A Lady in Defiance (22 page)

Boiling mad and glowing a beautiful shade of pink, she
punched him in the shoulder. “Put me down this instant!”

Surprised by the ferocity behind the fist, he knew better
than to press his luck. Her Highness had one whale of a jab. Unceremoniously,
he released her. Naomi had to claw at his lapel to keep from falling flat on
her rear end. Gaining her feet, she angrily pushed away from him, brushed a
stray hair from her face and checked to see if she still had an egg in her
basket.

Things in their proper places, she drew back and delivered
another stunning blow to McIntyre’s left bicep. “What’s the matter with you?”
she snapped. “I could have broken my neck.”

Mustering his pride, he resisted the urge to rub his thumping
muscle. Instead, he pretended exaggerated emotional distress. He clutched his
vest over his heart as if she had stabbed him with a real weapon. “You have
wounded me, Milady. Have you no gratitude for the peasant who saved you?”

“Saved me? You nearly killed me!”

He leaned in, pressing, he knew, too close for comfort. “If I
wanted you dead…”

Naomi huffed and moved back. “Then what do you want? I’m
busy.”

McIntyre straightened up and shrugged in a casual way. “To
check on things.” She did not need to know he had surveyed the hotel on his way
out here. Construction had progressed quite well and he was pleased. Getting
his arms around her had been a bonus. Recently widowed or not, her vehement
reaction, including that heaving chest, spoke volumes about her vulnerability
to him. Perhaps the two of them mixed like oil and water, but somewhere in the
recipe there was also a little nitroglycerin. His ego was stroked and he’d left
her with something to think about. That would have to do for now. “Well, I
believe my work here is done.”

Naomi sucked in a breath and her shocked face drained of its
color. She took another step back, bumping into the chicken cage. McIntyre was
alarmed at her sudden pastiness. “Mrs. Miller, are you all right?”

“My husband used to say that very same thing when he would
tease me. How...” She swallowed and shook her head, looking terribly rattled by
his words.

“I do apologize, Mrs. Miller, if I caused you any pain.”

“No.” She pulled herself together, admirably well, he
thought, considering how shaken she looked. “No, you didn’t. It just caught me
off guard.”

The fun of a few moments ago obscured by this curtain of
grief, McIntyre thought it best to take his leave. His simple teasing had been
meant to act as a diversion, pleasant or not. Instead, it had launched her
straight back to thinking of her husband, someone, in truth, he would prefer
she forget. Feeling a little chagrined at the backfire, he touched the brim of
his hat. “Then I will bid you good day.” He glanced at the stump. “Do try to be
careful, won’t you?”

With a quick nod, he left her and headed down toward the back
trail. McIntyre did not currently feel like dealing with the bustle of the
street, and the sound of the river always settled him. He rubbed his arm as he
walked. He could still feel the sting of her punch, but he could also feel her
gathered up against him. She was a boney package compared to the buxom Rose,
and yet he had liked holding her.

Strange, she was nothing like any of the women he’d ever been
attracted to. Surely the fireworks were more about lust and conquest and a
bored man’s desire for variety...than, say, something more noble? He shivered
at the thought. Deciding that avoiding Naomi
was
the safest course, he
forced her to the back of his mind.

McIntyre suspected, however, the stubborn little wench
wouldn’t stay there.

Naomi leaned her head against a knotty cedar pole holding up
the lean-to and let a few tears fall. Her meeting with Mr. McIntyre had been
emotionally tumultuous, to say the least. She thought about the last time John
had said those words to her, in the back yard of their home. And now, to hear
them uttered fifteen hundred miles away by a scoundrel in the truest sense of
the word was beyond comprehension.

She was disgusted by the whole scene, by his hypnotic,
penetrating brown eyes, maddening, devious grin and shocking boldness. He had
purposely held her far longer than necessary, affording her ample opportunity
to feel the sinewy, muscular strength of his lean frame. How could he treat her
like that, a grieving widow? Had he no shame? She straightened up and wiped her
eyes. She had too much to make her cry to add him to the list. Gathering her
wits about her, she stepped back up on the stump and wished Mr. McIntyre would
obligingly step off the edge of the earth.

