Hell's Belle

by Shannah Biondine

  He groaned and Twila heard it. "Are you going to be churlish about this?"

  The perfect opening. Yes, he was. He was going to be petty and churlish and pout until she softened and let him have his way. Or at least part of it.

  "Yep, I reckon so. The old man's half deaf, Twila. That girl sleeps clear at the other end of the house, and I'm not planning to break the bed frame. I just want to be allowed to touch my wife and have her touch me. That's not going to happen if I go sleep on their couch in the parlor. It's important, Twila."

  She abruptly sat up and stripped off her chemise.

  Oh, Twila, honey. Oh, heaven above, but you're just the perfect woman for me.

  He quickly peeled away his drawers and slipped into bed beside her, holding her as tightly as he dared against his bare chest. Against his heart. That was the first thing that had profoundly changed. Her place was going to beside him now in bed, not underneath him. All that mounting and male domination was fine when she was just a skittish young filly he'd been out to tame..but now…Now she was a brood mare. There was a baby inside her. The biggest reason he couldn't behave like some randy cowpoke at the end of a three-month cattle drive.

  No, from now on he'd be extra careful. Gentle. Use finesse.

  And there was another reason, too. Tonight wasn't about hot, demanding thrusts, the need to conquer and take pleasure. It wasn't about him. It was about her. For her.

  He kissed her, stroking the inside of her mouth slowly, savoring. And she melted right there, with the sun clear on the other side of the earth, in that dark room in a strange house. He let his hands just slide over her flesh as he kissed her, letting his tongue tell her of the awesome need and respect he felt for her. Damn if he wasn't humbled by it.

  Truly it should have frightened him. With any other woman, Del was pretty certain he would have been terrified. If he'd ever felt this vulnerability toward Betty Lee, he would have felt utterly sunk. Trapped. Betty Lee would have reveled in the power and turned it on him some day. Look at what she'd done with the limited power he'd given her. He hadn't loved her with this depth of devotion—nothing even close. And still she'd had him tied up in knots for weeks after her abrupt departure.

  Twila, on the other hand, didn't even seem to understand she held power over him. She'd slain him with a damned necklace worth a frigging fortune. A necklace that never even belonged to her, that he'd never known the existence of until a few hours ago. And that was the crux of the truth, right there.

  He'd asked for her trust, thinking it was scarce. She was living with harsh, condemning people. Men who lashed out at her for the slightest thing. For nothing. Aware of that, Del figured it would be a pretty big step to ask her to trust him, a total stranger. He'd asked a boon that wasn't small to her, but neither was it untenable. He was taking her as his wedded wife, promising to keep her and care for her. To ask in return that she be faithful and trust him seemed perfectly fair.

  But he'd cheated her with that bargain, he saw now. That's what didn't sit right.

  He'd cheated her because when he'd asked for it, he had absolutely no idea how enormous her faith was, how doggedly she would cling to it, how callously he would live every day paying no heed. Twila had entrusted him with a fortune. Trusted that he'd keep it safe. Trusted that he'd come after her, instead of going about his business of breeding and selling horses and barely notice she was away for a spell. Trusted that he'd understand her thinking, that he'd come to know her the way she knew him. Almost instinctively.

  He didn't think he'd found a way to show it. He'd come to love her more than he ever believed possible. He'd taken her to wife because he didn't want to give the town more ammunition against her—he'd never tolerate anyone in Wadsworth adding "whore" to "witch" or "harbinger of bad luck." He'd assumed she'd make a passable spouse, and believed they'd get along well enough together. He'd been powerfully attracted to her, and sensed at least part of that attraction was mutual. But he hadn't expected…Christ.

  He hadn't expected the reality. Twila wasn't the person others believed her to be—the shy, ungainly sort, hovering in the background mostly unseen until the next spill or bumbling misstep. She was lightning in a bottle. Perception and sensitivity. Bravery and perseverance. The quiet of approaching dusk. The silence of midnight at the end of a grueling, long day.

  And having her in his life was turning it upside down.

