A Lady in Defiance (5 page)

~~~

Lighting a cigar, McIntyre stood far enough back from the
saloon’s windows to study the girls without being seen. He was pleased to
discover that the other two sisters were just as handsome as Naomi. However, he
considered their planned future a waste of good flesh. Two golden-haired
beauties and a dark one would draw in the miners; they always liked fresh meat.

The variety in the sisters’ ages was a selling point as well.
The youngest, petite and blonde like Naomi, looked to be about sixteen. The one
with chestnut hair and more regal, almost Indian-like features, was probably
approaching forty. He guessed his feisty new business partner was somewhere in
her late twenties.

Alas, they would have to remain unsold and unsoiled. He would
put the word out. Women were nearly as valuable as gold and silver in the West,
but these three would have to be off limits, at least to the general public.
He, of course was a different story. But that could wait for a while, too.

Pulling his watch out of his vest pocket, he chuckled when he
thought of Naomi throwing up her hand to stop his offer of employment. No one
had talked to him like that in years. And he had even seen her blush. He didn’t
know women still did that. Yet, she had jumped ol’ Sam like a wolverine trying
to protect its young. Delicate and genteel but, by Dixie, sassy as a red
pepper! Whistling a cheerful tune, McIntyre went back to his office to grab his
hat and the keys for the newest residents of Defiance.

~~~

Hannah tried for one last glance up at the window where she
had seen the girls but as they pulled away, the wagon’s bonnet blocked it. She
settled back down in her seat, scratching at her waist, and pondered Defiance.
The town terrified her. Even so, she could see past the wanton lust, the
drunkenness, the false bravado exhibited so perfectly in their “welcoming
committee.” Against her better judgment, she looked into the sea of faces and
met the bold stares. Looking deeper, she saw emptiness, loneliness,
hopelessness. Like their clothes, threadbare and worn, so were their souls.

How could she know that? How could she sense it so perfectly?

Hannah also knew, however, that once word was out about the
baby, these people would probably be more vicious than her “friends” back home
had been.

...Home.

Her memories of Sunday afternoon picnics, summer nights
sitting on the front porch with Momma and Daddy, even the sweeter remembrances
of Billy, had been shoved to the background because of that one, humiliating
night in church. The thought of home now conjured up, in exquisite detail, the
shame of confessing her sin before her congregation and the resulting
torrential rain of judgment.

“She is young; she made a mistake.”

“Young and loose it sounds like!”

“She’s asking for forgiveness!”

Hannah squeezed her eyes shut as if that would silence the
voices in her head.

“We can’t turn her out! It wouldn’t be right.”

“We certainly cannot have her teaching our children in Sunday
school.”

“This should have never happened in the first place.”

“We can’t be seen as condoning this situation.”

At her lowest point, when she was raw and bleeding from the
verbal lashing, God had reminded her that she was not alone nor was she
forsaken. She was forgiven. That thought on its own had made it possible for
her to walk out of church instead of crawl.

The wagon lurched; Rebecca gasped and Hannah’s eyes flew
open. A man had leaped up on the step, pulling himself to within inches of
Naomi. Spackled with mud and smelling like sweat, rotten food and alcohol, her
sister winced as this new troublemaker removed his shoddy brown bowler in a
grand, sweeping gesture. With the slurred Irish accent of a proficient
drunkard, he announced, “Ladies, I am Grady O’Banion. Allow me to welcome ye to
Defiance.”

Naomi recoiled at his breath and scowled menacingly. “We’ve
had enough of this town’s welcome. Now, get off our wagon.”

The man’s drunken countenance changed instantly, darkening to
a more threatening expression. “Ye need to learn some manners, missy,” he
growled, reaching out and grabbing hold of Naomi’s wrist.

