Looking at him only made her think of John, how she used to love to hold those wide cheeks in her hands, or push his hat back and move strands of straw-colored hair out of his eyes. She remembered how he could pick her up with those tree-sized arms and carry her about as if she weighed no more than an empty dress. Big and wide, with hands the size of bear paws, yet he could hold her like she was as delicate as a china tea cup. Having John’s mirror image sitting right in front of her made those memories too real.
But Matthew wasn’t John. John was not sitting right in front of her. God, please help me not to fall into confusion. He looks so much like him.
“You two haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Matthew stopped the biscuit about halfway to his mouth and bounced his gaze back and forth between the sisters. “Tell me. What am I missing?” When neither Naomi nor Rebecca responded immediately, he set the biscuit back on his plate, set the meal on the ground and addressed Naomi. “The last I heard from you, you despised this place and its debauched citizenry, and all you wanted was to get out. I moved heaven and hell to get here with the intention of relocating all of y’all to California, sure I would be doing you a favor. I have a house waiting for you with a maid. Now, I show up tonight and you’re having a pretty cozy little party here. Pardon me for saying so, but you don’t exactly appear to be in distress.”
Relocating them? A house with a maid? Naomi made a miserable connection. “You didn’t get my second letter?”
“Nope. Wanna fill me in?”
“Matthew, I never expected you to come after us.” A growing sense of guilt blossomed in her. “I didn’t ask you to.”
He snorted indignantly. “My sisters-in-law get stranded in one of the roughest mining towns in the West and you didn’t think I’d come after you?” He muttered a curse. “What do you take me for?”
Naomi flinched and stared into the fire. She’d been so angry with God when she’d written that first letter. She had hated everything about Defiance back then. Oh, how things had changed. She had told him everything in the second letter. She’d even hinted at her friendship with Charles. “Matthew, we’ve made a life here. It seemed the only choice we had.”
“We had to do something,” Rebecca interjected, defending their decision. “Naomi won the hotel so we jumped in with both feet. We had to support ourselves.”
Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose and pursed his lips. He was never one to hold back and Naomi knew she and Rebecca were about to get both barrels. He didn’t disappoint. “I’d say you’ve adapted pretty well here.” He raked Naomi with an accusing stare. “My brother’s been dead less than a year and you’ve got new friends. I saw the way that McIntyre looked at you, and you him. Want to explain that to me? And you won the hotel? Just what kind of a place are you running here?”
Rebecca gasped. Naomi surged to her feet, fists clenched. “That’s always the way of it, isn’t it? In desperate straits, a woman’s only got one vocation to fall back on? If you weren’t John’s brother, you’d be sleeping on the street tonight.”
“Now hold on, Naomi,” Matthew rose, towering over her like a mountain. “Maybe I didn’t mean that exactly.” Rebecca stood, too, her dark brown eyes flashing in the firelight. If she was mad, Matthew had truly overstepped. He gently patted the air with his hands. “Girls, I didn’t mean that at all, I just would like to know what the Sam Hill is going on here.”
Naomi huffed a deep breath and almost stomped her foot. Instead, she fixed her gaze on Rebecca, seeking her sister’s calm. With a subtle dip in her brow, she urged Naomi to settle down.
Stifling a growl, she turned her back on Matthew and fought for composure. Anger in her voice would only make telling him the truth more painful, and, mad as she was, she didn’t wish to hurt him. Control regained, she crossed her arms and faced him again. “Charles had a woman who worked for him. She tried to kill us.” The memory of that night in the hotel’s kitchen was still an open wound. Naomi’s knees nearly buckled recalling it and she sat down. Matthew and Rebecca followed suit, but he leaned forward, as if eager to hear this story. “He tried to take the gun away from her and she shot him. He was nothing short of a hero. I’m—we,” she corrected, “we are quite close to him.” Naomi could see questions still burning in Matthew’s eyes. “He nearly died for us, Matthew. I know I made unkind references to him in that first letter, but he’s a changed man. He’s closed his saloon, given his girls seed money to start over with, and even bought them tickets on the stage out tomorrow.”
