Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (16 page)

Matthew chuckled but Naomi had the sense he was merely being
polite. Absently tracing the pattern engraved in the butter knife, he asked,
“Do you remember the time John and I tried to blow that stump out of Pa’s
pasture?”

Relieved to have a new subject, she giggled, remembering well the
colossal amount of dynamite the brothers had used. “When you shoved an
entire
box of TNT underneath the roots?” 

They both started laughing, drawing surprised glances from the
customers. “Lord, Naomi, that explosion rattled windows all the way into
Raleigh.” He grabbed his side, laughing and flinching at the same time. “I
thought Pa was gonna kill us. And we were deaf for a week.”

“And do you remember,” Naomi slapped her leg, her voice rolling
with laughter, “the stump blew straight up about forty feet—”

“—And came back down in the exact same spot,” he finished. By now,
Matthew was wiping tears out of his eyes and the guests were staring openly.
“Took a team of six horses to drag the monster out of the ground. Pa didn’t let
us near dynamite for a year.”

“And the paper reported it as an earthquake.” They both guffawed
over that, holding their sides and gasping for breath. After a several more
seconds, the laughter faded grudgingly and Naomi shook her head, trying to
regain her composure. “How old were we?”

“Thirteen.” A half-smile played around his lips. “Just about the
time we started getting into all kinds of trouble.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Remember your first kiss?”

Naomi felt the blush spread like a wildfire. Embarrassed, she rose
and started clearing a table. “We don’t need to remember those particular
moments, Matthew.” Yes, she had started out on a trail leading to him, but
thankfully, John had changed her direction. “Especially since nothing came of
them.”

“I always wondered if you just got confused somehow, seeing as how
we looked so much alike.”

Scraping and stacking plates, she kept her back to him. “Exactly,
Matthew. You two
looked
alike. I had to look deeper to see the
differences.”

She heard his fingers tapping on the table. “Explain it to me
again, Naomi. Why John? Why did you pick him over me?”

That was almost like asking someone to explain the differences
between Cain and Abel. She didn’t wish to be ugly, though. “He loved me and
always put me first. As I recall, with you I was about, what, fourth down the
line? Behind Virginia Clark, Jim Beam and a game of Faro.”

“That’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”

“No.” Listing the differences between the two brothers brought
focus back into her heart, made her stronger. She turned to Matthew, pointing
at him with a dirty fork. “John loved me. You just wanted a prize on your arm.”

“Only at first, Naomi. True, everything
was
a competition
between him and me—”

“You hated losing.”

“But I grew out of that.” 

“Not until it was too late.” The afternoon was waning fast and she
noticed a chill creeping into the room. Buying time to sort her thoughts, Naomi
walked over and tossed a few pieces of wood into the fireplace. “Or I suppose
it would be fair to say
almost
too late. You and John reconciled. We
were all eager to see you and start over.” Trying not to ignore the customers,
she grabbed a pitcher of buttermilk from the kitchen’s serving counter and
offered to refill their drinks. They thanked her but waved her off.

“I’d bet dollars to dumplings you made him write that first
letter.”

“You’d be right.” Naomi set the pitcher back on the shelf, but
stayed there for a moment, watching Ian and Rebecca starting the clean-up work
in the kitchen. She wondered where Charles and Emilio were, but tried not to
worry. She strode back over to the table where she’d left her platter, piled
high with dishes “I told John you were probably too ashamed to ask for
forgiveness, but either way, he had to give it.”

“I don’t know if
I
would be inclined to forgive a man who
pawed at my wife on our wedding night.”

“You were drunk.”

“A drunk man’s tongue speaks a sober man’s mind,” he said, his
voice filled with regret.

Naomi didn’t respond. The things Matthew said that night, that he
loved her and hated John, that he would kill him for stealing Naomi, they were
all too dark to dwell on. Matthew reached out and wrapped his big, masculine
fingers around her wrist. “I don’t drink anymore, Naomi.” His voice was low and
husky. “I got a handle on my temper. I’m not my brother, but I’m a better man
than I was.”

“We were all so young then, ruled by our passions.” She tried to
ignore the warmth of his hand. “I’m just glad those weren’t the last words he
ever heard from you.” She tugged away from him and turned toward the kitchen.

“But I ripped your gown. I’ve always been sorry for that.”

Naomi stopped. Matthew’s apology released a flood of memories.
One, in particular, leapt from its grave.

