Chapter Twenty-One

Jeremiah knew he had nearly killed the horse when he finally brought it to a stop outside Delilah's cabin but the last thing he was worried about was the flea-ridden beast beneath him.

Delilah was in trouble. He could feel it in his bones.

The cabin was silent. It was a terrible silence. Jeremiah would have rather ridden in and heard screams than this ear shattering nothingness.

There were no horses hitched to the porch but Jeremiah had been an outlaw a long time and he knew that the man had probably but his horse in the barn so anyone passing by wouldn't realize he was even there.

Jeremiah pulled his gun and bounded up the porch steps. He threw the door open and saw Delilah laying in a pale, motionless heap beside the fireplace. No one else was inside. Everything was trashed. Furniture had been overturned, knick knacks shattered, and every blanket from Delilah's hope chest had been tossed carelessly to the floor.

Jeremiah's heart seemed to stop beating and his hands trembled as he holstered his gun. Several revelations smacked headfirst into him at once. One, he loved that woman who may or may not be dead on the floor. Two, if the woman was dead, Jeremiah would be a broken man. Three, he had been one hell of a monster.

How many men had come back to their homes to find their wives raped and beaten, their belongings destroyed, simply because Jeremiah had wanted what they'd had? Jeremiah looked at Delilah's torn blue dress, her pale face and his stomach rolled.

Barely managing to swallow his breakfast back down, Jeremiah crossed the floor to her and dropped to his knee. Relief filled him, nearly causing him to cry out, when he felt her breath against his fingertips. He ran his hands through her hair and felt the welt. His fingertips were red with blood when he looked at them.

Jeremiah's heart seemed to be tearing apart right in his chest. No one had told him the crazy could be so damned painful. "Delilah?" he croaked. "Delilah, honey, you gotta wake up now...."

A sound at the back of the cabin had Jeremiah leaping to his feet and reaching for his revolver. "Pull it and I'll shoot her," a man warned, stepping in through the back door with his gun drawn and pointed toward Delilah.

Jeremiah's hand stilled over his gun. "Hawkins?" he gasped, recognizing the heavy-set Indian that he and Langley had been at camp with so long ago. Jeremiah had known the man for as long as he could remember. Hawkins had done this to Delilah?

Shame filled Jeremiah. He wondered if Marston felt the same bone-deep shame when he thought about his own past. What had ever made Jeremiah think that the things they had done were okay?

"Jeremiah? Well, hell, I didn't recognize you! You look different," Hawkins noted, lowering his gun and smiling.

Jeremiah nodded. His voice was cold when he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Having some fun!" Hawkins boasted. "She's got money hid somewhere, a whole bunch of it and I intend to find it. If you want a first go at the bitch, go ahead..."

"First go?" Jeremiah whispered around the lump in his throat. "You haven't...?"

"Naw," Hawkins shrugged. "She's a bit old and fat for my tastes but I figured I might as well ride it before I kill it. Problem was, the old bat fought back and fought back hard.

Jeremiah felt his chest swell with pride for his woman when he took note of the claw marks on Hawkins' cheek, the blood on his lip and the bloody tear on his shirt sleeve.

"You haven't found the money, then?" Jeremiah asked, barely managing to keep his voice even.

"Why, you want a share?" Hawkins asked. "I'd give you a bit. We've been friends awhile. I can't seem to find it anywhere, though. The old bitch is good at hiding her cash."

"That's good," Jeremiah replied and without giving his old friend time to know it was coming, Jeremiah pulled his gun and sent a bullet slamming through his head.

Knowing Hawkins was dead, Jeremiah focused his attention on Delilah. His shoulder wasn't healed enough yet to allow him to pick her up and carry her, but Jeremiah used his good arm to hold her against him and dragged her to the bed. He managed to hoist her into it and she moaned but did not wake.

