A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (25 page)

Logan closed his Bible
and set it on the cot beside him. His distracted mind had kept the morning
devotion from being peaceful. His guilt over losing touch with Delilah was
equaled only by his concern for Mary Jean. He had the impression she was
avoiding him. At least he had not been able to catch her at her tent, and he
needed to recover some more before he visited The Crystal Chandelier again. He
touched the cut on his head and wondered when he
would
be ready.

“Preacher?”

Billy?
Surprised to hear the young man’s voice, he picked up his Bible and met him in
the sanctuary. Maybe today he could get to the bottom of the strange looks
Billy kept giving him. If they’d ever met, Logan couldn’t recall it. “Good
morning.”

The downcast expression
and hat crushed to his chest told Logan the boy was not here for anything good.
The two shook hands. “Wish this was a call to pick a wedding date.”

Logan let his grasp
linger, then motioned to a pew. “Have a seat and tell me what’s happened.”

They each sat on the
end of a pew on opposite sides of the aisle, Logan leaning forward attentively.
Billy fanned his hat. “Doc’s dead.”

Logan had not met the
man, but clearly Billy was disturbed at the passing. “I’m sorry. Was it natural
causes?”

Billy squinted at him. “My
personal opinion . . . no. Not completely anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Somebody beat on him.
Maybe not enough to kill him. He was older. Hannah said he hadn’t been feeling
well. He could have had a heart attack or something during or after the attack.
How he died doesn’t bother me as much as why he was attacked in the first
place.”

“You have an idea?”

“Maybe.” He leaned
forward, piercing Logan with troubled, blue eyes. “Big Jim Walker is dead too.”

Logan sat back as if
he’d been shoved. He’d had hopes for Big Jim. Had prayed much for him.

“They were both killed
last night.”

Logan rested his head
in his hand, wondering how much higher the tide of evil would get in this town.
Two
funerals to perform. Two. Ah, Big Jim . . .

“Emilio said Big Jim
led you to Sai Shang. And then y’all took her to Doc’s?”

“Yes.”

Billy stood up and
wandered over to the pulpit. “If Doc told them anything, they’d know Mollie and
Hannah were there. But I don’t think he would have. They’ll have to follow a
different trail.”

“You’re thinking they’ll
come after me or Emilio.”

Rubbing his neck, Billy
turned back around. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Do we know who killed
him? Big Jim, I mean.” Logan tried not to entertain the idea of revenge . . .

“No. But Beckwith is
looking into it.”

“Well, that’s somethin’,
I guess.” He drummed his fingers on the Bible. “We can do the funerals
tomorrow, I suppose.” He couldn’t recall one he had dreaded more.

“Yeah . . .
I was supposed to get a time from you and pass it around.”

“Three, I would think.”

“Also, uh, I’ve been
meaning to ask you something, Preacher.” Billy straightened up and tugged on
his vest. “About your time back in Dodge City—”

The front door of the
church opened slowly, cutting him off. Smith stood there, legs wide, hands
curled into fists, black-and-white checkered pants glaring at them. Logan rose.
“You come here lookin’ for a fight?”

Snickering, Smith
sauntered in, followed by Shelby. Neither of the men removed their bowlers. “We’re
looking for something.”

Logan inched in front
of Billy. This was not his fight. “Another little boy to beat up?”

“Nah. Lookin’ for a little
girl this time. Little Oriental princess about yea tall.” He raised his hand to
the middle of his chest. “I hear you’ve seen her.”

“No.” Logan relaxed his
hands that had curled into fists. “You’re welcome to take a look.”

“We will.” He gave
Billy the once-over. “Who are you?”

“Just a God-fearin’
man. Came for counseling.”

Smith grunted and raked
a greasy curl off his forehead. “Shelby, go check that back room.”

Shelby cut through the
three men and slipped behind the curtain. Logan had seen the fear hiding in the
man’s face, but that didn’t prevent an unnecessarily rough search. Furniture
scraped and banged on the floor, followed by thuds and smacks, and shattering
glass.

Logan scowled. His
patience was hanging by a weak, fraying thread. He kept seeing Big Jim asleep
on the ground, watching over a church he did not attend.

Shelby popped out of
the back. “Nobody back there.” He glanced furtively at Logan as he passed him. “Don’t
look like he’s had any company either.”

