The physician pressed a gauze pad soaked in alcohol to Matthew’s side and the man hissed. “Onset of symptoms is anywhere from one to two weeks.”
The wheels in McIntyre’s head spun. Beaver Fever usually came from tainted water, more than from food. But Doc mentioned an infected person could have prepared something. And Black Elk, who had coins, had said a white woman was dead. Was there a connection? McIntyre stared at the patient’s closed door, anxious for answers.
Where had this Indian been and what did One-Who-Cries have to do with it? “Is he conscious?”
Doc Cooke commenced sewing up Matthew’s side with a very long, hooked needle, evoking a sharp hiss from the man. “He’s in and out, thanks to the hammer blow to the head,” he lifted an accusing glance to Matthew, “but he’ll come around.”
McIntyre twirled his hat on his index finger. At least Black Elk wasn’t contagious. That was a blessing. The office door rattled and, without knocking, Marshal Pender Beckwith stomped in, taking over the room with a flurry of his canvas duster. “McIntyre, I could use another rider. I need to serve a warrant on a George Betts. He’s hiding out with friends over in Carson.”
Alert with purpose, the man’s beady eyes and chiseled, bony face held no warmth and only added to the Marshal’s no-nonsense reputation. A tough and cunning lawman, the rabble of Defiance was in the process of learning their new marshal didn’t play. McIntyre would hate to be hunted by him … and he surely didn’t want to go hunting with him. “I thought you’d left already.”
“Did. Then I got word he’s not alone and might know I’m coming. Not something I want to walk into with no back-up.”
Implying Wade was no back-up at all. McIntyre’s eyes skipped over to the deputy, who had dropped down into a seat near the cold pot-bellied stove and also not uttered a word since they got here. Pale as grass covered by a spring snow, he had confessed he didn’t do well with blood and needles.
McIntyre sighed.
Admittedly, he was a better choice than the skittish deputy, but he was frustrated by these constant interruptions to his plans. The spineless men in town needed to do their part and take on deputy duties. He slapped his hat against his leg for finality and pushed off the wall. “Fine.”
Carson was several hours from here. He’d have plenty of time to bring Beckwith up to speed on Black Elk, including a possible connection to One-Who-Cries. He studied Matthew, trying not to relish the pained wince as Doc pulled the second stitch tight. He’d better find a smidgen of sympathy for him, he needed a favor and loathed asking the brute, but he had no other choice. “Would you mind letting Naomi know? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
All of the color drained from Matthew as he clamped his jaws shut. Still, he managed a nod. McIntyre hid a smile as he followed Beckwith and Wade out the door.
~~~
Sixteen
Huffing in dismay, Rebecca stripped off her now soaking wet skirt and threw it across her room. Her petticoat hadn’t been spared the scorching, either. Mortified, she untied it and kicked it off.
She plopped down on her bed and cradled her cheeks in her hands, wagging her head back and forth. The images of Ian patting at her rear end like a mad man wouldn’t leave her. That humiliation was followed by the dousing pitcher of water, courtesy of Naomi. Though her aim had been awful, practically drowning Rebecca, enough of the water had hit the small flames to extinguish them. Rebecca couldn’t recall ever being so humiliated in her life. These things didn’t happen to her. Naomi was the only disaster in the kitchen. She desperately needed to get her focus back before she burnt the place down to the ground.
Still, there was a silver lining here. Clasping her hands over her heart, Rebecca fell back on her bed and grinned like a little girl with a huge secret. Ian had been about to say something clearly more interesting than anything he’d said in the last year.
He’s tired of being friends.
A giggle much beneath her advanced years bubbled up.
“Rebecca,” Naomi called through the door, “are you all right?”
Ridiculously giddy for a woman of forty, Rebecca fought for control of the effervescent laughter and sat up. “I’m absolutely fine. You can come in.”
Naomi entered slowly, a suspicious dip in her brow. “You don’t sound fine.”
Her eyes bugged when Rebecca put a hand over her mouth, muffling another giggle. “Oh, I can’t help it.” She rose from the bed and reached for Naomi’s hand. “I think Ian was finally about to say something relevant.”
