The Delaneys of Killaroo: Matilda, the Adventuress is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1987 by Iris Johansen.
Excerpt from Flirting with Disaster by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2013 by Ruth Homrighaus.
Excerpt from The Story Guy by Mary Ann Rivers copyright © 2013 by Mary Ann Hudson.
Excerpt from ’Til the End of Time by Iris Johansen copyright © 1986 by Iris Johansen.
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.
The Delaneys of Killaroo: Matilda, the Adventuress was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1987.
eISBN: 978-0-345-54616-6
www.ReadLoveSwept.com
v3.1
For Andrea Cirillo, my agent and friend, who never once let me hear her groan when I told her we were committing this madness again.
And for my good friends, Kay Hooper and Fayrene Preston, who gave me understanding during the good times, support during the bad times, and laughter all the times in between.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
About the Delaney Dynasty …
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s Flirting with Disaster
Excerpt from Mary Ann Rivers’s The Story Guy
Excerpt from Iris Johansen’s ’Til the End of Time
About the Delaney Dynasty …
When William Delaney was born in 1855, men were men and the West was wild. There were Indian troubles for settlers, but not for the Delaneys; old Shamus had cannily invested one of his sons in a marriage to the daughter of an Apache chief a year or so before young William’s birth, which quieted things considerably.
Of course, William, like his uncles before him, gleefully borrowed the Indian custom of counting “coup” and on occasion rode pell-mell though peaceful Apache camps screeching madly and attempting to touch as many braves as possible before they angrily chased him back to Killara, the Delaney homestead.
If he had run true to form, old Shamus, never one to spare the rod, would have punished his grandson severely, but he didn’t. He’d learned it was useless in dealing with William. Trees were scarce in southern Arizona, and more than one eastern-made paddle had been worn out on William’s unrepentant bottom.
William’s father, Desmond, second of Shamus’s nine sons, was killed in the Civil War in 1862, leaving seven-year-old William in the care of his mother, Anne, his grandparents, and various uncles, aunts, and cousins. If he had lived, perhaps Desmond would have controlled his son, for the boy had worshipped him.
Of those left to guard him, only his grandfather had any sort of control over the boy, and that was little enough. Old Shamus, loving his grandchildren as he had his sons, certainly tried. Since William possessed the Delaney charm and was smart enough to turn it to good effect, even Shamus found himself easing up on the boy and remarking that his misdemeanors were products only of high spirits.
The Apaches, understandably annoyed, disagreed; good Irish whiskey was called for then to ease the pain of lacerated tempers.
But as William grew, it began to require more than a friendly drink to repair the consequences of his reckless actions. William rode wild horses, searched far and wide for wild women, and discovered both cards and drink a good ten years before he should have.
At the age of sixteen William had perfected the rather dangerous art of escaping out bedroom windows, enraged husbands and loaded guns one step behind him. He had, with forethought, trained his savage mustang to stand just so beneath those windows, and husbands in jealous pursuit found themselves choking on dust and listening to hearty laughter carried away by fleet hooves.
By the time he was eighteen William had searched out and conquered women within a two-hundred-mile radius of Killara. Indeed, betting in saloons held that a pair of his boots could be found under the bed of every woman under thirty except those William was kin to.
And since old Shamus was no fool, he was well aware of why his grandson often arrived home sketchily attired in only his trousers. Shamus could forgive the womanizing, merely remarking somewhat irritably that he could have raised all nine of his sons and shod them handsomely in the boots William had left behind him.
However, men were men then, and the West was still somewhat wild. And, inevitably, William was a bit lazy in leaving a warm bed one night. The jealous husband had burst in prepared, gun in hand and temper raging. William wasted no time with his pants, but grabbed his own gun instead, and when he left that window there was a badly wounded man behind him.
William might have stood his trial; he might even have been acquitted. But he was a gambler, and he knew the odds: at least half the men on any jury would be men he had wronged. So he climbed aboard his bad-tempered mustang and headed west.
He took with him little in the way of material things, confident of his luck, but he did “borrow” a single treasure from the Delaney family coffers. As treasures go, the necklace was worth little. It consisted of three silver medallions, each bearing a turquoise stone. Perhaps William was thinking of his grandfather’s lucky number; in any event, he took the necklace.
On the Barbary Coast he found men even more dangerous than those he had left behind him; though there were warm beds aplenty, there were also eager guns and short tempers. William, ever ready to conquer virgin territory, cocked his eye still farther west and boarded a ship.
He wound up, somewhat to his own surprise, in Australia, and liked it enough to remain for a while. He worked when he had to and gambled when he could, arriving at last on a sheep station—where he hired on happily after a glance at the boss’s very pretty daughter.
It was in 1877 when William went to work there, and he lost no time in leaving yet another pair of boots under yet another bed. But William had reckoned without Matthew Devlin, the quiet man whose only child was his daughter, Mary. William went to his wedding as lighthearted as always, unperturbed by the shotgun that had guided his steps to the altar.
