Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2)

by Blanton, Heather

  Stiffly, he stepped away from her again. “I am a legitimate business man now. I’ve closed the saloon, sent my Flowers on their way with a little seed money … and I am engaged to be married.”

  That part of the statement stopped the whiskey at her lips. For several seconds, Amaryllis’s expression stayed perfectly still. Slowly a smoldering fire filled those ice- blue eyes and she set the drink down. “I heard. Anyone I know? I have always liked a little healthy competition.”

  She moved a touch closer and, for an unfathomable reason, he didn’t move back. Her captivating gaze, the sweet smell of her perfume, somehow managed to hold him still. Before he realized it, Amaryllis had slid her hands up his chest, grabbed his face and brought her lips up to his. His senses roared to life, rational thought abandoned him. She tasted like raspberries and her bosom pressed against his chest so invitingly. Of their own accord, his hands moved to her small, delicate waist, just like old times.

  I am a new creation in Christ.

  The Scripture exploded in his mind, along with an image of Naomi.

  His tongue burning with desire and guilt, he pushed Amaryllis away and held her at arm’s length. Disgusted with himself, he shook his head and whispered, “You don’t understand. I’ve changed.”

  Movement over her shoulder drew his focus to the door. His gut twisted when he realized Naomi stood in the entry, her face stricken with horror and heartbreak. Beside her, the Reverend, looking almost as devastated, closed his gaping mouth. McIntyre quickly stepped away from Amaryllis, but the damage was done. Naomi spun on her heels and fled as if wolves were chasing her.

  ~~~

  Forty-Six

  Panic stabbed McIntyre in the heart. God, how would he ever explain? First, he had to catch her. He couldn’t let Naomi go one second more with that vision in her head. She’d hate him. The pity on the Reverend’s face said even he had doubted McIntyre’s conversion. He couldn’t stand it if Naomi lost her faith in him, too.

  He brusquely shoved Amaryllis aside and raced to the door, but a tall, dark form blocked his path. Beckwith grabbed his shoulder. “The daughter of that peddler. She’s been spotted over near Engineer Pass with One-Who-Cries and his renegades. We’ve got to ride.”

  McIntyre knocked his hand away. “I’ve got to see Naomi.”

  He started to push past the marshal, but Beckwith shoved back. “You don’t seem to understand.” He turned slightly and lowered his shoulder, as if he was ready to block McIntyre again. “The girl’s alive and this might be our only chance to get to her, if we can catch One-Who-Cries between us and the soldiers.” For an instant, McIntyre contemplated shooting Beckwith as the fastest way to get past him, but the urgency of the situation finally seeped into his brain. Beckwith chucked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve already got a horse out here.”

  McIntyre muttered a curse and instantly regretted the coarse language, which surely wouldn’t help his cause. He grabbed the Reverend’s arm, intent on making the man believe him. “Reverend, tell her it’s not what she thinks.” He turned his head slightly so Amaryllis could hear. “I don’t care if I ever see her again, but I can’t live without Naomi. Tell her she can still believe in me.” God, let her still believe that. Desperation tightened his grip. “Promise me you’ll tell her.

  Reverend Potter stared back with a dubious expression. McIntyre’s knees nearly buckled with relief when the man nodded. “I’ll tell her, son.”

  Nodding his thanks, McIntyre walked out to the horse waiting for him. He was none too thrilled to discover he was riding after One-Who-Cries with Marshal Beckwith only. “You and I don’t make much of a posse, Marshal. The only thing we’ll make is a funeral.”

  Beckwith swung up into the saddle. “Wade is going to deposit Black Elk into a nice warm cell then ride out after your friends. Remember, that was your idea.” He backed the bay away from the hitching post as McIntyre seated himself on a big sorrel. “Besides, all we need to do is herd One-Who-Cries toward the soldiers.”

  McIntyre shoved his hat lower and shook his head. A third man probably wouldn’t have made much difference. If they ran into One-Who-Cries, they’d be wishing for ten. At least he and the marshal were heading in the opposite direction of Sarah’s farm. He gained some comfort from that, knowing that Hannah and Mollie were out of harm’s way.

  As the two men galloped out of town, McIntyre looked back over his shoulder. He didn’t expect to see Naomi, especially in the fast swirl of traffic, but hoped he might. Instead, he saw Reverend Potter make the sign of the cross for him. McIntyre touched his hat in thanks and turned back around. Beckwith’s black coattails flapped in the wind as he quirted the bay. Kicking his horse, McIntyre hunkered down in the saddle and followed. The faster his sorrel went and the farther he got from Defiance, the more an inexplicable sense of dread settled over him. He was going in the wrong direction and knew it, knew it as well as he knew his own name.

  But a young girl’s life was on the line. He prayed he was doing the right thing. He prayed for protection. He prayed Naomi would forgive him.

