Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (34 page)

McIntyre zigzagged through the scrub brush to the spot where Billy
and Emilio had crossed to the cabin, likewise stopping at the juniper. The back
door opened and Billy, his Winchester raised, peered outside, checking for
enemies. As he turned his head, an Indian leapt out from the other side of the
cabin, rifle at his shoulder. McIntyre snatched up his .30-30 and fired. The
Indian stumbled back and collapsed. Billy pressed himself against the door
post, eyes wide as full moons. McIntyre waved his rifle at the boy and nodded
reassuringly.

One more down …

Knowing that he had compromised his position by shooting, McIntyre
motioned for Matthew to get ready. He eyed the side of the cabin for more
movement. Nothing, either the other two were waiting or had run and joined the
men at the wagon. A burst of gunfire seemed to argue in favor of that theory.

Aware that Ian and Beckwith couldn’t see him or Matthew, he prayed
Wade
could
and sprinted for the open door. Matthew followed, moving like
the injury to his side was only a bad dream. Nearing the entrance, a shot rang
out, followed by a garbled howl from the other side of the cabin. Wade had hit
someone, thank God. McIntyre dove through the door and landed on his stomach,
followed almost simultaneously by Matthew. Relieved they’d made it this far,
McIntyre gazed up into a face smeared with blood.

~~~

Fifty-Five

McIntyre scrambled to his feet and snatched Naomi away from the
girls who were clutching her.
“My God,
are you all right?” he asked, his relief nearly choking his voice.

Naomi threw herself into his arms and hugged him so tightly he
couldn’t breathe. “I knew you’d come for us.” She kissed him like she hadn’t
seen him in a hundred years. For a moment he held her just as tightly, gripping
her like she might keep him from going over a cliff.

But this reunion had to wait. He pulled away. “We have to get you
out of here.” He didn’t want to think about why she was smeared with blood, and
whether it was hers or someone else’s.

The three other girls hunkered down in a corner, while Billy and
Emilio crouched at each entrance. A bullet whizzed through the open window,
spraying splinters on the girls. “Down! Everyone, down,” McIntyre ordered as he
released Naomi and shoved her toward the girls. He cocked the Winchester,
turned and joined Billy at the back door. “Any second now an Indian on the
other side of this wall is going to charge in here to get away from Wade.” He
nodded at Emilio, alone at the front door. “Get ready.” Out of the side of his
mouth, he told Matthew, “Get these girls out of here. We’ll bring up the rear,
maybe get the one on the outside.”

The big man nodded and quietly gathered the girls. “When I say
run, ladies, run like a pack of wolves is after you.” Wide-eyed like frightened
children, they nodded and let Matthew bunch them closer to the door. With the
injuries to this party, McIntyre knew they wouldn’t move like greased
lightning, but between Billy, Emilio, and himself, they should be able to give
the cover necessary to get the girls into the brush so they could scurry up the
mountain.

A storm of gunshots started up again. McIntyre could tell it was
Ian and Beckwith firing and it sounded as if they’d made it to the corral.
Rifle blazing, a brave exploded through the cabin’s front door. McIntyre saw a
blur of buckskin and fringe. He and Emilio and Billy fired. Guns roared, wood
splintered. The Indian jittered like a convulsing bug in the hail of bullets.
Before he fell to the floor, Matthew yelled, “Go, go, go!” shoving the girls
out the door.

In a flurry of calico, they scurried like mice, followed
immediately by the men. As he hurried toward the exit, McIntyre glanced down at
each of the dead. One-Who-Cries was not among them. A battle still raged
between the men hiding behind the wagon and Beckwith and Ian. Perhaps if he
could make sure the girls were getting away, he could get in position to help
them.

As McIntyre stepped outside the cabin, Billy and Matthew glanced
over their shoulders at him, but their gazes jerked to something behind him.
While Matthew almost smiled, Billy’s eyes rounded in shock. The hair on
McIntyre’s neck stood up.

“Where did
he
come from …?” Billy whispered. McIntyre
started to turn. “Look out!” Billy lunged for McIntyre, spinning him around as
a rifle fired. Eyes rounding in confusion, the boy clutched McIntyre’s lapels and
slid to his knees. Sounding far away and almost surreal, Naomi screamed the
boy’s name. An instant later, Hannah screamed. As Billy fell to the ground,
McIntyre saw the spreading bloodstain on the boy’s side.

Horror turned to fury as the sound of a rifle cocking brought his
gaze up to One-Who-Cries. Smoke wafted from the end of the renegade’s rifle and
he glared at McIntyre. Matthew had seen the Indian, too, yet he hadn’t uttered
a sound.

Sneering, the Indian started to raise the rifle for another shot.
In a blur of motion, McIntyre dropped his Winchester and whipped out his
revolver. Before One-Who-Cries could blink, the Colt was pointing at his head.
The Indian froze.

Finally …

The hunger for revenge raged in McIntyre’s heart. The blood on
Naomi. The bullet in Billy. Friends from long ago, skinned alive and hung out
for the bears to eat. “Ned Bess, Leo Frey, and Warren Cornelius. Three good men
you butchered.” Squeezing the rifle in his left hand with a death grip, he
cocked the .44 and picked a spot in the middle of the brave’s forehead.

His finger tightened on the trigger … the steel was cold and eager
to kill.

But the will to pull the trigger suddenly left him.

And he knew why. The answer shined before him as brilliantly as
the sun that burns away the clouds after a hard rain. If he killed solely for
vengeance, then he was a murderer and nothing had changed. But he
wasn’t
the same man. God
had
changed him. He had forgiven him. He felt it in
his soul, finally. Now McIntyre had to forgive himself, let the past go.
Staring down the barrel at his enemy, he could make that choice now.

You said anything,
the Lord
reminded him.
Give Me your hate.

The moment hung between them.

One-Who-Cries was imprisoned by his past, shackled to his hate.
But McIntyre wasn’t anymore. “I will not murder you.” Filled with an amazing
sense of peace, he dropped the hammer, holstered his gun and let his hands fall
to his side.

A muscle in One-Who-Cries’ jaw ticked. His eyes darkened and he
smiled, a dark, bitter thing better left under a rock. “Fat Buffalo, Two Moons
… Hopping Bird. My family, butchered by whites.”

The muscles flexed in One-Who-Cries’ shoulder as the Indian jerked
the rifle up. McIntyre snatched the .44 free from the holster faster than
lightning arcs from sky to earth. Fire exploded from the barrel. The fatal
bullet knocked One-Who-Cries back a dozen feet. The Indian landed spread eagle
on the ground, staring up at the sky with cold, dead eyes. McIntyre took a step
back from the once-vicious warrior and lowered his gun.

