Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2)

by Blanton, Heather

  She shifted anxiously in the seat. The last thing she wanted was to tell Matthew that women had started coming into town to see Charles. She didn’t think she could stand another sermon on the evils of pimps and brothels. Forcing down her somber mood, she pasted on a weak smile. “We’re just a little behind on the cooking is all. Seems we have some hearty appetites in the hotel.”

  Matthew chuckled but Naomi had the sense he was merely being polite. Absently tracing the pattern engraved in the butter knife, he asked, “Do you remember the time John and I tried to blow that stump out of Pa’s pasture?”

  Relieved to have a new subject, she giggled, remembering well the colossal amount of dynamite the brothers had used. “When you shoved an entire box of TNT underneath the roots?”

  They both started laughing, drawing surprised glances from the customers. “Lord, Naomi, that explosion rattled windows all the way into Raleigh.” He grabbed his side, laughing and flinching at the same time. “I thought Pa was gonna kill us. And we were deaf for a week.”

  “And do you remember,” Naomi slapped her leg, her voice rolling with laughter, “the stump blew straight up about forty feet—”

  “—And came back down in the exact same spot,” he finished. By now, Matthew was wiping tears out of his eyes and the guests were staring openly. “Took a team of six horses to drag the monster out of the ground. Pa didn’t let us near dynamite for a year.”

  “And the paper reported it as an earthquake.” They both guffawed over that, holding their sides and gasping for breath. After a several more seconds, the laughter faded grudgingly and Naomi shook her head, trying to regain her composure. “How old were we?”

  “Thirteen.” A half-smile played around his lips. “Just about the time we started getting into all kinds of trouble.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Remember your first kiss?”

  Naomi felt the blush spread like a wildfire. Embarrassed, she rose and started clearing a table. “We don’t need to remember those particular moments, Matthew.” Yes, she had started out on a trail leading to him, but thankfully, John had changed her direction. “Especially since nothing came of them.”

  “I always wondered if you just got confused somehow, seeing as how we looked so much alike.”

  Scraping and stacking plates, she kept her back to him. “Exactly, Matthew. You two looked alike. I had to look deeper to see the differences.”

  She heard his fingers tapping on the table. “Explain it to me again, Naomi. Why John? Why did you pick him over me?”

  That was almost like asking someone to explain the differences between Cain and Abel. She didn’t wish to be ugly, though. “He loved me and always put me first. As I recall, with you I was about, what, fourth down the line? Behind Virginia Clark, Jim Beam and a game of Faro.”

  “That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”

  “No.” Listing the differences between the two brothers brought focus back into her heart, made her stronger. She turned to Matthew, pointing at him with a dirty fork. “John loved me. You just wanted a prize on your arm.”

  “Only at first, Naomi. True, everything was a competition between him and me—”

  “You hated losing.”

  “But I grew out of that.”

  “Not until it was too late.” The afternoon was waning fast and she noticed a chill creeping into the room. Buying time to sort her thoughts, Naomi walked over and tossed a few pieces of wood into the fireplace. “Or I suppose it would be fair to say almost too late. You and John reconciled. We were all eager to see you and start over.” Trying not to ignore the customers, she grabbed a pitcher of buttermilk from the kitchen’s serving counter and offered to refill their drinks. They thanked her but waved her off.

  “I’d bet dollars to dumplings you made him write that first letter.”

  “You’d be right.” Naomi set the pitcher back on the shelf, but stayed there for a moment, watching Ian and Rebecca starting the clean-up work in the kitchen. She wondered where Charles and Emilio were, but tried not to worry. She strode back over to the table where she’d left her platter, piled high with dishes “I told John you were probably too ashamed to ask for forgiveness, but either way, he had to give it.”

  “I don’t know if I would be inclined to forgive a man who pawed at my wife on our wedding night.”

  “You were drunk.”

  “A drunk man’s tongue speaks a sober man’s mind,” he said, his voice filled with regret.

