Her jaw went slack and her knees almost buckled. “What? Why?”
“Because I love you too much.” He clutched her hands between them. “When I looked over Amaryllis’s shoulder and saw what I had done to you, the pain I caused, I …” he trailed off and shook his head. “I can’t–I won’t—do that to you again.”
Angry, Naomi snatched hers hands away and stepped back. “Say it plain. You want that trollop instead of me.
“What? No. God, no, I don’t care if I ever see Amaryllis Dumas again. Actually, I hope I never do.” He grabbed her shoulders. “I won’t make that mistake again, but Amaryllis won’t be the last woman to come looking for me. And what of men like Hawthorn? I can’t keep putting you through that.”
Naomi folded her arms and turned away from him to think. Was this the truth? Would he walk away from her to save her? For the millionth time, she saw Rose point her gun at him, saw Charles, unarmed, lunge for the weapon … to save her. Truthfully, she had no doubt there wasn’t any sacrifice he wouldn’t make for her. So how could she let him go? She loved him, she needed him, but she couldn’t beg him—wouldn’t. Absolutely would not. Ever.
Such a firm refusal tugged her conscience. Pride, more often than not, had been at the bottom of Naomi’s biggest mistakes, like running out of town the other day. Occasionally, it should be set aside. Knowing when—that had always been the bane of her existence.
“She kissed me, Naomi, but I kissed her back.” A misery welled up in Naomi that threatened to break free in a humiliating sob. A knife in the gut would have been less painful. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed a bandana. No, she definitely wouldn’t be doing any begging. “For a moment I forgot who I was. And then I heard … a Scripture, and I saw your face.”
Naomi’s shoulders sagged. She knew she couldn’t let him walk away. If she did, it would be because of her pride. She felt the Lord telling her to believe in Charles. God had forgiven his sins. Now, together, they had to try to forget them and build a life together. She was called to be his helpmeet and denying that would be nothing but disobedience. Besides, how did she know she wouldn’t have had the same moment of weakness if Matthew had managed to kiss her?
“What happened next?” she asked, buying time to think.
“Well,” he sounded surprised by the question. Perhaps he thought she wouldn’t want the details. But she needed them. “I pushed her away and started to run after you. Beckwith grabbed me at the door, though. Said he needed me to ride in the posse after One-Who-Cries. I asked Reverend Potter to tell you it wasn’t what you thought. But you never saw him.”
Pride goeth before a fall, she thought, kicking herself. “No, I ran as fast and as far away from you as I could. I jumped on the wagon and rolled out of town.” She turned around and dropped her arms to her side, surrendering to him and God. “Instead of believing in you the way I promised I would.” Her eyes locked with his. She took a slow step toward him and he matched it, though the half-smile on his lips said he was stuck somewhere between hope and confusion. “Charles McIntyre, I am not some hothouse orchid. I can take a little pain.” Another step, that he again matched, bringing them a breath apart. “I’m willing to risk my heart if you can swear you’ll be faithful to me.”
He took both her hands in his, smiling as if she had no idea how easy that would be. “You cannot imagine the hell I went through when everyone was telling me you were dead. I knew you weren’t. I knew it. I told God I couldn’t live if anything happened to you.” He exhaled a long, deep breath, as if he had narrowly avoided a cliff. “And I told myself that if I loved you, I’d let you go because it would be the best thing for you. I want what will make you happy, Naomi.”
She touched his hands, desperate for a kiss, eager to start a life with him. “Do you hear yourself? You don’t sound like much of a scallywag to me. Not anymore.”
A hesitant smile tipped his lips. “I believe I’m coming to agree with that.”
What came over Naomi, she’d never be able to explain, but at the same moment Charles folded her into an embrace, she squealed with joy and leaped into his arms, knocking him to the ground. Giddy, exuberant laughter bubbled up in her and infected him. Together they laughed and hugged and drank in the freedom to live without fearing the past. Breathless, Charles spun Naomi beneath him in the timothy. He pressed his lips to her forehead and waited for his self-control to squash the laughter. After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and serious. “We are done with the doubts and the second-guessing?”
