Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (14 page)

Stupid Ute. If he saw that kid vertical again, he’d kill him. It
hadn’t escaped Matthew that if he’d been a hair slower, that Injun’s Bowie
knife could have put a quick end to his wild and wooly ways. He hadn’t come to
Defiance for this, not at all. ’Course it was his own fault for offering to
help.

He settled a little deeper into the chair and let his thoughts
roam back to Naomi. He could tell she was confused, and that pleased him no
end. He’d heard the wobble in her voice, seen her hands shake when she worked
on his bandage. He’d sniffed her hair and she hadn’t pulled away. Yep, McIntyre
didn’t have this all sewn up just yet.

Too bad he hadn’t been prepared for Mr. Fancy Pants to go riding
off with the marshal. He might have been able to plan something with Naomi,
like a stroll. As it was, maybe another opportunity would present itself. He
could always complain about his side and maneuver her up to his room.

No, that would just scare her. He’d have to do this nice and
easy—like John would.

Just
like John …

~~~

Eighteen

Head low to the ground, the horse sniffed and navigated through
the carnage with care.
Chief Ouray held the
reins loosely, sure of his mount’s steady temperament. He was also sure who had
killed these people. His eyes roamed over the burned bodies, the over-turned,
charred wagon, the ransacked trunks. Dead three, maybe four days. Warily, his
horse skirted a broken rifle and several shattered jars of peaches lying on the
ground. Beside them, a pot sat overturned, its moldy stew spilled in the dirt.

The crease in his brow deepened. A ghostly quiet filled the forest
around him. In the camp site, clothes, shoes, frying pans, and tin plates
littered the ground. A brass casing glittered in the weeds. Strands of
blood-soaked golden hair and a white, bloated hand, fingers frozen in death,
beckoned to him from behind a boulder. He wondered why brother wolf or even the
vultures had not ventured to this spot. Only evil spirits kept them away.

Or sickness.

So tired of death, he let the horse wander over to the little
creek to drink, but jerked the animal’s head up when he saw what lay in it. A
swollen white man, eyes nearly popping out of his skull, lay chest-down in the
water several feet upstream. Head twisted toward Ouray, he stared at the chief
with blank, white orbs. Ouray wrinkled his nose in disgust. This settler had
messed his pants badly and his body smelled particularly foul. Four arrows
protruded from his back like the quills on a porcupine.

Ouray spun his horse away and again surveyed the slaughter. He
assumed they had attacked the settlers with the intention of taking spoils. The
discovery of the sick man, though, perhaps as he was trying to escape, changed
their plans. In fear, had they left everything behind to run?

No, that was not right.

He peered closer at the tracks on the ground, pondered them, and
then looked off into the shadowy woods.

They had taken a captive.

~~~

Hannah wrapped gently on Doc’s door, in case patients inside were
sleeping. She waited and momentarily his grizzled appearance filled the
entrance. “Hannah, come in, come in.” He opened the door wider and waved her
into his front room. “I’m delighted to see you again. You’re not here by any
chance to do a little more nursing?”

“If you need me.” Hannah stepped inside and pointed at the closed
bedroom door. “I hear you have a patient. Some kind of fever?”

Doc sighed and shut the door. He ran a tired hand through his
shock of grayish blond hair. “A form of food poisoning. Something in the water,
most often.” His brow creased with puzzlement. “Indians don’t get it too much.
Usually it’s some dumb miner who didn’t see the dead elk rotting in the water
upstream.” He let the puzzle go with a shake of his head. “He’s gonna be a sick
rascal for a few days. That giant pummeling him in the noggin didn’t help
matters much either, but I understand they had to subdue him. For now, we just
need to keep fluids in the boy. If you’re up to nursing him, that is. As I
said, he’s an Indian.” Hannah inclined her head, not sure of the connection.
“Some folks might not want to treat one.”

“I’m the last person in the world to think I’m better than
somebody else.”

