Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2)

by Blanton, Heather

  Stunned, he raced up to the fiery skeletal remains and skidded to a stop. Through the flames he could see three lines of bucket brigades stretching down to the stream. Dozens of men, yelling back and forth, scurried about like ants, frantically tossing water on the hotel. The building, though, was a loss.

  Fear and smoke strangling his lungs, he scanned the mayhem of men moving in every direction. A beam let out a final burst of flame and with its light, McIntyre spotted Rebecca and Ian tossing water on the remnants of the front porch. He hollered their names as he jumped off the horse, but they couldn’t hear him over the roaring flames. He ran to Rebecca and spun her around. Grimy, covered in soot, she blinked as if she didn’t recognize him, then her eyes glazed over.

  “Where is Naomi, Rebecca?” She didn’t answer immediately and panic stole his reason. He shook her violently. “Where is Naomi?”

  Ian stepped in, gently pushing McIntyre back. “Lad,” he moved between him and Rebecca. “We’ve no’ found her yet.”

  McIntyre’s brain stopped. He couldn’t comprehend the meaning of the words. “Wha–what do you mean? Where is she?”

  “We dunna know.”

  McIntyre heard the veiled pain in Ian’s voice and stepped away from him, trying to distance himself from what he was implying. “No, she’s here somewhere.” He swallowed his panic and pointed at the charred hotel. “She is not in there.” Rage erupted in him, a rage so strong it frightened him. His teeth clenched hard, to the point of hurting his jaw. “She is not in there!” He commanded it to be so. He railed against heaven. Ian reached to grab hold of McIntyre but he jerked away. “She’s not in there.”

  “We have a body!” a man yelled. McIntyre swung toward the voice. Two men had ventured into the back of the hotel, where the kitchen was. Together, they used shovels to heave a smoking beam out of the way. Heaving and grunting, they stood the stove upright. “Yeah, could be a woman!”

  Rebecca screamed, the agony in her cry vibrating through every fiber of McIntyre’s being. His limbs went cold and he didn’t think he could move them. He stopped breathing and wasn’t sure if he’d ever start again.

  ~~~

  Somehow, McIntyre found himself at Doc’s, staring out the window into the night, holding his hat in a death grip. He had no recollection of the walk over. Behind him, Ian consoled Rebecca in soft, gentle tones. McIntyre could hear her agonized whimpers. She’d collapsed at the hotel, moaning inconsolably about losing Ben and Gracie and now Naomi. At the moment, she seemed to have faded into shock. Off to his right, Wade huddled in a rocking chair, a sooty gray bandage encompassing the top half of his head.

  Black Elk had hit the deputy over the head with a bed leg. For reasons still not clear to McIntyre, the deputy believed the Indian had gone over to the hotel and started the fire, perhaps as a diversion to make his escape from town easier.

  Had Naomi walked in on him? Had they fought?

  No.

  McIntyre knew that Naomi was not dead. He wouldn’t grieve. He wouldn’t give up. If she was dead, he’d know it. He’d told her once he was bound to her. This connection was not something he could explain, he could only feel it. When Naomi died, he would die, too.

  She was not dead.

  She was not lying on that bed in Doc’s examination room.

  The door behind him opened and Doc stepped out, tucking his glasses into his pocket. Haggard and bent, he shook his head and stared at the ground. “We have a female, between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. Approximately five-foot-three. Small-boned.” McIntyre caught his knees before they buckled. Rebecca started weeping softly into her hands. “That’s all I can say for sure.”

  McIntyre rushed to him, jabbing his finger in his chest. “So you’re not sure it’s her, are you?”

  Doc cast a pleading glance at Ian and ran his hands through his cropped, yellow hair. “Do you know another young woman who meets that description and who would have been at the hotel? I understand Mollie and Hannah took Silas out to Sarah’s.” He rested a hand on McIntyre’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  McIntyre stared at nothing and crushed his hat in his hands. The belief that Naomi was not dead kept him standing. He wouldn’t listen to that other voice, the one telling him to accept the facts. He heard only the prophecy of death in that voice, for if Naomi was dead, he couldn’t live.

  But she was not dead. If he repeated it enough times, he could make it true. So where was she? He didn’t know where to start looking for her. Slowly, McIntyre slipped his hat on. “Who was the last person to see Naomi?”

  Doc rubbed his chin. “Matthew, I believe.”

  Ian nodded. “Matthew said he saw her leave your saloon and head toward the hotel, no one has seen her since then.”

