A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (11 page)

Oblivious. He might as
well be alone.

Two Spears did not look
up again.

Something was on her
husband’s mind and Naomi determined to find out what it was. She helped Two
Spears to bed and then went in search of her brooding Heathcliff.

She followed the smell
of a spicy cigarillo and found him on the back porch, leaning on a post,
staring out at their valley. Bathed in silvery moonlight, a
wide, rolling expanse of grass unfolded before them, two
miles long. The Animas River meandered through the heart of it, a stone’s throw
from where they were standing.

Jagged snowcapped
peaks hemmed them in on all four sides. Naomi loved it. She felt safe and
secure here, as if the mountains were guardians.

He had put
his waistcoat back on and she slid an arm inside it, around his waist, seeking
his warmth. Obligingly, he pulled her into a strong embrace.

“I don’t
know why we call this the back porch,” she said. Her head on his shoulder, arms
around his steely waist, she scanned the star-studded sky and sublime, silver
valley. “
This
is where the view is. I must stop ten times a day to stare
at it.”

“And I will
appreciate it even more when our cattle are milling about down there, getting
fat on that fine grass.”

Naomi closed her eyes
and laid a hand on his chest. Through the white
cotton
,
she could feel his heartbeat. Steady and strong.

He kissed the top of
her head, let his lips linger then rested his cheek against her hair. “Your
Ladyship, have I told you lately . . .?”

When he didn’t finish,
she looked up, puzzled. He was staring at her with the kind of passion and
tenderness that glowed in the dark. She trailed a finger along his jaw, loving
the feel of his beard. “Have you told me what?”

“Something romantic and
foolish?”

“Not yet. Perhaps if
you weren’t so preoccupied, you could think of something.”

His expression changed,
hardened a little, and he went back to his valley.

“What’s wrong?” A long
silence passed. The longer it went on, the more Naomi wondered if Charles was
hiding something. “What don’t you want to tell me?”

“It’s not
what
I
don’t want to tell you. I don’t know
how
to express it.”

She pulled back a
little. “Try. You’ve been brooding so much lately; you’re hesitant to go to
church tomorrow; you’re afraid of what’s happening to the town. None of this
sounds like you.”

He raised his chin and
took a deep breath. “I am … uneasy.”

Naomi frowned. Somehow
that was supposed to make perfect sense, but it didn’t, not to her. “I’m sorry . . .
I don’t . . .”

“Defiance. The pendulum
had begun swinging to the town being more civilized. I fear it is about to
swing back, worse than before.”

“And while that is not
good, you’re afraid of . . . what specifically?”

“Things are different
now, Naomi. I have a wife. I have a son.” He looked at her then, eyes intense
and grave. “When Tom Hawthorn had you in his grip, I have never come so close
to killing a man without completing the task.
You
saved his life. I made
a choice for you I wouldn’t have even considered before.”

Naomi touched her
throat, recalling the drunken bully’s attempt to strangle her. And the
terrifying, soulless man Charles became in that instant.

She shifted in front of
him and clutched his shoulders. “You didn’t kill that no-good wretch. You
shamed him publicly. And you didn’t murder One-Who-Cries, even after everything
he put us through. You
gave
him a chance not to fight. I don’t
understand what’s got you so worried now?”

He drummed his fingers
on her ribs. “I feel like the town is slipping away. If I can’t control it, I
can’t protect you and Two Spears.”

That explained a lot,
and she actually felt some relief. “I was afraid you were withdrawing from us.
That you . . . regretted Two Spears being here so much you were
looking for ways to avoid him . . . and me.”

He hugged her close
again. “No, and I am sorry I gave you that impression. It’s quite the opposite.”

She finally understood
the conflict raging within him. “Charles, you have a battle on your hands, and
it’s one I’ve fought before. At some point we have to come to terms with the
fact that we’re not in control of anything, no matter how much we like to
pretend we are. This town, my safety, our future—it’s all in God’s hands.”

“Then what am I good
for? As a husband, as a father? As a businessman in this community?”

“Do you remember when
we first met you asked me if I was familiar with Dante?”

He chuckled. “Yes. I
said I would prefer to rule in hell rather than serve in heaven.”

“You wanted to rule.
You still want to rule. You want to do things your way. It’s time to figure out
how to be a servant and do things God’s way.”

She could see the
unhappy crease in his forehead, and planted her index finger in the middle of
it. “Yes, I’m talking to you, Charles McIntyre.” She slid her hand to his
cheek. “Serving God doesn’t mean you turn into a doormat. Serving God will make
you a better, wiser leader.”

A smile twitched on his
lips. He hesitated a moment, then kissed her, kissed her again. The third time
she grabbed his cheeks and held him. The deeper kiss ignited a spark of passion
between them that flooded Naomi’s body with heat. “I love you,” she whispered.

