Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (22 page)

McIntyre was fascinated by Ian’s prediction. Slipping his hat on
his head, he asked, “Which is better, do you think?”

“While Rebecca and I will live longer,” he winked, “Ye and Naomi
will live more passionately.” Grinning, he strode to the door. “I’ll see ye
back at the hotel.”

Smiling over Ian’s reference to thunder and lightning, McIntyre
bit down on his cheroot and pulled two new shirts from his dresser.
Momentarily, he heard a soft knock on the door. “Come in.”

Billy popped his head in, hair wet and slicked back. “You wanted
to see me?”

McIntyre nodded. “Yes, I wanted to give you and Emilio new shirts.
I would prefer that you two not show up at my wedding poorly attired and
unwashed.” He handed him the items.

Billy read the labels and raised his eyebrows. “These are very
nice shirts. Thank you.”

McIntyre waved the comment away with the cheroot. “My pleasure.
Regarding the other matter,” he strode to his desk and dropped the smoke into
the ash tray. “I thought it the decent thing to let you know—last year I hired
Beckwith to track you down.” He turned to Billy and leaned on the desk. “I
don’t normally spy on folks, but I suppose you could say I had a moment of
chivalrous weakness.”

Billy ran his hand through his hair and brought it to rest on his
neck. “I don’t understand. Once you found me, what did you do with that information?”

McIntyre shrugged and reached for the cheroot again. “It made its
way back to Hannah. I understand she chose not to contact you. How did you find
her, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Billy frowned as if he was digesting this information. Apparently he
had not been aware that Hannah could have reached out to him, if she had been
so inclined. The girl had pride.

“I–I found a Pinkerton report in my father’s desk. I had already
made up my mind to find Hannah. The report made it easier.”

Silence fell between them as McIntyre pondered what kind of man
Billy Page might turn out to be. He’d come a long way to see Hannah, although
Naomi wasn’t yet sold on his reasons. McIntyre, on the other hand, had no
doubt. “Naomi told me a little about your father. Was the price high to come
after Hannah?”

“It cost me everything my father thinks matters in life.”

“And what do you think?’

