
he would bet that she wore no corset.
As Eva would say, “Show time!”
Daniels descended the stairs and strolled over to the couple standing barely inside the doors of the Bud. “Mrs. Raymond, Mr.
Mathers, I’m surprised to see you here.”
Horace arched a brow. “Ah, Mr. Daniels, why do I doubt that?”
“A long association with mendacious people?” Clint laughed.
Delilah smiled, smugly certain of her advantage. “And you would not be familiar with mendacity, would you, sir?” Without waiting
for an answer, she continued, “Do you have a place where we might talk privately? I wish to make you a proposition.”
Clint began to strip off his perfectly tailored pearl gray jacket. Delilah’s composure slipped. “I told you, sir, that the
last was an ill-considered jest! This is a serious business proposal.”
Daniels slipped his jacket back on. “Thank God, or pretty soon I’ll be wearing loincloths.” He flashed what he felt certain
Delilah would think a particularly hateful smile. “Let me offer you a seat so we can discuss your…proposal. Oh, yes,
and do note that there is not a single nude painting on the walls.”
He led the way to one of the corner card tables, pulled out a chair for her, gestured toward another for Horace and then seated
himself with his back to the wall. “May I offer you some refreshment—some tea, a cup of coffee, a shot of rotgut?”
Delilah shook her head. “We’re fine.”
The gambler nodded. “Yes, you are. Now, how may I help you?”
Sensing the way the gambler brought out the worst in his niece, Horace spoke up before she could begin. “My niece and I would
like to hire…or rather commission you to assist us in assembling a crew to man
The River Nymph,
Mr. Daniels. We have a cargo of freight that we wish to take upriver to Fort Benton. It has come to our attention that you
have…ah…numerous connections among the local community of riverboat men…”
Delilah broke in. “We would be willing to pay you generously to recruit a crew for the voyage.”
The gambler picked up a deck of cards sitting on the table and began to riffle them absentmindedly. The seconds dragged by,
and just when Delilah thought she would scream at him to say something, he asked, as if mildly surprised,“You are offering
me a job?”
Delilah responded sharply, “I do believe that is our intent.”
Silence again. This time the void was disturbed by the click of high-heeled slippers on the stairs. Then a slender silver-blond
woman made her way across the carpeted floor to stand behind Daniels. Through his straw-colored lashes, he watched Mrs. Raymond
examine the blonde, who placed her hand possessively on his shoulder. Delilah’s green eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.
“Mrs. Raymond, Mr. Mathers, meet Eva St. Clair, an old and dear friend,” he said with a perfectly straight face. Eva’s long
fingernails dug into his jacket, but she didn’t say anything.
Horace rose from his seat, took the blonde’s hand and kissed it with a courtly flourish. Delilah nodded, just barely. The
woman was undeniably a beauty, and the brunette had to admit that her Scandinavian fairness was certainly genuine. She wore
a revealing silk wrapper that displayed a number of her other charms, which were also obviously genuine.
“Business, Clint, honey?” Eva virtually purred, never taking her eyes from Delilah’s.
“So it would seem, Eva. My guests are offering me a job.”
Eva threw back her head and laughed. The sound was beautiful, and Delilah’s green eyes became greener and harder.
She probably practices…probably can do it even on her back…
especially on her back!
“Don’t be rude, Eva. You see, Mrs. Raymond, the reason your offer amuses my friend is that I am the majority owner of this
establishment. Mr. Brummell—” he nodded over his shoulder to a thin black man who had begun to play the piano in the other
room—“is one of my partners. He gets 20 percent for hiring musicians and managing musical entertainment. Eva, here, gets 20
percent for recruiting…er, other performers and managing the…ah, upstairs entertainment. I own the rest of this
rather profitable business.”
He let that fact sink in before continuing. “While I thank you for your interest, I’m not in need of a job. I’ll have the
bartender hail a hack for you.” His pale blue eyes went flat gray. “Good day.”
Delilah Mathers Raymond sat stunned.
Horace
was the first to recover. “Mr. Daniels, let us not be too hasty. Perhaps we could revise our proposition from one of employment,
which you obviously do not need, to a business venture that might be of some interest.”