Jeremiah grabbed a bowl and went out to the hand pump well. He filled the bowl with cool, clear water and returned to Delilah's side, using it to cleanse the blood from the side of her face. He cleaned her hair the best he could and then pulled the covers up to her chin.

Jeremiah was running on pure instinct. He'd never in his life cared for someone else. There were no doctors around the he knew of so he was the only hope that Delilah had..... poor woman. Jeremiah traced her cheek with his fingertips. Staring down at her angelic face caused a pain so sharp and intense to fill Jeremiah, he was forced to turn away from her.

He strode across the cabin and stood over Hawkins' dead body. What he wanted to do was piss on the bastard's corpse but something told him Delilah would say that wasn't the right thing to do.

"Goddamn bastard," Jeremiah grumbled and then he realized that no one was going to be smacking him in the back of the head with a bible for cursing and his shoulders sagged.

He forced himself to turn off his heart and instead focused on Hawkins. Jeremiah liked the man's boots and figured they'd fit him just right. He slipped them off the dead man's feet with a smile. He looted the body and found a sack of money, a decent watch and some old cigars.

It took every ounce of strength Jeremiah had managed to regain during the last few weeks to drag Hawkins' body outside. Jeremiah would have been content to let the sun and the ants have the rotting corpse but he knew Delilah would want to see the man buried. It was simply how she was.

Once Jeremiah was finished with that task and had relieved himself atop the fresh pile of dirt, Jeremiah walked back to the hand pump and cleaned his hands, face and neck.

Stepping back into the cabin, Jeremiah spared a glance toward Delilah to find her lying just as still and pale as he'd left her. To busy his shaking hands, Jeremiah began doing what he could to straighten the house up. He righted the furniture, wiped the blood and stew from the floor, put all the blankets away and swept.

He tossed the soiled rags out on the porch and tapped his fingertips against his leg as he made his way back to Delilah's bed. He pulled the chair she kept near the bed closer and sat down upon it. Jeremiah stared hard at her face. He hadn't thought her beautiful when he'd first woken up here but now... now he knew he would never find a more beautiful sight than her. If he lost her......

Jeremiah turned an angry face up toward the ceiling. "You gonna take her away from me, Lord? Am I not allowed to have a single damn good thing in my life?"

The sight of Delilah's bible on the bedside table caught Jeremiah's attention. His hand was trembling as he picked it up and ran his fingertips over the worn black cover.

"I'm pretty sure I know how this is supposed to go," he began, his voice weak and tired. "I've called people crazy for doing it but I guess there comes a time when we're all a little crazy." Jeremiah sighed. "God, I come to you as humbly as I know how and beg for your forgiveness for all the wrong I've done in my life. I ask that you come into my heart and wash me clean."

Jeremiah stopped speaking and waited for that feeling of peace and fulfillment folks claimed came over you after a prayer like that one but he felt nothing. All he could focus on was Delilah so quiet and pale beside him.

"Okay, now that that's done, I have something else to say," Jeremiah grumbled, looking back toward the ceiling. "I pray that you heal this woman. Don't you dare take her away because she's too damn good a person to die like this. I swear to you, Lord, that if you'll make her well, I'll change my ways completely. No more drinking..much. No more whores. No more stealing unless it's absolutely necessary. And there will be no more killing unless it's in self-defense or defense of someone I care about. I will walk the straight and narrow—the best I can at least since I do have a limp."

Jeremiah felt more than a little foolish talking to God that way but he meant every word. He had truly seen the error in his ways. He saw now had wrong he'd been. He was now feeling the pain he'd caused countless others. It was overwhelming and unbearable to realize just how evil he'd been and he needed Delilah and her warmth to help him cope.

God couldn't take her away from him; he just couldn't. The woman could not die. Jeremiah bowed his head, resting his brow against her soft stomach and he simply prayed and prayed hard.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed that way until he felt Delilah's breathing change beneath him. She moaned and Jeremiah raised his head to find her watching him curiously. Her gaze went to the bible in his hands and she smiled.

"Were you praying?"

