For a moment Marzonoff actually appeared indignant. Then he smiled ingratiatingly. “I meant no offence. I admire you westerners very much. You bear a resemblance to the Cossacks of my own country. My cousin, Nicholas, is related on his mother’s side to Igor Dabol, the most powerful tribal leader in the steppes.”
“How interesting,” Delaney said politely. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of him.” He looked down and Elspeth noted a gleam of pure mischief in his hastily averted eyes. “We Delaneys have a few well-known relatives ourselves. Have you ever heard of the James brothers? Jesse and Frank?”
Marzonoff’s eyes widened. “Jesse James?”
“Cousins,” Delaney said. “On my mother’s side, of course.” He was scrupulously keeping his gaze from Marzonoff’s rapt face. “And then there’s old Joaquin Murrietta. You might say he’s the patriarch of the California branch of the Delaney clan. Of course, I guess Uncle Bill is probably more famous.”
“Bill?” Marzonoff was almost stammering with excitement.
“Bill Hickok. However, there are those who say he’s more infamous than famous. But not to his face. Uncle Bill is very careful of his good name.”
“Wild Bill Hickok,” the Russian repeated dazedly.
“And the Daltons and the Youngers are second cousins on my …” Delaney trailed off and Elspeth saw his shoulders begin to shake, though his expression was still bland. She was forced to smother a laugh herself.
Patrick Delaney’s voice was a little choked as he continued. “I think I’ll take a little snooze. All that walking has made me plumb weary.” He put on his stetson and tipped it over his eyes, ignoring Marzonoff’s obvious disappointment. “I’m afraid I’m not as rough and tough as my kinfolk.”
Elspeth didn’t know about his toughness but she was sure the young rascal could far outpace his “relatives” in sheer deviltry.
She settled back on the seat, shifting her gaze between the two young men opposite her. They were a strange blend of contrasts and similarities. The plump Russian was the older, she judged, close to her own age of twenty-two years. His fine city clothing should have given him the advantage of inner confidence over the auburn-haired cowboy, but such was not the case. Patrick’s tight denim trousers were shabby, his brown shirt and tan suede vest dusty, and his black stetson was sun-faded in spots. Yet his wide shoulders and narrow hips, the careless grace of his strong body, gave his attire an elegance Andre Marzonoff could never hope to bring to his clothing. Patrick’s speech was puzzling. His words sounded as educated and cultured as any of her father’s students, and yet they were flavored by a lazy and quite unusual drawl. This young Delaney was something of an enigma, she thought.
She glanced out the window. The Santa Catalina mountains were very beautiful but as stark and rugged as the rest of this wild country. How different they were from the mist-shrouded mountains of her native land. She shifted restlessly, suddenly tired of the scenery. She felt as if she had traveled years instead of weeks since she had left Edinburgh. She was growing terribly impatient now that she was so close to her objective. Her gaze returned to Patrick Delaney, and a tiny smile lifted the corners of her lips. She closed her own eyes and tried to relax.
The young cowboy was a complete scoundrel. Her father would have disapproved of both his attitude and his background, yet she was delighted to have his assistance when she arrived in Hell’s Bluff. Her smile brodened. Yes, she was perfectly delighted.
Dominic Delaney moved with utmost care down the carpeted stairs. His head felt as if it were being struck by the sharp point of a miner’s pick with every step. He stiffened the muscles of his neck as well as his entire upper body in an attempt to keep that blasted hammer at bay.
Red. Damn, why did Rina have to have such a fondness for red? Why didn’t she listen when he pointed out to her that a whorehouse didn’t necessarily have to look like a whorehouse. The flowered paper on the walls of the foyer was garish and rolled before his eyes as if he were seasick.
The front door opened and he flinched as slanted rays of afternoon sunlight hit him squarely in the eyes. He squinted against the glare and recognized the tall, familiar silhouette framed in the doorway. It didn’t improve his temper. “Shut the goddamn door,” he said in a growl as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Are you trying to blind me?”