“Not today and not from you!” Acting on instinct, Naomi
slammed her boot into the middle of his breastbone and shoved with a force that
astonished Hannah. The man went flying, landing flat on his back and knocking
his head against a hitching post with an audible thud. The men nearby who had
the chance to witness the encounter roared with laughter. It had happened so
fast Rebecca hadn’t stopped the mules and the wagon was still moving forward.
“Pick up the pace, sister,” Naomi ordered, the color draining from her face.

Rebecca urged the mules into a trot, navigating them around
the traffic as Hannah stared at Naomi. She wondered if her feisty, hot-tempered
sister was about to get them killed. Eyes round like saucers, Naomi held her
hand over her mouth in a what-have-I-done gesture and looked over her shoulder
at the man. “What if I killed him?” she whispered. “No, wait...He’s moving...I
think.”

The distress in Naomi’s voice and her rapid breathing
released Hannah from her shock. She reached out and took her big sister’s hand
to show her respect. “If you ever wonder for one second why we need you,
Naomi…” Hannah shook her head. “Don’t.”

“Amen,” Rebecca agreed. “They’ll think twice before tangling
with us again,” she cut her eyes over at her younger sister, “with you again.”

McIntyre stepped outside the saloon just in time to see
O’Banion come flying off the wagon and land in the dirt with a breath-stealing
“OOF.” The sisters’ wagon rolled on and McIntyre honestly wondered if they
could make the next fifty yards without any further incidents. Sweet Nellie, at
least he hoped so. He didn’t have the men available to assign a security detail
to the belles. Laughing in spite of the potential trouble, he slipped his hat
on and strode down to where the town’s most ornery and abrasive citizen lay in
the dirt. Covering the troublemaker with his shadow, McIntyre nudged him with
the toe of a perfectly polished deer skin boot.

O’Banion looked up, rubbing the back of his head. “Mr.
McIntyre, yer new Flowers need a wee bit of trimmin’, I’d say.”

“They’re not Flowers and they’re not for sale.” He looked up
at the crowd that was still watching the scene play out. “I won’t take it too
kindly if they’re accosted.” A few brows rose at the use of the unfamiliar
word. McIntyre rolled his eyes. “I do forget the company I’m keeping.” As if
speaking to a slow child, he clarified the comment. “Don’t touch them. They’re
not for sale. Pass the word.” The crowd was none too happy with the order and
disbanded, grumbling at his high-handedness. He waved them off like gnats and
went to find his marshal.

Chapter
4

As the sisters rode the rest of the way down the street, they
didn’t speak of Grady O’Banion, but Naomi looked back several times. The crowd
filled in around him pretty quickly and she wasn’t able to catch sight of him.
She was comforted some by the fact that he didn’t leap to his feet declaring
his desire for revenge, but she was sick over her brazen, thoughtless tussle
with the man. What if he’d had a knife or a gun? Rebecca or Hannah could have
gotten hurt. Would this O’Banion hold a grudge? Had she humiliated him enough
to make him seek retribution?

Dear Lord, what is the matter with the men in this town?
She cried in anguish. As if she
didn’t have enough to deal with, now she was seriously considering wearing
John’s gun on her hip. She realized in her present state of mind that was akin
to throwing a match on a powder keg, but no one was going to hurt her sisters.

No one....

Rebecca pulled the wagon to a halt in front of the
soon-to-be-hotel, their hotel. The building, lapped in golden pine siding,
featured four large windows across the front of both floors, sizeable French
doors at the entrance, and a large balcony on the second story. The slats in
the rail were made of crooked, though skillfully placed, peeled branches.
Unfortunately, the windows and doors were trimmed in that gaudy red.

Still rustic but far more finished looking than most of the
other structures in Defiance. It defined the town’s transition from mining camp
to permanent settlement.

The sisters quietly climbed down, trying to draw as little
attention as possible to themselves, and took up positions at the windows.
Sheltering their eyes, they each peered into the darkness. Naomi could see
empty shelves and, toward the back, a bare counter. An L-shaped set of open tread
stairs hugged the wall on the right, a stone fireplace was built into the
center of the wall on the left, and a room in the back, which Naomi assumed was
Whicker’s small apartment, took up most of the rest of the building. Not as
wide as the building, though, it left room for a hallway that led to a back
door.

