“But the preacher will be here tomorrow.”
“Aye … Aye.” The second time he said it, Rebecca heard the defeat in his voice.
“I’m not saying no, Ian.” She backed away from him and rubbed her forehead. “I just need to think a moment.”
She didn’t feel that she needed a preacher per se to make the marriage legal. She would, of course, prefer it, but she didn’t want to interfere with Naomi’s wedding, either. If she and Ian waited, it might be weeks, possibly months, before the preacher made his way back around to Defiance. On the other hand, she was trying to finish Naomi’s wedding dress. She didn’t really have time to be distracted by Ian right now. It felt strange, too, to make such a decision without her sisters.
Strange, maybe, but not wrong. Ian stood straight and tall, his hands hanging at his sides, clenching and unclenching as he waited. In the shadowy light of the rising moon, she could see the hope in his face, feel the love radiating from him. They’d wasted so much time already.
“I could have married you the day I met you, I think,” she said, recalling Ian marching into the hotel, his arms full of architectural drawings.
He closed the distance between them and grasped her shoulders. “Aye, the moment I saw ye, ye took my breath away. Ye are the most beautiful, most stunning woman I’ve ever met. But ye know it’s more than that?” She nodded, thrilled with his compliment. He did think she was beautiful, after all. “I love ye, Rebecca, and I always will. Come and grow old with me.”
She touched his cheek, slid the back of her fingers across his beard. “The best is yet to be, the last of life for which the first was made.”
Thank You, Father. Thank You.
~~~
Billy stood alone in the middle of the quiet, empty kitchen, lost. He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed, missing all the bustling activity that usually went on in here. McIntyre had taken Naomi off for a buggy ride. Rebecca was dining with Ian. Emilio was off escorting Mollie to Tent Town for one last talk with Amanda. He admired the girl’s compassion.
And he appreciated that he was alone in the hotel with Hannah.
Aside from the guests, of course. He wanted to knock on her door and ask if she and Little Billy would like to go for a walk. Although at this moment, he lacked any gumption to do so. Coming to Defiance felt like a two-steps-forward, three-steps-back sort of journey.
Why am I here, if I can’t make any headway with her?
The question hadn’t been directed at God, but Billy sensed He was listening.
The kitchen falling into twilight shadows, he sat down in the chair at the head of the table and hid in the growing darkness. Still trying to understand her, he ran that kiss through his head for the thousandth time. She’d given in for one second. For one fleeting instant, he’d held the old Hannah in his arms.
Then she had practically growled at him and flown into Emilio’s arms.
Emilio. In spite of everything, Billy liked him. Emilio was his own man, confident in himself. A good, decent person, he treated Hannah–and all the ladies–with a tremendous amount of respect. He’d accused Billy of not respecting Hannah and he was right, which is why Billy had punched him. The truth hurt.
He respected her now, for sure. Hannah had grown into a strong, beautiful woman, a loving, capable mother, and she managed her duties, both in the hotel and for Doc, with alacrity and skill. While he’d never thought of her as dim-witted, Defiance had brought forth amazing maturity and wisdom in her.
So what if Billy bought the mercantile and Hannah never came back to him? What if she married Emilio? Would he be able to live with watching Emilio and Little Billy walk down the street together, father and son? Or Hannah sitting beside Emilio in church, her arm hooked around his? He rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the images. The whole scenario was a nightmare.
And his soul cried out. “God, please don’t let me lose her,” he whispered. “Just show me what to do and I’ll do it … anything.”
~~~
Forty-Three
About to push through the café door, Hannah froze. She’d almost barged in on Billy, but when she realized he was just sitting there, alone in the dark kitchen, she stopped. She knew a man in agony when she saw one. Feeling a little guilty, she watched him for a moment, wishing she could read his mind, discover a clue as to what he was thinking.
Part of her ached for him, part of her wanted to go in there, wrap him in a tight hug, stroke his dirty-blonde hair, and tell him everything would be all right. If he would simply trust in the Lord.
