Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) (27 page)

Forty

“Silas was a good man. The kind Defiance needed. He will be
missed.”

Naomi nodded in agreement with Charles and reached for a fried
chicken leg. He had brought her to a beautiful spot next to the Animas River
for their dinner. Seated on a blanket nestled in ankle-high spring grass, she
gazed up at the surrounding mountains, their peaks veiled in gray clouds. They
thought the rain would hold off, maybe not come at all. Either way, the gloomy
weather matched her mood.

She couldn’t shake the feel of Silas’s cold, lifeless flesh. She’d
never assisted in the preparation of a dead body before. It made no sense, how
a man could be alive and breathing one moment and gone the next.

The bullet hole in Charles’ hat taunted her. He’d told her he
wanted to keep the Stetson as a reminder of how fragile life is. She knew that
already and didn’t need any reminders. Now Sarah had her own. “I hate how the
news will hit her. It’s a devastating blow.”

Charles reclined on one elbow and nodded his agreement. “She’s a
strong woman, like you. She’ll be all right.”

Then, as if his thoughts changed direction on a whim, he plucked
an apple from the basket, rose to his feet and took it over to his horse.
“Naomi, I understand every woman wants to have the perfect wedding,” Charles
sliced the apple in halves with his pen knife and offered one to the horse,
“but this is Defiance. I hope you and your sisters won’t put an unreasonable
amount of work into the wedding. I suggest …” he flashed his devilish grin,
“for purely selfish reasons of course, we keep this as simple as possible … so
we can get on with …
things
.”

In love with his rogue’s smile and eager to get on with
things
herself, Naomi wished her blushing cheeks didn’t give away her every thought.
But wouldn’t he be taken aback when he saw that their
work
included a
stunning remake of her wedding dress. “Mostly, it will be simple, Charles.
We’re not planning anything elaborate.” Surprising herself, she dared a
flirtatious remark of her own. “I’m looking forward to other
things
as
well.” Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze to the blanket.

Charles, however, did not come back right away with another saucy
remark. He allowed the horse to finish the snack then rejoined her, reclining
on his elbow again, but closer to her this time. Instead of more flirting, he
studied her with pained eyes. “Are you sure you want a scallywag like me for a
husband?”

His nearness made her heart race, and his melancholy tone drew her
closer. What was it Mollie had said?
They’d all done things in the Iron
Horse they wanted to forget.
She put the chicken leg back on her plate and
looked him in the eye. “Charles, the past is in the past. You have to try to
leave it there.”

“Defiance is making that difficult.”

“That’s why His mercies are new every day.”

He dropped a hand to her knee as his eyes clouded over with
disappointment. “I could have killed Tom Hawthorn today, without a second
thought. How I used to be … is closer to the surface than I wanted to admit. He’ll
never know it, but you saved his life.”

“It wasn’t me.”

His gaze jerked back to her and he nodded, humbled. “Both of you.”

Naomi absently traced the paisley pattern in her sleeve and
wondered what it must be like to be Charles McIntyre, to be a man intent on
living in the Light when so much darkness haunted him. The emotion in his eyes
changed. What smoldered there forced heat to her cheeks. “Lie beside me,
princess.”

She turned her head a bit and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Is
that safe?”

“No.” He took her hand and sighed. “I mean yes. Even if it kills
me, yes.”

Laughing, and so in love with him she was dizzy being near him,
she obediently wiggled down beside him. Resting her head on his arm, she
reached up and lightly traced his beard around his lips, along his jaw, the
faint lines at the corner of his eyes. She would remember those stunning,
devilish dark eyes for eternity, even when age had dulled the mischievous
sparkle.

He slid his fingers down her cheek. Gently, he reached into her
hair, resting his thumb on her jaw. “I’ve been thinking about the hotel and how
helpful Amanda could have been. I want to hire more help for you. I want to
free you up to enjoy life a little. You all work too much.”

I want?
She dropped her hand and
tried not to get tangled up in his directness, but it rankled her. His
predilection to fix things without consulting anyone made her feel
insignificant. “It really isn’t profitable enough yet. We figured one more
summer, and then we can hire three or four more people.”

“Naomi,” his lips fought a smile, “do you realize how much money I
have?”

She suspected he had quite a lot. She knew the Sunnyside Mine ran
twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There was a lot of silver and gold
in Charles’ mountain, but she’d never sought to put a number to his assets. It
simply didn’t matter to her. What did matter was whether he was going to share
her life or take it over—a habit he’d shown a propensity for doing since they’d
met.

