Clint has just refused Delilah’s offer of a job hiring crewmen for the River Nymph, saying that he owns the elegant saloon and bordello where this scene takes place.  Shocked, Delilah and her uncle Horace regroup and try another tack:

Horace was the first to recover.  “Mr. Daniels, perhaps, we could revise our proposition from one of employment, which you obviously do not need, to a business venture that might be of some interest.”

            Clint, who had already risen, heading toward the stairs, turned and cocked his head.  “A business venture?  Hmm."  He stroked his jaw, allowing his eyes to flick briefly to Delilah, then ignore her and return to her uncle.  "What do you have in mind?”

            Bristling at his curt dismissal, she cut in.  “What I have in mind is—“

            “Er, would you pardon us for a brief conference?” Horace asked, now interrupting his niece.  He didn’t like the look in her eyes.  “Could we use one of the tables at the other end of the room?”

            Clint nodded, and the old man practically dragged her across the floor.  Daniels could see the fury radiating from every delectable inch of her body.  Quit thinking with your neither parts, old boy, or that female will land you in deep water.  Ah, but what a wonderful way to drown!  Then Eva glided up to him and he realized that it might be wise for more than one reason to put on a show of indifference to the beauteous Mrs. Raymond.  She knew how to handle a deck of cards but he doubted she’d faire very well in a catfight with the woman who ran the “upstairs recreation” for him.  Then again…the gambling “lady” might just surprise him.

Dismissing the visions of a naked Delilah, draped across his big bed upstairs, he  resumed his seat at the table.  Daniels again riffled through his deck of cards, although he watched from the corner of his eye.  While Horace leaned across the table talking intently, Delilah shook her head stubbornly.  Her chestnut curls bounced and those cat eyes glinted dangerously whenever she turned to glance in his direction. 

Clint waited with an air of supreme indifference as Eva lightly stroked his back…more possessively than he liked.  He enjoyed her company and respected her business acumen, but no female would ever again own his heart.  That had only happened once and it remained a raw, aching wound.  Besides, he though, diverting his attention to the woman standing beside him, it never paid to mix business and romance.  A man always ended up with a losing hand both ways.

            Finally, Delilah and Horace returned to their seats across from Clint.  Delilah was flushed and began to speak, “First of all—“

“Perhaps, it might be wise if I do the talking, my dear.”  Horace’s voice was rife with caution.

When Daniel's whore laughed softly, Delilah could feel her cheeks burning.  Slut, I’d love to give you a real belly laugh by jamming an ostrich feather right up...  Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, Delilah ignored the blonde and fixed her gaze firmly on Clinton Daniels.  Her nemesis…her business associate.  Damn him!   “I believe Mr. Daniels and I can come to an…accommodation.”

“As you wish, my dear,” Horace said in a resigned voice.

            “I’ll speak frankly, sir.  We are prepared to make you a very generous offer.  Ten percent interest in the Nymph and, of course, in our upriver trade venture, for your good offices in obtaining a crew.”

            Clint looked from her to her uncle, then back to her, riffling the deck in front of him with one hand, drawing out the time before he replied, watching her delectable derriere perched on the edge of the chair.  Then he drawled softly, “By all means, Mrs. Raymond, let us do be frank.  Without my help, you’ll never get the Nymph up the Missouri.”

Eva’s beautiful laugh splashed over Delilah like a bucket of lye water, but this time she did not allow her face to betray her fury.  Think of this like a poker game.  She focused on Daniels’ long tanned fingers expertly massaging the deck of cards.  No, not a good idea.  Think of the boat.  That aided her concentration, until his next words jarred her. 

“Everybody on the levee knows that Riley's blackballed you.  No one else will work for you because..."  Clint paused and smiled at Delilah.  It was not a nice smile.  "Let’s just say they have the bizarre notion they might end up working mother naked.”

            “You...”  Delilah choked on her rage.

            “You...’bastard’?” Daniels offered helpfully?

“Yes,” Delilah snapped.

            “You chamber pot with ears?  Son of a bitch?”  Clint added.