  ~~~

  Matthew walked stiffly down the boardwalk, cursing the noon sun that made his head ache as if a herd of horses had stampeded over him. The stench of unwashed bodies assaulted his nostrils, declaring war on his guts. The wound in his ribs throbbed with his heartbeat and he hoped this trek down the sidewalk would be worth the effort.

  As he shuffled forward, Matthew pondered the possible outcome of his plan if Amaryllis could manipulate things. He’d slogged to within about a hundred feet of the stage coach office before he realized the noon stage had already arrived. He was confused for a moment, seeing passengers climbing on, and he stopped. He was late. So where was Amaryllis? Had she even bothered to show up?

  A few choice words from some men in front of him drew his attention. He grinned with delight when he saw Naomi pushing through the miners, storming toward him. And the shattered look–oh, beautiful! Matthew could have danced a little jig as he prepared to intercept the clearly furious, clearly devastated woman. Somehow, Amaryllis had pulled together the perfect timing and earned her thousand dollars.

  Matthew waved at Naomi. “Hey, what are–” He stopped, letting well-practiced compassion sadden his countenance. “Naomi, darlin’.” Eyes blazing, jaws clenched, she meant to stomp past him, but he grabbed her arm. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter? Something happen?” Naomi looked up at him with an expression of such deep heartbreak that guilt twitched in his soul—just a twitch, not to be repeated. For a moment he saw her turmoil, a longing for the past, for John, and he spoke gently to her. “Naomi, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

  She opened her mouth but no sound came out. A flood of emotions cascaded over her face and, for an instant, he had hope. She gazed on him with yearning, love, even desperation, but like a sudden afternoon thunderstorm, she let go. Tears welled up and he saw mindless fury replace the pain. “Don’t touch me!”

  She jerked her arm away and sprinted toward the hotel.

  Matthew leaned on his cane and scratched his chin. While he hadn’t appreciated that last change in her, he figured he could wander back to the hotel in a bit and console her. She needed a shoulder and his was all hers. She’d come around. He felt sure of it. In the meantime, he wanted to see Amaryllis, if she wasn’t still entertaining McIntyre.

  Pounding hooves caught his ear and he turned as Marshal Beckwith thundered by on his bay mare, pulling a rider less, antsy sorrel. The lawman practically rocketed toward the Iron Horse then leaped from the saddle like it was on fire.

  Concerned his plans might go awry somehow, Matthew hurried forward through the crowd, peering over miners and pushing past lumberjacks. The marshal had stopped at the front door of the saloon and was engaged in conversation, but Matthew couldn’t see with whom. A moment later, he and McIntyre headed for the horses. Scowling as if he was contemplating the marshal’s murder, McIntyre jammed his hat on his head and jumped on the sorrel. The two pulled out and McIntyre
cast a glance backward. A man in a black suit stepped out on the boardwalk and made the sign of the cross after the two riders.

  Well, now … Matthew scratched his head. What has happened here? He wondered if he could be so lucky as to have McIntyre called up for posse duty again.

  The old man in the suit started toward Matthew. Flustered, he turned and peered intently into the window of the saddle shop, rubbing his neck for cover. He caught a glimpse of the white collar and wondered if the Reverend had been a witness to Amaryllis’ concocted play. Anxious for details, he hurried to the Iron Horse where he found her leaning on the bar, her hand wrapped around a drink.