Clint, who had already risen, heading toward the stairs, turned and cocked his head. “A business venture? Hmm.” He stroked
his jaw, allowing his eyes to flick briefly to Delilah, then ignore her and return to her uncle. “What do you have in mind?”
Bristling at his curt dismissal, she cut in. “What
I
have in mind is—”
“Er, would you pardon us for a brief conference?” Horace asked, now interrupting his niece. He didn’t like the look in her
eyes. “Could we use one of the tables at the other end of the room?”
Clint nodded, and the old man practically dragged her across the floor. Daniels could see the fury radiating from every delectable
inch of her body.
Quit thinking with your
nether parts, old boy, or that female will land you in deep water.
Ah, but what a wonderful way to drown! Then Eva glided up to him, and he realized that it might be wise for more than one
reason to put on a show of indifference to the beauteous widow. Mrs. Raymond knew how to handle a deck of cards, but he doubted
she’d fare very well in a catfight with Eva. Then again…the gambling lady might just surprise him.
Dismissing the visions of a naked Delilah draped across his big bed upstairs, he resumed his seat at the table. Daniels again
riffled through his deck of cards, although he watched hisguests from the corner of his eye. While Horace leaned across the
table talking intently, Delilah shook her head stubbornly. Her chestnut curls bounced and those cat eyes glinted dangerously
whenever she turned to glance in his direction.
Clint waited with an air of supreme indifference as Eva lightly stroked his back…more possessively than he liked. He
enjoyed her company and respected her business acumen, but no female would ever again own his heart. That had only happened
once and it remained a raw, aching wound. Besides, he thought, diverting his attention to the woman standing beside him, it
never paid to mix business and romance. A man always ended up with a losing hand both ways.
Finally, Delilah andHorace returned to their seats across from Clint. Delilah was flushed and began to speak, “First of all—”
“Perhaps it might be wise if I do the talking, my dear.” Horace’s voice was rife with caution.
When Daniels’s whore laughed softly, Delilah could feel her cheeks burning.
Slut, I’d love to give you a real belly laugh by
jamming an ostrich feather right up…
Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, Delilah ignored the blonde and fixed her gaze firmly on Clinton Daniels. Her
nemesis…her business associate. Damn him! “I believe Mr. Daniels and I can come to an…accommodation.”
“As you wish, my dear,” Horace said in a resigned voice.
“I’ll speak frankly, sir. We are prepared to make you a very generous offer. Ten percent interest in the
Nymph
and, of course, in our present venture, for your good offices in obtaining a crew.”
Clint looked from her to her uncle, then back to her, riffling the deck in front of him with one hand, drawing out the time
before he replied, watching her delectable derriere perched on the edge of the chair. Then he drawled softly, “By all means,
Mrs. Raymond, let us do be frank. Without my help, you’ll never get the
Nymph
up the Missouri. Unless, of course, you can find a crew of Egyptian galley slaves.”
Eva’s beautiful laugh splashed over Delilah like a bucket of lye water, but this time she did not allow her face to betrayher
fury.
Think of this like a poker game
. She focused on Daniels’s long tanned fingers expertly massaging the deck of cards. No, not a good idea.
Think of the boat
. That aided her concentration, until his next words jarred her.
“Everybody on the levee knows that Riley’s blackballed you. No one else will work for you because…” Clint paused and
smiled at Delilah. It was not a nice smile. “Let’s just say they have the bizarre notion they might end up working mother
naked.”
“You…” Delilah choked on her rage.
“You…—;bastard—?” Daniels offered helpfully.
“Yes,” Delilah snapped.
“You chamberpot with ears? Son of a bitch?” Clint added.
She was furious and didn’t give a damn if he knew it. “Yes, all of the above, and any more filth the cesspool of your mind
can dredge up!”
“Ah,” Clint said pleasantly. “We’re making progress. I’ll take two-thirds of the boat.”
Delilah gripped the edge of the table with both gloved hands to keep from pounding on it. “Never!”