William remained for a short time, long enough to tell his bride all about his family in Arizona, about Killara. Truly of Shamus’s blood, he wove a splendid story about the relatives half a world away, gifting them with even more wealth and power than what was actually theirs at the time. Then, being William, he cheerfully abandoned his bride and sailed for home, trusting of forgiveness behind him, welcome before him, and having no idea that he had left in Australia something more than a pair of boots and an old necklace.
William found, at Killara, that there was indeed welcome, and that past misdeeds, if not forgotten, were at least viewed as dim and unimportant. He returned to the bosom of his family and never thought to mention the small matter of a wife left behind in Australia’s outback.
Unfortunately, none of William’s adventures had taught him to curb his recklessness, and he lost no time in reminding people of why he had left Arizona years before. He went his charming way from bad to worse, until even his loving grandfather free
ly predicted that he would end by getting his neck stretched.
Which, regrettably, is exactly how things turned out.
Mary Delaney was not surprised by William’s abandonment; she had loved him and, perhaps remarkably, understood him. She would have as soon attempted to chain the wind as tie William to her side. And she was a strong woman, a proud woman. So she bore her son, Charles, and raised him on the station alone after her father died. She told him often the story of Killara and the Arizona Delaneys, that and a necklace being the only birthright William had left his son.
In his turn, Charles married and fathered a son, passing on the tales of Killara—which was, in reality, by that time, all that William had described and more.
As with many families, the Australian branch of the Delaney clan could boast at least one mystery, and William’s son, Charles, was responsible for theirs. At some point in his young life, he attempted to mine gems, and, having barely fathered his own son, he was murdered because of a fabulous gem it was believed he had found. His killers were never caught and the gem, if it existed, vanished.
By the time Spencer Delaney, William’s great-grandson, was born in 1935, Killara had become a legend; with news spreading worldwide overnight because of advanced technology, hard facts upheld the legend.
And, pride being a strong Delaney trait, Spencer did not turn to his wealthy American relations when he found himself in financial trouble. Instead, he sold off the larger part of the station to a neighboring station, requiring only that his family be given a two-month option to repurchase the land if it came up for resale.
Killaroo, as the station had been renamed by Mary, was small, and the sale of the land was only temporarily helpful to the family. Spencer, realizing too late what he had given up, worked his fingers to the bone to see his family prosper so the land could be restored to them. As the years passed, it became his obsession. He suffered two minor heart attacks and, ignoring warnings by his doctor that a third would likely kill him, continued to work and scheme to get his land back.
Since Delaneys tended to sire male children, it was somewhat surprising that Spencer had fathered three girls. And though Spencer may well have felt the lack of a son, he loved his girls and wanted the best for them. Sydney, Matilda, and Adelaide, however, wanted their father healthy and free from worry.
And so, when the land once belonging to them came up for sale, the girls resolved to raise the staggering price. They knew, of course, of their American cousins, but none of them even suggested that those strangers be applied to.
Each had a scheme. Each had a talent, or a means to make money quickly. And each was driven, as never before in her life, to attain a very specific goal. They were fighting for their birthright, but, even more, they were fighting for their father’s life.
They had two months. Sixty days to do the impossible. And if they knew it was impossible, the knowledge was unimportant to them. They were Delaneys, and it was bred into them to know that even the impossible road was traveled one step at a time.
And so they began.
Prologue
Her father was no longer young.
The realization came to Manda with an odd sense of shock. She had never thought Spencer Delaney would grow old. Somehow, he had always been like the land he held so dear—immortal, enduring, and strong enough to turn any defeat into a victory. Yet the man she saw bending over the tractor out in the farmyard was neither strong nor immortal. His hair, which at one time had been brick-red, was now almost entirely gray, and he was thin, too thin. His arm, braced against the seat of the tractor, was not the healthy bronze color she remembered, and it was webbed with a network of prominent blue veins. He shouldn’t be out there working, she thought anxiously. They had all tried to stop him, but he had refused to listen. He was in a fever of desperation, and fever victims were seldom reasonable.
“So we’re agreed?” Sydney asked.
Manda looked away from the window to Sydney and Addie, who sat across from her at the round oak table. She had to try not to look at him, she told herself. She didn’t want to think of her father as old or sick. She always wanted him to be the strong, joyous man she had known as a child. “Right. We’ve got to keep our individual goals in mind, but if one of us needs help, the other two will come running. We’ve got to remember this is a joint project. We all must succeed.”
Addie nodded in agreement. “But what about Dad? It’s important we keep this a secret. There’s potential danger in all our plans, and we can’t worry him.” She made a face. “You two have it a heck of a lot easier than I do. He’s bound to hear about what I’m doing.”
She was right. The newspaper stories that were sure to come would give Addie a king-size headache. Manda felt a throb of sympathy as she realized how much Addie was going to hate being the focus of attention of the entire country.
