So she'd just have to explain the whole peculiar story of the train robbery, and have Del escort her to Sacramento, either on horseback or by train. A shout broke into her thoughts.
"Mrs. Mitchell! The foreman said I should… come get you. Ma'am?" A loud knock sounded.
It was young Leon, she realized as she crossed to answer the front door. And he looked upset. "What is it?"
"Ma'am, you got to come. There's been…accident," he panted.
He was clearly out of breath, distraught, and only one word burned in Twila's mind.
Del.
"It's Del, isn't it? Has he been hurt?" She clutched her skirts and got ready to run.
"No, ma'am," he gasped out. "Not the boss. Jordan Zoyer got…thrown, and…Mr. Thayer said to get you."
She raced with him to a fenced ring she knew they used for training particularly difficult animals. Her heart thudded as she took in the scene. A horse lay on its side in the center of the ring, a trail of blood leaking from its hide. Someone had shot it. A knot of men gathered on the far side by the fence. Those on their feet had their hats clutched to their chests. Grim faces and traces of moisture on their cheeks told her the worst had happened. Someone had been killed.
No, not someone. Jordan. Del's closest friend. Jordan had been killed trying to tame a wild horse.
She flung herself at the men kneeling around a still form on the ground. The human barrier parted enough to admit her into its center, where Del sat cradling Jordan's body in his lap. The eyes of the other men silently informed her Del himself had shot the horse. A rifle lay in the dirt nearby. She could see what had occurred, by the section of damaged fence and Jordan's head lying at an impossible angle.
She watched in mingled horror and disbelief as her husband tried to massage the ruined neck back into place and awaken the dead. He kept talking quietly to Jordan, telling him the horse was finished, the pain would let up soon. Everything would be right again. Nothing to worry about.
"Del."
She'd choked out his name in a raw whisper. He paused and raised pools of slate blue misery to her face. "Twilagleam, help me. If we can just hold him straightened out until the doc gets here to splint it…"
Sandy Thayer appeared in her line of vision. He shook his head at her, then jerked it toward the main house. This was why he'd sent Leon to fetch her. Del had lost his reason. She could see from the way he cradled his friend to his chest that a part of him knew Jordan's broken neck could never be repaired. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew his efforts were futile.
Sandy gently reached for the body. "I'll take him, Del. Donald rode for the doc. You best get your woman up to the house. She ought not to have to see something like this. She looks close to swooning. Why don't you help her get back over to your place? I'll look after Jord for you."
Del stared from Sandy to Twila. She pleaded with her husband. "Del, please do what he says. Let Mr. Thayer see to Jordan. You know we all love him. You know we'll all—" She squeezed her eyes shut. "Take good care of him."
As Sandy and the other men gingerly pulled the limp body free, Twila moved to fill the breach. She went into Del's arms, wrapping him tight. She held him without speaking, rocking him softly, until she saw that they knelt alone in the dirt ring. The wranglers had taken Jordan and gone away.
"Del, please, let's go up to the house. I've very tired. Jordan's resting right now, and I think you should lie down too. Come with me, please Del. I need you alone with me. Right now."
She thanked heaven now for those decadent afternoons in their bedroom. Del's mind was numb. He needed routine, sameness, safety. She somehow convinced him to get to his feet and follow her. She led him to their bedroom, undressed him and tucked him into bed. When she'd left the house with Leon, it had been mid-afternoon. Now it was dusk, with the coming night the toughest she'd ever had to face.
When she would have gone to the front room, thinking to fetch the bottle of liquor she knew he kept in the sideboard, Del reached for her arm. "No, Twila. Strip down. Stay with me. I don't want whatever you're going after. I just need you here with me."
She held her husband in her arms, stiff and cold at first, weeping and miserable much later in the heart of that dark night. Shortly after dawn the following day, Del roused himself and said they had to see to a proper burial. If Phillips were a decent man of the cloth, he'd want Jordy buried in the church yard. But as things stood, Del said it seemed proper to bury Jordan Zoyer out near the river.
