Delilah's Flame

by Parnell, Andrea

  Tabor felt heat rising in him as Delilah swirled in front of him and swished her skirts only inches out of his reach. At the point in the show where there was generally an intermission and Delilah changed to the costume for her fire dance, Fat Jack announced a new act. Bright Moon would give her first solo performance, a dance called “The Maiden and the Butterfly”.

  The Indian girl marched onstage wrapped in a bright colored blanket, the butterfly with folded wings. Gracefully Bright Moon floated across the stage, alternately folding and unfolding her arms as if she were a butterfly fluttering her wings. Finally she stood with her back to the audience, arms out, the blanket flowing from them. Slowly Bright Moon folded to the floor, like a butterfly alighting, then suddenly sprang to her feet minus the blanket. Her arms were bare, the fringed buckskin dress barely capping her thighs.

  Several men lunged toward the stage and had to be shoved back by Fat Jack’s men. Even for a saloon the costume was daringly short. Bright Moon, though, was hardly still long enough for eyes to linger on her shapely limbs. She whirled and leapt and spun, a maiden chasing a butterfly, ending her dance with a leap that culminated in an amazing split. Slowly Bright Moon wrapped herself in the blanket—the maiden again became the butterfly.

  Shouts rattled the glasses at the bar. The men whooped and yelled things polite ears shouldn’t hear. For the first time Bright Moon seemed aware of the ruckus she’d started. Looking a bit pale and confused, she made a quick bow. Before she could exit, one man who’d had more than his share of whiskey actually made it onto the stage and snatched Bright Moon’s blanket from her shoulders.

  “Got me a squaw!” he shouted, seizing Bright Moon’s arm before Todd could get at him. The man jerked Bright Moon into his arms, whacked her on the butt, then kissed her sloppily on the mouth. She shrieked in horror. Todd flung an arm around the drunken cowboy’s neck and threw him roughly from the stage.

  Delilah, returning just as Dinah’s number ended, called to Loo before reaching the stage. “Drat!” she said. “I missed the whole thing. I couldn’t find the black garters anywhere. Dinah said she put them in my bag. I had to keep the pink ones on.” She stopped short, seeing what was taking place onstage. “Oh!” she cried. “Sweet Jesus! Loo! What is she doing? That costume!”

  Delilah was one step away from rushing onstage to rescue Dinah, but Seth beat her to it. Holding Dinah’s shoulders, he led the trembling girl down the steps while Todd hauled an angry and disappointed patron out of the saloon.

  “Dinah! Dinah! Are you all right?” Dinah sobbed that she was. “Oh, Dinah! How could you do this?” Delilah cried, getting an even more shocking look at Dinah’s shortened costume. “You’re nearly naked!”

  “Don’t say anything else. Not now,” Dinah whimpered, shivering beneath the blanket Loo put around her. “I want Seth to take me to my room.”

  “Go with her, Loo. Stay with her,” Delilah pleaded.

  “I will. Do your number,” Loo said coolly, putting her arms around Dinah. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Shaken, Delilah made her way to the stage while Fat Jack introduced the fire dance she’d made famous. She was still dazed when Todd lit the ends of the two batons she used and as Fat Jack gave an order for the lights to be dimmed. She went through her dance without being aware her feet moved to the fast tempo of the piano music. Fortunately the act was so familiar it came automatically. Without a missed move, Delilah twirled the flaming batons, the silver in her costume reflecting the fire.

  Unlike Bright Moon’s dance, Delilah’s brought awe and silence. She moved with such speed, tossing the batons, catching them, spinning around the stage, that nothing seemed visible but the flashing flames. When her pace showed and she tossed the batons to someone in the wings, only a murmur sounded from the crowd. Several seconds passed before the hypnotic spell of the fire dance was broken and the men shouted for Delilah’s song.

  She’ll wrap her arms around you and whisper somethings,

  You’ll think sweet Delilah has made you her king.

  She’ll hold you, she’ll kiss you, she’ll drive you insane,

  You’ll want to get burned in Delilah’s flames.