“I had a notion you might say that. You’ll make a good nurse,
girl.”

The compliment put wings on Hannah’s feet. Last December, after
the big avalanche, she had helped nurse men for several days. Amidst the
suffering and death, a seed had been planted. After praying about it, she had
grown even more certain this was something God wanted her to do. Now she was
trying to find the path to this dream. She still worked at the hotel because
Doc couldn’t afford a nurse and she had obligations to her sisters, but she
volunteered as much as she could.

Doc handed her a basin of cold water and a rag. “I was about to go
in and spend some time with the boy. I bet he’d rather see your pretty, smiling
face.”

“He doesn’t have anything catching that I could take back to
Little Billy?”

“Just wash your hands when you leave and you’ll be fine.”
Convinced, Hannah took the items and let herself into Black Elk’s room.

“Hannah?” She paused halfway through the door. “If he does wake
up, see if you can get any information on where he might have gotten into
tainted food or water.”

She nodded and entered the room. The Indian lay quietly on the
bed, shirtless, the sheet pulled up to his waist. She set the bowl on the
nightstand next to a cup of water. Quietly, she dipped the rag. “Black Elk, can
you hear me?” No response. His breathing remained steady, but it sounded
shallow. Wringing out the water, she spoke again before touching him with it.
“Black Elk, my name is Hannah. Can you hear me?” Carefully, she laid the rag on
his forehead and waited a moment. When he didn’t stir, she settled into the
chair beside the bed.

At liberty to stare, she studied his profile. Strong and proud,
skin the color of desert sand, she thought him majestic and rather imposing,
even asleep. In a way, she couldn’t blame the Indians for hating the white man,
but both sides had committed horrific atrocities. Only Jesus could bring peace
to such a mess. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer. A prayer for
healing, mercy, and salvation for Black Elk. Courage for her to talk of her
faith if he awoke. He couldn’t die lost. Perhaps that was why she was sitting
in this chair right now.

“Please God,” she whispered, “give me the right words to help this
man.”

Immediately, a still, small voice answered back,
Show him.

She was startled to realize Black Elk was staring at her. In his
brown, almost black, eyes she saw a mix of fear and sadness. “He killed you,”
the Indian whispered.

What
? His voice was weak, his
words slightly slurred. She assumed he was delirious. Ignoring the comment,
Hannah smiled tenderly and took the rag off his forehead. Aware he was watching
her, she dipped it again in the cold spring water. Though he didn’t have a high
fever, cooling a patient’s brow was still a comfort. She replaced the rag, sat
down on the edge of the bed and took Black Elk’s hand in hers.

“He killed you,” he repeated, this time sounding more emphatic.

“No, I’m fine, Black Elk. You must be dreaming.”

He sighed and shut his eyes, weakly moving his head from side to
side. “People near Horse Mesa.”

Hannah bit her lip. Was Black Elk telling her something that had
happened a long time ago or recently? She couldn’t make sense of it.
Tentatively, she asked, “Black Elk, can you tell me what happened?”

For a moment, she thought he hadn’t heard or couldn’t respond.
Finally, he croaked out, “Water.”

Hannah reached for the cup. Slipping her hand through his long,
black hair to cradle his head, she lifted him up enough to take a sip. Black
Elk clutched the cup and took two more weak gulps. His strength used up, he lay
back down.

“You have something called Beaver Fever. Do you think you drank
some bad water?”

“The stew,” he whispered. “The man was sick.”

She sat back, unable to pull this together. “A man at Horse Mesa?”

“One-Who-Cries had a vision …” Hannah leaned closer, straining to
hear his weak voice. “Between here and White River, no whites will be safe.”

One-Who-Cries. Emilio had given Hannah a few more details on the
renegade. He was a brave known for killing whites any chance he had. He
instigated a fight down at the White River Reservation last year reportedly for
the sole reason of taking several, hot-blooded braves with him. He’d done it
again just recently. She didn’t see the connection between any of that and
Black Elk. Emilio said the reservation was over one hundred miles away. What in
the world was Black Elk talking about?

