Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (32 page)

Fifty

McIntyre tried not to think about anything but finding Naomi as he
worked his way down the dark trail back to the hotel.
At first, he followed the smell of smoke, his mind numb. Enough
glow remained from the embers to bring him the rest of the way. As he drew
closer, he saw a lone figure tossing water on the dying flames. Flames that,
now starved of fuel, would die soon anyway. Still, the man worked, wearily,
methodically, mindlessly. When he straightened up after throwing a bucket of
water, McIntyre recognized him.

Matthew
.
He’s grieving
, he
thought, and wasn’t sure at first how that made him feel.

Quickly, though, the anger resurfaced and he clenched his jaw.
Let
him grieve.

Something tugged McIntyre’s eyes to the heavens. Through the haze
of smoke, and to his dismay, a still, small voice whispered
But if ye do not
forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses.

You ask too much, God, especially right now. Just help me find
her. That’s all I care about. I’ll do anything, give You anything later … Let
me find her alive first.

Resisting the nudge to show Matthew any mercy, McIntyre approached
him. He meant to ask where he’d last seen Naomi. Instead he blurted out, “She’s
not dead.”

Matthew snapped his head around. Soot streaked his face and hair.
His hands bled, no doubt from blisters formed from carrying the buckets, his
black-and-white plaid shirt was pockmarked with burn holes from sparks. He
didn’t seem to know McIntyre.

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “They pulled a body out. It
has to be her.”

“I don’t know who it is, but it is
not
Naomi.”

Matthew shook his head, as if trying to get his brains to settle
in place. “It has to be her.”

McIntyre’s hands clenched at the delay. “Doc said you were the
last person to see her. Where did you see her … and how was she? How did she
look?”

Matthew’s expression changed, darkened. “She was upset.” His stare
drilled into McIntyre, accusing him. McIntyre realized Matthew knew about
Amaryllis. As if the memory clipped the man at the knees, he stumbled back,
tripping over his bucket. Reflexively, McIntyre reached for him but missed.
Matthew sat down hard, sending up a cloud of ashes.

Wearily, he dragged his legs up to his chest and rested his beefy
arms on his knees. He wagged his head back and forth as if in misery, and
stared off into the darkness. Matthew groaned, “It’s my fault, all my fault.
Look what I’ve done. I only wanted to get her out of here.”

A feeling of dread pressed down on McIntyre. “What’s your fault?”

Matthew sighed, a long, forlorn exhalation that seemed to clear
his mind. “I paid Amaryllis to … compromise you.”

McIntyre’s blood felt like it screeched to a halt in his veins.
Holding back his rage took every ounce of self-control he had ever used. He
rubbed his jaw and stepped away from the giant before the urge to kill him won.
The image of pummeling the jackass rampaged through his mind. But he realized
that could wait, had to wait
. One goal
, he told himself.
Keep one
goal in mind: find Naomi.

He absently massaged his aching thigh and tried to think. Naomi
was upset. She ran toward the hotel. How far did she get? “Where did you see
her, Matthew?”

“In front of the saddle shop.”

“Did you see her enter the hotel?”

Silence, then a slow, “No … I didn’t. I saw you ride off so I went
into the Iron Horse to talk to Amaryllis. I came back to the hotel, but
couldn’t find Naomi.” He paused. “I saw Rebecca.” Hope wound its way into his
voice. “She said she hadn’t seen her either. Since I couldn’t find her, I went
over to Tent Town for a drink. When I came back, the hotel was on fire.” He
scratched his head, trying to make sense of the web of details. “Maybe she
never came back to the hotel.” Matthew climbed to his feet and looked at the
charred ruins. “But if she didn’t, where is she? And whose body …?”

McIntyre rubbed his eyes. For years, staying up all night had been
a way of life. Now, seeing four a.m. felt like torture. He took a calming
breath and thought back over the day. Conversations, people. He didn’t have far
to go to ponder the coincidence of Black Elk
and
Naomi missing at the
same time. Had he taken her? Where would he go? The questions started his heart
racing as a stomach-turning possibility wound its way into his brain.

