A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (22 page)

“I thought I meant
something to you.” A hint of acid wove its way around her words. “You promised
you’d love me forever. Never forget me.” She sat back, hiding her face with
darkness. “Two years after I left Dodge, you wandered into Madame Rochelle’s
place in Fort Worth, drunker than a rat drowning in a barrel of rye.”

“I don’t remember—”

“I know. You didn’t remember
me then either. Do you at least remember beating the hound out of me because I
wouldn’t take you upstairs? If you’d only remembered me, I would have . . .”

Remorse swelled in
Logan, crushing his heart. He ran a frantic hand through his hair. Faces flashed
before him. Bloody noses, black eyes, bruised bodies. He’d abused so many,
including the girl he could have loved. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, horrified at
Delilah’s revelations, at what a monster he’d been.
God, forgive me.
Regret descended on him like a death shroud. He’d thought he’d dealt with his
sins, but he hadn’t. Because of Christ, he saw how truly evil he’d been and now
to have a woman—a woman he had cared for—facing him, recounting his sins, was
staggering. He had done such vile things. “I drank all the time back then,
especially after you left. It made it—
me
—worse.”

Delilah snorted in
disgust and came back into the light, her expression a mask of hideous,
unabashed hate. “That’s supposed to excuse it? The lies? The empty promises?”
Her lip curled into a blistering sneer. “What I became?”

“Delilah,” Logan surged
to his feet, “Victoria,” he corrected, “you don’t know how sorry I am. I ain’t
that man no more. I’ve changed—”

“People don’t change.”

“You did.”

For an instant, the
comment seemed to give Delilah pause. She pursed her lips. A sneer warred with
a softer expression. The sneer won. “Sai Shang was sold for an evening’s
entertainment. Mr. Rizzo was to return her to me today at noon. Instead, he
informed me that she was taken from his cabin last night . . . without
the terms of the auction . . . being fulfilled.”

Logan scoured Delilah’s
face for any hint of the girl she used to be. The face he remembered, yet even
the tiniest
shred
of innocence had been completely erased and replaced
by something dark and cold. “I remember you had a laugh . . .”
He sat down again, reliving an afternoon spent running through a cornfield, a
kiss beneath a giant oak, and tickling her until she couldn’t breathe. “A laugh
that sounded like birds singing. I used to love to hear it.”

Delilah raised her
fingers, as if to drum them on the desk, but folded them into a fist instead. A
ruby ring on her finger glimmered like a drop of blood. “I returned to Mr.
Rizzo his five hundred dollars. Now I want my property returned to me.”

Logan understood he had
hurt her. Could he ever make amends? For the moment, it didn’t matter. Delilah
was clearly done with her walk down memory lane. “I don’t know where Sai Shang
is and that’s the truth.” He and Emilio had thought it better if they didn’t
know.

“You’ll be sorry you
interfered, Preacher.” She spat the word like it revolted her. Her eyes riveted
on his. “Hell hath no fury.”

Like a woman scorned
 . . .

Her attention flickered
to Logan’s left and her chin jerked up. Pain ignited in his head like Fourth of
July fireworks, only to be swallowed up by inky blackness.

“I know a warning when
I get one.”

Logan heard McIntyre’s
voice, but the annoyed Southern drawl was far away, and difficult to heed over
this painful throbbing in his head. He touched his temple, his fingers landing
on a pretty tender goose egg.

“’e’s comin’ ’round.”

Ian Donoghue.
Logan tried to open his eyes. They didn’t want to cooperate at first. He
persisted and finally they fluttered open. Blinking, he brought the room into
focus, Ian and McIntyre staring down at him. “Where am I?” He didn’t recognize
the Spartan room. “What happened?”

“You are at the
Sunnyside Mine office.” McIntyre crossed his arms and chewed thoughtfully on
his cheek. “Someone delivered you here. Unconscious.”

“Wha … ?” Logan grabbed
the back of the bench he was lying on and pulled himself up. Pain stomped
around in his head like a troop of elephants. He groaned and lowered his head
into his hands. “What did they hit me with? A sledgehammer?”

“The butt of a gun,
most likely.” Ian lifted the hair at Logan’s forehead. “Ye’ve got a bit of a
cut. I dunna think ye need stitches, but ye should let Doc look at it.”

“Where were you today,
Logan?” McIntyre asked, concern or suspicion in his voice. Maybe both. “After
church? You never made it to the ranch, so Ian and I came to get my men out of
jail and check on you. Imagine my surprise when I learned you had been seen
going into The Crystal Chandelier. Do you think that was wise?”

