Dinah kissed her aunt again. “You always understand me, Aunt Emily. I want you to help me choose a dress for the ball.”
Pleased, Emily agreed. This was just the sort of things she wanted to see her nieces interested in. Girls who were concerned about ball gowns and dances soon had husbands.
“Lilah, do you want to come with us?” Dinah asked, urging Emily to her feet.
Lilah declined. “I’m going down to see Papa. You and Aunt Emily go ahead,” she said. “I’ll call for someone to take the tea things.”
* * *
“You said you grew up south of here, Mr. Stanton. I presume that was on a ranch.”
Tabor smiled. The whiskey went down smooth as silk, and only a few swallows of it relaxed him. “My mother and I went to live with my aunt and uncle. He had a cattle spread. My Aunt Sarah runs it now. We’ve started breeding horses too since I got back.”
“Back?”
“Sorry.” Tabor grinned. “I tried a naval career for a while until I got a yearning for the smell of horses and trail dust. I’ve been back at the ranch two years.”
Ching quickly refilled Tabor’s empty glass. Clement took a refill too. He enjoyed talking with a man who shared his interest in horses. That was his one complaint of Barrett Fenton. His assistant had an exceptional business head but couldn’t seem to think of horses as anything more than a necessity for travel.
“I’ve got what I think is a fine stable,” Clement told Tabor. “I’d enjoy showing it to you. You could stay for dinner too, if you don’t have plans.”
Tabor finished his second whiskey. Damon amazed him. In spite of being crippled, the man teemed with enthusiasm for life. He would have accepted Clement’s invitation if he hadn’t remembered the trail he was following was getting colder by the minute.
“Thank you, Mr. Damon,” Tabor said, setting down his glass. “I’m sorry I can’t say yes. Maybe another time.”
“I understand,” Clement assured him. “A young man in San Francisco doesn’t want to spend his evenings talking about horses.”
Tabor’s smile passed for silent agreement. There was one horse he would like to hear talk about, but he didn’t think Damon would be of any help to him on that one. He had a few more livery stables to visit, and counted on finding the Admiral in one of them.
Clement followed Tabor to the library door and past Ching. Tabor thanked his host for the whiskey as he walked through the long hall with white marble floors. He glanced around appreciatively at his surroundings, particularly at the remarkable mahogany-and-marble staircase that curved to the second floor.
The sight of the young woman descending the stairs made Tabor suddenly stop and stare. Clement stopped too and watched both his daughter and his guest with some amusement. Lilah’s eyes were on faraway thoughts; Clement wondered what had her in such distraction that she didn’t notice them below.
Tabor wondered if the stairs didn’t go all the way up into the clouds. The woman in the white lace dress wore an angel’s face. Her softly curled hair was pale red-gold, her skin fair and delicate. She moved with such grace she seemed to float down the white marble steps. She was almost to the bottom stair when she looked up in surprise and saw him. As if stunned, she stopped in mid-step and grabbed the rail. She saw her father almost at the same time.
“Papa? Who...? What...?” Lilah’s free hand flew to her throat. Suddenly queasy, she stared back into the storm-gray eyes watching her so intently. Surely her eyes deceived her. The dark-haired man in the light gray suit and maroon silk vest couldn’t be Tabor Stanton.
Clement, witnessing the rather dramatic exchange, suppressed a chuckle. He’d never seen Lilah flustered about anything, particularly not a man. Seeing she could be undone by a handsome face as any normal female gave him a curious sense of relief.
“Lilah,” Clement said, smiling. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Stanton, a new friend. Maybe you can change his mind about staying for dinner.” He looked at Tabor. “Mr. Stanton, this is my elder daughter, Lilah.”
She wouldn’t have to say a word about dinner, Tabor realized. He had changed his mind already. Lilah Damon had him captivated. She was easily the prettiest woman he’d ever seen, the kind who inspired a man to be humble and noble at the same time. He made a step toward the stairs, unmindful that he was staring. She made a good case for love at first sight.
