So why didn’t she trust him?
“My mama taught me how to make pie as a child, before she…” Delilah scooped a slice from the cast-iron fry pan onto one of the tin plates Terrance had packed. “In any case, with all older brothers, my father expected a lot of me. Cooking and baking were required. I suppose that is why he refused to marry me off.”
Jack offered her a smile as a peace offering. “The pie smells delicious, especially on a rainy night such as tonight. I didn’t know you baked.”
She put a hand against her hip, leaving white fingerprints on the edge of her skirt. “We hardly discussed domestic skills during my interview with Mr. Gordon.”
Jack strode to her side, taking the pie in his hand. “I reckon we’ve hardly discussed anything of importance.”
Her widened gaze met his.
“My father used to say there were two types of people in the world—those that could shoot a gun and those that couldn’t. You fall squarely into that first category, but you’ve never said how you learned. Will you tell me?”
Delilah laughed, but the sound seemed more nervous. “I don’t recall learning actually.” Her brows lowered. “I was so young. My brothers were always leaving to hunt, and I hated to be left behind. I suppose I just learned along the way.”
“But surely someone taught you at one point…” Jack frowned.
She shook her head, scooping a piece of pie onto her own plate. “Perhaps, but I don’t remember. I practiced target shooting often. With so many older brothers, I had to find a way to hold my own.”
“Why?” Jack winced. He’d spoken without thinking.
“Why?” Delilah scowled. “You would not ask such a thing if you were the motherless daughter and youngest of five brothers. Trust me. I had plenty to prove.”
He swirled his fork around the plate of pie. She was on the defense again, crouched like a tiger that was ready to pounce. He wiped a hand over his mustache. “I only meant…Why do you feel like you need to prove yourself to anyone? You’ve got more than your fair share of skills.”
Her mouth gaped open.
Jack took a bite of his pie, and the sweet taste of the apples with the flaky crust tickled his tongue. He closed his eyes, swallowing slowly. For her crazy gal-boy qualities, Delilah could bake.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
He nodded, taking another bite. “You could give Pearl at the agency a run for her money.”
Delilah’s expression softened, and the slightest smile touched her lips.
They finished their pie without speaking, listening to the sound of the rain beating against the roof. The rain had continued to fall, pouring faster and faster, slipping between the cracks in the roof. Jack’s hair was soaked from missteps beneath the drips of water.
Delilah set her plate back on the stovetop. “Do you think we will have to wait long for Brooks to come for the jewelry and money?”
Jack shrugged. “Can’t be sure, but most men don’t like waiting. Brooks won’t want any valuables falling into others’ hands before he has a chance at it. We’ll just have to be at the ready.”
She nodded, flinching as the room streaked with light and the sound of thunder again. The downfall turned torrential in a matter of seconds, and the lines of water falling through the roof multiplied, leaving pools of water all around the room. “I can see why Milton’s old home has been abandoned for so long.”
Wind whipped against the windows and walls at an alarming rate. The stove in the corner of the room did little to counter the chill. Delilah was streaked in rainwater. She trembled, and her teeth chattered.
“I’ll put another log in the stove. You’re shivering.” Jack moved, just as another streak of lightning bolted through the room.
Delilah darted to her blankets laid upon the floor. She wrapped them around herself instead, huddling in the corner beneath the loft. The storm intensified once more, so much so that the water against the roof sounded like a hundred horses hooves. The candle was distinguished, and the only light remaining stemmed from the edges of the stove door, where fire still burned.
Jack ran to Delilah’s side, hoping to keep himself from getting completely soaked. His stomach grumbled at him, and he grunted. “I can’t let the pie waste.”
“Oh, leave it,” Delilah said, squinting in the darkness.
He shook his head vehemently and retrieved the pan from across the room. Jack wasn’t about to waste as perfect a pie as that one. He made it back to their refuge nearly soaked through. He grimaced. Sleeping in wet clothes seemed terribly uncomfortable.
