A Lady in Defiance (11 page)

Smiling, Naomi walked over and joined him on the steps. 
She leaned back on one elbow and watched him think. His mind was racing, she
could tell, but for the moment she allowed herself to concentrate on the sprigs
of blonde hair poking out from beneath his hat, the dimpled chin, those broad,
strong shoulders, and arms that were the size of small trees. She’d known all
along he would go to Page with a reasonable price on their farms. Her heart
swelled with pride.

She saw him smile and knew that he knew she was watching him.
“Like what you see,” he asked huskily.

“Have I ever told you that you are perfect?” She had the
desire to curl up in his lap like a contented housecat.

A shot of lightning coursed through her when he turned those
lusty hazel eyes in her direction.  He slid up alongside her, resting on
an elbow as well. Face to face with him, Naomi had to fight to keep from losing
her concentration. He kissed her and she reveled in the inviting softness of
his lips. It was like a drop of water to a parched man lost in the desert. He
encircled her and pulled her on top of him, his mind now distracted with things
closer to home. 

Hypnotic eyes, filled with desire, lassoed her will as he
spoke in a low voice. “Do you know what I’d like to do right now?”

“Well, I sure hope it’s chores,” Hannah quipped sarcastically
from behind them. “Otherwise, I’d better leave.”

Naomi and John jumped up as if they’d been shot out of a
cannon. Naomi was sure they had never moved so fast as they straightened and
tucked their clothing and smoothed down loose hairs.  Despite the
awkwardness of the moment, Hannah threw back her head and laughed richly,
obviously enjoying their embarrassment.

“That’s not funny,” Naomi scolded. She looked at John and
realized she was probably as red-faced as he was. “What are you doing, sneaking
up on us like that?”

Hannah shoved her hands onto her hips. “I cleared my throat
but neither one of you heard me. Honestly, y’all need a fence if you’re going
to roll around in your backyard like that.”

“We weren’t rolling around,” John argued, but the laugh
escaped his lips before he could finish the sentence. Undeniably caught in the
act, he chuckled with resignation. “Well, I believe my work here is done. I’ll
go take care of Sampson.” As he walked by Hannah, he tossed her a mischievous
little wink and strode on to the barn, Sampson dutifully following
behind. 

Hannah pushed past her sister as she climbed the stairs to
the back door. “Good grief, Naomi. You two act like you got married yesterday.”

Still watching her husband, Naomi sighed, a dreamy, contented
sound. “He’s wonderful isn’t he? I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Probably more housework.” Hannah’s sarcastic suggestion was
followed by the slam of the screen door.

Naomi laughed aloud at the memory, longing for the contented,
easy life they all once shared. Her last words, though, echoed down to her,
spoken so easily and yet so prophetically, hitting her with the force of a
sledgehammer.

I
don’t
know what to do without him.

A cloudburst of self-pity unleashed itself on her. John was
dead. Hannah was with child. They were trapped in this horrible town. Mr.
McIntyre was the devil in fancy clothes and the citizens conducted themselves
with the grace and manners of wolves. She was sick of it…sick of it all.

Naomi knew she should pray...knew she should try to square
her shoulders and face up to things. Instead, she put her face in her hands and
wept with all the force of a bursting dam.

Chapter
9

Rebecca watched Naomi listlessly twirl scrambled eggs around
her plate as the sisters discussed writing letters to family and friends.
Huddled around the scrubbed-clean kitchen stove, sitting on boxes for seats,
they tossed about names. Of course, the obvious choice for the first letter was
Matthew, John’s brother, but Naomi didn’t say his name. Rebecca knew, though,
when the time was right, Naomi would handle i—a man’s voice calling from out
front interrupted their discussion. “Hellooo in the house,” a heavy Scottish
brogue quearied. “Ladies, are ye decent or shall I come back?”

Rebecca, closest to the door, left her wobbly crate and
stepped out into the hallway. Still holding her plate, she looked the man over
carefully. “Can we help you?”

