Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2)

by Blanton, Heather

The tenderness in her voice startled him. The only other time she’d spoken to him like that, they’d both thought he was dying. “Beckwith needed riders. I asked Matthew to tell you.”

  McIntyre would have interpreted the V in her brow as an expression of unease, except she smoothed it away with a brush of her hand before he could be sure. “He couldn’t recall what had happened to you. He said he was busy getting stitches.”

  Eyes locked, they drifted toward each other, as if pulled by a magnetic force. Only the hitching post separated them but McIntyre found the distance maddening. She gripped the post and he placed his hands on the wood right beside hers, not touching her. He breathed in the aroma of fresh, warm bread and lilac soap, truly intoxicating scents. “Naomi, the other night, I was going to ask you something.”

  “Yes.” She looked coyly up at him through long, sultry lashes.

  He charted the blue flecks amidst the jade, committing them to memory. But he wasn’t going to live on memory anymore. He cleared his throat and sought divine guidance for the words about to come out of his mouth. Lord, make me eloquent. “I’ve always been a man who knew his own mind. I know what I want and I endeavor to go after it.”

  “I wouldn’t argue with that.”

  “Yes, well,” he cleared his throat again. He touched her cheek and blurted out, “Will you marry me, Naomi?”

  She smirked at the question. “Charles, you told me once that I’m as tough as some men you know. Still, I can be as prissy as any woman. I don’t think a marriage proposal should be a joke.”

  While she had a point, he was somewhat surprised at her cavalier attitude about this and dropped his hand. “You think I’m joking? Believe it or not, your highness, I have a good reason for asking now, at this very moment.” He took off his hat and poked his index finger through the bullet hole.

  She gasped. “What in the world …?” She touched the hat, then his head, as if to make sure his scalp was still intact. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. More than fine.” He replaced the hat and tilted it back, wondering how to go about this without sounding like a drunk, lovesick cowboy, yet get her to take him seriously. “I was going to get down on one knee in front of everyone, and that was still my plan, until this.” He glanced up at his hat and shook his head in disgust. “I could have died yesterday chasing a worthless horse thief and you would have never known how I feel.” Her raised brow wasn’t the reaction he wanted, either, so he softened his voice. “And I’m not taking another step away from you until you do know.”

  Judging by the shine in her eyes, McIntyre thought he was on the right track. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. “God still has a lot of work to do in me, Naomi. I think we’ve established that. But without you, I don’t see the point. I can’t waste any more time. Do me the honor of becoming my wife … please.”

  She wove her fingers in with his. “Say you love me. You realize you’ve said everything but that.”

  “Don’t you realize that’s all I’ve been saying? Nevertheless …” He bowed slightly in agreement and enunciated the words. “I. Love. You.”

  She closed her eyes, as if absorbing the words. “I love you, too, Charles, and I will marry you. Even though you are still a work in progress.”

  Naomi rose up on her tiptoes expecting a kiss but McIntyre pulled his head back. “Are you sure? You’re ready to move on? If there are reservations about me or ghosts from our pasts …”

  He thought perhaps a fleeting shadow of something darker passed over her expression, but she nodded. “I love you. We’ll be all right.”

  Dog-tired, he still found the strength to reach down and sweep her over the hitching post, drawing a gasp and a giggle from her. He held her in his arms and grinned. All kinds of ideas and images, mixed with an amazing sense of contentment, rocketed through him as he leaned in to seal the bargain. They both eagerly deepened the kiss, but he jerked back and dropped her to her feet when plodding hoofbeats intruded. Hands still on Naomi’s waist, he glanced at the passing rider. A ragged, dirty miner tipped his hat and slowed down to watch the show.

  McIntyre met the man’s gaze and showed his disapproval with one raised brow. The man kicked his horse back to a faster clip. But not fast enough. McIntyre wanted to kick himself for putting Naomi in such a compromising situation right there on the street.

  “This won’t do for your reputation, Mrs. Miller.” He stepped a respectable distance back and swept off his hat. “With your permission, I can have the Reverend here in a few days.”