“Do the best you can,” Sydney said. “And if you need any help, ring us.”
On the surface Sydney appeared as coolly controlled as ever, but the tension she was experiencing could be seen in her slim, graceful hands that were folded tightly on the table. Manda felt a momentary spurt of exasperation mixed with affection. Sydney was playing the older sister again by trying to keep them all calm.
“I’ll be on the move constantly, so I’ll check in often,” Addie said. “And since I’ll be closest to home, I’ll be the one to keep an eye on Dad.”
“Good,” Sydney said. “Be sure and let us know if anything changes with him.”
Suddenly Manda’s exasperation at her sister disappeared like morning mist in the sunlight. She wanted to jump up and run around the table to give her older sister a big hug. It wouldn’t take much effort to break through Sydney’s fragile, brittle facade to uncover the loving woman beneath. She responded to affection like a thirsty blossom to spring rain. Manda heaved a sigh and decided she’d better leave well enough alone. Sydney needed the crystal wall she had built around her emotions. She drew a deep, shaky breath. “Lord, I’m scared. What if we blow it?”
Addie and Sydney looked at her in surprise. For Pete’s sake, Manda thought, didn’t they think she ever worried or became frightened or uncertain? It was true she was prone to act first and think later, but this was different.
The Black Flame. The forty-five-carat black opal was the stuff of which fables were made. Who knew if it even existed? It might be only a legend passed down through the family for generations. Charles Delaney might have been boasting when he had written to his wife, Mignon, that he had uncovered and then hidden a giant opal from the human predators who roamed Deadman’s Ridge. And, if he had found it, why did she believe she could discover its hiding place, when, after eighty years, the jewel had never been found?
“I’m scared too,” Addie said softly.
Manda smiled gratefully at Addie. Somehow she doubted Addie was truly frightened; it was likely she was trying to make her feel better by placing herself in the same boat as Manda. Addie’s gaze was filled with pure determination.
“We all are,” Sydney said. She reached out and tightly clasped hands with her sisters. “But we won’t fail, because we can’t.” She smiled with an effort. “This isn’t another one of Manda’s trips to the sea. This dream has got to become a reality.”
Manda felt her heart lift. What was she worried about? Together, she, Addie, and Sydney were an unbeatable combination. They had only to set out on their separate courses, steering full speed ahead. The navigational metaphor made her smile. In spite of Sydney’s denigrating reference to her trip to the sea, that particular journey hadn’t been a total failure. She had always believed that if they hadn’t been discovered, they would have made it all the way.
Well, now they had another chance, another odyssey to make together, and this time there would be no stopping them.
One
“It’s no use, Jacto.” Manda jerked a blue and white handkerchief from the back pocket of her cut-off jeans and used it to wipe the perspiration from her forehead. “Th
ere’s no place down in the primary tunnel where old Charlie could have hidden his cache. I’ve looked everywhere, and I’ve seen only dust, rusted machinery, and rubble.”
Jacto handed her a cup of tea. His hollow-cheeked black face was as impassive as always. “So you will try another tunnel tomorrow,” he said calmly. “You said there were four more tunnels in the mine. You will find the treasure eventually.”
Manda sank down onto the ground in front of the campfire, crossing her legs and cradling the tin cup between her palms. “But will it be in time? I spent three days searching that blasted tunnel and didn’t come up with a clue as to where Charlie could have hidden the jewel. And this was the shortest tunnel in the mine.” She sighed as her despondent gaze traveled over the desolate terrain. The vast opal field that stretched in every direction was pockmarked with nearly a hundred mine openings that reminded her of the craters of the moon. “We’re lucky everyone believes the field is played out, or we’d really be in trouble. Can you imagine me marching up to a miner who had filed on Charlie’s old claim to ask him if I could please search his mine?” She made a face. “He’d probably blow me away. In Coober Pedy the miners protect their claims with Doberman pinschers and shotguns.”
Jacto waited. Manda Delaney wasn’t often discouraged, and he knew this mood wouldn’t last long. He had only to be silent, and her usual sunny optimism would reassert itself.
She took a sip of tea. “Well, I still have four weeks, and that can be a long time.”
“You are obviously trying to stretch it longer,” Jacto said dryly. “You have not slept more than a few hours a night for the past three days.”
“I don’t need a lot of sleep. Four hours is usually enough for me. It’s too hot to sleep anyway.”
Jacto nodded. “Over a hundred degrees. It must be ten degrees hotter down in the mine.”
“At least.” Manda lifted her shoulder-length hair and wiped her neck. No breeze blew to cool the hot night, but the air still felt good. She should have braided her hair after she had washed it earlier that afternoon, she realized, but it had felt so good to leave it flowing free after having confined it for the last few days. She had felt stifled and confined herself in the mine, and being out in the open was inexpressibly soothing. How beautiful the tranquil desert night was, with its limitless space and blazing stars. “And sometimes the dust is so thick I can hardly breathe.”