Matthew absorbed the news with an icy stare. He stood, trudged over to the fire and rubbed his neck, as if the muscles were tight as banjo strings. With his back to the girls, he said, “This Charles McIntyre. He owns the Iron Horse Saloon?”
Naomi didn’t understand the relevance of the question or how Matthew knew the name of the saloon, but she nodded. “Yes.”
He heaved a great sigh and plunged his hands into his pockets. His wide shoulders drooped. “What you’re really saying is that the man who used to run one of the wildest cathouses in the West is the reason you’re staying in Defiance.”
Naomi tried again to stem her anger and understand what things must look like from Matthew’s point of view. “I told you, he stepped away from all that. He’s turned out to be a decent man and a good friend. He’s even going to church—”
Matthew’s snort of disgust cut off the rest of her defense. He spun on the girls, his features lined with anger and betrayal. “Men like him don’t change, Naomi. Do you have any idea what kind of reputation he has? Either of you?” Before they could answer, he rushed on. “I know the name.” He pounded his chest. “I know the name and I don’t frequent saloons and wh—cathouses. Charles McIntyre is known far and wide as the best judge of—” he stopped, searching for a word. “Female companionship. Not to mention, the Iron Horse was,” he swallowed, as though forcing down the urge to vomit, “well, a den of all types of iniquity.”
Naomi concentrated on the shadows beyond the fire, trying hard not to let the words hit home. But they did.
Matthew softened his tone. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, Naomi, but John was my brother. If he knew you and someone like McIntyre were together … do you understand what people will think when they see you with him? What they’ll think you’ve done?” He faded off, but she could feel his stare drilling into her.
Silence brimming with frustration enveloped them. Rebecca rubbed her temple and stood. “Matthew, perhaps you’d like to see your room now?”
His brow deeply furrowed, he worked his jaw back and forth, and then nodded. “Yeah.”
Rebecca touched Naomi’s shoulder. “I’m sure with a good night’s sleep we’ll all be less emotional in the morning.”
But Naomi couldn’t sleep. With the intention of clearing the food, she instead found herself standing at the head of the table, her fingers drumming, her thoughts adrift. Over and over, she kept hearing Charles’s warning about his past haunting them, and his desire for her to believe in him. She wanted to, badly.
… known far and wide as the best judge of female companionship.
… a den of all types of iniquity.
… what they’ll think you’ve done.
The meanings pricked her heart, drawing blood. She could hear John spouting accusations, but it wasn’t John, it was Matthew. And he didn’t know Charles. John would have been kinder. For a moment, Naomi wondered what she would be doing right now if the man upstairs was John, not his brother. She felt certain she would run to him, but part of her heart had been lost now—lost to Charles.
She almost growled aloud at the ridiculous scenario. John was dead. He wasn’t coming back. Matthew wasn’t John and Charles held her heart now. Period.
Startling Naomi, Hannah hugged her from behind and rested her cheek on Naomi’s shoulder. “Quite a night, huh?”
Naomi exhaled and patted her sister’s hand. “Did you get Billy settled?”
“Yes …”
Naomi sensed a question
coming.
“Why do you think he’s here?”
She debated her answer and decided to state it flatly. “I think he’s here because he either can’t live without you or he’s still intent on doing the opposite of what his father tells him.”
She felt Hannah’s nod on her shoulder. “So how do I find out which one it is?”
Naomi raised her eyebrows and blinked. “Darned if I know. I guess you just have to wait and see.”
“I’m scared he’ll break my heart again.”
Naomi squeezed her little sister’s hand tightly. “You are too smart for that now.”
~~~
Nine
McIntyre, a shot glass of whiskey in his hand, stood at his bedroom window and studied Defiance’s main street. Soft circles of amber light from the street lanterns intermittently revealed one lone rider trotting down the shadowy avenue. The gentle thud of the hoofbeats echoed soothingly over McIntyre’s mind.