Smith folded his arms
across his expansive chest. “Where’d you hide her? We’ll find her if we have to
tear this church apart board by board.”

Logan eyed Smith top to
bottom. He’d either been fighting with or against this type of man for nearly
twenty years. He sure was not
with
him, which left an ugly possibility. “You
killed Doc . . . and Big Jim?”

A shadow of uncertainty
flitted across Smith’ meaty face and that wandering eye shifted. “I don’t know
nothin’ ’bout that.”

Smith might as well
have answered yes. Logan knew the look of a killer. God knew he’d faced enough
of them. The memory of Big Jim scrubbing scat off the front door rose in his heart . . .

 . . . and
ignited an explosion of fury.

Billy gawked in
amazement over the speed of Logan’s attack.

The preacher charged at
Smith. He hit the man in the gut and launched him backward with the impact of a
cannonball fired from a howitzer. Entwined like snakes, the two men burst
through the front door of the church, hit the porch, and skidded down the
steps. They landed in the road in a shower of wood. Passers-by froze stock-still,
taken aback by the commotion.

The two men exchanged
blows as they fought to regain their feet. Logan’s punches had an immediate
effect as Smith’s nose gushed blood, bathing his teeth and lips crimson. Logan
pelted him with two body blows, but Smith managed one good hit to set the
preacher off-balance.

Taking advantage of the
moment, Smith pushed Logan away and snatched his gun free. Logan reached for
his gun, but his hip was empty. Grinning, Smith cocked the hammer. “I got you.”

Billy took a step
forward. “You pull that trigger, Smith, you’ll have to kill me too. Otherwise,
I’ll get the marshal.”

Beside Billy, Shelby
sighed. “He’s right. Lot of witnesses.” He sounded immensely disappointed. “You’d
best think about this one.”

Smith and Logan didn’t
move, but a slight change came over Smith’s face. Doubt or resignation. His
lazy eye narrowed. “Reckon it’s your lucky day, Preacher. But there’s a
reckoning coming. Next time, there won’t be any witnesses, and I’ll be playing
for blood.”

Logan flexed his empty
fingers still hovering at his hip. “I know you killed Walker. You won’t kill
me.”

“Tell me where Sai
Shang is, maybe I won’t.”

“Nah, but you’ll try. I
know your kind.”

“Then go heeled.”

“I don’t need a gun to
kill a cockroach.”

The insult sent a flush
of color to Smith’s cheeks. For an instant, Billy thought it might push him
over the edge, but the man growled and backed away, keeping the revolver
pointed at Logan.

Cursing under his
breath, Shelby stomped off in the opposite direction. Smith finally lowered the
Colt at a good forty feet up the road. “I’m coming for you, Preacher.” He
pointed the barrel at him one last time, “and anybody else who gets in my way.
Doc. Big Jim. Just the start. I’ll do what I have to do to find Sai Shang.” He
spun on his heels and disappeared down a side trail.

Logan rested his hands
on his hips and hung his head.

Billy scratched his
head, full of sympathy for Logan.
What a place to try to be a man of God.
“You’d best watch your back, Preacher.”

“Yeah, and everyone
else’s.”

“What is the matter
with you?” Delilah lobbed a champagne glass across the saloon. A few startled
customers flinched and hunkered down over their drinks in case of more projectiles. 

Kicked back in a chair,
Smith lifted the damp rag from his throbbing nose. “I didn’t plan for things to
turn out like this.” His voice was raspy and low, like he’d swallowed sand. “Logan
jumped me.”

“And you are no closer
to knowing where Sai Shang is!” Delilah slapped the bar. “You are worthless, Smith.
You can’t find one girl in a town this size? And then you try to take on Logan?”

“I said I didn’t start
it.”

She snatched a mug off
the bar with every intention of crashing it against the wall—

“
I
started it.”

Delilah stilled,
holding the mug in a death grip. Smith leaped to his feet, tossed the rag to
the floor, and dropped his hand down to his gun. He hadn’t even cleared leather
before he was staring down the barrel of Logan’s 44. Delilah marveled that she
never even saw Logan snatch the gun free.

“Move your hand away, Smith,
or this will turn out different from that scuffle in the street.”

Smith pondered the
suggestion, then raised his hands and backed up to the bar.

