Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (29 page)

Forty-Four

One-Who-Cries tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife,
squeezing until he felt his fingers would break.

Hopping Bird, dead?

He gritted his teeth and waited for the young brave before him,
gasping for breath, to finish the story. He had run all the way from the White
River Reservation with the news. “Two soldiers got drunk … they were pushing
Two Spears around … Hopping Bird …” He leaned forward and rested his hands on
his buckskin covered knees, his breaths slowing. “Hopping Bird tried to stop
them and one of them cracked her skull with his gun.”

The fire popped behind the boy. One-Who-Cries closed his eyes and
listened to the snap of flames and the song of crickets. He could feel the hate
rising. Like a flooding river after a spring storm, dangerous and unstoppable.
“Where is the boy?”

“Chief Ouray came and took him away.”

The darkness of his fury closed over him. Blackness swallowed his
world and silence followed. He couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, a thousand torches
ignited all at once in his mind. He saw Blue Coats running and screaming,
burning arrows protruding from their backs. He saw Charles McIntyre hanging
from a pole, his skin peeled off and his blood glistening in the firelight. He
saw the traitor, Chief Ouray, face down in the dirt, his head squashed like a
melon.

The force of the vision, as real as a physical blow, dropped him
to his knees. He clutched a handful of sand. Like a starving man, he feasted on
the hate that poured into him, drawing strength from it.

Hopping Bird was gone … and One-Who-Cries tasted death on the
night wind.

~~~

Billy and Emilio stared down at the carefully-wrapped body of
Silas Madden resting on Doc’s bed. The tattered pink-and-blue quilt and jute
twine outlined his form perfectly. Billy rolled one shoulder and resigned
himself to the task. “Well, let’s get this done.”

He slid his arms under Silas’s knees and calves. Emilio did the
same at the man’s neck and shoulders. They lifted together. Billy was surprised
by the substantial bulk and unnatural stiffness in the body. Together, they
turned and headed through the door to Doc’s front room. The physician stood at
the head of the coffin, holding the lid. The scent of fresh pine mingled with
the medicinal odors of alcohol and lye soap and Billy wondered if he’d ever
think of pine the same way again. Carefully, as if Silas might complain if they
mishandled him, they lowered him into the box.

With Billy’s help, Doc dropped the lid into place and motioned
with his head toward something behind Emilio. “There’s four nails and a hammer
right there behind you, son.”

They secured the lid well enough to hold it until they reached
Sarah’s place. Finished, Doc straightened and wearily brushed some sawdust off
his hands. “All right, boys. He’s all yours. Tell Sarah I’ll be out in a few
days with the death certificate–no. Scratch that. Just tell her I’ll be out in
a few days.” His tone changed unexpectedly from somber professionalism to
simply aggravated. “And stop at the marshal’s office on your way out. Tell him
to come get that Indian in there or I’ll deliver him myself and bill the town.”

~~~

Emilio snapped the reins and drove the wagon away from Doc’s.
Billy settled on the seat beside him, curious about how long this trip out to
Sarah’s would take. Long enough, he hoped, to spend some time with Hannah.
After their talk in the kitchen, along with the wedding last night, he felt a
little more hopeful about things. He thought that maybe a wedding could put a
girl in a mind to forgive a man.

Emilio pulled up in front of the hotel and set the brake. Mollie
and Hannah spilled out of the front door giggling, until they saw the coffin.
Sobering, they approached the wagon and peered in.

“Where are we supposed to sit?” Hannah asked, pulling her thick
blue shawl tighter. While the day was shaping up to be a warm one, Billy
realized their freight sure put a chill on things.

Emilio removed his hat, tucked his glossy, black hair behind his
ears, and shifted over on the wagon’s seat. “Three can ride up here. We can put
one on the tail gate, or we can ride two up and two in back.”

Rebecca walked out of the hotel, holding the baby, and Billy saw
his chance. “Hannah, I’ll sit in back with you and help you with Little Billy.”
Had he heard a frustrated breath out of Emilio?