  ~~~

  Forty-Nine

  Holding Little Billy with one arm, Hannah hugged Sarah tightly with the other. Slowly, reverently, Billy and Emilio lowered Silas into the black hole. This new grave lay forlorn and lonely, with only one other for company, in a vast, grassy plain. Hannah had offered the most hopeful words she knew, reminding Sarah that she would see Silas again and that God wept with her over this loss. Sarah had nodded and prayed silently while Hannah spoke.

  Now, Sarah stared down at the grave, her soft, round face twitching as she fought for control. The bun at the nape of her neck had lost much of its shape with her auburn hair poking every which way. Trembling and quite disheveled, a quiet peace still emanated from her. Even so, the woman’s shoulders jerked and heaved as the first shovel of dirt thudded on the pine. More tears slipped down her pudgy cheeks.

  Hannah looked at the small grave beside Silas’s. The headstone said Marcus had gone to be with the Lord at the age of five, over ten years ago. First a child and now a husband. Sarah had taken everything the West could throw at her. Would this break her? Or was she the kind of woman who could throw it right back at the devil? Filled with gratitude for the baby in her arms, Hannah let her own tears flow.

  On the other side of Sarah, Mollie had her head bowed, eyes closed. And beyond her, Naomi stood staring at the coffin, trance-like. She’d been like that most of the day, from the moment she had run and jumped onto the back of the wagon. The move had struck Hannah as panicked and irrational, scaring the daylights out of her, but Naomi wouldn’t talk about it. She would, eventually. Hannah wouldn’t let her suffer alone.

  Several minutes later, Billy, Emilio, and Lucas, the gangly young man who panned for gold on the ranch, finished off the grave with rocks plucked from the surrounding pasture. Mollie reached an arm around Sarah and patted her on the shoulder. “Would you like to go back to the house now, Sarah?”

  “No, dear,” she patted the girl’s hand in return. “I’d like to stay here awhile. We were married thirty years, seems only right to stay by his grave for a bit.”

  The comment made Hannah look across the new grave to Billy. Their eyes met and held. Sweaty, his face smudged with dirt, he smiled slightly when she shifted Little Billy on her hip. Hannah prayed she would never have to stand over his grave.

  “All right, Sarah,” Hannah said without taking her gaze off Billy, “take your time.”