  No more genteel lady, Tabor thought. She’d become the naughty, bawdy woman every man in the saloon wanted for at least one night. What was the real woman like? he wondered. The British accent was real, he was sure of that. Where did a woman like Delilah come from? And where did she go when her tour was over? He’d sure like to find out. He hoped he got the chance.

  When it’s all over and she’s left you alone,

  You’ll find sweet Delilah has all that you own.

  So if you choose to love her you’ve no right to complain,

  You’ve had your warning, stranger, of Delilah’s flames.

  A heavyset man wearing a star on his chest edged his way through the tables and passed a slip of paper to Delilah’s man before the song was over.

  You’ll want to get burned in Delilah’s flames.

  Easing a black handkerchief from her bosom, Delilah sang the last words of the chorus and gave the handkerchief a toss. When the owner of the local dry goods store caught it and yelled his sentiments to her, Delilah eased her hand toward her pocket and the handle of the silver mirror. The white metal felt cold as a chunk of ice. She let it go. For once, for the only time ever, she ended her performance without reflecting the mirror’s light on a man in the audience. But tonight, worried as she was about Dinah, she knew she couldn’t manage the phony smiles and gay banter expected of her. Instead of singling out a man for company, she waved and blew kisses. The crowd roared and she thanked them with bows and more kisses then said a goodnight.

  “Damm it!” Tabor Stanton swore softly. More bad luck. No mirror. No chances. Maybe this time he would settle for one of the saloon girls. He headed for the bar with half the other men in the place and found a spot where he could rest his elbows and drink.

  Just behind the curtains Delilah read the note from Peregrine, then hurriedly sent Todd to find the marshal. When he joined her backstage, Delilah placed her hands on his forearm. “You have something to tell me, Marshal?”

  Peregrine wagged his head but just stood staring dumbfounded for a few seconds at Delilah in her silver-and-black costume. When she pressed his arm, he remembered what he had to say.

  “That fellow Stanton you asked about. That’s him at the end of the bar. Tall fellow in the black shirt. Registered at the hotel this afternoon. Been staying with an old prospector at a shack out in the hills. Reckon that’s why I didn’t know nothing about him.”

  Delilah’s heart lurched like it always did when she saw one of those men. Stanton. The only one who had shown a trace of regret that night. Only it hadn’t been enough to make him defy his friends and help her father. No. Stanton was no better than the others. He’d ridden away too, and never looked back.

  “Thank you, Marshal,” she said, forcing her voice to be calm. “I’m sure my friend will appreciate having her message delivered to Mr. Stanton.”

  “Always at your service, Miss Delilah.” Peregrine smiled. He could afford to. Abigail Fisk had made her report to his wife, but Martha had been too interested in hearing all about the famous Delilah to give him a tongue-lashing.

  Delilah paused in thought for a moment, glad she’d foregone the mirror stunt and hadn’t tied herself up to chat with a stranger all night. Still there was the fact she had devised no plan for Stanton. She knew almost nothing about him. Acting without every detail planned was unlike her. Maybe she felt a little reckless because of what Dinah had done and wanted to speed things along. Maybe she was angry and it seemed to her at that moment that Stanton represented all the bad things that haunted her dreams. She made a hasty if regrettable decision. Threading her way through the room, she approached the bar.

  Tabor saw her coming and marveled that the raucous crowd of men turned suddenly gentlemanly as Delilah walked by. Hats were tipped, niceties were uttered, paths were made for Delilah to p
ass through. Like every other man, he watched her, as elegant a woman as he’d ever seen. She had her mind set on something. He wondered what. When she singled him out at the bar and extended a hand, he was amazed.

  “Mr. Stanton,” Delilah said in a sugar-coated voice. “I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

  Chapter 3

  “Delilah.” The deep voice held strength and confidence and just a hint of self-satisfaction. He raised her hand to his lips, an act that seemed totally unnatural in a California saloon and from a man wearing two Colt revolvers strapped to his sides.

  Her heart thumped queerly when his lips touched her skin. Under other circumstances she would have been pleased by his chivalry. Not since she’d been in Europe had a man kissed her hand. Stanton did it with the proper savoir faire. Though she had never felt anything but hatred and disgust for the men on her list, Stanton wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Tall, lean, and passably handsome, he was a good twenty years younger than Newell and the others. She placed him at about thirty.