“Everything that matters to me is right here in Defiance.”

~~~

One-Who-Cries did not like to wait. And he did not like being this
close to Defiance knowing he couldn’t kill McIntyre … yet. First, he needed
guns. To get guns, he needed the girl with yellow hair.

His horse stamped her feet, the sound swallowed quickly by the
thick forest of aspens. Where was Black Elk? If he found out the worthless
Indian was lying drunk in a saloon somewhere …

He clenched his jaw, angry that the brave was late … or not coming
at all. Perhaps this was part of the Great Spirit’s plan, to teach
One-Who-Cries patience. How long had he prayed for a vision telling him when he
could finally skin McIntyre alive? Eight winters? He avenged the murder of his
mother and little brother every day. But still he waited to kill the white man
who had fouled Hopping Bird and left her with a half-breed child.

Memories, dark and bitter, rained down on him like falling leaves,
pulling him back to a blazing council fire.

“Hopping Bird is my daughter and I will do with her as I see fit.”
Ouray crossed his arms over his chest, his face hard and unrelenting in the
flickering light.

One-Who-Cries clenched his hands into tight fists. He felt the
eyes of the council on him, urging restraint. But a boy of seventeen winters would
not be held back by foolish old men afraid of the Blue Coats.

He stepped back so he could see Ouray and the council members
seated behind him. Their dead stares enraged him, made him feel small.
Seething, he pounded a fist into his chest. “She was promised to me. Me!” His
eyes darted to McIntyre, standing quietly in the shadows. “I will kill that
white man before he can touch her.”

McIntyre took a step forward. Chief Ouray raised his hand,
signaling him to stay put. “You disgrace yourself before the council,
One-Who-Cries. Speaking against your chief is not the Ute way.”

“First Two Moons and then Fat Buffalo!” Spittle flew from
One-Who-Cries’ mouth. He raised a fist at his chief, wishing he could pound the
old man’s skull into pulp. The fibers in his body grew as tight as drying
rawhide and he shook with his anger. “Their bones are still smoldering and you
would give her to this—”

“Leave, One-Who-Cries,” Ouray said softly. “Leave your tribe
freely and in peace. If you stay, there will be no peace between us.” The old
man’s solemn warning haunted him, echoing in his heart.

One-Who-Cries had left … and there had been no peace on that path
either. Tired, often covered in white man’s blood, the emptiness in his heart
still burned, emptiness only Hopping Bird could fill.

Before two summers had passed, his tribe was moved to White
Mountain Reservation.

He exhaled quietly and recalled his first scouting trip there to
find her. Riding among the people, he looked into their soulless eyes and
shivered. They were skeletons wrapped in filthy blankets, shuffling about as if
they were lost in the spirit world. He sniffed and smelled dung and wood fires,
but not the scent of roasting meat. He heard no laughter from the children. The
teepees, ragged and hastily built, moved with the breeze.

Once such a proud people, these Utes had been broken. Fuming, he
wondered how a chief could condemn his people to this.

Hugging a rolled up blanket, Hopping Bird shuffled up to his
horse. One-Who-Cries wanted to weep and rage when he saw her. She was a fragile
shell of the girl he had left. She smiled at him as he dismounted, but the
greeting was as thin as a morning mist. Her dress of blue checkered cloth hung
from her thin body. Her dark hair that once glimmered like a black snake in
spring, dangled in dingy braids down her shoulders. She was dying in this place
and One-Who-Cries could not stand it.

“I have come for you, Hopping Bird. I will kill McIntyre for you,
if need be. But I will not leave without you.”

She loosened her grip on the blanket in her arms and shook her
head. “He is not here. He left me before the Utes were moved to the reservation.”

One-Who-Cries was only a little relieved. He had wanted the chance
to see McIntyre without Ouray watching like a mother bear. “Then come with me
now.”

He saw a light of hope flicker in her eyes, but she looked away
quickly. “Two Spears?” She spoke over her shoulder. When no one replied, she
said it again. “Two Spears, come here.”

A small child slowly peeked out from behind a barrel. He was
chubby, covered in dirt, and nibbling on a piece of fry bread. One-Who-Cries’
little brother Fat Buffalo had lived with a piece clutched in his hands. The
memory stung.

This child toddled up behind his mother and hid in the folds of
her skirt. Hopping Bird reached around and touched him on the shoulder. “He is
my son. I cannot leave him. I cannot leave my people.”

The frightened, curious eyes risked a broader peek out from behind
his mother. One-Who-Cries took a small step back. For all the hate in his
heart, One-Who-Cries loved Hopping Bird and she loved this child. Why else
would she starve herself so that he would grow fat and live?

“Where is his father?”

“Once the treaty was signed, he traded my father many horses and
cattle … for land. And he said he did not want a wife. He said he would work to
keep the peace between us and the Blue Coats. And he promised supplies.”

Supplies?
One-Who-Cries looked
around again and saw only hunger and death. He almost choked on his hate. It
burned in his blood turning his spirit to ashes. His fingers itched to slice
McIntyre open like an elk and watch his intestines spill out on the ground.

One-Who-Cries pulled himself free of this painful memory and
scrounged for one more pleasant. Though Hopping Bird had refused to leave the
reservation, she had become his wife. He went often to see her and bring her
food, blankets, what supplies he could sneak to her and Two Spears. The boy,
ten winters now, was good with a sling. He would be a great warrior one day.
Hopping Bird had visions and she had seen this.

One-Who-Cries exhaled, frustrated with the pace of things. Most of
Hopping Bird’s visions had been very clear–that One-Who-Cries would kill many
white men, take their women, burn their homes. Yet she had not seen when to
attack Defiance or Charles McIntyre. One-Who-Cries had come so close once he
could have reached out and struck the white man down with his fist. But Yankee
soldiers had saved him.

Many winters had passed since that battle. One day, the waiting
would be over. One-Who-Cries would meet McIntyre again and the murders of Two
Moons and Fat Buffalo, the slow death of the Ute people, the broken spirit in
Hopping Bird, it would all be avenged.

He peered into the shadows and listened to the woods around him.
The horse swished her tail back and forth, shifted her hooves. Birds whistled
and called in peace.

Black Elk was not coming.

One-Who-Cries raised his chin. He would have to get the woman
himself. And perhaps, this would be his chance to kill Charles McIntyre.

