A Lady in Defiance (8 page)

Naomi stood up and pulled a folded piece of paper from her
waistband. “I don’t know if we own the bed, but we own this hotel.” She walked
over and set the deed on the dusty windowsill. She decided not to share the
story of why they didn’t own the land upon which the hotel sat. That could
wait.

She turned back to Hannah. “Why don’t you and I start
unloading the wagon and let them finish here? But don’t worry, Rebecca, we’ll
save the heavy stuff until y’all come down.” Naomi looked at Emilio. “Thank you
for your help. We appreciate it.”

The boy bobbed his head like an excited bird. “
De nada
.”

As Hannah and Naomi marched down the stairs, Naomi was
curious about the boy and how he had come to live in Defiance. “Does Emilio
speak any English?”

“A fair amount from what I could tell.” Hannah answered. “He
seems to get by−”

A knock at the front door as they reached the landing stopped
their progress. They could see the shadow of a man through the frosted glass of
the French doors.

Hannah quirked an eyebrow nervously. “Our first guest?”

Not likely,
Naomi thought, headed for the door. Wishing she had her gun
on her hip, she opened it to discover the marshal fanning himself with a book.
He greeted her with a cocky tip of his hat. “Ma’m. Mr. McIntyre asked that I
drop this by to you.” He handed her a Montgomery Ward catalog.

“Oh,” Naomi gasped. She was as pleased to see it as Hannah,
who squealed with delight and took it off her hands. “Thank you, Marshal,”
Naomi quipped, unable to hide a grin over her sister’s enthusiasm. Some
normalcy in this new life was comforting and Hannah did love to shop, even if
she couldn’t buy. “I’m surprised. Are we able to get Montgomery Ward to ship
here?”

“Ma’m, there’s a sayin’ in mining towns: if you’ve got money,
men and mules, you’ve got the world. There’s a saloon over in Eureka that
sports a real chandelier, come all the way from London, England around the horn
to San Francisco to here. Not one crystal was broke.” He smiled as if
remembering the grandeur of the light. “The saloon over in Animas Forks has an
I-talian sculpture of a naked lady−oh, I do apologize, ma’m.”

“Thank you, Marshal. You’ve made your point.” She appreciated
the apology. Obviously it wouldn’t have fazed Mr. McIntyre a bit to share such
lewd information. “But why is it that all the finer items go to the saloons?”

The marshal shrugged. “I reckon ‘cuz the saloon owners are
the only folks plannin’ on stayin’. Most folks are just passin’ through,
lookin’ for that big strike.” Naomi chewed her lip, pondering the violent,
unwashed, ill-mannered population of Defiance. As if reading her mind, the
marshal added, “Also, ma’m, I just wanted to remind you that if you’ve any
errands to run, it would be best to get them done before dark. After that, you
might be mistaken for...”

“I understand. We were going to try to make it to the general
store before it closes. Do you know what time that would be?”

“Yes’m, six o’clock.” He pulled a watch from his vest pocket
and flipped the lid open. “It’s right now 4:30.”

“Thank you again, Marshal,” she told him, slowly closing the
door.

