A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (7 page)

Doubt creased the boy’s
brow, but he didn’t respond.

“The Utes say that all
members of the tribe are brothers and sisters. Is this not so?”

“Yes.”

“For those of us who
follow Jesus Christ, we believe that also. I want you in my family. Naomi and I
want to raise you as our son. I’m sorry I have not made you feel welcome. It’s
just that I know it will be hard for you—”

“Because I am Ute.”

“There are many white
men who hate the Indian.”

“And to them I will
always be Indian,” the boy turned his head and looked at McIntyre with
staggeringly wise eyes, “no matter how you raise me.”

McIntyre couldn’t argue
with that. Most people, in fact, would never see past the color of Two Spears’s
skin. He ripped the blade of grass in two. “I will raise you to be a man, Two
Spears. Then, which world you live in will be your choice.”

Like a well-oiled
machine, Hannah and her sisters bustled around the little kitchen in the former
saloon, getting their Saturday night meal on the table. The crowded conditions
and smell of a pork roast rubbed in rosemary brought back fond memories of the hotel:
all the hard work they’d shared—cooking, cleaning, and running their own
business together.

The pleasant musings
dispelled Hannah’s concern over Smith’s threats for only a moment. His vitriol
for Two Spears, a mere child, was so harsh. Something about the man and his
anger haunted her. He struck her as dangerous. But perhaps not as dangerous as
this Logan Tillane Doc had told her about: a gunfighter with a deadly aim, a
punch like a sledgehammer, and a thirst for whiskey that only made him meaner.
Defiance still had a tendency to attract the dregs of society, much to her
dismay.

Shaking off the dark
thoughts, Hannah sat down at the table with a bowl full of boiled eggs and
started peeling. “Rebecca, how’s the newspaper coming?”

Her older sister poured
a steaming pot of cooked potatoes through a strainer, pulling back from the
steam. “It couldn’t be better. We’ve got nearly one whole issue typeset and
ready. We shouldn’t have any problem getting one hundred or so copies out Monday.”

“We’re getting there,
girls.” Naomi shoved a tray of biscuits into the oven, seemed to ponder
something for a moment, then shut the door. “We’ve got a newspaper, a preacher,
and a town hall.” She turned to her sisters. “We need a school and a dress shop,
and I’ll call us civilized.”

“Speaking of preachers,
“Hannah rolled an egg on the table, breaking the shell, “I guess you’ve met him?
Who is he? Where does he come from? Is he young, old, handsome, ugly?”

“Oh, he’s young and
quite handsome,” Smiling, Naomi whisked a pie from the stove top to the table.

Hannah was a bit
surprised at her sister. “You’re married. You have no business noticing such
things.”

“I’m married—not dead.”

Rebecca chuckled, and
brought the bowl of steaming potatoes to the table. Tossing her dark braid out
of her way, she sat and put the masher in her hand to work, smashing the spuds
with determination. “She’s right, Hannah. No harm in admiring
from a
distance
. But speaking of marriage, my next question should be obvious.”

“When will Billy and I
set our date? “Hannah started on another egg. “He won’t be back for a few more
days. We’ll see.”

She was so torn about
things. Not about her love for Billy, but would marrying him mean she would
have to make a choice between nursing and working in the family business again?

“I think you should let
Preacher do it,” Rebecca said. “That way you can pick any date, instead of waiting
for the circuit preacher to come back around.”

“We’ll see. “Hannah
said again. She wasn’t sure she had a preference. Though, if there was a
preacher in town, it seemed like the weddings
should
be in his bailiwick
now.

“Charles offered Emilio
a job on the ranch.”

This was news to Hannah,
and the idea pleased her . . . but something about it bothered
her as well. And why did Naomi feel the need to interject that information
right then?

“I think he needs to be
in town less,” Naomi explained, as if reading Hannah’s mind.

A strange hesitation in
her sister’s voice brought Hannah’s head up. She discovered her sisters
watching her. The contrast between the two women was stark: blonde, petite
Naomi, as headstrong and stubborn as she was pretty; tall, dark-haired Rebecca
with her regal features and quiet, wise disposition, she was an anchor for
them. The differences kept them balanced and united. “What? Something I said?”

Naomi folded her arms
across her chest. “He’s in love with you, Hannah, and you act like nothing has
changed between you two.”

“Nothing has changed.
He’s still my friend.”

“You cause him pain,”
Rebecca said, speaking more gently than Naomi. “Especially when he sees you
with Billy.”

Hannah was
flabbergasted. Yes, she’d pulled back from Emilio because Billy had shown up.
But couldn’t they still be friends? “Well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
about it. I’m treating him just the same as before.”