  "Twilagleam," he breathed, stroking and loving every inch of her within reach. "Next time tell me. It scares me to death, thinking of all the time you were in the ranch house alone with those jewels. Somebody could have been on the trail of that missing necklace. Someone could've killed you for it, and I never would have even understood why."

  "Oh, Del, now you're being silly. No one—"

  "I don't care. And don't you tell me it's silly to worry about you, woman. Don't you tell me not to feel terror at the idea of life without you. It's too damned late for that." He'd all but growled that last part, and now Twila had broken out in tears.

  Oh God. Del thought of the tears when she'd admitted she didn't have a decent grippe to elope with him. Tears that meant she'd seen the enormity of what loomed ahead…

  "Aw, sweetheart," he whispered. He knew she'd never tolerate him penetrating her. But he also knew Twila's buttons and exactly how to press them. "Stop crying, honey. It's been a crazy day and you've had a lot of stress. You just need some rest. I'll be fine, now that I can feel your naked skin against me."

  What a lie. He'd be trying to fall asleep with an erection the size of Montana, but his rest and stress relief weren't important tonight. He gently circled one nipple with his thumb, smiling as it immediately drew taut and she let out a little moan.

  "Del, please…we can't. Not here. It wouldn't be—"

  "How about just petting you and kissing you? If we're quiet, if we don't disturb anybody else, I don't see what's wrong."

  She hesitated, but he also felt her torso press against him…she all but thrust both breasts into his waiting hands. He began kissing her again and rolled her stiff nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching just until she made the little sound that always signaled her growing arousal. "You want me to stop?" He did.

  "No! I mean…I…"

  He chuckled softly, working her into a nice, fine lather. She came apart in one of the strongest orgasms she'd ever had without him mounting her, then snuggled up against him in the dark. "Thank you, Del. You take such good care of me."

  Oh, that's where she was both right and wrong. He needed to straighten out a couple things between them. "Thank you for taking a chance on me, Twila. I never much…before you there was Jordy. Always pushing at me, always in some nearby corner, smirking. He made me so god-awful irate sometimes, guess I worked like a demon to show him I wasn't going to give up the way he did. He was a smart man. He could have been more than some dusty pair of boots."

  Twila sighed, nudged gently. He knew she was listening, letting him vent.

  "I never really had any big plans for my life," he confessed. "I just wanted to raise horses. I've never been too good at looking down the road, seeing forks or reckoning which way I'll turn. Truth is, part of your appeal to my mind was that I figured you wouldn't much care."

  "What do you mean? I wouldn't care what you did? I don't—I mean, not like that. I'm not an ambitious person. If you were happy shining shoes or growing beans, I'd be content too."

  Del shook his head. "Can't be that way. Might have been with another woman, but not with you. I'm just realizing that. I can't waste the kind of belief you've got in people…in me. Don't you see what a shame that would be? A woman like you, who believes her man is—I don't have a word for it. But that's how you make me feel. Like I can slay dragons. And that's exactly why I should."

  "Thank goodness the last of the dragons was killed centuries past, back when they had knights and armor. I'm getting sleepy, Del. Can we talk about this tomorrow morning? Or when we get home?"

  "Sure, honey."
/>
  But Del knew they wouldn't. They'd never talk about it again. He'd brought an essential truth out into the light and they both admitted seeing it. She'd let it go and so would he. He drank in the feel of her in his arms as she drifted off, sated and warm. So fragile and yet so strong.

  She would be the mother of his children…and what children they would be! Every hope and promise a parent could ever have for a bright future—Twila would put her faith and love into each one they'd be blessed with, and those children could go out and conquer the world.

  The man who'd never had a plan, never cared about tomorrow, who took dares because he was essentially both reckless and rootless…Now he was a different person. Had to be, because now he could close his eyes and see a dynasty. A future with family reunions at his thriving ranch, children and grandchildren, a whole circle bound by blood and love.

