Hell's Belle

by Shannah Biondine

  "Well now, ma'am, I don’t allow that's fair," Del corrected. "He was with my wife on the way to Sacramento when all this happened. I heard they'd gone out of town and went after them. You see, my wife's expecting our first child, and I didn't like the notion of her being away from home. Thought I should go along, just to make sure everything was all right."

  "I don't wonder, when I see the wholesale destruction that young man leaves in his wake." She turned to Fletcher and wagged her finger at him. "And I don't think it's one bit amusing, the way you tried to blame this poor young woman for what is obviously a deep personal flaw within your own get. Have you had that boy seen by a physician or clergyman? I mean, this kind of anger and resentment! I've never beheld the like. Can you imagine the rage it would take to break everything and fling goods every which way like this?"

  Fletcher shook his head. "It wasn't him. I'm trying to tell you—"

  "Oh, don't try to pull the wool any further over my eyes, Fletcher! You said he'd need time to adjust to the idea of our marriage. If this is any example of how he reacts—merely to the idea of you courting me—I don't want to envision what we'd have to contend with if you announce we plan to wed. Why, he might take an ax and murder us in our marriage bed!"

  "Lucius didn't do this!" Fletcher exploded, banging his fist on the counter. "It was goddamned raccoons!"

  Dionisa jumped back. Literally. Her eyes went even wider and her face lost all its color. "Oh, my God! I see how it is now. Really, I'm terribly sorry, but I think this has all been a dreadful mistake. I can't marry you. I…I think it's best I leave now."

  "Dionisa, you don't mean that!" Fletcher rushed around the counter, but the woman all but dove behind Del, clutching at his sleeve.

  "Don't let him hurt me, please! I just want to get out of here. My buckboard's hitched out front. I can drive myself back home. Just please, keep him away from me."

  Twila realized the woman's terror was genuine. The joke had gone too far. "He wouldn't hurt you, ma'am. My uncle can be cantankerous at times, but he's had a very trying day. You don't understand how distressed he is. He's always very neat and punctual and…" She desperately tried to think up some other good qualities to recommend Fletcher as a husband. Any good qualities at all.

  "And his ciphering is never wrong. He can figure amounts to the penny."

  The woman's eyes fixed on Twila and narrowed slightly. "I shouldn't think you'd have anything kind to say about him. I already know how he figures money, down to the very last penny. Do you know he tells me you've cost him over four thousand dollars in damages in the time you lived under his roof? Five dishcloths, eighteen chipped cups and saucers. I've forgotten how many broken plates. He keeps a list."

  Dionisa turned to Fletcher, moving from behind Del. Apparently she was growing more peeved than frightened. "And I think it's all been one big monstrous lie."

  "No, not at all, I—"

  "You've blamed every minor mishap or problem on this girl. You should be ashamed of yourself, Fletcher Bell! It's very clear to me what's really been happening here. You take out your own frustrations in displays like this, then have the gall to blame the breakage on a helpless female. Your own ward. How very small of you."

  "Yeah, isn't it, though?"

  Everyone seemed to have forgotten Del, standing silently in their midst, listening but not saying anything for the last few moments. His voice now was soft but commanding. The voice he'd used that first day, when he'd vowed to pay for the damages his runaway horse had caused.

  "Don't blame you for having second thoughts, ma'am. Twila doesn't live here anymore. Before she left, he had the whole town believing she was some kind of Jonah or witch. Never had a good word to say about her. And I don't mind telling you, I smashed his face in and eloped with her because I just couldn't take one more foul incrimination coming out of his mouth. But you won't have a beau waiting to take you away, now will you?"

  Fletcher sagged onto a nearby stool. His facial expression looked totally defeated. Twila hadn't seen him so bereft since Aunt Lavinia died. Her uncle had always seemed indomitable. Twila threw a worried glance toward the ceiling. Maybe it would cave in. She'd believe almost anything at this point.

  Except what Del said next.

  "But you know, it could be that old Fletcher is just miserably lonely. He loved his wife with everything he had. Looks like he feels much the same about you. Just the thought of you walking back out that door has him miserable. He was mad about the store goods and all, sure. But mad with a fire…that seems to have gone out at the thought of you leaving."