  God, please don’t make me have to bury my husband until we’re all old and gray and bent with age. Please …

  ~~~

  Naomi hugged the rough-hewn cedar post on Sarah’s porch and leaned her forehead against it. A breeze, the chill of winter still in it, drifted down from the mountains and wafted over her. In the distance, she heard the soft lowing of cattle, a horned owl announcing the advancing twilight, and the distant yipping of a coyote.

  She tried to concentrate on them. Not the wail that had escaped Sarah when they’d told her the reason for their arrival, not the wail that wanted to rip free from her own breast. She felt foolish and stupid for being upset about Charles. After all, he at least was still alive and Naomi would heal. Sarah would never see Silas again this side of heaven. That kind of pain was like a searing brand on your soul.

  But the
image of Charles in that woman’s arms—she clamped her jaws down tight to stop the sob. Her fists clenched. She would not cry, she would not cry—

  “Naomi, please talk to me.” Hannah’s tender plea jolted her out of her miserable thoughts, but only for a moment. Naomi shook her head, not trusting her voice. If she broke, if she started crying, she might not stop, and she hated to cry. “Please, Naomi.” Before she could stop her, Hannah had wrapped her in a hug. “It’s going to be all right, whatever is breaking your heart, Naomi. It’s going to be all right.”

  No it isn’t. And the dam broke. “I caught Charles with another woman,” she wept into her little sister’s arms. Hannah stroked her head and kissed her hair and held on while Naomi emptied herself of the tears, till she clawed her way back to solemn footing. It took a while. Naomi didn’t know she could cry so much. This was grieving, but differently than what she’d gone through for John. In a way, it hurt more, because of the betrayal involved.

  After what felt like an eternity, embarrassment got the better of her and she pulled away, drying her eyes. “Oh, gosh, I’m so stupid.” Naomi raised her fists to her forehead and wanted to pound Charles out of her mind. “How could I be so stupid?”

  “I can’t believe you are. Naomi, that man loves you. I’d bet my life on it. Are you sure of what you saw?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed.” She choked on the last word. “Maybe he does love me, Hannah, but if I can’t trust him, if I can’t believe in him …”

  “I wish you hadn’t jumped on the wagon with us. He’ll be sick with worry and so will Rebecca.”

  Yes, Naomi did regret that. As for Charles, she’d love to think of him in misery and torment, but it seemed he was capable of finding comfort. What was it he had said about these other women? I am done with them? And she’d believed him. Oh, if he was standing right in front of her, she would shoot him, she was sure of it. John had never hurt her like this.

  The grief and fury blazed through her chest, burning her hope to ashes. How she ached. “Hannah, I need to be alone.”

  She stepped off the porch and wandered toward the furthest point of Sarah’s yard, the edge of the corral, fifty or so yards out. The Maddens had a neat, one-story adobe home on five hundred acres with a hundred head of cattle. One side of the house grazed the forest that swept down off a long hill, the others opened to a sweeping valley. The towering mountains in the distance and carpet of rolling pasture, like all the spectacular views in the Rockies, made Naomi feel small and easy to overlook, but she knew God was near. She stared up at the raging purple sky, the last rays of the sun fading, and wondered how she would survive this.

  God, I hurt so badly. I just want to curl up and die. How could he do this to me? She smacked a fence post and almost cursed the name of Charles McIntyre. She hated that he could make her feel this way. Foolish tears welled up again. She sniffed and fought them back with steely determination. I can’t forgive this. I can’t forgive it because I can’t forget it.

  Despite her best efforts, Naomi hugged her ribs and crumpled to the ground. She cried as quietly as she could and asked God over and over to take away the pain. After a while, the reservoir of tears empty and full dark upon her, she lost herself in the night sounds. The horned owl hooted again, this time closer to the house. His mate answered from the barn, or so it sounded to Naomi. The horses in the corral grumbled then whinnied nervously. The coyote yipped again, and he sounded closer as well. Uneasy, Naomi climbed to her feet and listened.

  She was being silly, of course, except that the horses were stirring about more restlessly now. Silly, maybe, but not stupid. A plethora of creatures could be out here. Mountain lions, bears, even wolves prowled ranches. Time to go back—

  A hand snaked out of the darkness and clutched Naomi’s face. Instantly she was pulled back against a lean, sinewy body. The acrid smell of sweat and bear grease filled her nostrils. She elbowed the person with all her might. As her captor flinched, she wrenched her mouth loose and screamed with every ounce of terror she had shooting through her. She turned and saw the flash of war paint, glimmering black eyes, and feathers. Her scream turned to growling as he tried to wrestle her back into a hold. Out of her mind with rage, Naomi clawed and scratched, gouging flesh with her nails. She kneed the man like she was fighting with Satan and kicked at his shins with merciless blows. He tried desperately to gain control of her flailing, clawing hands, while dodging or absorbing the kicks.

  A rifle shot split the night, followed by the sudden explosion of multiple, chilling war cries. Out of the corner of her eye, Naomi saw the fist coming down on her like Thor’s hammer.

  And the world turned black.

  ~~~

  Fifty

  McIntyre tried not to think about anything but finding Naomi as he worked his way down the dark trail back to the hotel. At first, he followed the smell of smoke, his mind numb. Enough glow remained from the embers to bring him the rest of the way. As he drew closer, he saw a lone figure tossing water on the dying flames. Flames that, now starved of fuel, would die soon anyway. Still, the man worked, wearily, methodically, mindlessly. When he straightened up after throwing a bucket of water, McIntyre recognized him.

  Matthew. He’s grieving, he thought, and wasn’t sure at first how that made him feel.

