A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (13 page)

“Adorable.” Delilah
shook Naomi’s hand, but her grip was slight and perfunctory. “Here.” She passed
a hand-written flyer to Naomi. “This is my new business. Why don’t you help me
spread the word?”

Naomi scanned the advertisement.
Twice. The first time she thought she must be mistaken. But with the second
reading, her stomach twisted into an angry knot. “I don’t even know what to say
to this.”

“You don’t have to say
anything. Pass the flyer to someone who might enjoy my parlor. Or visit us yourself.
I’m sure we could entertain you.”

Slowly, so Delilah didn’t
miss the point, Naomi carefully wadded up the flyer and squeezed it into a
little ball. Fighting to keep from shoving the paper right between the woman’s
painted lips, she pushed the flyer into her sternum instead. “I don’t know
anyone that deranged.”

Delilah’s face picked
up some ugly edges. She plucked the wrinkled flyer from Naomi’s hand. “That’s
doubtful. Still, I won’t waste this on you.” She turned on her heel, her huge
bustle swishing like a live animal. She took a few steps, but stopped short when
she spotted Two Spears. “My, look at the handsome little half-breed.” She bent
down to him. “I could use a boy like you to empty our chamber pots. That’s all
you nasty little savages are good for.”

Growling, Naomi lunged
for Delilah, imagining her hands around the woman’s throat, but Hannah
stretched across the counter and held her back. “No, Naomi!”

Naomi strained against Hannah,
nearly dragging her over the counter. Delilah turned and grinned with wicked
amusement. “Oh, is he yours?”

“Yes, he’s my son.”

“Too good to advertise
my place, but you’ll sleep with a filthy redskin?” The grin melted away. “Don’t
preach to me.”

Naomi broke Hannah’s
grip from her shoulder. Charging up to Delilah, she poked her hard in the
breastbone. “Don’t ever call my son that again.”

Even as she tried to
stare down Delilah, Naomi felt the pangs of conviction. She’d let that temper
run away with her again. Delilah ran her tongue over her teeth, kissed the air
between them, and sashayed out of the store.

When the door closed
behind Delilah, Naomi squeezed her eyes shut and tried to tamp down an
explosion of fury warring in her chest. She squeezed her hands into tight fists
and ground her teeth together to keep from raging like a wounded bull.

Oh, Lord, forgive my
temper, but she cannot talk that way about Two Spears.

She heard a soft
shuffle beside her and a small warm hand slipped around her forearm. She gazed
down into the boy’s dark eyes, eyes filled for the first time with something
other than fear, suspicion, or anger.

Naomi would have called
it hope.

“Well, Johnny Reb, it’s
been a long time.”

The gravelly voice of a
ghost from his past brought McIntyre’s head up from the mine report. Lane Chandler
stood in the doorway, gangly body leaning on the doorpost,
worn
cowboy hat tilted back at a hard angle, unkempt
blond hair resting on his shoulders. A sideways grin spread and lit the man’s
tanned face like the sun coming out from a cloud.

“Lane.” Darned glad to
see his old army buddy, McIntyre rose and skirted his desk, hand extended.

Lane pulled off a glove
and the two shook. “Good to see you, friend.” They gripped forearms, as close
to a hug as they would come. “Reckon you thought I was never gonna git here with
those Longhorns of yorn, eh?” Lane said, weathered lines gathering at the
corners of his hazel eyes.

“Lane, if anyone could
get me those cattle, I knew it would be you.” McIntyre motioned to a chair in
front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

“Obliged.” The man sat
down and worked his other glove off as McIntyre poured him a drink.

“Here.” He handed his
friend a shot glass. “That should settle some trail dust.”

Lane slapped his gloves
across his worn chaps, raising a dust cloud. “It’ll help, but soon as I update
you I’m gonna find me a saloon and do some real drinkin’.”

Troubled, McIntyre sat
down. He’d wait to tell Lane about his entertainment choices until after he
knew where his cattle were. “How far behind you are they?”

“Should roll in
tomorrow around midday.” He set the empty glass down with a clink. “You’re
ready, I reckon?”

“Yes. All the fences
are up, the bunkhouse is ready. Just finished the barn and corral. I understand
the cook coming with you is staying. I hope that is still the case.”