  “A few days?”

  The dismay in her voice dragged his soaring mood back to earth. “Three at the most. It’s that or we have to wait at least six weeks. He’s the circuit preacher, remember? He’ll be moving out of the area.”

  Naomi crossed her arms and chewed nervously on a thumbnail. Her gaze flitted around the street. “But a few days. Matthew will still be here.”

  She hadn’t actually aimed the comment at him, he thought, but McIntyre wasn’t of a mind to ignore it, either. “Why is that a problem?”

  Never since he had met Naomi had he seen her act evasively as she was now. She shifted, backed up to the hitching post. Her eyes darted everywhere on the street and he thought she might bite off that thumbnail. Momentarily, his drilling, impatient stare brought her back to him.

  She rolled a shoulder. “Matthew expressed … some affection for me—that I don’t return—but I don’t wish for him to leave on bad terms. This could certainly cause some hard feelings.”

  Rising irritation stoked a fire in McIntyre. Matthew’s hypocrisy was along the lines of epic. McIntyre wasn’t good enough for Naomi, but a whiskey-swilling, lying lumberjack was? He found Naomi’s concern for Matthew’s feelings more than a little annoying as well.

  “I see.” He knew a wise man would retreat at this moment. Get a bath and some sleep. He was tired and not feeling very wise. “What did he say exactly?”

  Naomi straightened up. “You have to believe me when I tell you it’s all one-sided. It almost always has been.”

  “Almost always?” Obviously there was more here than he’d suspected.

  “You haven’t been here for me to tell you anything, Charles, so don’t look at me like that. I just hate for Matthew to leave angry and hurt again.” Naomi huffed an exasperated breath, ruffling her bangs. “Matthew and John had a … falling out on our wedding night. They had a horrible fight and that’s why Matthew left for California. It was years before he and John reconciled. I just hate to see him go under such sad circumstances again.”

  McIntyre took a step back and rested his hand on his gun. She had hesitated over the phrase falling out. Knowing he shouldn’t ask, he did anyway. “And the cause of their fight?”

  Her face clouded and she found something to stare at over his shoulder. “He … ” As if taking on a character from a play, she lightened her expression and tone, pasted a shaky smile across her mouth, and turned to her audience. “He had a little too much to drink and, well, pawed at me. It was nothing, really.”

  The false cheer in her voice wouldn’t have fooled a child. Naomi was a terrible liar. Having a fair sense of the type of man John was, McIntyre could make a good guess as to what had happened. “Naomi, for John to get riled enough—”

  “Charles, it was a long time ago. Matthew was a loose cannon in his younger days. And he was so drunk that night. He’s quit drinking. He’s made something of himself. I believe he’s a changed man. I don’t want any trouble between you two.” She raised her chin in challenge. “You do believe a man can change, don’t you?”

  He hated the triumph in her stance. Besides, what could he tell her? Matthew had ogled a saloon girl and tossed back a few shots of whiskey after being stabbed? Hardly evidence he hadn’t been rehabilitated. But Matthew wasn’t the saint Naomi wanted him to be. He had laid hands on her, what, seven, eight years ago? McIntyre had to assume he was capable of repeating the action. It would be the last mistake Matthew ever ma
de.

  “Oh, this has gone so badly. Please,” she grabbed his lapel and tugged him close. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? Shower, shave, rest for a bit. Perhaps we could go for a buggy ride this afternoon?” She rose up on her tip-toes so her lips were a breath from his. “We could celebrate our engagement.” She brushed his lips with hers, with a pressure lighter than butterfly wings.

  His irritation over Matthew dissipated like fog yielding to a summer day.

  “I said ‘yes.’ Get the preacher on the next stage.” Their breath mingled and he forgot everything but this moment, this woman who would be his wife.