  Quickly, though, the anger resurfaced and he clenched his jaw. Let him grieve.

  Something tugged McIntyre’s eyes to the heavens. Through the haze of smoke, and to his dismay, a still, small voice whispered But if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive your trespasses.

  You ask too much, God, especially right now. Just help me find her. That’s all I care about. I’ll do anything, give You anything later … Let me find her alive first.

  Resisting the nudge to show Matthew any mercy, McIntyre approached him. He meant to ask where he’d last seen Naomi. Instead he blurted out, “She’s not dead.”

  Matthew snapped his head around. Soot streaked his face and hair. His hands bled, no doubt from blisters formed from carrying the buckets, his black-and-white plaid shirt was pockmarked with burn holes from sparks. He didn’t seem to know McIntyre.

  His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “They pulled a body out. It has to be her.”

  “I don’t know who it is, but it is not Naomi.”

  Matthew shook his head, as if trying to get his brains to settle in place. “It has to be her.”

  McIntyre’s hands clenched at the delay. “Doc said you were the last person to see her. Where did you see her … and how was she? How did she look?”

  Matthew’s expression changed, darkened. “She was upset.” His stare drilled into McIntyre, accusing him. McIntyre realized Matthew knew about Amaryllis. As if the memory clipped the man at the knees, he stumbled back, tripping over his bucket. Reflexively, McIntyre reached for him but missed. Matthew sat down hard, sending up a cloud of ashes.

  Wearily, he dragged his legs up to his chest and rested his beefy arms on his knees. He wagged his head back and forth as if in misery, and stared off into the darkness. Matthew groaned, “It’s my fault, all my fault. Look what I’ve done. I only wanted to get her out of here.”

  A feeling of dread pressed down on McIntyre. “What’s your fault?”

  Matthew sighed, a long, forlorn exhalation that seemed to clear his mind. “I paid Amaryllis to … compromise you.”

  McIntyre’s blood felt like it screeched to a halt in his veins. Holding back his rage took every ounce of self-control he had ever used. He rubbed his jaw and stepped away from the giant before the urge to kill him won. The image of pummeling the jackass rampaged through his mind. But he realized that could wait, had to wait. One goal, he told himself. Keep one goal in mind: find Naomi.

  He absently massaged his aching thigh and tried to think. Naomi was upset. She ran toward the hotel. How far did she get? “Where did you see her, Matthew?”

  “In front of the saddle shop.”

  “Did you see her enter the hotel?”


  Silence, then a slow, “No … I didn’t. I saw you ride off so I went into the Iron Horse to talk to Amaryllis. I came back to the hotel, but couldn’t find Naomi.” He paused. “I saw Rebecca.” Hope wound its way into his voice. “She said she hadn’t seen her either. Since I couldn’t find her, I went over to Tent Town for a drink. When I came back, the hotel was on fire.” He scratched his head, trying to make sense of the web of details. “Maybe she never came back to the hotel.” Matthew climbed to his feet and looked at the charred ruins. “But if she didn’t, where is she? And whose body …?”

  McIntyre rubbed his eyes. For years, staying up all night had been a way of life. Now, seeing four a.m. felt like torture. He took a calming breath and thought back over the day. Conversations, people. He didn’t have far to go to ponder the coincidence of Black Elk and Naomi missing at the same time. Had he taken her? Where would he go? The questions started his heart racing as a stomach-turning possibility wound its way into his brain.

  Would Black Elk try to meet up with One-Who-Cries? Would he take Naomi to him? Somehow, the three of them were tied together, he was sure of it. He felt it. The Army scout said the renegade had doubled back. If One-Who-Cries was trading women for guns, Naomi might have been tempting to Black Elk. And what if the Indians came across Hannah and Mollie?

  What if One-Who-Cries had them all?

  ~~~

  Billy heard Naomi’s terrified scream and bolted from Sarah’s house like he was on fire.

  He and Emilio burst into the yard, stunned to find rampaging Indians everywhere. They rode in a whooping, hollering circle just outside the glow of the porch lamp. Rifles fired and wood splintered on Sarah’s porch.