A Lady in Defiance (39 page)

The voices would tell her when the time was right. They
promised her the children of the Holy One would die tonight and the Most High
God would stand by silently as their blood ran. She need only be patient.
Warmed by her hatred, she waited.

Feeling totally out of place at the thought of extemporaneous
prayer and spiritual warfare, McIntyre had made his departure with the promise
to return in an hour or so. A gentle, no,
peaceful
look in Naomi’s eyes
had brought him peace as well. He didn’t know what she wanted to talk about,
but he was eager to hear it. Of course, for all he knew, she may be preparing
to tell him she was going to a convent.

Stepping out into the cold, a sudden feeling of unease
wrapped its tentacles around him. Pretending to shake it off, he pulled his
coat tighter and headed back to the saloon, thinking a drink might make the
time pass a little faster...and ward off this sudden apprehension.

It was time to tell her about the letter. The conviction came
upon him strong and insistent. He dreaded it and knew whatever kind words she
might have for him, they would dissipate like smoke with this news. Handing a
woman a letter from her dead husband would certainly have to cause a reexamination
of whatever future plans she was making. McIntyre was inexplicably and suddenly
committed, however, and could only let the chips fall where they may.

Rose watched intently as McIntyre marched away from the
hotel. When he left her field of vision, she listened to his fading steps. She
could not see the Iron Horse from her hiding place but knew that within seconds
he would be inside. She was eager to cross the street and anxiously caressed
the Colt .45 in her hand.

The dining room went dim and she smiled. Another half hour or
so passed and lights flickered out one by one on the second floor as, she
assumed, the sisters and their guests turned in for the night. Rose hugged the
gun to her chest as she thought of the
gringas
, smugly content that they
were warm and safe against the beast lurking outside. If Ian and the
black-haired girl followed their pattern, they would be in the kitchen for a
while yet. Rose would sneak upstairs, find the wiry sister and shoot her first,
then the young girl and the baby, and then whoever else came across her path.

Now
,
the voices whispered urgently.
Now!

Rose moved, started to slither out of her darkness, when she
heard the hollow footsteps of boots. Whispering a curse, she drew back and saw
McIntyre strolling his way back to the hotel. He went to the door, paused, then
quietly slipped inside.

Blood pumping, heart pounding, the voices screamed at Rose to
go. Peering out of the darkness again, she hurried across the street. Slogging
through the deep spring mud, she stepped up onto the porch and stole a look
through a window. She saw McIntyre gazing patiently over the batwing doors into
the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. What was he looking at?

The voices egged her on. Now was the time, they told her.
Go!
Obediently, she cocked the six-shooter in her hand.

McIntyre stood quietly, mesmerized by the divine authority in
the voices and the expressions of strength in their faces. It was a power he
recognized instantly as holy and pure and all-mighty. Something was happening
here, something with life and death implications. Instinct rose up in him and
he knew he was watching preparation for a battle.

“Hello, Mac,” Rose whispered in his ear. The cold steel of a
gun barrel pressed into the back of his head and he cursed himself for not
having heard the door. “Let’s go see your friends.” He raised his hands and
they took a step forward, but Rose grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. She
listened intently to the prayers coming out of the kitchen in commanding tones.
For a moment, he thought her resolve might be wavering. “What are they doing in
there?”

McIntyre smiled grimly. “Praying.”

And he offered up his own, hoping desperately God would hear
the plea of a selfish, arrogant man. Rose shoved him forward, brutally ramming
the barrel into his skull and the two burst through the bat wing doors. The
prayers died in astonishment when the group realized McIntyre was not alone.
Their circle opened up so they could face Rose, Naomi moving to one end, Ian to
the other. Rose propelled McIntyre towards Ian with another vicious nudge from
the gun barrel and eyed the group triumphantly.

Chapter
35

Naomi felt her body turn to glass, as if one move would
shatter her. Rose had managed to trap them all together. She couldn’t believe
the horror of it. Shock threatened to seize up the wheels in her mind.

