Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2)

by Blanton, Heather

  “Naomi,” his lips fought a smile, “do you realize how much money I have?”

  She suspected he had quite a lot. She knew the Sunnyside Mine ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There was a lot of silver and gold in Charles’ mountain, but she’d never sought to put a number to his assets. It simply didn’t matter to her. What did matter was whether he was going to share her life or take it over—a habit he’d shown a propensity for doing since they’d met.

  “Charles, the hotel is something my sisters and I built together.” She proceeded cautiously, unsure of how to put this. “What we do with it …” She shook her head, deciding against saying is our business. Naomi was better at starting fights than avoiding them, but this had to be settled. “Well, I mean, hiring more help to free us up some might be something we could consider, I suppose. But this is the kind of thing I have to discuss with Rebecca and Hannah first.”

  “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Naomi,” he smiled indulgently, as if he was talking to a petulant child, “but my fortune is yours. You have a vast ocean of opportunities before you now. What would you like to do? I could hope you’d want to be a doting wife, but somehow I don’t think that’s in the cards.” He slid his hand down her arm to rest it on her waist. “You can run the hotel, but hire more help. You can sell the infernal thing and start an entirely new business with your sisters, or finance your own venture.” He leaned down and brushed her lips with his, a touch as light as a butterfly “I want you, above all else, to be happy.”

  Naomi tore her gaze away from him and watched the swirling storm clouds racing overhead. Her thoughts were just as chaotic. What did she want to do? She hadn’t thought about Charles’ money and the life they could lead. She’d thought only of trying to stay near her sisters. But Hannah wanted to be a nurse and the closest school was back east somewhere. Rebecca, though a wonderful cook and seamstress, had mentioned the newspaper idea twice now. Apparently, she missed her old trade.

  And while Naomi hadn’t wanted to admit it, she was tired of the hotel. It made her feel so cooped up sometimes, slaving over a stove, hauling dirty dishes back to the kitchen, fending off the forward customers who thought the girls should be on the menu as well.

  Once upon a time, she had been a farmer’s wife and his business partner. She’d learned a thing or two about growing crops and raising livestock. She missed being outdoors. But how did any of that support Charles or give her a new direction? He had the mine under control, didn’t dabble with saloons anymore, and was working with Ian on how to bring about a more respectable Defiance. Where did she fit in? Could she help him run his ranch?

  Charles touched a spot between her eyes and tapped it lightly. “That troubled crease is going to leave a mark, princess. I didn’t mean to give you so much to think about.”

  She touched her forehead, coming back to the more immediate problem. “Do you remember our first day in Defiance? How you walked around the hotel laying out our next steps in rapid-fire succession, like a Gatling gun?”

  Charles chuckled, and Naomi felt a little insulted.

  “I remember it well. You were livid with my suggestions. I did overwhelm you a bit, I suppose.”

  “It wasn’t the amount of information, Charles. It was the way you presented it. You had this swaggering, lord-of-all attitude. You started issuing orders with the assumption that we wouldn’t question them.”

  He pulled away from her. “I was merely offering my experienced advice.”

  “You were giving commands.” In spite of trying to remain calm, Naomi could hear the frustration coloring her tone. “All I’m saying is that you don’t get to run everything, even when it comes to me.”

  “Forgive me, Naomi, but I assumed as your husband, my input would be expected, welcomed, possibly even valued.”

  The edge in his voice made her pull away and sit up on her knees. “You’re not my husband yet and I want some say in my own affairs.”

  Wetting his lips, Charles sat up slowly. He swiped a hand across his beard, and then rested it on his raised knee. “Naomi, you’re foolish to turn down my help. As I recall, we’ve had nearly this same conversation and you wound up accepting my advice, my carpenters, my plans, and the end result was a successful hotel.”

  Naomi clenched her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret. Charles shook his head and exhaled. “Fine. I’ve bought the restaurant out for the next few days. I think you should—” he scowled and rephrased. “I would suggest you talk to your sisters about taking another few days off …,” he softened his voice and reached for her hand, “so that you and I can spend some time together after the wedding.”

