“What’s your name anyway?” Milton asked Jack after the men were gone.
Jack grinned. “The name’s John Davis.”
Milton shook his hand. “Well, Mr. John Davis, if ever you should be in need of a favor, I’ll have your back.”
Chapter 5
Delilah paced the block of shops for the tenth time. Some parts of playing the proper lady came easier than she imagined—fanning and smiling and walking carefully.
Other things did not.
How did a lady spend an entire day perusing the aisles of a shop? Delilah had entered each store and looked over each shelf. The dress shop had taken no longer than twenty minutes, the mercantile only ten. The others—a medical tincture shop, a skin and hide stand, and a blacksmith—took much less.
Delilah had tried. The dressmaker (who happened to double as the town shoemaker and tailor) had been kind enough to show Delilah around the store. But dresses were only so interesting, and the shop in Crooked Creek was limited in their selection. To make matters worse, Delilah had always been decisive. Knowing what she did and didn’t prefer came easy, and the dress shop had little to offer.
Perhaps her disinterest had worked for her favor. Delilah had worn the flashiest of the jewelry (and consequently the only genuine piece) Marianne had packed, along with a new dress. With any luck, the shop clerks and customers would see Delilah as a snobby, rich woman, that was far above the options of a primitive town like Crooked Creek—and that was precisely her mission.
The afternoon sun glared against her, and she took out her fan. She wished she could enter the saloon and see what Jack was up to. His role in the case seemed more interesting. How would he find Gunner Brooks? Would he infiltrate their gang in some way, or would Jack boast about his wealth for the entire saloon to hear, making them the targets of more than Brooks?
She stopped in front of the sheriff’s office, which happened to be located right across from the saloon. Delilah imagined the scene as similar to her dining room table in Massachusetts—ill-mannered men and poorly-groomed men, fist fights, and alcohol. She cringed; no matter the outcome of the Pinkerton case, Delilah would not return to them.
The door of the saloon swung open, and Delilah stepped back.
Jack stood in the doorway. His hat hung in his hands, and his hair was disheveled, standing in all different directions. He took a shaky step and stopped, as if waiting for something or someone.
He was drunk.
Delilah wished to wring his neck. How could he allow himself to be intoxicated when he was supposed to be on the job? She walked toward him. Maybe Mr. Gordon was wrong; maybe Delilah should have been the one training Jack. For all his fancy talk, Jack needed a set down.
He grinned. His emerald eyes glowed in the afternoon sun. “Delilah, right on time.”
She furrowed her brows. “You’re drunk.”
Jack shook his head. “No, but I wish I was. Now, follow my lead.”
“Why would you pretend—”
Jack put a finger to his lips.
Delilah opened her mouth to ask more questions, but something caught her eye—three men from the alleyway; they walked straight toward Jack, and the first one had a murderous look in his eye.
“Evening, boys,” Jack said, when they began to close in on him.
Delilah’s eyes narrowed. Jack had expected as much, and from his drunken appearance, she guessed he aimed to take their beating. What on earth was he doing?
“Have you met my wife?” Jack said, nearly stumbling to the ground.
Her body went rigid.
The men turned their attention toward her.
Every grouping has a leader, and Delilah recognized him instantly by his posture and confident expression. The man was only medium height and build, perhaps even skinny, but his movements were sharp and deliberate. His brown hair and mustache were groomed with particular care. He was handsome, yet there was something about his expression.
Delilah’s gut warned her; this man was bad.
“Meet my friends,” Jack said, slurring his words. “Les, and…I forget the rest.”
Les still stared at her—more particularly her necklace. He lifted a finger and pointed at Delilah. “Your husband robbed me of my winnings at a poker game in there, ma’am. Perhaps you can settle the dispute by giving me your necklace.”
Her hands flew to her chest. She clutched the diamond pendant. Marianne had impressed upon Delilah the importance of the necklace. Besides its value, the necklace was key in attracting the likes of Gunner Brooks.
