Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (17 page)

“
Almost
always?” Obviously there was more here than he’d
suspected.

“You haven’t been here for me to tell you anything, Charles, so
don’t look at me like that. I just hate for Matthew to leave angry and hurt
again.” Naomi huffed an exasperated breath, ruffling her bangs. “Matthew and
John had a … falling out on our wedding night. They had a horrible fight and
that’s why Matthew left for California. It was years before he and John
reconciled. I just hate to see him go under such sad circumstances again.”

McIntyre took a step back and rested his hand on his gun. She had
hesitated over the phrase
falling out
. Knowing he shouldn’t ask, he did
anyway. “And the cause of their fight?”

Her face clouded and she found something to stare at over his
shoulder. “He … ” As if taking on a character from a play, she lightened her
expression and tone, pasted a shaky smile across her mouth, and turned to her
audience. “He had a little too much to drink and, well, pawed at me. It was
nothing, really.”

The false cheer in her voice wouldn’t have fooled a child. Naomi
was a terrible liar. Having a fair sense of the type of man John was, McIntyre
could make a good guess as to what had happened. “Naomi, for John to get riled
enough—”

“Charles, it was a long time ago. Matthew was a loose cannon in
his younger days. And he was so drunk that night. He’s quit drinking. He’s made
something of himself. I believe he’s a changed man. I don’t want any trouble
between you two.” She raised her chin in challenge. “You do believe a man can change,
don’t you?”

He hated the triumph in her stance. Besides, what could he tell
her? Matthew had ogled a saloon girl and tossed back a few shots of whiskey
after being stabbed? Hardly evidence he hadn’t been rehabilitated. But Matthew
wasn’t the saint Naomi wanted him to be. He had laid hands on her, what, seven,
eight years ago? McIntyre had to assume he was capable of repeating the action.
It would be the last mistake Matthew ever made.

“Oh, this has gone so badly. Please,” she grabbed his lapel and
tugged him close. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? Shower, shave, rest for a
bit. Perhaps we could go for a buggy ride this afternoon?” She rose up on her
tip-toes so her lips were a breath from his. “We could celebrate our
engagement.” She brushed his lips with hers, with a pressure lighter than
butterfly wings.

His irritation over Matthew dissipated like fog yielding to a
summer day.

“I said ‘yes.’ Get the preacher on the next stage.” Their breath
mingled and he forgot everything but this moment, this woman who would be his
wife.

