Authors: Shirl Henke
She pressed the wet cloth into the top of the long, ugly gash and started cleaning it assiduously.
“Ouch! You have all the gentle touch of a wood hawk dumpin’ logs on a boiler deck. What’s that stuff you’re scrub-bin’ on
my shoulder? Greek Fire?” Clint’s wound felt as if it had been cauterized by glowing coals.
“Simply a mixture of carbolic acid and whiskey,” she informed him with mock solicitude.
“Oh, my God! Woman, they use carbolic acid to clean cutting-room floors in hospitals. You ever hear of iodine? My arm’s on
fire!”
“Now, now, don’t be such a crybaby,” she said, crooning. “There, that should do it. I don’t think stitches are required after
all.”
“Thank the Almighty for that,” he said adamantly.
“I’m doing my best. As my uncle reminded me, I was the one responsible for dunking you in that filthy river. I wouldn’t want
to be guilty of letting you die of infection.”
He took her chin in his hand and lifted it so their eyes met. “But you’d like to see me dead, hmmm?”
She dropped the cloth in the basket, breaking the contact, but she could feel those fathomless eyes watching her. “You are
my business associate and we have an upriver run to make. After that, you can indeed go to the devil for all I care.”
Clint threw back his head and began to laugh, then stopped when his lip split again. “Lady, you will be the death of me, one
way or another.”
Delilah sighed. “Let me clean that lip. Considering the language so often proceeding from your mouth, the real danger of
infection is more probably there than in your shoulder.”
“Either way, you’re responsible, and you don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”
“Certainly not.” She set to work with a fresh napkin and this time only cool water. “If you attempt to keep your mouth closed
for a few days, the injury will heal more quickly.”
He did not flinch, just studied her face as she worked on his lip. She was chewing on her own, a trait he found disconcertingly
endearing.
“You’ll probably have another scar.”
He chuckled. “So, you noticed.”
“I meant on your face,” she snapped. “But it does appear you’ve led the life of a banditti.”
His expression darkened. “Somethin’ like that.”
For the next several weeks Delilah tried to avoid Clinton Daniels whenever he came aboard to discuss business or socialize
with Horace. She tended to the bookkeeping and inspected all the cargo, making certain that Daniels was occupied elsewhere
before she had Todd drive her to the warehouse. To further complicate matters, her uncle seemed determined to throw the two
of them together at every opportunity.
Tonight the odious man would be their guest for dinner, ostensibly so he could describe the voyage upriver. He’d just finalized
the arrangements for a complete crew with Captain Dubois and had quite a bit of information to share. Since all three of them,
particularly she and Horace, were novices at running an upriver trade boat, they had a great deal to discuss.
Delilah looked out the window of her cabin and watched the waterfront hum with activity, even though it was nearly dusk. Teamsters
goaded mules and oxen with whips as the beasts pulled heavily laden wagons across the levee. Frantic roustabouts, or roosters,
balanced incredible loads on their backs, scurrying over the long gangplanks with an ease that still amazed her. Every day
another stern-wheeler or two tookoff, most headed up the Missouri for the lucrative trade in gold country, with stops along
the way to sell farm goods.
“We’re losing money and return passengers by waiting,” she murmured to herself, turning from the disconcerting sight to pace
the confines of the small room.
But Clint insisted that they wait. Horace agreed, saying Captain Dubois also concurred. Well, she intended to put the gambler’s
feet to the fire and find out exactly why, if they now had the crew, they could not load their cargo and embark immediately.
She had been put off long enough. If he thought she would stay out of “men’s doings,” he would be sadly disappointed. Horace
had encouraged her to discuss details with Clint several times, but after the debacle at the gangplank and its aftermath,
she had wanted some time to sort out her feelings…and bring her irrational attraction to Daniels under control.
It would be just like the arrogant man to try to discourage her from going. Well, if he thought tall tales about the rigors
of the mighty Missouri would deter her, he did not know the hardships Delilah Mathers Raymond had already survived.
She looked at herself in the mirror one final time. Her uncle had commented with displeasure about her wearing old mourning
clothes every time they met with Daniels, but she would go to perdition before she gave him the satisfaction of dressing up
so he could rake her with those fathomless blue-gray eyes. The high collar of her black dress snagged the heavy knot of hair
at her nape. She lifted the bun free and smoothed the hair back in place. Her fingers played nervously with the long row of
jet buttons down the front of the gown.