Regardless, he jumped down from the wagon and met Rebecca at the
bottom of the steps. He started to take his son from her, but paused. Rebecca
shined. Her cheeks were flushed, her dark hair was plaited in a loose, almost
messy braid, fatigue showed in the shadows around her eyes … and yet, she
glowed
.

“Married life agrees with you, Rebecca.” He couldn’t resist a sly
smile. “You look quite fetching this morning.” Her cheeks flamed and Billy
winked. She let him have his son but playfully smacked him on the arm as he
turned. The street muddy from the evening’s rain, he slogged past Hannah and
talked over his shoulder. “I put some hay and a quilt back here. It won’t be so
terrible.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah bite her lip, but
Mollie grinned and nodded, encouraging her? Naomi strode out of the hotel at
that moment with a picnic basket in one hand and a carpetbag in the other. She
carried the items to the wagon and lifted the basket, grimacing as her boots
sunk into the mud-clogged street. “Snacks. This will get you there and back.
And, Hannah,” she waved the other bag, “here’s the satchel for your son. I
doubt you would have gotten far without the extra diapers.” She raised the
carpetbag to drop it over the side of the wagon, but paused in midair at the
sight of the coffin. Pursing her lips, she settled the bag and basket in the
hay.

“All right, y’all,” she stepped away from the wagon and climbed
back up to the porch. “You’ve got to get out of here. It’s almost noon. Get on
to Sarah’s. Hannah, tell her if there’s anything she needs—”

“Anything at all,” Rebecca interjected.

“—tell her to ask.”

“And tell her we’ll be praying for her,” Rebecca finished.

“We have to stop at the marshal’s first,” Emilio said, offering
Mollie a helping hand into the seat beside him. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Billy smiled down at his son. Holding his daddy’s hand, the baby
sat up with innocent, curious eyes, drinking in the world as Hannah settled in
beside them.
Take as long as you need, Emilio. As long as you need
.

~~~

Billy climbed off the back of the wagon at the marshal’s office
and met Emilio at the door. The raised voices of Beckwith and McIntyre filtered
out to them.

“ … It’s simply an abundance of caution, Marshal,” McIntyre was
saying as the two boys hesitantly let themselves in. The men acknowledged them
with cursory glances but went immediately back to their heated discussion. Wade
observed things from a few feet away, expression bland, arms crossed, keeping
his opinions to himself. “Fact is, we don’t know where he is and these boys
don’t have any experience with Indians.”

“McIntyre,” Beckwith said, sounding both irritated and
patronizing, “I’m not going anywhere till I hear something about that girl.
Now, I’m going to load these two up for bear,” he motioned to Billy and Emilio,
“and send Wade with them, soon as he brings me Black Elk. Three men, six
rifles. Even if they do have trouble, they’ll out-shoot One-Who-Cries, but I’m
telling you, he’s not anywhere in this valley.”

“Most likely you’re right, Marshal, but I think you are being too
casual about the danger. You should go with them.”

“Why don’t you go with them?”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Billy stepped forward, not sure he
liked what he was hearing. “What’s going on here? Is this trip out to the
Madden’s place not safe? We’re taking Little Billy with us, not to mention
Hannah and Mollie. Should they stay behind?”

Beckwith and McIntyre eyed each other defiantly. After a tense
second, the marshal spit a stream of tobacco juice with uncanny accuracy at a
spittoon near his desk and addressed the boys. “Because he’s fought ’em,
McIntyre here sees Indians behind every tree. One-Who-Cries has a posse out of
Gunnison after him. There’re soldiers from Fort Morgan on the prowl for him
too. Even if he was in the area, he doesn’t have time to attack the likes of
you. He’s running for his life.”

McIntyre shoved his hat onto his head and turned to Billy and
Emilio. “Go straight to Sarah’s, help her bury her dead, then come straight
back. No picnics along the road, no sightseeing. Is that understood, boys?”
They both nodded. McIntyre’s shoulders dropped a bit. “Most likely, the marshal
here is right. If I didn’t think so, I
would
be riding with you.”

McIntyre didn’t exactly stomp out of the marshal’s office, but it
was pretty clear he was disturbed by this trip. Someone slapped a Sharp’s rifle
into Billy’s hand, jerking his eyes away from the closing door. He studied the
weapon as if it had magically appeared out of thin air.

Emilio tapped the gun, drawing Billy’s attention. “Have you ever
shot one of these?”

“Once or twice.” He tugged the weapon away from his friend. In one
semester and a half at Harvard, Billy had joined the boxing team
and
the
rifle team, as he had natural gifts for both.

He’d used one gift here already. He hoped there would be no need
for the other.

Billy stepped out into the high-noon glare and lowered his hat,
surprised that so much of the day had slipped away from them. Carrying a rifle
in each hand, courtesy of the marshal, he tucked them into the driver’s side of
the wagon.

“What are those for?”

He didn’t really want to answer Hannah’s question. “Just a
precaution.” He could feel Mollie staring at him too, from the wagon seat. “Two
beautiful women,” he glanced at Little Billy, bouncing on Hannah’s knees.
“Pretty, precious cargo.”

Emilio stepped up behind him and slipped two more rifles into the
hay. Billy took the four boxes of cartridges the boy was balancing in his left
arm and settled them in the back as well. Everything in place, Emilio slapped
the wagon rail. “That’s it.”

He sounded confident and relaxed, but Billy couldn’t release his
sense of disquiet. Maybe he was just paranoid, not being familiar with Indian
threats. They weren’t exactly a problem back East. “What do you think?” He
leaned into Emilio and lowered his voice. “Is this a good idea?”

“I think we’ll be fine. When we get out of town, we’ll carry the
rifles so they can be seen. Silas’s place is only about three hours out at an
easy pace. It’s not so far.”

Emilio’s assessment made him feel better. Young, but wise, and Billy
respected him. “All right, just tell me when you want me to drive.”

Billy strode to the back of the wagon and climbed up beside
Hannah, his mood lightened by Emilio’s confidence and the pretty gal now
sitting next to him.

