A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (23 page)

She narrowed her eyes
at him, an unusual brown flecked with gold. “Straight to business, eh? In
answer to your question, no. You know me. Shame is for people who have a
conscience. Now I’ll tell you like I told your preacher. Sai Shang belongs to
me. I will have her back. And I would suggest you men mind your own business.”

“Defiance is my
business . . . and I can make it impossible for you to prosper
here.”

“Hmmm. Let me guess.”
She laid a finger on her cheek. “You must own the mercantile. Well,
I
own my freight wagons. They’ll deliver my beer and whiskey, dry goods,
vegetables, whatever I need from Glenwood Springs. As you can see,” she
motioned to the building around them, “I bought Hadley’s lumber mill. I’ve made
agreements with everyone from carpenters to ditch diggers. I don’t need your
permission or your cooperation.” She lifted her chin, clearly pleased with
herself. “I do hope you might sell me a steer or two, but if I want a steak, I’ll
get it, if I have to bring it up from Kansas.”

McIntyre had not known
about the sale of the lumberyard. The news didn’t please him, but he didn’t
show it. “Every agreement you have made in this town, I can undo.”

Indignant, she raised
her hand on to hip. “Do you want things to get that ugly?”

Weren’t they already?

“You’re a cancer,
Delilah. I cannot have a town in which churches are vandalized, preachers are
beaten, and women are sold off like cattle. Defiance is going to be better than
that. Of course, I could buy you out, and make this a peaceable transaction.”

McIntyre immediately
regretted the offer. She would see it as weakness and be eager to deride it.

Her thoughtful
expression and one slightly raised eyebrow to implied her scorn. “I’m not
selling. And I’m not going anywhere. And you’ve got all the warnings you’re
going to get.”

McIntyre crushed his
cheroot into the marble top of her dresser, leaving behind a burn scar. “I am
sorry to hear that.”

She folded her hands
demurely in front of her. “If you were smart,” she said softly, “you’d return
my property and leave me be.”

The threat, hidden in
such a winsome tone, evoked a sudden anger in McIntyre. A righteous anger. He
wanted to protect his family, his town from this woman. Let Logan worry about
saving her soul. “I don’t know how smart I am, Delilah, but I am tenacious. I
promise I will make it impossible for you to do business here.” Only he didn’t
know how at the moment.

She shrugged a bare
shoulder. “All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you . . .”

McIntyre left Delilah’s
with the keen sense his visit had done more harm than good. Where his former
Flower, Rose, had simply been dangerous due to her insanity, Delilah was cold,
calculating . . . soulless. He had been right: she’d seen his
offer to buy her out as weakness. Worse, she had been prepared before coming
here, acquiring her own freight wagons, striking deals with business owners and
craftsmen. As if she’d expected McIntyre to interfere. And how had he missed
the sale of Hadley’s mill? 

Between managing the
mine and the ranch, his grip on Defiance was slipping . . . at a
most inopportune time.

At least the rain had
stopped.

He strode back to the
town hall—he would never get used to calling the Iron Horse that—and unwound
Traveller’s reins from the hitching post. In the waning light of day, he swung
up into the saddle and turned his gray mare toward home.

The amber light from
Rebecca’s desk lamp caught his eye. His sister-in-law sat hunched over her
desk, bouncing a pencil in her hand and scowling at the paper. She looked as
dissatisfied with things as he felt.

Emilio folded his arms
on the corral fence and rested his chin on his wrist, shaking his head in
disbelief. Jasper, a black gelding, pranced around the corral with Two Spears
on his back. A cantankerous animal, Jasper had never taken to anyone . . .
much less someone riding bareback. No saddle was the quickest ticket to getting
bucked, but the horse acted as if it was
pleased
to have a rider.

Two Spears had crawled
into the corral unobserved, and by the time Emilio stumbled upon him, the horse
was calm, almost
curious
. The boy had removed his shirt, tied it around
his waist, much like a loin cloth, Emilio figured, and drew pictures in the
dirt for a bit. Then he had spent some time moseying around the corral,
circling closer and closer to the horse. He had taken another hour to slowly,
lightly run his hands over Jasper, lift his hooves, scratch his ears, stroke
his face.