The men had taken his body to the bunkhouse, bathed it, dressed it in his Sunday best. Now they wrapped him in a tarp from the barn and laid him to rest, taking turns shoveling dirt over him and mumbling words of sorrow as they commended his spirit to his Maker. Twila stood silently beside Del, holding his hand. He'd lashed two boards together into a makeshift cross and ordered one of his cowboys known for a talent at whittling to carve the words: No finer man, no fitting fate.
She didn't have any ready phrases of comfort to offer. It didn't matter; she sensed that Del benefitted from her calm presence beside him. So she stayed close beside him as he went to the barn, down to the south paddock, then back to the house. Wherever Del went, she shadowed him.
They sat in the front room in silence, the only movement Twila's needle as she worked on repairing his coat lining, the only sound the occasional snap from the low fire he'd laid. Suddenly he spoke in a ragged voice.
"Twila, don't you up and leave me like he did. I'll get through this because I have you, but if I ever lost…I don't know if I could stand it."
She set her mending aside. "You can absolutely count on me being here. Don't you know how much this life we have together means? I lost my parents, then my aunt. Fletcher and Lucius were all I had, until you came along."
He knelt in front of her and took her hands in his. She'd never seen him so somber, his eyes so filled with pain. "They never saw the strength and endurance inside you, but I do. Give me your word you'll never leave. That you'll be by my side until the very last twilight's last gleaming. Like the flag, still there no matter what."
"Yes, Del," she vowed as he led her toward their bed.
She thought of how many times schoolmates had taunted her about her peculiar name, the dozens of times she'd wished she could have changed it. Times she inwardly wondered why her parents had been so off kilter, why they couldn't have christened her Anna or Elizabeth, or even Gertrude…anything but eccentric and odd Twilagleam Bell.
Del Mitchell was the only person who'd ever admired her name. The only person who'd spoken of qualities like inner resolve or determination. The only person to cherish her since her own parents had perished, like his best friend.
Sometime in the deep, dark, wee hours of the next morning, Del told her about his boyhood with Jordan. How Jordan had saved his life. What a nag and daredevil Jordan could be. How he'd brought out both the worst and best in Delancy Mitchell. Even how Jordan had prompted Del to consider marriage to Twila, daring him one last time to make a move no one would expect…but Jordan believed might be the right choice.
"I took a hell of a final dare," Del whispered, staring into her eyes. "Just let me know I wasn't a fool for doing it. I paid an unbelievable price, cause it feels as though I took a wild chance and then he had to top it, and take one even wilder. I told him that damned bronco wasn't ready. Warned him at least three different times. You reckon maybe I had to make a trade, his life for ours together?"
"I don't know, Del," she murmured through tears that had begun to trickle while he'd been relating the past. "I honestly don't know about things like that. I don't pretend to have any notions of God's plans. I'm the last person to hazard a guess. But I'm here as long as you need me and want me."
* * *
"Well, well! Fancy that, will you, Cookson! Our young friend Mr. Bell and his father have got themselves quite a prosperous establishment here."
Lucius came out of the stockroom to have his throat constrict as his heart skipped a beat. The men were
here, inside the store! And not at all the English gentry they presented themselves when they'd initially met on the train. He saw that now, the way they scanned the premises with greed lighting their eyes. They'd apparently decided to abandon skulking around in favor of the direct approach. He'd tried to learn about their plans. Obviously not as successfully as they'd unearthed information about him. He suspected they were aware his father wasn't due back until late that afternoon.
"Well, this is a surprise." As opening lines went, it wasn't spectacular. But at least it was honest. He hadn't anticipated this move. He furtively glanced out toward the street. Damn. Of course it was deserted.
"We've been cavorting a bit around these far-flung reaches of your fine country, having a wonderful go of it. Then my friend Marquardt says to me that he seemed to recall you and your family were going to settle in some railroad outpost not far from Reno. We supposed it had to be this town, what with all the mechanic shops and railroad workers, but we never thought to find you in such splendor!"
