Mollie pulled her long blonde braid to the front of her shoulder and clutched it with both hands. After a moment, she nodded. “I think that he loves you dearly, Naomi. And I also believe he’s finished with other women.”
Naomi shifted and hugged the watering can tighter. “But …”
“Personally, I think summer doves aren’t going to be his biggest problem.”
Naomi tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”
Mollie took a few halting steps down the row to Naomi, glancing around as if looking for eavesdroppers, then spoke in a quieter voice. “Before you got here—before he hired Marshal Beckwith—Mr. McIntyre ran this town. His word was law, and he had the wherewithal to back it up. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, if you understand my meaning.” She paused, her brow diving. “True, a lot of women have loved him, but I know a lot of men who hate him. If they hear about his finding religion and trying to be respectable, well …” Mollie shoved her hands in her pockets and shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I doubt all the tests of his faith, or yours, will be wearing skirts.”
~~~
Three
The man’s big, meaty fist connected with Billy Page’s jaw like a hammer blow. Pain exploded in his face, the force of the punch knocking him back onto the poker table. It shattered beneath him, gouging his back as he fell to the floor in a shower of beer, cards, and coins. His head buzzed and his ears rang with the disgruntled cries from the motley crew of card players angered over the destruction of their game. Billy attempted to scramble to his feet, but hands the size of bear paws grabbed his lapels and snatched him up.
He was now eye-to-eye with his attacker. Billy’s opponent in the “friendly” game of cards glared at him with one glittering brown eye as the other hid behind a black patch. A bushy, matted salt-and-pepper beard covered most of the big man’s jowls. Tobacco juice dribbled from the corner of his mouth. As high and wide as an Amish barn, the big man lifted Billy completely off his feet and shook him like a rag doll. “You think you can cheat me, city boy?” he growled in a gravelly voice. “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
Billy tossed his blond hair out of his eyes and blinked. His first thought was how sick and tired he was of being controlled. He’d left his domineering father, suffocating Southern society, and the addictive Page fortune to come after Hannah. He wasn’t about to let this gorilla who didn’t like losing at poker stop him.
Billy’s better judgment snapped like a kite string. With all the force he could muster in his own substantially smaller frame, he brought his knee up hard, hoping to hit anything sensitive. The big man’s face turned purple and contorted oddly, inflating as if someone had pumped a load of air into his head. He let go of Billy, clutched at his groin, and doubled over.
No, Billy had never been in a fight. But he did know how to box. In a flash he positioned his feet properly, curled his hands into tight fists, and delivered an uppercut to the man’s jaw that just about sent him airborne. Billy felt the bones in his hand break, but he ignored the streaking pain as his opponent straightened with the blow, staggered, and then recovered. To Billy’s amazement, the man balled up his fists, sneered, and threw a wild haymaker. The blow would have knocked a slower man across the county line, but Billy dodged, weaved inside, and tapped the man hard on the jaw with his remaining good hand. His opponent shook off the blows and threw another wild punch which nearly clipped Billy because he’d underestimated the man’s reach.
But Billy had him now. This big, burly fellow didn’t know how to box—he only knew how to use brute force. Billy raised his fists, hunched up his shoulders, picked a spot on the man’s jaw to target, and—
Stars and pain exploded like fireworks in the back of his head. Something sharp and wet rained down over his face, and Billy nearly gagged from the stench of stale beer. His knees buckled with a jolt, and a black fog reached out to grab him as thunderous laughter rang out around him. He thought of Hannah. Was she living in a worse town than this one? He wanted to find the answer, but the mist quickly thickened into complete darkness.
~~~
Throbbing, bone-deep soreness crept into his consciousness, but Billy didn’t open his eyes. There was so much pain everywhere. He took a moment to determine if anything didn’t hurt. His hand throbbed. His head pounded. His nose had its own heartbeat, as did his ribs. Something rough dug into his cheek. Gravel?