  She didn’t know if it was the longing in his voice, the love in his eyes, or the thought of spending time with Charles as his wife, but Naomi melted.

  “Naomi, I am a man who makes things happen. Granted, most of the ventures I’ve run wouldn’t get me sainthood, but I do know how to take care of business. I’ll try not to run rough-shod over you if you will consider my advice.” He lay back down and drummed antsy fingers on his stomach. “Ian observed the other day that he and Rebecca, should they get married, would be like an old, comfortable pair of shoes. You and I, on the other hand,” he cut his eyes at her, and she saw the teasing that danced in them, “he said we will live a life of thunder and lightning.”

  As if God was in agreement, thunder rumbled through the valley.

  ~~~

  Forty-One

  Rebecca pulled a brush through her long, dark locks and savored the caress of the bristles on her scalp. Sitting at her vanity, she tried to put Silas and Sarah out of her mind and focus on her dinner with Ian. She imagined an intimate, candlelit affair and smiled at the sudden thrumming of her pulse.

  She felt alive.

  But her heart drew her back to the life Sarah would be facing tomorrow. In a breath, her future with Silas was gone.

  Someone knocked at the door and she paused with the brush in her hand. “Yes?”

  “It’s me, Emilio. I am supposed to drive you up to Mr. Donoghue’s. Whenever you’re ready, the wagon is waiting downstairs.”

  Butterflies flitted in her stomach and Rebecca eyed herself in the vanity mirror one last time. She had moments when she was shocked by the age creeping up on her, and the increasing number of gray hairs flowing amidst the black. But tonight, her brown eyes glittered with a youthful intensity. The deep burgundy of a simple muslin dress brought out a glow in her skin. Biting her lip, she tied a matching ribbon in her hair then pinched her cheeks for some color.

  Seven years. Seven years since a man had kissed her. Seven years since Ben had made love to her. The thought sent a natural blush racing to her cheeks. Did Ian love her? Did he think about kissing her? Did he think about more?

  Oh, God, please don’t let him break my heart tonight. I just want to hear three words from him. After that, the rest will fall into place.

  ~~~

  Ian’s cabin sat in the center of a steep pasture, surrounded by wildflowers and bathed in twilight. A coffeepot stuffed with bright yellow daisies brightened the front porch. As she climbed the steps and caught the scent of wild roses, she noted, too, that somehow he’d managed to trim the grass in the front yard. The door creaked and she looked up.

  “Good evening, Miss Rebecca. Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Ian met her wearing a crisp, white shirt tucked into new dungarees. She’d never seen him wear those before. She thought he preferred the linen trousers. And she’d never seen him without his argyle sweater. The plain shirt downplayed that endearing middle-aged paunch of his. The dungarees were quite attractive as well, in a rugged sort of way. Embarrassed that she’d scanned him head to toe, she motioned to his yard as she stepped on to the porch.

  “Your yard is lovely, Ian. How in the world did you mow it?”

  Smiling, his eyes glowing with an energy Rebecca also hadn’t seen before, Ian reached up and scratched his freshly-trimmed beard. “I borrowed a go
ot.”

  She cocked her head slightly. “A what?”

  Ian gritted his teeth. “The farm animal. A gooooat,” he enunciated.

  “Oh,” she laughed at the language barrier.

  “Ye are quite lovely this evening, Miss Rebecca,” he said, his voice bold and husky.

  She could feel the compliment, the caress of his eyes, and almost sighed aloud. “You look very nice too—in those clothes.” Knowing her face gave away too much of her adoration, she turned to admire the view. From his porch, Ian could see the whole town. Defiance rested on the floor of an expansive, flat valley amidst ranges of steep, snow-capped mountains. Thick, green pines and a lesser number of hardwoods covered their lower elevations as a wide, bustling stream snaked its way through the middle of the valley. This was the stream that flowed behind the hotel. Dozens of trails snaked out from the town into the higher elevations and, at the far end, Rebecca could see another road coming in from a pass between the mountains. “What a lovely view to see every night.”

