Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (18 page)

Twenty-Three

Hannah hated having a soft heart.
Why couldn’t she be tough and a little low on compassion like
Naomi? She flinched at the rather unkind thought, but her sister had floated by
Billy in the dining room the past several mornings as he ate his breakfast
alone, and hadn’t shown him an ounce of concern. She’d poured his coffee,
checked on him occasionally, but kept right on moving, ignoring the hunched
shoulders, drumming fingers, and the way he pushed his food around the plate
instead of eating it.

This morning Hannah couldn’t take it anymore. Family ate in the
kitchen. Besides, Billy could feed Little Billy and she wouldn’t have to juggle
his care with caring for the customers.

So far, the idea was paying off. Billy and son wore only modest
amounts of porridge on their faces and clothes. Coming in from the dining room,
she stopped, raised an eyebrow at the pair, and used her apron to wipe cereal
off the father’s cheek. Billy’s eyes warmed at her touch and he smiled. A
little alarmed at the flip her stomach did, Hannah jerked her hand away. She hurried
over to the stove where Rebecca loaded her with several plates, each full of
hash browns, bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Hannah was quite proud she could carry
four meals this way. Head high, she sashayed past the two boys and backed
through the swinging doors.

When she returned to the kitchen several minutes later, Emilio had
stationed himself at the opposite end of the table and was wolfing down his
breakfast. “Good morning, Emilio.” She greeted him with a sing-song voice as
she deposited a ton of dirty dishes into the sink. His mouth full, he nodded
and waved a fork.

Hannah assumed Billy had barely spoken to him. Furthermore, he
probably supposed Emilio was just getting his day started. She decided to
correct that assumption.

“Emilio, how’s the hen house? Did you get the fence fixed?”

“
Si
, I fixed the hole first thing this morning.”

“And the woodbox?”

“It’s filled.”

“Milk?”

“In the spring house.” He took a sip of coffee. “And I’m fixing
that loose step right after breakfast.”

Hannah skimmed her glance over Billy, whose lips were a tight
line. “That’s wonderful, Emilio. Now, I was wondering …” She plopped cinnamon
rolls onto saucers as she prepared to put in motion another idea. “We’ve got a
piece of furniture down at the stagecoach office. Came in yesterday. I thought
you and Billy could go get it today.” Both men jerked their heads up as if
Hannah had just used profanity. Forks froze in midair. She bit down on her lip
to stop the grin from escaping and picked up the pastry-laden tray. “I didn’t
think either of you would mind. Besides, Billy needs something to do.”

Without waiting for a response, she slipped gracefully through the
batwings.

~~~

Billy hadn’t missed Hannah’s impish grin twitching around the
corners of her beautiful, inviting lips. Pulling an empty spoon from Little
Billy’s mouth, he turned a not-so-friendly gaze on Emilio. Their eyes battled.
For a second, the tension was palpable.

Unexpectedly, Emilio shrugged a shoulder. “Ees fine with me.”

“Well, me too,” Billy added defensively. He scooped up a little
more porridge and waved it in front of the child. “Sure, we can move some
furniture for Mama.” Like a little bird, the boy opened his mouth, waiting for
his breakfast. “Let me finish feeding my son, and I’ll be right with you.”

~~~

The morning sunshine warming his shoulders, Billy assessed
Defiance as he and Emilio strode down the crowded sidewalk. Most of the
buildings were new, having not yet lost the slight golden hue that pine holds
onto for a few years. Main Street itself was a busy flow of mud-encrusted
miners, mules, horses, and freight wagons coming and going at an almost fevered
clip. Above the creak of leather and buzzing, male voices, he noticed the
constant clanging sound of metal. Reverberating in the air like church bells, gold
pans hung from every saddle and backpack on the street, swaying, ringing, and
glinting in the sun.

Defiance could be described as chaotic, but it was not
in
chaos, Billy realized. These men had places to go, things to accomplish, and
gold to find.

A wall of plaid and leather pushed its way roughly past Billy,
nearly knocking him off the boardwalk. Without thinking, he spun. “Hey, why
don’t you watch where you’re going?”

The man stopped and Billy’s mind immediately leaped back to Earl
H. Goode. The miner, as broad as a plow horse and carrying a pick ax on his
shoulder, slowly turned. A hairy, barrel-chested gentleman scowled as he
appraised Billy. Billy fought the temptation to swallow or glance at Emilio,
who had stopped beside him. The miner spit tobacco juice at his feet. “Git
home, pup,” he said, sneering. “I hear your mama callin’ ya.”

He turned and continued his trek down the boardwalk. Billy had
never felt like such a flea in his life.

Beside him, Emilio chuckled. “Come on,
pup
. We need to get
that furniture.”

Pup?
Billy clamped his jaws
shut, forcing himself to take a breath before he responded. He turned and his
eyes followed Emilio as the boy walked a few steps ahead. “Call me
pup
again,
greaser
, and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

Emilio stopped as if he’d run into a wall. He dropped his hands on
his hips and shook his head. Billy couldn’t tell if he was laughing or arguing
with himself. Maybe both. A few passersby seemed to sense the tension and
slowed their progress, necks craning.