“And therein lies the
problem.” Rebecca started mashing again. “You’re too . . .
familiar
with him. You need to treat him less like a brother and more like a man with a
broken heart. He needs a little distance.”

Hannah gruffly smacked
an egg down, busting too much of the white. Her brow scrunched in annoyance.
She didn’t want to put any distance between her and Emilio. She liked him.
Enjoyed his friendship. “Where is Emilio anyway?”

Naomi shrugged a
shoulder. “With Mollie, I think. They were taking his things out to the
bunkhouse, I believe.”

News of his new job
hadn’t bothered Hannah until now, and the impact of the change struck her. She
wouldn’t see him near as much.

He’d also been spending
a lot of time with Mollie lately.

Was the ranch a good
move? Would he heal his broken heart with Mollie’s help? Hannah had no right to
be worried or jealous . . . but she was, a little. Surprisingly.

Irritated by the turn
of this conversation, she tried to toss it back on Naomi. “So, how are things
with you and Charles, Naomi? Is the honeymoon over yet?”

Hannah regretted the
spiteful question when her sister’s expression fell.

“I think the honeymoon
ended when Two Spears showed up on our doorstep. Oh,” she waved away the
negative tone, “I don’t mean that we don’t want him. It’s just been a little . . .
restrictive, let’s say.”

Rebecca scooped a
finger of potatoes and tasted them. “That might be why Charles is grumpy. Or,
perhaps,
frustrated
might be a better word.”

Naomi blushed and
turned back to the stove. “The addition of our room is almost complete. We’ll
get our privacy back.”

“What about when you
have twenty ranch hands hanging about?” Rebecca sprinkled some salt into the
potatoes. “How much privacy will you have then?”

“Oh, I know it will be
different, busy, but I have no doubts Charles will make us comfortable. I just
pray we can get Two Spears to settle in.” She poured a little bacon grease into
a frying pan and swirled it around. “I’m tired of scouring the territory for
him, and today was the closest he’s come to getting in real trouble. Charles
was truly concerned for him.”

Smith invaded Hannah’s
thoughts again. “Sounds to me like that dust-up scared Two Spears pretty good.”
She dipped an egg in a cup of water to wash it. “Maybe he’ll settle down now.
Give you two a chance to raise him.”

Apparently tired of the
introspection, Naomi moved the conversation away from her family. “About this
trip Billy’s on . . .” She reached for a bowl of corn fritter batter.
“He’s gone to hire a manager for the hotel?”

“He said when he was in
Dodge City, a kindly woman took him in after he was beaten, gave him breakfast,
and paid him a dollar for a chore. That one dollar helped him get out of town.”
She picked up the last egg. “Eleanor was an unwed mother too. Only, Billy said,
the father of the baby never went back for her. He hopes to, maybe, balance the
scales I think.”

Naomi shook her head in
disbelief. “I would have never believed that philandering boy would turn out to
be such a good man.” She dropped a dollop of batter into the grease. “And I’ve
never in my life been so glad to be wrong about someone.”

“And what a
businessman, too,” Rebecca interjected. “Running a mercantile
and
the
hotel. His father would be proud.”

Hannah frowned as the
change in topic reminded her of the one thing she wanted and that getting it
might be in jeopardy.

Naomi apparently
noticed the sullen expression. “What’s the matter, darlin’?”

Hannah leaned back in
her chair.
Time to confess
.
“OH, it’s just that Rebecca and Ian
have the newspaper. You and Charles have a ranch. Billy has two businesses to
run and, well, I’m a little worried I’ll get sucked back into the hotel again.
Or the mercantile. I want to keep helping Doc. I want to be a nurse, not a
clerk.”

An awkward silence
spoke volumes. Rebecca smiled, a little sadly, Hannah thought, and sighed. “Marriage
is about compromise. It’s never easy, and it’s always a challenge finding the
happy medium. But you two will work it out. Have a little faith. Billy loves
you and wants you to be happy.”

The back door opened
and a tall, handsome stranger trudged into the kitchen, dragging his hat off.

“Oh, Hannah,” Naomi
motioned with her spoon at the stranger, “you haven’t met our preacher.”

Hannah rose to shake
the man’s hand as his friendly yet penetrating blue eyes struck her. She noted
his impressive height, broad shoulders, and shaggy blond hair. No wonder Naomi
commented on his looks; the scars, one across his chin, another smaller one
along his jaw, only added to his rugged handsomeness. “I’m Hannah Frink.”

“Hannah,” he took her
hand. “I’m Logan Tillane. Or you can call me Preacher.”