Lucius frowned and tucked a tin coffeepot into the open space on an upper shelf. "Hardly that. We had a much nicer store in Omaha."
Marquardt's left eyebrow rose a notch. "You did? Then it seems even more of a financial risk to have set that aside to come all the way here. I mean, good fellow, no offense meant to you or your countrymen, but this is a bit of dusty nowhere, isn't it? Unless there were some other logical reason for migrating westward."
Lucius backed up a step, but was saved by Emily Mercer coming through the door at just that moment.
"Did you ever get in the black shoe polish I wanted, Mr. Bell?" she demanded.
The Englishmen faded into the background, feigning interest in various goods on display about the store. Lucius rushed to supply the shoe polish and point out several new items. The Mercer woman was generally a complete pain in the ass, who rarely seemed to find what she wanted in under an hour…and Lucius had never been so happy to see the stuffy biddy or cater to her whims.
Today she seemed to be on a fashion quest. Shoe polish, a new bonnet, perhaps a pair of gloves, even an apron. He purposely dashed back into the stockroom and came out with an armload of boxes higher than his head. He began opening each box in turn, ignoring Emily's frowns or snide remarks. She actually remarked there were one or two items she wanted to purchase. Lucius advised her to please take her time, peruse all she wanted.
"Well, er, we'll bid you a pleasant afternoon and take our leave." Cookson shot a meaningful glance at his partner, who blustered something about other business in town. Pressing business.
"But we'll stop back, Mr. Bell," Marquardt warned.
"I'll advise my father. It's a shame you missed him," Lucius replied. His chest loosened a fraction when he escorted the male store visitors out onto the porch and he watched them descend the steps and stride off in the general direction of the livery. Lucius dug for his handkerchief and mopped his brow. He was just turning to go back inside and finish waiting on the old prig when he spotted sweet salvation.
CHAPTER 12
Cousin Twila had her hands cupped around her face, the better to peer into the locked post office.
Odd. Lucius knew Twila rarely came into town herself. Since her elopement with that rancher, he generally took care of errands or sent one of his men. Twila had become the town's most vaunted recluse, still the subject of speculation and local gossip. Recently the rumors hinted at deviltry once more. A man had been killed out at that ranch not two weeks gone. Some in town whispered it was due to Twila's perpetual bad luck. Proof she was cursed.
Still, she was family, and she'd probably do better squeezing a buying decision out of Emily Mercer than he would. "Twila!"
When she spun around and met his gaze, Lucius shook his head. "He's gone fishing. Did you need something?"
She glanced both ways before crossing the street—a preposterous gesture, since there clearly wasn't anyone else around. Then Lucius realized that with her, it might not be purely a matter of traffic, being run down by an errant cart or horseback rider. Twila had been verbally accosted on the Wadworth's streets before…and no one was dead then.
"I was going to see if we had any mail. Delancy's received several notes of condolence. Is Uncle Fletcher inside? I suppose I should stop in and pay my respects, since I seldom come into town."
Lucius reached out to take her elbow and guide her up the steps. She paused at the top to give him a wary look. "Just trying to be polite," he assured her. "Father's not due back until late this afternoon. Mrs. Mercer's inside, though."
"Oh, then I don't think I want to go in," Twila immediately responded, wrinkling her nose. "I don't think—"
"I tell you what. Go around back and upstairs. I'll be up as soon as I dispense with her. We should talk. Put some tea on, and I'll be right there."
Twila just stared at Lucius for a moment. She didn't truly want to accept his hospitality, if that's what it could be called. She could put the tea on…and unless things had changed radically during the past few months, she'd also find a collection of dirty dishes needing to be done, a kitchen floor in need of sweeping, and a parlor definitely in need of dusting and straightening. Fletcher was gone and Lucius didn't want to do the chores. His "polite invitation" was probably a ploy to get Twila to do them.