  "Well, that's all to the—"

  "No, ma'am, it's not to the good. He's got too much pride, I'll grant you. But you know what else? Fletcher's got a town full of customers who know he stands behind what he sells. If they need something special ordered, he'll get it for them. If there's a problem, he'll make it right. He's honest and hardworking, and maybe he just needs a woman to appreciate that."

  "Dionisa, if you'd just let me explain," Fletcher interjected, coming to his feet. There was a tenderness in his voice and eyes. Twila watched, enthralled, unable to quite believe the scene playing out before her. Del was defending her uncle. More that that, he was using his masculine appeal and that voice he put on—that very persuasive voice women couldn't ignore—to coerce this woman into giving Fletcher Bell a second chance.

  "See, Fletcher's biggest problem is he wants everything to be so perfect, so right all time, he tends to see little mistakes and problems as being a lot bigger and more important than they are. He magnifies them in his own mind. I think he just needs a good woman to restore his sense of balance and proportion. I know marrying Twila has done that for me. I know what's truly important now. My wife, and our child due late next spring."

  Twila wondered at that, too. They'd never actually discussed her date of conception, or when she anticipated the baby would be born. A little flush of sexual thrill went through her. Apparently Del understood her woman's body even better than she'd reckoned. Oh my.

  There was a delicious thought!

  "Del, we need to get back to the ranch. I think these folks can sort things out on their own."

  Del nodded and tipped his hat to the woman. They he reached for Twila's hand and led her out over the debris like a queen headed for her royal coach. As she climbed back up into the buggy, it felt like one. "You really are an amazing man, Delancy."

  He grinned. "Yeah, I know. But don't tell everybody around here. I sort of like them thinking I'm just a horse rancher."

  The aura of pride and self satisfaction lasted until they hit the outskirts of town. Then Del slowed the buggy and turned to Twila. "Could you believe that store? Raccoons nesting in it? And he tried to get them out with a shotgun, and blew a hole clean through his kitchen wall! I mean, what are the odds of that? In the whole town, raccoons climb into an open window and take over the store." He shook his head in disbelief.

  "Pretty bizarre series of events, isn't it?" Twila responded. "Almost like the worst rotten luck ever."

  Del's chortles magnified. He slapped his knee and gasped for breath. "I'm telling you…I've never seen anything like that. Or anybody more deserving of it! Twilagleam, this whole damned town's going to hear the story, and know you were nowhere around when the Bell stupidity came home to roost."

  Twila worried at that last remark. "But Del, what if people say I did it…with some kind of curse or hex, or something?"

  "They won't. Don't worry about it, Twila. Anybody seeing that blast hole in the upper wall will know that was no curse, just bad shooting. One of the coons will turn up dead from buckshot. There's probably a dead or injured raccoon around behind the store in the dirt right now."

  "Oh." She hadn't thought of that. As much as she'd enjoy being exonerated, she didn't much like the thought of dead animals.

  "One of my men will find it and wave it around in a saloon, make sure everybody hears the story. Not that I want to cause your uncle any more grief, but we go
t to lay this 'curse' gossip to rest. No child of mine's going to have folks saying his mother's a witch."

  Oh, Del.

  What had she done to deserve him? Maybe she wasn't a witch, but she wasn't particularly clever or attractive, or devoted to church and public service. How had she ended up with the man Betty Lee had lured to the altar? Twila couldn't think of herself as incredibly lucky—that was too much of a stretch after hearing the opposite for years—and yet, what other explanation was there?

  Good heavens. What if it were true? What if all this time, she'd actually been lucky, and never knew it? She did, after all, save the Vogel necklace. And she'd had no say in either living with Fletcher Bell or migrating west to Wadsworth. But if she hadn't been Fletcher's ward when he hatched the notion, she never would have come to Nevada and met Del Mitchell.