Logan immediately
thought Hannah was a pretty little thing, like her sisters, but different—more
wide-eyed, and bubbly maybe. Those clear blue eyes and that fetching smile put
him in mind of a girl he’d known back in his teenage days. A girl he had not
allowed himself to think of in years, or how much he still missed her.

He shook Hannah’s hand
and the pleasant greeting on her face changed inexplicably to fear. She jerked
her hand away as if he’d burnt it. “Logan Tillane,” she squeaked. “Doc said you’re
a bad man.”

The blunt statement
caught everyone off guard, as evidenced by their sudden, awkward silence and
uncomfortable glances. Logan lowered his hand. “Doc?”

“Our town doctor. I
work with him some. I sewed up a man’s arm today—a man who’s pretty unhappy
with you . . . but Doc said
he
should be afraid of you.”

Logan licked his lips
and raised his hat to his chest, a contrite move, he hoped. “Well, a while
back, that man would have had great reason to fear me.” He fanned the hat
nervously. “I ain’t like that no more. Christ changed me.
Everything
about me.”

Hannah smiled, and then
her shoulders lowered a little. “God does have a way of pulling us out of the
muck of our mistakes.”

Logan relaxed too. “Yes
ma’am. He sure does. I hope my background will allow me to reach folks without
them feeling too judged. After all, if God can save a sinner like me, nobody is
beyond His reach.”

Rebecca waggled a
wooden spoon at him. “Can I quote you on that, Preacher?”

“Yes ma’am, you may.”

The group chuckled, but
Hannah’s expression soured. “I hope you haven’t changed so much you can’t
defend yourself. I don’t think that fella I tended to today is through with
you. His name is Smith, and he’s in trouble all the time.”

Logan took a deep
breath. He had not been tested much, not by out-and-out violence until today,
and it had grieved him to settle things that way. Either Smith would crawl back
under his rock or find excuses to make more trouble. Sounded like he would be
back for more. “I reckon I’ll do what I have to.”

Billy Page stood
quietly at the door of the empty saloon. Empty except for a plump woman, her graying,
drab brown hair pulled back in a tight knot, fluidly dragging a mop across the
stained floor. She almost seemed to dance with it as she swayed left and then
right, working her way back behind the bar. The scent of the pine cleaner
almost covered the stench of stale beer and vomit . . . almost.

He had come to Dodge
City to take her away from all of this, if she would go. He hoped she would.
Billy wanted to repay Eleanor for her kindness to him a few months back. The
woman had bailed him, a complete stranger out of jail, and even pushed Wyatt
Earp around on his behalf. But it was her last words that haunted him.

I was a Hannah, only no
one ever came back for me.

Billy couldn’t make
that right, but maybe he could improve the woman’s lot in life. He cleared his
throat and pushed through the batwing doors. “Eleanor?”

The woman turned, still
holding a mug. In the few months since Billy had seen her, she’d aged a fair
amount. Her hair was nearly all gray now. Only a few streaks of brown remained,
and she’d lost some weight. Enough to add to the wrinkles around her eyes and
mouth. Dodge City was weighing on her.

She stared at him for
an instant with only suspicion in her brow, then her eyes lit up and she
grinned. “Billy. Why, I’ll be . . .” She set the mug down and
came out from behind the bar. “It’s good to see you. Oh . . .”
her face sagged, “unless you’re headed home ’cause things didn’t work out with
your gal.”

Billy pulled his bowler
off and pressed it to his chest. “No ma’am. Things worked out well. Hannah’s
agreed to marry me, and we have a beautiful little boy.”

Even as a little
sadness shadowed the lines in her face, Eleanor clasped her hands over her
heart and sighed. “I’m happy for you. I truly am.” She slapped him on the arm. “This
place stinks. Let’s go back and have a little breakfast.”

As Billy took a sip of
coffee, he thought back to the morning Eleanor had found him out back, beaten
to a bloody pulp and robbed blind.
If it hadn’t been for her . . .

She slid a plate of
bacon and eggs in front of him and he smiled up at her. “I remember how good our
last breakfast was.”

She chuckled and went
back to the stove to finish. “So, after you saved Hannah from the Indians, and
she plucked a bullet out of ya, she agreed to marry ya, huh?”

A thought struck him. “You
know, if all that hadn’t happened, I don’t know if she would have found it in
her heart to forgive me. And I might have lost her to another fella.”

“Nah.” Sounding very
sure, Eleanor sat down with her own plate and a cup of coffee. “She was just
being stubborn and prideful, and maybe, wanted you to suffer a little. The
Indians and the bullet shortened your sentence.”

“I guess.” He didn’t
know. Didn’t want to know. He had Hannah and Little Billy, and that was all
that mattered to him now. That and getting some decent help.