“Sorry.” Patrick’s voice was cheerful as he entered the foyer and closed the door. “You look like hell. You ought to stick to singles if you don’t have the stamina for Rina’s little games. You’re not as young as you used to be, you know.”
“I’m young enough to take on a runny-nosed kid who doesn’t know better than to smart off to a man in my condition.” Dominic turned away and walked slowly down the corridor toward the kitchen. “And it wasn’t Rina or her games, as you call them. It was the whiskey. Lord, I’ve got to get a cup of coffee. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were going back to Killara.” He turned his head too quickly and cursed softly as pain stabbed his temples and behind his eyes. He gave Patrick a sour look. “Don’t think you’re going to stay in Hell’s Bluff. A Saturday-night spree now and then is all right, but whorehouses and saloons are no good for a man in the long haul.”
Patrick’s lips quirked. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble to furnish me with proof of the wages of sin.”
“You go back to Killara tomorrow,” Dominic said flatly.
“If you’re so convinced Hell’s Bluff is the road to destruction, why don’t you come with me to Killara?” Patrick met Dominic’s gaze. The laughter had vanished from his face. “Come home, Dom. Why do you think Gran-da doesn’t give me hell for coming up here so often? He wants word of you. More, he wants you to come home, where you belong.”
Dominic averted his eyes and felt an ache somewhere within him that had nothing to do with his overindulgence of the previous night. Belonged. How long had it been since he’d belonged anywhere as he once had belonged at Killara? There had been times during the last nine years when he’d missed his home with a ferocity that had been sheer torture. “Someday.”
“When, Dom?” Patrick asked softly. “You’re not on the run any longer. You love Killara. Maybe more than anyone but Gran-da. Times aren’t good now. Killara needs you.”
Dom flinched as if he’d been struck. “And whose fault is it that times aren’t good? For God’s sake, I’ve practically destroyed Killara. Do you want me to come back and finish the job? You know damn well why I can’t come back to the ranch. Now drop it, Patrick.”
“Dom, I—” Patrick broke off and slowly shook his head. “You’re wrong. You’re a Delaney. You know we protect our own.” He paused. “Gran-da just wants you home.”
Dominic’s lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “And what if protecting me ends with Cort or Sean or you dead or shot up? Will he want me then?”
“Yes,” Patrick said. “I think you know that, Dom.”
Yes, he knew his father wouldn’t count the cost when it came to any member of his family. It made the situation all the more painful. “Well, I’m not about to let any of you pay that kind of a price. I’ve cost Killara too much.” He violently pushed open the door to the kitchen.
Li Tong turned away from the stove with a wide smile as they came into the room, took one look at Dominic’s face, and nodded shrewdly. “Coffee,” he said with certainty, and hurried toward the cupboard, his pigtail bouncing. “Sit down, Mr. Delaney. I get.”
Dominic dropped into the wooden chair at the large round table covered in blue-checked gingham. He gave Patrick a sardonic glance. “Tell Da I’m doing fine. Who could ask for anything more? I make a decent living playing poker at the Nugget. I can sleep all day and spend most of the night pleasing myself.”
Li Tong placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Dominic and looked inquiringly at Patrick. When Patrick shook his head he moved silently across the large room toward the large woodburning stove.
Dominic deliberately changed the subject. “Speaking of p
leasure, how did you like Dulcie?”
“Very talented,” Patrick said, his thoughts still far away from the playful redhaired strumpet who had shared his bed the night before. Then his frown disappeared as he grinned at Dominic. “Maybe you ought to try her. You wouldn’t need exotic variations to revive your flagging manhood if you concentrated on quality instead of quantity.”
“Flagging manhood!” Dominic took a sip of coffee before he turned his gaze to Patrick with the faintest flicker of a smile. “When you get a little older, my lad, you’ll find a true man has to challenge himself on occasion.” He grimaced. “And last night was definitely a challenge.”
“Were the ladies satisfied?”
“I don’t remember.” Dominic rubbed his temple. “But I think I was. And I’m sure Rina will let me know when she wakes up if she wasn’t.”