Soft laughter caught his ears. Delilah’s body, wrapped in the blanket like a cocoon, shook with the effort. She had been spared from the majority of the downpour, but her curls were now wet and hung over one shoulder.
“Laughing at me?” Jack cradled the pan near his chest, stepping closer to her side.
She nodded, laughing louder. “You look like a wet dog.”
His lips tugged. “What did you say?” Even in the darkness, Jack could see her eyes shining back at him with laughter. “Laugh all you want, but I’ve got a pie to eat.”
Delilah reached for the pan. “On second thought, I am still hungry.”
He caught her by the hand, tsking. “Not so fast. You think I will share with you after you choose to laugh at me? Not a chance.”
“Not share?” Delilah’s laughter ceased. She twisted out of his hold and attempted to take the pan from him. “I slaved over that pie. If anyone isn’t going to share, it’ll be me.”
This time, Jack’s rich laughter filled the space between them. Seeing her jump and turn about, trying to take the pie, only ignited his desire to tease her. He lifted the pan higher, until she was jumping up and down like a jack rabbit.
“Don’t hurt yourself, kid. We still have a case to solve.”
“Kid?” She paused, crossing her arms over her chest.
His laughter simmered to a large grin. Her determination was sure. Already, Jack recognized her stubborn expression; she would not rest until she had the pie. For whatever reason, that knowledge only endeared her more. His voice cracked. “When you’re jumping about like that, do you expect I would call you something other than a kid?”
Delilah gasped. “You aren’t any better, holding that pie from me.”
His gaze fell to her perfectly surprised lips. Jack adored her lips, and the desire to kiss them pulsed through him. They needed to speak about the previous night, no matter how uncomfortable doing so would be. Jack needed to know how she truly felt. He lowered the pie, still staring down at her. “Do you think you could ever come to think of me as more than a partner?”
Her breath hitched. “More than a partner?”
Jack nodded, balancing the pan on a rung of the loft ladder. His feelings for her increased with each moment he spent next to her. For so long, Jack’s life had been independent of anyone else’s. His days had been filled with cases, and his work brought satisfaction.
But stable and steady were far from fulfilling. Jack longed for something more, and Delilah was more…everything—beautiful, talented, feisty, stubborn, gentle, scrappy.
Delilah’s eyes darted to his. “Last night…If Maggie hadn’t shown up, would you have kissed me?”
“She gave me an excuse to try.” Jacks hands fell to her waist, and he leaned closer. “What difference does it make? We did, and we need to talk about it.”
The lines at her forehead deepened and her eyelids lowered. “Must we?”
Jack released a slow breath. “I’m not experienced with these types of talks—mostly because I have lived life on my own for so long. I felt something in that kiss, something real, and I’m not sure I can forget it. But I will try, if that is your wish.”
“No.” Delilah’s hand clapped over her mouth. She looked mortified by her confession.
“No?” A smile slipped across his lips. “Then you do not wish to forget it happened either?”
She readjusted the blanket at he
r shoulders. “I’ve never been kissed before you…The only men interested in me back home were vile and horrid and—they weren’t like you. But I also do not want to risk this chance at becoming a Pinkerton agent on a whim. I’ve given up too much, Jack. If I fail, I have nothing left to go back to.”
His chest pulsed in pain and the unfamiliar feeling radiated outward. His hands fell from her waist, and he tried to swallow but his throat was dry. “You think what sits between us is nothing more than a whim?”
Delilah shrugged. She winced, and her expression could only be characterized by one word—sadness. Complete and utter sadness. “No honest man has wanted to court me before.”
Her expression should have evoked sympathy, but it did quite the opposite. The back of Jack’s neck burned, and a ribbon of anger rippled through him. He was here, telling her he cared, and still she did not believe him? He released a slow breath after nearly a minute of silence. “We should get to bed. We have to be ready for Brooks.”