“We found them next to the creek at Horse Mesa,” he continued.
“Like you, she was pale, with hair the color of the sun.” He sighed, as if
resigned to his story’s ending. “She shouldn’t have fought … but we took her
sister.”

Took her sister? Goosebumps raced over Hannah’s arms. “Black Elk,
if you attacked some white folks, why are you in Defiance?” Realizing a life in
addition to Black Elk’s might be hanging in the balance, she leaned even closer
and placed her hand lightly on his chest. Keeping the panic from her voice, she
asked, “Were you with One-Who-Cries? Where is he? Where’s the girl?”

Black Elk’s eyes closed as he drifted off to sleep again.

~~~

Nineteen

By dusk, Billy finally managed to coax Hannah into a walk with
him.
They started out behind the hotel and ambled up a path along the
stream. He shoved his hands into his pockets and marveled over the scenery
here. He’d seen the Swiss Alps as a kid, but the Rocky Mountains were grander,
more colorful. He paused to take in the ring of craggy mountains that
surrounded the town, the snow on top of the peaks turning various shades of
purple and pink as the sun set. The mountains were covered in patchwork
forests, but the lower portions, and much of the valley, had been timbered
heavily for buildings and firewood. Trees sprouted here and there on the valley
floor, and, oddly, the ones that remained were all twenty and thirty feet high.
He wondered randomly if, perhaps, they’d been left for shade.

A gunshot from somewhere on the other side of Defiance echoed
through the valley and made the question irrelevant.

Hannah stopped a few paces ahead of him and waited, staring off at
the mountains in the opposite direction. She had her pink wool shawl pulled
around so tightly, Billy thought she might manage to cut herself in two with
it.

“So, when did you get the idea to become a nurse?” he asked,
making small talk, biding his time.

“We had an avalanche here last winter. It was horrible. They
brought men to the hotel broken to bits.” She hunched her shoulders as if the
memory made her shiver. “I don’t know. It planted a seed, I guess. I want to
help, and sometimes Doc gets overwhelmed. Just the fights in Tent Town can send
him three or four patients at once.”

“You’d be a good nurse.” Billy meant it. Hannah had a tender side.
She cared for people, and now she struck him as strong enough to deal with the
blood and guts without fainting. He was amazed how much she’d grown up and she
hadn’t even turned seventeen yet.

The compliment failed to turn her around. Billy exhaled, ruffling
the hair over his eyes. This was like trying to break through granite.
“Hannah.” She turned only slightly and met his gaze through her long, dark
lashes. The sunset washed her in a magic orange hue. A loose strand of hair
shimmered next to her face like a flame. He would have given the world to walk
up and kiss her senseless. In danger of losing his self-control, he stared at
his boots and scratched the back of his head. Maybe the best thing to do here
was just get it all said. “Hannah, I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere.”

She spun around to face him with a defiant, maybe suspicious, tilt
to her chin. “And that should mean what to me?”

“Ah, shoot, Hannah.” Billy kicked a small rock and wandered over
to the stream. She was cold and distant, but he knew, just
knew
, there
was still a spark there. “Why do you have to make this so hard?”

“Me?” she practically yelped.

Billy flinched. In his mind, he could see her stance change. Her
hand was lodged on her hip, a sure sign she was as mad as a wet hen.

“You have no idea what
hard
is. I stood before our entire
congregation with your daddy staring daggers at me from the back pew.” His head
jerked up.

“Do you know what they said to me? Did you ever hear?”

Heat raced up his neck, flushed his cheeks. He was ashamed to
admit he’d never even asked.

“They called me a floozy and a trollop.”

Her voice broke over the last word and he wanted to kill himself
for having brought that on her.

“Even the people who defended me,” he heard her sniff, “they
sounded so disappointed in me.”

What had he done to this girl? Shocked over the scorched remains
that used to be the most beautiful soul in his world, Billy slowly turned to