Patrick chuckled. “I agree. Rina’s not shy about voicing her displeasure.” Not that Patrick could recall a time when Dominic had had a problem pleasing Rina Bradshaw. The madam seemed more than happy to have Dominic’s company in and out of bed as often as possible. Patrick rocked the chair onto its rear legs and pushed his stetson to the back of his head. “Maybe you’re right. Could be this isn’t such a bad life after all.”
Dominic took another sip of coffee and looked straight ahead. “Don’t even think about it. You’re going back to Killara first thing tomorrow morning.”
Patrick raised a quizzical brow. “Oh, am I, Uncle Dominic, sir? And just what would you say if I decided to stay and join you in a life of decadence?”
“I’d knock you on your ass, tie you on your horse, and send you packing to Killara. Then I’d tell everyone in Hell’s Bluff if they allowed you in a saloon, a whorehouse, or even in the general store, they’d have to face me.” He smiled with a gentleness that was more menacing than anger. “Would you care to call my bluff, Patrick?”
Patrick gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Not at the moment. It would be a waste of time, as I have every intention of going home tomorrow. In fact, I would have been home tonight if my horse hadn’t thrown a shoe about five miles out of town.”
“You could have told me.”
Patrick grinned. “And missed the chance of goading dangerous Dominic Delaney? You have things too much your own way here, Dom. You need someone around to whittle you down a peg.”
Dominic suddenly smiled with engaging warmth. “You do a pretty good job. I’m lucky you aren’t around all the time, or I’d be whittled down to the size of a toothpick.” He finished his coffee. “Well, as long as you’re here you might as well enjoy the fruits of corruption for a little longer. Do you want to come over to the Nugget with me and see if we can get up a game?”
“Maybe later. I thought we’d go over to the hotel for a meal.” Patrick paused. “There’s someone there I want you to meet. She arrived on the stage this afternoon.”
“She?” Dominic smiled faintly. “Dulcie couldn’t have been as good as you say if you had to go out and find another ladyfriend so soon.”
“It’s nothing like that. You’re the reason she’s come to Hell’s Bluff. She said she had a business proposition for you.”
“Maybe Rina has been telling the world about my skills,” Dominic drawled. “Do you think she wants to hire me as her fancy man?”
Patrick frowned. “I’m not joking. She’s not like that, Dom. She’s kind of …” He shrugged. “She’s a lady.”
“Evidently one who has impressed you considerably.” Dom was studying him speculatively. “Pretty?”
“Good Lord, no.” Patrick shook his head. “She looks like the schoolteacher we had living at the ranch after Rising Star came. Spectacles and prim and proper as they come. She said you knew her father, Professor Edmund MacGregor.
“Christ, I thought I’d shaken off that little bastard.”
“You did. The lady said he had departed this world for a better place. Who was he?”
“A very persistent and unpleasant gentleman with the hide of an armadillo and the narrowmindness of a preacher’s virgin daughter.”
“Some of them aren’t all that narrowminded,” Patrick protested. “I ran into one last year in Tucson who was neither a—”
“What does she want with me?”
Patrick shook his head. “You’ll have to ask her.”
“The hell I will.” Dominic leaned back in his chair and rubbed his cheek. He could feel a slight stubble, but he wasn’t about to shave. At the moment he couldn’t stand the thought of anything harsher than a feather against his skin. “Tell her I’m too busy to take on any new business ventures and put her on the stage back to Tucson tomorrow morning.”
“See her, Dom. She’s come clear across an ocean and an entire continent. Why don’t you let her tell you what she wants?”
Dominic reached into his shirt pocket for the makings and began to roll a cigarette. “I have a good idea what she wants.”
Patrick’s brown eyes glinted with curiosity. “What?”
Dominic ran his tongue over the thin paper and reached for matches. “The same thing her father wanted. What everyone in Hell’s Bluff wants. One good strike that will make them king of the hill.”
“Elspeth MacGregor is no prospector.”
“We’ll see.” Dominic lit the cigarette and drew deeply. “Or, rather, you’ll see. I have no intention of talking to the lady.”