“Yeah, Dub’s a young
man, but he’s lookin’ for a cooler climate. Says Texas is too hot for him.”

“Can he cook?”

“Like my momma.” As
their laughter faded, Lane shifted forward, getting down to business. “So, we
lost a few along the way—accidents, wolves.” He laced his fingers together and
rested his elbows on the chair arms. “I think some Utes skinned us for a couple
down near the border. Even so, I’m comfortable tellin’ ya you’ve got a solid
herd of two thousand head rollin’ in, including the seventy-five Hereford
bulls.”

“And you are still
confident the Herefords are the way to go?”

“I know cattle like you
know poker. This English breed is putting weight on the hoof and turning the
Longhorns into a beefy, hardy breed with high yields.” He grinned sideways. “Besides,
it’s too late to change your mind now.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Lane slapped his chaps
and stood. “I need a drink and a pretty gal. Point me to the Iron Horse.”

“Lane . . .”
McIntyre trailed off and Lane picked up the cue. He sat down again, slowly, and
waited.

“I did not mention it in
any of my telegrams, but I have closed my saloon.”

“Oh.”

“And I am married.”

“
Oh
,” Lane said
with raised eyebrows.

“And I am a
church-going man now.”

Lane’s eyebrows dove
down. “Oh. Are you sayin’ there’s no liquor or girls in town?”

“No, I am not saying
that.”

Lane exhaled and swiped
a relieved hand over his mouth. “Whew. You had me worried. It’s one thing if
I
can’t find some distractions, but you’ve got a whole crew comin’ in tomorrow. I
tell them this is a dry town and they’ll use it for kindlin’.”

McIntyre didn’t like
hearing that. What kind of men had Lane hired for him? “Lane . . .”
He didn’t quite know how to express his concerns. “Can you keep a tight rein on
your boys? Let me rephrase that. You will keep a tight rein on them. I have a
wife and child your boys will respect. Any drinking or carousing they do best
not interfere with them or ranch work.”

Lane looked puzzled,
even a touch annoyed. “You didn’t tell me I needed to hire choirboys.”

McIntyre picked up a
pencil and rolled it around his fingers. “There is one saloon in town. She
bought out all the competition. Right now, she’s serving liquor and offering
various forms of … mischief, and she’s going to be opening a theater.
Eventually, I hear, an opium den as well.”

“Wait,” Lane waved his
hand. “I don’t understand. Who’s
she
?”

“Delilah.”

Lane exhaled a curse
and sat back. “Well, no wonder you’re worried. How far is your ranch from town?”

“About an hour.”

“That’ll be some help.
They won’t be ridin’ in every night, but Fridays and Saturdays I reckon your
marshal is liable to have his hands full.”

Leaning on the bar,
Delilah listened for a moment to the sounds that had played in the background
of most of her life: men muttering, laughing, cursing; the slap of cards and
the triumphant cry over a winning hand; the jangle of chips being dragged
across the felt; a tinny piano belting out a lively tune. Beneath it all, the
sultry voices of her girls issuing their siren’s call.

Only the saloon of The
Crystal Chandelier was open. The theater was still a week away from its first
show. The men didn’t mind too much. From the moment she had flung open her
doors, the crowd had been steady and strong. The girls in their cribs were
producing well. She flipped through the papers in front of her, covered in
names and numbers, tallies at the bottom. Yes, they were turning a nice profit.

The upstairs girls here
in the saloon would begin receiving callers Saturday night. The Celestial
Flowers, however, were destined for her auction. In the meantime, all these
little ladies were working the floor, advertising their potential, but serving
drinks only. The tease never failed to have the men queuing up for opening
night.

“What’s the matter, Big
Jim? You look a little down.”

Delilah didn’t look
over at Mary Jean addressing a customer, but the softness in the girl’s voice
intrigued her, and she continued listening.

“Ah, I ain’t down.”

From the corner of her
eye, Delilah saw the big man in a sheepskin vest drop his two bits on the
counter.

“I was thinkin’ about
that Preacher.”

Mary Jean poured Big
Jim a shot and took his money. “Thinkin’ ’bout what?”