  For a moment she was taken aback. At the time of the attack he could only have been about sixteen. Of course he might be a few years older than he looked. In any event, he would have been nearly grown at the time in question. Younger men had taken up guns and turned to killing.

  His having been only a boy at the time might explain why tracing him had proved difficult. She had remembered the names Newell and Stanton. Since Hoke Newell later became well-known, he had been easy to find; so had Ackley and Hoage, and even the Penn brothers. Those four had remained friends of Newell’s. Stanton was the exception. Apparently he hadn’t kept in contact with the others over the years. She was glad; otherwise he might have heard of their troubles and become suspicious.

  Smiling, Delilah invited Tabor to a table and asked Fat Jack to send over the bottle of French wine she’d had delivered to the bar. One thing she had never been able to master was drinking the horrible whiskey these places served. While she waited, she gave Tabor, seated beside her, an analytical look. Rugged, he had a trace of arrogance only half-hidden in the gray eyes. That at least didn’t surprise her. His hair was black, a bit too long. Did that mean he couldn’t afford the price of a haircut? At least he was clean and smelled...rather nice.

  The barkeep came and poured her wine. She eyed her companion more discreetly now: worn boots, gray cord pants, a black shirt and leather vest. The gunbelt and ivory-handled guns were probably the most expensive items of his attire. He didn’t look as if he’d fared as well financially as his former companions. She saw a ray of hope. If Stanton had become just a drifter or cowhand, concocting a quick plan would be easy. She could be done with Tabor Stanton before she left Yuba City.

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Won’t you join me?” she asked, signaling the barkeep to wait a moment.

  “No, thank you. I’ll stay with whiskey.” Reluctantly the barkeep left, his gaze so intent on Delilah he backed into a customer and got splashed with beer.

  Tabor’s eyes hovered on her too. With the grace and refinement of a duchess she sipped her wine. He could easily believe the talk that she was from down-in-the-pocket British aristocracy. As a naval officer he had spent time in England. Only the years of training genteel British girls received in the social arts could account for her elegant manners.

  He couldn’t figure Delilah out. That diamond around her throat would keep a good-size estate running a couple of years. That she had so much tied up in the diamonds dispelled the theory she was in need. She was a riddle, all right, a beautiful, tempting one. A grin manifested itself on his lips as he recalled he had always liked a good riddle.

  He contemplated her even more inquisitively. That red hair glowed like hot coals against her pale skin. The deep color did battle with the brilliant blue eyes. A woman with looks like that needed nothing more to have what she wanted in life. Again he came to why. Why was Delilah playing a saloon in Yuba City and a dozen towns like it?

  Delilah demurely diverted her eyes from Tabor for a moment, then glanced back at him. “It occurs to me, Mr. Stanton, that you may be wondering how I happen to know your name.”

  She was a fine actress. He could almost swear she had managed a blush. “You are correct, ma’am,” he said, even more convinced he would enjoy solving this puzzle.

  “I pride myself on being a forthright woman,” she said softly. “You caught my eye during the show. I had someone ask questions to satisfy my curiosity. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” he replied, feeling a touch of amusement. To his knowledge the only one around who knew his name was the hotel desk clerk. He had told the bespectacled clerk he was in town on business. If Delilah’s game was casing for the wealthiest man in the audience, she had made a serious mistake tonight. Tabor grinned. He couldn’t see the point in telling her that, though. “Fortunate for me that I got a table up close,” he drawled.

  “Fortunate for both of us, Mr. Stanton.” Her lashes swept down in coquettish fashion. “This is a lonely life for a woman. I don’t like spending my evenings alone.”

  “Ma’am.” His grin turned devilish. “I can’t imagine you spend many of them alone.”

  Her smile faded a little. What was the matter with him? Any other man would be fawning all over her by now. Men, she’d found, were incredibly easy to deceive. She supposed it never occurred to them they could be outsmarted by a woman. Tabor Stanton, however, looked as if his smoky eyes hid laughter. Well, she knew how to fix that.