“Everybody on the levee knows everybody else’s business,” Clint said relentlessly. “You have a serious cash problem. Even
if you can afford to buy what you want from Krammer, you’ll need to move your goods to storage. Then to have them loaded on
the boat in spring, you’ll need teamsters. While the goods are in a warehouse, you’re going to need guards. A good upriver
captain, or pilot, costs a thousand a month, his second six hundred to seven hundred dollars, not to mention a chief engineer
and assistant, a first and maybe a second mate, even a meat hunter. Oh yeah, and a crew. They’ll all expect a month’s salary
in advance before you pull out of your berth.”
Delilah pursed her lips. “My uncle’s research indicates that your figures are inflated, especially the captain’s pay.”
“Mr. Mathers, where did you get your information, sir?”
Horace cleared his throat nervously. “From what I wasgiven to understand was an impeccable source of river lore, a Mr. Claude
Beloit.”
Daniels cursed, disgusted. “What did he tell you was the going wage for a captain?”
“Six hundred to seven hundred dollars.”
“Did you tell him that you intended to take a boat up the Missouri?” Clint asked, already knowing the answer.
Horace felt like a schoolboy who had botched his homework. “I don’t believe so, no.”
“The Mississippi and the Missouri aren’t the same beast. Claude figured you were askin’ him about downriver runs from here
to New Orleans. That’s all he does. He couldn’t get a canoe past Kansas City without ripping the bottom out of it. Upper Missouri
men are a different breed, and they’re damned expensive.”
Clint turned his attention from Horace back to Delilah. Her fierce anger had faded, the poker professional’s control gone.
Her expression now was an open book. He read desperation, despair and denial. There was far more to the widow than he’d ever
imagined. Why would she want to leave what was obviously a comfortable life to brave the hardships and take the financial
risks of going into the Fort Benton trade?
She started to speak, but he raised his hand. Holding her eyes with his, he asked the woman behind him, “Eva, didn’t I see
Ronnie Bates come in a while ago?”
“Yeah, he came in just before these two.”
“Darlin’, send Walter upstairs and ask Bates, if he’s not busy, to come down here for a minute.”
Eva snickered, “Clint, honey, Ronnie’s so quick on the trigger he should’ve been one of those Texas gunmen instead of a river
man. I’ll guarantee that his
busy
has been over for at least five minutes by now.” She sauntered to the bar, hips swaying, mules clicking. The bartender hurried
around the bar and headed upstairs.
Clint leaned back in his chair and spread his hands on thetable in front of him. “Ronnie Bates has been a mate on Missouri
River boats for over twenty years. You can double-check your information on crew salaries with him.” Goddamned greenhorns!
He refused to admit that he couldn’t bear to see the expression on Delilah Raymond’s face.
Delilah felt nauseous. Every night since she had won the
Nymph
she had gone to bed with fear gnawing at her. It had seemed too good to be true, given the hard knocks life had dealt her
in the past decade. The riverboat was to be their transport back to respectability, yet each night in the silence of her cabin
a bone-deep foreboding seized her. Things were going too smoothly, moving too fast.
Under her lashes she studied Daniels, who oddly for once did not boldly return her perusal. His straw-colored hair fell across
his forehead, but he made no effort to shake it back. The indolence of his lanky body belied an underlying tension that she
could not identify. But one thing she did feel for certain—he was not gloating. In fact, he appeared to be holding back anger.
Why?
Ronnie Bates bounded down the stairs. Delilah thought that for a man with over twenty years of river experience, the slender,
smiling fellow seemed exuberantly youthful.
“Didn’t see ya when I come in, Clint. What can I do ya fer?”
Daniels made introductions and said, “Just answer some questions for my guests. I’ll be over at the bar. What if I send you
a bottle of sour mash to oil your brain? On the house, of course.”
Ronnie grinned. “Hell, man, for that I’ll give ’em the wisdom of the ages. Or at least tell ’em where half the bodies on the
levee’s buried.”
Clint rose and headed for the bar. Walt quickly appeared with a bottle and a glass. Horace and Delilah commenced their interrogation.
Half an hour and half a bottle later, the question-and-answer session ended. Bates wobbled to his feet and started to the
bar, the remainder of his whiskey in hand.
Eva, who had been lounging at the bar with Daniels, waved the man up the stairs. “Keep the bottle, Ronnie, andtell Stella
that you’re a guest of the house…but not for too long.” She laughed, and once again fey music filled the room.
