A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (20 page)

McIntyre lifted his
feet to the porch rail and pushed back in the rocking chair as Garcia finished
his story.

“Emilio, uh, he say
things, insult the miners, and the fight broke out.” The early morning sun peeked
over the cabin roof, hitting Garcia in the face. Squinting, he stepped a little
closer to the porch, into the shade. “I slipped out when the marshal showed up.”

A fascinating tale.
McIntyre laced his fingers over his abdomen and pondered the story, at least
this version according to the new man. The summer birds singing a morning
greeting and the muffled mooing of cows off in the valley intruded on his
thoughts. The sounds should have heralded a pleasant Sunday. Instead, the day was
off to a rocky start. “And what of the auction?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know.” Garcia
spun his sombrero in front of him. “The
señorita
, Delilah, she went with
some men to a different room. That was the last I saw of her.”

Gravel crunched and
McIntyre looked past Garcia. Emilio drew up when he saw the ranch hand. His
gaze darted between the two men. “I came to tell you some news, Mr. McIntyre.”

“The incident at The
Crystal Chandelier. Yes, Garcia was just filling me in.”

Emilio looked sideways
at the young man. “You weren’t there when the marshal showed up.”

Garcia raised his chin.
“I saw no need to get arrested for a fight I didn’t start or want.”

“Thank you, Garcia,”
McIntyre interrupted. “I appreciate the update.”

It took the lad a
moment to understand he was dismissed. He finally nodded at McIntyre and
Emilio. “
Si
.”

When he disappeared
around the corner, Emilio approached the bottom porch step and removed his hat.
“He told you what happened at The Crystal Chandelier last night?”

“His version. He said
you started the fight.”

Emilio’s eyes bulged
like balloons. “
Señor
McIntyre, I—”

“Relax, Emilio. Garcia
is buckin’ for a promotion. I could see that from a mile away. Besides, I know
you would not
start
a fight.”

A strained, arguably
guilty
expression flitted across the boy’s face.
McIntyre leaned forward. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Emilio worried his hat
for a moment. “I spent the night looking for the young girl that Delilah
auctioned off.”

“I see.” Admiration and
guilt struck McIntyre simultaneously. A young Mexican boy was doing more to
make a difference in Defiance than its founder was. “So you did start the
fight?”

“No sir. I didn’t know
what to do. I spoke up. I said we should stop the auction. But the cowboys
started complaining the opening bid was too high. Garcia called the miners
fools. The miners insulted the cowboys—”

“And the fists started
flying.”

“
Si
. I did try
to get into the room where the auction was but the door was locked.”

“And none of the
cowboys tried to stop this auction.”

“No sir. Cloer and Dub
got arrested along with Willy and Parker. I don’t know if Marshal Beckwith
arrested any miners.”

Unfortunately, none of
this surprised McIntyre. Some ranchers expected their boys to get into trouble
and would bail them out of jail. The support would engender loyalty to the
brand.

McIntyre did not want
loyalty that way. He wanted men of decent and honorable character—or at least
men who were smart enough not to get arrested in the first place.

Oh, he would get them
out of jail. The bail, however, would come out of their pay. He slapped the
arms on the rocking chair and stood. “We will leave them in jail for the day. I’ll
fetch them this evening. Did you find the girl?”

“
Si
. We took her
to Doc’s. Hannah and Mollie were with her when I left.”

“Hannah and Mollie.”
McIntyre suddenly realized the full impact of what had happened last night. He
doubted Delilah was going to be happy about this interference. “What are they
planning on doing with her?”

The tense lines on
Emilio’s face said he hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know. “His
expression hardened. “But I do know selling these girls, it is wrong. I have
seen so much of this. They don’t come to good endings. Especially the girls
from China.”

“I know. I know.”
McIntyre lowered his head, rested his hands on his hips. “We will figure
something out.”

“Si
 . . .
well, I am going to get ready for church.”

“All right.” McIntyre
watched him amble back toward the bunkhouse.

“He’s a good man.”
Naomi slipped up behind McIntyre and wrapped her arms around him. “Hannah
wouldn’t have gone wrong picking him either.”

McIntyre clutched her
fingers at his waist, wishing they had more time before church. He wondered
that taking a walk at dusk last evening with his beautiful wife was nearly as
satisfying as exploring every inch of her. Different ways of loving her, and
both filled his soul.

He spun around to her
and gathered her up against himself. He had a suspicion he’d be lucky to get either
activity today. His displeasure must have shown on his face.

“I heard. This Delilah
is a . . . a . . .”

“The word ‘cancer’
comes to mind.”

“I didn’t tell
you . . . I ran into her in the mercantile. She was positively
horrible to Two Spears. If Hannah hadn’t been there . . . well, let’s
just say I’ve been repenting ever since.”