Billy blinked, trying to focus. A warped board filled his vision and weeds sprouted inches from his face. Confused, he tried moving his head. The motion caused a searing pain to shoot up his neck and down his arm. He realized he was lying on his stomach in the dirt, head twisted to the left, arms bent behind his back. Pushing through the pain, he slowly rose to all fours and carefully rotated his head to loosen the kink in his neck.
His hair fell over his eyes. Peering through it, in the faint, predawn light, he could see he was in an overgrown, trash-littered alley at the rear of two weathered buildings. Empty kegs and barrels loomed over him. He staggered to his feet and immediately fell against the closest wall. He figured he must be out back behind the saloon.
But how—
A nearby door opened and a rotund woman marched out, carrying an empty pony keg on her shoulder. She spotted Billy immediately and grunted. “One of the girls said I might find you here.” She was a big-boned woman with weathered features and drab brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. She set the container atop another and wiped her hands on her skirt. “You check your pockets?”
Understanding slowly dawned on Billy, and he slapped his pants, rifled through his coat pockets, and searched his vest. All empty. The fight came back to him now, his own cockiness, the rap on the back of his head. He reached up and touched a pretty impressive goose egg. What had they hit him with—Montana? The possibility that the scoundrel would cheat had never entered Billy’s mind. And now he had nothing. He couldn’t pay for his room, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t get his horse out of the livery … and he couldn’t get to Hannah. Wouldn’t his father just love to be here to gloat?
“Listen, son,” the woman said, draping her arm over a large whiskey barrel. “That there was Earl H. Goode and friends that whooped you. They scouted for Quantrill. You’d best watch yourself in Dodge. Better yet, light a shuck out of Dodge.”
A man on the train had warned Billy that Dodge City was rough—almost as rough as Defiance, the meanest mining town in the Rockies. And Hannah was in Defiance, along with his son. He imagined her surrounded by men like Earl H. Goode. The thought twisted his guts and stirred up an urgency to get to her that rushed through his blood like lightning.
His trip west had started out at a leisurely pace. A few races in this town or that, wherever he decided to take Prince Valiant off the train and out for a little fresh air. Admittedly, he’d been dragging his feet, putting off his reunion with Hannah because he was afraid of her reaction. Now he was afraid for her. Earl H. Goode had put it all into perspective. If Dodge City was the wickedest little city in America, what did that make Defiance?
No place for Hannah and his son.
But how was he supposed to get to her without money? He almost laughed at the reversal in his fortunes as he raked a bloodied, swollen hand through his hair, clearing his line of sight. “Ma’am, I’d be happy to leave your warm and friendly community.” Billy straightened and looked the woman in the eye. “Only, for the first time in my life, and now when it matters most of all, I have no money.”
Maybe the lady barkeep got the joke. She chuckled, the action jiggling her frame like gelatin, and hooked her thumb at the barrels. “Tell ya what, son. If you can load those in a freight wagon and get ’em down to the warehouse, it’s worth a dollar to me.”
Billy eyed the barrels. They were stacked two and three high, and they lined the length of the saloon. ‘Miserable’ wouldn’t begin to describe the chore, considering his present condition.
The woman seemed to read his mind. “You can start w
ith fried eggs and a cup of coffee. Even I wouldn’t ask a man to do that job on an empty stomach, especially one who’s had the hound beat out of him.”
Her sideways smile struck Billy as sincere. He nodded. “Your offer is more than agreeable, ma’am. It may be a lifesaver.” At least he would be able to get his horse out of the livery.
The woman ushered Billy into a small kitchen at the back of the saloon and sidestepped over to a potbellied stove. She cracked two eggs and dripped them into a pan, then tossed the shells into a bucket. As if she could do this in her sleep, she scrambled the eggs with a fork in one hand, while the other snagged a mug hanging from a nail and set it in front of him. The sublime scent of fresh coffee filled the room.
“Name is Eleanor, by the way.”