Naomi laughed and covered her sister’s hand with hers, squeezing hard. “Oh, I hope so. It’s so good to see you happy … and living.” The reference to Rebecca’s all-too-lengthy mourning period sobered them both. “Ben and Gracie wouldn’t have wanted you to mourn for them the way you have … for as long as you have.”
Rebecca dropped her gaze. “I know.” Years of visiting her husband’s and daughter’s graves, remembering birthdays in solitude, wallowing in guilt for surviving the fire. They were dark years. Defiance had at least helped her find a divine spark again and Ian, bless his heart, had fanned it to life.
Naomi clutched her sister’s shoulders. “So tell me what he said.”
Rebecca’s fine mood returned. “He said he’d grown tired of being friends and hoped I felt that same way.”
Naomi inclined her head, as if asking for more.
“Oh, that’s when my skirt, which I’d closed in the oven door, caught on fire.”
Naomi laughed again, but the sound died quickly under a puckered brow. “You don’t think he meant something else, do you?” Rebecca did not want to hear anything pessimistic, but her scowl did not stop Naomi from proceeding with the dark thought. “I mean, could he have meant he’s giving up? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to spoil anything. I just … well, you’ve been waiting on him for so long. What if he’s lost his nerve?”
Rebecca was disheartened by the possibility and turned away from Naomi. What if Ian hadn’t read the longing she’d telegraphed him daily and was admitting defeat?
Naomi laid a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe the man needs a hint.”
Rebecca sighed, overwhelmed by the seeming fruitlessness of all this. “I don’t remember how to drop one.”
“Then, sister, hit him over the head with it.”
~~~
Billy kicked himself again as he watched Hannah out of the corner of his eye. Bouncing Little Billy on her lap, she listened and nodded as the Scottish fellow delivered a simple sermon to the small group in the dining room. Their Sunday service. Unfortunately, Billy couldn’t hear anything but the marshal’s order repeating over and over in his head. The lawman had stopped in just as their hymns were beginning, pointed a boney finger at Emilio and told him to get his mount. His gaze had barely touched on Billy as he scanned the rest of the group. A group comprised of women, an infant, an older gentleman in an argyle sweater, and a dude with a bowler on his knee.
He should have ignored the dismissal in the marshal’s eyes and leapt to his feet. Emilio hadn’t hesitated for even a split second. But doubts had instantly assailed Billy. He wasn’t sure if it was his place to join something like that, being new in town. It had sounded dangerous. Not that he was afraid, necessarily, but he was no lawman.
He sucked on his cheek, pondering the town. Defiance was pretty wide open. First, a crazy Indian brawling at a saloon required McIntyre’s assistance, followed by the call to bring in a gunman. Add to that the gunshots peppering the air last night and he could just hear his father lambasting him for his decision to come to the lawless, bawdy mining town.
“My son,” Ian read and Billy jerked his head up as if called, “forget not My law, but let thine heart keep My commandments.”
He sighed and Hannah tossed him a disapproving look, mistakenly thinking him bored. Great. Billy needed to do something to get a hand up on ol’ Emilio or his son there was going to grow up speaking Spanish. He stopped his knee from bouncing and attempted to pay attentio
n to Ian’s sermon.
“… Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
Guilt tweaked Billy. His own understanding sure had done a bang-up job for him so far.
“In all thy ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.”
Ian spoke for a few minutes about trusting God with big details and little ones. They all mattered to God because His children mattered to Him. Billy tried to see the Lord as a loving father, but a fat, cigar-smoking man in an expensive suit came to mind instead. One who didn’t care about his children, only that they obey and serve him. Love didn’t enter into the equation.
After the closing prayer, he floundered for a moment as the sisters, Mollie, and Ian started putting chairs back around the dining tables. Eager to recoup a few points with Hannah, he jumped up to help. He was amazed at how she functioned with Little Billy on her hip. Single-handed, literally, the girl was a furniture-moving maestro, shoving tables and chairs back in place with ease, but she didn’t turn Billy’s way once. And moving furniture sure wasn’t as manly as chasing bandits.