            She was furious and didn't care if he knew it.  “Yes, all of the above, and any more filth the cesspool of your mind can dredge up!”

            “Ah,”  Clint said pleasantly.  “We're making progress.  I’ll take two-thirds of the boat.”

            Delilah gripped the edge of the table with both gloved hands to keep from pounding on it.  “Never!”

            “Everybody on the levee knows everybody else’s business," Clint said relentlessly.  "You have a real serious cash problem.  A good up-river captain, or pilot, costs a thousand a month, his second pilot $600 to $700.  Oh yeah, the crew will all expect a month’s salary in advance before you pull out of your berth.”

            Delilah pursed her lips.  “My uncle’s research indicates that your figures are inflated, especially the captain’s pay.”

            “Mr. Mathers, where did you get your information, sir?”

            Horace cleared his throat nervously.  “From what I was given to understand was an impeccable source of river lore, a Mr. Claude Beloit.”

            Daniels cursed, disgusted. “What did he tell you was the going wage for a captain?”

            “$600 to $700.”

            “Did you tell him that you intended to take a boat up the Missouri?  Clint asked, already knowing the answer.

            Horace felt like a school boy who had botched his homework.  “I don’t believe so, no.”

            “The Mississippi and the Missouri aren’t the same beast.  Claude figured you were askin’ him about downriver runs from here to New Orleans.  That’s all he does.  He couldn’t get a canoe past Kansas City without ripping the bottom out of it.  Upper Missouri men are a different breed and they're damned expensive.” 

            Clint turned his attention from Horace back to Delilah.  Her fierce anger had faded, the poker professional’s control was gone.  Her expression now was an open book.  He read desperation, despair, and denial.  There was far more to the widow than he’d ever imagined.  Why would she want to leave what was obviously a comfortable life to brave the hardships and take the financial risks of going into the Fort Benton trade?

She started to speak, but he raised his hand.  Holding her eyes with his, he asked the woman behind him, “Eva, didn’t I see Ronnie Bates come in a while ago?”

            “Yeah, he came in just before these two.”

            “Darlin’, send Walter upstairs and ask Bates, if he’s not busy, to come down here for a minute.”

            Eva snickered, “Clint, honey, Ronnie’s so quick on the trigger he should’ve been one of those Texas gunman instead of a river man.  I’ll guarantee that his ‘busy’ has been over for at least five minutes by now."  She sauntered to the bar, hips swaying, mules clicking. The bartender then hurried around the bar and headed upstairs.

            Clint leaned back in his chair and spread his hands on the table in front of him. “Ronnie Bates has been a mate on Missouri river boats for over twenty years.  You can double-check your information on crew salaries with him.”  Goddamned greenhorns!  He refused to admit that he couldn't bear to see the expression on Delilah Mathers Raymond's face.

                Delilah felt nauseous.  Every night since she had won the Nymph she had gone to bed with fear gnawing at her.  It had seemed too good to be true, given the hard knocks life had dealt her in the past decade.  The riverboat was to be their transport back to respectability, yet each night in the silence of her cabin a bone deep foreboding seized her. Things were going too smoothly, moving too fast.

            Under her lashes she studied Daniels, who oddly for once did not boldly return her perusal.  His straw-colored hair fell across his forehead but he made no effort to shake it back.  The indolence of his lanky body belied an underlying tension that she could not identify.  But one thing she did feel for certain—he was not gloating.  In fact he appeared to be holding back anger.  Why? 

Ronnie Bates bounded down the stairs.  Delilah thought that for a man with over twenty years of river experience the slender smiling fellow seemed exuberantly youthful. 

“Didn’t see ya when I come in, Clint.  What can I do ya fer?”

            Daniels made introductions and said, “Just answer some questions for my guests.  I’ll be over at the bar.  What if I send you a bottle of sour mash to oil your brain?  On the house, of course.”

            Ronnie grinned.  “Hell, man, for that I’ll give'em the wisdom of the ages.  Or at least tell'em where half the bodies on the levee’s buried.”