Marshal Hayes tipped his hat, grinned broadly and departed.

~~~

Rose watched the hotel from a window in McIntyre’s room. The
spirits of her ancestors had told her these women would be trouble for her. Her
heart had burned with jealousy as she watched McIntyre let them in the
building. Then he had escorted the skinny, golden one to the bank. Rose would
not stand for another woman near her man; her plans were too delicate to be
upset. This town was hers; Mac was hers. She would simply have to teach these
gringas
their place.

In an attempt to keep McIntyre in his, Rose lit a candle and
set it on his dresser. Reaching between her breasts, she pulled out a small
leather pouch from her corset. Working it open, she tapped a tiny amount of the
brown powder over the candle. It fizzed and sparkled, then released a heavy,
sweet scent into the room.

She smiled, confident in her powers and her potions. The
scent would relax McIntyre’s mind and make her suggestions more enticing to
him. Satisfied she had used the right amount, she returned the pouch to her
hiding place. It was a powerful mixture of herbs and prayers. One pinch in the
candle eased the mind and the muscles. But a slightly larger amount in a glass
of whiskey made a man willing to disclose the value of his claim or even how
much gold dust he had in his pockets.

The mood set, Rose reached into a small box of cosmetics she
kept on his dresser. She touched up her lipstick, deepening the red of her
lips, and sketched a heavy line of coal around her dark chocolate eyes. Surveying
her image in the full length mirror, she untied her silk robe and pushed her
corset higher to lift her generous bosom.

Turning from side to side, Rose admired her curvaceous lines.
She liked the way her dark skin glowed against the pink silk undergarments and
her eyes flashed a dangerous, consuming fire. She didn’t really need the
powder, she knew, but the voices encouraged her to trust them for more and more
of their knowledge. She was desperate to gain all that she could. Pleased with
the image in the mirror, she pulled a jet black curl from behind her neck and
draped it between her breasts like an arrow pointing to naughty pleasures. Rose
was hungry for more than knowledge tonight.

A soft tap at the door made her step away from the mirror and
slide her robe seductively off one shoulder. Her mood turned dark when little
Daisy peaked around the door. “I thought you were Mac,” Rose complained as the
girl let herself in the room.

Daisy’s eyes widened. “No, he’s still downstairs talking with
the man from the stagecoach. He sent me up here to get his mail.”

Rose knew she scared the girl. She watched with cruel
pleasure as Daisy nervously searched his desk for the letters.
Daisy
was
the perfect flower name for this wisp of a girl. She was small, delicate, and
pale just like a wild daisy. And from what the customers told her, Daisy had
all the passion of a dried flower. Not like Rose. She liked the power her long,
tall, buxomly body gave her over men. Even McIntyre was weak-kneed around her
at times, with or without the powder. Consequently, she could pick and choose
her customers; Daisy had to take whatever nasty, drunken miner came her way.

“Tell the Flowers I’m expecting Pete Waters tonight.” Daisy
nodded obediently as she continued rifling through McIntyre’s desk. Pete owned
a profitable claim and was a big tipper. Better yet, he always bathed before
visiting her. The girls knew better than to distract him from Rose…or there
would be Hell to pay. The thought of tormenting her fellow soiled doves with a headless
rat in one bed or the other brought a smile to Rose’s face.

“Daisy,” McIntyre called irritably from downstairs. “Hurry
up, girl.”

“Got them, Mr. McIntyre!” She ran out the door with the mail
in her hand, without looking back at Rose.

Delighted with her power, Rose stretched herself out on
McIntyre’s sofa. After nearly two years here, they had established a
comfortable routine before heading downstairs to work. He would be up in just a
moment, a snifter of whisky in his hand. She would massage his shoulders, then
they would move to the bed and make love, the only passion for her since anyone
after that was merely a customer, and then they would sleep for a while. At
least,
he
would sleep.

Rose would stay awake, whispering dark prayers over him,
prayers passed down from Mayan mothers to their daughters for centuries. When
she uttered the words of her ancestors, she could hear their voices, and they
would tell her things. Show her things. Someday, Defiance, McIntyre and all he
owned would be hers. The voices had promised her−

McIntyre entered the room, glanced at Rose, then went to his
desk and sat down. Her brow furrowed with uncertainty. She had seen something
in his eyes just then she didn’t like. Had it been boredom? Disappointment?
Something else? Deciding to overcome it, she got to her feet and glided over to
him. As he studied the liquor inventory, she rubbed his shoulders, reaching
deep into the muscles, opening his mind to the scent in the air.

“Tell me about the gringa women,” she purred in a silky Latin
accent. He was more tense than usual. “Do they upset you? Your muscles are like
guitar strings.”

He slapped his pencil down. “They do not upset me.”

Afraid of losing the moment, she moved to a fresh set of
muscles, kneading them, caressing them. Slowly, she felt the tension turn to
liquid and drain away. He leaned back in his chair, inhaled deeply and let her
work her magic.

“They are sisters,” he murmured. “The middle one, I think,
she lost her husband back on the trail. The other two aren’t married.”

“Did you offer them jobs? I saw them here earlier.”

“Women like that don’t work in saloons.” He rolled his head
around, loosening the tense muscles. “Bible-toters we call them. They think God
told them to settle here in Defiance, so I gave them Whicker’s building. The town
needs decent women.”

“Decent,” Rose scoffed. “They sound crazy. And any woman,
desperate enough, would work here for you, my love,” she whispered, snaking her
hands across his chest. Rose knew her dark skin, dangerous eyes and unabashed
passion was a wonderful diversion. She owned McIntyre, body and mind. That was
enough, for now.