The coward in her wanted to back away silently, as if she’d never seen him there, slouching, with the weight of his world on his shoulders.
But she couldn’t ignore the gently whispered prayer and her heart broke for him. She made a little warning sound with her boots. Billy started but didn’t turn around as she entered the kitchen.
“Goodness, what are you doing sitting here in the dark?” She marched over to the table and plucked a match from the box in the center. She lit the lamp overhead, but kept it low. Unsure of her next words, she sat down in the chair closest to him.
He stared down at his hands, splayed out on the table in front of him. “How long were you standing there?”
She debated the answer and decided to go with the truth. “Long enough.”
He sighed deeply and leaned back in the chair, dragging his hands to the edge of the table. “Well, if nothing else, at least you’ve got me praying.”
Stray hairs had fallen across his eyes and she had to clench her fist to keep from reaching up and moving them. “That means a lot to me.” Again she thought of that night in Mr. Tulley’s cabin. Billy had been so patient and gentle. He hadn’t rushed any part of it and he’d loved her, so slowly and easily.
She dragged a hand across her mouth, trying to wipe away the memory of his kiss. How many times had she asked God to forgive her for their sin? A thousand? And she had asked God to take away her feelings for Billy.
Broken, he turned to her and she realized that prayer had not been answered.
Or was the answer no?
“I was sitting here thinking what I would do if you married Emilio.” The wounded look sliced clear down to her heart. “It would be hell, and what I deserve.” He shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. “But I can’t leave. I can’t leave you and my son.”
“Not even if your Pa demanded you come home or promised you the whole Page fortune?”
Billy snorted, as if the idea was ludicrous and irrelevant. “Not even.”
She thought long and hard before she spoke again, trying to sort things out and say this just right. “I need time, Billy. I think I know in my heart that you do still love me and that you won’t hurt me again like that.” She wrangled with the next statement and said it slowly, gently. “But I need to see the proof. And I don’t know exactly what proof looks like.”
He pondered that for a moment, then straightened up and reached for her hand. A breath away from her, though, he curled his fingers in and didn’t touch her. “Fair enough.”
~~~
Her head still reeling from Rebecca’s news, Naomi hung back as her sister and Ian stepped inside the marshal’s office, followed by Hannah carrying her son, Mollie, Emilio, and Billy. The thud of their heels on the boardwalk gone, hers and Charles’ footfalls sounded lonely on the deserted street.
She’d been thinking hard about everything Rebecca had told her, her reasons for marrying Ian now. The argument that she didn’t want to intrude on Naomi’s wedding was silly, but the other part, about not wanting to waste any more time, Naomi couldn’t get that out of her head. Resolute, she stepped in front of Charles and turned to him, laying her hand on his chest to halt him. “I have something to say before we witness this wedding.”
His brow arched and his mouth twitched. She knew he was amused. “I’m listening.” She pulled him out of the street lamp’s circle of light to the shadowy edge, lightly clutching his lapels. A cold rain drop s
prinkled here and there on them, the storm apparently still uncertain of its timing. Like the rain, the crickets’ song was hit-and-miss in the chilly air, their voices reminding her that spring would fade into summer before they knew it. Time was such a precious commodity.
Perhaps seeing her concern, Charles encircled her waist and asked, “What is it, Naomi?”
“Why don’t we get married tonight?”
“Is that what you really want?” Her hesitation answered his question and he smiled at her. “I’m fine waiting for the preacher.”
“That’s just it.” She looked again at that hole in his hat. “Maybe in Defiance you shouldn’t wait. You almost got shot. Silas did get shot. Rebecca and Ian knew they were supposed to be together the moment they met. Maybe we should be living life while we can.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, he seemed to ponder her offer for a moment. He slid his hands around to her ribs as the wheels turned. Finally, he shook his head. “I’ve been reading, Naomi, and I understand that the Church is the bride of Christ. That tells me that Jesus sets some stock in the wedding ritual. He likes a beautiful bride, a pure bride.”