Emilio backed up a step and turned on Billy at the same time. “I
don’t want to fight you. Hannah wouldn’t like it.”

Billy snorted. “
Hannah wouldn’t like it?
” he mocked. “Well
aren’t you the considerate gentleman.”

The shadow of a storm darkened Emilio’s face. Billy imagined he
could hear the rumble of thunder. Teeth clenched, Emilio took two more steps
and came nose-to-nose with Billy, bowler and cowboy hat colliding. “At least
I
respect her.”

No conscious thought led Billy to hit Emilio with a sledgehammer
of a punch, he just did it. The boy’s head snapped back, he staggered a step or
two, growled and came back to throw a clumsy hook. Billy dodged it and hit
Emilio with a combination right jab and left uppercut. The tan cowboy hat went
flying as Emilio again staggered back. This time, he took a moment longer to
recover. A sizable crowd of laughing, jostling men formed—amazingly fast, Billy
thought—and encircled the boys.

Billy raised his hands and shuffled skillfully back and forth in
front of Emilio. He watched his opponent but stole wary glances at the crowd as
well, in case someone else decided to join the fracas. Black hair hanging in
his eyes, Emilio touched his lip and looked at his fingers. Blood. Billy’s
confidence soared. He could beat the hound out of this greaser. He’d be
shouting orders at him in a few minutes instead of working alongside him.

Emilio shook his hair back and raised his fists. Determination
burned in his dark eyes. Billy grinned. The two boys moved in and circled each
other like animals in a cage. The fast-growing crowd shouted, but Billy ignored
the noise. He saw flashes of gold as money changed hands.

Emilio stepped in and swung a wild haymaker. Billy ducked and
lunged with another uppercut. Emilio’s head snapped back. This time, blood
spattered. Billy felt the spray hit his face. The boy cupped his bleeding nose
briefly and straightened up. Shaking off the pain, he once again put up his
dukes, but Billy saw him sway before regaining his balance.

“More, greaser?” Although he felt like a rooster ready to crow,
Billy grudgingly admired the boy’s tenacity. Some of the men around him cheered
or roared with laughter. The crowd had grown, now running three and four bodies
deep. Hairy, smelly miners watched eagerly, hungry for blood.

“Come on, Emilio,” someone else yelled. “The tin horn with the
bowler ain’t no match for you.”

“Shoot, city boy, you can take that,
greaser
!” Billy didn’t
know where the shouts came from, but they sounded ugly and eager for someone’s
misery.

Unexpectedly, Emilio lowered his head and charged like a bull.
Caught at the waist, Billy, arms pin-wheeling, could only tumble back into the
crowd, which parted like water. The two toppled into the street, sending up a
dust cloud and spooking a horse tied in front of the Land Office. Emilio
punched ferociously, landing three stunning blows to Billy’s head and ribs.
Unsettled that the tables had turned, Billy flailed, kicked and squirmed. The
punches kept raining down. He heard his nose crack and the pain made his eyes
water.

Emilio couldn’t fight, but he could brawl.
Well, if there
aren’t any rules…
 
Billy
grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it. As Emilio blinked and wiped, Billy
tried to scramble out from under him.

Still wiping at his eyes with one hand, Emilio clawed for Billy
with the other. The two rolled around on the ground, kicking, gouging,
grunting, fists thudding on flesh. Like snakes fighting to the death, they
rolled and grappled. The crowd roared and Billy sucked wind like a dying fish,
his arms growing heavier and heavier. Growling with Herculean effort, he shoved
Emilio off.

Gasping for breath, the boy rolled a few feet away and struggled
to all fours. Billy copied him. Like panting dogs, they stared at each other
from their hands and knees. Billy wondered if he looked as bad as Emilio. Face
smeared with blood, the boy’s eye was swelling shut, something wasn’t quite
right with the angle of his nose, his cheek sported a nice gash, his bottom lip
was purple and already twice its normal size. His hair shot in every direction
and his shirt hung in rags.

A sudden wave of blackness threatened to fog Billy’s brain and he
collapsed on his hip. Stars danced in his head and he tasted the copper of his
own blood. He glanced down at his knuckles. Skinned and bleeding. The hand that
had barely recovered from his last fight was swelling fast. His ribs ached like
he’d been kicked by a mule. His head hurt too, but he couldn’t pinpoint whether
his nose, jaw, forehead or mouth was the center of the pain.