~~~

The day was fading quickly and Rebecca and Naomi were running
out of time to make a trip to the mercantile. They insisted this would be the
time for Hannah to get some rest while they ran the errand and summarily put
her to bed. Emilio had insisted on walking with them to the general store,
telling them that if they didn’t need his help, he would go on home. Secretly,
Rebecca was glad for the escort, even though she figured the stringy teenager
wouldn’t exactly intimidate a determined miner. She was afraid of this town but
wanted to be able to live in it without being bullied by it.

 She and Naomi kept their heads down, bonnets hiding
their faces and hurried through the crowd. A few men called to them, some
whistled, a handful even followed from a distance, but no one attempted to stop
them. Rebecca could hear the whispers, though, as if the men were debating the
repercussions of approaching them.

“Naomi, we didn’t finish unloading the wagon, but I’m afraid
something’s missing.” Rebecca’s tone was mysterious and Naomi obligingly slowed
her pace.  Rebecca leaned towards her sister and lowered her voice. “I
didn’t see the box with the pinafores, dresses, and baby clothes in it.”

Naomi’s brow shot up. “I thought you said you packed it.”

“I said I’d tend to it, but it was too heavy. I asked Hannah
to ask John to load it…I think we left it behind.”

Naomi shook her head. “If we forgot that, we’ve got a problem
on our hands. You know I can’t sew very well.”

Rebecca chuckled. “I can, little sister. It will be all
right.” She sighed wearily. “It’s just an inconvenience, not the end of the
world, but there were some really precious things in that box.”

As they discussed their plans without mentioning Hannah’s
condition, Marshal Hayes materialized out of nowhere. With a cocky tip of his
hat, he fell into step beside Naomi and Rebecca. “Afternoon, ladies. Allow me
to escort you on your errand.” He looked back at Emilio. “I think you could do
with a bit more size to your bodyguard.”

Naomi responded to the marshal’s request with ingrained
politeness. “Oh, that’s not necessary, Marshal.”

“Or is it?” Rebecca half-argued, jabbing her sister in the
ribs.

The marshal lowered his hat over his eyes to block the low
afternoon sun and looked over at Naomi. “There’s talk of a rematch between you
and O’Banion, but this time in the Pit. Does that answer your question?”

“The Pit?” Naomi asked.

“In a minin’ town, men’ll fight just about anything and pay
to see it. Drunk enough, I could see ‘em cartin’ you off to our little arena.
Which is one of the reasons Mr. McIntyre asked me to keep an eye on you and
your sisters. By and by, the men’ll get used to you being here and come to
under¬stand you’re not,” he lowered his voice, “loose women.”

By and by? And just how long would that be, Rebecca wondered.

Her question was cut short by a bloodcurdling scream from
somewhere in front of them. Abruptly they were confronted by an unmoving wall
of plaid and leather-covered backs. The men were watching some commotion on the
street, but Naomi and Rebecca couldn’t see a thing. The shriek was instantly
followed by another, yet this was a different voice. Rebecca realized the
screams were coming from women, but they were filled with rage not fear.

Chapter
7

“Fight!” A man yelled gleefully, and the cry galvanized the
witnesses. As if the crowd was one body, it surged to the edge of the
boardwalk, sandwiching Naomi and Rebecca between smelly, cheering men
practically quivering with excitement.