Chapter
18

Hugging herself to ward off the chilly hint of approaching
fall, Hannah stood on the front porch of the hotel and waited for her sisters.
Even with what had happened to Rebecca and Ian a few weeks ago, the sisters had
decided they wouldn’t be prisoners in the hotel. Or at least, two of them
wouldn’t be.

Someone, most likely Rose, had been spreading rumors about
the sisters, seeding the town with doubts about their hotel and vocation. A man
with a lecherous grin had actually approached Hannah in the mercantile and
suggested she find some Goodyear products before she went back to work.
Puzzled, she had shared the comment with her sisters. Rebecca and Naomi were
horrified by the implication, as was Hannah, when they explained that he was
apparently suggesting she purchase some condoms!

Knowing what they were thinking, that they were buying into
Rose’s lies, the continual stares of the men passing by drove Hannah to the
bench. Nestled in the corner of it, feeling shrouded by the lengthening evening
shadows, she thought about home…or more specifically, Billy. It was becoming
harder and harder to remember his face. Oh, she could still hear his voice,
feel the touch of his hands, even taste his heart-melting kisses, but the
mischievous blue eyes and dashing smile were fading from her memory…but sadly,
not her heart.

Feeling a little wistful, Hannah looked up with relief when
she heard her sisters. She saw Naomi rolling a wheelbarrow down the side of the
street, loaded with several large sheaves of hay, four colossal pumpkins and at
least half a dozen ears of red and black Indian corn. Her sister weaved and dipped
drunkenly with the heavy load as she tried frantically, laughably, to keep from
spilling the whole thing. Rebecca was no help as her arms were full of two
smaller pumpkins and more corn. Any attempt at trying to stabilize the
wheelbarrow resulted in her frantically juggling her own load.

The two women were laughing and squealing, hysterical over
the mock melodrama of the teetering cargo. Hannah couldn’t remember how long it
had been since they’d all shared some good, rich, side-splitting humor; even
passers-by on the street grinned at the comical picture of the two girls trying
to control the precarious cargo. The comedy of the situation was infectious and
Hannah’s own heart took flight.

Not about to be left out, she hurried down the steps to meet
her sisters. “Look at those pumpkins,” she marveled. “They’re so bright, they
look like they’re on fire.”

“Here, quick,” Rebecca extended her load to Hannah. “Take
these and I’ll help Naomi.”

As Rebecca tried to pass her freight off, Hannah’s rotund
abdomen got in the way. The pumpkins and corn cascaded to the ground in a blur
of fall colors as the two futilely scrambled to catch them. Naomi dropped the
wheelbarrow and the sisters collapsed into laughing hysterics. They were off to
the side of the traffic but probably wouldn’t have cared if they had been in
the middle of the road. Hannah held her stomach against the pain that racked
her sides and purely heehawed till tears streamed down her cheeks. Maybe it
wasn’t all
that
funny, but it felt so good to let go.

Seconds later a shadow fell across them. The laughter fizzled
out grudgingly as the girls realized a man on horseback had ridden up and was
watching the fun. Shielding their eyes against the setting sun, they struggled
to douse their giggles. Hannah took in the tall figure of a clean-shaven man,
forty or so, dressed in a tan suit and light jacket with a derby atop his head.
With exacting aim, he spit tobacco juice squarely at her feet. “You Hannah
Frink?”

His rude behavior and solemn voice sobered them like a
lightning bolt. Naomi straightened up, her squared shoulders issuing a defiant
warning. “Who she is is none of your business.”

The man smiled but Hannah saw only darkness in his eyes.
“‘Fraid you’re wrong.”

Dismissing them, he quickly surveyed the town, spotted what
he was looking for and trotted off in the direction of the Iron Horse.
Speechless, the sisters watched horse and rider disappear into the flow of
traffic.