her. He drank in the shining blue eyes pooling with tears, loose golden braid
running down her shoulder, soft pink lips that used to say his name with
breathlessness.

“You
should
hate me,” he said, realizing for the first time
how bad it had been for her. Her chin trembled and she looked down. “I am so
sorry, Hannah. I want you to know, I would die before I would ever hurt you
like that again.” But he knew, to her, these were just words—more words from
Billy the Coward. She lowered her head and stared at the ground.

He walked over to her, clutched her shoulders, but she kept her
eyes averted. “Look at me, Hannah.” He wanted to shake her when she didn’t
budge, but held back. “
Look
at me.” Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to
his. “You don’t want to give me a second chance? Fine. I’ll
earn
it. No
matter how long it takes, no matter what I have to do, I’m not giving up on you
and my son.”

Every muscle in her face quivered like it was fighting for
control. He’d betrayed her and destroyed her trust. Billy wished he could heal
her, would do or give anything to try. His voice softened as he loosened his
grip. “Even if you marry that greaser, I’m never running out on you again.”

Hannah’s eyes bugged and her mouth worked soundlessly for a second
until she found her voice. “
Greaser
?” She blinked. “You mean Emilio?”
She stepped back, wrenching free of his grip, and raised her fists at him. “Oh,
if I was a man … I would beat some sense into you.”

Practically growling, she dropped her arms to her sides as if
forcibly restraining the temptation. “Haven’t your prejudices done enough
damage? Money, education, and now skin color. There sure are a lot of
requirements for your club.”

Billy reached out to her, well aware he’d messed up again.
“Hannah—”

“Don’t
Hannah
me.” She waved an agitated finger at him.
“And don’t ever call Emilio that again.” She turned, took two quick steps, but
something drew her up short. She spun back around on him, eyes storming like
the North Atlantic in November. “Maybe that’s exactly what you need. Maybe you
do need to stay here for a while.” She started to add something, but shook her
head in disgust, whirled around and stomped back to the hotel.

Billy slapped his hand to his forehead. Was he never going to get
this right? He’d caused her more hurt than he could ever imagine. Now she was
as skittish of him as a scalded dog. Add to that all the aristocratic—no, be
honest—
arrogant
attitudes of the Page family and he would be lucky if
Hannah ever even prayed for him. Was there any coming back from this?

Keep swinging.

Lean not unto your own understanding.

Uninvited, Earp’s words nagged at him not to give up. And the
Scripture urged him to relinquish control. Unable to reconcile the contrasts,
he picked up a smooth, round rock and lobbed it hard into the water.

~~~

Hannah shut the door behind her and leaned back on it. A sob
threatened to tear loose, but she wrestled it back into the shadows of her
heart. Billy made her so mad and terrified her at the same time. She hated
feeling this way, like trees tangled and broken after a storm. Heart aching,
she hugged herself and let a few insistent tears escape.

Oh, God
,
can I believe anything
he says? Has he changed?
The vicious insults from her church family tore at
her brain, keeping the betrayal raw
.
She knew it was wrong to hang on to
it, but her disappointment in Billy ran soul-deep.
Help me to forgive him
for putting me through that, Lord. I thought I had, but I haven’t, God, and that’s
wrong.

Like a soothing balm, the Lord brought to mind the face of her
beloved son, the peace in Mollie’s soul, and the warmth of her friendship with
Emilio. Rebecca had finally stored away her grief over Ben and Gracie’s death
and shone like a new penny around Ian. Naomi had gone through a remarkable
change, letting go of so much anger and rebellion, and Mr. McIntyre was working
his way down the straight and narrow. God had worked many, many things for
good. Things that, without her sin and Billy’s betrayal, would most likely have
never happened.

“I trust You, Father,” she whispered with determination. “I trust
You.”
Please help me to forgive him, and, please, may he find out how much
You love him.

~~~