  Naomi didn’t respond. The things Matthew said that night, that he loved her and hated John, that he would kill him for stealing Naomi, they were all too dark to dwell on. Matthew reached out and wrapped his big, masculine fingers around her wrist. “I don’t drink anymore, Naomi.” His voice was low and husky. “I got a handle on my temper. I’m not my brother, but I’m a better man than I was.”

  “We were all so young then, ruled by our passions.” She tried to ignore the warmth of his hand. “I’m just glad those weren’t the last words he ever heard from you.” She tugged away from him and turned toward the kitchen.

  “But I ripped your gown. I’ve always been sorry for that.”

  Naomi stopped. Matthew’s apology released a flood of memories. One, in particular, leapt from its grave.

  On her wedding night, as the last of the guests filtered out of the parsonage, Naomi snuck around back to her family’s wagon. Careful not to snag her gown, she reached over the wagon side for her valise. While her parents had moved some of her things to John’s farm, this bag held clothes appropriate for a special night.

  Smiling to herself, she turned and discovered the looming silhouette of John watching her. A slight spring breeze, though, carried the smell of liquor, correcting her guess. “Matthew.” She was vaguely uneasy at being alone with him. All through the wedding and the reception she’d caught him watching her with an angry flame in his eyes. She suspected the cause, but wouldn’t deal with it now.

  She clutched the valise in front of her. “Did you enjoy the ceremony and the reception?”

  “It was a sight to behold, that’s for sure. Kind of funny, I was the best man but you married my brother.” His tone was sharp and mean. Matthew only got snide like this when shored up by a little alcohol. Refusing to let him spoil her mood, she moved to step past him. His big hand snaked out and caught her arm. “We didn’t have a dance yet, Naomi.”

  She huffed, wishing he’d learn to handle his liquor. Still, there was something different in his meanness tonight, something … dangerous. “Fine. Let’s go inside and take one last spin around the floor.”

  “What’s the matter with right here?”

  With the grace and strength of a drunken bull, Matthew knocked the valise out of the way and snatched Naomi up against him. Furious, she pushed at his chest, but his arms held her in place like a vice. “Let me go right now, Matthew.”

  Roaring with laughter, he threw his head back and spun Naomi like she was a rag doll in his arms. Then he staggered to a stop. Swaying on his feet, he stared down at her. The weak crescent moon couldn’t veil the desire in his face, and it made her uneasy.

  “Matthew, I said, let me go!”

  “No …” One arm tightened around her like a band of iron. He wagged his finger at her. “No, I think I should get one good kiss before you ride off with my brother.”

  I’d rather kiss a rattlesnake.

  She was too close to get in a good strike, but she slapped Matthew with everything she had in her. Stunned, he dropped her and Naomi lunged for the parsonage, fighting her voluminous silk skirt. Matthew snatched at her shoulder, his fingers digging into the material. She heard the ripping, screeching sound of silk tearing and he pulled her again into his beefy arms. She fought harder, praying she wouldn’t have to scream, but when his lips came down on hers, smothering her, she knew she had no choice.

  As she turned her head away to find that scream, the huge, hulking figure of John sailed through the night, slamming her and Matthew to the ground. A hand clutched fu
tilely at Naomi’s bodice, but she scrambled away, leaving tattered lace in Matthew’s hands.

  Tangled in her billowing skirt, arms pin-wheeling, she clambered to her feet. Behind her, fists pounded on flesh and bone. Thuds and grunts filled the night. Matthew and John writhed, rolled, and spun madly on the ground, growling and swiping at each other like wolves fighting to the death. Gasping for breath, Naomi sought safety behind the horse harnessed to their wagon. Stuck watching the brawl, she wondered desperately where she could a get a gun to stop it.

  “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” Matthew bellowed. “You stole her from me!”

  They rolled, and John sat atop Matthew, banging his head into the ground with each word he growled. “Touch her again and I will kill you!”

  Matthew bucked, managing to pull his legs up between them and then pushed with the force of an ornery mule. John went flying backwards, crashing into the wagon. The side rail creaked and groaned with the impact as a loud grunt escaped him. He bounced off the wagon and landed in the grass face down. Both men, wearily, staggered to their feet. Chests heaving, coats hanging in shreds, they squared off and raised their fists again.