“I was . . .”
Logan straightened up, tried to think past the blinding pain. He’d been at
church. A melody played in his head. “Amazing Grace”? Mary Jean on the stage
came back to him with jarring clarity . . . as did his meeting
with Delilah. “I know her,” he whispered in shock. “God forgive me, I knew her
when she was a girl.”

“Make sense,” McIntyre
commanded.

Logan shook his head,
trying to rid himself of the headache . . . and the agonizing
regret. “I knew her.” He looked at both men. “Delilah. We were just kids back
in Dodge and I said things, promised her things . . . and I didn’t
even recognize her.”

A heavy silence hung
over them like the pall of a funeral. McIntyre took a deep breath and shook his
head. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Hell hath no fury.
The phrase reverberated through Logan like a gong. “She blames me for . . .
the way she turned out, I guess.”

“But why deliver you to
me?” McIntyre turned and paced to the window, one hand behind his back, the
other rubbing his chin.

“She wants her property
back. She wants Sai Shang. I told her I don’t know where she’s at. Emilio and I
told Hannah and Mollie to hide her.”

“She must think
I
know. Perhaps your
misfortune
was a warning shot across my bow: Give up
Sai Shang or expect more trouble.”

“And don’t interfere
again.” Logan flinched at the ringing in his ears. “That made her almost as
angry as taking the girl.”

“That dusna’ bode well
for any of us.”

“If anyone knows how
the Lord can work in someone’s heart, it is you and me, Logan.” McIntyre turned
to them. “But until He decides to move we have to assume we’ve kicked a hornet’s
nest. We must figure some way to deal with it.”

“The marshal and I are
working on town bylaws,” Ian tossed a paperweight in the air over and over, “but
it will take a bit of time before we can employ fines or legal punishments
against her.”

“Maybe we can strangle
her.”

Logan swung his head in
McIntyre’s direction, instantly regretting the forceful motion. “Not that I
haven’t thought about that, but I think, as men of God, it ain’t an option for
us.”

“I meant financially. Strategically.”

“Well, while you figure
the ins and outs,” Logan stood, “I’m going back to see her.” His head swam and
he teetered for a moment, but he waved away Ian and McIntyre’s concern. “I’m
fine. I’m fine. Maybe I’ll see her after I get some rest. But I can’t leave
this where it’s lying. If I can make her believe I’m sorry, that I’ve changed . . .”

“Logan,” McIntyre
regarded him with a mix of pity and impatience. “If I have ever met a soulless
woman, it is Delilah. Forgiveness will not come easy to her. If at all. And
there will still be the matter of the property she wants returned.”

Logan stared at the
floor. “I know.” The look in her eyes would haunt him. He’d never seen such
bitterness. Only God could reach into that abyss.
But aren’t we His hands
and feet?
“I have to try.”

“Well, give it day or
so. Perhaps she will be more agreeable after she calms down a bit.”

“Or less,” Ian
interjected under his breath.

McIntyre chose to
ignore him. “Besides, you need to recover from that wallop on your head.”

And his heart, Logan
realized.

Sure he was scowling,
McIntyre folded his collar up against a dismal rain and second-guessed his
motivations for coming to Tent Town. His eyes skimmed over the muddy miners in
their worn, drenched clothes, and the half-dressed, used-up prostitutes
standing in front of their tents. The air reverberated with the sounds of
pelting raindrops, flowing sluices, men cursing their pans, and women
squabbling like screeching hens.

He did not want to be
here, but Emilio and Logan’s courage in rescuing Sai Shang had made him realize
he had a responsibility to this town. He had founded Defiance. He wanted the
best for it. He was
expected
to protect it from people like Delilah.

Additionally, dumping
Logan on the steps of the mine was the same as being called out. He could not
ignore that.

He was here for the
right reasons . . . wasn’t he?

The question dogged
him.

Men stared at him as he
marched on, but no one spoke. He was glad of it. He was not in the mood for
idle chatter. Surely his grim mood was evident on his face. Or perhaps they
could see it in his determined stride.

God, You’ve given me a
family I would die for. A town I want to see rise to better things. Why then,
do I have this doubt? If You want me to loosen to my grip
 . . .
show me how. Make it plain.

Shaking away the
confusing thoughts, he refocused on the muddy walk before him and was surprised
to see Emilio and Mollie hurrying toward him.

The two of them held a
piece of canvas over their heads to block the rain. A gun hung from the young
man’s side and the girl carried a package tucked under her arm. McIntyre
stopped and rested his hands on his hips. Water rolled off the brim of his hat
and down the back of his coat, one cold rivulet making its way into his collar
and torturing his neck. “It’s not Sunday. What are you two doing over here?”

The couple stopped
short. Guilt skittered across their faces.