McIntyre knew Naomi was
not trying to be funny. “What did she say?”

“She called him a
half-breed and a savage. Said he wasn’t good for anything but emptying chamber
pots.”

McIntyre’s teeth ground
together. A sneer tugged at his lip and fury flexed his fingers.

“And that is exactly
why I didn’t tell you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“If you could see your
face. You care about that boy more than you want to admit. Comments like those
bother you . . .
test
you.”

He tightened his grip
on Naomi and rested his cheek on her head, savoring the soft golden hair that
smelled of lilacs. “My father was a worthless human being, as I have said
before. He was drunk in a brothel in Savannah when the Yankees raided our home.”
He paused here, never willing to recall the brutal attack on his mother. He had
been caught up in the siege of Petersburg with General Lee, but his father
should have been there to protect her. “I vowed a long time ago I would love
and protect my own family better than he did.”

“But don’t lose your
soul in the process, Charles. I understand that’s what you’re afraid of. It’s
that issue of control again. Who’s really in charge?”

Unexpectedly, a verse
drifted through his mind.
But our God is in the heavens: He hath done
whatsoever He hath pleased.
Would it please Him to protect Two Spears?

“He is a
child
 . . .
and my
son
. I am . . . strangely affected by concerns for
his safety.”

She bit her lip,
obviously hiding a smile. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘protective.’
And love makes you vulnerable, apt to do foolish things, react the wrong way,
as I myself have on more than one occasion.” She smiled up at him, tenderly,
with understanding. “Thankfully, there is grace. Lots of it.”

Logan knelt beside his
cot and leaned on the mattress. A nail poked him in the kneecap and he shifted
his position. He gave thought to letting the nail head grind into him. He felt
like he needed some punishment, some torture for all the evil in this town that
he
wasn’t
stopping.

He buried his face in
his hands and groaned. Emilio’s story last night of what had transpired at The
Crystal Chandelier had them both sick to their stomachs. At least for the time
being Sai Shang was safe. But what of the other girls there?

“Oh, God, show me how
to stop this flesh trade. Sitting idly by while young women are violated . . .
I feel useless here. Show me what to do. The old Logan could have done more for
You.”

The temptation to cast
off his service to God and call down the thunder on Delilah—his kind of
thunder—was tempting. He was fast with his fists. Faster with a gun. He could
take every one of those girls away from Delilah. Neither she nor her hired men
would be able to stop him.

He turned and settled
on his rear end, resting his arms on his knees, his back against the cot. If he
went back to his old ways, he might save the girls, but how many men would he
send straight to hell in the process? Besides, he knew he wasn’t supposed to
settle things that way. God hadn’t saved him just so he could start killing
again.

Then what, Lord? What?

            Delilah.

Logan knew somehow in
his soul that success, failure, life, death, victory over the darkness here, it
all hinged on Delilah. Yet he didn’t even want to pray for the woman. 

“Forgive my hard heart,
Lord. Your Word
says Woe unto the world because of offenses! For it must
needs be that offenses come; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh!
 . . .
She has no idea what she’s doing. The darkness she’s dancing with. I pray,
Father, she’ll turn from her wicked ways . . . before it’s too
late.” He pondered his feelings for a moment, struggling with his anger and
desire to see her get justice.

Though I speak with the
tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am
become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

Paul’s words leaped up
and slapped him in the face.

“I know. I know. I need
Your compassion, God. Give me a heart that cares, Lord. Help me love Delilah. I
can’t do it on my own.”

Any Sunday that did not
bring vandalism to the church was a day Logan knew he should appreciate despite
his heavy heart. These past few Sundays had passed without any trouble. He
surveyed the clean front door with satisfaction, but not joy.

“Thank You for this at
least, Lord.” He was about to step back inside when he heard . . .
snoring? He listened and heard it again. He followed the raw, edgy sound down
the steps and peered around the corner of the church.

Big Jim Walker sat on
the ground, his back against a rain barrel, snoring loud enough to wake the
residents of Boot Hill. “Big Jim?” Logan approached the man, careful to keep an
eye on Sleeping Beauty’s gun hand, in case he didn’t awaken in a trusting mood.
“Big Jim Walker.” He kicked his foot. The man stirred and grumbled. Logan felt
a little like he was disturbing a bear. “You should wake up.”

Big Jim snuffled,
flapped his lips, opened his eyes, and assessed Logan with confusion, then
surprise. Stretching and yawning, he hauled himself to his feet. “Mornin’,
Preacher.”

“Mornin’. What are you
doin’ here? Did you sleep here?”

“Ahum, yep,” he
muttered, arranging his hat, then his vest and cartridge belt and holster. “My
partner’s been watching our claim on Saturdays, so I could watch yours.”