  “No!” Naomi burst out from behind the horse in a cloud of white silk and positioned herself between the two men. “You have to stop this!” The moonlight revealed their sorry state. Torn frocks, disheveled hair, bloodied noses, all because of her. Livid, she squeezed her hands into tight fists and raised them in front of her. “Just. Stop. It.”

  The three stood there, pain and rage circulating around them like the dust from a stampede. She had more to say but the cool night breeze kissed her naked shoulder. Embarrassed, Naomi tried to pull the ripped sleeve and bodice back up over her exposed flesh, but the dress wouldn’t stay. The torn satin was beyond repair. Her throat squeezed tightly with unexpected emotion. John stepped over to her and gently folded her in his arms. She collapsed against him, shocked by the tears that gushed forth.

  “He tore my dress,” she whispered in a choked voice, but what she meant was that Matthew had truly frightened her. Naomi felt John’s body tighten into cold steel.

  “I’m sorry, Naomi,” Matthew said, sounding horrified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I’m losing you—”

  “Lost.” John straightened. “You’ve lost her. Now you should leave, Matthew. Go someplace very far away.” John had an edge in his voice Naomi had never heard before. It was cold like the grave. “Go someplace I can’t find you.”

  The last words John ever spoke to his brother.

  The memory chilled Naomi. She swallowed, surprised by how dry her mouth had become. No wonder she hadn’t thought about that night in years. Matthew had left her feeling violated, and, oddly, ashamed, as if his behavior had been her fault. For a while, she’d hated him for causing the twisted emotions. But John had loved her and supported her, helped her let go of feelings that hurt only her. That was why she had eventually encouraged him to reconcile with his brother. Both of them had needed the freedom of forgiveness.

  She shook off the memory and turned to Matthew. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

  “I’ve thought about you every day, Naomi. Every single day.” A veil dropped and his eyes revealed everything in his heart. “I’ve never stopped loving you, not for one single second.”

  ~~~

  Twenty-One

  Naomi yawned and stretched and enjoyed the church-like quiet of the main street at 6:00 am. A shroud of fog lay over the tops of the buildings, muffling the sounds of people stirring and horses neighing. She’d spent a miserable, sleepless night tossing and turning. Midnight thoughts of Matthew’s declaration intertwined with hazy dreams of John and Charles. She’d floated in and out of memories and teetered on the edge of consciousness all night long, sometimes not knowing where the dreams ended and reality began.

  In the light of day, things weren’t much clearer. John felt too near with Matthew around. The more she saw of him, the more she needed to see Charles. Where was he? What had he and Emilio gotten themselves into with the marshal?

  Taking a sip of her coffee, she nodded as Sarah and Silas Madden rolled up in their wagon, punctual as usual. The short, rotund Sarah made the best pastries Naomi had ever tasted. Meeting her at the bakery had been a true Godsend. The girls had all just about reached the level of cooking they could handle and were feeling overwhelmed. Sarah came by twice a week now and dropped off pies, bread, cakes, and a few dozen cinnamon rolls.

  “Good morning, Sarah. Good morning, Silas.”

  Sarah’s husband, as skinny as his wife was plump, nodded and removed his hat. “Good morning, Miss Naomi.”

  Naomi smiled, always amused by Silas’s bald head. So smooth it shined. He set the brake and leaped down from the wagon with the agility of a much younger man. “Come on, dumplin’.” He raised a hand to help his wife down. Naomi sauntered around to the back of the wagon. Cloth-covered trays and baskets filled the space. She sighed as the scent of fresh sourdough bread and apple turnovers wafted through the air, warm and fresh and mouth-watering.

  “I’ve brought you some extra things, Miss Naomi,” Sarah waddled up beside her. “Silas and I have to go work on our place in the valley. Our son and his family are coming in from Missouri. I have to clean up for them, so I won’t be back again until next week.”

  “Oh? I thought you lived here in town.”

  “Part-time.” Silas came up on the other side of Naomi and reached for a box of something that smelled like cinnamon and apples. “We’ve got us a small spread about halfway between here and Silverton. Being part owners in the bakery in town was sort of an afterthought. Sarah has always enjoyed making her pastries.”

  Sarah took the box of pies from her husband. “I like the farm but it’s isolated, so we split our time. We have a boy out there who takes care of things. In return, we let him pan our creeks.”

  Naomi hefted a small tray up on her arm, careful not to spill her precious coffee. “Well, we’re very grateful for your baked goods, Sarah.” She swung her tray around. “I hope you hurry back.”