On her wedding night, as the last of the guests filtered out of
the parsonage, Naomi snuck around back to her family’s wagon. Careful not to
snag her gown, she reached over the wagon side for her valise. While her
parents had moved some of her things to John’s farm, this bag held clothes
appropriate for a
special
night.

Smiling to herself, she turned and discovered the looming
silhouette of John watching her. A slight spring breeze, though, carried the
smell of liquor, correcting her guess. “Matthew.” She was vaguely uneasy at
being alone with him. All through the wedding and the reception she’d caught
him watching her with an angry flame in his eyes. She suspected the cause, but
wouldn’t deal with it now.

She clutched the valise in front of her. “Did you enjoy the
ceremony and the reception?”

“It was a sight to behold, that’s for sure. Kind of funny, I was
the best man but you married my brother.” His tone was sharp and mean. Matthew
only got snide like this when shored up by a little alcohol. Refusing to let
him spoil her mood, she moved to step past him. His big hand snaked out and
caught her arm. “We didn’t have a dance yet, Naomi.”

She huffed, wishing he’d learn to handle his liquor. Still, there
was something different in his meanness tonight, something … dangerous. “Fine.
Let’s go inside and take one last spin around the floor.”

“What’s the matter with right here?”

With the grace and strength of a drunken bull, Matthew knocked the
valise out of the way and snatched Naomi up against him. Furious, she pushed at
his chest, but his arms held her in place like a vice. “Let me go right now,
Matthew.”

Roaring with laughter, he threw his head back and spun Naomi like
she was a rag doll in his arms. Then he staggered to a stop. Swaying on his
feet, he stared down at her. The weak crescent moon couldn’t veil the desire in
his face, and it made her uneasy.

“Matthew, I said, let me go!”

“No …” One arm tightened around her like a band of iron. He wagged
his finger at her. “No, I think I should get one good kiss before you ride off
with my brother.”

I’d rather kiss a rattlesnake.

She was too close to get in a good strike, but she slapped Matthew
with everything she had in her. Stunned, he dropped her and Naomi lunged for
the parsonage, fighting her voluminous silk skirt. Matthew snatched at her
shoulder, his fingers digging into the material. She heard the ripping,
screeching sound of silk tearing and he pulled her again into his beefy arms.
She fought harder, praying she wouldn’t have to scream, but when his lips came
down on hers, smothering her, she knew she had no choice.

As she turned her head away to find that scream, the huge, hulking
figure of John sailed through the night, slamming her and Matthew to the
ground. A hand clutched futilely at Naomi’s bodice, but she scrambled away,
leaving tattered lace in Matthew’s hands.

Tangled in her billowing skirt, arms pin-wheeling, she clambered
to her feet. Behind her, fists pounded on flesh and bone. Thuds and grunts
filled the night. Matthew and John writhed, rolled, and spun madly on the
ground, growling and swiping at each other like wolves fighting to the death.
Gasping for breath, Naomi sought safety behind the horse harnessed to their
wagon. Stuck watching the brawl, she wondered desperately where she could a get
a gun to stop it.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” Matthew bellowed. “You stole her
from me!”

They rolled, and John sat atop Matthew, banging his head into the
ground with each word he growled. “Touch her again and I
will
kill
you
!”

Matthew bucked, managing to pull his legs up between them and then
pushed with the force of an ornery mule. John went flying backwards, crashing
into the wagon. The side rail creaked and groaned with the impact as a loud
grunt escaped him. He bounced off the wagon and landed in the grass face down.
Both men, wearily, staggered to their feet. Chests heaving, coats hanging in
shreds, they squared off and raised their fists again.

“No!” Naomi burst out from behind the horse in a cloud of white
silk and positioned herself between the two men. “You have to stop this!” The
moonlight revealed their sorry state. Torn frocks, disheveled hair, bloodied
noses, all because of her. Livid, she squeezed her hands into tight fists and
raised them in front of her. “Just. Stop. It.” 

The three stood there, pain and rage circulating around them like
the dust from a stampede. She had more to say but the cool night breeze kissed
her naked shoulder. Embarrassed, Naomi tried to pull the ripped sleeve and
bodice back up over her exposed flesh, but the dress wouldn’t stay. The torn
satin was beyond repair. Her throat squeezed tightly with unexpected emotion.
John stepped over to her and gently folded her in his arms. She collapsed
against him, shocked by the tears that gushed forth.