Chest heaving, Emilio fell back on his bum and wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand. “We forgot the wagon.”

~~~

Twenty-Four

Descending the steps, Naomi was surprised to see Matthew hobbling
through the front door, a new cane in his hand.
Her stomach dropped at the prospect of telling him about Charles’s
proposal. She really didn’t want to hurt him, but perhaps the sooner they got
this out of the way, the easier it would be for both of them to move on.

He shut the front door and, holding his side, limped his way
across the entry toward the dining room. Dreading this, but resolved, she wiped
sweaty palms on her apron and licked her lips. “You missed lunch, Matthew.” He
sagged a bit at the sound of her voice. “But I could fix you a sandwich or
perhaps some country ham and a biscuit.”

“No, thank you, Naomi.”

The awkwardness between them stamped every word they spoke. She
bit her lip, knowing it was about to get worse. He waited for her at the
entrance of the dining room, but she could only offer him quick, guilty
glances. “I see you picked up a cane. From the general store?”

“Yeah, I had to get some fresh air before I started climbing the
walls, but by the time I’d walked that far, my side was hurting pretty good.”
He twirled the dark brown cane. “I missed a good street fight. Would have liked
to watch it, but that chair in the dining room was calling my name.”

“That’s the first fight in a while.” She clasped her hands in
front of her and rocked on her heels. But it wouldn’t be the last. And it didn’t
matter at the moment. “Matthew, I need to tell you something.”

“Uh-oh.” He hobbled on into the dining room and took his favorite
seat next to the fireplace. Naomi quietly followed him but didn’t sit down.
Resting his cane’s tip between his feet, he drummed his fingers along the
handle and waited. “What is it?”

“Charles asked me to marry him this morning. I said yes. The
preacher will be here in a few days.”

Before the announcement could even register with him, a loud
commotion drew their attention to the front door. Billy and Emilio, resembling
the bloody survivors of an Indian attack and carrying a large wooden crate
between them, bounced and slammed their way into the center of the front room.
They set the crate down with an unceremonious thud. Like troops returning from
a lost battle, they slowly removed their hats and waited. Their expressions,
what she could see beneath the blood, seemed to dare her to scold them.

Naomi couldn’t scold them. Their condition left her speechless.

Matthew hobbled up beside her and whistled. “You two have been
busy.” The young men traded uneasy glances and Matthew laughed. “Sorry I missed
it.”

Snapping out of her shock, Naomi stomped forward to examine them.
“Good grief, what happened?” She touched Emilio’s jaw, lowering it so she could
get a better view of his swollen eye and various abrasions. Shaking her head in
disapproval, she moved her attention to Billy. Pushing his forehead back, she
eyed his cuts and rapidly swelling, bloody nose. She caught him flexing his fingers
and gently lifted his abused hand to eye level. It was already twice its normal
size.

“Oh my goodness!” Hannah cried from the top of the stairs. Jaw
clenched, she stormed down the staircase like Stonewall Jackson chasing
Yankees. The two boys shifted uncomfortably. Pleasantly shocked at her little
sister’s flaring temper, Naomi stepped aside.

Hannah planted herself between Emilio and Billy and jammed her
hands onto her hips, her chest heaving. “You two did this to each other, didn’t
you?”

Immediately the boys started talking over each other and pointing
like angry toddlers.

“He started it—”

“I told him you wouldn’t—”

“He called me a—”

“Enough!” Hannah bellowed. The boys clammed up like someone had
slapped them. Naomi crossed her arms and grinned with enormous pride as
Hannah’s temper sizzled like the fuse on a stick of dynamite. She was hopping
mad and the fireworks were promising indeed.

“You can’t walk two blocks without coming to blows?”

“I tried not to,” Emilio argued, but pride got the better of him
and he straightened up. “Sometimes, a man must fight for his honor.”

Hannah raised her brow then nailed Billy with a sideways glare.

Apparently trying to wring the life out of his bowler, he raised
it to his chest. “He called me a pup.”

Naomi heard a snort from Matthew.

“A pup?” Hannah’s eyebrows arched. “So how did
you
offend
his
honor
?”

The boys squirmed as if they would prefer to be anywhere but here.
Hannah started tapping her toe. Billy buckled and stepped toward her, slicing
the air with that ridiculous hat.

“Darn it, Hannah, we had words, but I didn’t hit him until he said
I don’t respect you.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped and she backed up a step. After a moment, her
expression transformed from shock to something harder and inscrutable. Naomi
wondered if she was trying not to give too much away.

“Who won?” Hannah asked softly. The boys answered with stoic
silence.

“Fine.” Her scorching gaze raked the bloodied pulps standing
before her. “You two go out to the back porch. I don’t want blood in my
kitchen. I’ll be there shortly to clean you up.”

Head held high, Hannah marched off to the kitchen. Naomi had only
been this proud of her little sister one other time, during her confession to
the whole church, which she had done alone when Billy wasn’t even in the state.

“Well, boys …” Naomi laughed, absolutely delighted with her little
sister’s display of temper. “You have lit a fire under Hannah Frink. I like her
this way, don’t you—?” she turned to include Matthew in the comment, but he was
gone. Relieved, she turned back to Emilio and Billy. They were a pitiful sight.
Beaten, swollen, covered head to toe in dirt and blood, and yet neither of them
had claimed victory. Puzzled, she let the question pass and motioned toward the
back. “Get on out to the back stoop.” They shuffled off, heads lowered,
shoulders bent, both holding their hats over their hearts as if they were
heading off to an execution … theirs. “And don’t get blood on anything.”

~~~