Chapter Eight
Delilah sat up straight and stretched her arms over her head then twisted from one side to the other.
Down on her knees in the dirt, she’d been working on establishing the flower beds she’d spent hours sketching and planning. At her prompting and then pleading, her father had hired two men to replace the rickety fence around the front and back yards. The backyard fence was now almost six-feet high and made of solid cedar boards, providing a perfect backdrop for the plants and flowers she intended to grow.
The front yard had a white-painted picket fence around it, complete with an arbor over a swinging gate at the end of the walk. Although she would have preferred a wrought-iron fence like they’d had at their house in Washington, she would make do with the picket fence. Delilah envisioned climbing roses on the arbor and sprawling over the fence along with ivy and morning glory. She also thought daisies and lavender would look lovely along the fence.
Lifting her face to the sky, she soaked in the sunshine, not caring if it tanned her skin. They’d endured nearly a week of rain as March drew to a close, but April had arrived a few days ago with plenty of sun and warmer temperatures. Spring, it seemed, had fully descended.
As she and her father walked home from church the previous day, she’d admired daffodils and hyacinths blooming in several yards they passed. Next year, she’d have bulbs in bloom, too.
Although she didn’t long for much from her life in Washington, D.C., she did miss the beautiful yard and gardens she’d spent years cultivating at their home. With the late season snow storm they’d had, though, she doubted much was blooming there anyway.
Delilah dug her spade into the soil and turned it, working it up until it appeared rich and loamy instead of the hard-packed, weed-infested dirt it had been before she began her planting project.
She listened as people walked by the fence, laughing about the town’s illustrious mayor accidentally shooting himself in the leg the night of the performance at the opera house when he decided to clean his gun. His wife had told him it served him right for refusing to attend the play with her that evening.
Delilah assumed by now everyone would tire of speaking about the incident, but apparently the mayor had poked enough fun at himself over the accident that it endeared him to the citizens of town and made good fodder for gossiping tongues.
Her thoughts rolled back to that evening when she’d attended the play with Deputy Harter. The man had been kind, polite, and amusing. She’d had a wonderful time with him, both at dinner at the hotel then at the play. Seth didn’t seem particularly interested in the performance, but he did make her laugh with some of his observations about the actors and scenes.
Then, when they were leaving, she’d seen Deputy Durfey searching the crowd. She didn’t know why, but the sight of him made her heartbeat quicken while a weightless sensation fluttered in her stomach. It was silly, she knew, especially since she was accompanied by a very handsome, attentive man at the time. But the way Dugan looked her over from head to toe had left her feeling both pleased and exposed, as though he saw far more than her fancy gown and friendly smile.
Regardless, she hadn’t seen much of either deputy, other than at church or in passing. She enjoyed the company of both men, but she had no interest in furthering a relationship with either of them.
She liked being independent and free to do as she wished. In spite of her father’s attempts to spoil and pamper her, Delilah could easily make her own way in the world. If she chose, she could return to Washington and support herself with the articles and sketches she wrote as one of the most knowledgeable members of the American Ornithologists’ Union. Her drawings and detailed articles had been published in books, in newspapers from New York to New Orleans, and included in a display at a popular Washington, D. C. museum.
Her father hadn’t supported her financially for years, although he did insist on providing a roof over her head. After her mother passed away, Delilah couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from her beloved papa and decided to remain close to him for as long as she could.
Papa had encouraged any number of eligible young men to ask her on outings. Occasionally, Delilah went, but not because she wanted a husband. She merely sought a few hours of entertainment. Her father viewed each outing as progress in his efforts to convince her to settle down and have a family of her own. Now that she was nearing her twenty-sixth birthday, her father had made it no secret he hoped to become a grandfather while he was still young enough to enjoy the experience.
Delilah shook her head, thinking of her father’s latest comments about Baker City offering a number of handsome, gainfully employed young men.
“Perhaps one of them will tickle your fancy, Lila,” he’d teased.
She’d rolled her eyes and shook her head. “They’ll do no such thing, Papa. Not if I can help it.”