“He tore my dress,” she whispered in a choked voice, but what she
meant was that Matthew had truly frightened her. Naomi felt John’s body tighten
into cold steel.

“I’m sorry, Naomi,” Matthew said, sounding horrified. “I’m so
sorry. I can’t believe I’m losing you—”

“Lost.” John straightened. “You’ve lost her. Now you should leave,
Matthew. Go someplace very far away.” John had an edge in his voice Naomi had
never heard before. It was cold like the grave. “Go someplace I can’t find
you.”

The last words John ever spoke to his brother.

The memory chilled Naomi. She swallowed, surprised by how dry her
mouth had become. No wonder she hadn’t thought about that night in years.
Matthew had left her feeling violated, and, oddly, ashamed, as if his behavior
had been her fault. For a while, she’d hated him for causing the twisted
emotions. But John had loved her and supported her, helped her let go of
feelings that hurt only her. That was why she had eventually encouraged him to
reconcile with his brother. Both of them had needed the freedom of forgiveness.

She shook off the memory and turned to Matthew. “I forgave you a
long time ago.”

“I’ve thought about you every day, Naomi. Every single day.” A
veil dropped and his eyes revealed everything in his heart. “I’ve never stopped
loving you, not for one single second.”

~~~

Twenty-One

Naomi yawned and stretched and enjoyed the church-like quiet of
the main street at 6:00 am.
A shroud of
fog lay over the tops of the buildings, muffling the sounds of people stirring
and horses neighing. She’d spent a miserable, sleepless night tossing and
turning. Midnight thoughts of Matthew’s declaration intertwined with hazy
dreams of John and Charles. She’d floated in and out of memories and teetered
on the edge of consciousness all night long, sometimes not knowing where the
dreams ended and reality began.

In the light of day, things weren’t much clearer. John felt too
near with Matthew around. The more she saw of him, the more she
needed
to see Charles. Where was he? What had he and Emilio gotten themselves into
with the marshal?

Taking a sip of her coffee, she nodded as Sarah and Silas Madden
rolled up in their wagon, punctual as usual. The short, rotund Sarah made the
best pastries Naomi had ever tasted. Meeting her at the bakery had been a true
Godsend. The girls had all just about reached the level of cooking they could
handle and were feeling overwhelmed. Sarah came by twice a week now and dropped
off pies, bread, cakes, and a few dozen cinnamon rolls.

“Good morning, Sarah. Good morning, Silas.”

Sarah’s husband, as skinny as his wife was plump, nodded and
removed his hat. “Good morning, Miss Naomi.”

Naomi smiled, always amused by Silas’s bald head. So smooth it
shined. He set the brake and leaped down from the wagon with the agility of a
much younger man. “Come on, dumplin’.” He raised a hand to help his wife down.
Naomi sauntered around to the back of the wagon. Cloth-covered trays and
baskets filled the space. She sighed as the scent of fresh sourdough bread and
apple turnovers wafted through the air, warm and fresh and mouth-watering.

“I’ve brought you some extra things, Miss Naomi,” Sarah waddled up
beside her. “Silas and I have to go work on our place in the valley. Our son
and his family are coming in from Missouri. I have to clean up for them, so I
won’t be back again until
next
week.”

“Oh? I thought you lived here in town.”

“Part-time.” Silas came up on the other side of Naomi and reached
for a box of something that smelled like cinnamon and apples. “We’ve got us a
small spread about halfway between here and Silverton. Being part owners in the
bakery in town was sort of an afterthought. Sarah has always enjoyed making her
pastries.”

Sarah took the box of pies from her husband. “I like the farm but
it’s isolated, so we split our time. We have a boy out there who takes care of
things. In return, we let him pan our creeks.”

Naomi hefted a small tray up on her arm, careful not to spill her
precious coffee. “Well, we’re very grateful for your baked goods, Sarah.” She
swung her tray around. “I hope you hurry back.”

~~~

At McIntyre’s insistence, Beckwith’s posse rode all night under a
three-quarter moon to get back to Defiance by daybreak. Only a few early risers
were on the street as the lawmen, outlaws tied and in tow, trotted toward the
marshal’s office. McIntyre yawned as daylight lightened his grogginess but did
nothing for his body. Every muscle and bone ached.