Lilah looked helplessly at her father, panic deafening her to his words. It was Tabor Stanton. He had found her. She was about to be exposed. Her father was about to know everything—if he didn’t already. All at once the stairs beneath her feet seemed to quake—or was it her legs losing strength? She gasped once as the blood drained from her face. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room and she felt as if she had plunged through a trapdoor into void black space.
“No,” she mumbled, and for the second time in her life, Lilah Damon fainted.
Tabor saw her knees buckle and her eyelids quiver just before they closed. Only a step away, he rushed forward and caught her before she collapsed to the floor. With Lilah limp as a rag doll in his arms, he turned a bewildered face to Clement.
“Thank God you were here,” Clement exclaimed as Tabor brought his daughter close. He hastily felt her cheeks and checked her pulse, determining from the clamminess of her skin and the erratic pace of her pulse that his daughter was in a dead faint.
“Her room’s at the top of the stairs,” he told Tabor quickly. “Wan will show you. I’d appreciate it if you would take her up. Ching,” he said, turning to the Chinese. “Get Emily and send for the doctor.”
Tabor carried Lilah Damon to her room and placed her on the half-tester bed. He was there only a moment before an older woman arrived and shooed him out.
“Just a faint,” she told him. “Tell Clement it’s nothing serious.”
Tabor relayed the message to the anxious man downstairs. Before leaving Damon House, he gave Clement the name of his hotel. Clement insisted he come to dinner the following night. Tabor accepted and hoped the hours passed quickly. Lilah Damon had felt as if she belonged in his arms.
Chapter 7
Tabor wouldn’t have thought anything could diminish his determination to find Delilah and the black stallion. Until he met Lilah Damon. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. How ironic that he had met her when he was looking for the infamous Delilah, a woman who was Miss Damon’s opposite in every regard.
All morning and afternoon as he rode from one livery stable to another asking if any had recently acquired a black stallion, he kept picturing Lilah Damon’s angelic face. She had come to a little just before he put her on the bed, treating him to a glimpse of her vivid blue eyes. She had mumbled a word that sounded a little like his name, but he credited that to his imagination, just as he did the feeling that he already knew her.
He hoped her illness hadn’t been serious and wouldn’t keep her from joining them at dinner. Ladies like Miss Damon were inclined to have delicate natures, but when they were as beautiful as she was, it was easy to overlook.
Tabor headed his horse to the outskirts of town. At the last livery, he had learned of another stable, one of the few left he hadn’t visited. He rode up to it, dismounted, and went inside, walking by the rows of stalls but not holding out much hope he would find his stallion. Nate, a black-skinned man who identified himself as the owner, asked his business. Tabor described the Admiral.
“Shucks no,” the man said, putting his pitchfork aside. “Ain’t been no horse like that here. You best keep lookin’. Tell you what, though, if I see him I’ll send word.”
Tabor left his name and hotel address. Disappointed again, he thanked Nate for his trouble and started back into town. He had a few hours before he was due at the Damons’ and had his mind set on a bath and a barber-shop shave first. He hadn’t traveled far when another rider galloped up, then slowed his horse to keep pace with Tabor’s. Tabor didn’t pay the man much attention. He was still thinking of Lilah Damon.
“You Stanton?�
� the fellow asked after a few minutes.
Tabor looked over at the other rider, a sandy-haired man only a few years older than himself. Unlikely as it seemed, he supposed Nate had remembered something and sent this man to tell him.
“I’m Stanton,” he answered. “Tabor Stanton.”
“You’re Stan’s son?”
“That’s right.” Tabor frowned and gave the rider a closer look. The fellow looked as if he’d just come in off a long ride. His clothes were dust-covered, his face and cheeks dark with several days’ growth of whiskers.
Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if his father had left a passel of debts behind. His guess was he was about to be accosted by someone wanting payment for one of them.
“Glad you got out of jail,” he said. “My name’s Chapman.”
He was more than glad. Having his face plastered on a few wanted posters, there was no way he could have approached young Stanton when he was behind bars. He was taking a risk on getting caught, just coming out of the hills. But if he got hold of that claim, he’d soon have enough money to bribe his way out of his troubles.
Next to a mention of his father, a mention of his jail stay was the quickest way to make Tabor mad. A cold, hard look settled on his face.