Fighting the spell she cast over him, he kissed the corner of her
mouth, all that he would allow, and sighed. “I think the next few days will be
the longest I have ever endured.”

~~~

Smiling over Charles’ proposal, Naomi stopped at the batwings and
watched her sisters and Mollie bustling around the kitchen. Admiration mixed
with her joy. They’d suffered through their share of heartache in the last
year—Hannah’s scandal, John’s death, Mollie’s brutal beating—yet, here they
were in a wild mining town—happy as larks.

Naomi truly did enjoy living and working with these girls. As far
as her sisters went, they were closer now than they’d ever been, but she was
ready to share her life with Charles. She believed that was the reason she was
here, or at least one of the reasons.

She pushed through the doors, clasped her hands at her waist and
waited for the girls to notice her. Scraping scrambled eggs from a frying pan
into a bowl, Rebecca saw her first. She set the pan back down on the stove and
turned to her sister, a knowing smile dancing on her lips. Her pause pulled
Hannah’s eyes up from a sliced tomato she was about to dice. Mollie followed
their gazes and stilled the biscuit cutter in the dough.

Their attention captured, Naomi took a deep breath. “Charles asked
me to marry him.”

Stunned silence transformed into hoots and giggles. The girls
hurled themselves at Naomi to hug and congratulate her. After the warm wishes and
kisses on the cheek, she took a step back from the group. “I said yes—”

“Well, of course you did,” Hannah interrupted.

“But what about you?” Naomi asked pointedly. She scanned the three
beaming women before her. “What happens to us? The hotel?” One by one, their
smiles melted away. “Charles has land outside of town. It’s over an hour away.”

Head bowed, Rebecca sat down on the bench at the table and drummed
her fingers. After a moment, she shrugged. “You love him. It will be all
right.” She rapped on the table, as if to emphasize her words. “It’ll be like
it was at home in Cary. We’ll still be close to each other, Naomi.”

Hannah bit her bottom lip and shook her head slowly. Naomi eased a
few steps closer to her. “What is it, Hannah?”

She twitched her lips uncertainly for a moment. Finally, she
looked up, her brow crinkled with worry. “What
are
we going to do? Are
we going to run this hotel forever?”

Naomi realized with a jolt that Hannah didn’t want to. How could
she have not seen that coming? Her desire to be a nurse was sincere, and
growing. “Hannah, I’m sure Rebecca would agree with me when I tell you, don’t
put
off
nursing because of us or this hotel. Especially if you think it’s what
God wants for you.”

“I don’t know what God wants for me.”

“You will, in time,” Rebecca said. “I’ve been toying lately with
the idea of a newspaper. Maybe we
won’t
run the hotel forever.”

“And I still want to go home to Kansas,” Mollie said taking a
small step forward. “As soon as I hear back from my family.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Naomi said waving her hand, stunned at what
she was hearing. “What are you all saying? Are you all sick of the hotel?”

For a moment the three girls stared back at Naomi with startled
looks. Then they exchanged guilty glances with each other. Rebecca licked her
lips and slowly rose to her feet again. “Not sick of it, Naomi, merely
entertaining possibilities.”

Naomi studied one face after the other, feeling a little
bushwhacked. But it was her own fault. Head over heels for Charles, she hadn’t
been thinking about anything but him. Not what a future with him might look
like. Not what her sisters might want out of life too. The hotel had been born
of necessity. A logical business decision that kept a roof over their heads and
a steady income flowing. Now, with a little time and planning, other
possibilities could be open to them all.

“Well, nobody said we had to make this place our life’s work,”
Naomi conceded.

Rebecca smiled and took Naomi’s hand. “And nobody said we have to
make these decisions today. Why don’t we plan a wedding first?”

~~~

Twenty-Two

McIntyre was gratified that each new morning brought with it a
desire to read God’s Word.
If he kept it up, would
the guilt eventually stop slithering around his soul? Would this sense of being
unworthy cease hunting him from the shadows? Could he change into a man who
willingly bowed his knee to a loving God?

He slipped out of bed and into black trousers and a white silk
shirt, left unbuttoned. Knowing Brannagh would be up shortly with his
breakfast, he sat down at his desk. The Bible greeted him with a sense of
peace. He laid his hand atop the leather-covered book and prayed.
Help me
find the answers, Lord.
Still feeling inadequate about his right to come
before God, McIntyre ran a hand through his hair. Diving in, he randomly
flipped to Acts chapter 9.

And Saul, yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the
disciples of the Lord, went unto the high priest,

And desired of him letters to Damascus to the synagogues, that if
he found any of this Way, whether they were men or women, he might bring them
bound unto Jerusalem.

Intrigued by this evil, brutal man, McIntyre backed up to Chapter
8 and read. Paul had kidnapped, beaten, brutalized, tortured, and imprisoned
believers. He had separated families, killed men and women, and left behind a
trail of orphans. His name had been a synonym for terror. Yet, one encounter
with Christ had changed Paul, thoroughly and completely, from the inside out.

McIntyre was particularly struck by Chapter 9, verse 26:

And when Saul was come to Jerusalem, he assayed to join himself to
the disciples: but they were all afraid of him, and believed not that he was a
disciple.

They didn’t believe he was a changed man
. McIntyre found comfort in the commonality.

He leaned back from the book and pondered the similarities between
himself and Paul. He thought about his early days in Defiance and the brutal
ways in which he had established
his
town. The souls he had willingly
beaten or buried just so he could keep his throne. The girls he’d so casually
hired as prostitutes. And the men he’d enticed into his saloons to lose their
souls to liquor, gambling, and sirens.

