Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (13 page)

Seventeen

Hannah stood at the window over the dry sink and smiled at the
interaction between father and son.
How could
she be so moved by the sight of them playing together, and yet seriously
contemplate sending Billy away? She wished she could just yank out her heart
and lock it and all her memories up in a box.

Oh, especially the memories. Watching the two together, she
couldn’t stop herself from going back to the night that had started all these
changes, inflicted all these heart breaks. She could still feel the hay poking
through the quilt as she lay down in the wagon. Billy beside her, they stared
up at a midnight blue sky littered with glittering stars and a shimmering,
magical Milky Way. On a cold, still, January evening, the clear sky seemed to
reveal everything but the very gate of Heaven.

“I love you, Hannah.” Not the first time he’d said it, she giggled
with ecstasy. This time, though, his voice held a husky, emotional edge to it.
“Pa isn’t thrilled I’m seeing you, and I’m sorry for that. Sorry for him.”
Billy rolled up to an elbow, laid his gloved hand over Hannah’s resting on her
stomach. “I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you, what you
mean to me.”

Tears backing up on her, Hannah reached up to move a lock of hair
out of his eyes. She knew all too well what Frank Page thought about any woman,
much less Hannah, who might derail the grand plans he had for his son, the
future senator from North Carolina. “Must be the moonlight. I’ve been warned
about your sweet talk under a starry sky.”

“Hannah, I’ve never felt this way about a girl. I want to spend my
life with you. I want to marry you.”

“You want to give up all that Page money?” She tried to keep her
voice light, her hope tamped down. “You know your father would disown you if
you married me.”

He stroked her cheek with leather-clad fingers. “I don’t care. He
can keep it all. I don’t need it. I
need
you.”

Billy leaned down and kissed her, a soft, gentle nuzzling at first
that grew to a breath-stealing embrace. An embrace that went on and on till she
couldn’t think, couldn’t draw a breath without feeling him in her soul. Her
heart raced at breakneck speed, pulsing in her ears.

And somehow, almost magically, Hannah found herself with Billy in
his farm foreman’s cabin. Mr. Tulley was nowhere to be seen but a warm fire
burned in the brick fireplace as if he’d left only moments before. She and Billy
were alone.

Slowly he slipped the buttons loose on Hannah’s coat, all the
while kissing her, telling her he loved her more than his own life, begging her
to be his wife. Overcome with passion, Hannah clawed at the buttons on Billy’s
jacket. Not one single rational thought resided in her head. She just wanted to
be with him, every inch of him, in every way possible. He loved her. The
passion would always be like this. They’d be together forever.

Hannah swallowed and jerked herself out of the reverie. Her wide-eyed
naiveté embarrassed her, her sin shamed her. It had seemed so romantic, so
grown up. Until Page Sr. found out about the baby, at which point Billy ran
like a scalded dog. Praise God she had found forgiveness and He had worked her
foolishness for good. Exactly as promised in Romans 8:28. She would be
eternally humbled by her heavenly Father’s grace.

Rebecca came up beside her and sighed. “It would appear he likes
him.”

“Little Billy likes everybody.” She felt her sister’s surprised
stare and realized the statement had sounded bitter. Her turn to sigh. “I don’t
know what he’s after. I can’t sort through it all. I felt like I was just
beginning to recover from him.” She sniffed. “Listen to me.
Recover
.
Like he’s some sort of ailment.”

Rebecca rubbed her sister’s back. “Honey, he delivered a pretty
crushing blow by running out on you. You’ve been healing. So don’t rush
things.”

Hannah tried a little teasing to lighten her mood. “Guess you know
all about being patient, don’t you?”

Rebecca’s features, normally so refined and regal, scrunched in
disapproval. She huffed and lightly yanked Hannah’s braid. “I don’t need you
reminding me.”