  Matthew appraised the dress she was wearing and smiled to himself. The gal hadn’t come to lose this battle, that was for sure. He sauntered up to her with as much grace as he could muster, considering his condition. “Well, Amaryllis, I think you’ve earned your money.”

  Angry blue eyes flashing with displeasure hit him like a blast from hell’s furnace. Something had gone wrong. Fiddling with the St. Jude medallion around her neck, she positively fumed. “You did not tell me Charles McIntyre has gone respectable. And,” she straightened up, “you did not tell me he is engaged to be married.”

  Matthew chewed on her disapproval for a second, puzzled as to why any of that mattered to her. “True, I didn’t mention any details. Didn’t think you needed ’em. It was worth a thousand dollars to me to have Naomi catch you with him, as I explained. Did you accomplish that or not?”

  Her full, pink lips turned into a shaky pout. “He pushed me away. He’s never done that before. No one has ever done that. But I know she saw us kissing.”

  “She did indeed.” And Matthew was going to savor every beat of Naomi’s broken heart. He rubbed his chin to hide a pleased smile. So pleased, he was dang near tempted to swing Amaryllis around like they were at a square dance, but he would contain himself.

  “I thought she was merely another one of his girls.” Amaryllis paused. The quiet drew Matthew’s gaze back to her. “He loves her. I saw it in his eyes. I am superstitious, Matthew.” She let the medal slide from her fingers. “There is a curse upon us now. Love is a strong force that will have its justice.”

  Matthew started to laugh, but cut it off when he realized she was serious. To hide a niggling of worry in his brain, he snorted with contempt. “You were down in New Orleans too long.”

  “Maybe, but I am going to get a room at that hotel, take a bath, and get on the first stage out in the morning. Defiance is no good for me now.”

  Matthew decided he couldn’t care less about her plan. His was the one that mattered. “What was all that about with the marshal?’

  “He wanted Charles to ride with him, something about an Indian and a captive girl.”

  Gratified with the way things had turned out thus far, Matthew poured himself a glass. “Amaryllis, when I met you, I knew you’d come in handy.” He raised the glass to her, but she didn’t offer hers. He shrugged off her disdain and took a sip. “We’ll have to walk into the hotel separately. Wait here a few minutes before you come down. And remember,” he reached into his pants pocket and produced a leather drawstring bag filled with coins, “you don’t know me.”

  Smiling, Amaryllis took the payment and pressed it to her bosom. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  ~~~

  Forty-Seven

  Feeling like the King of Siam, Matthew headed back for the hotel, an almost lively bounce in his step as he flowed with, and sometimes against, the men of Defiance. His size pretty much kept the conflicts limited to nothing more than dirty looks. As he walked, he could see Naomi weeping in her room, Rebecca consoling her. He would slip in, sit patiently and listen, rub her arm sympathetically, softly offer his condolences. Eventually she’d see Matthew … really see him.

  And maybe, on second thought, he’d keep Amaryllis around long enough to make sure Charles McIntyre’s stripes were in full view. After that, the little missy could hit the trail. Matthew waited for a hotel guest, a fella with a saddle bag tossed over his shoulder, to come through the front door before he went inside and headed toward the stairs. Rebecca startled him by coming out of the kitchen, an apple in one hand and her reticule in the other. “Rebecca, how’s Naomi?”

  She stopped short. “What do you mean? Is something wrong with her?”

  Matthew thought quickly. If Naomi had avoided Rebecca, maybe he could just waltz right on into her room and play the hero. “No. I mean have you seen Naomi?”

  “No, not since she went to fetch the preacher.” She polished the apple on her sleeve as she strolled toward the door. “I have some things to pick up at the mercantile. If anyone comes in for a room, just tell them to sign the register and take a key. Do you need anything from the store?”

  A slow, easy smile crept across his mouth. “Nope, not a thing.”

  He waited for her to clear the building before he took the stairs to Naomi’s room. Her door was partially ajar. He listened for a moment but didn’t hear the expected sound of muffled sobs or even sniffling. Puzzled, he pushed the door open a hair. “Naomi, are you all right?”

  Only silence answered. He opened the door and surveyed her neat, simple room. The bed was made, her shawl rested on the footboard. Irritated that the only decoration was a wedding photo of her and John by her bedside, he crossed to her window and searched the back yard below. She wasn’t in the garden, she wasn’t down by the water.