The thought of abandoning all her work just to become the property of a man made her annoyed. If she ever found someone like her dear Papa who loved her as she was without conditions or restraints then she might entertain the notion of marriage. Since most men didn’t cotton to the idea of a woman being a wage earner or having a mind of her own, she assumed she’d spend her life alone.
It was too bad she didn’t have a sibling. Delilah could have been the doting aunt who spoiled her nieces and nephews.
At any rate, she had absolutely no plans to wed. The entire idea was preposterous.
Yet, in spite of herself, a vision of Dugan Durfey popped into her thoughts. She’d seen him after church tossing Lily Jordan and then Sammy Barrett into the air, making the little girls giggle and beg him for more attention.
What about him appealed to females, young and old alike?
A quick mental inventory of the man partially answered her question: Crooked, teasing smile. Sky-blue eyes. Broad shoulders. Long, muscled legs. Full bottom lip — practically begging to be kissed.
Derisively, she snorted. How had her thoughts wound from Dugan making Lily and Sammy laugh to wondering what it would be like to kiss him? She had better things to do than fritter away her time in silly, childish daydreams. With renewed efforts, she tackled the next area of her soon-to-be flowerbed.
Delilah worked another thirty minutes before a furry blur caught her attention. She turned her head slightly to the left and watched a raccoon shimmy down the boards of the fence. Although she had no evidence or any way to prove her theory, she was certain the impertinent little fellow was the same one who’d invaded the attic space and scared her half witless.
He’d been coming to the backyard every day since the men working on the fence had finished the job.
At first, he stayed far away from Delilah and she did nothing to dissuade him otherwise. The news about a criminal dying of rabies at the jailhouse had made everyone cautious of wild animals and strange-acting pets.
Nevertheless, this miniature masked invader didn’t appear threatening in the least. In fact, Delilah had given the raccoon the name of Oliver and had even watched him eat the tidbits of food she randomly left for him in a far corner of the yard.
Oliver sat on his back legs and rubbed his paws over his face then made a chittering sound, as though he wanted her to pay attention.
Delilah sat back and smiled at him. “Oliver, what brings you by today?” she asked watching as the raccoon took a few tentative steps closer. He sat and watched her several moments then edged a few feet her direction.
When he was only a yard away from her, Delilah held perfectly still. She certainly didn’t relish a bite from his sharp little teeth, but she didn’t want to spook Oliver, either.
In spite of her father telling her he ought to shoot the beast just in case he carried rabies, Delilah couldn’t bear the thought of it. Not when Oliver looked so adorable with his masked face and ringed tail. His front paws were so perfectly, elaborately formed. Other than the lack of a thumb, his fingers almost looked human, especially when he used his hands to pick up items with ease and agility.
Delilah bent back to work, but kept one eye on Oliver. He wandered around the yard, sniffed the soil she’d recently churned, then moved until he stood so close she could have reached out to pet him.
She pretended not to notice him until he made another chittering noise and sat on his back legs.
“What is it you want, Oliver? I have no food to give you today because I fear you’re getting greedy. Papa was most likely correct in saying I should never have fed you at all. You’re welcome to stay in the yard, but no begging.”
The raccoon made another noise then dropped back onto all fours and continued his investigation of the yard. Suddenly, he pawed in the dirt and devoured three pink earthworms. She watched as he chased down a little frog and ate it with relish. When he finished, he licked his paws and stared at her.
“Satisfied now?” she asked, shaking her head at the raccoon.
“Not in the least,” a deep voice said.
A squeak of surprise burst out of her as she whipped her head around and stared at a man’s face just visible over the top of the fence. “Deputy Durfey! You scared me half to death.”
“Well, I’m happy it wasn’t the whole way,” he teased, moving around to the gate. “May I come in?”
“I suppose so,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see Oliver scampering up a tree in the corner of the yard.
“Making new friends?” Dugan asked as he stepped into the yard and walked over to where she brushed the dirt from her hands and struggled to get to her feet. The hem of her old calico dress caught beneath her and nearly pitched her headlong into the flower bed.