  ~~~

  At McIntyre’s insistence, Beckwith’s posse rode all night under a three-quarter moon to get back to Defiance by daybreak. Only a few early risers were on the street as the lawmen, outlaws tied and in tow, trotted toward the marshal’s office. McIntyre yawned as daylight lightened his grogginess but did nothing for his body. Every muscle and bone ached.

  He had to admire the marshal. A good twenty years older, the man never stopped, never even slowed down, and rode his horse like he’d been born to the saddle. Almost three days riding and McIntyre didn’t think the lawman was any the worse for wear.

  He, on the other hand, wanted coffee, a bath, his bed, and Naomi. Not in that order, either, but with the ghost-of-husband-past lurking around the hotel, he felt compelled to clean himself up. He touched the brim of his hat to Beckwith, and he and Emilio trotted on down the street.

  Tired of posting, he pulled his horse back to a walk and rested in the saddle. The livery stable was on the other end of town, past the hotel. He desperately wanted to stop in and see Naomi, but he wasn’t presentable. To confirm this, he rubbed his jaw and the stubble grazed his hand like sandpaper. Ahead of him about a hundred yards, he saw her and the Maddens unloading the baked goods. Arms full, they disappeared inside.

  Something hit Charles at that moment. There weren’t any words to describe it. Just a knowing—he had to ask her to marry him.

  Now. Because I might not ever have another chance. He rode up to the wagon to wait and was surprised that in spite of his resolve, those infernal butterflies surfaced again.

  “One of Miss Sarah’s turnovers sure sounds good about now.” McIntyre nodded absently at Emilio’s comment, as his attention was focused on the front door. He realized he had a death grip on his reins and flexed his fingers.

  “Can I put your horse away for you, Mr. McIntyre?”

  “No, thank you, Emilio.” McIntyre dismounted, frustrated by the
stiffness in his body. He felt more like fifty-six than thirty-six. Rubbing his right leg, the pain there a reminder of Chickamauga, he jerked his thumb toward the livery. “I’ll be along directly.”

  Emilio nodded and he and Cochise trotted off. After a few minutes, Silas, Sarah and Naomi stepped back outside. Naomi counted out some cash as she walked. “Two, three, four …” The group stopped on the boardwalk. As she handed Sarah the money, she saw him. Dusty, wrinkled, and stubbly, he knew he could pass for something the cat had dragged in, but Naomi’s face lit up.

  The morning sun glinted off stray strands of her hair, threads of spun gold wafting in the morning breeze. Her eyes, the green of a spring pasture, sparkled at him. Her soft lips, curved into a brilliant smile, inviting his kisses. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He forced down a grin and tried to maintain the proper air of manly stoicism, but the grin persisted. He’d done it. She was looking at him with the same glow she’d had for John once before.

  Silas and Sarah shared a knowing glance and chuckled. “Well, Sarah,” Silas scratched his ear, “I reckon we should be going.”

  “Oh,” Naomi shifted her attention back to the couple. “I’m sorry. Thank you again. I’ll see you next week.”

  As Naomi took a step down off the boardwalk toward McIntyre, he wrapped the reins around the hitching post and waited for her. The way she radiated joy and love did him in. He could have stood there and basked in the warmth of her gaze forever.

  He wanted to kiss her in the worst way, in a most ungentlemanly way, but he would stand down. Still, he couldn’t help half-yearning for the days when carnal thoughts of Naomi were as guilt-free as breathing. But for now, even if it killed him, he would treat her like a princess. He would prove to her, Matthew, and himself, that he was a changed man, a better man who could finally value purity.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been worried.”