“I’ve been married before, remember.”
“But the wedding is a symbol for a relationship, a deep, abiding one. It is also an outward symbol … one I want this town to see. So, no, Mrs. Miller,” she could see the gleam of his teeth and hear the humor in his voice, “if you’re asking me to marry you tonight, I’d have to reject your proposal.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, I am not,” he answered instantly and they both laughed. “I realize I could walk into that office and walk out with you as my wife.” He wrapped her in his arms again, pulling her snuggly up against his chest. “My conviction on this matter is shaky at best. So be warned. If you insist on this course, I will be forced to comply. Against my will, you understand.” He leaned down and kissed her and Naomi’s knees turned to water. “Please insist,” he whispered huskily, nibbling on her lips.
The jangle of a wagon and the boisterous, inappropriate conversation of the two male passengers interrupted them. Grudgingly, Naomi and Charles stepped apart, still holding hands. He stared at her from the shadows, waiting. She huffed a great sigh. Oh, she didn’t want to say this. “Fine. We’ll wait.”
“Fine. Besides, I’m not quite ready.”
“You’re not ready? Not ready for what?”
The mischievous grin reappeared as he walked by her, pulling her along. “Just a few more things to be done, don’t worry, I’ll be ready Saturday night.”
~~~
To Naomi’s amazement, Marshal Beckwith conducted a beautiful, thoughtful ceremony. He even offered a few inspired words of wisdom. The group had gathered around him and the couple in the center of the jail. Someone had hung up a blanket to shield them from a lone prisoner in the last cell.
Naomi was surprised that Ian had exchanged his normal dress of argyle sweater and trousers for a crisp white shirt and blue dungarees. Rebecca wore her burgundy dress and held a small bouquet of hastily picked wildflowers. A lovely couple, indeed, Naomi couldn’t be happier for them.
Their pledges of love finished, Marshal Beckwith tucked the Bible underneath his arm and startled everyone by plucking two rings from his breast pocket. His chiseled face softened a bit as he explained that Mr. McIntyre had a collection of such things in his safe. Naomi didn’t like knowing that miners had gambled away their wedding rings, but she also knew that the couple now using these would never take them off. Warmed by the thoughtful gift, Naomi hugged Charles’ arm and gave him an approving smile. The man thought of everything.
Beckwith finished the ceremony by solemnly placing Rebecca’s hands in Ian’s. “May you always share with each other the gift of love and be one in heart and in mind. Therefore, what God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. By the power vested in me by the new State of Colorado and Almighty God, I now pronounce you man and wife.” Beckwith winked at Ian. “You may kiss your bride.”
~~~
Naomi searched the mountain where Ian’s cabin sat, but couldn’t see it from the steps of the hotel. Charles came up behind her and wrapped her in a warm embrace. He smelled of apple-flavored tobacco and something else manly. His scent, that devilish beard, his dark eyes, sometimes they were overwhelming. She settled back into him and tried for the millionth time to understand how he affected her. She could feel so at peace with him and yet so alive. In his touch, with every caress, every kiss, he brought her a soul-deep … finality. Like a story at its end.
“Ironic, isn’t it,” he said, resting his chin atop her head.
The temperature had started dropping to a more normal feel for a late spring night in the Rockies. Chilly, she snuggled deeper. “What is?”
“That you wanted to get married tonight and I said wait.”
“Oh.” She chuckled. “Are you sorry? After all, it could be us—” She bit that off, surprised at herself.
“Yes, it could be us enjoying our wedding night.”
They fell silent and Naomi was fairly certain they were both imagining the same thing. Oh, how she longed to be with Charles like that, but at the same time, the thought terrified her. “Rebecca has been alone for so long. I wonder how it will be for them.” She hadn’t really meant to share that thought, yet Charles seemed to know exactly what she meant.