            Clint rose and headed for the bar.  Walt quickly appeared with a bottle and a glass.  Horace and Delilah commenced their interrogation.  Half an hour and half a bottle later, the question and answer session ended.  Bates wobbled to his feet and started to the bar, the remainder of his whiskey in hand. 

Eva, who had been lounging at the bar with Daniels, waved the man up the stairs.  “Keep the bottle, Ronnie, and tell Stella that you’re a guest of the house...but not for too long.”   She laughed.

            Clint returned to the table and took his seat.  With a proprietary air, Eva returned to stand beside him.  He said, “Other river men will give you the same information.  Hell, go ask Beloit.  See if he doesn’t agree with Bates.”

            Horace held up his hand.  “Mr. Daniels, I appreciate your, ah, straightforward dealing.  My niece and I are satisfied that Mr. Bates knows whereof he speaks.  And it would seem that you, yourself, have somewhat understated the case. Apparently Captain Grant Marsh, commands $1500 a month.”

            Daniels shrugged, “Maybe so, but Marsh  and his Far West are now Custer’s “navy” in the war against the hostiles.  The Army is making the land safe for civilized people.” 

The way he stressed the last words and the harsh cast of his features indicated great bitterness.  Delilah could sense his hatred of the blue-coated soldiers, even a decade after the war had ended.  Well, he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered…  Her uncle’s response brought her back to the matter at hand.  The Nymph was her ticket to freedom, well worth the price of dealing with the Yankee-hating Mr. Clinton Daniels.

            “Mr. Bates left a list of ‘topnotch’ men, all of whom demand at least a thousand dollars a month,” Horace said.  “You have made your point, sir.  We sorely underestimated startup expenses…and we need your good offices to obtain a crew.  Now, shall we craft a deal?”

            Daniels smiled.  “I'll have to contribute several thousand dollars to the venture.  And you won't obtain a crew without me.  Does my request for majority control still strike you as unreasonable?”

            Horace started to reply, but Delilah placed her hand on his arm.  “Please, uncle, allow me.” 

When she turned to face Clint, he was surprised to see a devastatingly beautiful smile.  Damn, those lips…those eyes. 

“It would appear, Mr. Daniels, that while distasteful to us, a business arrangement with you would be mutually beneficial.  You’ll obtain a crew and contribute a few thousand dollars for the startup.  None of which requires much financial risk on your part."  She paused.  "So you can see why we're  fiscally compelled to reject your request for a two-thirds share of the venture."      

Clint slouched further back in his chair.  "Go on."

“We'll give you twenty percent.  Quite lucrative for a one hundred percent return on your investment, don’t you agree?”  Her husky voice was genial, her entire presence radiated friendliness now. 

            Daniels felt as levelheaded as a drunken teamster when he looked at her plump pink lips, but he forced himself to focus and return her smile.  “On reconsideration I agree a two-thirds share was perhaps a touch greedy.  An unfortunate failin’ of mine."  Now it was his turn to pause.  "But since the venture's  doomed without me, let me revise my offer.  Sixty percent."          

Her smile never wavered.  She was hitting her stride now.  Clint had to hand it to her.  He watched with admiration that he skillfully hid.  The woman wanted the boat and this business venture so bad she could taste it.  But she was up against a stacked deck,  forced to salvage what she could.  He’d bet the sweat was rolling down her back or between those breasts that needed no corset to push them high and taut. 

Mind on the game, Daniels.  He waited her out.

            “All right, Mr. Daniels,” Delilah replied congenially, “we both know you have us over a barrel.  I'll make my final offer. A forty-nine percent interest in the Nymph and our present venture in return for your assistance in obtaining a crew and for providing us with additional funds.”

            Clint examined the green table top for a moment and then raised his eyes to hold Delilah’s.  “I must insist upon sixty percent, ma’am.”

            Her smile faded now.  “I don't believe you understand.  Before I give up controlling interest in the Nymph, I'll sell her to another interested buyer, anyone except you.  Or…I'll torch her to the waterline.”

            “Now, Delilah—“ Horace remonstrated.

But Delilah was on a roll, unable to stop.  “I'll get a refund from the warehouse owner.  One way or another my uncle and I'll leave town with substantially more money than we brought here.  But take this as gospel.  If I do not destroy the boat, I will keep majority control of it.”