“I came to see Delilah.”
Logan slipped the Colt back into its holster.

Delilah raised her
chin, ran a hand over her ribs and waist. These meetings were becoming
tiresome. “Fine.” She set down the mug. “Follow me. But we have nothing left to
talk about, unless you want to tell me where Sai Shang is.”

“I told you I don’t
know.” He pulled his hat off and waited. With a shave and a good, clean
haircut, she sure could see the boy he used to be.

Without another word,
Delilah stomped toward the stairs and Logan followed. She sashayed up the steps,
well aware he was watching her hips, but she had the sense, as she’d had with
McIntyre, he couldn’t have cared less.

What had happened to
these men? McIntyre had a wife and possibly that explained this strange ability
to resist her charms. It might even explain the shocking offer to buy her out.
Logan, on the other hand, had no one. He was all alone. Nothing to lose. No one
to protect.

She hadn’t tried hard
enough, was all. She held the door for him at her room, but squeezed into the
opening with him, pressing herself up against him. He raised his hands, as if
she was pointing a gun at him, and slipped into the room.

“You can put your arms
down. I’m not going to shoot you with these.”

Logan stopped in the
center of the room, turned to her. “No, I guess you’d just rather have someone
knock me in the head.”

She closed the door
behind her and leaned back on it, her arms contritely behind her back. “That
was a bit rash, but I was angry. I am angry. I want my property back.”

“Delilah.” He took two
big steps over to her, apparently got too close, and reversed, looking vexed.

He doesn’t trust
himself.

“Delilah, two people
are dead. The town ain’t got a doctor. I lost a friend. Smith is fixin’ to get
himself killed. You have to stop this.”

“Then give me back Sai
Shang.”

“No.” He stepped toward
her again, eyes blazing. “You can’t have her, and you can’t have any more
auctions.”

“I
can’t
?” Her
head started pounding as if someone had driven a nail into her forehead. “I don’t
know why we’re having this discussion. Either give me back Sai Shang and leave
me alone—or things will get worse.”

“Delilah,” he softened
his tone and clutched her bare shoulders. His hands were hot like a buck stove
and she nearly gasped. Heat radiated from him and she felt a flush sweep over
her. His bottomless blue eyes, almost ghostly, bored into her and she wanted
unexpectedly to touch his face, to kiss his lips. To turn back the pages . . .
The desire stunned her.

“Delilah, if this is
about me, how can I make things right? I’m begging your forgiveness
for . . . for all of it. What can I do to make amends? Name it.
Please.”

Her mouth went dry. Her
heart picked up the pace of a galloping horse. Terror streaked through her
body.
No, no, no!
Something in her screamed. “Get out.” She slipped past
him, pushing him away from her. “Just get out. I’ll think about your offer.
Maybe I can come up with something.”

She squeezed her eyes
shut, a futile attempt to block him out. Silence settled in the room. After a
moment she heard the soft thud of footsteps, and then the door closed.

Rebecca stared hard at
the first copy of today’s issue. Two hundred more to go. Fingers trembling, she
lifted it out of the press.

Still time. Still time
to pull it and run something else.

Words matter, Lord. Are
these the right ones to move hearts? To get this town to consider the filth
Delilah is heaping on it? Help me open their eyes
 . . .

She read the editorial
aloud one last time:

“Defiance
has had a most sordid past, but with the advent of a few more energetic and
peace-loving citizens, the town has been growing in a different direction.
Instead of being the wild and lawless town of former days, Defiance has begun
assuming the air of a staid and substantial town. There is even talk of a
school.
[7]

But by no
means, the least important sign of progress in our town is the growth of church
interests. Laying aside the arguments for or against a denomination, it is
commonly accepted that a church is a welcome sign to a stranger. A sign that
men and women of good repute abide within the town. There is civility. Lawlessness
does not hold sway over the citizens.

However,
recently a stranger has come among us who would not merely return Defiance to
her rough-and-rowdy ways, but sink the town into a quagmire of heretofore unseen,
unequaled moral decay.

Since the
arrival of one Ms. Delilah Goodnight, the number of calls Marshal Beckwith has
had to attend to in Tent Town has increased tenfold. His jail cells brim over
with guests nearly every night now. Incidents of brawls, destruction of private
property, and malicious physical harm to citizens are commonplace again. Our
marshal and many others have reported witnessing unspeakably sordid, vile, and
debauched acts perpetrated in broad daylight.