Jack settled on the floor with his back against the wall.
“Aren’t you going to eat the pie?” Delilah asked, taking it from the ladder.
He set his hat over his eyes. He felt childish, but her intimations had bothered him—first with her accusation that their kiss had been only a whim and second that Jack would hold something like that against her quest for a badge. Did she think so little of him?
His anger flared once more, but there was something else beneath the burning and frustration…He closed his eyes and tried to push his feelings aside.
“Jack?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
Chapter 9
The stove door shut with a clink, and Delilah held her breath.
Jack flinched at the sudden noise, lifting his hat from his squinted eyes.
“I hadn’t meant to wake you,” Delilah said.
The uncomfortable cloud of silence still hung between them, despite an entire night’s sleep—or at least her best effort. Sleep had evaded her for hours, as she turned and tossed against the wooden floor. She’d been right to question her abilities at something like romance; she’d offended Jack, enough that he had refused pie, and yet…she wasn’t sure which part of her behavior had hurt him.
Jack stretched his back.
“Did you truly sleep like that?” she asked, setting the kettle atop the stove. She wiped her hands against her apron in attempts of cleaning the black from her fingertips. “I never saw a man sleep sitting up. Seems dreadfully uncomfortable.”
He turned his neck to each side, and small cracking sounds resulted. “I’ve had better rests, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t mind. I’d rather suffer a stiff back than ignite more of your reproaches.”
“Reproaches?” She teetered on one leg, nearly dropping the mugs in her hand.
“No matter the technicality of our marriage, I wasn’t about to do something so inappropriate as sleep laying down, beside you.”
A heat lifted from her chest. Delilah hadn’t considered his sleeping arrangement as a result of his consideration. Her throat went dry. “Perhaps the rest of the house will have dried by evening, and I can sleep on the loft.”
Jack met her eyes for the first time that morning. The bags beneath hinted at his restless night, but his green eyes held their usual collectedness.
Delilah set the mugs against the slanted table top, hoping to appear more composed than she felt. His silent contemplative nature, mixed with his careful and deliberate manner, often beamed from his green-eyed gaze. The smallest glint seemed to speak, and Delilah often felt equally mesmerized as unnerved; there was so much that Jack did not say.
“Trying you hand at cooking again?” Jack flicked his chin toward the stove.
Delilah’s lips parted, and she followed his gaze. “Oh, no. Just coffee. I thought we both could use some for the day ahead.”
Jack stood and sauntered closer. “If it weren’t for the stove door, I wouldn’t have heard you. Are you always so good at sneaking around?”
His expression had softened, and he no longer looked as guarded. Delilah smiled. “I became quite good at escaping undetected. Once, a neighboring girl brought over a loaf of her banana bread. While my brothers were busy wrestling in the front yard, I made off with the bread without a single one of my brothers noticing.”
“Oh?” Jack’s lips curved. “And what did they do when they realized what you’d done?”
“It’s one of my better memories. I only took a piece of the bread and returned it to the kitchen counter before the fight was finished.” She laughed, remembering the look on her brother Broderick’s face when he saw the missing piece. But then her amusement tapered. “That was after my brother Tom had strung me in a tree, and my wrists were bruised and sore as a result. I couldn’t risk another punishment of that type.”
His eyes widened, and he surveyed her slowly. “They were rough with you?”
She shrugged. “When they caught me.”
Understanding flickered across his rugged features. His shoulders tensed, and he touched her at the back of the arms. “I’m sorry.”
Emotion clawed at her, and she blinked away a tear. She hardly knew why tears threatened—whether the consequence of the memories or Jack’s kindness. Either way, she detested crying. Nothing made her feel more helpless than tears; they served no purpose in fixing anything.
The kettle whistled, startling the both of them.
Jack dropped his hands to the side. “I haven’t seen my brother for ten years, though I don’t have a good reason.”
“What is the reason?”