            Delilah stared across the table at that handsome face, so totally devoid of expression, and hated its owner.  The very absence of male superiority in his eyes fanned her rage because she knew it had to be there, hidden.  This Southern lothario had the power to destroy her dreams.  He'd do it with casual indifference.  The thought drove her almost beyond control.  Almost.  She waited him out.

            Across the table Clint was anything but indifferent.  He studied her eyes, measuring the suppressed anger that turned them deepest green.  They flashed a barely leashed wildness.   The woman was magnificent.  Velvet over steel.  He would have to be very careful.  Daniels, you're a fool.  "Forty-nine percent for me.  And—”

            “I give the orders.”

            Clint shrugged.  “Why certainly, ma’am.  As senior partner that would be your prerogative” he drawled.  Until you get yourself in so deep you’ll be begging me to pull you out of Missouri mud.         

            Delilah stared at him intently.  There was no hint of smirking condescension in his face or in his voice.  She rose and extended her hand.  “Then, we have a deal, Mr. Daniels.” 

            He rose and shook her hand and then Horace’s.  “Let's hope it proves profitable."  He looked at Eva and smiled.  "If Bill Holland is still in with Marie, could you ask him to come down please?  My partners and I need his services.”

            "Who is Mr. Holland?" Delilah asked more sharply than she intended.

            Eva paused, waiting for Clint's response.

             “Bill's a bank officer and a notary.  He'll draft a business agreement for us and then notarize it.”

              Delilah froze.  “Are you insinuating that my word cannot be trusted?”  Her  words were like icicles dropping from the eves of a roof. 

            Clint lost his hard won patience.  “I'm not insinuatin’ your word can't be trusted.  I'm saying your word can't be trusted.  You, madam, are as slippery as cow slobber on a flat rock.  God, you think the twist you turned on Riley isn’t common knowledge on the levee?  The stupid ass never thought of a signed agreement when he brought you in as a ringer to win the boat back from me.”

            He walked around the table and stopped within inches of her.  “I’m not Riley.  And you, for certain, aren't a poor helpless widow.  You, ma’am, howl with the wolves.”  He smiled enigmatically.  “My people up-river have always respected the wolves…but we sure as hell don’t trust them.”  

            Horace interposed himself between the two and glanced over to the silver blonde.  “Miss Eva, would you be so kind as to see if Mr. Holland is available and willing to provide us his services?” 

            Loving the way Clint had put the gambling hussy down, the blonde smiled at Horace with his courtly manners.  "Why not?"  She headed upstairs.

“Please sit down, my dear,” Horace said soothingly to Delilah, then asked Clint,  “While we wait for Mr. Holland, would you perchance have brandy for a toast to seal our bargain?”

“Why, certainly,” Daniels replied with a grin.

Oh so civilized.  A Southern gentleman who lived in a bordello!  Gritting her teeth, Delilah silently watched him select a bottle from behind the bar.  His private stock, no doubt.  She was certain it would be swill.

Clint poured a snifter and handed it to her, allowing their fingers to brush deliberately.  She didn't flinch.  Neither did he.  But both of them felt the sizzle like a lightening strike. 

What the hell have you dealt yourself into? Delilah and Clint’s feelings, for once, were in perfect accord.

            She took one sip of the brandy.  Damn the man, it was excellent.  Trying to ignore him, she studied the ornately framed mirrors and paintings, the heavy masculine furniture.  Anything but look at her new business partner.  A partner who had outsmarted her at every turn…so far.  And a man who made her feel things she had never imagined before.  And would not allow herself to imagine ever again!

            Eva swished back down the stairs and resumed her position beside Daniels.  “Bill’ll be down in a couple, Clint.”  One smooth pale hand rested on his shoulder, her long lacquered nails kneading into the expensive wool of his jacket like a contented cat.  Looking at Delilah, she said, “Well, honey, since we're both doin' business with Clint, I guess we’re sorta partners-in-law.”  She paused for a moment and then sunk the harpoon.  “Sorta sisters under the skin.”