Her expression must have betrayed her inner conflict, for Les folded his arms. “I’d hate for this to turn angry, ma’am.”
The man behind Les lifted a fist, smashing it into Jack’s stomach.
Delilah darted forward. The impact had sent Jack to his knees. “Jack,” she said, bending beside him. Confusion pulsed through her chest. How was she to follow this lead? Didn’t Jack know she was liable to shoot these men?
Another fist, this time from the third man, smashed against Jack’s cheek.
A trickle of blood dripped from his nose, and Jack fell into Delilah’s lap. The sound of her scream startled her, and she cradled his jaw. How could he not fight back?
“Now, ma’am. As I said, I’d hate for this to turn ugly. Your necklace?” Les said, pointing his revolver at her neck.
The nerve. She stood, leaving Jack in a heap at her feet. “Pardon me,” she said, crossing her arms. Defiance flared across her chest. There was nothing Delilah detested more than being made to do something she did not wish to do. “I believe it is you who are in my debt. You have knocked out my husband.”
Les laughed. “Lady, you should teach your man to drink less.”
Her hands dropped to her side pockets, where her own gun resided. The desire to shoot these men startled her. “Perhaps, but beating a defenseless man is disgusting. And frankly, this necklace? I do not care to give it away. It is a particular favorite of my wedding gifts. Now, kindly put your gun away.”
Jack whimpered. “Give the man what he wishes for, darling. You’ve plenty of others.”
Delilah bit her tongue to keep from shouting. Had Jack lost his sense completely?
Les took four steps toward her, stopping only a foot away. His gun balanced just below her chin. “The necklace, ma’am?”
Anger burned against her chest, but something new counterbalanced her anger, chilling her down her entire spine—fear. His words were ice against her cheek. There was no mistaking his threat. His black eyes narrowed, speaking volumes. The man would take whatever he wished for. Killing the pair of them would be nothing to him.
Her hands trembled as she unclasped the necklace.
He sneered. “Don’t cry, ma’am. I can’t stand to see a woman cry.”
Delilah shook. He had what he wanted; why didn’t he leave now?
Les continued to stare at her, until her breath hitched, and she thought she might sob. Then, to her horror, he licked his teeth and pulled an arm around her, jerking Delilah into a forceful embrace. He planted his lips against hers, pushing with more force than necessary. His breath reeked of alcohol, cigars, and onions.
At last, he released her, pushing her to the ground.
The men laughed.
Jack jumped to his feet, and a look of murder spread across his features. He bolted for Les, pulling the man to the ground. “Don’t ever touch my wife again.”
Les still held his gun, and he aimed it at Jack. “Don’t ever come between me and my winnings again, or I’ll take more than a kiss and bobble.” He flicked his head at the row of horses behind them. “Grab the horses. Let’s go.”
His men obeyed, and the three of them disappeared down the dirt road.
Delilah remained on the dirt road, wiping at her mouth. She felt ruined by that kiss. That man’s force had shaken her past anything she’d ever felt. He was evil and without conscience, and that kiss had been a message to Delilah; he would take whatever he wished, and then so
me. He would not allow anyone—man nor woman nor anything else—to stand in his way. Les was a different kind of evil.
“Delilah?” Jack asked, after the street was quiet once more.
Warm tears stung her eyes, but she refused to acknowledge them. She swallowed a sob and stood, brushing off her skirt. She had wanted to scream at Jack for his stupidity, moments earlier, but now she was at a loss for words. The taste of Les’s disturbing kiss still lingered on her lips. She wanted to scrub her mouth with soap and water until the day she died.
Jack’s nose and lips were bloodied, and dirt streaked against his cheek and hair from his tumble to the dirt. But he took her by the elbow and pulled her into an embrace.
Any resolve to stay her tears dissolved, and she shook in his arms. She buried her face in his chest and cried. She wanted to pull herself by the ears or slap her own cheek for her ridiculous tears. Never had she cried so ridiculously. But anger and terror still knocked against her chest, and she allowed herself, just this once, to surrender to the comfort of an embrace.
