Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (11 page)

Thirteen

Hannah lifted her hand for one final wave at the departing stage.
Iris, her fiery red hair a beacon you could see from the moon,
blew a kiss. With one last wiggle of her fingers, she disappeared into the
coach. Hannah swallowed to loosen the knot in her throat.

Please, Lord
, she prayed,
let
Iris, Lily, and Jasmine have a future that’s brighter and more blessed than
anything they can imagine.

She sniffed back tears and told herself to accept the
inevitability of change, of the way friends drift into your life, sometimes for
only a season. Perhaps she would see those girls again one day. After all,
Billy had come back into her life. Resisting the urge to think too much about
him, she set her sights on the Boot & Co. Mercantile, a few buildings down
the street.

“I have to go check Mr. Boot’s ankle.”           

Beside her, watching the stage disappear into the dust, Naomi
nodded. “Do you remember when they put gum in my hair?”

Hannah stopped and smiled. The first several months in Defiance
hadn’t been a cakewalk, to say the least. Now, here they were, nearly in tears
over saying goodbye to women who had once mocked and teased them mercilessly.

“Charles asked me the other day if I could forgive any offense.
When I think about those girls, how angry they made me, and how I feel about
them now, I can say yes with a lot more confidence.”

“What about Rose?” Hannah asked with a smirk, knowing the woman
gave them both nightmares.

A stony expression settled on Naomi’s face. “Don’t you have some
nursing to do?”

~~~

Hannah kneeled beside Luke Boot’s outstretched leg, which rested
on a stool, and proceeded to unwrap the bandage from his ankle. Her pale hair
slid down across her shoulder, getting in her way, and she regretted not having
braided it this morning.

“I need to get this thing off me, Miss Hannah,” Mr. Boot whined,
glancing around his mercantile and scratching his thick beard. “I can’t run my
store from the flat of my back.

“You won’t be running your store at all if you don’t stay off old,
rickety ladders.” She glanced over at Mr. Boot’s helper, Freeman, a small Negro
man who was setting out canned fruit on a shelf. “But it looks like Freeman’s
handling things.”

She set the wrap aside and studied Mr. Boot’s leg as she tied her
hair up into a quick knot. His skin was as pale as the belly of a dead fish,
except for a bluish tint down around his ankle. The swelling had decreased
noticeably. “All right, Doc said if the swelling was going down, we could stop
the cold compresses after today. I’d say you’re almost there. Maybe you can
stand for a while tomorrow. You should get a cane or a crutch.”

Mr. Boot wagged his head, unhappy with the news. “I need to be up
and around
today
.”

“Well, too much moving around and you might re-injure that ankle.”
Hannah picked up the gauze and started wrapping the injured joint. “But suit
yourself. It’s your leg.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his other leg bouncing and
knew he was weighing her instructions.

“You’re awful young to be giving such firm medical advice.” The
bouncing leg slowed, eventually stopped. “Well, fine, one more day of sitting
won’t kill me. ’Least I don’t have to have Freeman help me soak it in any more
spring water.” He shivered. “That was cold.”

“Yes, but that did more good for the swelling than anything,
though snow would have been better.”

Suddenly, Mr. Boot leaned forward, capturing Hannah’s full
attention with his flickering, eager eyes. “Is it really true, Little Miss
Hannah, what they say?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “That
none
of you gals is in the business? That even Mollie got Jesus?” He gaped longingly
at the top Hannah’s head. “I sure miss her golden hair.”

He reached out as if to touch the crown of Hannah’s head, but she
abruptly rose to her feet. Mollie had warned Hannah about Mr. Boot. He had been
a regular customer of hers at the Iron Horse and said he had no problem
squeezing
the produce
anytime or any place he wanted. Hannah had better watch out and
be prepared to move quickly.

A patient who was all hands was a hazard of the job, but she
wouldn’t let it discourage her. Trying to turn the tables, she donned a grim
expression and touched Mr. Boot’s hand. “Yes, sir, the awful rumors are true.
In fact, if you come by the hotel about ten, you can join us for church.”

~~~

Rebecca poured the perfect amount of pancake batter into the
frying pan and set the bowl down. Spatula in hand, she waited for the proper
number of bubbles to rise before flipping the flapjack. Beside her, Ian scraped
bacon slices into his pan, using a long fork to lay the sizzling meat flat.