  There was so much he wanted to tell her…but then again, she probably didn't need telling. The same gal who'd trusted him with a fortune was smart enough to see a lot without being told. Del's lips quirked at the thought of their wedding night. He'd believed he was coercing her into matrimony. Into his bed and into his arms. Where she already knew she belonged.

  * * *

  "I wonder what's become of your cousin, Mrs. Mitchell." Manus Vogel speared a sausage and chewed it thoughtfully. "He hasn't arrived. I do hope he hasn't become lost somewhere in town."

  Twila acknowledge a tiny pang of guilt. She'd barely noticed Lucius' absence. She'd been far too busy being romanced by Del. She didn't dare look over at her husband, who sat before a heaping plate of sausage, toast and eggs prepared by the Vogels' housekeeper. Del didn't usually have such a mammoth appetite. She didn't want to reflect on what he'd done recently that might have increased it.

  "Perhaps he found a card game somewhere and simply lost track of the time," she answered. "I understand he's developed a penchant for gambling halls since we came West."

  "Yeah," Del agreed. "I've heard mention from the boys they've seen him around town in a couple of the gambling spots. Which I thought a little odd. Guess he doesn't take after your uncle. You think we should wait here for him and not go to the church social?"

  "Oh dear, you wouldn't miss that?" Hilde seemed genuinely distressed. "I do so hope to introduce you to my other friends."

  "My joints are too swollen for me to be about these days," Manus volunteered. "You young people go along and enjoy yourselves. I'll entertain Mr. Bell if he turns up while you're gone."

  Twila threw Del a questioning look. "Maybe he'll turn up before we have to leave. What time is that, Miss Vogel?"

  "Not until noon. Yes, let's hope your cousin arrives before then. We have numerous unattached ladies who might appreciate a bachelor in their midst. We're to have dancing, you know."

  Twila bit into a square of toast to keep from laughing aloud at the notion of Lucius Bell as an eligible bachelor, dancing, charming the young women from Hilde's church. About as likely as a hog wearing a bow tie.

  When they left the Vogel house at a little after twelve, Twila told herself she benefited the local ladies by not subjecting them to the obnoxious personality of her missing cousin. "Guess his business took longer than the thought," she remarked to Del.

  "We're leaving before nightfall, whether he makes it back or not. I need that palomino more than I need him. If it weren't for the fact I lent him my horse, I'd just as soon forget the idiot."

  Twila wanted to agree, yet she was plagued by the nagging worry Lucius might have fallen ill or victim to foul play. However, she couldn't fret long. Miss Vogel kept her distracted much of the afternoon, introducing her to this person and that, insisting they wander the booths and sample all manner of delicacies and treats. After a biscuit with fresh honey, Twila asked Del if he'd fetch both her and Hilde a cup of punch.

  Some time later, she realized he still wasn't back. She didn't see him near the punchbowl, or at another table offering pitchers of fresh lemonade. He wasn't over near the food tables, grabbing another fried chicken drumstick or biscuit, either. Maybe he'd sought the men's privy.

  She rose and wended her way through the crowd, but stopped short when she finally spotted Del at the large gathering.

  He was talking intently to a titian-haired woman. Even as Twila watched, the woman pressed her hands against Del's shirt and stood looking up into his eyes with a pleading expression.

  Twila stared in disbelief. Clearly this wasn't some female Del had just met. Everything about the tableau suggested familiarity. Intimacy. The low murmuring of their voices, the way they stood so close together, looking intently at one another. She swallowed and edged closer, using a clump of nearby folks chatting about bingo to screen herself from view.

  "I didn't want to settle here," the woman was saying, almost in a protesting tone. "It was happenstance. After Dan left, I didn't have much money. A woman who attends this church lost her husband. In fact, they were laying him out for his wake when I turned up, looking for some kind of traveler's aid."

  This lady had been so indigent that she'd come to a church to beg for alms? She didn't look poor or downtrodden. She was attractive, shapely, not much different in age than Twila herself. What could have befallen her, and how did she know Del?

  "So the gambler stranded you. I ought to be happy to hear that. Considering you left me literally standing at the altar, looking the damned fool. Thought you had big plans, you and your fancy man."