            Delilah blanched.  “Only like Cain and Abel were brothers, madam.”  Her voice  thickened with anger to a low, throaty rasp.  “In addition to the more obvious dissimilarities in our positions…”  She watched Eva draw back at the barb, then continued, “I’m the majority owner in my venture with our mutual partner, while—as I understand it—you own only twenty percent.”          

Eva studied the seething brunette.  Uppity woman thought she was better just because she talked fancy and dressed oh so ladylike, but she made her living gambling.  Not any more respectable than Eva’s chosen career.   “The way I figure it, my twenty percent is worth a lot more than your fifty-one percent.”

            Delilah arched her brow condescendingly.  “Indeed?”

            “Deed?  That’s right, honey!”  Her eyes remained locked with Delilah's.  Before Clint could stop her, she bent over his shoulder and slid her splayed hand down his chest until it disappeared below the table top.  “See, Mrs. Raymond, with my twenty-percent comes the deed to some fertile Southern territory...the same one you’re interested in.”

            Delilah snapped back in her seat, too appalled to utter a word.  Denial would only give credence to the harlot’s absurd accusation. 

            Removing Eva's hand from the waistband of his pants, he kissed the palm lightly and murmured, "Behave yourself, darlin'.  Can't you see you're embarrassing my new partner?"  There was just enough steel beneath the softness of his voice to make Eva subside.

To Delilah, however, his remarks were a red flag.  She rose so quickly that her chair tipped over.  "You coarse, vulgar little trollop!"  Illogically, she attacked Eva rather than the man between them.

Eva emitted a hiss of indignation and jerked her hand free of Clint's grasp, moving around the table.  Both Clint and Horace jumped to their feet.  Clint seized Eva's arm as Horace murmured in Delilah's ear, "Dear one, unless you wish to dispute ownership of the aforementioned territory with Miss Eva, I suggest that you let me right your chair and       that you be seated."

With a most unladylike oath, Eva jerked away from Daniels and stomped to the bar, loudly ordering a double whiskey.

Once satisfied that the foe had been vanquished, Delilah sat back down.

            A stone-still Clinton Daniels stood pondering the distinct possibility that God had created female rage as a male purgative.  Then Attorney Holland clamored down the stairs, interrupting Clint’s ruminations.

            “I understand you need some legal work done.  Hell of a time, Clint.”

            “There are paper and pens in my office.  You know where to find whatever you need,” Daniels replied, ignoring the lawyer/notary’s ire.  He gave the man too much business for it to last.

            In a quarter hour, Bill Holland returned with two copies of a contract between  Clinton Daniels and Delilah Mathers Raymond.  After the copies had been signed and notarized, the attorney returned to unfinished business upstairs.

Horace raised his glass in a perfunctory toast.  Warily, his niece and Clint joined in.  The two men arranged a business luncheon for the next afternoon.  The older man wanted to get Delilah out of the immediate vicinity of Miss Eva, who had spent a quarter hour at the bar slugging back shots before retiring upstairs, the remains of the bottle in hand.  She was well on her way to inebriation and he had always observed that women and alcohol were a most combustible commodity.

            As he and his niece were almost out of the Blasted Bud, Delilah murmured, “Don’t worry, Uncle Horace.  I'll strip him of his share of the Nymph just as easily as I stripped him of his clothes.”

            Horace whispered vehemently,  “My dear, you must stop underestimating this man.  You didn’t win that cut by chance.  He cheated you.  As he was examining the cards, I saw him palm one.  Well done, too.  I almost didn’t catch it.  I thought he had palmed an ace.  I said nothing because I thought he would take his thousand and save you from acquiring the unfortunate reputation to which, alas, you now have fallen victim.”

            Delilah halted abruptly on the walk outside of the Bud.  “You mean he deliberately palmed the deuce so he’d loose?”

            “Do you believe a man that skilled would filch a deuce instead of an ace by accident?”  The moment he asked the rhetorical question, Horace realized he'd just made a major tactical blunder. 

