A Lady in Defiance (3 page)

“Then go where I send you. There are those around you living
in defiance. Take to them the Good News.” And then he pleaded softly, “Love
them as I do.”

“I will go where you send me, Lord.” Her heart ached to ask
one question of him, though. “But can’t you please tell me why you took
Jo−”

Jesus put a finger to his lips, cutting off the question. His
countenance and voice were gentle when he replied, “You’ll have your answer in
time. I have children lost in darkness. Take to them the Light…and don’t stand
on eighteen.”

Naomi opened her eyes and looked up at the bottom of the
wagon. A gray light crept stealthily upon them and she knew it was time to get
moving. Slowly, gingerly, she climbed over her sleeping sisters and crawled out
from underneath a home she now despised.

A lonely apprehension seized her as she wandered over to the
dead fire. As she moved to sit on a fallen tree, she stopped short. Either
Rebecca or Hannah had left John’s map out, folded to reveal a small section.
She picked it up and studied the lines and topographical details. John’s
accident had happened on what he’d called the Million Dollar Highway, the way
most of the gold and silver was taken out of the valley. She let her finger
dance over the map as she looked for something, some land mark or town, some
hint of what to do next, where to go…

“Defiance…?” She stopped her finger at the town.  The
name tweaked her memory. “What…?”

But the Lord’s words leaped to her mind:
There are those
around you living in Defiance. Take to them the Good News. Love them as I do.

She stared at the word. The town was only a few miles due
west. She also knew, with a searing dread, that it was their destination.
Feeling sick and overwhelmed, she closed her eyes and went back to that dream
which was now painfully vivid. She had told Him three times she would go where
He sent her.
Not willingly
, she admitted.
Forgive me, Lord. I go
grudgingly, to say the least. With John beside me, I would have gone to Hell
and back. I had my heart set on growing old with him. Where didn’t matter. Now
nothing matters.

The truth be told, Lord, I don’t like You very much right
now.

The admission broke her heart as much as the loss of her
husband. If she didn’t have the relationship with God that she had always
counted on, then she had nothing. Yet, getting past her anger at this sudden
destruction of her dreams was proving nigh unto impossible. She cried over her
loss and her smoldering resentment and begged God to help her get past them
both.

Chapter
2

Inside the Iron Horse Saloon, McIntyre drummed his fingers on
his desk. The letter did not bring him the news he wanted and he despised not
getting what he wanted. He read that one particular line again: “while Defiance
is in an excellent location to provide a hub for spur lines up from Animas
Forks and Pinkerton Springs, the town’s lack of civil organization, or for that
matter, civility, distresses us.”

The same complaint…again.

So Defiance was a bit on the wild side. He looked out the
window of his office at the bustling horde of scruffy miners. These men
suffered from the consuming malady of Gold Fever and he was there to nurse them
through it with wine, women and song. After all, what more could a man really
want?

Possibly a hotel room without a female already in it. A night
without the eruption of gunfire. A duly elected mayor. A legally deputized
marshal. Law and order. Churches. Schools.

He sighed like a man accepting his fate. Defiance had to be
tamed. If he wanted the railroad to come in, he was going to have to get on
with it. He heard the front doors squeak and looked up. His office afforded a
view of the entire length of the bar and he straightened attentively as a
pretty little blonde entered and removed her bonnet. Hands clenched tensely at
her waist, her eyes were glued to the nude painting over the bar.

Whoever she was, she had never seen anything like that and he
smiled as she looked away. How long had it been since he had seen a woman
blush? He couldn’t honestly recall. He enjoyed gazing upon her for a moment,
taking in the slim, curvaceous figure and that long, golden braid running down
her back like Rapunzel’s. She was tanned from the sun and her dress showed a
fair amount of wear. Still, she was enjoyable to study and it wouldn’t take
much for his mind to wander...

She looked around the rest of the empty saloon and finally
her eyes found him. He stood as she approached his office door. “Are you Mr.
McIntyre?”