Rose waved her gun at Mr. McIntyre. “Slowly, my love, take
your gun out…” Rage filled his eyes, but his face was expressionless. He eased
his revolver out of its holster and held it up by two fingers, awaiting further
instructions. “Very good. Put it on the ground and kick it over to me.”

He hesitated then did as she asked. It slid across the floor
stopping an equal distance between her and Naomi.

Rose’s eyes quickly followed the gun’s path then traveled on
to Naomi. “Did you get my love note, little gringa?” Before Naomi could answer,
Rose spotted Emilio. She flamed with outrage. “I heard you moved in with these
witches? I should shoot you first!”

“No,” Hannah cried, putting an arm in front of the boy.

A wicked smile burned across Rose’s face. “Ah, maybe I should
shoot you first and let him watch you die−”

“Rose,” Mr. McIntyre barked, drawing her attention. “What do
you want?”

Rose looked taken aback, as if she couldn’t believe the
stupidity of the question. “I want you to die. I might have let you live if you
hadn’t come back here tonight, but that was your choice.” She shrugged. “So be
it.”

“Rose, there are eight of us.” Naomi spoke, white-hot fear
practically choking her. “There’s no way you can kill us all.”

“She’s right.” Mr. McIntyre pointed at the gun in Rose’s
hand. “Pull that trigger and the rest of us will take you down.”

“Not before I take a few of you with me.” She waved the gun
over them, back and forth, meeting their eyes, tormenting them. “Little Daisy,
you’ve made such good friends. Too bad they’ll be the last ones you ever have.”
Her gaze shifted to Ian. “I am sorry that you’re here, Mr. Donoghue. I always
liked you. You were kind, all the time, kind.”

“Why are ye doin’ this, Rose?” Naomi heard desperation creep
into Ian’s voice. “These girls have done nothing’ to ye.”

“They changed everything!” Rose screamed, making the group
jump.  “It was finally perfect. Money, power, this town. I had it all just
the way I wanted it here and Mac was so good to me.” She looked at Mr. McIntyre
and her face changed, softened. Then her eyes traveled back to Naomi and the
sinister darkness returned. “They told me you
gringas
would come, but
that my power was stronger than your god. Now look where we are. You’re about
to die and I will have Defiance.”

“Rose, it’s me you want.” Attempting to bargain, Mr. McIntyre
took a step forward. “Leave the others alone. Defiance is yours. If the Broken
Spoke isn’t enough, I’ll give you the Iron Horse, the mine, everything. Just
step in take over.”

She waved the gun, forcing him back in line. “Oh, that’s what
I will do. I had hoped to have you by my side, darling, but it appears that
will not be the case.”

Naomi felt a vicious fear gnawing at her as Rose eyed them
each one by one. She saw a tear roll down her little sister’s cheek and knew
she was thinking of her angel upstairs. Emilio, ever-so-subtly, reached out and
squeezed Hannah’s hand. Rebecca glanced across the half circle at Ian and he
winked bravely at her. She smiled in a pained way. Daisy looked the bravest of
all. Eyes closed, lips moving, she was praying silently.

Trying to draw strength from the unspoken words, Naomi looked
at Mr. McIntyre. He was waiting to meet her gaze. Time stopped and Naomi would
have sworn she felt God rest His hand reassuringly on her shoulder. Divine love
formed a bond between her and Mr. McIntyre, establishing a path, cementing a
plan. She understood the unmistakable message in his eyes when he glanced
quickly at the gun on the floor. She felt the peace of this course in her soul.
Mr. McIntyre gave her an almost imperceptible nod and it spoke more loudly than
words…he would take the greatest risk of all.

In her mind, the room went absolutely silent. Under the amber
glow of the kitchen lamp, she saw Mr. McIntyre lunge for the gun in Rose’s hand
and Naomi simultaneously dove for the gun on the floor. Before Naomi’s body hit
the wood, Rose squeezed the trigger. Naomi heard the shot, heard her sisters
scream. She wrapped her fingers around the ivory handle of the Colt and in one
lightning swift move, raised the gun and fired. Rose shrieked like a demon in
pain as the gun jumped out of her hand. It flew over their heads, landed on the
kitchen table and skittered across it as Mr. McIntyre collapsed to the floor,
clutching his chest.