~~~

Thirty-One

“All right, Amanda, that’s the last table.”
Hannah deposited a heap of dishes on the counter next to the sink
and turned to the new girl. Amanda scrubbed a cast iron pan with a vengeance,
her concentration practically scalding the grime off it. Hannah cocked her head
to one side and pondered the girl. She’d cooked like this, too, as if a burnt
steak or under-cooked potatoes might result in the collision of heaven and
earth. Hannah had never seen anyone concentrate so hard, as if she was trying
to avoid thinking about something else altogether.

Maybe, she thought, a few encouraging words would make them both
feel better. “You did a really fine job tonight. Thank you for jumping in to
help like you did.”

“It was nothing.” Amanda wiped a sleeve across her forehead to
fight back a few stray wiry curls and changed scrubbing hands. “I have to stay
busy.”

“Well, how was your first night, Amanda?”

She and Hannah turned as Naomi floated through the café doors.
Floated was the right word too, Hannah thought. Her sister had stars in her
eyes, a glow about her, and moved like she had clouds beneath her feet. Amanda
didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, fine,” the new girl said, turning back to her work. She
turned the pot upside down and placed it in the dish rack to dry. “This wasn’t
a hard evening at all.”

“Well, it’s going to get easier. I have some news.” Naomi laced
her fingers together in front of her and shrugged her shoulders as if she was
nervous. “The preacher is coming on the Friday stage and Charles would like us
all to concentrate on the wedding. He’s buying us out for the next three days.
Maybe even a day or two more.”

Hannah’s mouth fell open. They’d worked so hard, from the moment
they’d set foot in Defiance last July. Now, finally, a holiday of sorts. She
grabbed Naomi’s hands and laughed. “Oh, praise the Lord. A break!” Hannah
hugged her sister, squeezing the breath out of her. “We’ll have time to make
all kinds of decorations for the wedding!” Naomi hugged her back, stiff as a
board at first, but shortly Hannah felt her relax.

“You’re all right with this then? You think I’m doing the right
thing?”

Hannah stepped back to arm’s length, but kept a hold on Naomi’s
shoulders. “I already said so. He loves you and you love him. And John would
want you to be happy. What else do you need?”

“I need to tell Rebecca.” She started to turn, stopped, and smiled
at Hannah. “I would never have seen any of this coming. Not in a million
years.”

“Doesn’t it simply amaze you the things God’s love can accomplish?
I mean, he’s really a changed man. Don’t you think?”

For an instant, a shadow clouded Naomi’s face, but she lifted her
chin and it fled. “Yes. Yes, I believe he is a changed man. And speaking of
changed men, at least concerning clothes, Emilio and Billy are out front.”

Unbidden, something stirred in Hannah. It felt a little
bittersweet. She wanted to see Billy. She wanted to see Emilio. And, yet, now
she found herself a little afraid of both of them. With regards to Billy, she
could understand it. But Emilio?

Naomi pulled her hand away from Hannah and hurried toward the café
doors. “Let me tell Rebecca we’re closed.” Over her shoulder, “Thank you again,
Amanda.”

Almost the moment she was gone, Billy and Emilio pushed through
the doors. Their transformation was, indeed, startling. In spite of swollen
noses, puffy lips and gouged cheeks, their faces were freshly washed and
shaven. She knew that must have been quite a delicate procedure. Plus, they
both wore clean clothes, including crisp white cotton shirts with pleated
bibs—tailored shirts, expensive shirts. They were sure putting on the dog.

She was struck for the first time by the differences in their
coloring, what wasn’t black-and-blue. Billy’s short, dirty blonde hair was
still wet and combed smartly to the side. Emilio’s jet black hair was also
still wet and he’d run a comb through it. Straight and tucked behind his ears,
it curled up a good inch past his collar. She realized their contradictory
appearances hinted at broader differences as well. Billy, clean-cut, educated
and civilized. Emilio, as long-haired as an Indian, but gentle and wise beyond
his years.