“I am,” he agreed in his most charming Southern accent. He
skirted his desk and met her in the entrance, momentarily struck by the
contrast of ocean green eyes in a beautiful, tanned face. High cheekbones,
freckles and a slightly pug nose, she was a fresh-faced, wholesome change from
the women currently populating Defiance. And he had picked up on her accent
before she had spoken her second word. “A fellow southerner.” Extending his
hand, he admitted, “Though I can’t quite place the accent, Ms…”

“We’re from North Carolina and it’s
Mrs
. Naomi Miller.”

He nodded, accepting her correction. “Mrs. Miller. To what do
I owe this distinct pleasure?”

He held on to her hand much too long as he boldly appraised
her up and down. Frowning slightly, she pulled her hand away. He grinned at her
obvious discomfort, enjoying the sport. He could tell she didn’t like him
already.

“I was wondering if we might talk a little business?”

“Why certainly.” He motioned to one of the green-topped poker
tables behind her. “Please have a seat and I’ll get us some refreshments. I
have everything from whiskey to coffee.”

“Coffee?”

He chuckled at the longing in her voice, knowing full well
that coffee was always the first supply to run out on the trail. “I’ll just be
a moment.”

Going behind the bar, he caught sight of himself in the
mirror and wondered if she admired his wavy, jet black hair, brown eyes and
painstakingly trimmed, pencil-thin mustache and beard. Tall, slender and
well-dressed in a perfectly tailored dark grey suit, he was a far cry from the
war-weary Southern expatriot who had discovered this valley. Or, for that
matter, the green lieutenant who had spent four years covered in blood and guts
for his beloved Confederacy. He would never live like that again he vowed as he
poured the coffee. For further proof, he admired his clean hands and superbly
manicured nails.

McIntyre rejoined Naomi, bearing a silver tray dotted with
sugar and cream vessels, sterling silver spoons and two delicate china cups
filled with steaming coffee. The saloon was a rough and gritty-looking affair
reeking of cigar smoke and sour whiskey so this touch of elegance was, he
hoped, a pleasant surprise for her. With fluid, confident movements, he set her
coffee before her, poured in cream at her nod, and stirred in one spoonful of
sugar.

She sipped the coffee and for a fleeting moment was the very
picture of contentment, as though she’d forgotten where she was and why she was
there. Still, he thought she looked tired; her calico dress had seen better
days and her bonnet, resting on the table beside her, was faded and fraying. He
assumed she had been traveling for quite some time. It pleased him to offer her
this little moment of rest, though he couldn’t say why. Probably for the same
reason he gave a stray dog a scrap−he still claimed a morsel of unjaded
humanity.

“Mrs. Miller, please forgive me for asking,” McIntyre began
as he prepared his own cup, “but I am not used to doing business with a woman.
Might I enquire about your husband?”

She swallowed the coffee and huffed a heavy breath before
answering. “My husband. He was killed nearly a week ago on the trail.”

McIntyre’s brow furrowed deeply more out of disappointment
than sympathy. Just another Flower for the Garden. And he had been hoping for
something more interesting. “I am very sorry to hear that. However, it happens
rather frequently in the west, especially in mining towns. Women are left with
so few options under such circumstances.” His spoon clinked against this cup as
he stirred in sugar. “You are a very beautiful woman, though, Mrs. Miller. I
can promise you won’t starve. And generally speaking, I believe my Flowers are
fairly satisfied with their working conditions. I pay a generous percentage and
the rooms are large and comfortable. You also receive all your meals for
free−”

Naomi threw up her hand, cutting off the rest of his words.
“Stop talking!” McIntyre blinked, feeling a bit like a court jester failing to
properly amuse the queen. Hand still up, she acknowledged with firmness, “I can
see where that would be an assumption someone in this Godforsaken town could
make about a woman, but it was rude, nonetheless, and wrong. Very, very wrong.”

Amused by her imperious reaction, but also honestly
apologetic, he lowered his head. “I am sorry.” He could have easily added,
“Your Highness,” but bit it back. Leaning back in his chair and crossing his
legs, he made no attempt to hide his confusion. “Obviously I misconstrued the
reason for your coming here. My assumption was inexcusable.”