~~~

Hannah, Mollie, Terri and Naomi scrambled into the safety of the
brush like panicked rabbits. Refusing to think about what might be happening
behind them, Hannah surveyed the scrub and juniper ahead, trying to determine
the fastest path to the tree line, only fifty or so feet beyond them.

She turned to the girls following her: Mollie, marching with
determination; Naomi, skirt gathered in her hands, fully poised to run; and
Terri, on her feet but quivering wildly with fear. Resolute, she grabbed
Terri’s hand. “Come on, we need to make it to the trees.” She spun, prepared to
lunge for the cover when an Indian rode out of the forest above them. Joseph
Black Elk sat atop Cochise, Emilio’s horse. Freezing all four of the girls in
their steps, his baleful glare sent slivers of ice through Hannah. Slowly, he
raised his bow and aimed the arrow at her heart.

She heard the gasps from behind her, but for Hannah, the moment
hung in eternity. No fear, no thoughts. In the back of her mind a prayer
drifted heavenward, but she was entranced by his eyes, dark orbs of pain and
hate … and weariness. She heard the gunshot down near the cabin, followed by
Naomi’s scream, “No. Billy!” Now, heedless of the brave and his arrow, Hannah
whipped her head around and saw Billy fall.

No, no, God, please, no!

Determined that whether an arrow was flying toward her or not,
Hannah was going to get to Billy. But she had to know. She turned back to Black
Elk.

He hadn’t moved. The arrow hung in the bow, poised for death. She
thought of the man whose back Black Elk had filled with arrows
.
It
didn’t matter. He would not stop her from getting to Billy. Hannah shook her
head and spun away from him, flinching, ready for the arrow. Mollie and Terri
stood transfixed. After a moment, Hannah heard pounding hooves fading off into
the mountains.

“Billy,” she skidded to a stop and dropped down on her knees. Shot
in the side, bleeding profusely, he lay facing the sky, his breath coming in
hitched exchanges. She didn’t know if she should move him or even touch him.
Her hands hovered over him. “Billy, hold on. Everything is going to be all
right.” Tears choked her voice and the stark terror that he might die froze her
mind … except for the realization that she didn’t want to live without him.
“Oh, Billy, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for being so prideful.”

His mouth worked, opened, closed, finally he managed, “I love you,
Hannah.” He swallowed, flinching as if something hurt. “Emilio …”

“He’s right here.”

Emilio touched his arm. “
Si
. I am here.”

“If I don’t make it …” Billy struggled to speak, his voice
weakening with every syllable like a child dozing off. “If I don’t make it,
promise me you’ll take care … take care of them.”

“No, Billy,” Hannah squeaked. “Don’t you say that.” Her tears
gushed. “Don’t you say that!”

Emilio leaned closer to Billy and whispered, “You have my promise,
but you don’t need it, my friend. You will make it.”

He
will
make it.
Anger
swallowed Hannah’s fear. She was a nurse and she was capable of more than
crying like a simpering fool. Billy needed her. She slapped her hand to his
side and closed her mind to the warm liquid seeping between her fingers. “We
have to stop the bleeding. Emilio, rip a piece of cloth from my skirt.”