The man grinned, trying to melt Stanton’s anger. He had hoped the young Stanton would be as spineless as his pa, but that didn’t seem to be the case. “Been trackin’ you a couple of weeks,” he said pleasantly. “Your pa and me did some prospectin’ together a while back. I heard he died and left what he had to you.”
Chapman didn’t add that it had been a blow from his shovel that had sent Stan plummeting into a gully, leaving him with a broken neck. Chapman cursed silently. He hadn’t meant to kill him before he got what he wanted from him. Right after he hit Stan old Wilkins had come over the hill toting his shotgun, and Chapman had to light out or chance getting caught. Later he had searched Wilkins’ cabin but failed to turn up the claim. Fearing Stan might have lingered long enough to tell Wilkins what happened, he’d laid low a few months before going back to the cabin.
Damn his luck! The lost time had been for nothing. Wilkins didn’t even know Stan had been murdered. He had told about the envelopes and Stan’s son for a bottle of cheap whiskey. Chapman shook his head but kept grinning. No need to rub young Stanton the wrong way if he could help it. Hell! If he had known what was in that ground he never would have sold out to Stan for a handful of nuggets.
Tabor glared at the stranger. “You heard wrong,” he told Chapman. “My father died owning about as much as he had when he came into the world. What little he did have he apparently owed to somebody.”
His answer didn’t set well with Chapman. “That somebody was me,” he said testily. “And the something was a claim. Your pa and me staked that spot together. We had an understanding that if one of us went, the other got the claim.”
Tabor didn’t want to get caught up in any more of his father’s unfinished business. He didn’t like the tone of Chapman’s voice either.
“Well now, Chapman,” he said flatly, “I reckon you’re wrong. I didn’t see your name on anything my father left behind.” The claim he had given Clement Damon had been legally signed over and registered. Clement had shown him the seal.
“What the hell does that matter?” Chapman growled. “In the hills a man’s word carries more weight than any paper. Your pa and me had an understanding. I expect you to abide by what your pa wanted.”
Tabor pulled the roan he was riding to a halt. “Chapman,” he said in a low voice, “whatever understanding you had or didn’t have with my father died with him. I’ve got nothing to do with it. I suggest you put that horse of yours in a trot and ride on.”
Chapman’s hand edged toward his gun, but he changed his mind and slapped his thigh instead. He didn’t know how good Stanton was, and besides, fighting face-to-face wasn’t the way he favored.
“Hell, Stanton,” he said, grinning again. “The claim’s worthless. I just want to put me a shack up there because there’s water on it. I’m not askin’ you to give up anything.”
“That’s good,” Tabor acknowledged, not returning Chapman’s grin. “Because I’m not giving up anything.”
Unperturbed, Chapman pressed on. “That place is mine by right. Why don’t you just hand it over and save us both the trouble of goin’ before a judge?”
Tabor’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t been looking for a fight but he was getting just about ready for one. His voice dropped to a near growl. “You’re wasting your time, mister. I don’t even have this claim you’re so hot to get. My father used it to pay an old debt.” He put his heels in the roan’s sides. “Build your shack somewhere else and stay away from me.”
Chapman’s caution fled. He urged his horse on and caught up with Tabor. “You’re lyin’, Stanton,” he snarled, and whipped out his revolver. Both men reined their horses to a sudden stop. “I been polite. Now I’m telling you: hand over that claim!”
Anger boiling inside him, Tabor met Chapman’s eyes with a stone cold stare. At the same instant, he eased his foot out of the stirrup and kicked out at Chapman’s gun hand. The hard toe of his boot connected with Chapman’s elbow. Tabor heard the joint pop. Yelping with pain, Chapman released his gun. While he grabbed his injured arm, Tabor grabbed his shirtfront and jerked him off his horse.
Seeing Chapman scramble in the dust for the dropped gun, Tabor swung out of the saddle and kicked the weapon into a thicket beside the road. Chapman leapt to his feet and charged. Tabor dodged a swinging fist, but still took a sturdy blow on the jaw. He rallied with a hard punch to Chapman’s midsection and heard a groan. A second punch to Chapman’s jaw rolled the man to his knees.