Naomi’s cheeks were positively glowing. “To say the least.”
Hiding a smile behind his coffee cup, he gave her time to compose herself. “My
sisters and my husband and I were on our way to California to join his brother
there. Since his death, we’ve had a rather astonishing change of plans.” He
could see she was warring with the final statement and waited patiently for her
to frame it. “We feel strongly led to stop our journey here in Defiance.”

“Led?” He didn’t miss the use of the word. “Are you Mormon
missionaries?” His voice had sounded vaguely disdainful, though he hadn’t meant
for it to. God had no time to waste on Defiance and McIntyre was happy to
return the favor.

“Not missionaries, so to speak, and not Mormons. We are
Christians and we feel that God…” He saw sadness in her eyes, and didn’t miss
the sound of disapproval in her voice as she explained, “Well, we feel he wants
us to settle here, at least for a while. Believe me, this place wouldn’t be my
first choice, but we met a Mr. Whicker as he was leaving town and we learned
that his building is vacant.”

Whicker’s name got his attention and he listened carefully,
watching her over the top of his cup. “In fact,” she continued, “he said his
building was originally designed as a hotel though he had used it as a
mercantile. That’s what got us thinking and why I came to speak with you. My
sisters and I were toying with the idea of opening up a hotel and restaurant.”
She looked out the window at the flowing street and the crowded boardwalk. “The
town at first glance seems busy enough. Could it support such a venture?” He
heard hope in her voice, though he wasn’t convinced she was hoping for a yes.

But the plan to open a respectable hotel was exactly the
reason he had reclaimed Whicker’s building in that less-than-fair game of Texas
Hold’em. The one flaw in this scheme, though, was the troublesome issue of
finding respectable innkeepers. Looking at Naomi Miller, McIntyre believed the
answer had, quite fortuitously, fallen into his lap. This thought triggered an
entertaining idea.

He sat up, set his coffee off to the side and started
shuffling the deck of cards that was a fixture at every table. “So what you’re
saying is that you believe God has sent you to Defiance? To open a business?
And then what? Will you try to save the town? Convert us all to Jesus?” There
was no malice in the questions, just bland curiosity.

Naomi inclined her head to one side and bestowed a haughty
look on him. “Forgive me, Mr. McIntyre, but why is the town named Defiance?”

He allowed a well-practiced, but admittedly insincere, smile
to creep across his face. “Are you familiar with the writings of Milton, Mrs.
Miller? He wrote that it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven.”

Her face softened and she nodded slowly. Had he seen a glint
of compassion in her eyes, he wondered, uncomfortable with anyone’s pity.
Nonetheless, he briefly shared his story. “I came to the San Juan range with a
group of fourteen other prospectors just after the war. We broke up into three
groups to better scout the valley, but in dividing, one group fell under attack
by a superior force of Ute Indians. I watched while men two and three times my
age begged God for death as their skin was flayed from their bodies.”
Goosebumps rose on her skin. “God did not save them; God stood silent while
those men suffered and died.” He fanned the cards out on the table, gathered
them up with practiced skill, and shuffled them again.

“Couple that with all the atrocities I saw during the war and
I’ve pretty much decided that God is about as useful as an absent father.” He
shrugged, surprised that he had told her so much. “Perhaps the name was my way
of shaking my fist at God, daring him to set foot in my town.”

Naomi bit her lip as she pondered his tale. “A sort of line
in the sand, is it?” Shadows of pain flitted across her face. “I wish I had
answers for why God does what he does, allows what he does, but I’m still
working on that one myself.”

“Oh, I don’t mean to make it sound as if I’m angry or to be
pitied, Mrs. Miller. I’m truly content.” He placed cards on the table with
skilled, easy movements as he talked. “Taking God out of the equation frees a
man to find his own destiny, make his own way without worrying about divine
whimsy...There.” Naomi looked down and saw that he had placed two cards in
front of each of them; a ten and an eight stared up at her. He was graced with
a king and a five. “The French call this Vingt-Et-Un. We call it Blackjack,” he
explained. “The object is to get as close to twenty-one as possible without
going over. Whoever is the closest wins. If you win, Mrs. Miller, I will give
you that building for your hotel. If you lose,” he paused. “If you lose, you
will run the hotel for me.”