  Fighting the spell she cast over him, he kissed the corner of her mouth, all that he would allow, and sighed. “I think the next few days will be the longest I have ever endured.”

  ~~~

  Smiling over Charles’ proposal, Naomi stopped at the batwings and watched her sisters and Mollie bustling around the kitchen. Admiration mixed with her joy. They’d suffered through their share of heartache in the last year—Hannah’s scandal, John’s death, Mollie’s brutal beating—yet, here they were in a wild mining town—happy as larks.

  Naomi truly did enjoy living and working with these girls. As far as her sisters went, they were closer now than they’d ever been, but she was ready to share her life with Charles. She believed that was the reason she was here, or at least one of the reasons.

  She pushed through the doors, clasped her hands at her waist and waited for the girls to notice her. Scraping scrambled eggs from a frying pan into a bowl, Rebecca saw her first. She set the pan back down on the stove and turned to her sister, a knowing smile dancing on her lips. Her pause pulled Hannah’s eyes up from a sliced tomato she was about to dice. Mollie followed their gazes and stilled the biscuit cutter in the dough.

  Their attention captured, Naomi took a deep breath. “Charles asked me to marry him.”

  Stunned silence transformed into hoots and giggles. The girls hurled themselves at Naomi to hug and congratulate her. After the warm wishes and kisses on the cheek, she took a step back from the group. “I said yes—”

  “Well, of course you did,” Hannah interrupted.

  “But what about you?” Naomi asked pointedly. She scanned the three beaming women before her. “What happens to us? The hotel?” One by one, their smiles melted away. “Charles has land outside of town. It’s over an hour away.”

  Head bowed, Rebecca sat down on the bench at the table and drummed her fingers. After a moment, she shrugged. “You love him. It will be all right.” She rapped on the table, as if to emphasize her words. “It’ll be like it was at home in Cary. We’ll still be close to each other, Naomi.”

  Hannah bit her bottom lip and shook her head slowly. Naomi eased a few steps closer to her. “What is it, Hannah?”

  She twitched her lips uncertainly for a moment. Finally, she looked up, her brow crinkled with worry. “What are we going to do? Are we going to run this hotel forever?”

  Naomi realized with a jolt that Hannah didn’t want to. How could she have not seen that coming? Her desire to be a nurse was sincere, and growing. “Hannah, I’m sure Rebecca would agree with me when I tell you, don’t put off nursing because of us or this hotel. Especially if you think it’s what God wants for you.”

  “I don’t know what God wants for me.”

  “You will, in time,” Rebecca said. “I’ve been toying lately with the idea of a newspaper. Maybe we won’t run the hotel forever.”

  “And I still want to go home to Kansas,” Mollie said taking a small step forward. “As soon as I hear back from my family.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Naomi said waving her hand, stunned at what she was hearing. “What are you all saying? Are you all sick of the hotel?”

  For a moment the three girls stared back at Naomi with startled looks. Then they exchanged guilty glances with each other. Rebecca licked her lips and slowly rose to her feet again. “Not sick of it, Naomi, merely entertaining possibilities.”

  Naomi studied one face after the other, feeling a little bushwhacked. But it was her own fault. Head over heels for Charles, she hadn’t been thinking about anything but him. Not what a future with him might look like. Not what her sisters might want out of life too. The hotel had been born of necessity. A logical business decision that kept a roof over their heads and a steady income flowing. Now, with a little time and planning, other possibilities could be open to them all.

  “Well, nobody said we had to make this place our life’s work,” Naomi conceded.

  Rebecca smiled and took Naomi’s hand. “And nobody said we have to make these decisions today. Why don’t we plan a wedding first?”

  ~~~

  Twenty-Two

  McIntyre was gratified that each new morning brought with it a desire to read God’s Word. If he kept it up, would the guilt eventually stop slithering around his soul? Would this sense of being unworthy cease hunting him from the shadows? Could he change into a man who willingly bowed his knee to a loving God?

  He slipped out of bed and into black trousers and a white silk shirt, left unbuttoned. Knowing Brannagh would be up shortly with his breakfast, he sat down at his desk. The Bible greeted him with a sense of peace. He laid his hand atop the leather-covered book and prayed. Help me find the answers, Lord. Still feeling inadequate about his right to come before God, McIntyre ran a hand through his hair. Diving in, he randomly flipped to Acts chapter 9.