He let his gaze drift over the rooftops to the points of light glowing off in the distance. Tent Town, the side of Defiance where vice still held sway. The faint sound of men laughing mixed with the siren call of girlish giggles. A piano started up and drunken voices chimed in for the chorus of “Oh, My Darling Clementine,” the song fading in and out with the breeze. All the debauched entertainment he’d spent so much effort propagating now limited itself to Tent Town. But even over there, the crowds were smaller. Three decent women in Defiance had caused more than a few men to re-examine their paths.
He shifted his view again and looked down the street at the dark Trinity Inn, which stood in the elbow of the street, as the town followed the bend of the river. Like all the buildings on Main Street, it was constructed of pine lap siding, its golden hue now silver in the moonlight. Four large windows on both floors faced the street, and a balcony, supported by large logs, hid the entrance in its shadow. The slats in the balcony’s rail were made of crooked, though skillfully placed, peeled branches. The sisters had repainted the trim, once a gaudy red, to a more respectable white. The hotel reflected the transition of Defiance from wild mining town to civilized settlement. He could see the future there, see his plans coming to fruition.
Or so he had thought.
Not a jealous or insecure man, McIntyre honestly didn’t know what to think about Matthew showing up. No, that wasn’t exactly true. He did know what he thought about the big man’s arrival.
He didn’t like it.
He raised his arm and leaned on the window frame, drumming his fingers on the glass. He’d never been much given to fretting over things he couldn’t control and wasn’t going to start now. He had to admit, though, this was a turn of events he could do without. Near as he could recall, Matthew was the mirror image of his brother. The resemblance was uncanny. That had to have some effect on Naomi.
Annoyed that he was dwelling on this, he slapped the glass and turned away from the window. Determined to put Naomi and her brother-in-law out of his mind, he strode to his desk and snatched up the telegram from Chief Ouray.
More death coming.
When it came to One-Who-Cries, death never left. The savage’s name filled McIntyre’s nostrils with the stench of burning flesh … and the sweet, coppery scent of blood, gallons of it. More than he’d ever seen on a battlefield. In the early years of Defiance, McIntyre had ridden with Federal troops hunting One-Who-Cries. Too often, they’d arrived a day late and a dollar short. The savage reveled in splattering evidence of his hate everywhere.
McIntyre’s mind grudgingly drifted back to his first steps into this valley. The war was over. Georgia was in ashes. He’d come to Colorado with a desperate need to distance himself from the brutality of the conflict. He had seen so many good men die, shot through with musket balls, ripped apart by cannons, hacked by swords and bayonets.
But nothing he saw in the war compared with the gleeful butchery committed by one insane Indian.
The Utes had attacked his camp as the sky started transforming from black to steel. Like lightning from a storming sky, dozens of arrows suddenly streaked into the light of a dying campfire. Unearthly shrieks shattered the quiet, raising the hair on his neck even now. The raiders had come without warning, like thieves in the night, and left as abruptly, taking three of his friends with them. The screams and images of what happened next would never leave him.
McIntyre grimaced as he tried to turn away from the picture of a friend—bloody, twitching, hanging from a pole … skinned alive.
Reliving the deaths of his friends served only to resurrect the hate he thought he’d buried. Apparently, the grave was shallow.
~~~
Billy rolled over on his side. A moment later he rolled over to the other. Frustrated, he flopped on to his back and stared at a ceiling hidden in darkness. Off in the distance he could make out the sounds of saloons—several of them. The crystal tittering of feminine laughter, the thundering voices of angry men, and the peppering of gunfire. The discordant chaos of pianos and banjos filled in the gaps. Had it not been for the other cow towns he’d stopped in on his way here, he would have been shocked at the level of noise. What did surprise him was how quiet this side of Defiance was.
He laced his hands over his stomach and shook his foot. He couldn’t sleep, but it wasn’t because of the noise outside. He couldn’t get over how beautiful Hannah was. Oh, he had no trouble recalling the girl whose favorite spring dress brought out the cornflower blue of her eyes, or how she blushed a beautiful rose color when he kissed her. He remembered perfectly the pattern of freckles across her cheeks and the way she was forever tucking a loose strand of corn silk behind her ear.