He had to admire the marshal. A good twenty years older, the man
never stopped, never even slowed down, and rode his horse like he’d been born
to the saddle. Almost three days riding and McIntyre didn’t think the lawman
was any the worse for wear.

He, on the other hand, wanted coffee, a bath, his bed, and Naomi.
Not in that order, either, but with the ghost-of-husband-past lurking around
the hotel, he felt compelled to clean himself up. He touched the brim of his
hat to Beckwith, and he and Emilio trotted on down the street.

Tired of posting, he pulled his horse back to a walk and rested in
the saddle. The livery stable was on the other end of town, past the hotel. He
desperately wanted to stop in and see Naomi, but he wasn’t presentable. To
confirm this, he rubbed his jaw and the stubble grazed his hand like sandpaper.
Ahead of him about a hundred yards, he saw her and the Maddens unloading the
baked goods. Arms full, they disappeared inside.

Something hit Charles at that moment. There weren’t any words to
describe it. Just a
knowing—
he had to ask her to marry him.

Now
.
Because I might not
ever have another chance
. He rode up to the wagon to wait and was surprised
that in spite of his resolve, those infernal butterflies surfaced again.

“One of Miss Sarah’s turnovers sure sounds good about now.”
McIntyre nodded absently at Emilio’s comment, as his attention was focused on
the front door. He realized he had a death grip on his reins and flexed his
fingers.

“Can I put your horse away for you, Mr. McIntyre?”

“No, thank you, Emilio.” McIntyre dismounted, frustrated by the
stiffness in his body. He felt more like fifty-six than thirty-six. Rubbing his
right leg, the pain there a reminder of Chickamauga, he jerked his thumb toward
the livery. “I’ll be along directly.”

Emilio nodded and he and Cochise trotted off. After a few minutes,
Silas, Sarah and Naomi stepped back outside. Naomi counted out some cash as she
walked. “Two, three, four …” The group stopped on the boardwalk. As she handed
Sarah the money, she saw him. Dusty, wrinkled, and stubbly, he knew he could
pass for something the cat had dragged in, but Naomi’s face lit up.

The morning sun glinted off stray strands of her hair, threads of
spun gold wafting in the morning breeze. Her eyes, the green of a spring
pasture, sparkled at him. Her soft lips, curved into a brilliant smile,
inviting his kisses. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d
ever seen. He forced down a grin and tried to maintain the proper air of manly
stoicism, but the grin persisted. He’d done it. She was looking at him with the
same glow she’d had for John once before.

Silas and Sarah shared a knowing glance and chuckled. “Well, Sarah,”
Silas scratched his ear, “I reckon we should be going.”

“Oh,” Naomi shifted her attention back to the couple. “I’m sorry.
Thank you again. I’ll see you next week.”

As Naomi took a step down off the boardwalk toward McIntyre, he
wrapped the reins around the hitching post and waited for her. The way she
radiated joy and love did him in. He could have stood there and basked in the
warmth of her gaze forever.

He wanted to kiss her in the worst way, in a most ungentlemanly
way, but he would stand down. Still, he couldn’t help half-yearning for the
days when carnal thoughts of Naomi were as guilt-free as breathing. But for
now, even if it killed him, he would treat her like a princess. He would prove
to her, Matthew, and himself, that he was a changed man, a better man who could
finally value purity.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried.”

The tenderness in her voice startled him. The only other time
she’d spoken to him like that, they’d both thought he was dying. “Beckwith
needed riders. I asked Matthew to tell you.”

McIntyre would have interpreted the V in her brow as an expression
of unease, except she smoothed it away with a brush of her hand before he could
be sure. “He couldn’t recall what had happened to you. He said he was busy
getting stitches.”

Eyes locked, they drifted toward each other, as if pulled by a
magnetic force. Only the hitching post separated them but McIntyre found the
distance maddening. She gripped the post and he placed his hands on the wood
right beside hers, not touching her. He breathed in the aroma of fresh, warm
bread and lilac soap, truly intoxicating scents. “Naomi, the other night, I was
going to ask you something.”

“Yes.” She looked coyly up at him through long, sultry lashes.

He charted the blue flecks amidst the jade, committing them to
memory. But he wasn’t going to live on memory anymore. He cleared his throat
and sought divine guidance for the words about to come out of his mouth.
Lord,
make me eloquent.
“I’ve always been a man who knew his own mind. I know
what I want and I endeavor to go after it.”