  As she watched, the final rays of sun disappeared behind Redemption Pass off to her right. Roiling, menacing clouds tumbled over the mountains at the opposite end of the valley. A flash of lightning illuminated the dark clouds from within and she wondered if the storm would reach them.

  “Dinner is ready, if ye’re hungry.”

  Rebecca started at the nearness of his voice from behind her. Standing so close, she could feel the heat of him and wished she could lean back on him. She imagined him wrapping his arms around her as they stood watching the night fall. Intoxicated by the thought, slowly she turned and fell into his wide, welcoming eyes. They’d never been this close before, at least not without a steak frying nearby. “I’m starving.” She wanted to scream the words.

  Ian swallowed and moved toward her. His chest brushed her bosom and he stepped back. He cleared his throat. “Right this way.” He motioned toward the cabin’s open door. Rebecca didn’t move. Her whole body felt like one big, hammering pulse. She held his gaze, willing him to touch her. He pursed his lips and took her hand. She swore a spark leaped between them. “I’ll leave the door open for propriety’s sake.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Still, neither of them moved toward the door. They were both waiting. For what, she didn’t know. She could feel the debate raging in him. Finally, he tugged her toward the door and the moment ended.

  Rebecca stepped into his cabin, wondering what had just happened. Clearly, Ian wanted to say something, do something, but he held back. Why? Trying to pay attention to her surroundings, she took in the simple, sparsely decorated cabin. He’d nailed fruit boxes to one wall for shelves. Nearby, a narrow plank desk sat covered with architectural sketches. His neatly made bed occupied the back wall. A pot-bellied stove stood a few feet over from it and warmed the room nicely. She smiled at the small table sitting in front of the stove. Candlelight illuminated two tin plates covered with baked pheasant, baked yams, and stewed apples. And she hadn’t cooked one morsel of it. But how had he cooked it?

  Ian motioned to a stool. “Isna Buckingham Palace—”

  “Ian, please, it’s lovely.” Rebecca sat down on the stool and grabbed the sides to move it forward just as Ian did. His hands covered hers, his breath tickled her ear … and they both stilled. Chills rippled down her spine. It would be so simple to just turn her head and find his lips.

  Ian shook his head, again breaking the spell, and helped her slide her seat forward. Linen napkins, real silverware, he’d outdone himself. It all seemed set up for a special evening. Finding hope in that, she decided she could wait on him to reveal his thoughts—and heart.

  He sat down opposite her and blessed the meal. She cut into the pheasant and took a bite. “Ian, this is wonderful but how–where–did you cook it?”

  “Out back. There’s hardly room to change yer mind in here. Since I’ve been working at the hotel with ye, I’ve not had much time for cooking. And as ye can see,” he patted his stomach, “I’m none the worse for it.”

  Rebecca savored another bite of pheasant as he spoke. She closed her eyes and experienced the smoky, nutty flavor and hint of rosemary. “You can cook. It’s very good.”

  He exhaled. “It’s been awhile since I did pheasant.”

  “Not too long, apparently.”

  For a while, the sound of forks and knives scraping across the tin was the only sound in the small cabin. Rebecca didn’t think it was a tense silence, just a patient kind. Back to that, she thought, glancing up at Ian. Yes, she’d learned a lot about patience thanks to Ian Donoghue.

  “That was sad business today, what with Silas getting killed,” he said between bites. “Defiance still has a way to go ‘til it’s civilized.”

  “The news will break Sarah’s heart in two. I’m glad Hannah and Mollie will take him home.”

  “Aye, ‘tis best that such news comes from a friend.”

  “It just goes to show how precious and fragile life is.”

  Ian halted his fork and seemed to think that over before finishing the bite of bird. “How long had ye been married when yer husband and child died?”

  Thoughts about Ben and Gracie never failed to bring a stab of pain. “Ben and I were married nine years. He and Gracie have been gone seven years this summer.” Oh, but she didn’t wish to dwell on her loss. Finished with her meal, she laid the napkin on the table and smiled up at Ian, intent on staying in this moment. “You did yourself proud, Ian. You can cook for me every night.”