~~~

Forty-Five

Naomi leaned against her bedroom door and watched Rebecca pull the
sewing supplies out of her sewing basket.
She
set them out on the bed, one at a time, lining them up, pin cushion, scissors,
a box of hooks and eyes, and a roll of ribbon. Naomi knew her sister was
stalling … and trying to hide a grin. She opened her hands in light-hearted
frustration. “Well, aren’t you going to tell me anything about your wedding
night? Anything at all?”

Rebecca dropped to her knees so she could reach the bustle and
giggled. “It was perfect.”

Before Naomi could reply, she heard the sound she herself had been
dreaming about. The unmistakable pounding of a six-horse team thundered past
their window. Naomi clutched her stomach as fear and excitement blossomed in
her. “Hear that?”

“The noon stage.” Rebecca grinned. “Now who’s nervous?”

Nervous didn’t begin to describe it. Heart pounding, palms
sweating, Naomi was taken aback by her reaction. She exhaled deeply, trying to
expel some of the butterflies. “I told Charles I’d meet the stage and get
Reverend Potter settled. Now I’m not sure I can walk that far.”

Rebecca chuckled and reached for a needle loaded with white
thread. “You’ll be fine. Give yourself a minute.” Naomi dragged her braid
across her shoulder and clutched it with a death grip. She exhaled another
shaky breath.

“Here, help me for just a minute,” Rebecca said, fighting with the
bustle. “The reverend’s not going anywhere. Hold this ruffle out of my way.”