He had breathed out his own
threatenings
on the citizens of
Defiance, and the past sat heavy on his shoulders. Paul, though, after one
amazing encounter with Christ, had turned his life into a force for good, for
God. The tenacious, determined apostle traveled, witnessed, healed, spread the
gospel, and lived a completely different life. He hadn’t done it to prove
himself a better man. He simply
was
a better man because of his
relationship with Christ.

McIntyre shut the Bible, envious that Paul had not only found
forgiveness, but
lived
like he was forgiven, moving beyond his past,
surrendering everything to God. He hungered to know his trick.

I have done so many things, God, for which You shouldn’t forgive
me. I don’t even have the right to ask—

“Helloooo, anyone here?”

The silky, feminine voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite
place it. Dreading what a woman in his saloon probably meant, he walked out
into the hallway. Below him, a young, petite Negro girl in a painfully low-cut
dress glanced around the quiet room.

From his vantage point, McIntyre had a sudden, clear, and
unintended view of her generous bosom. His stare lingered for an instant.
Ashamed of the instinctive reaction, he shook himself free and started down the
stairs. “What can I do for you?”

Startled, she clutched her throat and tracked the voice. Circles
under her eyes, the cheap dress and faded feathers in her hair told her story.
“I’m lookin’ for a job, but,” she motioned to the empty saloon, “you don’t
appear to be hiring.”

“What’s your name?” he asked as he approached her.

“Amanda.” She stared at McIntyre as if waiting for a reaction. He
didn’t have one for her. “I worked here a few years ago. You called me Poppy.”

He nodded, the name returning her to his memory. She hadn’t stayed
long. Left with a miner, as he recalled. He couldn’t recall having slept with
her, but knew that didn’t mean anything. Some women were memorable. Some were
not. “I thought you got married.”

“That didn’t work out.”

So she was back in the business. He jerked a thumb toward the door
“Well, the Iron Horse is closed. But there are five other—” he cut off the
suggestion. Troubled by his willingness to toss her back to the cesspool, he
walked past her to the bar and stared at himself in the mirror. Handsome,
well-dressed, a rogue with dark hair, slightly long and curly, and perfectly
trimmed beard. He
looked
like the old McIntyre. The old McIntyre would
have sent her to the other side of town.

Back to Jerusalem in chains.

He thought of Amaryllis. Naomi had said the woman had refused the
offer of a free room, a chance to choose a different path. McIntyre knew making
such an offer hadn’t come easy to her. God love her, she’d made it anyway. He
wondered if she would have though, had she’d known about his relationship with
Amaryllis.

Yes, she most likely would have.

And he couldn’t do any less.

He studied Amanda in the mirror. Christ had died for this girl,
just as he had for McIntyre. They both had to try to start over.

Brannagh, his bartender and now personal assistant, had left a
pitcher of water on the counter, along with a few bottles of liquor. He poured
a glass of water and asked, “Can I get you something to drink, Amanda?”

“Sure, yeah. Whiskey’d be fine.”

“How ’bout water?”

Brow creasing, she shrugged a shoulder. “OK, that’s good too.”

He walked the drink over to her. “Tell me, Amanda, do you want
out?”

Glass at her lips, she paused before taking the sip. “Sure. Don’t
we all?”

“If you could do something different, what would it be?”

Suspicion played on her face. “I’d be a duchess, I reckon.”

“Is that what you would want? A house and servants?”

Realizing he was serious, she sniffed and shook her head. “No, I’d
like to be a teacher, especially for little ones just learnin’ to read.”

A glimmer of a notion formed in his mind. “If you had the money
and the opportunity, would you go back to school to learn to be a proper
teacher?”

She stared straight through him for a moment, pondering the crazy
idea. “In a magical world filled with unicorns and fairies, I’d go to
Wellesley.” She blinked. “My teacher at the freedmen’s school went there. But I
believe I left my magic wand back in Denver.”

McIntyre reached up and scratched his beard. “Maybe
you
did
…”

~~~