But when she got upstairs, she saw she'd been mistaken. The living quarters were spotless. Her relations must have turned over new leaves since her departure. Though she never would have guessed as much; they'd never come out to the ranch for a visit or to wish the newlyweds well. Hadn't even wrapped up a wedding gift and sent it with one of the men.
Perhaps this was Lucius' attempt to mend fences while Fletcher was away. She checked the stove's firebox and found one last chunk of kindling reduced to fading embers. But it would give off sufficient heat for the teapot, whose slosh proclaimed enough water for a couple cups of tea. She got down the jar of loose tea and the suspension ball her uncle was so very proud of—it was fine etched silver and shaped like a bell.
As she set the table, she noticed a new candle on the sideboard. A thick white candle whose wick clearly hadn't seen its first use. A smile broke over her face. Her penny-pinching uncle probably saved it for a special occasion. Well, she was declaring one this very day. She'd never before had tea as a married visitor to the Bell's upstairs kitchen.
The kettle began steaming just as she struck a match and lit the new candle. She turned to her right for the cloth to grasp the hot kettle handle even as a puff of afternoon breeze created a movement to her left. "The curtains!"
She'd fully intended to move the candle away from the window as soon as she lit the wick. Too late. In the few seconds she'd been distracted, the curtain hem had blown too close to the open flame, and now the cotton scorched and blazed on the rods. The whole place could catch fire!
Reaching without thinking, she jerked the kettle's cover off and flung the container's water at the window. The flames went out, water dripped down the wall, and she heard a masculine gasp of shock from behind her. Before she could apologize, Lucius rushed past her, diving for a jar of something dark.
He turned back with a horrified expression on his face and held out the round glass jar. "I left the lid off by mistake. He's going to murder me! These were Father's brand new, expensive cigars, and you've ruined them! Not to mention—God, look at the curtains, the wallpaper! Twila!"
If only she could have blamed this destruction on a horse…but there didn't seem to be one standing in the middle of the small kitchen. "I thought it would be nice if we…I wanted us to be friends. I lit the candle, thinking I'd have a nice, civilized tea with my cousin…"
She glanced around again, took in the sight of Lucius trying to spear one of the soggy cigars with his fingers, and burst into gales of laughter. Impossibly, he looked even more idiotic today than he had when there was a horse to blame—and he'd been wearing a woman's corset on his head then.
At first he wore a nonplussed expression, then horro
r and confusion, which rapidly changed to calculation. "This could work," he announced. "We'll have to close up the store. I'll scratch out a note or something…"
Twila shrugged. Maybe he planned to spend the rest of the day in a saloon, blaming Twila for lost profits. There was nothing she could do about it. "Well, do whatever seems best."
She took up the little brown satchel. "Tell Uncle to send the bill to the ranch. Del will take care of these damages, just as before. I don't suppose I'll be welcome for another visit. Oh, well. I'd best be on my way. I was wondering, since you've more experience here in town than I do, would you know if the livery ever has riders to loan out? I need to go out of town on an errand, and—"
"Out of town? Where?"
Good Lord, one would think she'd said the bank was being robbed, the way his head snapped up. "Sacramento, as it happens. I intended to ask Del to take me, but since—You heard about Mr. Zoyer, I gather?"
Lucius nodded. "Terrible thing. You weren't anywhere around at the time, I hope."
Twila didn't bother to ask what he meant by that. She knew.
"I was up at the house. The doctor said at least he hadn't suffered. He was killed instantly when a horse threw him. In any case, Del can't leave right now, nor can he spare another man from the spread to take me, so I was hoping I could pay someone else to serve as escort."
"Well then, there's something fortuitous in this little misadventure, after all," Lucius announced, breaking into a smile. "As it happens, we have some goods Father's been wanting to check out from a vendor in that same locale. I'll serve as your escort. Didn't I see Mitchell's horse and buggy tied to the hitching rail across the street?"
"Yes, I drove here."
"Excellent."
"Wait a minute, Lucius. I didn't necessarily mean I'd leave today, this very moment."
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