Rebecca had become so accustomed to cooking beside him, sometimes
she felt they were an old married couple. Most of the time, she just wondered
if this friendship was ever going to move forward. He’d asked once to court her,
but at nearly forty, the very idea had sent her into a panic, and she had
rejected him. Ian had understood and asked if they could be
dear
friends.

“I have just finished
Around the World in Eighty Days
, Miss
Rebecca. Another fine suggestion. Mr. Fogg was quite resourceful.”

And that was their way. She and Ian could talk about books,
religion, politics. Anything and everything. Still, there was so much more
between them. She positively thrilled at his touch, and had danced on air in
his arms the other night. Oh, but Rebecca wasn’t getting any younger. Her
fortieth birthday was only a few months away and Ian’s presence brought home
the realization that she still had a lot of living, a lot of loving, to do.

So what to do about this rut that she and Ian had fallen into? Was
there no way to prompt a change? He’d been nothing but a friend, at her very
own suggestion, since her initial rejection. A measured, deliberate man,
perhaps he was waiting for a signal.

Maybe this delay is all my fault?

“Ouch!” The bacon grease popped, hitting the back of Rebecca’s
hand. She rubbed the spot vigorously, but Ian dropped his fork and took her
hand in his. He bent his head to examine the spot and she studied the gray hair
curling around his face. She lived for moments like this, to have him so near
her, touching her. Ian made her feel safe. He’d even fought for her honor once.
He respected her intelligence and always treated her with the utmost
gentlemanly behavior.

But she wondered if, maybe, he didn’t find her desirable after
all. Maybe when they were together, he saw the lines above her lip or the
crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. Maybe she was too plain and dark
against her fair, beautiful sisters. Or maybe he thought they were both just
too old for a silly romance.

He looked up at her, through his rugged brow and a spark of
mischief glinted in his deep blue eyes. “It occurs to me, Miss Rebecca, that I
have been remiss in telling ye something.” His thumb moved slowly over her
hand, caressing the skin. She held her breath and waited to hear more of his
lovely Scottish burr. “Yer pancake is burning.”

Flustered, Rebecca snatched her hand away and clumsily flipped the
pancake. Black on one side, she huffed in dismay and busily set about tossing
it aside and pouring a new pancake. She tried to focus on the cooking but her
mind reeled with disappointment.

Your pancake is burning?
Is that
all he could think to say? All these months of talking about books, and
Scotland, and recipes, and family histories, and
that’s
it?

Several minutes passed in silence as they worked on breakfast
together. Part of Rebecca wanted to scream at Ian, beg him to notice her
disappointment. Another part desperately wanted this chore over, so she could
go upstairs and be alone to scold herself that forty-year-old women do not cry
over ill-fated relationships.

Ian made a few light comments about his Jules Verne book, to which
Rebecca responded rather half-heartedly. Eventually, he noticed. “Miss Rebecca,
is something the matter?”

She wanted to tell him, but at the same time, she didn’t want to
discuss her crushing disappointment. What was she supposed to say?
Well,
Ian, I’ve come to the fairly obvious conclusion that you and I are friends.
Great friends. Life-long friends. You might even love me. But you are not
in
love with me. I’ll accept that and pack away my silly little school-girl
dreams.

She could only manage, “I’m fine.”

They continued on with their preparations, but Rebecca could feel
Ian watching her. She swung her braid out of the way as she bent down to check
the biscuits, and when she stood back up, he was standing in front of her,
waiting. Tall, a bit barrel-chested now because of her cooking, Ian was a very
handsome man at fifty, even in a white apron. The lines in his face just added
character and his salt-and-pepper beard a sense of security. She’d been
dreaming of kissing those lines for months now. Could the man not see it every
time they were together?