Stiffly, Billy sank into a ladder-back chair at a small table. “Billy Page. And thank you.” The friendly whiff of breakfast brightened his spirits a little, and he thought there might yet be hope for the day.
“One of the girls was tellin’ me you put up a pretty good fight last night.” Eleanor slid the eggs onto a tin plate and passed it to him along with a fork. “A dollar’s all I can give ya to move the barrels. Will it get you out of town?” she asked, filling his cup with coffee.
Billy shoved a bite of egg into his mouth and savored the warm yolk touched with a hint of salt. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry. “A dollar will get my horse out of the livery. If I can line up a race for him today, I should be set to move on to the next town.”
“That’s mighty confident talk.” He heard another egg start sizzling in the pan.
“I have a mighty fast horse.”
She stopped stirring and turned to him. She gave him the once-over with a skeptical arch in her brow. “You look like a dude in those clothes.” Billy raised a hand to his chest, defending his well-tailored, but filthy three-piece suit. “And even with the swollen nose, I can tell you’re handsome, but you’re pale as milk. You’re, oh, what, a banker’s son?” She didn’t wait for a confirmation. Instead, she tossed him a biscuit from the bread warmer and kept talking. “Dodge City is just dying to chew up somebody like you and spit you out.” She turned back to the stove and harrumphed her disapproval. “Might as well be wearing a sign.”
Billy touched his nose gingerly, as if it might fall off any second. “Apparently I was wearing one last night that said, ‘Kick me.’”
Eleanor’s shoulders jiggled again, then she jerked her head up and stared at the wall. “You’re the one with the thoroughbred.”
Billy wondered how she knew but nodded obligingly. “He’s as fast as lightning and as light on his feet as the wind. He’s how I’ve been making my way out West, pulling together races. I shouldn’t have any trouble making it from here to Defiance.”
“Defiance?” She did turn then, eyes wide. “Why in Sam Hill would you want to go to that cesspool? Ain’t Dodge mean enough for ya?”
Billy quickly went back to the remnants of the egg.
“Ooooh,” She drawled out the word knowingly and went back to the skillet, “a woman. Well, let me tell ya, boy. If she’s in Defiance, you don’t want to find her.”
“It’s the only thing I do want.” He heard the misery in his voice and hated the childish sound of it, but miserable he was. He might as well spill the whole story. “I ran off and left her … and she was going to have my baby.”
Eleanor sighed and shook her head. She mumbled something about the foolishness of youth. “So it’s your plan to go find her. And then what?”
Billy thought he detected a note of cynicism in the question. Maybe he was young and foolish, but he had to try to piece things back together with Hannah if he wanted to call himself any kind of a man. “I was a coward and ran. My father had a lot to do with it, but that’s all behind me. Nothing will stop me from at least asking her forgiveness—and seeing my son.”
Eleanor slid her egg onto a plate and joined Billy at the rickety table. She settled into a seat, then hit him with a bold stare. “Defiance is—” She bit off the words and softened her expression. “Well, a girl alone there—”
“She’s not alone,” he cut in, understanding the implication. “Her two sisters are with her. I know what you’re trying to say, but I know these girls. They’ve opened up a decent hotel and restaurant.”
Eleanor sat quietly while Billy finished off his egg and scraped up the last of the yolk with the biscuit. Finally, she spoke. “When you take the barrels to the warehouse, the man will count them and give you back my deposit. Keep the money and place a bet for me on your horse.”
~~~
Four
Prince Valiant pawed at the ground and snorted. Billy leaned forward and patted the horse’s elegant black neck. “Hang on, boy,” he whispered. Snatching a quick peek at his opponent, who sat atop a muscular but restless sorrel, he said more loudly, “I’ll turn you loose in a second.”