Clint returned to the table and took his seat. With a proprietary air, Eva returned to stand beside him. He said, “Other river
men will give you the same information. Hell, go ask Beloit. See if he doesn’t agree with Bates.”
Horace held up his hand. “Mr. Daniels, I appreciate your, ah, straightforward dealing. My niece and I are satisfied that Mr.
Bates knows whereof he speaks. And it would seem that you, yourself, have somewhat understated the case. Apparently Captain
Grant Marsh commands fifteen hundred dollars a month.”
Daniels shrugged, “Maybe so, but Marsh and his
Far West
are now Custer’s —navy— in the war against the hostiles. The army is making the land safe for
civilized people
.”
The way he stressed the last words and the harsh cast of his features indicated great bitterness. Delilah could sense his
hatred of the blue-coated soldiers, even a decade after the war had ended. Well, he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered…Her uncle’s response brought her back to the matter at hand. The
Nymph
was her ticket to freedom, well worth the price of dealing with the Yankee-hating Mr. Clinton Daniels.
“Mr. Bates left a list of top-notch men, all of whom demand at least a thousand dollars a month,” Horace said. “You have made
your point, sir. We sorely underestimated start-up expenses…and we need your good offices to obtain a crew. Now, shall
we craft a deal?”
Daniels smiled. “I’ll have to contribute several thousand dollars to the venture. And you won’t obtain a crew without me.
Does my request for majority control still strike you as unreasonable?”
Horace started to reply, but Delilah placed her hand on his arm. “Please, Uncle, allow me.”
When she turned to face Clint, he was surprised to see a devastatingly beautiful smile.
Damn, those lips…those eyes
.
“It would appear, Mr. Daniels, that while distasteful to us, a business arrangement with you would be mutually beneficial.
You’ll obtain a crew and contribute a few thousand dollars for the start-up. None of which requires much financial risk on
your part.” She paused. “So you can see why we’re fiscally compelled to reject your request for a two-thirds share of the
venture.”
Clint slouched farther back in his chair. “Go on.”
“We’ll give you 20 percent. Quite lucrative for a one-hundred-percent return on your investment, don’t you agree?” Her husky
voice was genial; her entire presence radiated friendliness now.
Daniels felt as levelheaded as a drunken teamster when he looked at her plump pink lips, but he forced himself to focus and
return her smile. “On reconsideration, I agree a two-thirds share was perhaps a touch greedy. An unfortunate failin’ of mine.”
Now it was his turn to pause. “But since the venture’s doomed without me, let me revise my offer. Sixty percent.”
Her smile never wavered. She was hitting her stride now. Clint had to hand it to her. He watched with admiration that he skillfully
hid. The woman wanted the boat and this business venture so bad she could taste it. But she was up against a stacked deck,
forced to salvage what she could. He’d bet the sweat was rolling down her back or between those breasts that needed no corset
to push them high and taut.
Mind on the game, Daniels
. He waited her out.
“All right, Mr. Daniels,” Delilah replied congenially, “we both know you have us over a barrel. I’ll make my final offer.
A forty-nine percent interest in the
Nymph
and our present venture in return for your assistance in obtaining a crew and for providing us with additional funds.”
Clint examined the green tabletop for a moment and then raised his eyes to hold Delilah’s. “I must insist upon 60 percent,
ma’am.”
Her smile faded now. “I don’t believe you understand. Before I give up controlling interest in the
Nymph,
I’ll sell her to another interested buyer, anyone except you. Or…I’ll torch her to the waterline.”
“Now, Delilah—” Horace remonstrated.
But Delilah was on a roll, unable to stop. “I’ll get a refund from the warehouse owner. One way or another, my uncle and I
will leave town with substantially more money than we brought here. But take this as gospel: If I do not destroy the boat,
I will keep majority control of it.”
Delilah stared across the table at that handsome face, so totally devoid of expression, and hated its owner. The very absence
of male superiority in his eyes fanned her rage because she knew it had to be there, hidden. This Southern lothario had the
power to destroy her dreams. He’d do it with casual indifference. The thought drove her almost beyond control. Almost. She
waited him out.