The deputy grabbed her upper arms and pulled her upright before she fell into the recently spaded soil.
“Steady,” he said in a low, husky voice that made her insides feel as solid as runny porridge. Rather than release her, he continued to hold her arms and took a step closer.
His amazing long eyelashes drew her gaze to his eyes. The fascinating orbs sparkled with humor and life. Truly, Dugan possessed the most gorgeous eyes of any man she’d seen. Certainly, she’d never admired any at this proximity.
She noticed a tiny scar that ran through his left eyebrow and a mole the size of a pin head on his left cheek. Delilah drew in a breath, inhaling the scents of sunshine, leather, and horses clinging to him. It appeared the deputy had either misplaced his razor or hadn’t taken time to shave for several days since a rakish growth of dark stubble covered his face. Rather than make him look unkempt, it accented his delectable bottom lip. Thoughts of kissing it, tasting it, sliced through her mind and made her antsy.
“Did something bring you here today or did you drop by with the sole purpose of tormenting me?” she asked, drawing away from him and taking a step back.
Dugan shrugged and dropped his hands to his sides. “I heard you talking to someone and then the raccoon answered. You really should be careful. I’d hate for you to get bit by one that’s rabid.”
“I’m being careful and I don’t think Oliver is diseased.” Nervous, she wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her dress.
The corner of Dugan’s mouth kicked up in a grin. “Oliver, is it? You named that prowling little devil Oliver?”
“He’s not a devil and Oliver seemed an appropriate name.”
“How so?” he questioned, giving her a probing look that made her fight back a shiver.
Desperate for a distraction, she picked up her trowel and toyed with it. “Because of Oliver Twist. I’ve heard raccoons have a bad habit of stealing, even right out of your pockets if you let them, like the pickpockets in the story.”
“That’s true enough, but I do wish you’d be careful.” The look he gave her held concern. “Rabies is one of the most awful ways you could imagine to die.”
Delilah knew from Seth that he and Dugan had both been there when the prisoner died. He hadn’t gone into details, but she’d gathered from what he hadn’t said the man’s death had been horrific.
“I promise to keep an eye on him and be careful.” She dropped the trowel back in the dirt and looked at Dugan. His shoulders seemed even broader with the afternoon sun backlighting him. He was… magnificent.
And that was all the more reason for her to make sure he stayed an arm’s length, or ten, away.
Dugan didn’t seem to notice her continued perusal of his anatomy. “You’ve accomplished a lot back here.” He motioned to the spot where she’d been digging. “Are you planning to put in a bunch of flowers?”
“Yes. The design is drawn out and the plants ordered. I want the flower beds to be ready as soon as they arrive next week. By then I hope all danger of frost will be past.” Delilah motioned for Dugan to follow her over to the two chairs she’d hauled out to the back porch. “Would you care for some refreshment, Deputy?”
“No, thank you,” he said, waiting for her to take a seat before he folded himself onto the too-small chair. “So, you’ve got quite a knack for plants and flowers?”
“I learned to care for them in order to follow my true passion,” she said, absently brushing dirt from her apron.
“And what might that be?” Dugan asked, clearly interested in her answer.
“Ornithology. It’s the study of…”
“Birds,” Dugan interjected then grinned at her. “I’m not nearly as dumb as I look.”
Delilah somehow kept her mouth from dropping open in surprise that Dugan actually knew what ornithology was. As to the rest of his statement, dumb was not a word she’d ever use to describe his appearance. Intriguing, masculine, rugged, fascinating — definitely. But not dumb.
“Most people are unfamiliar with that particular field of study,” she said.
“I’m not like most people.” He winked at her then waved a hand around the backyard space. “Your plan is to create a haven for birds?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
A frown etched across his brow. “And you’re encouraging the raccoon to loiter here?”
“He’s not loitering and I’ve only fed him a few times.”
Dugan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you know raccoons eat birds?”