“You remember what
happened last time?” McIntyre directed the question at Mollie. Tom Hawthorn’s
fingers clenching on Naomi’s throat were as vivid in his mind right now as if
it had happened yesterday. All because she and Mollie had thought they could
ramble about Tent Town safe as sprites.

Mollie snugged the
package closer, blue eyes wide with concern. “Yes sir. I remember. We’ll stay
out of trouble.”

Emilio patted the gun. “She’ll
be safe with me.”

The answer didn’t
pacify McIntyre. Emilio could handle himself, but what was worth the risk? “Neither
one of you said why you’re here.”

Mollie motioned with
the package. “I brought Sai Shang a few dresses. And I thought we’d peek in on
Amanda.”

McIntyre pursed his
lips and nodded. Amanda had wandered into the Iron Horse some months back
looking for a job. Instead, McIntyre had tried to give her a vocation and money
for college. The siren song of booze, and perhaps fear of change, had drawn her
back into this darkness. Mollie had visited her several times now, to no avail.

One could argue
darkness was winning on this side of Defiance, if not for the fact that Sai
Shang was safe.

He speared Emilio with
a somber gaze. “It is getting late. Get Mollie out of here as quick as you can.
And for her sake, keep Sai Shang’s whereabouts quiet.”

“
Si
. I intend
to.”

The rain now seeping
through his coat, McIntyre quickly stepped past them and resumed the trek to
see Delilah, his doubts on his heels.

Assuming he was in the
right, just how was he supposed to get her to leave Defiance? 

He couldn’t physically
abuse the woman and demand that she get out of town. He certainly couldn’t kill
her. He supposed he could play a game of cards with her, but his gambling days
were behind him as well. Besides, Delilah was a cardsharp. Short of cheating, a
win was not guaranteed. He did, however, have the glimmer of an idea. A faint
hope.

He could try a bluff
.

Lord, I am not used to
being in this position. Give me the words, the strategy, to stop this woman.

McIntyre came around
the corner of the cobbler’s tent and stopped in his tracks. A large, two-story,
pine-lapped building stood on the two lots that had once accommodated the
Lucky Deuce
and Wolf’s Head saloons. A sign painted
in garish black, red ,and gold announced
The Crystal Chandelier
. Beer.
Liquor. Girls.

Might as well say Gate
to Hell.

The thought sent a
chill through him and he pulled his coat tighter.

This new saloon was
high, wide, and imposing. Delilah was known for going all-out and she had not
disappointed. He glimpsed a woman staring down at him from a second-floor
window. The rain made her difficult to see clearly, but certain curves, a deep
purple gown, and auburn curls piled high were unmistakable. He dipped his chin
in acknowledgment and marched to the door of the Chandelier.

Inside, men and a few
bleary-eyed, scantily clad women shuffled tables around, set chairs aright,
stocked the bar. One man was installing a lantern on the wall. The shattered
remnants of a similar light had been swept into a pile, along with shards of a
broken chair. Still repairing the damage.

McIntyre spotted the
stairs and headed for them. A black man the size of a small continent stepped
in front of him. “Can I help you?”

McIntyre recognized in
the deep voice the honey-like flow of a Haitian accent mixed with the
bitterness of Southern slavery. He reached into his pocket for a cheroot,
letting the bluff begin. “I am Charles McIntyre. Delilah will want to see me.”
He looked away, as if bored with the man, and lit the smoke.

The Haitian apparently
agreed. “Follow me.”

McIntyre trailed the
man to the stairs, dragging his hat off as they climbed. At the top, a door on
the right opened and the woman in the purple dress stepped out to greet them.

“This is—”

“Charles McIntyre,” she
interrupted the black man never taking her eyes off McIntyre. “Been a long
time. Come on in.”

Delilah was a stunning
woman, with the face and figure of a goddess, much of that figure on display.
McIntyre’s thoughts were of Naomi, however, as he followed the swaying bustle
and bare, soft shoulders. Delilah could dance naked in front of him for all the
effect it would have. He’d fallen once since declaring his love for his wife
and the pain it had caused them both assured him he would never be enticed away
from her again.

Confident he was
impervious to whatever charms Delilah might dangle, McIntyre slapped his hat against
his leg as he paused in the center of the Spartan room. The door closed behind
him.

“Pardon the simple
furnishings.” Delilah glided past him and spun around slowly, showing off her
wares. “I’m still waiting on deliveries.”

“I see.” He took a puff
on the cheroot, said a quick prayer, and dove in. “Defiance was halfway to
being settled, Delilah. I do not look kindly on our preacher being assaulted. Or
auctioning off young girls.” He shook his head. “Have you no shame?”