  And Saul, yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord, went unto the high priest,

  And desired of him letters to Damascus to the synagogues, that if he found any of this Way, whether they were men or women, he might bring them bound unto Jerusalem.

  Intrigued by this evil, brutal man, McIntyre backed up to Chapter 8 and read. Paul had kidnapped, beaten, brutalized, tortured, and imprisoned believers. He had separated families, killed men and women, and left behind a trail of orphans. His name had been a synonym for terror. Yet, one encounter with Christ had changed Paul, thoroughly and completely, from the inside out.

  McIntyre was particularly struck by Chapter 9, verse 26:

  And when Saul was come to Jerusalem, he assayed to join himself to the disciples: but they were all afraid of him, and believed not that he was a disciple.

  They didn’t believe he was a changed man. McIntyre found comfort in the commonality.

  He leaned back from the book and pondered the similarities between himself and Paul. He thought about his early days in Defiance and the brutal ways in which he had established his town. The souls he had willingly beaten or buried just so he could keep his throne. The girls he’d so casually hired as prostitutes. And the men he’d enticed into his saloons to lose their souls to liquor, gambling, and sirens.

  He had breathed out his own threatenings on the citizens of Defiance, and the past sat heavy on his shoulders. Paul, though, after one amazing encounter with Christ, had turned his life into a force for good, for God. The tenacious, determined apostle traveled, witnessed, healed, spread the gospel, and lived a completely different life. He hadn’t done it to prove himself a better man. He simply was a better man because of his relationship with Christ.

  McIntyre shut the Bible, envious that Paul had not only found forgiveness, but lived like he was forgiven, moving beyond his past, surrendering everything to God. He hungered to know his trick.

  I have done so many things, God, for which You shouldn’t forgive me. I don’t even have the right to ask—

  “Helloooo, anyone here?”

  The silky, feminine voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. Dreading what a woman in his saloon probably meant, he walked out into the hallway. Below him, a young, petite Negro girl in a painfully low-cut dress glanced around the quiet room.

  From his vantage point, McIntyre had a sudden, clear, and unintended view of her generous bosom. His stare lingered for an instant. Ashamed of the instinctive reaction, he shook himself free and started down the stairs
. “What can I do for you?”

  Startled, she clutched her throat and tracked the voice. Circles under her eyes, the cheap dress and faded feathers in her hair told her story. “I’m lookin’ for a job, but,” she motioned to the empty saloon, “you don’t appear to be hiring.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked as he approached her.

  “Amanda.” She stared at McIntyre as if waiting for a reaction. He didn’t have one for her. “I worked here a few years ago. You called me Poppy.”

  He nodded, the name returning her to his memory. She hadn’t stayed long. Left with a miner, as he recalled. He couldn’t recall having slept with her, but knew that didn’t mean anything. Some women were memorable. Some were not. “I thought you got married.”

  “That didn’t work out.”

  So she was back in the business. He jerked a thumb toward the door “Well, the Iron Horse is closed. But there are five other—” he cut off the suggestion. Troubled by his willingness to toss her back to the cesspool, he walked past her to the bar and stared at himself in the mirror. Handsome, well-dressed, a rogue with dark hair, slightly long and curly, and perfectly trimmed beard. He looked like the old McIntyre. The old McIntyre would have sent her to the other side of town.

  Back to Jerusalem in chains.

  He thought of Amaryllis. Naomi had said the woman had refused the offer of a free room, a chance to choose a different path. McIntyre knew making such an offer hadn’t come easy to her. God love her, she’d made it anyway. He wondered if she would have though, had she’d known about his relationship with Amaryllis.

  Yes, she most likely would have.

  And he couldn’t do any less.

  He studied Amanda in the mirror. Christ had died for this girl, just as he had for McIntyre. They both had to try to start over.

  Brannagh, his bartender and now personal assistant, had left a pitcher of water on the counter, along with a few bottles of liquor. He poured a glass of water and asked, “Can I get you something to drink, Amanda?”