Chapter Twenty
"Here's the list of what I need from town," Delilah stated, placing a slip of paper into Jeremiah's hesitant hand. "And here's the money to pay for it," she added, dropping coins and paper money on top of the list.
Jeremiah shoved the list and money deep into his pocket and grumbled. "Why can't you go get it?"
Delilah smiled. "Because I have work to do in the garden. If I don't grow it then we won't eat it."
"I ain't nobodies errand boy," Jeremiah snapped.
Delilah patted his arm. "Yes I know. You're an errand man. Now go on to town so you can be back before dark."
Jeremiah glared at her. The way her silver eyes gazed at him warmly. The way her soft pale skin contrasted sharply with the wispy stands of brown hair that had slipped loose from her bun. The way her sunshine smile made those dimples deepen at the corners of her mouth....Suddenly, Jeremiah realized he was admiring instead of glaring and he turned sharply on his heel and limped away.
Delilah watched him go. Two days had passed since her admission of love on the porch. While Delilah had half expected him to take off that night, he was still here. She wondered if he even understood why.
She sighed as she pulled on her gloves and apron and headed out the back door to save her peppers and tomatoes from the weeds attempting to overtake them.
***
Jeremiah's mind raced as he headed toward town. That damn woman had just given him money and a horse and sent him on his way. Weeks ago, before Delilah, Jeremiah wouldn't have hesitated to steal the horse and money, call it good fortune and be gone. But now? Now Jeremiah wasn't sure what to do.
Delilah had said she loved him. And she trusted him. Jeremiah figured he did owe her something since she had saved his life but he had never before bothered with showing gratitude.
There was just something about that woman. Her soft, lilting voice soothed something in his soul. Her touch calmed him. The sight of her made him want to be a different man. He had to wonder if this was how his brother had felt when Rose had come into his life. Delilah looked at Jeremiah as if he were a decent man—a man she could count on and trust. God help him, he wanted to be that for her.
But that simply wasn't Jeremiah. He wasn't that man and he never would be. He would go to town, use the money to buy his own supplies and then he would take off on the horse and never look back.
A pang of guilt twisted Jeremiah's gut and he forced it aside. He had nothing to feel guilty about. This was who he was. This was what he did. He wasn't a good man no matter how badly Delilah wished he was. He wasn't a man someone could count on. He wasn't a man who cared.
Jeremiah hardened his heart, squared his shoulders and continued on into town. The first thing he did was unhitch the cart at the livery and ride the horse to the saloon. The old Jeremiah would have wanted a shot of whiskey and a whore first thing and so that's what Jeremiah was going to get.
He stepped into the nearly empty saloon and joined several men at the bar, settling down on a stool and ordering a shot of whiskey. Jeremiah stared down into the amber liquid, unable to bring himself to take a sip.
What would happen if he fell back into the old habits that had nearly gotten him killed? With a growl, Jeremiah tossed back the shot. The old him wouldn't have cared about what ifs.
He was surprised when the whiskey didn't taste as good as he remembered it tasting. He ordered himself a beer and stared down into it, becoming lost in his thoughts.
Jeremiah was determined to not catch the crazy. After all the hell he'd given to Marston and Duke for catching it, he'd never live it down if he caught it too. He didn't love Delilah. She was simply soft and pretty and she had taken care of him. But she wasn't all nice. She had hit him more than once and had kept his whiskey hidden from him as his body had been wracked with pain and need for it.
The woman was partially insane with all her talk of visions of the Lord and her fondness for him after the things he'd admitted to her.
It had to be her brain ailment that had her saying he could be a different man if he wanted to. Jeremiah change? He'd been what he was for so long that the thought of being anything different was mind-boggling. At the age he was, his life was half over. Why change now?
'Because she just might be worth changing for,' a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Marston informed him. Jeremiah sneered. Marston had always been the one to hear voices, not him. But was his annoying younger brother right?
"Where have you been?" a breathless, feminine voice whispered from behind him.
Jeremiah turned to see the whore he'd been with a few times before he'd been shot standing there with a smile on her painted face. He looked her up and down. There was no denying that she was attractive with her tiny features, blue eyes, long blond hair, perky breasts, tiny waist, flared hips and long legs but for some reason Jeremiah simply couldn't bring back the raging desire he'd felt for her before.
"You sure are looking better than the last time I saw you," she mused as she sat herself down upon his knee and ran her fingernail down his arm.
Jeremiah shifted on the stool and wondered why her nearness made him feel so damned awkward. "I don't' remember you having any complaints last time."
She winked. "As long as I get money, I've learned not to complain."
She ran her nail down his jaw and pivoted on his lap so her bottom was pressed tight against Jeremiah's groin. Jeremiah Jr. rose to attention, reminding Jeremiah of just what he'd like about this particular whore... still it didn't feel right.
He felt like he was betraying Delilah... that he was doing something wrong.
"You got some free time, outlaw?" she breathed against his ear, her warm breath teasing his skin.
"I uh...." Jeremiah couldn't bring himself to say yes. What was wrong with him? Was he losing his mind? Turning soft? No. No. No. He refused to catch the crazy and turn soft. Damn that damn Delilah for getting under his skin. He was Jeremiah Jacobs and he did what he wanted, when he wanted and everyone else be damned.
Jeremiah was preparing to tell the whore that he had all day to spend with her but the conversation down the bar drew his attention away from her.
"He'll be lucky if that old widow doesn't blow his head clear off," one man said with an amused chuckle.