Like hungry lions, Ian and Emilio leaped on Rose as Naomi
scrambled over to Mr. McIntyre and gathered him into her arms. She could hear
the two men scuffling with Rose as the woman cursed and raged vilely against
heaven.

 Naomi gently rolled Mr. McIntyre over and saw the
spreading stain in his shirt. Stunned, she looked up at Rebecca.

“I’ll get the doctor!” Her sister spun, already sprinting for
the door.

Naomi cradled Mr. McIntyre in her lap and started praying,
though she couldn’t help thinking of the last time she’d held John.
Not him,
too, Lord,
she begged,
surely not him too
.

Hannah and Daisy knelt beside Mr. McIntyre, laid their hands
on him and commenced praying in soft whispers with the determination of
well-trained soldiers. From behind them, Naomi heard a sharp smack and Rose’s
tirade ended abruptly. One of Naomi’s tears fell on Mr. McIntyre’s cheek and
his eyes fluttered open. He looked into her face and smiled weakly.

“The gun...knew you could take her. I...prayed.” His voice
was barely a whisper and he struggled to speak, grimacing in pain with each
word. He swallowed and tried to smile. “I...I told you...West needs
women...like you.”

Tracing the thin line of that painfully perfect beard, she
stared into his unfathomable, brown eyes and tried to smile. “You have no idea
how miraculous a shot that was.”

Flinching, he covered her hand with his and murmured weakly,
“Made a Believer...out of me.”

His meaning sank in and Naomi nearly fainted. Overcome with
joy and relief and, finally, the freedom to love, she leaned down and kissed
him softly. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she commanded gently.

Letting his eyes close, he shook his head weakly side to
side. “If I do, the letter...my pocket...” His voice was growing faint and
Naomi couldn’t understand his disjointed sentence.

“What? What letter?”

“Was going to tell you...”

~~~

Naomi sat and waited by Mr. McIntyre for three days. He’d
lost quite a bit of blood before Doc Cook was able to stop the bleeding then
he’d had to operate to retrieve the bullet. A hair more to the left and it
would have hit a lung. Mr. McIntyre survived the exquisitely dangerous
operation only to have a fight with infection. They had all gathered and prayed
over him daily; Naomi had wiped his brow, changed his bandage and whispered
desperate pleas. She couldn’t believe God might take him, too, but he looked so
pale, so ghostly, she feared he might slip away any second.

Finally, after three days, the danger passed. Naomi was with
Mr. McIntyre when he awoke and watched him take in the unfamiliar surroundings
of her room with a vexed expression. His eyes widened even more when he saw her
and comprehension dawned on his face. He tried to rise from his pillow and
winced from pain. He eased back, touching the bandage across his chest. “Rose?
Where is she?” His throat was dry and it came out as little more than a rasp.

“In jail.” Beyond that simple answer she wasn’t sure what she
was going to say when he remembered something else.

He considered Rose for a second, then his eyes widened again.
He looked at her with astonishment and his voice strengthened. “You kissed me.”
His expression fell. “...Or did I dream that?” Naomi cheek’s burned and that
made her feel ridiculous. It also made it impossible to lie. He grinned with as
much satisfaction as he could muster in his weakened state. His coal black beard
against his pale skin did nothing to make the smile less devilish. “I’ve never
kissed a woman with whom I wasn’t on a first-name basis.”

“I’ve never kissed a man I didn’t marry,” she shot back.

Mr. McIntyre cleared his throat nervously and tried to pull
himself up in the bed. She fluffed the pillow behind him and quickly sat back
down again, all too aware of the fact that he was bare from the waist up. Naomi
had touched his chest and face often while he was unconscious, marveling over
how different he was from John. Yet, Mr. McIntyre was just as strong, in a
lean, more lithesome way. She wanted to feel his arms around her again without
the burden of fighting the attraction. Now that he was awake and staring at
her, though, such thoughts set her butterflies to fluttering. Naomi loved John,
but now she could admit she loved this man, too. If only he’d given her that
letter sooner...