Jeremiah let out a harsh laugh of relief. "Damn woman, you were bound and determined to find a way to get me to, weren't you?"

"Don't curse. My name is Delilah, not woman, and yes, I'm quite smart that way."

Jeremiah closed his eyes when she rested her hand against his cheek and he felt her smooth away the dampness of a tear on his skin. "You were crying..." she whispered.

"My leg hurts," Jeremiah grumbled, looking into her silver eyes.

Jeremiah smooth a strand of hair from her face and her eyes widened. "The man who was here......."

"He's gone," Jeremiah assured her. "You don't have to worry about him anymore."

A frown creased her brow. "Did you kill him?"

"Yes," Jeremiah replied, smoothing those frown lines away with his thumb.

"I'm sorry you had to do that!" Delilah lamented. She studied his eyes, searching for how he felt. In them she saw something she had never before seen when she'd gazed at him. For the first time, Jeremiah's eyes were completely unguarded. There was no anger and no coldness. Just now, Jeremiah's golden eyes were gazing as if he.... Loved her.

"I'm not sorry I killed him," Jeremiah promised. "I'm sorry he had a chance to hurt you," he added, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.

Delilah trembled as her heart sped up and a heat she had felt in many years coiled deep in her belly. "Are you okay, Delilah?" Jeremiah whispered, his eyes sweeping up and down her. "He didn't hurt you too bad, did he?" There was a tenderness in his voice that Delilah had never heard there before.

"Y..yes.." she stammered. "I'm okay, I mean. My head and my side pain me a little but it could have been much worse."

Jeremiah's lips turned down in a frown. "Your side?" he demanded.

Then, much to Delilah's surprise, he moved the covers aside and lifted her dress as he dove beneath it to reach her side and find the reason for her pain. "What are you doing?" Delilah exclaimed, swatting him in the head with both hands. "That is hardly appropriate!"

Jeremiah came up sputtering and glaring. "Stop hitting me, woman! I'm gonna be your husband just as soon as I can find a preacher so I think I can look at your damned side if I need to!"

With that shocking announcement, Jeremiah went back to lifting her dress but this time Delilah allowed it. She was in a state of complete and total shock thanks to his words.

"Don't curse," she whispered absently which earned her a snort from beneath her skirts.

After several moments, Jeremiah sat back straight and smoothed out her skirt. "You have one hell....heck of a bruise," he amended. "But I don't think it's any more serious than that."

"Jeremiah? Did you mean what you said? Do you truly want to marry me?"

"Yep. I figured since I caught the crazy I might as well be man enough to admit it."

"The crazy?"

"That's what I used to call it when anyone else fell in...well you know.. uh.. wanted to settle down."

Delilah's heart skipped in her chest like a schoolgirl's. "You love me?"

Jeremiah flushed and picked at the cover. "Yes. I realized I cared more than I wanted to when I found myself sitting in that saloon doing my best to forget you and couldn't think of anything but you. Then I heard those men talking and realized they were talking about you and you were in trouble. I realized it was the crazy when I burst through that door and saw you laying in the floor.... I thought you were dead."

Jeremiah's voice broke and he shoved himself to his feet and began pacing, his limp more pronounced in his agitation. "I was a monster, Delilah. I did those kinds of things to people! I took advantage of women alone. I beat them, raped them and destroyed their homes. I did that!" He beat himself in the chest as if to emphasize the words. "It was because of me that men came home and found the women they loved beaten on the floor. It was my fault that some children found their mother's that way. I asked God for forgiveness but surely he can't...he won't. Not after the things I've done."

Jeremiah's eyes were red as he shoved his hand through his dark hair which was getting much too long. Delilah pushed herself into a sitting position and waited for her head to stop spinning before she spoke.

"He will forgive you, Jeremiah. He already has. Now you have to forgive yourself."

Jeremiah swallowed hard. "I think the man I was will haunt me forever."

"I'll help you through it," Delilah promised.