“Charles, the hotel is something my sisters and I built together.”
She proceeded cautiously, unsure of how to put this. “What we do with it …” She
shook her head, deciding against saying
is our business.
Naomi was
better at starting fights than avoiding them, but this had to be settled.
“Well, I mean, hiring more help to free us up some might be something we could
consider, I suppose. But this is the kind of thing I have to discuss with
Rebecca and Hannah
first
.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Naomi,” he smiled
indulgently, as if he was talking to a petulant child, “but my fortune is
yours. You have a vast ocean of opportunities before you now. What would you
like
to do? I could hope you’d want to be a doting wife, but somehow I don’t think
that’s in the cards.” He slid his hand down her arm to rest it on her waist.
“You can run the hotel, but hire more help. You can sell the infernal thing and
start an entirely new business with your sisters, or finance your own venture.”
He leaned down and brushed her lips with his, a touch as light as a butterfly
“I want you, above all else, to be happy.”

Naomi tore her gaze away from him and watched the swirling storm
clouds racing overhead. Her thoughts were just as chaotic. What
did
she
want to do? She hadn’t thought about Charles’ money and the life they could
lead. She’d thought only of trying to stay near her sisters. But Hannah wanted
to be a nurse and the closest school was back east somewhere. Rebecca, though a
wonderful cook and seamstress, had mentioned the newspaper idea twice now.
Apparently, she missed her old trade.

And while Naomi hadn’t wanted to admit it, she was tired of the
hotel. It made her feel so cooped up sometimes, slaving over a stove, hauling
dirty dishes back to the kitchen, fending off the forward customers who thought
the girls should be on the menu as well.

Once upon a time, she had been a farmer’s wife and his business
partner. She’d learned a thing or two about growing crops and raising
livestock. She missed being outdoors. But how did any of that support Charles
or give her a new direction? He had the mine under control, didn’t dabble with
saloons anymore, and was working with Ian on how to bring about a more
respectable Defiance. Where did she fit in? Could she help him run his ranch?

Charles touched a spot between her eyes and tapped it lightly.
“That troubled crease is going to leave a mark, princess. I didn’t mean to give
you so much to think about.”

She touched her forehead, coming back to the more immediate
problem. “Do you remember our first day in Defiance? How you walked around the
hotel laying out our next steps in rapid-fire succession, like a Gatling gun?”

Charles chuckled, and Naomi felt a little insulted.

“I remember it well. You were livid with my suggestions. I did
overwhelm you a bit, I suppose.”

“It wasn’t the
amount
of information, Charles. It was the
way
you presented it. You had this swaggering, lord-of-all attitude. You started
issuing orders with the assumption that we wouldn’t question them.”

He pulled away from her. “I was merely offering my experienced
advice.”

“You were giving commands.” In spite of trying to remain calm,
Naomi could hear the frustration coloring her tone. “All I’m saying is that you
don’t get to run everything, even when it comes to me.”

“Forgive me, Naomi, but I assumed as your husband, my input would
be expected, welcomed, possibly even valued.”

The edge in
his
voice made her pull away and sit up on her
knees. “You’re not my husband yet and I want some say in my own affairs.”

Wetting his lips, Charles sat up slowly. He swiped a hand across
his beard, and then rested it on his raised knee. “Naomi, you’re foolish to
turn down my help. As I recall, we’ve had nearly this same conversation and you
wound up accepting my advice, my carpenters, my plans, and the end result was a
successful hotel.”

Naomi clenched her teeth to keep from saying something she’d
regret. Charles shook his head and exhaled. “Fine. I’ve bought the restaurant
out for the next few days. I think you should—” he scowled and rephrased. “I
would
suggest
you talk to your sisters about taking another few days off
…,” he softened his voice and reached for her hand, “so that you and I can
spend some time together after the wedding.”

She didn’t know if it was the longing in his voice, the love in
his eyes, or the thought of spending time with Charles as his wife, but Naomi
melted.

“Naomi, I am a man who makes things happen. Granted, most of the
ventures I’ve run wouldn’t get me sainthood, but I do know how to take care of
business. I’ll try not to run rough-shod over you if you will consider my
advice.” He lay back down and drummed antsy fingers on his stomach. “Ian
observed the other day that he and Rebecca, should they get married, would be
like an old, comfortable pair of shoes. You and I, on the other hand,” he cut
his eyes at her, and she saw the teasing that danced in them, “he said we will
live a life of thunder and lightning.”