“I hate this,” she said, looking at her crowlike appearance. The weather had turned much warmer in the past few days, too
hot for wool. But all the clothes so appropriate in the Eastern winter did not accommodate the humidity of the Mississippi
Valley. Still, she looked suitably aloof and asexual to send the Southern lothario fl eeing back to his Eva as soon as he
made his pitch to frighten her about upriver travel. Determinedly, she set off for the salon, where Luellen would serve dinner.
Clint watched Delilah enter the room and pause at the bar to speak with Mrs. Colter. “She’s probably trying to get Luellen
to slip some poison in my bowl of soup,” he said in a stage whisper to Horace.
The old man chuckled. “Does Mrs. Colter have any reason to take such an outlandish suggestion to heart?”
“Other than my being a gamblin’ man…well—” he shrugged and conceded—“I do own controlling interest in a fancy house.”
With casual disinterest, Horace took a sip of his wine and asked, “How is Miss Eva these days?”
“Fine as ever.” That was far from the truth, but Clint would never admit that he and his bordello madam had had a beaut of
a fight before he left the Blasted Bud. He wasn’t certain whom he sparred with more—Eva or Delilah. Eva had accused him of
being smitten with the lady gambler. All because he had been too busy to share her bed for a spell. He refused to consider
that the spell had begun just about the time he’d become Mrs. Raymond’s business associate.
Women, he thought in disgust, had been placed on this earth to torment men. He inspected Deelie. Her appearance was enough
to make him want to…no, best not dwell on that idea, especially while sitting across from her protector.
Horace watched the way Clint’s eyes followed Delilah. She was doing everything but wear a chastity belt to keep him at bay.
But once they were confined on the boat together, the problem would be resolved. Those hot wool dresses would have to go,
else she’d pass out from heatstroke!
Both men stood as she neared the table. “Mrs. Colter says she will serve whenever we wish,” Delilah said as she gave her uncle
a quick buss on the cheek and Daniels a frosty nod.
“Hope she hasn’t prepared anything too spicy,” Clint said.
“I’d scarcely think a chicken consommé, roasted pork with vegetables and a dried apple pie would challenge your digestion,
Mr. Daniels.”
“Wasn’t me I was worried about, ma’am. You’re the onelikely to pass out if the meal generates any more heat than you must
already be feeling in that black wool.”
Horace smothered a chuckle as he assisted her in taking her seat. Then, he made a sweeping gesture. “To quote the Bard, my
dear, —Fie, doff this habit, shame to your estate, an eyesore to our solemn festival!— ”
She glared at both men but made no reply, except to thank her uncle for pulling out her chair.
“Would you care for a glass of sherry, my dear?”
“Yes, please,” she gritted out.
“Best put that on ice,” Clint offered cheerfully.
As soon as Horace walked out of earshot, she leaned forward. “Must you insist on encouraging him and provoking me?”
“Me? Provoke you?” he asked incredulously.
While Luellen placed steaming bowls of rich broth before them, they sipped wine and discussed various towns along the route
to Fort Benton.
“Our first stop will be Hermann, and then Boonville. Not a big profit, but worth the doing until the railroads lower their
freight rates. Then we have to make a brief stop at Weston, across from Fort Leavenworth. After Sioux City, there are a whole
bunch of forts, but Grant Marsh and his investors have the army contracts pretty well sewn up,” Clint said, taking a swallow
of the broth. “My compliments to Mrs. Colter. This is right tasty.”
Delilah raised her spoon and observed the steam swirling from it. Knowing that Daniels was watching her, she swallowed. By
the time she’d slowly eaten half her portion, her whole body felt as if she had stepped into a riverboat boiler. Ignoring
her discomfort, she asked Daniels, “I’ve heard army provisioning and troop transport are very lucrative. Can we compete?”
He shrugged. “Maybe someday. But this is our first trip runnin’ mining supplies up and rich miners back down, and it’s guaranteed
to turn a handsome profit. Jacques and I agreed to wait and see how it goes. We’ll have all next winter to woo the army,”
he said with a grimace.