“I’m still rankled
about that mess on his door. Whoever did that’ll try somethin’ new. Tomorrow is
Sunday. I was pondering staying sober and seein’ if I might catch me a scat-smearin’
coward sometime tonight.”

“Coward?” Smith’s
voice. He had slipped up on the other side of Big Jim.

“Smith.” Big Jim’s tone
turned hard. “I don’t reckon you had anything to do with the “paint” left on the
Preacher’s door? Sounds like somethin’ you’d do.”

“You callin’ me a
coward?”

The two men faced each
other.

“That’s enough, boys.”
Delilah did not deign to look up. “No fightin’ in my place. You know the rules.
All fights go to the ring out back.”

Silence stretched out
for a moment. Delilah did wonder between these two, who was the toughest. By
all accounts, Smith was the meanest and sometimes that was more than enough to
win a fight.

“You’d best be careful,
Smith.” Big Jim tossed back his drink, set the glass down, and stomped away.
Mary Jean took his glass and hurried away to the dry sink behind the bar, as if
to avoid Smith.

“Did you do that?”
Delilah asked still without looking up. “Have you no better morals than to
desecrate a house of God?”

“It was just a little
warning of what’s coming his way.”

“Leave the Preacher
alone for a bit. Make a little trouble for McIntyre. I don’t care how you get
to him, just make him suffer.”

“That’s his foreman
sittin’ over there in the corner. I heard him say McIntyre’s got a herd of two
thousand head comin’ in tomorrow. Guess he wants to be a big cattle baron.”

This could be useful information.
“How many men in the crew?”

“Didn’t ask. Probably
at least twenty.”

“Free drinks for all of
them when they come in the first night.” Delilah turned and scanned the crowd,
looking for the foreman. “Where’s McIntyre’s man?”

Smith chucked a thumb
over his shoulder. “Dusty fella, sitting under the lantern.”

“Mary Jean,” Delilah
called without looking at the girl, “bring me a bottle and two glasses.” She
handed her receipts to Smith. “Put these on my desk upstairs. Mr. Foreman over
there looks like he could use a bath . . . and a friend.”

It felt good to be back
in the saddle again. Naomi didn’t get to ride nearly as much as she’d like, and
a day on horseback was heaven. Surveying the green valley in front of her, teeming
with Charles’s herd and watched over by the sentinel San Juan Mountains,
sublime contentment filled her soul. A hundred yards off, cowboys shouted and
whistled as they drove the animals the final mile to the river. She was
officially a rancher. Or at least a rancher’s wife.

Overhead, the sun peeked
in and out of lacy clouds; the mountains stared down with calm indifference.
She caught the scent of sage and leather on the summer breeze. Full of herself,
she cut her eyes at Two Spears. The boy had a gift for riding. Horses took to
him. And even at his young age, he had raced ponies at the White River
Reservation with respectable success. He sat now atop a good-natured little
sorrel, sure-footed and fast.

Her palomino,
Buttercup, was faster. “Race you to the river.”

In a blink, they were
off, slapping leather, charging through the waist-high grass. Naomi hunkered
down, loosened her pull on the reins, and grabbed a handful of mane. Two Spears
laughed and yipped like a coyote beside her, his horse Mandan keeping even with
Buttercup.

The wind rushed past
her ears, hooves pounded, and her heart galloped with the simple joy of
rocketing along the plains on the back of a fast steed. Sleek and muscular, the
horses stretched out, eager to move, enjoying the contest as well.

Naomi and Two Spears
stayed some distance out from the herd, but they lunged past one long-legged,
dust-covered cowboy who had pulled away from the cattle. Taking a moment to
enjoy a smoke, he watched them streak by, disapproval evident in his scowl.

She figured the man was
not happy at seeing Two Spears. The boy didn’t seem to notice, and today,
neither would Naomi. Two Spears was nudging ahead! “Come on, girl, gid up!” She
slapped the quirt across her horse’s rump.

Two Spears, howling,
barking and waving his arm in the air, kicked Mandan, getting a little more
speed from the gelding. The little horse edged another foot in front of Naomi.

Shoot! He’s going to
beat me.

Thundering over a small
hill they galloped on, until skidding to a stop at the river’s edge. Both she
and Two Spears collapsed into laughter, circling their horses around each
other.