Would Black Elk try to meet up with One-Who-Cries? Would he take
Naomi to him? Somehow, the three of them were tied together, he was sure of it.
He
felt
it. The Army scout said the renegade had doubled back. If
One-Who-Cries was trading women for guns, Naomi might have been tempting to
Black Elk. And what if the Indians came across Hannah and Mollie?

What if One-Who-Cries had them all?

~~~

Billy heard Naomi’s terrified scream and bolted from Sarah’s house
like he was on fire.

He and Emilio burst into the yard, stunned to find rampaging
Indians
everywhere
. They rode in a whooping, hollering circle just
outside the glow of the porch lamp. Rifles fired and wood splintered on Sarah’s
porch.

Thank God Emilio had the presence of mind to grab rifles on the
way out and he tossed Billy one. “Shoot!” Together, backs to each other, they
fired their weapons at the invaders.

Boldly, the Indians raced around the boys, cutting them off from
the house. If only Lucas hadn’t ridden off for his camp, Billy thought,
lamenting the absence of a third gun. Arrows flew through the air like
streaking meteors. Emilio howled as one hit his foot. Caught in the open,
surrounded, Billy knew they were going to die if they didn’t make it to cover.

The water trough appeared through the swirling tornado of Indians
and horses. Closer than the house, they had to make a run for it. He hesitated
for a split second, though. The girls were in the house … and Little Billy.
Another arrow zinged past him, making the decision for him.

“The trough,” Billy yelled, cocking the Winchester. “I’ll cover
you.” As the words left his mouth, he heard the whoosh of another arrow, felt
it strike deep in his thigh. He looked down, marveling over the lack of pain.

In front of him, Emilio hobbled frantically toward the trough,
shooting at the circling, flashing targets. An Indian leveled his weapon on
them. Acting on instinct, Billy fired first, the shot hit the barrel of the
other gun. The bullet made an odd
zing
sound as it ricocheted off.
Startled by his rider’s strange jerk on the reins, the Indian’s horse reared.
Billy took advantage of the moment to lunge for the trough.

The next few minutes were a nightmare of rifle shots, war cries,
and choking dust. Then, like ghost warriors, the renegades suddenly faded into
the night and disappeared.

He and Emilio fired a few more shots but the Indians were gone. In
the tomb-like silence, he and Emilio waited, needing to be sure they weren’t
coming back. The stillness of the night was suffocating.

Billy raised his head. The porch lamp still glowed and he could
see dead bodies, two dead
Indians
to be precise, littering Sarah’s front
yard. Emilio stood up and limped quickly toward Sarah’s.

A throbbing in Billy’s leg drew his hand down, but he didn’t look.
He felt the shaft of the arrow protruding from his leg and flinched. He
explored further and discovered the tip, fiendishly sharp, poking out the back
of his leg. Sucking in a breath, he clawed his way to his feet, only to stagger
drunkenly. White-hot pain shot from his thigh to his brain. Sweat popped out on
his forehead and he held on to the trough, trying to get a handle on things.

“They’re gone.”

Billy whirled at the sound of Emilio’s voice. Fear burned in his
belly and his throat dried up. “Hannah? Little Billy?”

“Little Billy and Sarah hid in a secret place under the floor …
but …” Emilio shook his hair back and crammed his hat on. His tan shirt was
smeared with blood around his left shoulder. “One-Who-Cries took the girls.”

~~~

Fifty-One

Livid, McIntyre threw his hat across Beckwith’s office.
“I have never seen such a bunch of chicken-hearted,
yellow-bellied cowards!” He wanted to strangle someone, namely, the men in
Defiance. How could they be so gutless? He and the marshal had covered both
ends of town separately, knocking on every door and tent pole. They hadn’t
found one volunteer for a posse. One-who-Cries had them scared spitless.