“You did well.” Jack said, pulling her hair from her wet cheeks.
Her voice cracked against her cries. “Did well? Why on earth did you pick a fight with such a vile man? And why did you allow him to hurt you and to take the diamond necklace?”
Jack leaned his chin atop her head. “Like I said, I don’t plan too much ahead of time. Things do better when I go with the flow. Seems we just made a memorable impression of Gunner Charles Brooks.”
Delilah flinched. “That man’s name was Les.”
“Yes, and I’ve a hunch that is Brooks himself.” Jack released her from his embrace but stared down at her. “He won’t be forgetting this exchange, and once news of your fortune hits all of Crooked Creek, Brooks will be back for more. Men like him cannot stand a chance to push people down—especially people like me and you—ones who caught him in cheating and refused his wishes. He’ll be back; I’m sure of it.”
A disquieting feeling settled upon her heart. Delilah never wished to see Charles Brooks again, but if she had to—and she did—she was prepared to put a bullet between those dark and frightening eyes.
Her blue eyes met his. “Now, hold still.”
Jack gritted his teeth, bracing himself for her work as nurse. Watching Delilah cry had softened him. Jack never thought he’d see a crack in her composure. She had been a spitfire from their first meeting—defensive, fiery, stubborn, and unwilling to sit still. And now… Jack had seen a different side to her. Vulnerability. That, coupled with her strength and resilience, kept him searching her face for a hint or clue. Who was this woman exactly? Her eyes, like crystals—were they made of stone or something softer?
Delilah pressed the cold cloth to his chin. “I’m just washing you first.”
Her movements were surprisingly gentle. She alternated washing his face, and then rinsing the rag in the basin of water. Jack was surprised by the quick change of color. He hadn’t realized how much blood he had lost.
She ran the cloth through his mustache, pausing at his upper lip. “Why did you allow them to hurt you? Why didn’t you fight back?”
“Men like Brooks wouldn’t stand for a fight. He would have shot me dead in the street.”
Delilah sighed and pushed the rag more rigorously to his chin. “How did you know it was him?”
Jack winced, grabbing her hand. “I suspected as much, but then I saw the way he treated you and the way he held his gun...”
Her cheeks flushed at his touch, and she pulled away to rinse the rag once more. “What about the way he held his gun?”
“Did you read the papers behind the case?” Jack asked, wiping the dripping water from his mustache. “Charles Brooks is known to hold the gun trigger with his middle finger. His index finger was caught in a pulley as a child, mangled it something ugly.”
“And you saw his finger?” Delilah asked, scrunched her brows together.
Jack nodded. “Noticing is easier when you don’t have a gun to your chin.”
Delilah pulled a clean rag from the stack Maggie provided and dipped it in ointment. She surveyed his chin. “Then we will have to meet him again. How do you know he won’t run after that altercation? He has to know we will speak with the sheriff.”
Jack exhaled. The sheriff had expressed little interest in the case. The man seemed more interested in staying alive than upholding the law. Jack cleared his throat. “Yes, Brooks will know we will speak with the sheriff, but Brooks doesn’t scare at a small-town lawman. We’ll do better to pick apart Brooks’s posse, one by one. Now, Wilkins saw their wagon the other day, I suppose there may be tracks to follow. Finding their camp is the first thing we need to—” Jack flinched in pain, wrapping his hand around the base of his seat. “That is, if you don’t kill me first with your ointment.”
Delilah rolled her eyes. She blew a strand of hair from her face. “You can take punches and blows from one of the most notorious outlaw gangs, but you can’t handle a bit of sting?”
Jack chuckled. “Fair point.”
She smiled.
Jack stopped laughing to catch his breath. He hadn’t seen a real smile until now. Before, she had teased and jabbed at Jack, but never smiled. Her cheeks lifted, and her eyes seemed to sparkle. Her hair was still pinned to the top of her head, but because of their altercation with Les and the others, red-flamed strands fell over her cheeks and at the nape of her neck.