He snatched a strange looking round cap off his head and
crammed it into his hands, where he was already holding a long roll of paper.
“Ian Donoghue. I’m the architect Mr. McIntyre told ye about.”

He was a tall, older gentleman, nicely dressed, handsome, but
with grayish, thinning hair on top and a thickening waist covered by a colorful
argyle sweater. “I’ll come back if now’s no’ a good time. It’s just that
McIntyre asked me to jump right on this.”

“I guess now is all right.” Rebecca glanced back at Hannah
and Naomi to be sure. They agreed readily enough with subtle nods and she
motioned toward the kitchen. “We’re just having some breakfast. Can I fix you
something, Mr. Donoghue?”

He walked quickly back to where she was and took her hand.
“Ye are…”

“Rebecca Castleberry.” She ushered him into the little room
where Hannah and Naomi were rising to their feet to greet their guest. “These
are my sisters Naomi Miller and Hannah Frink.”

“No, no. This willna do.” His unexpected response drew
quizzical looks from the girls. “Emilio,” he called over his shoulder. They
heard the front door open and the boy came running. “I canna work without a
table and chairs. Go to Mr. McIntyre and tell him that
exactly
.”

“
Si
,
Senor
!” The boy practically lunged for the
front door.

Ian turned back to the girls and winked. “Tis a true pleasure
to meet ye. Now, I’ve had my breakfast…” His eyes sought Rebecca. “I could,
however, do with a wee bit more o’ coffee.”

Rebecca smiled broadly at him, puzzled that he made her feel
so cheerful. “Coming right up.” She hurried to the back wall, rummaged through
a wooden box sitting next to the stove and came up triumphantly with another
cup. As she poured the coffee, Rebecca noticed that Naomi was watching Mr.
Donoghue intently.

“McIntyre tells me that ye ladies have come all the way from
North Carolina−thank ye.” He took the cup from Rebecca who couldn’t help
but linger just a moment, his eyes were so jovial and such a deep shade of
blue. “I’ve only been in America three years and still dunna my geography. It’s
somewhere in the South, isn’t it?”

Rebecca grinned. “Just above Georgia and South Carolina, if
that helps. I’ve never met anyone from Scotland. Your brogue reminds me of the
clip-clop of horses on a brick street.”

Something akin to astonished delight illuminated Ian’s face.
“Tha’ is the most wonderful description I’ve ever heard o’ my accent. Are ye a
writer?”

Rebecca cleared her throat and fought the heat rising to her
cheeks.

“Dear sister Rebecca used to work at a newspaper.” Naomi
stepped up to her sister and hugged her tightly, a move that struck Rebecca as
unusually showy. “She is the writer among us.”

“How fortunate for ye.” Mr. Donoghue’s cup was poised at his
lips, yet he hadn’t taken his first sip. Instead, he seemed keenly interested
in Rebecca.

Uncomfortable with his fascinated scrutiny and Naomi’s
smothering embrace, Rebecca shoved her hands into her apron pockets. “Well,
that’s what it reminded me of,” she said, gently shrugging off her sister’s
arm.

Ian cleared his throat. “The difference between the right
word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and the
lightning bug. Or so states Mr. Mark Twain. I would believe, Mrs. Castleberry,
that ye could describe lightning bolts from God’s throne.”

Rebecca couldn’t stop an awed gasp. “Thank you…do you read
much?”

“In Defiance there are three things to occupy a man. Two of
them are immoral. Reading is not.” The joke worked, evoking a giggle from the
sisters.

Handsome
and
clever, Rebecca observed. She was quite
amused by him.

Naomi again draped her arm across Rebecca’s shoulders. “How
did you come to be in America, Mr. Donoghue?” 

He sipped his coffee and pondered the answer. “A wandering
and restless heart.” He stared blankly into his coffee seeing...what? Rebecca
wondered if he missed the bonnie hills of Scotland and the fields of heather.
“I left Sco’land when I was twenty-seven and have never been back.” She heard
the slightest hint of regret in his voice, but Ian shook his head as if
clearing away painful memories. “I’m sorry, I’ve no desire to be maudlin. I’ve
traveled the world and seen everything from Bangladesh to Bombay, from the Taj
Mahal to Buckingham Palace.” He punctuated the confession with a wink tossed to
Rebecca. “It’s been a grand adventure.”