To add
insult to injury, the new house of worship has been vandalized in the most
horrible and sacrilegious way, having been painted with excrement. To compound
the depravity of disrespect, our very own man of God, the good shepherd at the
Cripple Creek Chapel, has been physically abused, and dumped unconscious on the
steps of the Sunnyside Mine.

And now it
is my unhappy duty to announce the
murder
of two of our most beloved citizens.
Doctor George Cook was found lifeless in his office yesterday morning. Though
the circumstances are unclear, that violence was done him is inarguable. Big
Jim Walker, who as of late had been protecting the church from further
vandalism, was shot dead Saturday night.

Have we no
shame? Have we no fear? Is it unreasonable to expect such abominable behavior
may bring down God’s wrath upon us? Only recently did this reporter learn of a
syphilis
outbreak among the patrons of a famous brothel in Denver!

Delilah
Goodnight brings nothing good to Defiance. She lives only to issue a dark siren’s
call, a hypnotic song, enticing men to their deaths. She corrupts the innocent
and leads young men to the very gates of Hell. Drunkenness, debauchery, and violence
are the result of her presence in Defiance.

Will we not
stand against the destructive evil threatening the very soul of our town?
Search your own souls, men. Choose this day whom you will serve . . .
Delilah must go!”

Hannah loved the smell
of freshly cut lumber. The scent filled the new hotel. Lately, Defiance seemed
full of the scent of it. She turned slowly, surveying the lobby, and hiked her
son a little higher on her hip. “Well, whatcha think, handsome? Is the hotel as
pretty as before?”

Billy and Charles had
used the old blue prints, originally drawn by Ian. A large lobby with a set of
L-shaped stairs against the far wall was divided from the dining room by a
false wall. The kitchen created a hallway that led to the back door.

She wandered over to
the dining room entrance and peered in at the dozen or so empty tables. A large
river-rock fireplace dominated the room. The only thing left from the original inn,
traces of soot still marred the stones in places.

“This hotel is prettier.”
Billy pushed himself off the front desk where he’d been leaning and walked up
beside her. “But not as pretty as you.”

She gave him a quick smile
before meandering over to the empty fireplace, trying to find her enthusiasm.
Dishes clattered in the kitchen. “Is that your new help?”

“Yep. Diane, Lesley,
and Betsy. So far, they seem to be working out well. Betsy has worked in a
hotel before. Diane can cook. Lesley was a maid for a family back in Virginia.”

“I think I know Betsy.”
She’d traded the woman a bolt of cloth for a matching set of buttons.

Hannah was happy the
hotel was ready to open. She wasn’t happy she would have to split her time
between here and the mercantile. Oh, how she would miss Doc and nursing for
him. He had taught her so much, but she certainly couldn’t go on working without
him.

“And, of course, Mollie
has experience working here,” Billy said. “I think we have a fine staff. I
think the hotel may almost run itself.”

“Yes. Almost.”
If
only it would
 . . .

Billy took his son from
her arms and grinned like a fool, wiggling his eyebrows and wagging his tongue.
Giggling, Little Billy promptly grabbed his father’s bottom lip. “We’re gonna
haf time, Hannah . . .” All three of them laughed. Billy shook
his head and removed his son’s fingers from his mouth. “Hold on, pard, let me
talk to Momma a minute.”

He set his son on the
floor and held his hands. Little Billy practiced his standing skills while
Billy talked, bent over. “I started to say, Hannah, we’re going to have more
time together, as a family. I’ll convert the second floor of the mercantile
into an apartment until we can decide what we’re doing.”

“What do you mean what
we’re doing?”

“Well, I mean, I assume
you want to stay in Defiance. Or do you want to get a place outside of town,
like Charles and Naomi?”

Hannah chewed on her
thumbnail as she pondered the unexpected question. She’d been so preoccupied
with how to do more nursing and less clerking or cooking, she hadn’t thought
that far ahead. Now, without Doc, maybe the career simply wasn’t in her future.

“First, though,” Billy
scooped his son up and faced her, “we need to pick a date. We can’t give
serious consideration to living arrangements until we’re married. What about
your birthday?”

Two weeks? So soon.