The difference was she had grown into a stunning woman. She moved with a grace and confidence that impressed him. Motherhood, her journey out here, this town, they had infused her with a strength Billy had seen instantly. What if she had changed too much? Moved beyond him?
Muffled sounds coming from the kitchen interrupted his reverie and he assumed the sisters were cleaning up. His stomach rumbled for attention. True, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and that had only been one skinny biscuit with a piece of dry country ham. Hunger would be an honest excuse for dropping in..
He sat up and reached for his boots. If Hannah were there, perhaps they could talk a little more. If not, maybe Billy could get a sense of things from Naomi or Rebecca. Preferably Rebecca, who hid her disdain for him much better than the outspoken Naomi. His father had always said she was too hot-tempered for her own good, but according to the Pinkerton report, Naomi’s fiery streak had served the girls well here in Defiance.
He tiptoed down the stairs, trying to soften the thud of his boots on the hardwood. As he approached the kitchen, he heard Hannah giggle … and a man’s voice. The sound stopped Billy cold.
He listened, but couldn’t make out the words. Swatting his fingers nervously against his thigh, he decided he had to know who was in there with her. Slowly he approached the batwings and peered over them.
Hannah and the Mexican boy from the party sat at a corner of the kitchen table, the simple, yellow birthday cake between them. Fork in hand, they each nibbled at the pastry in a clearly intimate way.
“Well, anyway,” Hannah said, twirling her fork on her plate, “at least now you don’t have to share the cake with anybody but me.”
Emilio leaned in a little closer and smiled at her. The hopeful expression on his face twisted Billy’s guts. “There ees no one I would rather share it with.”
Hannah’s twirling stopped. The two stared at each other. Billy panicked. He burst through the doors with a loud greeting. “Hey, you two gonna keep that cake all to yourselves?” He felt like a fool, but he hadn’t come fifteen hundred miles to lose Hannah to a greaser.
Hannah’s expression remained inscrutable, but Emilio was clearly not pleased to see him. To his credit, he quickly wiped away the scowl and rose to his feet. “No, señor, please join us. There is plenty.”
A little guilt panged Billy, but only a l
ittle. “Thank you.” He took a seat and eyed the cake, and a plate of roast venison that hadn’t been stored away for the night yet.
Sensing Emilio’s awkwardness—and enjoying it—Billy stuck out his hand as the young man sank back into his seat. “By the way, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Billy Page, the father of Hannah’s baby. Maybe you’ve heard of me.”
Daggers flew at him from Hannah’s eyes, but Emilio didn’t even hesitate. He shook Billy’s hand and nodded. “Si. Hannah has told me all about you.” His voice was deep, steady, revealing nothing of his emotions. “It is nice to meet you.”
Billy nodded as well, sure of the undertones in the polite response. He assumed he knew where they each stood in regards to Hannah. He wondered if Hannah knew where she stood with each of them.
Fidgeting, she stood up. “You need a plate, Billy. Help yourself to the venison. Would you like coffee or water?”
She slid the meat over to him. Billy picked up a slice and popped it into his mouth. Cold, but still tasty. “Thank you. Water will be fine.”
As she shuffled about in the kitchen, Billy nibbled on another piece of the meat and stared at Emilio. “So, what do you do around here, Emilio? Are you the custodian?”
The boy frowned. “Custodian? I do not know this word.”
Emilio sought out Hannah for an explanation. She slid the plate, fork, and a cup of water in front of Billy and tossed him a thinly-veiled look of displeasure. “It means someone who takes care of a building.” She retook her seat on the other side of the table. Billy saw the firm set to her jaw and realized his jabs at the boy could backfire if he wasn’t careful. “In that case,” she continued, “we’re all custodians. We all take care of the hotel. Emilio just does the heavier work. The more manly work.”
The challenge in her raised chin was clear and Billy decided to tread more lightly. Still, a greaser? Surely she wasn’t thinking about getting involved with him … if she hadn’t already.
Emilio took one last bite of his cake then licked the yellow icing off the fork. “This was the best birthday cake I ever had, Miss Hannah. You should do more desserts.”
Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 7