  Twila was trying to get her mind to embrace the new theory before asking Del what he thought about it when she realized they'd arrived home. Wranglers came streaming toward the buggy, all talking at once. Apparently Fletcher's wasn't the only business to suffer in the absence of its owner. She had no chance to talk to Del about anything further. She was hustled out of the buggy and taken with her luggage to the house even as Del disappeared into the barn with his men.

  * * *

  Lucius was only too pleased to climb aboard the Central Pacific railroad car.

  He'd spent most of the night at a lousy excuse for a hotel near the tracks. Naturally, by the time he got out of Miss Adeline's place and was able to flag down a cab, he'd arrived to see the brakeman's red lantern disappear as the last train eastward rumbled off. He'd had no choice but to take a room in the nearest hotel and purchase a ticket for departure the following day.

  He smirked to himself, mentally picturing how a couple of other fellows had awakened today. He might not have been able to get a good night's sleep, but at least he hadn't spent it in leather restraints. He chuckled under this breath. That had been a true stroke of genius, telling the bouncer his "friends" had unusual tastes in gentlemanly amusements. Perversions. Almost worth the highway robbery rate he'd had to pay to make sure they were "tied up" for the night!

  Yes, indeed, right about now they'd be trying to fumble back into their gambler's suits, cursing the day they ever followed Lucius Bell to Sacramento and into that brothel. He'd wager they didn't dare show their faces in Wadsworth again.

  They might have rifled through the emporium and tried to threaten him before, but by now they must have discovered they had a mysterious "benefactor" who'd paid for their pleasure. Or displeasures. Unless the whores and madam had the temerity to collect their fees twice—in which event, Lucius would only be even happier.

  Served them right, the buffoons.

  Who would've thought they'd take a harmless jest to such extreme lengths? He put the English fellows out of his mind as he settled into his seat and waited for the train to pull out. He'd done well for himself. Very well, despite having to fork over the money to the harlots and that flophouse the night before, plus a cab ride. He was still well ahead of what he'd brought to town with him. His father would be very pleasantly surprised.

  Maybe somewhat put out that Lucius had left him to mind the store alone for the past couple of days, along with helping himself to a loan from the till. But once he saw that his son had more than tripled the funds, he'd have to admit it was a great return on the investment. More than sufficient to ensure his father's forgiveness for the "borrowing" he'd done without asking permission first.

  He slumped down in his seat as the train began rolling forward. He'd try to catch a few winks along the way. A smile creased his lips. He couldn't wait to see his father's face when he waved the money in it.

  * * *

  "Suppertime in under an hour, Boss."

  Del nodded as he passed the cookhouse. "I'll be there with the missus, Biscuit."

  "Oh, well, if you were thinking on gathering her to come along, she ain't over at the house. Saw her out yonder that way, not ten minutes ago." Biscuit jerked his thumb toward the far pasture.

  Del halted in mid-stride. "You sure about that?"

  "Do I look senile to you? I was busting broncos when you were out chasing tumbleweeds with a lasso tryin' to learn how to snag a mustang, and I know what I when I saw it. Your wife, over by the rocks there."

  Biscuit wasn't feeling his age…just feeling ornery about having enough age that people thought he should be feeling it.

  "All right, all right," Del said, trying to soothe the old feathers before Biscuit launched into a longer diatribe. "You got any idea what she was doing over that way? Why she'd be combing the rocks?"

  "Hell, I don't know. Why do women do anything?"

  Dammit, Del had hit another sore spot. Biscuit had been writing to a widow back in Delaware. Not a courtship through the mails, or anything specific, as far as the other men could tell. More like an idle hobby, to help pass the time. And Biscuit sure did look forward to her letters. Until he got one saying she'd up and married a man twenty years her junior, who'd come to her door selling bibles and prayer shawls.

  Somehow, to Biscuit's way of thinking, she'd lost her mind—for taking a live one on her porch over a stamped-and-sealed man three thousand miles due west. Not that he'd ever written to her about marriage, or either of them pulling up roots and getting hitched. Not that he was jealous. No sir. But, he'd groused to Del, what kind of woman married a bible salesman for his talent between the sheets? And if he didn't have any of that to speak of, what did she want with a man so much younger than she was?