Before he could stop her, Delilah spun on her heel and slammed through the door.  Clint was still standing at the table, brandy glass in one hand, contract in the other.  He looked up in surprise as his new partner made straight for him with purposeful strides.  “Back so soon, Mrs. Raymond.  What can I do—”

            She swung her reticule by it drawstring.  It connected with the side of his face, making a satisfying “thunk.”  “You sneaky, conniving…deceitful wretch!”

The attack was so sudden that Clint could not even get out a curse.  He simply stumbled backward, got his feet tangled with chair legs, and landed flat on his back.  Delilah stood motionless in front of her prostrate tormentor as he struggled to a sitting position, shaking his head to clear the ringing in his ears.  “What the hell’s—”

“I’ll give you hell, right enough!”  She drew back one foot and tried to kick him in that hateful face.  Unfortunately, the toe of her slipper caught in her petticoat and snapped the rear hem of her narrow skirt against the heel of her other foot, sending both feet flying upwards.  She landed in a sitting position in front of Clint.  Her spine felt like a compressed accordion.

            “Merciful Christ, woman, what’s in that bag?  A hunk of brick?”

            In spite of her pain, Delilah noted with satisfaction that the upper left side of his face was beginning to swell.  “A .41 caliber double-barreled Remington Derringer!”

            “A must for any lady of  fashion.”  Daniels touched his throbbing face, muttering, “I'm gratified you used it as a bludgeon rather than shooting me with it.”

            “Don't tempt me, you…you…”

            “My brain’s too rattled for me to provide you with cuss words at the moment,” he muttered.

            “You deliberately lost that cut!  You did it so I wouldn’t be able to get a crew.”

            He shrugged, then winced.  “I had no idea  you were going to haul freight.  I thought you intended to keep the Nymph as a floating gambling palace, same as Riley.  I don’t need competition from a lady gambler.  I let you win to protect my business here at the Bud. No man would sit down at the table with a woman who humiliates other players.   If I'd known you were going into the upriver trade....”  He shrugged, then grinned.  “Hell, I’d a probably done it anyway.”

            Delilah stared at the grinning oaf.  In just two meetings, he had succeeded in stripping her of a lifetime of refinement, not to mention the hard earned self-discipline she had acquired over the last decade.  Now here she sat spraddle-legged on the floor of a bawdyhouse.  What was happening to her?  His congenial expression was intolerable.  He’d succeeded in making her lose her temper, her self control, everything she prided herself on.  She needed to make him pay, but how?              Then, noting the way he looked at her, an idea occurred…

            Clint watched the confused expression on her beautiful face.  A minute ago, she had been all self-righteous anger, enraged sufficiently to try and kick out his teeth.  Now she looked like a lost child.  He came up on one knee and leaned forward with deliberate slowness.  She seemed so very fragile and vulnerable that he held his breath, afraid to frighten her, but she didn't move. 

            A part of his brain sounded warning bells.  He dismissed them as the aftermath of her blow to his head.  With exquisite care, he placed the lightest kiss on Delilah's luscious mouth.  Gentle, oh so gentle.  She closed her eyes.  He leaned away, watching as they opened and she smiled tentatively.  God she was precious.  God he was crazy!

            She rose to her knees in a seductively fluid movement and reached out one hand to his cheek, then slipped it to the back of his head,  Grasping a fistful of straw-colored hair, she drew him to her.  His lips parted as he prepared to kiss her again with much more vigor. 

That’s when she sunk her teeth in the lower one.  And held on. 

“Auugh!  Godda eh!  Leggo!  Awww!  Daa!”  He couldn't get his mouth to form the curses while she held him in the agonizing lip lock. 

Abruptly, Delilah released his lip and he snapped his head back.  Still a bit loggy from the blow to his skull, Clint lost his balance and toppled onto his rump again.  Blood  streamed down his chin, staining his jacket and shirt front.  He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and pressed it to his lacerated lip.

            From the top of the stairs, Eva’s beautiful laughter filled the room.  “Clint, honey, let that be a lesson.  If you don’t wanna lose that valuable Southern bottom land, you  better keep your fly buttoned when that bitch is around!”