Cursing, Chapman shook his head to clear it. Thinking Chapman meant he had taken enough, Tabor stepped back. It was a mistake. Chapman yanked a knife from his boot and jumped up, mouthing another string of curses.
“Let’s see how you like the taste of my blade, you thievin’ bastard!” Face contorted, he sliced the air in front of Tabor’s belly. Tabor sprang back out of the way. Chapman lunged again, mising a second time. “You’ll get tired of doin’ them dance steps,” Chapman growled. “Then I’ll cut that claim out of you.”
Chapman’s third swipe hit Tabor’s upper arm and drew blood. It was only a scratch, but enough to send Tabor into a reckless rage. Yelling and spinning around, he shot out a kick that pounded into Chapman’s shoulder, a move he had learned from a Japanese warrior while in the Far East. The impact caught Chapman completely by surprise and toppled him to the ground. Before he could rise, Tabor stomped the hand that held the knife. Chapman quickly let it go.
“Get up, you beggar!” Tabor jerked Chapman to his feet and delivered two fast punches that quickly returned the man to the ground. This time Chapman made no effort to rise.
Tabor grabbed the knife and stabbed the blade into a tree trunk, breaking it off near the shank. He recovered the gun from the thicket and slid it beneath his gunbelt. With Chapman still lying groaning where he had fallen, Tabor unsaddled the man’s horse and tossed the saddle down beside him.
“I’ll leave your horse a mile or two down the road,” Tabor said. “Make sure our paths don’t cross again.” With the toe of his boot he lifted Chapman’s chin. “Agreed?”
Chapman nodded affirmatively, hatred for Tabor Stanton boiling in his blood.
* * *
Two hours later Tabor stepped into a steaming tub of water. Chapman’s fist had left a small purple mark on his cheek. He didn’t like the thought of going to dinner at the Damons’ with bruises on his face, but there was nothing he could do about it. He consoled himself that Chapman would be sporting a couple of shiners for a while. The cut on his arm was worse than he had thought, but a tight bandage had stopped the bleeding, and the pain was about gone. At least that wound wouldn’t show. He didn’t think Lilah Damon would be impressed by a man who got in gun and fistfights. For some reason he didn’t try to explain to himself, he wanted
to impress Miss Damon.
The barber across the street from his hotel gave him a shave and trimmed his thick black hair into what he assured Tabor was the latest in men’s fashion. Dressed in the gray suit, maroon vest, a new shirt, and string tie, his boots freshly polished, Tabor rode out to Damon House.
* * *
“Lilah, are you certain you’re well enough to be up?” Emily Dearborn, who knew quite well that a woman who had fainted should remain in bed for at least a day, found her niece’s restless energy perturbing. Lilah had stayed in bed less than an hour after her swoon. During the night Emily had come in to check on Lilah and again found her niece up and pacing the floor in her nightdress.
“American women are hearty, Aunt Emily,” Lilah responded to her aunt’s objections. “I don’t think I really fainted at all.”
“Nonsense,” Emily insisted. “You were white as sheep’s wool and your skin like ice. You definitely had a case of the vapors.”
Lilah shrugged. “Well, it’s all over now. I do wish you would let me go downstairs. I want to see Papa. I’m sure he’s been worried.”
Emily smiled. “He was until the doctor assured him you had no serious malady. Clement found it rather amusing that Mr. Stanton affected you so.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Lilah sputtered, her cheeks warming with a quick rise of heat. “Mr. Stanton had nothing to do with it. Bess laced my corset too tight and the exertion of going down the stairs took my breath. It’s that simple.”
“If you say so, dear,” Emily agreed.
Admittedly, Lilah was healthy as ever today, and much more animated than usual. But having seen Tabor Stanton herself, a spectacularly handsome man, tall and quite strong, Emily might have managed to faint in his arms had she been a young girl. The smile he had given her as she ushered him out of Lilah’s bedroom had been enough to melt her heart and start her questioning her negative opinion of American men. If all of them were like Mr. Stanton, perhaps Lilah wasn’t wrong to prefer this country.
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