Hannah bit her lip, a little unnerved by the handsome gentlemen
before her. She studied them carefully while trying to ignore Billy’s
unwavering stare. Intent and direct, he almost seemed to be trying to tell her
something. Uncomfortable with the determined gaze, she shifted her focus to
Emilio.

He tapped his hat against his tan pants and lowered his chin.
“We’re sorry we’re late, but Mr. McIntyre wanted us to have these shirts.”

Hannah didn’t know where to start with that. “You mean, Mr.
McIntyre
gave
you those?”
How oddly generous
.

“
Si
. He said we should wear them to the wedding if they
fit.”

“Well, they fit nicely. You’re both very handsome.” The compliment
had snuck out and Hannah wished immediately she could take it back.
Complimenting them both, but specifically Billy, felt dangerous somehow. Eager
to get past it, she remembered her manners. “Oh, I’m sorry. Amanda, let me
introduce Billy and Emilio to you. Gentlemen, this is Amanda Hines. She’s our new
cook, until she goes off to teaching college.”

Amanda nodded at the boys as she slipped off her apron. The three
exchanged greetings, but she quickly returned to Hannah. “Unless you need me,
I’ll head on to bed?”

“Yes, please do. And thank you again for your help. These two
scoundrels have plates in the warmer. I’ll get them.”

Amanda hesitated. She bit her lip as she laid the apron on the
counter. “About tomorrow … if we’re closed, what should I do? I really do nee—
like
to keep busy.”

Hannah grabbed the apron and turned to the warmer. “We can talk
about it at breakfast. You can either help us with wedding food or decorations,
or do hotel chores. We’ll figure it out.” Using the apron as a mitt, she pulled
two dinner plates from the oven and set them on the kitchen table. “Go on now
and get some rest.”

“All right.”

Amanda nodded good evening as Billy and Emilio settled down at the
kitchen table. Hannah could tell right away there was far less tension between
the two and that irked her, she realized. She handed them both forks, halting
almost imperceptibly when Billy’s steely gaze hit her. Swallowing, she sat down
across from them and whispered a blessing as both boys dug into the warmed-over
roast and mashed potatoes.

Hannah watched them eat for a moment, but the chewing noises in
the quiet kitchen only made the silence more awkward. “You want to tell me how
Prince Valiant is? Really?”

Billy and Emilio froze.
Guilty as charged
, Hannah thought.

Billy finished his bite of potatoes. “It’s his tendon. I won’t be
riding or racing him for a while. How did you know?”

“I know what liniment smells like.” She scrunched up her nose at
Emilio. “Especially your version. The whole back yard smelled to high heaven.”

“
Si
, it smells bad, but it works good.”

The silence returned and Hannah wanted to scream. Why couldn’t
they just talk and be friendly? It seemed Billy and Emilio had made progress
toward that end, but what about her? Where did she fit in with these two? Why
wouldn’t they talk to her tonight?

“So, how is it that Mr. McIntyre came to give you two of his
shirts?”

“Emilio here was going to show me where the bathhouse was and that
Donohue fella overheard. He took us down to Mr. McIntyre’s place and he let us
use his bathroom.”

“Really?” Hannah leaned forward, her curiosity getting the best of
her. She’d heard so many stories about the rooms in the Iron Horse Saloon.
“What was it like? Was there gold and marble everywhere?”

At first, she thought neither boy was going to answer, then, as if
by mutual consent, they nodded.

“Pretty much, that’s true.” Billy sliced off a piece of roast and
shoveled it into his mouth. “There were four tubs and they all had gold trim.”

“And the counter is marble and the floor, too.” Emilio shrugged.
“I’ve seen it before, though. I used to lug the water up for the customers. It
was nice to use it for a change. I know it cost a lot of money to get the
marble to Defiance.”

“It is fairly swanky, especially for the likes of this town.”
Billy didn’t sound particularly impressed, though, as if he’d seen better. “But
it was nice of him to let us use it. I think he wanted to make sure we’ll clean
up for the wedding.”