"No, she's a crazy old bat. She'll take in anybody that shows up and needs help. All he's gotta do is knock on the door and she'll welcome him right in," the second man assured him.
"What exactly is he gonna do?" first man questioned.
"Do you really have the ask?" the second man sneered. "He's gonna take what every man wants from a woman. Then he's gonna kill the old hag and search that cabin for the money she keeps hidden."
"Well if she's loaded with money, why aren't you helping so you can have a bit?"
The second man shook his head. "Hell no. I've heard that she's a holy woman." He swallowed hard. "I've heard tell that the Lord talks to her and sends her signs. Now, I'm not a religious man but something about knowing all that tells me I don't want to mess with the woman."
Jeremiah's blood ran cold in his veins. They had to be talking about Delilah. Who else could they be talking about? He stood quickly, dropping the blond on her backside on the dirty wooden floor, and turned to the two men.
"When did he leave?"
The men frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"
Jeremiah growled. "Your friend that's fixing to die. When did he leave?"
"About an hour ago," the first man replied.
Jeremiah nodded and turned to run out the door. He heard a gun being slid from a holster. Jeremiah spun around and saw the first man pulling his gun. Jeremiah wasn't concerned. He was second only to Marston when it came to speed.
He shot the first man dead before he even had time to fully raise his gun and then Jeremiah killed the second man as he prepared to draw. Jeremiah quickly holstered his weapon and turned to the bartender and the whore who was picking herself up off the floor.
"It was self-defense and you both saw it."
Without waiting for them to agree, Jeremiah ran out the door, hopped on the horse and took off hell bent for Delilah's house.
***
Delilah was sweating and streaked with dirt as she weeded out her pepper patch. She heard the sound of a horse approaching the front of the house and frowned. It was too soon for Jeremiah to be back.
Heaving a sigh, Delilah pushed herself to her feet and pulled off her soiled gloves. She wiped her arms across her brow and squinted up at the early September sun, wishing it could ease its burning rays.
Given the fact that most people around thought Delilah was crazy, she didn't normally have visitors and that left her wondering who could be riding in during the middle of the day.
"Hello the house!" a male voice called.
Delilah rounded the house and her eyes fell on the man. He was tall and large around the middle. It was clear he had Indian blood and his face was covered in scars. He had long black hair adorned with a feather and he was filthy and travel worn.
Delilah folded her hands in front of her. "Can I help you, sir?"
"I've been riding for days, ma'am, and I'm real hungry. Do you have anything to spare?"
Delilah shifted her feet. There was nothing outwardly threatening about the man and Delilah generally helped those in need. She couldn't explain her sudden uneasiness. "Of course," she forced a smile and motioned toward the barn. "There's some feed in the barn if you'd like to put your horse up for a while."
The man tipped his head. "Thank you, ma'am."
Delilah watched him lead his horse into the barn and she entered her house. She had stew warming over the fire for her and Jeremiah's supper and she ladled a bit of it into a bowl for the stranger. She broke a piece of bread off the loaf that she had baked that morning and laid it on a plate before grabbing a rag and wiping the table clean.
Jeremiah had a bad habit of finding sticks and things outside, bringing them into the house and simple whittling at them with his knife. It made a terrible mess each and every time but the man made it clear he wasn't going to stop.
When the stranger made his way back into the house, Delilah was just placing his soup and bread on the table. "Thank you, ma'am," the man growled, his brown eyes looking her up and down.
Delilah suddenly realized she may have been mistaken to ignore her instincts about this man's presence. "Would you like water or lemonade to drink?" she offered.
He crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. "I want you."
Fear gripped Delilah's heart but she didn't give into it. Instead she said a prayer and looked around for a way to defend herself. "My husband will be home soon, sir. You would be wise to forget about what's on your mind, remind yourself that the Lord sees all and simply eat the food I offered you."
He chuckled, smoothing his hand over his pock marked face. "You don't a husband. I checked before I left town. I feel a little sorry for you if you think the Lord is gonna somehow save you. Ain't nothing gonna save you now."
The stranger reached out a meaty hand and grabbed her arm. Delilah swung out her free hand and caught him sharply in the dirty face, tearing her nails down his flesh. He released his hold on her and Delilah turned to run, only to have his hand grip the back of her dress and sling her sideways.
Pain radiated through her side as it connected with the counter. Her eyes landed on her large cooking knife and she grabbed it and swung. The man let out a howl of pain as it sliced into his upper arm. It seemed to do nothing other than increase his anger and he grabbed her wrist. He squeezed until the pain was so great that Delilah let the knife slip from her hand.
Her heart hammered against her chest as he used his large gut to pin her to the wall. His breath was foul, hot and moist against her face and Delilah's stomach rolled. She closed her eyes and prayed over and over again that something would happen to end the attack.
A cry of pain flew from her lips when her attackers hand landed sharply against her cheek. "Keep your eyes open, whore!" he bellowed.
Delilah opened her eyes and then brought her knee up with all the strength she could muster. He twisted to the side, causing her knee to connect with his thigh instead of his groin as she'd been hoping.
"I'll pray for your soul," she hissed.
The man sneered. "You do that."
His dirty hand squeezed her breast and Delilah lost all of her self-control. She became a wild, panicked animal who had been backed into a corner. Suddenly she was hitting, kicking, spitting and biting. Every move was desperate and wild.
"Enough!" the man finally roared. He shoved her hard to the side. Delilah's feet became tangled and she fell, striking her head against the mantle before plummeting unconscious to the floor.