He cleared his throat and Rebecca was surprised by his uncertain,
nervous glances. “Rebecca, what I said a few minutes ago. I didnae think it
came out right.” He cleared his throat again and shifted his feet. “I mean to
say—that is, I
need
to say I’ve grown quite tired of being friends and
hope you feel the same way. It would make this much easier.” Rebecca blinked,
but didn’t know what to say. She was afraid to even hope. Sighing, Ian shook
his head. “Aye, I’m making a bumbling mess of this. And it’s not going to get
any better.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Now ye’ve set your dress on fire.”

~~~

Fourteen

McIntyre thought Matthew might live, but wouldn’t swear to it.
Blood streamed from the man’s side, right at his ribs. Holding
Black Elk’s bloody knife, Matthew tried to twist enough to see the slash in his
flesh but couldn’t do it. Frustrated, he swore and eyed McIntyre. “Is it bad?”

McIntyre peeled off his frock coat. “Doesn’t look too deep. I
think you’ll live. Here, press this on it.”

Matthew took the jacket, raising a skeptical brow. “Bit fancy,
isn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, he crushed it to his side.

McIntyre thought he did so with a little too much relish. To hide
a disdainful curl in his lip, he squatted down and inspected Joseph Black Elk,
careful to avoid the vomit. Too bad he couldn’t avoid the smell. The Indian had
messed his pants as well.

This just kept getting better and better.

With the back of his hand, he touched Black Elk’s forehead. No
fever, but his breathing was shallow and uneven. “Wade, run and get a wagon. We
need to get these two to Doc.” Wade didn’t need to be told twice. The deputy
bolted from the saloon. “And tell everyone to stay out of here!” McIntyre
yelled after him.

Still squatting, he rubbed his chin and pondered the Indian’s last
words.
One-Who-Cries is riding. War is coming with him.
So he’s been
riding with the savage? And what did he mean about
another
white woman?
Had One-Who-Cries attacked somewhere near Defiance, or was the Indian delirious
from whatever sickness he was carrying?

The clink of glass drew his attention and he stood up. One-handed,
Matthew poured himself a drink and raised it up. “One bottle survived.” He
tipped the glass in a toast and tossed it back. McIntyre flinched. The Lucky
Deuce had the worst whiskey he’d ever tasted in his life. Matthew hissed and
whistled as the shot went down. “That’s poison if I’ve ever had any.” He
shivered dramatically as the liquid hit its mark. Undeterred, he grabbed the
bottle again and offered it to McIntyre.

He waved it away.

Matthew inclined his head, but shook off the rejection with a
bored shrug. He changed his focus to Black Elk. “You don’t think he’s got
typhoid or cholera or anything, do you?”

“I don’t know. No fever, could be anything.” McIntyre studied the
big man at the bar, drinking bad whiskey and acting as if the cut in his side
was a scratch. If nothing else, he was tough. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Not necessary.” Matthew refilled the shot glass. “You know,
family men and preachers don’t settle towns like this.” He tossed down the
drink. “Men like us do. We’re up for it. It’s how we fit into this world.” He
cut a mischievous sideways glance at McIntyre. “In other words, trouble becomes
us.”

In other words, men like Matthew—and McIntyre—were suited for
towns like Defiance
. Rabble. Scum. The
thinly-veiled insult irritated McIntyre. Just because the town still needed law
and order didn’t mean it wouldn’t shape up, he along with it. If he’d learned
anything about God from the sisters, changing his ways was exactly what was
supposed to happen as he grew in his faith.

He almost argued with Matthew about this supposed fraternity of
lawless men. He almost shared with him the timber and ranching businesses he
was courting, the potential for change in the town when the railroad finalized
the agreement.

Almost.

Because they were now rivals, he decided not to share anything
more than necessary with Matthew, and that definitely included Naomi.

Dolores stepped between the two and took hold of Matthew’s
impromptu dressing. A pretty little thing with auburn curls, she offered the
big man a sincere but shaky smile. “Thank you.” Over her shoulder, she added,
“both of you.” Carefully, she peeled the coat away from Matthew’s side. “Why
don’t you let me redo this for you? You can’t just smash it on there and expect
it to stop the bleeding.”

He obediently raised his arm to give her better access. “Thank
you, ma’am.” His gaze boldly climbed every inch of Dolores. “Maybe it was worth
it.”

McIntyre’s jaw tightened. Watching Matthew watch Dolores set his
blood to boiling. He surely acted like a man who had been in a cathouse or two.
And
he
had dared lecture McIntyre about Naomi? McIntyre would be old,
bent, and toothless before he let that happen again.

As Dolores tended her patient, McIntyre tried to turn his
attention back to the mess they may well have all gotten themselves into.
Any
amount of quarantine with Matthew, Wade and Dolores would be hell on earth.
“Did Black Elk come in here alone last night?” he asked the girl. “Did he look
all right?”

Dolores nodded as she neatly folded the jacket and pressed it
against her patient’s side. “He seemed a little foggy and grabbed his gut a
time or two. He had coins, though. That’s the only reason Jude let him in the
place.”

So where did Black Elk get coins? They had to find out where he’d
been, if there was
any
possibility the Indian was walking about
spreading disease …

~~~