Seth, a young man with red-hair, freckles, and the mass of a bean pole, shifted deeper into his saddle. He was trying not to show any worry, but uncertainty wiggled around a twitching brow. Prince Valiant was an animal of grace, balance, and stunning conformation. You’d have to be blind to miss what he was—an animal built for speed. As Billy casually rewrapped the bandage on his injured hand, he winked at his opponent.
Seth’s face reddened and he straightened indignantly. “Y–You’re just tryin’ t–to rile me.” He swallowed against whatever it was that caused the stutter to cling to his words. “I ain’t lost in Dodge yet.”
“Your horse is big and slow.”
“My h–horse can cut on a dime and g–give you back a nickel’s change.”
Billy frowned. He had no idea what that meant.
“A–and he don’t get dis–distracted.”
Distracted? A sliver of concern rose up in Billy’s gut. The rules were simple. Race the course. Come back to this spot. Was he missing something?
Prince Valiant shook his head and blew, eager for the run. Restless under a high noon sun, horses and riders waited in an alley at the edge of Dodge, near the train yard. Gerald, the rotund gentleman up ahead wearing a too-small tan suit with bulging buttons, stood where the alley met the road. Moving his head back and forth, he studied the intersection the two animals would cross. A crowd of twenty or so men had gathered in bunches on each side of the alley and up on the boardwalk. All of them watched eagerly for a signal from the man in the shabby suit.
As Billy understood it, they would shoot straight across Front Street, continue down the opposite alley, do a horseshoe around Boot Hill Cemetery, cross the railroad tracks, and follow them back to this spot. The marshal, a fella by the name of Wyatt Earp, didn’t agree with racing horses in town. He’d thrown more than a few cowboys in jail for the deed. Gerald, the man who coordinated such events, had a handful of boys who would be distracting Earp and his deputies anytime now. A fast, clean race meant they would all be in and out in no time, and the town’s law enforcement officers would be left sifting through the dust.
Prince Valiant was ready. His muscles quivered with the desire to cut loose. Gerald stepped deeper into the street, arms outstretched, a smoldering cigar in his mouth. Shifting stiffly in the saddle, Billy wondered why no one was stopping the traffic. As the answer struck him, Gerald slapped his sides and lunged for the boardwalk like hounds from Hell were coming for him. Billy and Seth kicked their horses and the animals bolted forward like lightning streaking across the sky.
The moment the horses burst onto Front Street, Billy knew this was a different kind of race. Prince Valiant reared and whinnied at the confusion—a flowing menagerie of horses, wagons, and men. Meanwhile, Seth and his mount zigged and zagged with such speed and precision, Billy would have sworn the horse was on rails.
He didn’t need to be shown twice. He leaned into Prince Valiant and let the horse have his head, slapping him with the quirt to re-focus the animal.
As they lunged through the traffic, a horse and rider burst out from behind a freight
wagon. Billy jerked the reins hard to the left, missed a collision, then he and his horse bounded forward. Cheers, jeers, and ungentlemanly gestures greeted the racers as they cut around wagons, pedestrians, and other horses. Billy understood now the advantage a cutting horse could have. The boy could actually win this thing if he took too much of a lead now. The thought burned like acid. Prince Valiant wasn’t used to running a gauntlet. He was made for long, uninterrupted stretches. Still, he could dig his hooves in and cut with the best of them.
Seth and his horse made it the other side of the intersection. Billy lost sight of them because of the traffic. Desperation buzzed in his brain. He thought of Hannah, and how she used to stand at the finish line, cheering wildly for him. He thought of his father who’d told him that horse racing was a colossal waste of time. Steering with his good hand, Billy tightened his grip on the reins. He couldn’t lose this race, wouldn’t lose. He quirted his horse again. “Let’s go, boy. Show ’em what you can do.”
Within seconds he was nose-to-tail with Seth’s horse. The traffic disappeared as they cleared Front Street and raced down the alley toward Boot Hill. Billy knew he needed to pull up on the inside of the other horse as they made their turn around the cemetery. After that, they would be on the home stretch where Prince Valiant could win it.
Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 3