“Now that you’ve seen some action in the agency, do you regret signing on?” Jack asked.
She finished with her nursing efforts and sat in the chair beside him. “No, I’d choose this again. My life in Massachusetts was almost as frightening as Charles Brooks. I felt helpless in my prospects, I felt…frozen. At least now, I’ve taken charge of my life. And though I never imagined such an evil man as Brooks, I will be glad to bring him to justice. For all the people he’s wronged and robbed, for all the women he’s made to feel small.”
Jack’s eyes widened. Small? How could Delilah ever feel small? Despite her physique, she was larger than life. Her determination and courage were plenty loud, not to mention her temper and her resolve. But those eyes and that smile? They were the loveliest and loudest piece about her. She was striking. Jack knew that Brooks had tormented her because of these qualities.
“You realize he meant to make you feel like that?” Jack asked, shaking his head. “He recognized the fight in you.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m well aware of what he intended, and I will show him the truth of the matter one way or another.”
Jack picked up the mirror from the table and glanced at his reflection. The beating of Brooks’s men had left more a mark than Jack had anticipated. He rubbed a hand over the gash at his chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked weaker.”
“I’m surprised you allowed them.”
Jack laughed. “Believe me, not more surprised than me. Took a bit of me swallowing my pride.”
She smiled again, and this time she laughed.
The encounter with Les had changed something between Delilah and Jack. Jack wondered at what and how but gave up after only seconds. He couldn’t think straight with that smile aimed at him. His chest warmed at the sight of her beside him.
“What now?” Delilah asked, lifting her hands in the air. “He has the diamond necklace.”
Jack stood, still grappling with the sensation flooding his chest; he’d met many pretty women, but none had brought such admiration so quickly. But she was young and inexperienced. He couldn’t take advantage of that fact. “We’ve got plenty left to lull him. Let’s get dinner and see to the sheriff.”
Chapter 6
Terrance Wilkins pulled the wagon to a stop in front of a small cabin. “Jez will be able to help you more than most. He knows the area in and out, most likely from that boy of his. Everett always goes and gets himself lost.”
Delilah wanted to groan. Terrance was a strange man, and his mind seemed to spin faster than the wheels of the wagon. If o
nly those wheels in his head spun the same direction. He had forgotten where he saw Brooks’s wagon, only remembering a general direction.
Jack hopped from the side of the wagon, motioning for her to join him. “And you’re sure this Jez won’t mind us dropping in on him?”
“Jez is a good bean. He don’t protest too much, unless it’s a washing. I heard he came from one of them big cities in the East, but he don’t look like it. He’s one of Crooked Creek’s finest.” Terrance pulled off his hat to swat at a fly. “He won’t mind you especially, Mr. Davis. Seems you taught him a new method in cards the other night—uncovering those cheats.”
Delilah scowled. “You say he’s one of your finest?”
Terrance laughed. It was a throaty, crackling sound. “One of the best. Jez don’t cheat like those other men. He only does it to get Milton’s goat. Now, take it easy on those steps. Jez ain’t the finest carpenter around these parts.”
Jack tipped his hat. “Thank you. I won’t let my wife’s necklace go without a fight. Do you mind spreading word around town?”
“Course,” Terrance said, smiling. He was missing more than a few teeth, and the ones that remained were yellowing and brown. “I don’t mind in the slightest, long as…”
“You’re rewarded?” Jack nodded. “I know, Mr. Wilkins.”
Terrance laughed and whipped the reigns. “I ain’t above reminding.”
Delilah fanned herself. The October heat had never felt as hot as it did then. Her new dresses were composed of layer after layer; stockings and slips and hats and gloves. She’d felt irritable ever since she stepped foot on that wagon. Her cheeks were sunburned, she could feel it. “Well?” she said to Jack.
He studied the house. “I suppose we start by knocking.”
“You learn that on the job?” Delilah asked, smiling.
An Agent for Delilah Page 5