As far as McIntyre was concerned, there would be hell to pay for
these cowards when this was over.

“They don’t have a dog in this fight,” Beckwith said evenly, rising
from his desk. He strode to the door, plucked his hat off the hook near the
entrance, and sighed. “I’m a little tired myself, but let’s go get those girls.
We can rest when they’re safe.”

McIntyre appreciated Beckwith’s undying devotion to his job, but
they stood a far better chance of recovering the girls in one piece if they had
help. “Somehow, we’ve got to force them to help, Marshal. We have no idea where
the Army troops are or where that posse from Gunnison is. We’re on our own.”

Beckwith’s eyes narrowed. “McIntyre, the men in this town are some
of the laziest, greediest, and most shiftless—”

He cocked his head to one side as if listening. After an instant,
McIntyre heard it, too, horses coming at a gallop. They hurried outside and in
the silver-gray of dawn met Billy and Emilio riding in from the west end of
town. McIntyre stepped down into the street, and grabbed a hold of their horses
as they reined in.

“One-Who-Cries attacked us at Sarah’s,” Billy told them, his voice
raspy, as if talking was a huge effort. “They’ve got Hannah, Mollie, and
Naomi.”

The relief and vindication that surged through McIntyre nearly
dropped him to his knees and lifted his hope at the same time. “Thank You,
God,” he whispered. The simple prayer carried more weight than he could have
ever imagined. He knew, without a doubt, God heard it. He cleared the tightness
from his throat. “How long ago?”

“They hit us right at dark,” Emilio said, his somber tone
acknowledging the substantial lead.

Their blood-stained clothes and bandages told the rest of the
story. “Kill any of ’em?” the marshal asked.

“
Si
. Two,” Emilio exchanged a disappointed look with Billy,
“but we think that could still leave six or eight.”

Ian, Wade, and–to McIntyre’s displeasure–Matthew rode up beside
the boys, the deputy leading two horses. Their grim expressions melted to
confusion when they saw the boys. “All right,” Beckwith said, marching toward
one of the fresh mounts behind Wade. “You two git on over to Doc’s—”

“No.” Billy shook his head defiantly. “We’re going.”

His determination stopped the marshal cold. The law man studied
the bloody strip of cotton wrapped around Billy’s leg, working his jaw as he
thought. “All right, go to the livery and get fresh horses.” Beckwith switched
his gaze to Ian. “Why don’t you go tell your new wife her sisters are alive? I
expect that’s news she could use.” He swung into the saddle. “When you’re done,
gather up Billy and Emilio and meet us at Silas’s farm, and be quick about it.
We won’t wait long.”

Ian jerked his horse away from the group. “Ye willna be waiting on
me.” He spurred the horse and headed toward his cabin.

McIntyre climbed up on the other fresh horse and met Matthew’s
wary gaze. He really didn’t want the big ape along, but they needed all the
help they could get.

As if reading his mind, which McIntyre knew wasn’t hard, Matthew
shoved out his hand. “I know I’m a double-dealing four-flusher, but I do care
about Naomi. I’ll do what it takes to get her back.”

What it takes to get her back?
He
suspected Matthew was talking about more than fighting Indians, but he shook
the man’s hand anyway. “Fine.”

Beckwith took off down the street, and the posse launched after
him. Now that McIntyre knew for sure Naomi was with One-Who-Cries, his relief
didn’t mean much. The blistering hate he bore for the savage melted into a
suffocating fear. The Indian was short-tempered and most likely wouldn’t take
to a feisty white woman like her. That was putting it mildly. McIntyre’s
stomach constricted at the reality of this nightmare.