“Well, obviously you will.” Hannah bit her lip. She needed to stop
paying them compliments. She felt like her words carried too much weight. She
rested her elbows on the table and traced a knothole in the wood, puzzled that
she was dawdling. “Well, it’s getting late … Oh, Mr. McIntyre bought the hotel
for a few days so we can close and get ready for the wedding. We’ll need your
help, if you’re both willing.”

“
Si
, that should be fun.”

“Oh, yeah, nothing I’d rather do.” Billy muttered the statement
under his breath as he used a biscuit to sop up a little broth. As he raised
the dripping mess to his mouth, Hannah’s glare stopped him in his tracks.

“We wouldn’t want to keep you from anything more important,
Billy.” She sat up and folded her arms across her chest. “I mean, it is only my
sister’s wedding. I’m sure anything a Page had to do would be more important.”
Guilt pinged Hannah. She was developing quite the gift for sassy comebacks. But
they didn’t make her feel any better.

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t know what I meant.” Next to
Billy, Emilio studied the ceiling, almost as if he was embarrassed for him. “I
just wish I knew what to do.”

“We could build them an arbor to stand under.” Billy and Hannah
swung startled gazes to Emilio. He tugged at his collar, apparently intimidated
by the gawking. “I thought that it would make the ceremony … pretty.”

Hannah would have sworn there was a pink tinge rising in Emilio’s
cheeks. The suggestion was a beautiful idea and she appreciated his
sensitivity, though she wasn’t sure Billy had been referring to the wedding
with that statement. He was gawking at Emilio like he’d just suggested they
shoot
the happy couple.

Hannah reached across the table and clutched Emilio’s hand.
“Emilio, that’s a beautiful idea.” She snatched a quick sideways peek at Billy.
“Very insightful.”

Billy rose to his feet. “I think I’ll step out back and get a
little air.” His shoulders sagged and his tone sounded weary. “Emilio, if you
need any help with that … that arbor thing, just let me know.”

“We could get the wood first thing in the morning.”

“Sure.”

Billy pushed his way through the batwings without any enthusiasm.
His stance, his step, everything about him said defeat. Puzzling over what had
just happened, Hannah stared at the door as it swung back and forth and finally
stopped. She couldn’t ignore Emilio’s eyes on her, and wiped away the troubled
crease in her forehead. She was still holding his hand and slowly pulled it
away.

“This must be hard for you,
si
?”

She sighed, but didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to see him
staring back at her with hope. What she wanted had just walked outside.

Would she never learn? Why couldn’t she show strength when it came
to him? Grow a backbone? Grow up?

Emilio was strong and steady, kind and loving, generous and
honest. He was handsome in a dark, rugged way, too. He would be a much better
catch than Billy. And clearly a better father. Finally, she gave in and met his
gaze.

His eyes were soft and kind, but they shone with unexpected steel.
“If you’re still going down to Doc Cooke’s tonight, I’ll sleep in his front
room.” The firm tone in his voice intrigued her, left her with the feeling he was
laying a claim. “You shouldn’t be there alone.”

“Well, all right, if you want to. I have to tend to Little Billy
first.”

Half an hour later, she went out back searching for Billy. Pulling
her shawl close, Hannah took a moment to adjust to the half-moon light. Slowly,
his shape emerged from the shadows. He stood down by the water, thumbs hooked
in his back pockets, staring up at the moon. A twinge of melancholy hit her. He
evoked such a kaleidoscope of emotions. She loved him. She hated him. She
wanted to run to him. She wanted to run from him.

Emilio was so much safer.

Pulling strength from what felt like a dwindling reserve, she
marched out to him. A few paces away, she stopped and cleared her throat.
Slowly, he turned.

“Would you mind checking on Little Billy before you go to bed? I’m
going to spend the night at Doc’s office.” Those blue eyes, silver in the
moonlight, pierced her heart. Silently, they echoed all the desperate
confessions he’d made since arriving in Defiance. That didn’t mean she wanted to
listen. If she did, she might believe them.