“More than life itself,”
he whispered back, dragging his lips down her throat. “I awake every morning amazed
at how fortunate I am . . . and I’m sorry my poor choices keep
haunting you.”

She knew he was
referring to Two Spears, and tilted his chin up. “Would you prefer that he
still be living on that reservation? Hungry? In poverty? At least as your son,
yes, even as a half-breed, God has given him a better chance in life.”

“If I don’t foul him
up.”

“You won’t.”

“My father was not a
good role model, as I have said before.”

“You have something
your father never did.”

“And what is that?”

“Jesus.”

He conceded the point
with a slight nod.

“That boy is your son
for a reason. There are no accidents, Charles. No coincidences.”

“Only the Hand of God?”

She smiled, remembering
the time she’d said those words to
him
, during a poker game. They had
played for ownership of the hotel, and Naomi had won. “Yes. Only the Hand of
God.”

“Can you love him,
Naomi? Like your own?”

She had wanted children
all her life and hadn’t conceived with John. What if she couldn’t have
children? What if she could? She pictured Two Spears’s dark eyes, and the way
they filled with joy over a horse race. Or the age-old wisdom he spouted more
readily than a preacher’s sermons. Oh, the answer was so easy. She smiled up at
her husband. “I think I loved him the moment I saw him. How could I not?”

Hannah quietly closed
the door on the sleeping patient, careful not to spill the bloody bandages in
the bowl on her hip. The usual procedure was to burn such items, but Doc hadn’t
started a fire today. A lovely July afternoon, she could hardly believe summer
was upon them. The last year had gone by in a blur.

She quickly washed her
hands with alcohol then peeked into the second examination room to check on
Little Billy. She gasped when she saw him not napping on the pallet on the
floor, but standing at the end of the bed. He had pulled himself up using the
footboard, and beamed at his mother, quite proud of the accomplishment.

Gurgling and bouncing,
he waved at Hannah, a little tuft of downy blond hair dancing as he moved. Her
heart exploded with love. “Oh, my goodness, look at you, little man! You’re
standing up!”

She rushed to him and
swung her little peach into her arms. She hugged him tight and kissed the top
of his head. “Oh, Momma is so proud of you.” She made silly noises as she
kissed him all over his face. He giggled and kicked and whipped her braid
around.

“Well, I can see you
two haven’t missed me.”

Hannah spun. Billy
leaned against the doorjamb, bowler in hand, rakish smile on his face and
silver-blond hair combed neatly to the side.

“Dada!” Little Billy
kicked and reached for his father. Hannah and Billy both gasped.

“I told you he wouldn’t
forget you.” Elation surged through Hannah. She rushed Little Billy over to his
father and blinked back tears.

Billy’s eyes glistened
and he took his son in his arms. “Yeah, he didn’t.”

“It’d take longer than
two weeks.” Fighting a lump in her throat, Hannah stepped back to give the two
a moment. Watching them together, she wondered how she could ever have second
thoughts about her future with the father of her child. Well, ‘second thoughts’
wasn’t even the right phrase, really. Just . . . a longing to
have her cake and eat it too. Her family
and
nursing.

Billy closed his eyes
and hugged his son. “I hate myself for having missed any time with him and you.”
He took a breath, seemed to sniff away some overwhelming emotion, and commenced
to dancing with his son. “My boy, my boy. “He rocked and dipped joyously with
Little Billy in his arms, working his way over to Hannah. He smacked a quick
kiss on her cheek and winked. “I’ve missed my family.”

“And we missed you.”

He stopped. “Then when
are we going to make it official?”

She ran a hand through
his neatly combed silvery blond hair, purposely tousling it, and then let her
fingers linger on his cheek. “It just so happens, in your absence Defiance
gained a full-time preacher.”

Billy backed up, brows
raised. “Really? Where did he come from?”

“Oh boy, can I tell you
some stories about him.”

Billy slipped an arm
around her and drew her next to their son. “Save ’em for dinner tonight.” He
kissed her again and Little Billy, watching intently, giggled. Billy kissed him
too. “Can I take him with me? I assume the store is closed.”

Though he’d held no
reprimand in his voice, Hannah frowned and stepped back. “Doc had an emergency,
and Roy Jenkins came to the store, all cut up and bleeding everywhere. What was
I supposed—”

“It’s all right, Hannah.”
Billy tapped her on the chin. “It’s all right. I’ll see you later. Either at
the store or back at the Iron Horse.”

“We’re trying not to
call it that anymore.”

“Then what should I
call it?”

“How about home?”