  She’d meant the compliment to be light-hearted, but once out, it hung in the air between them. The look in Ian’s eyes changed again, heavy with emotion, and Rebecca’s heart started that all too-familiar and, so far, pointless gallop. Determination settled in his jaw and he reached across the table for her hand.

  “Rebecca, last year I asked for permission to court ye, and ye denied me.” She opened her mouth to argue, to explain, but he pushed on. “Since then, I’ve waited. Waited to see if I thought yer feelings toward me would change and if ye felt strong enough to love again.”

  Gently, he moved his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand. Rebecca breathed in quick, shallow gasps. ‘I love you, Rebecca.’ Just say it, Ian. Please. I … love … you.

  “It pains me greatly to say I’ve seen no hint, nothing—”

  “Oh, good grief, Ian,” Rebecca blurted. Huffing, she slapped the table and rose. She marched to the door and stood there, not seeing the view of twinkling lights and glowing tents or the half-moon just rising over the mountains. Shaking her head in consternation, she folded her arms tightly across her chest. “How can you be so blind?” She hugged herself tighter, afraid that if she couldn’t keep her self-control, she might turn around and kick him in the shin.

  “Ye mean … I’m struck dumb.”

  She heard the shock in his voice and snorted. “Dumb as an ox.” Her voice broke on the last word and she started blinking to stop the tears. “I can’t do this.” Mortified that she was on the verge of weeping like a silly girl, Rebecca pounded across the porch and rushed down the path toward town. It wasn’t safe to walk alone, but she didn’t care. Who would attempt to waylay an old woman anyway? Ian didn’t want her. No one wanted her.

  ~~~

  Forty-Two

  Rebecca wanted to scream as she pounded down the path. She nearly did when gruff hands grabbed her and spun her around.

  Ian.

  Ashamed of her emotional reaction, she tried to pull out of his grasp, looking anywhere but at him. He clutched her tightly to him with one arm and tilted her chin up. “Ye didnae let me finish.” He wiped a tear away with his thumb and she settled against him … a little. “I wanted a hundred times to just come right out and ask how ye felt. Then ye started burning things when I tried to speak of it and I started wondering if maybe ye thought I was too old. That I’ve nothing left to offer a wife.”

  Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut and twisted her head. Fear had held them back from so much.


  “The fact is ye make me feel like a young man again, full of vim and vinegar.” He pressed his lips to her forehead as he spoke. “I’m not meself without ye. I feel … undone. Ye’re the first person I want to see every day … and I go to bed every night dreaming aboot ye. Aboot life with ye. Aboot … loving again.”

  His words fell on Rebecca like rain on dry ground. She felt her soul filling back up, running over. He dragged his lips down her forehead and across her eye, to her nose, to her lips. “If ye’ll have this fat old man, I’d like to marry ye, my bonny Rebecca.”

  Rebecca laughed and threw her arms around him. She kissed him firmly, giddy with joy but after a moment, she pulled back, shocked at herself. They hung on each other’s gaze, drinking each other in. Ian kissed her, possessively, hungrily. Rebecca nearly wept as her senses jolted to life. Lightning flashed in her veins as she inhaled his scent, felt the stubble of his beard on her cheek, the heat from his arms as he enfolded her. He kissed her and kissed her wildly, like a starving man snatching at bread, and she kissed him the same way. Desperate, crazed, joyous.

  “My bonny Rebecca,” he whispered into her throat. “Say ye’ll marry me this night and wake beside me in the morning.”

  “Wh—what?” The touch of his lips against her skin seared her brain. Thoughts wouldn’t form.

  With a groan, he pulled away from her, leaving her feeling lost and abandoned. Dying for him, she tried to kiss him again, but he clutched her hands between them. “I have learned this day, Rebecca, that Marshal Beckwith is a Justice of the Peace.”

  “What?” Why did she keep saying that?

  “I thought perhaps if we married quietly, it wouldna interfere with Charles and Naomi. If ye’d like to have the preacher marry us, though, we could repeat our vows.” Rebecca blinked, trying to take this in, to understand the ramifications. Ian squeezed her hands tighter. “I’ve thought for many months now that we’re wasting too much time apart, Rebecca. I want my life with ye to start right now.”