Watching the stranger melt into the sea of horses and wagons,
Naomi spoke to her sisters over her shoulder. “Rebecca, you and Hannah get
these things on to the front porch. I’m going to see what I can find out about
him.”

She did not wait for a reply. Keeping low and moving quickly,
Naomi darted down the street, ignoring the men who tipped their hats in mock
politeness. She dared anybody to stop her now as she focused on finding out who
this man was, but she stopped short when she saw him pull up in front of the
marshal’s office.

The man dismounted, tied his horse and marched inside. Naomi hid
behind a post and debated her next move. Before she could form a plan, he and
Marshal Hayes emerged together and crossed the street to the Iron Horse. Naomi
knew there was no way she could eavesdrop on the conversation from the street.
She could either wait and address the man when he left the Iron Horse or she
could barge in and demand an explanation.

Tapping her foot in agitation, Naomi debated the situation
for several minutes. Would it be a complete scandal if she waltzed in there
right now? Would the Flowers try to pick a fight with her? Would her entrance
into the saloon be telegraphed all over the valley, giving credence to the
rumor that their hotel was merely a brothel? She looked around at the
passers-by and weighed the curious stares aimed at her as she clung, hiding, to
the pole. At the moment, did she care what these people thought?

Naomi stomped down the boardwalk and barged through the
saloon’s swinging doors. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the deep shadows caused by
the smoke, setting sun and low lights. Realizing she was announcing her
presence with a trumpet by standing silhouetted in the door, she moved deeper
into the saloon. Through the smoky haze, she could see the Iron Horse was about
half-full and the man she wanted was at the bar. As she took a step to move
into the crowd, Mr. McIntyre came from nowhere, hooked her waist and swung her
around like they were square dancing. Before Naomi realized what was happening,
she was back out on the boardwalk with Mr. McIntyre’s arm around her.

Angrily shoving him off her, she stepped back and attempted
to stare him down. “What do you think you’re doing? There’s a man in there I
need to see.”

“I don’t care if Jesus Christ himself is in there, Mrs.
Miller,” his eyes blazed with startling ferocity, “The last place you need to
be seen is my saloon. Blast you, woman, use your head.”

Naomi blinked, quite taken aback by Mr. McIntyre’s ire. “That
man,” she pointed at the saloon, “he was asking about Hannah. I have to find
out who he is.”

“My bartender says he is a Pinkerton from San Francisco.
Pender Beckwith. He’s seen him many times.” Naomi was stunned, but only for a
second. She quickly surmised there was only one person who would have sent a
Pinkerton to find Hannah. Mr. McIntyre encircled Naomi again, pulling her away
from the front door and down the walk several feet. Strangely discomfited by
his nearness, she quickly stepped away. It bothered her greatly that each time
he put an arm around her it became a little less detestable. “Now, I have to
ask, Mrs. Miller, what is a Pinkerton doing in Defiance looking for Hannah, of
all people?”

“Frank Page,” she muttered in disgust, taking a seat on the
nearby bench. “That no-good, greedy tyrant...” She trailed off, certain her
face betrayed her anger.

After a moment, Mr. McIntyre joined her. “Does this have
anything to do with the father of Hannah’s baby?”

“The grandfather,” she spat. “He owns everything in Cary. He
runs everything in Cary.” She cut Mr. McIntyre a side-ways glance. “Much like
you. He, however, has big plans for his son. Oh, yes, indeed, Billy’s going to
be a North Carolina senator in a few years, as soon as he’s done with college.
Then after that, Frank plans to run him for president.” She shook her head in
disgust. “His ambition knows no bounds. He made it clear that Hannah’s blood
wasn’t blue enough for her to be the wife of a senator or a president. He
whisked Billy out of town and wouldn’t allow him to return until the situation
was resolved.”

“And by resolved I assume you mean he ran you and your family
out?”

“Not exactly,” Naomi huffed indignantly. “He bought our farms
and John, Rebecca and I agreed not to contact Billy. We refused to make that
same promise for Hannah. She decided on her own to leave but didn’t explicitly
promise anything. I guess Frank figures he needs to keep up with her
whereabouts.”