Naomi obeyed, stepping behind the dress form and lifting most of
the bustle up into the air. But her nerves were jangling like she’d had too
much coffee. After a few minutes, Rebecca burst out laughing. “You’re fidgeting
like ants are crawling up your legs. So, go. Go!”

~~~

Forcing herself to stick to a walk, Naomi listened to the hum of
conversations on the boardwalk as she weaved her way through the flowing crowd
of beards and plaid and leather. A few men leered, several tipped their hats
and smiled, some with friendly intent, but no one said anything inappropriate
or tried to touch her.

A pleasant change from this time last year. By now, her reputation
was pretty well established and, more importantly, she was
McIntyre’s woman
.
She’d overheard the description used by customers at the restaurant and, Naomi
had to admit, she rather liked it. No one would dare touch the intended of
someone as powerful and prominent as Charles McIntyre. Tom Hawthorn’s
recklessness had most likely only succeeded in cementing the concept.

The wagon with Silas’s body passed by her, going in the opposite
direction, and she turned to wave at her family.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Naomi!” Hannah hollered. “Don’t get
married without us.”

“Then don’t be late!” She regretted those last words as she
resumed her march. Sarah would be devastated, while she could only think of
getting her sister back in time for the wedding. But she trusted that if Hannah
felt Sarah needed her more, she’d stay. A foul odor assailed her, snatching her
thoughts back to the walk. Holding her breath, she gently pushed her way past
two miners reeking of whiskey and unwashed stink, and hurried the final few
yards to the stage office. Reverend Potter, neat and starched in his black suit
and white collar, reached for his leather valise as Jim, the driver, eased it
down to him.

“Reverend Potter, it’s so good to see you!”

A short, pudgy, older man with a round face and twinkling slate-gray
eyes, one would have never guessed his tenacity or courage. Potter took the
gospel into the wild-and-wooly mining towns of Colorado. He was a one-man
Christian army. To him, no soul was too lost, no town too remote.

He greeted Naomi with wide arms and a wider smile. “My dear, Miss
Naomi. Wonderful to see you again.” He hugged her in a grandfatherly way. “I
have missed my precious flock in Defiance.”

“And we’ve missed you. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

He dropped his gaze down to his dusty shoes. “Yes, about that,
Naomi.” She heard him take a deep breath.

“What is it, Reverend?”

“Are you quite sure about this? I don’t mean to cast aspersions on
Mr. McIntyre’s character and I do appreciate that he has attended preaching my
last few visits, but …” Concern lined his wrinkled brow. “Well, he’s got quite
a reputation, young lady. How well do you really know him?”

“I know him well enough, Reverend. And I’m not going into this
with blinders on.” She tugged his sleeve and pulled him a few feet away from
the entrance to the stage office. “He is a changed man. He grows in his faith
every day. The way he grieves over his past, he doesn’t understand that’s
evidence of change right there.” The Reverend’s mouth settled into a worried
line. Naomi laid her hand over her heart, hoping he’d understand the suggestion
to search his own. “I love him and I believe in him.”

“You think you know what you’re getting into?

She dropped her hand and straightened her shoulders. “Yes, sir, I
do.”

“Well, I’ve heard the story of how he got shot, several different
versions as a matter of fact.” They both smiled at the way legends and tall
tales sprouted in the mountain towns. “But they all had one common element.” He
pointed at her. “He was ready to give his life for you. There is no greater
love. I merely wanted to be sure you were aware of things.”

“I am.”

“All right then, where is the groom? I’d like to go ahead and
spend a few minutes today with both of you, if we could.”

“Oh, he should be right across the street in his office.”

~~~

A familiar perfume wafted across the ledger page and McIntyre’s
mind froze. His fingers went slack and the pencil fell from his hand. The devil
was a woman and she had walked through his door.

McIntyre rose and, inch by inch, absorbed the curvaceous,
captivating creature standing before him. Amaryllis Dumas—the one woman who had
evoked such a carnal, almost primal, passion in him over the years that it was
frightening to recount. Scores of soft gold and copper curls fell around her
elegant, petite face. Ice-blue eyes flashed him steamy reminders of their past
and dangerous ideas for their future. Her dress, the same blue as her eyes and
unabashedly low-cut, left nothing to his imagination. It served to recall
uncomfortably explicit memories.

To his chagrin, he heard the Scripture from some time ago echo in
the back of his mind, especially the part about a stranger’s bosom. He blinked
and tried to pull himself out of all the steamy, erotic memories that Amaryllis
invoked … but there were so many.