Naomi wandered in and, following their gazes, joined them at the
window. Billy sat in the grass gesturing with silly, exaggerated motions as he
chattered away at his son. “No denying who the father of that child is,” she
said, wagging her head. Hannah had seen the similarities early on, but with
Billy side-by-side with his son, well, Naomi was right. The bloodlines were
inarguable. Not that there’d ever been any doubt. “Has he asked you to go for a
walk?”

Hannah raised her brow. “No.”

“He will,” Naomi turned to her, “and when he does, I’ll watch
Little Billy, if you want to go.”

“You’re so sure?”

“No one in this hotel is blind, Hannah. We all, including Billy,
can see how Emilio looks at you. Now Emilio’s gone off with the marshal. Billy
will want time alone with you while he can get it.”

Hannah dropped her gaze to the dishes in the sink. She wasn’t sure
she wanted to be alone with Billy.

“I wish I knew if Charles and Matthew went with the marshal as
well.” Naomi rubbed her arms, as if warding off a chill. “I’m worried about
them.”

“Well, I can tell you
I
didn’t go.”

Uncle Matt’s voice from the door spun them around. Holding on to
the batwings, his unbuttoned shirt revealed his broad chest and a wide band of
gauze running around his midsection, just below the ribs. Sweat beaded on his
forehead and he swayed slightly on his feet, moving the café doors.

“Uncle Matt!” Hannah rushed to him, tossing aside a dish towel to
come under one arm. “Let’s get you a seat.”

Naomi edged up beneath him on the other side and they led him back
to the dining room, Rebecca lending support to his back and shoulders. Although
Hannah knew if Uncle Matt went down, the three of them wouldn’t be able to stop
him.

Rebecca slid a chair into position for him at a table near the
fireplace. “What happened to you, Matthew?”

The girls eased him down into the seat as an assortment of
grimaces cascaded across his face. “Nothing a few stitches didn’t fix.”

“Stitches?” Naomi pushed his shirt aside and surveyed the large
bandage on his lower right side, a small spider web of blood already seeping
through. Her gaze flicked across that wide chest. “Matthew, tell us what
happened? Where’s Charles?”

Hannah might not be able to discern her own heart so well, but she
could read other people as easily as a church hymnal. She hadn’t missed the way
Naomi dragged her eyes away from Uncle Matt’s muscles. Nor did she miss the
flash of jealousy in
his
eyes when she asked about Mr. McIntyre.

“That fella Black Elk was a mite faster than I gave him credit
for. We took him down, though. Turns out he’s got Beaver Fever.”

The girls gasped. “What in the world is that?” Naomi asked.

“The doc said you get it from bad water or from a person who
carries the infection.” Uncle Matt shifted on the seat, struggling to get
comfortable. “As far as McIntyre, I’m not really sure what happened to him. I
was busy getting twelve stitches. Your town doctor has the touch of a butcher.”

“Uncle Matt, do you need anything?” Hannah patted his shoulder
lovingly, as if he were an injured child. “Can I get you something? We might
even have a little whiskey somewhere if you’d like some for the pain?”

He touched her cheek and smiled. “No, darlin‘, don’t touch the
stuff. I just need to rest a minute. That ride back in the wagon was a bit
rougher than I expected. Although,” he sniffed the air. “I could stand a bite.
That wouldn’t be Rebecca’s fried chicken I smell?”

“Here, Hannah,” Rebecca tagged her on the elbow. “Why don’t we
finish getting dinner on the table? We’ll make Matthew a plate.”

“Oh, thank you, Rebecca, honey. You always were an angel in the
kitchen.”