As if God was in agreement, thunder rumbled through the valley.

~~~

Forty-One

Rebecca pulled a brush through her long, dark locks and savored
the caress of the bristles on her scalp.
Sitting
at her vanity, she tried to put Silas and Sarah out of her mind and focus on
her dinner with Ian. She imagined an intimate, candlelit affair and smiled at
the sudden thrumming of her pulse.

She felt alive.

But her heart drew her back to the life Sarah would be facing
tomorrow. In a breath, her future with Silas was gone.

Someone knocked at the door and she paused with the brush in her
hand. “Yes?”

“It’s me, Emilio. I am supposed to drive you up to Mr. Donoghue’s.
Whenever you’re ready, the wagon is waiting downstairs.”

Butterflies flitted in her stomach and Rebecca eyed herself in the
vanity mirror one last time. She had moments when she was shocked by the age
creeping up on her, and the increasing number of gray hairs flowing amidst the
black. But tonight, her brown eyes glittered with a youthful intensity. The
deep burgundy of a simple muslin dress brought out a glow in her skin. Biting
her lip, she tied a matching ribbon in her hair then pinched her cheeks for
some color.

Seven years. Seven years since a man had kissed her. Seven years
since Ben had made love to her. The thought sent a natural blush racing to her
cheeks. Did Ian love her? Did he think about kissing her? Did he think about
more?

Oh, God, please don’t let him break my heart tonight. I just want
to hear three words from him. After that, the rest will fall into place
.

~~~

Ian’s cabin sat in the center of a steep pasture, surrounded by
wildflowers and bathed in twilight. A coffeepot stuffed with bright yellow
daisies brightened the front porch. As she climbed the steps and caught the
scent of wild roses, she noted, too, that somehow he’d managed to trim the
grass in the front yard. The door creaked and she looked up.

“Good evening, Miss Rebecca. Welcome to my humble abode.”

Ian met her wearing a crisp, white shirt tucked into new
dungarees. She’d never seen him wear those before. She thought he preferred the
linen trousers. And she’d never seen him without his argyle sweater. The plain
shirt downplayed that endearing middle-aged paunch of his. The dungarees were
quite attractive as well, in a rugged sort of way. Embarrassed that she’d
scanned him head to toe, she motioned to his yard as she stepped on to the
porch.

“Your yard is lovely, Ian. How in the world did you mow it?”

Smiling, his eyes glowing with an energy Rebecca also hadn’t seen
before, Ian reached up and scratched his freshly-trimmed beard. “I borrowed a
goot.”

She cocked her head slightly. “A what?”

Ian gritted his teeth. “The farm animal. A gooooat,” he
enunciated.

“Oh,” she laughed at the language barrier.

“Ye are quite lovely this evening, Miss Rebecca,” he said, his
voice bold and husky.

She could
feel
the compliment, the caress of his eyes, and
almost sighed aloud. “You look very nice too—in those clothes.” Knowing her
face gave away too much of her adoration, she turned to admire the view. From
his porch, Ian could see the whole town. Defiance rested on the floor of an
expansive, flat valley amidst ranges of steep, snow-capped mountains. Thick,
green pines and a lesser number of hardwoods covered their lower elevations as
a wide, bustling stream snaked its way through the middle of the valley. This
was the stream that flowed behind the hotel. Dozens of trails snaked out from
the town into the higher elevations and, at the far end, Rebecca could see
another road coming in from a pass between the mountains. “What a lovely view
to see every night.”

As she watched, the final rays of sun disappeared behind
Redemption Pass off to her right. Roiling, menacing clouds tumbled over the
mountains at the opposite end of the valley. A flash of lightning illuminated
the dark clouds from within and she wondered if the storm would reach them.

“Dinner is ready, if ye’re hungry.”

Rebecca started at the nearness of his voice from behind her.
Standing so close, she could feel the heat of him and wished she could lean
back on him. She imagined him wrapping his arms around her as they stood
watching the night fall. Intoxicated by the thought, slowly she turned and fell
into his wide, welcoming eyes. They’d never been this close before, at least
not without a steak frying nearby. “I’m starving.” She wanted to scream the
words.

Ian swallowed and moved toward her. His chest brushed her bosom
and he stepped back. He cleared his throat. “Right this way.” He motioned
toward the cabin’s open door. Rebecca didn’t move. Her whole body felt like one
big, hammering pulse. She held his gaze, willing him to touch her. He pursed
his lips and took her hand. She swore a spark leaped between them. “I’ll leave
the door open for propriety’s sake.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

Still, neither of them moved toward the door. They were both
waiting. For what, she didn’t know. She could feel the debate raging in him.
Finally, he tugged her toward the door and the moment ended.