Naomi pulled away from the window and watched the passing
reflections in the glass. The traffic on this end of the street was noticeably
thinner. Perhaps because the buildings off to the immediate left were still
under construction. Suited her just fine; maybe this was the quiet part of
town. The way her muscles were singing from all this excitement, she was eager
for some peace. A little hammering and sawing would be a pleasant respite from
the cat calls and lewd comments.

Rebecca cupped her hands around her eyes and peered deeper
into the store. “I didn’t expect this to happen so fast,” she said sounding
uncertain. “One moment we’re talking about what to do for a living and the
next, we own a hotel.”

“One that looks to need a complete renovation.” Naomi snapped
her fingers. “Nothing to it.”

“What do you think we ought to do first?” Rebecca asked,
ignoring the sarcasm.

Out of the corner of her eye, Naomi noticed Hannah scratching
at her waist, something she had been doing more and more of late. Puzzled, and
interested in observing, she turned and leaned her shoulder on the window.

“Get the restaurant up and running,” Rebecca continued.
“Maybe that will only take some minor renovation, but we’ve got to get tables
and groceries from somewhere…”

Hannah was still peering into the building and still
scratching. Naomi couldn’t take it anymore. Her nerves crawling from stress,
she wanted the annoying action stopped. “Hannah, what is the matter with you?
Have you got fleas?”

He sister jerked up, embarrassed, and her hand went to her
back. “No, I don’t have fleas.” Her indignation over the question was obvious
in her squared shoulders and rigid back.

Abruptly, Rebecca walked over and spun Hannah around so she
could see her back. She raised her shirtwaist and saw that two of the buttons
on her little sister’s skirt were undone and the skirt still looked to be
pinching her waist. Rebecca hung her head. “Oh, honey. Why didn’t you tell us?”
She offered both her sisters a resigned smile and tried to stifle a laugh.
“Hannah here is bursting out of her clothes.”

Hannah whirled away angrily. “It’s not funny. It’s driving me
crazy!”

“Simmer down, simmer down,” Naomi urged, fighting a grin.
“We’re going to have to dig to the bottom of the wagon for that box of
pinafores and dresses from Ms. Dawn.”

Hannah was not amused. “Well somebody better do something or
I’m just going to start sporting around in my pantaloons.”

The ridiculous and irrational threat brought a snort out of
Rebecca. “Trust me, eventually those won’t fit you either.”

Hannah looked as if she would like to offer another sassy
reply, but the sound of boots at the far end of the porch drew their attention.
The sisters turned to see Mr. McIntyre approaching with another man, a taller,
muscular red-headed gent wearing a badge. As they stomped up the steps, Naomi
thought she saw the slightest limp in Mr. McIntyre’s step.

“Ladies,” Mr. McIntyre greeted them, taking Hannah’s hand
first. “I apologize for my rudeness earlier in not doing introductions. I’m
Charles McIntyre.”

“Well, we were all a little preoccupied at the time,” Hannah
forgave. “I’m Hannah Frink.” Naomi thought her little sister looked dangerously
impressed by Mr. McIntyre’s good looks and fancy clothes. He touched the brim
of his hat in greeting, but froze before moving on to Rebecca. “Frink. I’ve
heard that name somewhere.” He puzzled over it briefly. Raising an eyebrow, he
promised Hannah, “It’ll come to me. It’s an unusual name.”

He turned to Rebecca, reaching for her outstretched hand. She
smiled coolly at him. “I’m Rebecca Castleberry.” Naomi knew that voice: polite
but reserved; Rebecca was evaluating this man before she formed an opinion one
way or the other.

“A pleasure. This is our town marshal, Wade Hayes.”

The young man, his freckled face framed by shoulder-length,
shaggy red hair and a beige cowboy hat, winked boldly. “Ladies.”