If there was any silver lining here, it was Hannah’s avoidance of him. If she didn’t care, why wouldn’t she look at him? Focusing on that, he followed her to the kitchen and blurted out, “May I hold my son?” He didn’t know where the request had come from and immediately regretted it. He didn’t know how to hold a baby. What if he dropped him or broke him somehow?
Hannah paused at the batwings, considering the request. “All right.” She handed Little Billy over. “We’re going to get Sunday dinner on the table. Why don’t you take him out back in the sunshine? But keep an eye on him, especially near the stream. He’s starting to crawl.”
Smiling inwardly at her motherly directions, Billy folded his son in his arms, but with a stiff, awkward grip.
Hannah grinned. “No, like this.” She grabbed his hands and rearranged Billy’s hold so the baby sat on the inside of his forearm, with his other hand on the child’s back.
More at ease, he searched his son’s face and met a pair of innocent angel eyes. Unexpectedly, Billy’s heart did a kind of funny flutter. The infant babbled something nonsensical and touched his father’s nose. Billy grinned. Giggling, the child flailed, landing a pretty good right hook on Billy’s cheek. “Whoa, hold on there, son,” he said, grabbing the wild hand. “It’s a little too early for boxing lessons.”
Hannah laughed, a magical sound like a breeze through wind chimes, and Billy hungered to hear it again. She tickled Little Billy’s back. “We’ll call you when it’s on the table.”
Holding him as if he were as fragile as a snowflake, Billy wandered out into the sunshine with his son. “Hey, you wanna go over here and see the horses?” Stopping near the small corral, he whistled for his horse. Prince Valiant trotted up, blowing and shaking his head, curious about the pint-sized human. Little Billy put his hand out and the horse allowed the stubby fingers to caress his nose. Apparently tickled with the animal, Little Billy kicked and giggled and turned a disarming grin on his father.
Joy and amazement broke loose in Billy’s soul and his heart did that fluttery thing again. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered, “I’m your. . .dada.”
The meaning of the statement wafted over him like a welcome summer breeze and he kissed his son on the forehead, savoring the sweet smell of talcum powder and maybe a hint of vanilla. His throat constricted on him and he squeezed his eyes shut. Hugging his son as tightly as he dared, he fought back against the guilt clinging like a dead vine to his soul.
“Oh, I am so sorry, little man …” His voice broke and he swallowed against the emotions tying him up in knots. “I am so sorry for letting you go. I won’t leave you ever again, no matter what.”
~~~
Seventeen
Hannah stood at the window over the dry sink and smiled at the interaction between father and son. How could she be so moved by the sight of them playing together, and yet seriously contemplate sending Billy away? She wished she could just yank out her heart and lock it and all her memories up in a box.
Oh, especially the memories. Watching the two together, she couldn’t stop herself from going back to the night that had started all these changes, inflicted all these heart breaks. She could still feel the hay poking through the quilt as she lay down in the wagon. Billy beside her, they stared up at a midnight blue sky littered with glittering stars and a shimmering, magical Milky Way. On a cold, still, January evening, the clear sky seemed to reveal everything but the very gate of Heaven.
“I love you, Hannah.” Not the first time he’d said it, she giggled with ecstasy. This time, though, his voice held a husky, emotional edge to it. “Pa isn’t thrilled I’m seeing you, and I’m sorry for that. Sorry for him.” Billy rolled up to an elbow, laid his gloved hand over Hannah’s resting on her stomach. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you, what you mean to me.”
Tears backing up on her, Hannah reached up to move a lock of hair out of his eyes. She knew all too well what Frank Page thought about any woman, much less Hannah, who might derail the grand plans he had for his son, the future senator from North Carolina. “Must be the moonlight. I’ve been warned about your sweet talk under a starry sky.”
“Hannah, I’ve never felt this way about a girl. I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you.”
“You want to give up all that Page money?” She tried to keep her voice light, her hope tamped down. “You know your father would disown you if you married me.”
He stroked her cheek with leather-clad fingers. “I don’t care. He can keep it all. I don’t need it. I need you.”