“We are.”
He pulled back to look at her. “I assume my suggestion that we call off our wedding has been denied?”
She reached up and trailed her finger over his lips, wishing for a kiss. “Very definitely, sir. You asked me to marry you. I’m going to hold you to that.”
~~~
Fifty-Eight
Naomi thought she was prepared for the sight of the hotel, but nothing was left. She surveyed the cold, black ruins, stunned by the devastation. A few pieces of its blackened skeleton pointed defiantly at the sky. Everything was gone, the building, her clothes, their furniture, everything. She had the bloodied, pink calico dress on her back and that was it.
“Don’t worry. Your guests have found other accommodations,” Charles squeezed her shoulder for reassurance, “and you and your various, assorted family members will stay at the Iron Horse till we rebuild. I understand that Ian, Rebecca, and Matthew managed to save a few things. Those are at the Iron Horse as well.”
She couldn’t imagine what they would all do now. She didn’t want to go back into the hotel business. The certainty of the thought surprised her. “I don’t want to work in a hotel anymore, Charles.” A little frightened by her lack of direction, she turned pleading eyes on him. “What should we do?”
He slipped an arm around her and turned toward the ruins of the Trinity Inn. “Take it one day at a time, princess.”
~~~
McIntyre made sure to extend his offer of hospitality to everyone in Naomi’s party, including, and especially, Matthew. While the ladies were out back enjoying his luxurious bathhouse, he sent Emilio and Billy off to get dinner from Martha’s kitchen. That left him alone with the giant. Stepping behind his bar, McIntyre reached for his finest bottle of Irish whiskey.
“Let’s have a celebratory drink—you and I, Matthew.”
Tension singed the air between them as it had ever since Redemption Pass. Now it was time to get things out in the open. The big man casually sauntered up to the bar. Both of them still wore their dirty, grimy clothes. They reeked of sweat and smoke. Matthew’s eyes glittered with resentment—and defeat.
McIntyre poured the drink in front of him. “Tell me something, Matthew. If you were willing to let someone shoot me, why didn’t you just do it yourself?”
He fingered the drink for several seconds before slamming it back. “Because I’m not a murderer.” He set his glass down on the bar and stared at it.
“Which is why I don’t think you killed Amaryllis.” Matthew’s head swung up and McIntyre tossed him the St. Jude medallion, melted by the fire, but still recognizable. “The patron saint of lost causes. Her idea of a joke.” McIntyre regretted not having had more kind words for the woman, words of a more eternal nature. “O’Connell found it in the ashes. It was her body they found in the kitchen.” Matthew stared at the twisted, partially melted medal.
“I suppose we’ll never know what happened. Perhaps she walked in on Black Elk lighting the fire. Perhaps he thought to kidnap her.” He poured Matthew one last drink. “You’ll be leaving us, on tomorrow’s stage.”
Matthew sucked on his cheek as if holding back any comments. A moment later, though, he opened his hand, and showed his palm in surrender. “What will you tell Naomi?”
McIntyre wanted to be a better man, and he definitely wanted to be a better man than this charlatan standing before him. “Nothing. I will leave her faith in you intact.”
~~~
Hannah laid
Little Billy across the feather bed and wrapped his bottom in a fresh diaper. Running back into a burning hotel for a few of their belongings had been a foolish, foolish thing to do … but she would be eternally grateful to Rebecca. Even with the losses added up, she was blessed beyond measure. She dragged her fingers along the ornate brass headboard and hoped the former Flower who had occupied this room could say the same.
As for Hannah and her sisters, Mollie, and poor lost Terri, they had bathed last night in the most decadent bathroom she had ever seen, slept in luxurious brass beds beneath warm, soft blankets, and woke this morning to Mr. Brannagh preparing breakfast. Charles McIntyre knew how to take care of the ones he loved. Sighing with contentment, she lay down beside her son and lightly danced her fingers down his nose and across his little pink lips. He giggled excitedly and the sound of his innocent laughter convinced Hannah the day was, indeed, filled with hope and promise.
“Hannah,” Rebecca called from downstairs. “Could you come help me with something?”