“I wouldn’t argue with that.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat again. He touched her cheek and
blurted out, “Will you marry me, Naomi?”

She smirked at the question. “Charles, you told me once that I’m
as tough as some men you know. Still, I can be as prissy as any woman. I don’t
think a marriage proposal should be a joke.”

While she had a point, he was somewhat surprised at her cavalier
attitude about this and dropped his hand. “You think I’m joking? Believe it or
not, your highness, I have a good reason for asking now, at this very moment.”
He took off his hat and poked his index finger through the bullet hole.

She gasped. “What in the world …?” She touched the hat, then his
head, as if to make sure his scalp was still intact. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. More than fine.” He replaced the hat and tilted it
back, wondering how to go about this without sounding like a drunk, lovesick
cowboy, yet get her to take him seriously. “I was going to get down on one knee
in front of everyone, and that was still my plan, until this.” He glanced up at
his hat and shook his head in disgust. “I could have died yesterday chasing a
worthless horse thief and you would have never known how I feel.” Her raised
brow wasn’t the reaction he wanted, either, so he softened his voice. “And I’m
not taking another step away from you until you do know.”

Judging by the shine in her eyes, McIntyre thought he was on the
right track. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers. “God
still has a lot of work to do in me, Naomi. I think we’ve established that. But
without you, I don’t see the point. I can’t waste any more time. Do me the
honor of becoming my wife … please.”

She wove her fingers in with his. “Say you love me. You realize
you’ve said everything
but
that.”

“Don’t you realize that’s
all
I’ve been saying?
Nevertheless …” He bowed slightly in agreement and enunciated the words. “I.
Love. You.”

She closed her eyes, as if absorbing the words. “I love you, too,
Charles, and I will marry you. Even though you are still a work in progress.”

Naomi rose up on her tiptoes expecting a kiss but McIntyre pulled
his head back. “Are you sure? You’re ready to move on? If there are
reservations about me or ghosts from our pasts …”

He thought perhaps a fleeting shadow of something darker passed
over her expression, but she nodded. “I love you. We’ll be all right.”

Dog-tired, he still found the strength to reach down and sweep her
over the hitching post, drawing a gasp and a giggle from her. He held her in
his arms and grinned. All kinds of ideas and images, mixed with an amazing
sense of contentment, rocketed through him as he leaned in to seal the bargain.
They both eagerly deepened the kiss, but he jerked back and dropped her to her
feet when plodding hoofbeats intruded. Hands still on Naomi’s waist, he glanced
at the passing rider. A ragged, dirty miner tipped his hat and slowed down to
watch the show.

McIntyre met the man’s gaze and showed his disapproval with one
raised brow. The man kicked his horse back to a faster clip. But not fast
enough. McIntyre wanted to kick himself for putting Naomi in such a
compromising situation right there on the street.

“This won’t do for your reputation, Mrs. Miller.” He stepped a
respectable distance back and swept off his hat. “With your permission, I can
have the Reverend here in a few days.”

“A few days?”

The dismay in her voice dragged his soaring mood back to earth.
“Three at the most. It’s that or we have to wait at least six weeks. He’s the
circuit preacher, remember? He’ll be moving out of the area.”

Naomi crossed her arms and chewed nervously on a thumbnail. Her
gaze flitted around the street. “But a few days. Matthew will still be here.”

She hadn’t actually aimed the comment at him, he thought, but
McIntyre wasn’t of a mind to ignore it, either. “Why is that a problem?”

Never since he had met Naomi had he seen her act evasively as she
was now. She shifted, backed up to the hitching post. Her eyes darted
everywhere on the street and he thought she might bite off that thumbnail.
Momentarily, his drilling, impatient stare brought her back to him.

She rolled a shoulder. “Matthew expressed … some affection for
me—that I don’t return—but I don’t wish for him to leave on bad terms. This
could certainly cause some hard feelings.”

Rising irritation stoked a fire in McIntyre. Matthew’s hypocrisy
was along the lines of epic. McIntyre wasn’t good enough for Naomi, but a
whiskey-swilling, lying lumberjack was? He found Naomi’s concern for Matthew’s
feelings more than a little annoying as well.

“I see.” He knew a wise man would retreat at this moment. Get a
bath and some sleep. He was tired and not feeling very wise. “What did he say
exactly?”

Naomi straightened up. “You have to believe me when I tell you
it’s all one-sided. It almost always has been.”