The boy’s patience awed
Emilio.

After that, Two Spears
walked away . . . and the horse followed. Five minutes later, he
was astride the animal and trotting around the ring.

“I’ve never seen anyone
so young spend that much time with a horse,” Emilio said more to himself than
Two Spears.

The boy stroked Jasper’s
neck and tugged on his mane, directing him into a series of figure eights
before he responded, all the while keeping keenly focused on the task. “On the
reservation, there was nothing to do. But we Utes, we are horse warriors.”

“
Si
. I’ve heard
of the races up there.”

“We had very swift
ponies. This boy is not so fast, I think, but he is willing.”

Two Spears stopped
Jasper, clucked his tongue, tapped his knees, and the horse took several steps
backward. Emilio had to shake his head again. The boy, young and small in
stature, rode the animal with the confidence of a much older man.

“I will try him under
saddle now.”

Emilio raised his hand.
“I’ll get it.” He marched over to the tack room on the side of the barn, the
smell of biscuits from the bunkhouse waking his stomach. Ready for supper, he
pulled a bit and a bridle down from a peg, tossed a blanket over his shoulder,
but paused when he saw a shadow through the cracks in the barn wall. A
slow-moving shadow, as if someone was
sneaking
.

Troubled, he slid
silently to the door and peered out. Cloer shoved his hat up on his forehead,
put his back against the barn, and sidled slowly toward the corral. He had
something in his hand but Emilio couldn’t make it out. The ranch hand crept to
the end of the building and peered intently at Two Spears. After a moment, he
hunkered down and made a quick run to the hay wagon the boys sat on when they
watched the events in the corral.

Two Spears trotted
Jasper around the ring, using only his legs to steer the animal. Oblivious of
his audience, he stopped the horse, backed him up, kicked him forward into an easy
walk.

Slowly, Cloer raised
something to his mouth. Emilio squinted. A—a . . . a flute? No—a
peashooter
!

Cloer grinned, but it
was no smile. “Hey, Geronimo!”

Two Spears whipped his
head around to the voice. Cloer put the peashooter to his lips and blew.

Emilio heard a huffing
sound, like air escaping, followed by a soft
smack
and Jasper exploded.
Bucking like a crazed bull, the horse screamed, spun, and kicked. Two Spears
scrambled to hang on, but lost his grip. Clawing for mane, he went flying,
pounding into the ground face-first. Emilio dropped the tack in his hands and
lunged for the corral, crossing the distance in three steps.

Mr. McIntyre came
flying out of nowhere, moving like a streak of lightning. He practically leaped
the fence, and dropped to the boy’s side.

Surprised by the man’s
speed, Emilio jumped the fence as well and waved the panicked horse away from
them. Circling his arms, hat in hand, he commanded, “Whoa, whoa, boy. Calm
down.”

Neighing, snorting,
Jasper trotted to and fro, eyes rolling with terror. Emilio blocked him at each
turn, forcing the animal off to one side. Behind him, Emilio heard the wiggle
of fear in Mr. McIntyre’s voice. “Two Spears . . . Two Spears—”

The boy grunted. “I am
all right.”

“Shhh, boy.” Emilio
approached Jasper and calmed him into standing still.

Mr. McIntyre, on one
knee, pulled Two Spears to his feet and checked him top to bottom. “Dear God,
he could have killed you. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” His concern for the
boy made Emilio want to smile.

Two Spears wiped dirt
from his lips and spit. “I am not hurt.”

Mr. McIntyre checked
him over once more and nodded. “Go inside to Naomi.” He cut his eyes over at Cloer.
“I will be along directly.”

Two Spears barely
nodded and scrambled off, sliding between the fence rails like an oiled snake.
Mr. McIntyre waited for him to enter the house then rounded on the ranch hand.

Emilio sucked in a
breath. He’d seen that look many times. Mr. McIntyre’s friendly brown eyes
turned almost black. A sneer curled his lip. He strode toward Cloer like a
demon eager to drag someone to hell.

“Mr. McIntyre,” the
peashooter slipped subtly from
Cloer’s
hand to the ground behind him, “I–I didn’t see what happened. Guess that boy’s
a little young to be on such a touchy horse.”