Hannah swooped up Little Billy and marched downstairs. The saloon was empty, except for her sister rifling around behind the bar. Enjoying the show of it, Hannah bellied up to the bar. “Sarsaparilla, bartender, for my pard and me.” Rebecca smiled, but it was only half-hearted. She continued searching for something. “What are you rooting around for back there?”
Exasperated, Rebecca dropped her hands to her hips. “Everything we rescued from the hotel wound up back here in a pile.” She moved something aside with her foot. “Matthew promised me he got it.”
“Got what?”
“Unless this is it …” She reached down and dredged up a huge carpetbag, slinging it on to the bar with a sizable effort. She laid the bag on its side, opened it, and hauled out a wrinkled heap of white silk.
“Ooooh, Naomi’s wedding gown.”
“Shhhh.” Rebecca scolded. “She’s upstairs. I don’t want her to know we saved it yet.” She dragged the gown the rest of the way out of the bag but kept it hidden behind the bar as she inspected it. An envelope had caught in the bustle and Hannah snagged it, immediately recognizing Naomi’s handwriting. “Let me see that,” Rebecca said, reaching for it. She studied the front and pointed at the date. “This is the second letter. He said he never got this one.” A troubled groove in her brow, Rebecca’s gaze drifted up to Naomi’s room. “Matthew has been lying to us the whole time.”
~~~
Fifty-Nine
Naomi sat on the bench outside the Iron Horse, amidst the bustle of traffic, but alone with her bitter disappointment. She pulled the letter out of the envelope just to make sure—again. The second letter. The one letting Matthew know they were all right. Things in Defiance weren’t so bad after all. She might even like the place.
Shaking her head, she tucked the letter back inside as a shadow fell across her. She didn’t look up. She never wanted to look at him again. After a moment, he set his bag down on the boardwalk and joined her on the bench. She tried to remain seated, but found she couldn’t bear being this close to Matthew. Jaws clenched, she rose and crossed the boardwalk to lean on a post. She heard his frustrated sigh.
“I suppose you hate me.”
“No.” And that was true. “I feel betrayed, disappointed … but I don’t hate you.”
“I did it all for the right reasons.”
She choked off a disbelieving gasp and turned to him as he rose. “You mean selfish reasons.” Heat rushed her cheeks as her anger escaped. “I was right the first night you came here. You haven’t changed a bit.”
The hope in his eyes flickered and faded out. Suddenly, his anger flamed to life. He crossed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders. “I’ll tell you what I am,” he growled. “I am sick of coming in second.” His fingers dug into her flesh. “You cannot choose a pimp and whoremonger over me!”
The night he’d grabbed her and torn her wedding dress came screaming back to Naomi. The fear, the vulnerability, Matthew’s desperation to bend her to his will. Well, no more. Snarling, she wrenched free and shoved him with every ounce of determination she could muster. He took a step back, propelled more by surprise than by her strength.
Chest heaving, she grabbed a handful of her skirt to keep her hands from clawing out his eyes. “Charles McIntyre is twice the man you’ll ever be … and he would never force me.” As the words left her mouth, understanding exploded in her heart. She knew why God had sent Matthew here. Her muscles relaxed and she sagged a bit. “I’m done.” She heard the disbelief in her own voice, but couldn’t deny the certainty of the feeling. She let go of her anger and relaxed her fingers. “I’ve been holding on because you’re his brother and you look like him. And because I pitied you.” His face hardened. She didn’t care if the truth hurt. They both had to hear it. “I’m done, Matthew.
Moving quickly, before she could second-guess herself, she yanked off her wedding ring, grabbed his hand and thrust the gold band into his palm. “I’m turning toward the future, like John wanted me to. And you’re not a part of it.” She folded his fingers over the ring and walked inside.
~~~
McIntyre ran his hand over the skip-peeled pine arbor that Billy and Emilio had built and nodded. The boys had done a fine job. It framed a majestic view of the Animas River backed up by Red Mountain Pass. The snow-capped mountains all around were turning warm shades of purples and oranges as sunset washed his valley in the fading light. He would never get over the beauty of it.