“I wish you would, Dom.” Patrick’s brow furrowed. “It wouldn’t hurt to be polite to her. She’s sort of …”
“Sort of what?”
Patrick hesitated. “I think she’s a little owl who believes she’s an eagle.”
Dominic burst out laughing. The hardness and cynicism disappeared from his face, and for an instant, he looked as young as Patrick. “God, how poetic. Rising Star couldn’t have put it better.”
Patrick looked a little sheepish. “Well, it fits anyway. A little owl won’t be any trouble for you to shake off. See her, Dom.”
Dominic’s expression had softened miraculously as he gazed with affection at his nephew. “If you’re wrong about your little owl, you’re going to wish you’d never come back to Hell’s Bluff today even if it meant crawling to Killara on your hands and knees. You say she’s over at the hotel?”
Patrick nodded. “She said she’d wait in the parlor.”
Dominic pushed back the chair, shuddering as the legs screeched on the floor. “I’ll go upstairs and get my hat.”
He paused at the door to glance back over his shoulder. “How is Rising Star?”
Patrick’s expression became shuttered. “Fine. She’s in her seventh month now. She’s very happy about the baby.” He looked down at the tablecloth and began to trace one of the blue squares with his index finger. “It shows. She kind of … glows.”
“That’s nice.” Dominic started to say something but changed his mind. What the hell could he say that would do any good? he asked himself. Abruptly, he turned away. “I’ll be right down.”
2
“Miss MacGregor, may I present my uncle, Dominic Delaney?”
Dominic Delaney was not what Elspeth had expected. He was not the uncouth barbarian described by her father nor did he bear significant resemblance to his nephew, Patrick, standing beside him inside the parlor doorway.
She supposed he could be considered quite beautiful by those in thrall to the slightly wicked appeal of the likes of Byron. The last rays of the setting sun streaming through the window highlighted the shining darkness of his neatly barbered hair and revealed the tiniest hint of a wave in its thick crispness. His long sideburns accented the high cheekbones of his slightly elongated face, and the hollowed line of his jaw and deeply bronzed skin gave him a faintly Spanish look. His attire had the same Latin air: a waist-length black suede jacket, a shirt of fine white linen, and a black string tie.
He inclined his head. “Miss MacGregor.”
The two men stepped closer. Patrick and Dominic Delaney were of a similar height, a trifle over six
feet, and both were slim. At that point the resemblance ended. Dominic Delaney had none of Patrick’s loose-boned elegance. He was in his early thirties and his physique was more mature, his chest wider and deeper, his shoulder broader, the muscles of his thighs heavier and clearly delineated in the black trousers tucked into polished black boots. Even the way he walked was different from his nephew. He moved with a restless grace as if suppressing a powerful and volatile energy. Still, there was nothing to indicate there was anything particularly intimidating about the man.
Then, as he drew closer, Elspeth abruptly changed her mind. The eyes gazing into her own were a queer blue-gray shade that appeared warm, almost soft at first glance. It was only when she realized the keenness with which his gaze was holding her own that she became aware of how cold they were. A shadow of a stubble darkened his cheeks and the cynical smile curving his well-shaped lips could never in a hundred years be described as soft. The gun belted low on his hip was curiously unobtrusive and then, with a little shock, Elspeth realized why. It was unobtrusive because it was as much a part of him as those icy translucent eyes. Yes, she could see now how her father would think of him as a hard and relentless man.
She was experiencing a strange breathlessness as she held out her hand. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Delaney. It’s very kind of you to take the time.” Oh, heavens, her voice sounded like a child’s. She took a deep breath before going on. “It was most important or I wouldn’t have bothered your nephew to bring you. I did offer to go to you.”
For an instant there was a flicker of humor in Dominic’s eyes as he shot a glance at Patrick. “I’m surprised he didn’t see fit to take you up on your offer. It might have saved us all time and trouble if he had.” He could just see this prim little miss being escorted into the parlor at Rina’s place. One look at the negligee-clad Dulcie lolling in half-naked splendor on the cushions of the horsehair couch would be enough to send her running for the next ship to Scotland.
This Fierce Splendor Page 3