Logan set the Bible on
the pulpit, hesitated, then removed his cartridge belt and holster and set them
on the table behind him. He wouldn’t wear it while preaching, but it wouldn’t
be far away. He wasn’t worried about protecting himself as much as he was the
folks who might come today to hear his sermon. In more than a few places in the
West, preachers got shot at pretty regularly. He didn’t figure Defiance would
be any kinder.

Licking his lips, he
touched his black string tie, hoping it was straight, and marched to the front
door. Reaching for the knob, he stopped short. A whiff of something putrid assailed
his nostrils and he drew back. The front of his church smelled like an
outhouse. Pressing the back of his hand to his nose, he slowly pushed the door
open.

The early morning sun
beat down on the stoop, but he didn’t see anything amiss. Oh, but the stench
was overwhelming out here. Fighting a gag reflex, he stepped out and took in
the full view of the church entrance.

Brown clumps covered
the door. Someone had peppered it, top to bottom, with feces. Human or
otherwise, he couldn’t tell. Oh, but it smelled worse than any dog scat he’d
ever stepped in.

Exhaling slowly, he
noticed the tittering and chuckling going on behind him. Humiliation and fury
washed over him like bad whiskey. Cheeks flaming, he wheeled on the small crowd,
a mix of miners and prostitutes, even a few children. They watched him
expectantly, their faces masks of mockery, but the fear was there and they
would run if things changed.

Logan’s fury grew,
unfurling in his heart like a writhing, angry dragon. He ground his teeth and
tried to think, pray. He found himself instead wishing for a lightning bolt
from Heaven. Reflexively, his hand went to rest on the butt of his gun, but
touched only air. An audible gasp passed through the meager crowd, their
expressions betraying their concern. They expected violence from him, gun or no
gun. The children gasped and ran. Adults started backing away.

Their distress loosened
something in Logan. Behind the terror in their eyes, he saw the pain, the
emptiness . . . and his anger drained away. He had a chance to
show them he had changed. How Christ had changed him.

“Church is gonna start
a little late today. “Astonished he could sound so calm, he slipped back inside
and marched to the pulpit. He grabbed it with one hand, but it couldn’t stop
him from going to his knees.

Anger and humiliation
slammed into him and his knees buckled. His throat tightened with the emotion
of it all and he hammered his fist on the floor.

How, God, how am I
supposed to get through to these people? They’re just lookin’ for a fight.

            Then don’t
give them one.

I don’t have the
control. I don’t have the patience. I don’t have the love to do this.

            But I do.

Logan fell back on his
calves and looked up at the ceiling
.
At a loss, he covered his face with
his hands and sagged, so tired he felt like he could melt right into the cracks
between the boards.

            My grace is
sufficient for thee.

Logan wanted to argue
but a sound at the front door twisted him around. He had distinctly heard
water, a huge splash of it. And another. Shadows moved, evidenced by the
flashing light around the doorframe. Another splash and this time water leaked
beneath door, creeping into the sanctuary.

Slowly, the door opened
and Mary Jean peered in, tilting her head away from the feces. She blinked
against the dim light as Logan rose to greet her. She ducked her head and spoke
to the floor, perhaps embarrassed she had caught him on his knees. “We brought
some water and scrub brushes, Preacher. We’ll help you clean your door.”

Logan had no words. He
could barely believe anyone had come to help. Much less her. “We?” he finally
managed.

The door opened all the
way to reveal Big Jim Walker, his barrel-chest covered in a sheepskin vest that
added to his impressive girth. And he wore a black silk tie.

Frowning, he rattled
the empty bucket in his hand. “Sorry I didn’t see who did it, but I’ll find
out.”

Logan climbed to his
feet. “No.” The old Logan sure wanted to find the man responsible. He wanted to
throw him on the ground and kick him until the scoundrel’s ribs shattered. Every.
Last. One.

The new Logan, who
stood in this church with two unbelievers, wanted to show them how a real man
of God handled adversity. It wouldn’t be easy. The anger didn’t want to let go.

He rolled a shoulder
and shook his head. “Let’s just clean it up.” He trudged over and took the
bucket from the big man’s hand. “Thank you.”

“I ain’t a church-going
man, Preacher. I’m here because I don’t welch on a bet. I’m cleanin’ up because
I hate a coward.” He wagged a thumb at the door. “This was cowardly. I find out
who done it, I’ll drag him here for a sermon. Then beat him with this.” He
knocked on his thigh, and the wooden sound dispelled any doubts Logan might
have had about Big Jim being an amputee.

Still, he could
appreciate the humor the image dredged up and let a smile slip. “Well, uh, I
appreciate . . . your desire for justice.” He tugged on his ear,
pondering the possibilities. “Let’s hope you don’t have to lose a limb to get
it.”

Big Jim chuckled,
snorted, and then erupted into booming laughter. He slapped Logan in the ribs. “That’s
a good one, Preacher.”