“She’s almost ready.”
Reverend Potter’s voice startled him and he turned to the small crowd. Beckwith, Wade, and Doc Cook stood to one side, Mollie, Emilio and little Terri waited on the other, creating an opening for the wedding party. Behind him somewhere, Bud struck up the Bridal March on his fiddle and McIntyre swallowed. This was real. Fear and excitement coursed through him and he allowed himself a smile.
Ian and Rebecca marched toward him, followed by Billy and Hannah. Grinning like fools, the couples parted at the altar, revealing Naomi. McIntyre gasped. She was wearing a shimmering, curve-hugging, white satin wedding gown. Her hair flowed down her shoulders like a golden waterfall, and a woven chain of fresh buttercups sat lightly upon her head like a halo. In her hands, she held a colorful bouquet of pink wild roses, columbine, and violets.
She was breath-taking. And she was his bride.
Naomi smiled shyly up at him, her eyes glistening like polished emeralds, and the ground shifted beneath him.
Ian clutched McIntyre’s shoulder and placed a hand on his back. “Steady, lad.”
McIntyre realized he couldn’t feel his legs and Ian was literally holding him upright. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and found his footing. But he didn’t take his eyes off her and extended his hand as she approached. “Naomi, I am speechless. You are the most beautiful …” His throat tightened up and he had to stop speaking, stunned that he had become emotional.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve worn it,” she bit her lip and added softly, “but it feels like it.”
Enormously pleased by that, he squeezed her hand but couldn’t manage a reply.
Together, they faced the Reverend, who smiled tenderly at them and began the service.
~~~
Sixty
Hannah’s face hurt from smiling. Surprising the ladies, Mr. McIntyre had arranged for the ceremony to be performed on his ranch. The wedding had been a private affair, with only a few people outside the family invited, such as Doc Cooke, Marshal Beckwith, Wade, and little Terri. After the vows, quite a party had started up. Mr. McIntyre, with the help of the other men, had provided a deer on the spit and Shorty and Bud playing their fiddle and banjo. The girls had cooked plenty of side dishes and promised not to turn down any dance request.
Now, leaning on the porch rail of her sister’s new home, Hannah took a breath. The smell of fresh pine, the torches’ warm glow, and the toe-tapping music brought her a sense of peace. Homes, hearths, and families gathered near. No matter what the
future held, she and her sisters would always be close. A burnt-out shell of a hotel couldn’t change that.
Tapping her fingers in time with the music, she surveyed the crowd below, dancing and swirling in the flickering light. The love-struck gaze between Ian and Rebecca as they shared apple pie made her laugh out loud. They weren’t going to be at this party much longer, that was a safe bet. And the nervous way Mr. McIntyre kept tugging at his collar and casting dreamy glances after Naomi tickled her to no end. The big, tough man of Defiance, so in love he was fidgeting like a ten-year-old boy about to sing in church.
When her gaze fell on Emilio, though, her amusement died. She tilted her head and pondered his feelings for her. Shoulders drooping, head bowed, he leaned into Mollie as they danced haltingly owing to his foot. Hannah had never meant to hurt him, and she felt guilty for the way she had sort of tossed him aside. He deserved better from her. He had been such a good friend—could have been more, maybe, but she was meant to be with Billy.
The thought still scared her, but she’d prayed and prayed and finally realized that giving him a second chance was, well, at the core of her faith. God gave her second chances all the time. Besides, God had gotten her through the first broken heart and would do it again, if necessary. But Billy had been noble enough to tell her to marry Emilio if he didn’t make it. Maybe, if he’d known he wasn’t mortally wounded, he wouldn’t have made that statement, but he had and it revealed volumes about what was in his heart.
“Well, if you aren’t the picture of deep contemplation.”
She started at Billy’s voice as he limped up the porch steps toward her. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
He lifted his crutch. “Yes, in my present condition, I’m as stealthy as a cat.” They laughed, but it died quickly, replaced with a silence that begged for something real and deep to be spoken. “I’m going to buy Boot’s Mercantile.”
Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 34