All three of the girls squashed giggles, or at least tried to.
“Only now,” Hannah grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her toward the kitchen,
“we’re thinking she’s an angel of destruction.”

~~~

Naomi bit her lip to thwart a grin.

Matthew cocked his head to one side. “What was that all about?”

“Rebecca had a very uncharacteristic accident in the kitchen this
morning. She burned something.”

“Oh,” Matthew half-nodded, but the motion was derailed by a
grimace. He grunted. “Naomi, would you be a dear,” he raised his arms and sat
up a bit, “and check this wrap? It feels too tight around me.” Rebecca and
Hannah had been subtly nudged into the kitchen and Naomi realized she’d been
left alone with Matthew by design—his.

“Certainly.” She bent over and tried to adjust the bandage but the
angle was awkward and brought her face too close to his. Surprised by
trembling, uncertain hands, she dropped to her knees just to the side of his
legs. “I should be able to reach it better this way.”

“I kind of liked that other way.” His gaze was deep and so
familiar. Naomi blinked and reached around him, staring into his broad, strong
shoulder, just like the one that she had caressed and kissed so many times
before. She felt him sniff her hair and she breathed in the scent of sweat and
whiskey and … pipe tobacco? Something like the electricity from a thunderstorm
danced all over her skin.

She wanted to look up and lose herself in John’s deep, hypnotic
gaze just once more. Maybe gently touch his cheek. Strange, she could almost
feel Matthew’s stare willing her to do exactly that. 

He’s not John!
A voice
screamed at her.

She took a breath, trying to focus. Rotating her shoulders as she
worked the bandage, she asked, “If you don’t drink, why do you smell like a
whiskey barrel?”

“That Black Elk fella busted every bottle in the saloon. A man
could get drunk just breathing the air.”

She loosened the gauze, brought it back around the front, running
her fingers a little too slowly over the steel-like muscles of his stomach. Her
pulse picking up steam, she tied the bandage more securely. “There.” Her
fingers lingered on his warm skin, almost as if they had a will of their own.
She looked up. Flashing azure eyes captivated her, bringing back a rush of
memories and feelings. Same as John’s, they went a shade greener when he was …

His skin flushed and Naomi swallowed. The heat from Matthew
radiated through her like rays from an August sun. He licked his lips, stared
at Naomi’s mouth. “Naomi, I need …” He paused and started over. “I need to
apologize for last night.”

She twisted her head, tearing away from that seductive gaze.
“There’s no need. I should apologize to you.” Shocked at her hammering pulse,
she moved back and dropped herself into a chair opposite him. “But I guess
there are a few things we should get straight.”

She had to think for a moment to recall exactly what they were.
“First off, I’m so sorry, Matthew, that you came all this way expecting us to
leave with you. I gave you every reason to think we were in desperate straits.
I had no idea we’d make friends the way we did. I didn’t think it possible in
the beginning.” But they
had
made friends, with some of the most lost
sheep she’d ever known: prostitutes, drunkards, and reprobates.

“You can understand my concern, though, about leaving you here?”
he said gently. “I’m in town five minutes and the first man I meet is Charles
McIntyre, the most famous
pimp
in the West.” He shook his head in
disgust. “Now I’m stabbed, and the marshal’s bringing in a gunman. This is no
place for you girls—” he sucked in a breath through his teeth and grabbed his
side. Naomi half-rose from her seat, but he waved her down. “I’m fine. Whatever
Doc numbed it with is wearing off.”

“Well,” clutching her braid, Naomi surveyed the dining room, and
then smiled at Matthew. “We don’t have to solve any of this today.” She took
his hand and wished almost immediately she hadn’t. It was like holding John’s.
If she closed her eyes, for one second, and just felt his warmth, it would be a
perfect illusion.

Matthew covered her hand with his and waited. His stare held her
spellbound. “I’m just glad you’re all right, Matthew.” The words seemed to have
too much weight. “We … um, we … should eat and you should rest.” She pulled
away. “I’ll go see what’s taking so long.”

She rushed to get away from him, but stopped just short of
bursting into the kitchen. This confusing Matthew with John was treacherous.
She wished Charles was back. She needed his touch to remind her she was living
in the present before the ghosts from her past could drag her back.

~~~

Moving like his stitches had been sewn with tissue paper, Matthew
hooked a foot around another chair and pulled it closer. Holding his breath, he
hiked his feet up into it and leaned back a little more in his chair. His side
was burning and throbbing, but leaning back helped.