  "I thought maybe you'd spoken to Twila," Del offered hopefully. Twila and Biscuit usually got on fairly well, which had been surprising at first. Biscuit had more prickly sore spots than a tinhorn with blisters. Most of the local women saw him as little more than a sour, disagreeable old man.

  But Twila, being Twila, seemed to sense the was one instance where her natural shyness would be an asset. She didn't say a whole lot. Mostly just smiled at him when they sat down to eat. But Del had also noticed that if she left anything uneaten on her plate or bowl, she made a point of professing the food had been so delicious, she'd stuffed herself and couldn't manage another morsel.

  The old sourpatch would grin.

  And somehow Del suspected the old sourpatch knew more than he was letting on about Twila right now. "Odd that she'd just decide to go out to that section of pasture land. And run into you, there, too. Somebody find a new stream out that way or something?"

  Del knew the area under discussion was basically pretty barren. Some scrub grass, loose rocks, gravel. Definitely nothing to attract visitors.

  "Sometimes I collect the gravelly grit from out that way. Helps me scrub out the stewpot."

  Oh, Lord. Del would never sit down to a bowl of Biscuit's stew and think of it quite the same way again. Now he'd start prodding with his spoon right off, in case something he might assume was tough meat turned out to be a damned pebble. He wondered if maybe Biscuit was in cahoots with Emerson, the local dentist.

  "She said she was restless. Tell you truthfully, though, I think she was a mite disappointed and didn't want to say anything to you."

  "Disappointed how?"

  "Them folks in Sacto…She guarded that fancy gewgaw of theirs for months, spent her own money to place them newspaper notices, and had Henry running crazy to find 'em. They thanked her and all. But I expect she thought their gratitude would be the more obvious sort. The kind a body can take over to the bank."

  Del flushed, recalling there was a little matter of reward money. He'd planned to discuss it with her as soon as they got back, but with the Bell Emporium being attacked by marauding raccoons and the problems here at the ranch, Del forgot about it.

  He could imagine Twila confessing a touch of selfish greed to Biscuit, but not saying a thing to him. Del knew the Vogels, so Twila wouldn't want to hurt them by tainting Del's good opinion of them. Biscuit, on the other hand, had a suspicious opinion about everyone and most things.


  Smart girl. Temporary solace in agreement from someone whose opinion didn't count for squat, except it may have made her feel a little better. Which was part of Del's job in life now, and he ought to get back to doing it.

  "Thanks, Biscuit. If we're a few minutes late, just—"

  "Horse feathers! A few minutes, my scrawny ass! If I ever had me, just once, a woman looked like her soft on me, I'd be an hour and a half late to my own funeral!"

  Del strode off briskly in the direction of the open expanse of gravel, grinning in spite of himself. Biscuit was indeed a sourpuss, but a damned perceptive fellow. He knew Del was crazy in love with his young bride.

  He nearly broke into a run as he spotted her. She had her back to him. She was just standing and gazing off into the distance, nothing moving but her hair and skirts, tickled by the late afternoon breeze. Del halted and drew in a breath of it.

  He swallowed as the realization hit him.

  She was his. Truly and completely his. His wife, and in several more months, the mother of his child.

  Her parents had been the only other people to see the real Twila. He knew because of what they'd named her. Twilagleam, for the words of a poem and song everybody knew. But looking at her now, with the sun about to set, he knew they'd chosen the perfect name for a girl who'd never be quite like anyone else.

  The sun set every damned night. How often did a man pause to watch it, to truly take in the wonder of God's miracle, right there before his eyes? How often did a man let the awe wash over him, and really appreciate the wide sky, the mountains and stars? Or the moment itself, that unique hush between day and nightfall, when it seemed almost anything might be possible? A moment of endings and beginnings rolled into one…

  He tried to walk softly those last few strides, but she must have heard his approach. She turned and he saw the confusion and a sorrowful look in her eyes. "I was just thinking how much has changed. Uncle Fletcher thinking of remarrying. Lucius gone off, and goodness knows if he'll come back. When I learned he'd cleaned out the till…I wonder if he hasn't run away, Del."