Free Hell's Belle by Shannah Biondine Page A

ranch house. There in the shadows of his porch,
she'd thought there was a fleeting sense of something linking them, almost a
palpable force.
    It wasn't the first
time she'd had that odd notion. The first time she'd seen him, as he thumped
into the store the morning of the Grand Disaster—as Uncle Fletcher had
rechristened their Grand Opening—she'd felt much the same. Like all the air had
been sucked out of the place, like no one and nothing else existed but Del
Mitchell. Today it had been stranger still, for it seemed she'd no sooner form
a thought when he somehow seemed to know what it was, responding with a shift
in his facial expression or stance. With either darkening clouds or brightening
glimmers in his blue eyes.
    Later, seated in a
hot hip bath, she worked a small cake of soap into a lather and wondered at her
own foolish notions. A small-town preacher with brimstone and fire in his gaze…A
rancher she barely knew somehow reading her mind. She hadn't been inclined to
imagine such bizarre things before coming here. What had come over her, Nevada
brain fever?
    But then, back in
Omaha, she never would have imagined her uncle's penchant for upbraiding her smallest
action could congeal into a deep-rooted belief she was actually somehow cursed.
She would never have guessed that a cowpuncher passing by the store with a
skittish horse would lead to the second worst disaster of her young life.
    Tears welled in her
eyes as she acknowledged the loss of her parents would forever be the ultimate
worst. If they were still alive, she wouldn't be in this horrible town.
A dusty hellhole where mean-spirited people eagerly took up Lucius' vile
accusations about witchery. She wouldn't have had to face a preacher who'd left
her shaken and questioning her own salvation. She wouldn't be hearing herself
called a Jonah.
    And then there was
also the matter of the Vogels.
    If she'd never been
on that ill-fated train west, she wouldn't now have anything to apologize for.
She hadn't stolen the necklace, or in any way coveted it or schemed to obtain
it. Still, she was convinced no good could come of it remaining in her
possession. Having a costly item like that around was akin to keeping a pet
rattlesnake or a stick of dynamite. Trouble would inevitably result.
    In fact, if she accepted
the notion of sins coming back to roost—as the preacher had described her
present woes—she might be inclined to see a pattern to recent events. A pattern
she'd almost expanded by running away from her family and guardian this
afternoon.
    Yes, she'd tried
very hard not to face the embarrassing truth. She'd gone along the riverbank in
search of Henry hoping to run off for good. And somehow Delancy Mitchell had
guessed it. She hadn't admitted it, even to herself, instead painting a false
picture of simply having "wandered" too far from town.
    But the bitter fact
was, neither her uncle nor her cousin honestly cared about her. They controlled
everything in her life, left her nothing of her own. Wait. That wasn't exactly
true. Her wits were the only things she'd ever really had. She wasn't about to
let the small-minded people of this town or her detestable relations steal them
away or force her to lose them.
    She rose and dried
herself off. She had to think logically. Nothing would be gained by losing her
head over some nasty rumors or unwanted religious advice from that zealot Phillips.
Twila had to locate the Vogels and return the jewelry. Maybe they'd pay her a
reward…which could be enough to kiss Uncle Fletcher and Lucius farewell for
good.
    She fell asleep
with a smile on her face.
     
    * * *
     
    Del calculated the
sum at the bottom of the column of numbers again and frowned. He didn't want
Fletcher Bell to try to delude him as to the actual costs. Del fully intended
to ask for receipts, a copy of the glazer's bill, and other documentation to
prove the claim for damages to the emporium. But a man needed some negotiating
room in this kind of situation. And