Rebecca stepped into his cabin, wondering what had just happened.
Clearly, Ian wanted to say something, do something, but he held back. Why? Trying
to pay attention to her surroundings, she took in the simple, sparsely
decorated cabin. He’d nailed fruit boxes to one wall for shelves. Nearby, a
narrow plank desk sat covered with architectural sketches. His neatly made bed
occupied the back wall. A pot-bellied stove stood a few feet over from it and
warmed the room nicely. She smiled at the small table sitting in front of the
stove. Candlelight illuminated two tin plates covered with baked pheasant,
baked yams, and stewed apples. And she hadn’t cooked one morsel of it. But how
had he cooked it?

Ian motioned to a stool. “Isna Buckingham Palace—”

“Ian, please, it’s lovely.” Rebecca sat down on the stool and
grabbed the sides to move it forward just as Ian did. His hands covered hers,
his breath tickled her ear … and they both stilled. Chills rippled down her
spine. It would be so simple to just turn her head and find his lips.

Ian shook his head, again breaking the spell, and helped her slide
her seat forward. Linen napkins, real silverware, he’d outdone himself. It all
seemed set up for a special evening. Finding hope in that, she decided she
could wait on him to reveal his thoughts—and heart.

He sat down opposite her and blessed the meal. She cut into the
pheasant and took a bite. “Ian, this is wonderful but how–where–did you cook
it?”

“Out back. There’s hardly room to change yer mind in here. Since
I’ve been working at the hotel with ye, I’ve not had much time for cooking. And
as ye can see,” he patted his stomach, “I’m none the worse for it.”

Rebecca savored another bite of pheasant as he spoke. She closed
her eyes and experienced the smoky, nutty flavor and hint of rosemary. “You can
cook. It’s very good.”

He exhaled. “It’s been awhile since I did pheasant.”

“Not too long, apparently.”

For a while, the sound of forks and knives scraping across the tin
was the only sound in the small cabin. Rebecca didn’t think it was a tense
silence, just a patient kind.
Back to that
, she thought, glancing up at
Ian. Yes, she’d learned a lot about patience thanks to Ian Donoghue.

“That was sad business today, what with Silas getting killed,” he
said between bites. “Defiance still has a way to go ‘til it’s civilized.”

“The news will break Sarah’s heart in two. I’m glad Hannah and
Mollie will take him home.”

“Aye, ‘tis best that such news comes from a friend.”

“It just goes to show how precious and fragile life is.”

Ian halted his fork and seemed to think that over before finishing
the bite of bird. “How long had ye been married when yer husband and child
died?”

Thoughts about Ben and Gracie never failed to bring a stab of
pain. “Ben and I were married nine years. He and Gracie have been gone seven
years this summer.” Oh, but she didn’t wish to dwell on her loss. Finished with
her meal, she laid the napkin on the table and smiled up at Ian, intent on
staying in this moment. “You did yourself proud, Ian. You can cook for me every
night.”

She’d meant the compliment to be light-hearted, but once out, it
hung in the air between them. The look in Ian’s eyes changed again, heavy with
emotion, and Rebecca’s heart started that all too-familiar and, so far,
pointless gallop. Determination settled in his jaw and he reached across the
table for her hand.

“Rebecca, last year I asked for permission to court ye, and ye
denied me.” She opened her mouth to argue, to explain, but he pushed on. “Since
then, I’ve waited. Waited to see if I thought yer feelings toward me would
change and if ye felt strong enough to love again.”

Gently, he moved his thumb back and forth across the back of her
hand. Rebecca breathed in quick, shallow gasps. ‘
I love you, Rebecca.’ Just
say it, Ian. Please. I … love … you.

“It pains me greatly to say I’ve seen no hint, nothing—”

“Oh, good grief, Ian,” Rebecca blurted. Huffing, she slapped the
table and rose. She marched to the door and stood there, not seeing the view of
twinkling lights and glowing tents or the half-moon just rising over the
mountains. Shaking her head in consternation, she folded her arms tightly
across her chest. “How can you be so blind?” She hugged herself tighter, afraid
that if she couldn’t keep her self-control, she might turn around and kick him
in the shin.

“Ye mean … I’m struck dumb.”

She heard the shock in his voice and snorted. “Dumb as an ox.” Her
voice broke on the last word and she started blinking to stop the tears. “I
can’t do this.” Mortified that she was on the verge of weeping like a silly
girl, Rebecca pounded across the porch and rushed down the path toward town. It
wasn’t safe to walk alone, but she didn’t care. Who would attempt to waylay an
old woman anyway? Ian didn’t want her. No one wanted her.

~~~