Please, God, make it stop.

~~~

Shots rang out again on the other side of the cabin, reminding
McIntyre of the lives still on the line. He knelt down to the unconscious Billy
and touched his shoulder, grateful for the boy’s sacrifice. “You came a long
way to take a bullet for me,” he whispered. “Thank you. Now, hang on and we’ll
get you out of here.”

Wondering if Billy had heard any of that, McIntyre pulled the
stick of dynamite from the boy’s pocket and inched along the outer wall of the
cabin. He glanced around the corner. He could see movement behind the wagon,
but no clear targets. “Wade, can you hear me?” he shouted at the deputy.

“Yessir!”                                                          

“We have these boys surrounded on three sides now. Let’s end this.
Move in and toss a stick of dynamite at them with your previous accuracy.” What
was that in Spanish? “
Lanzala … dinamita
!”

“Yessir!”

Quick, shuffling sounds and anxious mutterings came from behind
the wagon. McIntyre peered out once more and scanned the bloody, obliterated
remains of the four men and their horses, a strong argument for these banditos
to give up the fight. Shortly, from behind the wagon four pairs of hands rose
toward the sky and someone yelled,
“¡No más! No más!
”

~~~

Fifty-Six

“Near as I can tell, the bullet hit a rib and bounced off,” Hannah
said, leaning close to the hole in Billy’s side.
The men had laid Billy on the back of the wagon where she cleaned
the wound with whiskey from the gun traders. Billy had hissed and told her that
hurt worse than getting shot. She hoped his sense of humor was a good sign.
“He’s got a good, clean exit wound and the bleeding has stopped.” She peered
closer at the injury. I don’t think it damaged anything too important.”

“I’m glad you’re so sure,” Billy said, stopping her hand from its
not-so-gentle-probing.

She tightened her lips, unhappy with his sarcasm. “It could have
been much worse.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and turned to the
group that watched her so keenly. “I’ve never done this but I think I should
sew him up before we move him.”

What she wouldn’t give for Doc Cooke to be here to do this.

“You people don’t need Wade or me for this,” Beckwith said, sizing
Hannah up with a respectful nod. “But you might can use this.” He tossed her a
small, leather case. “You should find everything necessary for fixing a bullet
hole in that.” Quickly, his eyes sought out Mr. McIntyre. “Since you need the
wagon, you see those rifles make it back to town. And take care of digging the
graves.” He pointed a bony finger at Emilio. “You come with us, to get these
banditos back to town.
Si
?”

Emilio’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. “
Si.
”

Beckwith tipped his hat to the group and marched off. Wade started
to follow, but Mr. McIntyre touched him on the shoulder. “Wade, you saved our—”
He stopped, and then started over, “You saved us today. Thank you.”

Everyone else muttered their thanks and Hannah grinned at the
blush that crept up the deputy’s neck all the way to his forehead. When the men
were gone, she turned to Mollie. “I could use your help.”

“Nobody starts anything until I get a few shots of the liquor,”
Billy pointed at his mouth, “in here this time.”

~~~

Naomi moved Terri away from the surgery, figuring the poor thing
had seen enough blood. She gazed up at Naomi as they walked. “You really should
wash all that blood off.”

Naomi touched her cheek, felt the dry, crusty blood on her cheek.
She had completely forgotten what a sight she must be. Eager to get the
Indian’s blood off her, she tucked Terri under the porch roof of the cabin and
smiled reassuringly at her. “They found some jerky in that wagon. I’ll get it
and a canteen of water. That should fix us both up.”

She headed back to the wagon and saw Charles leave Ian to
intercept her. She was so relieved to see him and so confused. After all of
this, she just wanted to forget the vision of him in the arms of another woman
and pretend it never happened. But could she?

“Naomi.” He approached her carefully, hands behind his back. His
white shirt wasn’t white anymore and grime filled in the small lines around his
eyes and on his neck. Unspoken thoughts flitted across his face, every muscle
in him tensed. After several seconds of searching for the right words, he
settled on, “You didn’t see what you thought you saw. I swear it. And it’s that
simple.”

Willing to accept that, but not willing to discuss it at the
moment, she took a deep breath. “Charles, I feel so overwhelmed right now.
We’ll talk about it later.”

He raised his hand to her cheek, the one her captor had slapped,
and a moan escaped her. The flesh was tender and no doubt several shades of
black and blue. “One-Who-Cries?”

She nodded.

The battle between who Charles McIntyre was, and who he wanted to
be, played out in his eyes. She touched his beard, stubbly, less than perfect,
and then let her fingers drift to his chest. “Let the dead bury their dead.”

He swallowed and touched her hand. Sadness filled his eyes, but he
blinked it away. “Speaking of which, Ian and I are going to bury these dead.”
He lingered a moment longer, opened his mouth as if to add something, but
pulled away from her instead. Naomi watched him as he rejoined Ian. The storm
of emotion raging in him troubled her. She supposed it could be a million
things. Regret over the incident with the hussy in the saloon. Disappointment
he hadn’t protected her from One-Who-Cries.

But it had looked like good-bye.

~~~