  Ever so gently she touched the back of his hand with her fingertips. “Too many, Mr. Stanton,” she whispered. “I hope this won’t be one of them.”

  “Oh no, ma’am.” His flesh heated under that simple touch even though he knew it had been deliberate. Delilah, he remembered from his Sunday-school days, delighted in finding a man’s weaknesses. He was quickly developing a few new ones for this Delilah. “I can’t see any reason it should be,” he told her.

  * * *

  “Dinah, what in heaven’s name made you do such a thing?” Delilah paced around Dinah’s bed.

  “I didn’t know anyone would attack me,” Dinah sobbed. “I just wanted them to like me as much as they do you. Hardly anybody misbehaves when you’re onstage. And if someone does, the rest of the crowd tosses him out.” She stopped to blow her nose. “They all laughed and treated me like a—”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t think about it.” Delilah stopped her pacing and sat at Dinah’s bedside. “You have to realize those men were half-drunk. They thought you were really an Indian girl. Men don’t think they have to be polite to Indian girls.”

  “I want to go home,” Dinah whimpered.

  “We will go, precious. In the morning.”

  “What about the man you found here?”

  Delilah looked surprised. She hadn’t mentioned finding Stanton. Loo must have. A terrible pain filled her heart. She had made a mistake bringing Dinah along. Dinah was too young and too vulnerable to be exposed to this life.

  The muscles in her throat tightening, she answered Dinah’s question. “Don’t worry about him. What I have in mind won’t delay us. By tomorrow he’ll wish he’d never set foot in Yuba City.”

  Delilah said good night and, not wanting Dinah to be alone, sent Loo in to stay with her. She had an idea she was sure would work. She was sure, too, that she could handle Stanton easily enough.

  “Seth, Todd,” she said. “We’ll follow the same plan. Serve dinner, then see we’re not disturbed. Have the coach ready to leave at dawn.”

  The men agreed, asked a few questions about the details, then set about doing as she’d asked. Meanwhile Delilah hurriedly arranged the dinner table and lit the candles in her room.

  * * *

  An hour. Tabor watched the pendulum swing inside the clock in the hotel lobby. Why did a woman need an hour to get dressed to be undressed? A courtesan’s trick? His look of annoyance eased into a smile. Maybe she knew what she was doing. Waiting wasn’t cooling his fever any.

&nb
sp; At two minutes until midnight he put on his hat and mounted the stairs. There wasn’t any mistaking Delilah’s room. The two dandies from her show stood like sentries on either side of the threshold, now sporting tooled black leather holsters and pearl-handled pistols. Very pretty. He wondered if either of them could shoot.

  “Hey!” he called before they had him in view. Two hands zoomed toward leather, respectably fast. So the men were more than decoration. “Easy,” Tabor called, remembering he’d left his hardware in his room. He stepped through the alcove and into the hall. “It’s me, Stanton. I’m expected.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Stanton,” Seth said, relaxing. “We don’t take chances with Miss Delilah.”

  “No, I don’t imagine the hired help does,” Tabor mumbled under his breath as Todd tapped the door and announced him.

  “Send the gentleman in, Todd,” Delilah’s silvery voice called.

  Tabor found himself in a candlelit room potent with the essence of spicy perfume. There was a table set for two, champagne, a canopy bed lined with rose-colored satin, everything a man might dream about, except Delilah.

  “I’ll be a minute, Mr. Stanton.” The voice drifted out from behind a clothes-laden dressing screen. “I had trouble making up my mind about which gown to wear.”

  Tabor smiled lazily. “You shouldn’t have gone to any trouble. I’m certain to like anything you have on.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Mr. Stanton.” Her laughter trilled. “But when I’m dressing for a special occasion, I like to be sure everything is exactly right.”

  She stepped from behind the screen wearing a dress of pale pink overlaid with black lace. The effect, at first glance, was that black lace was all she wore. The sight almost took his breath. She was perfection, skin white as a winter moon, sapphire eyes full of secrets, and the hair—he thought it was the hair that beguiled him most. It glowed like a fiery sunset. She’d loosened a strand and let it fall over one shoulder. Did she know how much he wanted his hands in that hair? How much he wanted to bury his face in it?