The ball of his throat bobbed up and down. “My brother inherited the family ranch, which is a substantial inheritance, while I was only offered a job as hired hand. The inequality got under my skin, until I could no longer stay there. So, I left, and like you—I don’t much have anything but the agency to fall back upon.”
Her self-pity subsided, and she considered the man in front of her instead. “And you do not intend to return?”
Jack frowned. “Why would I? My ma isn’t the doting type, and my daddy died long before that.”
Delilah’s chin lifted. “But what about your brother—don’t you miss him? Don’t you miss your home? If it’s only pride that is holding you from returning—”
“It’s not.” He cleared his throat, but then his jaw clenched.
There was more to the tale, but Delilah was perceptive enough to recognize Jack did not wish to speak of the subject anymore. So instead of persisting in questions, she tended to the coffee instead.
Meanwhile, Jack rearranged the trunks, setting them along a wall in a neat line. He worked, reorganizing the pile of supply crates, until a small line of perspiration dotted the back of his neck.
Delilah tried not to notice the shape of his back and arms each time he lifted something across the room, or the way his hair, creased by his hat, bounced each time he stepped. She tried especially hard not to notice how warm her cheeks felt each time brushed beside her, or the strange sensation building in the pit of her stomach.
She was attracted to his tall and muscular build, his quiet ways, and even his quiet manner. Knowing a part of his painful past, and his resilience in the midst, seemed to only improve her opinion on Jack. Beneath his rough and, at times, rigidness, was a man understanding enough to offer comfort, kindness.
She poured the coffee, now cooled to an ingestible temperature, and offered him one.
He took it and thanked her, just as a knock at the door sounded.
Delilah darted toward the door, wondering who would come to visit them. Brooks and his men weren’t liable to knock, and only a few individuals knew of their location. She pulled open the door and blinked at the sight of two men.
She recognized the first, and younger, one in an instant. “Everett, come in.”
The young man removed his hat and held it to his chest. “Mrs. Davis, you are kind to offer. But Jez and I are here
on urgent business. Is your husband at home?”
Delilah opened the door fully, and Jack lifted his hand in greeting. “Morning, Everett. Come to see our new house, have you?”
The older man chuckled, and a round belly bounced atop his belt and slender frame. “Not hardly. My boy has news for you, and I’m afraid you might want to step out of the house to hear it.”
Jack folded his arms. “Gentlemen, come inside. Anything you wish to say can be said in front of my wife. Everett already knows she’s not the fussy type.”
She shot Jack a look of gratitude “Yes, do come in.”
Jez’s brows lifted, and he clicked his tongue. “If that’s how you’d like it. Go ahead, and tell them, Everett.”
“Those men, at the camp—I’ve been keeping an eye on them as you asked, Mr. Davis. Seems Terrance Wilkins played a game of cards with them last night and wagered a bit of information in place of money.”
“What type of information?” Jack asked, placing an arm at the small of Delilah’s back.
Everett pressed his hands to his hips, and a smile lifted. “Terrance told Les all about Mrs. Davis’s fortune and the jewels she carried on her person at all times.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, bobbing his head up and down in response. “And?”
“Well, that’s just it.” Everett glanced over his shoulder, as if someone might be following him. “I overheard the men. They plan to come at nightfall to relieve you of said fortune and jewels.”
“Is that right?” Jack rubbed his hands together, and a dangerous spark lit his gaze. He turned to Jez. “Well then, we’ll need to be ready for them. Everett, do you mind paying a visit to the sheriff?”
The young man nearly jumped off the steps. “I’ll bring him ‘round first thing.”
Jack chuckled and turned to Jez. “If you haven’t noticed, your boy would make a fine lawman.”
“There isn’t anything else the boy talks about more, especially since meeting you,” Jez said, shaking his dark hair. “Too bad he’s got a cheat for an uncle.”
An Agent for Delilah Page 8