Billy leaned down and kissed her, a soft, gentle nuzzling at first that grew to a breath-stealing embrace. An embrace that went on and on till she couldn’t think, couldn’t draw a breath without feeling him in her soul. Her heart raced at breakneck speed, pulsing in her ears.
And somehow, almost magically, Hannah found herself with Billy in his farm foreman’s cabin. Mr. Tulley was nowhere to be seen but a warm fire burned in the brick fireplace as if he’d left only moments before. She and Billy were alone.
Slowly he slipped the buttons loose on Hannah’s coat, all the while kissing her, telling her he loved her more than his own life, begging her to be his wife. Overcome with passion, Hannah clawed at the buttons on Billy’s jacket. Not one single rational thought resided in her head. She just wanted to be with him, every inch of him, in every way possible. He loved her. The passion would always be like this. They’d be together forever.
Hannah swallowed and jerked herself out of the reverie. Her wide-eyed naiveté embarrassed her, her sin shamed her. It had seemed so romantic, so grown up. Until Page Sr. found out about the baby, at which point Billy ran like a scalded dog. Praise God she had found forgiveness and He had worked her foolishness for good. Exactly as promised in Romans 8:28. She would be eternally humbled by her heavenly Father’s grace.
Rebecca came up beside her and sighed. “It would appear he likes him.”
“Little Billy likes everybody.” She felt her sister’s surprised stare and realized the statement had sounded bitter. Her turn to sigh. “I don’t know what he’s after. I can’t sort through it all. I felt like I was just beginning to recover from him.” She sniffed. “Listen to me. Recover. Like he’s some sort of ailment.”
Rebecca rubbed her sister’s back. “Honey, he delivered a pretty crushing blow by running out on you. You’ve been healing. So don’t rush things.”
Hannah tried a little teasing to lighten her mood. “Guess you know all about being patient, don’t you?”
Rebecca’s features, normally so refined and regal, scrunched in disapproval. She huffed and lightly yanked Hannah’s braid. “I don’t need you reminding me.”
Naomi wandered in and, following their gazes, joined them at the window. Billy sat in the grass gesturing with silly, exaggerated motions as he chattered away at his son. “No denying who the fath
er of that child is,” she said, wagging her head. Hannah had seen the similarities early on, but with Billy side-by-side with his son, well, Naomi was right. The bloodlines were inarguable. Not that there’d ever been any doubt. “Has he asked you to go for a walk?”
Hannah raised her brow. “No.”
“He will,” Naomi turned to her, “and when he does, I’ll watch Little Billy, if you want to go.”
“You’re so sure?”
“No one in this hotel is blind, Hannah. We all, including Billy, can see how Emilio looks at you. Now Emilio’s gone off with the marshal. Billy will want time alone with you while he can get it.”
Hannah dropped her gaze to the dishes in the sink. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with Billy.
“I wish I knew if Charles and Matthew went with the marshal as well.” Naomi rubbed her arms, as if warding off a chill. “I’m worried about them.”
“Well, I can tell you I didn’t go.”
Uncle Matt’s voice from the door spun them around. Holding on to the batwings, his unbuttoned shirt revealed his broad chest and a wide band of gauze running around his midsection, just below the ribs. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he swayed slightly on his feet, moving the café doors.
“Uncle Matt!” Hannah rushed to him, tossing aside a dish towel to come under one arm. “Let’s get you a seat.”
Naomi edged up beneath him on the other side and they led him back to the dining room, Rebecca lending support to his back and shoulders. Although Hannah knew if Uncle Matt went down, the three of them wouldn’t be able to stop him.
Rebecca slid a chair into position for him at a table near the fireplace. “What happened to you, Matthew?”
The girls eased him down into the seat as an assortment of grimaces cascaded across his face. “Nothing a few stitches didn’t fix.”
“Stitches?” Naomi pushed his shirt aside and surveyed the large bandage on his lower right side, a small spider web of blood already seeping through. Her gaze flicked across that wide chest. “Matthew, tell us what happened? Where’s Charles?”
Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 11