Her mouth dropped open in astonishment and she rocked back in the chair. “Gracious! I did know that, but I’ve allowed my interest in befriending Oliver to overshadow the facts. Oh, this won’t do. Not at all.”
“Well, let’s just see if he comes back. Maybe he’ll find somewhere else to come begging for food and chasing frogs.”
She shot him an accusing glare. “How long, exactly, were you peering over the fence like a peeping scoundrel?”
Dugan stiffened. “I wasn’t peeping or peering. I glanced over to see whom you were speaking to and all I could see was that ball of fur. If you think you could curb your insulting comments, I might even tell you a story about a raccoon.”
“I wasn’t being insulting,” she said, feigning a pout. “Will you please tell the story?”
“I will, since you asked nicely.” Dugan cleared his throat as he leaned back in the chair, stretched out his legs and crossed one ankle over the other. “I heard this story from an old Indian I met back when I first started working for the sheriff. According to the legend he shared, Raccoon once had a beautiful silver coat. One day, Raccoon stopped at Raven’s house and saw Raven had five shiny silver rings he carefully hid inside a trunk. Raccoon went on his way, but that night, he put a mask over his face, lit a torch he carried beneath his chin and snuck off to Raven’s house, hoping to frighten him so badly he could steal the rings. He stood outside Raven’s window, making eerie sounds and holding that torch, getting soot all over his paws, waiting for Raven to be so scared he’d run off.”
“What happened,” Delilah asked, learning forward in her chair, engrossed in the story.
“Wouldn’t you know it, but Raven got hopping mad. He rushed outside fit to be tied, so Raccoon ran to the woods and hid in a tree. Raven rushed by and scoured the deep woods, trying to find him. While Raven searched, Raccoon scurried back to Raven’s house and took the rings from the trunk. He couldn’t leave the torch, but he needed both hands to carry it, so he slipped the rings on his tail and hurried home. Raven returned and realized the rings were missing. The next morning, Raven started asking everyone if they’d seen his rings. He went to Raccoon’s house and asked if he knew anything about the missing rings. Raccoon assured him he didn’t. Raven was about to leave when he noticed five tarnished ring marks on Raccoon’s tail where he’d carried the rings and the soot still on his paws from the torch.”
Dugan stopped and grinned at Delilah.
“What did Raven do?” she asked, eager to hear the ending.
“Ol’ Raven, well he was about ready to chew up tacks and spit out railroad spikes, he was that mad at Raccoon. He waved a dark wing at him and said, ‘From now on, your face will show the mask of a thief, your hands will remain blackened by the soot of your poor choices, and your tail will always be tarnished by your thieving ways.’ And it was so.”
Delilah sat back in her chair and smiled at him. “That was a wonderful story. I’ll have to be mindful of not leaving anything out that Oliver might steal.”
“Raccoons like shiny stuff particularly well,” Dugan said, rising to his feet. “I best be on my way, Miss Robbins. When your plants arrive, if you need help with them, you be sure and let me know. I can help haul them or dig holes, although that’s about the extent of my abilities with flowers.”
“Thank you for that offer, Deputy, and for the story.” Delilah walked with him over to the gate in the fence. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
“I plan to, Miss Robbins,” he said, tipping his hat to her then continuing in his long-legged gait down the street toward the heart of town.
Delilah stepped out of the yard and watched him until he turned a corner a few blocks down and disappeared from view.
“Like what you see?” a voice spoke from behind her, making her jump.
She whirled around and clutched a hand to her rapidly beating heart. “Papa! Don’t you sneak up on me like that!”
Ross chuckled. He stepped through the open gate and into the backyard. “I made plenty of noise walking up behind you, but you seemed otherwise occupied. Perhaps I shouldn’t yet give up all hope of having grandchildren someday.”
Delilah scowled at him and flounced up the porch steps. “Nothing has changed from the last time you suggested the possibility of me losing my mind and deciding to wed. It’s never going to happen, Papa. Not ever.”
Ross laughed and draped his arm around her shoulders, giving her a hug. “Oh, Lila. Never say never.”