“Now, back to what you
said about the hotel. You come here to hire a manager?”

He felt the wry smile
twist his lips. “If she’s not too tied down to Dodge City.”

Eleanor’s fork stopped
at her mouth and she stared at it for a moment. Slowly, she slid her gaze to
Billy. “You mean me?”

“I do indeed. The
Trinity Inn is a nice place, with a fine restaurant. I need reliable help to
run it. You’ll get room and board and $50 a month.”

“
Fifty—?”
she bit
that off and set her fork down on her plate. “I don’t make half that here,” she
whispered. However, concern for something over took her expression, chasing
away the shock.

“So, Eleanor, are you
tied to Dodge for family reasons? You mentioned you had a child.”

“Oh, I lost track of
her so long ago.”

“Her?”

Eleanor heaved a great
sigh and shoved her plate away. She drummed her fingers on the edges of it. “I
reckon you’re no one to judge.”

She said it with resignation.
Billy sensed a confession coming and shook his head. “Not by a long shot.”

“I had a special man
for a time many years ago. He ran off and left with me a baby girl.”

Her eyes shone with the
memories and Billy shifted, lost as to how to comfort the woman. Other than
listen.

“A woman alone in that
situation doesn’t have a lot of prospects. Your Hannah was lucky. She had her
sisters. I was by myself and sometimes I made bad choices. Kept bad company.”

The regret played out
in her eyes, glistened there. “When my daughter . . .
blossomed
,
you could say . . . well, men started noticing. There was a boy
too. Oh, I could see the trouble coming from a mile away. He drank and he had a
terrible temper. His future was an early grave; I didn’t need to be a genius to
see that. I got her a job at a hotel in Stillwater and sent her off. Told him
she ran away and I didn’t know where.”

Eleanor rose and went
to the stove, but she didn’t grab the coffee pot on top, just stared at it. “I’ve
not seen her or heard from her since she left. I don’t know if she’s alive or
dead. I wrote her, but she never answered. I’ve stayed in Dodge—” her voice
broke. She sniffed and tried again. “I’ve stayed, hoping she might come home
one day.”

A sad silence fell, and
Billy let it play out. This was not a time for words. Staring at Eleanor’s
broad, pudgy shoulders, he knew the woman was deciding.

“Maybe . . .”
She wrung her hands in her apron. “Maybe lying to the boy was a terrible thing.
Maybe lying to them both was cruel, but I wanted my daughter to have a clean
start.” She rounded on him slowly, biting her lips as if holding back a sob. “No.”
She shook her head. “I thank you for your offer, but I ain’t ready to leave. I
can’t just yet.”

Disappointment stabbed
deep in Billy. He had been so sure she would say yes. He liked Eleanor and
could imagine how the sisters would take her in. He had wanted so badly to make
a difference in the woman’s life.

“Maybe I’ll come later,”
she offered, more out of politeness he thought.

Billy leaned into his knuckles,
resting his elbows on the table. He hadn’t meant to cause the woman such
distress. How terrible to not know what happened to her daughter. Notions
popped into his head. Notions of Pinkertons. Specifically, one named Pender
Beckwith. It seemed he couldn’t let go of the idea of helping Eleanor. “What
was your daughter’s name?”

“Victoria. Victoria Patterson.”

“Pretty name. What of
the boy? What happened to him, do you know?”

“Oh, Lord,” she raised
a hand to Heaven, “maybe that’s one thing I did right. That boy turned out to
be a cold-blooded killer. A gunslinger. Even beat one man to death with his
bare hands, so they say.” She hunched her shoulders as if shaking off a chill. “Tillane.
Logan Tillane. Beast of a man.”

Delilah smiled and
shrugged her shoulder seductively at the men of Defiance as she made her way
down Main Street toward Western Union. They nodded appreciatively, knowing full
well they would be visiting her establishment. A few feet behind her, Otis, a
Haitian the size of a volcano, followed. Big and bald, grayish scars from a
plantation owner’s whip marred the ebony skin on his neck and arms. He had one
job and he did it well. If a man dared look too lecherously at Delilah or
attempt to touch her, his glare withered most men. The smart ones didn’t take
it any further.

Otis was a man
simmering with rage, and it boiled to the surface easily, willingly. She
doubted it would take the rubes in Defiance long to figure out annoying her
protector was like playing with a stick of dynamite. Black dynamite that
disliked white men intensely.

Pleased with her bodyguard,
whatever his scars, Delilah sashayed down the boardwalk, but stopped abruptly.
She heard the weeping before the crowd parted, revealing a young lady sitting
on the stage office’s bench, sobbing into her hands as if her whole world was
coming apart.