Jeremiah stopped pacing and stared at her. "I spent my whole life hating God but I guess I gotta change my way of thinking now. After all, he and I made a deal."

Delilah sighed. "A deal?"

"Yep. I told him that if he let you live I would change my ways."

"It doesn't work that way," Delilah scolded. "You can't bargain with God."

Jeremiah shrugged. "Well you're alive, aren't ya?"

Delilah laughed lightly and shook her head with exasperation. Who was she to argue with his pure and simple logic? "Yes, I am," she admitted. "And I'm tired. Who would have thought that being attacked would wear a person out so badly?"

Jeremiah returned to her bedside and pulled off his gun belt and knife. He kicked off his boots and climbed into the bed. "What are you doing?" Delilah demanded.

"I'm going to marry you," he reminded her.

"Yes, well, we're not married yet and you aren't going to be getting into my skirts until we are!"

He flashed a wicked grin and wiggled his brows. "I've already been in your skirts." He winced when she smacked him in the head. "Dammit, woman, you're mean!"

"Yes, well, someone has to knock some sense into you."

Jeremiah chuckled and felt her resistance to his presence in the bed fading as he forced her onto her side and curled himself up against her back. Her body was soft and warm and fit against his perfectly. Jeremiah put his head on her shoulder and smiled.

"I thought I was too good to ever catch the crazy," he whispered. "Guess I was wrong." He breathed in her scent and it was all vanilla and fresh baked bread. She smelled like home.

"I love you too, Jeremiah."

Silence reigned a moment before Jeremiah spoke again. "Why did Hawkins seem convinced that you had a bunch of money?"

"You knew the man that was here?" Delilah demanded.

Jeremiah frowned. "Yeah, but that's not important. Why are there rumors that you're rich?"

"Because I do have quite a bit of money," Delilah admitted. "Back when I lost my faith and ran with the wrong people, I took part in a very successful bank robbery. Once I found God again, I knew I should return the money but I thought it could be better used to serve those in need and so I saved it and use to feed and clothe those who end up here."

"Well I'll be dam...darned," Jeremiah muttered. "I got me a woman that can cook, isn't afraid to knock some sense into me, has a soft, warm body that fits just right next to mine and can rob a bank! How lucky can one man get?"

Delilah flushed so deeply even her ear turned red beside his cheek. "I robbed that bank a long time ago," she reminded him. "And as far as my body goes, I know it's nothing special but it is what God gave me."

"I'd be more than happy to show you just how special I think it is," Jeremiah growled before nibbling at her neck.

Delilah's elbow shot back and caught him hard in the ribs, knocking all the breath from his lungs. "Ouch!" he gasped.

"We're not married yet."

Jeremiah couldn't believe she was so damned stubborn. "You're not willing to bend an inch are you?"

Delilah shook her head. "Not about this."

"Fine," Jeremiah grumbled. "I'll be on my best behavior."

Delilah smiled and buried herself close to his warmth. It felt so good to be held once again in a man's arms. And this man loved her! No other man before had loved her. Delilah knew he was telling the truth about his feelings for her. No man could fake the emotions that had been shining out of Jeremiah's eyes.

Delilah felt Jeremiah shift his hips and knew he was probably trying to hide the fact that he was aroused. Obviously he didn't want another smack to the head. Lord knew Delilah wanted Jeremiah just as badly. Her body was practically on fire with her want but she couldn't let herself give in to that feeling—not until they were married.

Jeremiah's hand slowly snaked up her waist and came to rest against her breast. Delilah grabbed him by his wrist and moved his hand back down to her belly. "I thought you said you'd be on your best behavior?" she scolded.

He chuckled and his breath was warm against her ear. "My best behavior is a lot like anyone else's worst behavior. You'll get used to it."

When Jeremiah once again rested his palm against her breast, Delilah didn't fight him. "Now rest, Delilah," he whispered. "Because I plan on finding that preacher first thing tomorrow."