“I told Ian,” he kissed the top of her head with a slow lingering caress, “to take it slowly …” He kissed the back of her head the same way and Naomi’s pulse started pounding like war drums. “That they have all night.” His lips slid around to her ear and he kissed her there, nibbling on her lobe. She swallowed, beginning to feel faint. “If he took it slow and easy …” Naomi tilted her head as he brushed his lips down to her neck. Charles’ voice softened and filled with the thick, husky sound of desire. “She’d let him know …”
His hands moved back and forth from her ribs to her stomach. He kissed her temple. His hot breath fogged her rational mind and she raised a hand to his neck, twining her fingers through his black curls. His beard gently grazed her cheek. His lips went back to her neck. Naomi’s heart thundered. “ … when the timing was right.” She’d completely lost track of what he was saying. She couldn’t think and she felt like a living spark of electricity. He stopped kissing her and his hands on her waist stilled. “You have no idea, Naomi, what it takes to leave you every night.” The passion in his voice, his battle to control himself, was intoxicating. He moved his hands to her shoulders. “Especially tonight … when I didn’t have to.”
He sighed and pulled her into his arms. She slid inside his coat and held him tightly, resting her cheek on the lapel of his satin vest. For a time, they stood there, holding each other and listening to the rowdy sounds emanating from Tent Town. When he spoke, the uncertainty she heard tore at her heart. “My mother was a godly woman and yet she couldn’t turn my father …” He faded off and his chest rose with a deep breath. “He was a scoundrel of the worst sort. I want to be a better man than that. I want to be a better father.”
“Oh, Charles,” she squeezed him tighter, knowing he already was a better man, and would be a better father, if they could conceive. “You will be.” She closed her eyes and finally shared her deepest fear. “But what if I can’t give you children?” Her voice broke on the last word and she bit down, trying to keep tears at bay.
He hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head. “It has not escaped my notice that you and John had no children after several years of marriage. Coupled with the fact that you can’t cook, I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
She gasped and stepped back from him. The smirk on his face motivated her to deliver a healthy jab to his ribs. He flinched and she fumed. “I can’t believe you made a joke about that.”
He touched her cheek and grinned wryly. “Hannah mentioned that she hopes we have a passel, I believe were her words. I assumed from that, you’re capable.” He pulled her back into his embrace and kissed t
he top of her head again. “I look forward to many, many attempts at building a family with you, Naomi, whatever the outcome.”
~~~
Forty-Four
One-Who-Cries tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife, squeezing until he felt his fingers would break.
Hopping Bird, dead?
He gritted his teeth and waited for the young brave before him, gasping for breath, to finish the story. He had run all the way from the White River Reservation with the news. “Two soldiers got drunk … they were pushing Two Spears around … Hopping Bird …” He leaned forward and rested his hands on his buckskin covered knees, his breaths slowing. “Hopping Bird tried to stop them and one of them cracked her skull with his gun.”
The fire popped behind the boy. One-Who-Cries closed his eyes and listened to the snap of flames and the song of crickets. He could feel the hate rising. Like a flooding river after a spring storm, dangerous and unstoppable. “Where is the boy?”
“Chief Ouray came and took him away.”
The darkness of his fury closed over him. Blackness swallowed his world and silence followed. He couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, a thousand torches ignited all at once in his mind. He saw Blue Coats running and screaming, burning arrows protruding from their backs. He saw Charles McIntyre hanging from a pole, his skin peeled off and his blood glistening in the firelight. He saw the traitor, Chief Ouray, face down in the dirt, his head squashed like a melon.
The force of the vision, as real as a physical blow, dropped him to his knees. He clutched a handful of sand. Like a starving man, he feasted on the hate that poured into him, drawing strength from it.
Hopping Bird was gone … and One-Who-Cries tasted death on the night wind.
~~~
Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 27