  Twila swayed as the room unaccountably dimmed and the air grew thick and cloying. If she didn't leave the hall right now, she might well collapse in a heap on the floor. She'd never felt faint like this, she acknowledged as she grabbed the back of a chair for support, then lunged for the wall and used it to lean against as she made her way to the rear exit. She felt so faint, near to swooning. Of course, she'd never before been pregnant…or faced with the woman who'd jilted Del. He'd been set to marry that woman. The shapely female with the long auburn curls, who even now clutched at Del and blinked up at him with tear-stained cheeks.

  Twila knew the woman still wanted Del Mitchell. She was even now begging his forgiveness, trying to get back in his good graces. That was obvious. What wasn't was how he'd react to her crying and pleading, swearing she'd made a horrible mistake. He'd added on to his house, bought a rug, planned a future for that attractive woman. Maybe, confronted with her again, Del would reassess his feelings.

  Had he really fallen in love with Twila, or was his proclamation just the excitement of learning he'd soon be a father? Twila knew some men reacted that way. Her mother had often spoken of a distant male relation who professed to love his wife madly every time she made another impending birth announcement—all five of them. Yet in between the births of those children, and long after there were no more, he continued to bed a series of mistresses.

  Oh, Lord. Twila felt truly ill now. Maybe there were too many people around. Maybe she shouldn't have eaten that gooseberry pie, or the biscuit and honey. Maybe she never should have come to Sacramento and tried to play savior . She groaned aloud as her stomach knotted and she fought a wave of nausea.

  Hilde found her. "Twila! My word, aren't you feeling well? You look terrible. Rachel, get Mrs. Soapstone. We must help my poor friend find somewhere to lie down."

  Twila closed her eyes, fighting a combination of mortifying sickness and impending tears. She would never forget the sight of Del and that woman. Was he even now cursing the fact he'd settled for less by marrying Twila?

  If she could take back one instant, it would be crossing the room to go see where Del had disappeared to and seeing the sad truth.

  She'd let herself believe in dreams. She should have known better. Her name might now be Twila Mitchell, but she was still and always Twilagleam Bell. Hell's Bell.

  She didn't want to face him. Didn't want to hear whatever false, jovial words he'd toss out, listen to whatever lame excuse he'd offer for having been gone so long. Her eyes flew open. Hilde was probably running over to tell him his
wife was ill. "Hilde!"

  The girl hadn't gone far. She spun back to face Twila. "Oh, dear. I've got someone going for the church secretary. How dreadful that you've taken ill! I hope it's not something in the food someone prepared, or—"

  "I'm pregnant, Hilde. It's…" Del. I've lost Del ."It's not the food. I'm not far along and there's sickness sometimes. It will pass, I think. Just let me sit here and—"

  "What seems to be the problem?" An older woman asked.

  "My friend's expecting and rather queasy."

  "Ah, that would explain it. A little dizzy, maybe?" Twila nodded, closing her eyes as she bit back another groan. Mrs. Soapstone seemed hard of hearing and practically shouted every word that left her mouth. Now she was prattling on about illness and babies, drawing all sorts of unwanted attention as she helped Twila back to her feet.

  She needed to get away from that church. Clutching Hilde's forearm, she asked if Mrs. Soapstone could get word to her husband that they'd returned to the Vogel house, even as Hilde nodded and encouraged Twila to lean on her for the short walk back.

  "Her husband's the young rancher in denim dungarees and a white shirt. Over there," Hilde pointed.

  Twila heard a commotion and Del's voice downstairs just minutes after she'd collapsed on the bed in the Vogel guestroom with a damp cloth on her forehead. Twila could hear Hilde protesting that Del should just let her rest.

  Yes, please, her mind begged. Let me rest, Del. I don't have the strength for the ugliness that has to be faced just now.

  Twila closed her eyes, let silent tears mingle with the moisture from the dampened cloth over them. She wasn't sure she even possessed the kind of strength she'd need to endure whatever hogwash he planned to dish out…let alone the strength to get up and say goodbye to Del.