  He breathed a curse and wondered where else she could have gone. At a complete loss, he surveyed the room again hoping to spot a clue. Nothing tipped him off. The woman had disappeared. After a twinge in his side, he decided a quick swig would clear his mind. He’d keep the visit to Tent Town short, since Naomi was around here somewhere and she needed him.

  ~~~

  McIntyre had to hand it to Beckwith. The marshal had a sixth sense about tracking men. He squinted at the rider coming toward them. Except that was no Indian. Through the long evening shadows that reached across the rutted dirt path, they could make out the silhouette of a soldier. The marshal nudged his horse out on to the trail and McIntyre followed. Seconds later, the cavalry scout jerked his horse to a halt in front of them.

  “Are you the sheriff from Gunnison?” The scruffy boy’s dubious expression deepened as he scanned the road behind them. “I thought you had a posse.”

  “No, we’re out of Defiance.” Beckwith’s jaw tightened with suspicion. “Your C.O. wired and asked if we could ride up the south side of Engineer Pass, maybe drive One-Who-Cries toward you.”

  “Well, I’m trying to find that posse from Gunnison. Colonel Wilkes thinks the renegade may have doubled back and is heading north again.”

  A bolt of fear shot through McIntyre. That would put the renegade on the other side of Defiance, and Sarah’s spread right in the middle of the trail.

  “How did he slip through?” Beckwith asked, his voice carrying a none-too-subtle accusation.

  The scout stiffened but apparently chose to let the insult go. “That’s what One-Who-Cries does best. Anyway, I don’t have orders for you. I’m supposed to tell the crew from Gunnison—”

  “We’re heading back.” McIntyre had heard enough. He shot Beckwith a disgusted glare. “Or at least I am.”

  He turned his horse and took off in a cloud of dust. Even riding hard, he wouldn’t make it to Defiance before midnight. Still, he would check on Naomi, maybe at least gauge things between them. After that, he could change horses quickly and get out to Sarah’s.

  He needed to keep his mind on his business, but the devastation in Naomi’s eyes haunted him. The past six hours had been hell for him. Questions and accusations rained down like a hail storm. What Naomi must think, what Matthew might be trying if he knew about this rift? And why the Sam Hill had Amaryllis come back to the Iron Horse? More importantly, why had he let her get that close?

  Because he was still that weak.

  He slowed his horse down to a trot, taken aback by the th
ought. He wanted to shoot himself for putting Naomi through this. He’d warned her about the women, but had been arrogant enough to think none of them would have an effect on him.

  Again, he saw her face, the shock, the heartbreak—her trust in him completely shattered, and his spirit died. From the moment he’d met her, he’d put Naomi through so much, from Hawthorn threatening to kill her to Amaryllis breaking her heart.

  God, I love her too much to do this to her.

  And he knew what he had to do now. It would rip out his heart, but if he loved her, truly loved her, he should give her what was best for her—her freedom. Freedom to find and marry a respectable man who would never put her in such contemptible circumstances.

  The decision, however, did not allay the sense of disquiet haunting him from the moment he’d ridden out of town. It roared to the surface again and screamed at him to hurry back to Naomi. The urgency pounded in his brain like a stampede and he kicked the horse back to a gallop that transformed into an all-out run.

  ~~~

  Forty-Eight

  Night had long since settled when McIntyre, Beckwith on his heels, crested Red Mountain Pass. He had expected to be met with the sight of Defiance, tents and buildings glowing serenely on the valley floor. Instead, flames from the west end of town lit the night sky like a giant torch.

  The hotel!

  His heart stopped and a bone-chilling dread seared his mind. He kicked the sorrel and raced toward town, trying to outrun the nightmarish scenarios that hunted him like a pack of demons.

  But the nightmare was real. Before he reached the hotel, he heard the deafening cacophony of crashing, splintering wood. Men screamed warnings as the ravenous flames devoured the fuel. McIntyre raced down Main Street in time to see the second floor of the Trinity Inn collapse into the burning jaws of the first floor. Flames and sparks clawed angrily at the sky.