One wrong move, one smart remark, and the Indian might well cut
out her tongue.

~~~

The first thing Naomi became aware of was a gentle rocking motion,
and then the strong odor of horse. She opened her eyes and frowned. Dirt.
Pebbles. Why was the ground where the sky should be? And were those
her
hands tied with rope?

Disoriented, panic seized her and she tried to wiggle to a sitting
position. Something slapped down firmly on her bottom with a good sting and she
swung her head to the right. A leg, a leather-covered leg, with a moccasin on
the foot, trailed down the side of the horse. A sense of foreboding clenched
her stomach.

“Naomi … Naomi, are you all right?”

Hannah’s voice came from somewhere behind her, or more accurately,
on the other side of this horse. She tried again to wiggle around to see
something but the Indian on the horse slapped her again, harder. That was going
to get old. “I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “What happened?
Where’s Little Billy?”

“I think he’s fine. Sarah hid with him in a secret place
underneath the living room.”

Oh, thank You, God.

Relieved about that at least, she tried to assess the situation.
“Mollie? Is Mollie here?”

“Here … and praying.”

“Your God will not save you.” The deep, vaguely bored voice came
from the Indian practically sitting on top of Naomi.

She turned and twisted enough to manage a skewed view of him. A
young man with a large nose and beady, angry eyes stared down at her. Wearing a
buckskin shirt draped in several bear claw necklaces, he sneered at her as a
single feather in his hair danced in the breeze.

Huffing, she went back to her original position, which, now that
she was awake, made every part of her ache. Her head, her shoulders, her hands
…

She wiggled and rolled her wrists for a few minutes, testing the
knots. Gruffly, an arm slid under her stomach and before she could even gasp,
the Indian had her sitting astride in the saddle. The sudden change in position
sent the blood draining from her head and he had to hook his arm around her
again to keep her from her toppling out of the saddle.

Naomi bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the
dizzy feeling to subside. When she felt more like herself, she looked around.
They rode along a wide trail heavily forested on both sides with aspens. On her
right, Hannah shared the saddle with another brave, a handsome young man so
lean and muscular he could have been strung together with rawhide. And to
Naomi’s left, Mollie rode with an Indian who verged on paunchy and wore a scar
down his right cheek that started above his eyebrow and finished below his jaw.

Naomi twisted and saw four other riders trailing the group. She
gasped when she realized one of them bore a captive as well. A young girl, all
of about fourteen or fifteen, rode with them. She was pretty and petite with
hair the color of fresh cinnamon. Dirt stained her face and her long, bountiful
hair hung in tangled knots and rats’ nests. Her once blue-checked dress was a
filthy, tattered gray now and fear filled her wide brown eyes. Naomi had to
turn away and shut hers again to gain a moment of calm. These men were cowards
to attack defenseless women. She longed for the real men she knew.

“Hannah, what about Billy and Emilio?” she asked, moving from
thoughts of Charles to the boys.

Though the question was directed at Hannah, the Indian behind her
answered. “We didn’t take the time to kill them. They were fortunate we were in
a hurry. If we had taken you in Defiance, they would be dead.” Relief warred
with her mounting animosity. At least if he left the boys alive, they’d go for
help. As if to purposely dash her hopes he added, “They won’t be riding
anywhere for a while.”

Naomi sagged against him, realized she was touching him and jerked
away as if she’d leaned on a hot stove. He laughed, a low chilling sound. “I do
not want you, white woman. I want her.” He motioned to Hannah. “I saw her
riding one day, on a black and white pony. Her hair shined in the sun like
gold.” He nudged his horse closer to Hannah’s, so their legs touched. “Black
Elk was supposed to bring you to me.” He reached out and stroked Hannah’s
loose, messy braid, which hung down the front of her shoulder. “But things
worked out better this way.”

Before she could jerk away, he groped her. Hannah gasped and all
the Indians laughed at her outrage. Reacting to the offense, Naomi brought her
head back against One-Who-Cries’ nose as hard as she could. She heard the bone
crunch and he roared in pain. Howling, he grabbed Naomi’s braid and used it
like a rope to snatch her from the saddle, slamming her to the ground.

The horses whinnied and pranced about with fear. Hannah and Mollie
screamed, their cries echoing down the desolate trail.

~~~