His smile, though a little sad, felt like a fresh breeze
blowing dust off Rebecca’s heart. The sensation took her by surprise and she
nodded. “It sounds like it.” 

To Rebecca’s dismay, Naomi chose that moment to abruptly cut
between them and take her plate to the dry sink. She set the dishes down with a
disturbing clatter and asked, rather loudly Rebecca thought, “How did you wind
up in Defiance, Mr. Donoghue? If I’m not being too nosy.”

“I met Mac−Mr. McIntyre in San Francisco.” Rebecca
noted a pause in his story before he continued. “We struck up a conversation in
a pub. He is a man with big dreams and he wanted an architect who could
envision something o’ the American spirit in his town. I am an architect by
trade and he thought I was the man for the job. I like Defiance very much and
I’ll like it even more when it settles down a bit.”

“No joshin’!” Hannah joined Naomi and slid her plate into the
sink as well. “
Buffalo Gals
is stuck in my head. Is it that noisy every
night? I feel like I didn’t get any sleep and my back is killing me.”
Grimacing, she stretched her arms over her head and arched her back in a long
cat stretch. Rebecca watched in horror as the gesture emphasized her quickly
rounding stomach. She was positive Ian noticed, but he didn’t let on. He sipped
his coffee, quickly averting his eyes. Rebecca appreciated his discreetness.

“Well, Mac wants the town to become more respectable and he
knows the price will be high. The saloons can’t stay open all night and the
jail needs to be used for something more than drunks and vagrants. There must
be real law, no’ just his law. The advantage there to ye ladies is that he
truly wants the hotel to succeed.”

A banging, scraping noise at the front alerted them that
their furniture had arrived. Ian excused himself and returned a moment later
with two chairs, his blueprints and his hat shoved under his arms, followed by
Emilio who was also toting two chairs, and two men the girls had not seen
before carrying a green, felt-topped gaming table.

The sisters drew in closer to Ian at the new table, hunching
over the plans. He spent the next half hour discussing the fifteen possible
rooms and the kitchen layout. Initially, the sisters had thought they wouldn’t
make any changes to the floor plan, but it was obvious they needed living
accommodations, and they agreed it would be good to allow each sister to have
her own room. A larger room was assigned to Hannah, without explanation, and
Ian didn’t ask for one. He sketched quickly on the prints as they talked.

They chatted a while longer about the dining room, for which
he had some helpful suggestions about table placement, but everyone was
satisfied with the design. The kitchen needed expansion, larger counters, two
cook stoves, a window through which to pass food to the dining room, more
storage, and a pump inside the building for easy access to water.

Comfortable with their goals, Ian deftly rolled the plans in
to a tight wand. “We’re to get started on this right away. I dare say, within
the next week or so, ye’ll think ye’re living in a beehive.”

Eager for the excitement of the renovation to begin, Rebecca
escorted Ian to the door. He chatted comfortably about creating a building plan
and the time he would need to make their changes to the blueprints. It struck
Rebecca that every time their eyes met, her heart sped up a little and she
chided herself for being a foolish old woman.

She opened the door for Ian and looked up at him as bright
morning sunshine streamed into the room. “How long do you think it will be
before we can open?”

Ian studied her for an instant then he blinked. “Yes, uh,
timing.” He rubbed his neck as if he was playing mental catch-up. “I should
think ye could be serving meals by September sometime. That depends, of course,
on when orders are placed and when items arrive.”

Rebecca raised her brows. “That soon. Less than two months.”

Ian opened his mouth, held a questioning look in his eyes
then changed course. Stepping through the door, he slipped his balmoral bonnet
back on his head and turned again to Rebecca. “I’ve enjoyed meeting ye and yer
sisters immensely, Mrs. Castleberry.”