Why didn’t she stay in Tent Town?

“Amaryllis, it’s been a long time.” He sounded steady enough, but
in truth, her unexpected appearance rattled him. Over the years, bedding
Amaryllis had been as natural as breathing, almost a ritual one might say, no
matter how long they had been apart. Their way of saying hello … and she could
say it well.

Her grin widened, as if she could read his mind, and she glided
over to him like a cat slithering up to be petted. “Charles McIntyre.” Her arms
went around his neck and her generous bosom pressed against him. “How I have
missed you,
ch
é
rie
.” The heavy Creole accent
poured off her tongue like Southern honey. McIntyre instantly disentangled
himself from her and stepped back as if she had transformed into Medusa. Her
face went slack with shock and she left her arms hanging in the air.

McIntyre couldn’t believe the strength it took to keep away from
her. He was well aware of this woman’s power … but not his unexpected weakness.

A petulant groove formed in her brow as she lowered her empty
arms. “Not exactly the greeting I was expecting,
ch
é
rie
. It has not been so long you have forgotten me,
oui
?”

“Quite frankly, Amaryllis, a lot has changed since you were here,
what, two years ago?” She batted those lashes at him, normally a weapon to be
respected. The shock of her arrival was wearing off, however, and he felt
stronger.
Lord, keep me strong …
“I thought you heard. I have become
respectable.”

She burst out with a laugh, but bit it off quickly when his
expression didn’t change. “It is true then?”

He didn’t take offense at her shock, but suddenly his office felt
claustrophobic. He brushed past her, eager for a larger room. “Here, let me get
you a drink.”

“I think I need one,” she muttered, sounding perplexed.

Brannagh, as was his habit, had left the pitcher of water, a
bottle of good whiskey and several shot glasses waiting at the end of the bar.
McIntyre was tempted to toss back some of the alcohol, but instead poured one
for her. He knew better than to offer her water. Amaryllis came up behind him,
pressed her curves against him. She was warm, soft—and so very willing.

He swallowed his obscene thoughts … but it had been so long since
he’d been with a woman.

Telling her to hit the road wasn’t going to be the easiest thing he’d
ever done, but he knew he could. He had to. He wouldn’t lose Naomi over
something as meaningless as animalistic pleasure. He turned and handed
Amaryllis the glass. She took it with a smile that reminded him of a she-bear—a
very hungry one.

Stiffly, he stepped away from her again. “I am a legitimate
business man now. I’ve closed the saloon, sent my Flowers on their way with a
little seed money … and I am engaged to be married.”

That part of the statement stopped the whiskey at her lips. For
several seconds, Amaryllis’s expression stayed perfectly still. Slowly a
smoldering fire filled those ice- blue eyes and she set the drink down. “I
heard. Anyone I know? I have always liked a little healthy competition.”

She moved a touch closer and, for an unfathomable reason, he
didn’t move back. Her captivating gaze, the sweet smell of her perfume, somehow
managed to hold him still. Before he realized it, Amaryllis had slid her hands
up his chest, grabbed his face and brought her lips up to his. His senses
roared to life, rational thought abandoned him. She tasted like raspberries and
her bosom pressed against his chest so invitingly. Of their own accord, his
hands moved to her small, delicate waist, just like old times.

I am a new creation in Christ.

The Scripture exploded in his mind, along with an image of Naomi.

His tongue burning with desire and guilt, he pushed Amaryllis away
and held her at arm’s length. Disgusted with himself, he shook his head and
whispered, “You don’t understand. I’ve changed.”

Movement over her shoulder drew his focus to the door. His gut
twisted when he realized Naomi stood in the entry, her face stricken with
horror and heartbreak. Beside her, the Reverend, looking almost as devastated,
closed his gaping mouth. McIntyre quickly stepped away from Amaryllis, but the
damage was done. Naomi spun on her heels and fled as if wolves were chasing
her.

~~~