Mr. McIntyre swung and
hit Cloer square in the face, so hard the man spun completely around and
stumbled back against the wagon. Blood spurted from his nose. He raised his
hands to ward off more blows. “Mr. McIntyre, I didn’t do—”

Mr. McIntyre hit him
again. “Didn’t do what? Have a little fun at the expense of the
half-breed?”
Cloer tried side-stepping away, but Mr. McIntyre nailed him with a right
cross and then grabbed the man’s vest. “He is my son. An attack upon him is the
same as an attack upon me.”

He hit him again . . .
and again. By now, several hands had gathered and watched in uncomfortable
silence as blood streamed from Cloer’s nose, mouth, and cheek.

Emilio gave thought to
stopping Mr. McIntyre, and took a step forward. Then Lane Chandler raced across
the yard and grabbed Mr. McIntyre’s hand. For a moment, the two struggled.

“Come on, Johnny Reb
[6]
. Let this
go. Your family is watching.”

Glaring at Lane, Mr.
McIntyre tugged once, twice, and then finally unclenched his hand and let the
fight seep out of him. Lane released him, and both men lowered their arms. Cloer
slid to the ground, as mangled as if he’d been kicked in the face by a wild
horse.

Breathing hard, Mr.
McIntyre straightened, started to rake a hand through his hair, but stopped
when he saw the condition of his bloody knuckles. Instead, he squatted in front
of Cloer who had his hands pressed to his face. Blood seeped between his fingers.
“I am endeavoring, Cloer, to be a better man. I routinely fail.” The Southern
honey in Mr. McIntyre’s accent had turned to venom. “My temper . . .
can get the better of me. So let me warn you.” He leaned in. “If you ever see
me again . . . run.”

Cloer half-nodded at
his boss.

Mr. McIntyre rose and
took a deep breath. He surveyed the hands watching the fight. “Anyone else have
a problem with Indians?”

Men looked away, stared
at their feet, picked lint from their shirts.

“All right, boys,” Lane
reached for Cloer, “show’s over. Y’all get back to work.”

Nearly unconscious, the
man clawed his way to his feet with Lane’s help, and the foreman all but
dragged him back to the bunkhouse.

Emilio climbed through
the fence and handed Mr. McIntyre a bandana. Neither of them spoke as the man
wiped his knuckles, removing Cloer’s blood.

A few minutes later,
Lane led a horse around the corral, a beaten, bedraggled Cloer in the saddle.
The foreman plucked a roll of cash from his pocket and shoved it into the man’s
boot. “There’s your pay. Now get outta here.”

Cloer came to enough to
spur the horse into a slow, bored walk. While everyone was watching the cowboy
crawl off the ranch, Emilio glanced over at Mr. McIntyre’s front porch. Two
Spears hugged a post, watching the drama intently.

Naomi hurried down the
steps and marched across her yard to Mr. McIntyre. Eyes blazing, lips tight,
she stomped to within inches of him. Glaring at her husband, she searched his
face then suddenly, inexplicably, softened. Huffing, she wiped her bangs out of
her eyes and let her shoulders fall. Instead of yelling at him, she took his
hand. “Come inside and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Scratching his
shoulder, Emilio wondered what could have possibly gone through the woman’s
mind. How could simply looking into Mr. McIntyre’s face quench her fury like a
bucket of water on a campfire?

It can only be love.

He watched them walk
into the house, their arms around each other. Two Spears, his round, dark face
expressive as a rock, held the door for them.

Emilio liked very much
that the three of them were becoming a family. Like Billy and Hannah. He wanted
that. He was darn tired of not fitting into this world. Always feeling a little
out of place, a little in the way.

Always alone.

Mollie crossed his mind
as he slipped back in the corral to put Jasper away. Maybe he would ride into
town and eat supper with her one night this week.

Si
,
maybe.

McIntyre sat quietly as
Naomi wiped down his knuckles with witch hazel. The medicine burned and he
wanted it to. Perhaps it could burn away some of this guilt. He was ashamed of
his behavior, his lack of self-control. He could have killed the man.

Literally, he could
have killed him.

Head lowered over her
work, Naomi said softly, “We should talk about it.”