“I can imagine that a Confederate sympathizer would have difficulty dealing with the Grand Army of the Republic. Perhaps my
uncle and I would have more luck?”
And perhaps
we’ll cut you out of all future voyages once we repay your loans.
“You just might be right. Head on down to Jefferson Barracks and try your luck.” He polished off the last of his con-sommé
and shoved the bowl away just as Luellen arrived with a steaming platter of pork roast and fresh vegetables.
Delilah dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Wooing the army will be a bit difficult if we don’t pass the inspection
at Fort Leavenworth.”
Clint slowly put down his napkin. “And what do you know about the inspection at Fort Leavenworth, Mrs. Raymond?”
“Oh, I listen to the men talk. You know, —men—s business,’ that sort of thing. It seems the fort inspects all upriver boats
for contraband. And if they find it, the army is authorized to seize the boat. As I understand it, their primary target is
whiskey, such as we had in our warehouse.”
Horace looked at Clint questioningly, but Daniels kept his eyes on the lady. “You are well-informed, ma’am. Leaven-worth does
search the boats for whiskey, but the inspections are cursory, or the inspectors can be easily bribed.”
“From what I understand, that isn’t always true.”
“No, not always, but there are ways to beat the inspection, and the risk is well worth it. Fifty hogsheads of rotgut purchased
here in St. Louis for around two hundred dollars a barrel can be sold to the merchants at Benton for seven hundred apiece.”
“That is a twenty-five-thousand-dollar profit.” Horace whistled softly.
“I do not intend to risk my boat for any illegal profit, Mr.
Daniels,” Delilah said coldly.
Clint’s lips thinned. Before he lowered his gaze to the plate in front of him, his eyes changed from blue to gray. His hands
tightened into fists on the table and then slowly eased. But the tense silence seemed to drag on forever, until he looked
over at Horace. “You think twenty-five thousand is worth a gamble?”
Horace appeared to consider, knowing that this contest of wills was about considerably more than hauling whiskey. His niece
was scarcely Temperance. “Perhaps it would be wise to consult with the captain before you make a final decision. Would you
not consider that prudent, my dear?” he asked Delilah.
The ball had been lobbed neatly into her court. Delilah hesitated until Clint said to her, “Your 51 percent of the boat entitles
you to give that order…”
Despite his apparent capitulation, Delilah did not feel as if she’d won the battle. Attempting to moisten her parched lips,
she sipped sherry, then replied, “Perhaps I will consult with Captain Dubois.”
Delilah swallowed another sip of sherry. Drat, she was so uncomfortable she couldn’t think straight. She had left her bowl
of consommé more than half full, hoping Daniels would think she was a dainty eater. When Luellen took the bowl away, she raised
her glass again. The cool liquid tasted heavenly, but at this rate she’d be inebriated before Luellen served the main course!
As the great orange ball set on the western horizon, Delilah watched through the salon window and prayed for nightfall and
a brisk breeze off the water.
Luellen, knowing how the Missus usually ate, served up a hearty portion and set it before Delilah. Although the aroma was
redolent of fresh dill and the tang of asparagus and sweet new potatoes, her taste buds could not appreciate it. They were
sweating too much. The men tucked into their food, giving enthusiastic compliments to the cook. Clint paused with a big slice
of pork halfway to his mouth and looked over at her with a smirk.
Defiantly, she sliced a tiny sliver of tender meat, dripping with brown gravy, and ate it. She doggedly forced down bite after
bite of pork and vegetables, trying not to think about the rivulets of perspiration soaking through her dress. Thank heavens
it was black and the dampness would not show.
To take her mind off her misery, she brought up another issue she’d wanted to discuss all evening. “You’ve reiteratedseveral
times that Captain Dubois wants to wait another week at least before embarking upriver, yet I’ve seen one sternwheeler after
another pull away from the levee in the weeks past. We’re losing money with every day we dally. Why not start loading our
cargo immediately?”
Clint set down his fork and replied, “Good question. Same one Horace asked Jacques yesterday.” He watched in amusement when
she turned to her uncle and gave him a scowl. “Look out the window on the river side. What do you see?” he asked.