A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (31 page)

Sunset’s lengthening
shadows reached across the sparkling Animas River. Behind Logan, the town was
settling into the quieter, peaceful sounds of dusk . . . the
lull before things picked up again in Tent Town.

Heaving a huge sigh, he
stared out at the flowing, swirling water and tried to fight a sense of failure
that felt like a kick in the gut. “God, forgive me.”

Shame hung over him
like a palpable stench. His heart ached from it. He’d come here to share the
gospel, save lives, tell people the Good News that Jesus forgives sins. Instead,
he had disgraced his Savior. The remorse drove him to his knees. He was no
different than the sinners who had smeared the church door with scat. He had
treated Christ’s sacrifice the same way. As worthless. Meaningless.

One drink. Why couldn’t
I have stopped with one drink?

The whiskey and Delilah’s
nearness had driven him past the point of self-control. He flinched at the
memory of holding her. He didn’t realize the weakness he had for her. But for a
few minutes, he had been seventeen again and in the arms of the girl he wanted
to spend his life with.

With the sweet memory
came another monster wave of guilt. He loved Delilah. He loved God more. Even
so, in the darkness last night, he’d lost his way. He couldn’t use the drug as
an excuse. It wasn’t. He’d wanted Delilah and he’d given in.

“Oh, God,” he pounded
his fist into his forehead, “I’ve failed You at every turn. On every level. In
every way possible. I’ve shown You nothing but weakness and frailty. I haven’t
saved anyone. Not one single soul.”

The trickle of water
and the chatter of birds answered back. And that was no answer at all.

Tears streamed down
Logan’s face. “I am so worthless.”

You are the apple of My
eye.

“But I’m a failure.”

You are an overcomer.

“I’ve brought You
nothing but shame.”

The righteous falls
seven times
 . . .
and rises
again.

“Then, please, help me
find my way back.”

Seek Me with all your
heart and you will find Me.

Grief and shame
strangled Logan, held him back from reaching for that grace. He wanted to
scream. Instead, he picked up a rock and, with a wild growl, tossed it into the
water.

“He said he’s not
preaching today.” Emilio’s long face spoke volumes about this disappointment.
He ambled down the church steps, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Disgusted, McIntyre
jerked the brake up on the wagon and nodded at Naomi and Two Spears. “Let me go
talk to him.”

Naomi took the reins
from him. “Why don’t you meet us at the town hall?”

She glanced over her
shoulder at the rest of their clan walking up. Hannah and her son, Billy, Ian,
and Rebecca. Mollie and Emilio were already here.

“I’ll take them back
and we’ll get Sunday supper started.”

McIntyre kissed her on
the cheek, reached to ruffle Two Spears’s hair—doubted the wisdom of the move—but
followed through. The boy’s face didn’t change exactly, but neither did he pull
away.

Progress? McIntyre
hoped so, for them both.

McIntyre let himself
into the church and listened for a moment. He could hear drawers sliding and
slamming shut with too much force . . . and muttering. Or was
that praying?

McIntyre had prayed as
well. He often didn’t get the clarity from God that he wanted—or perhaps he was
too impatient to listen—but he knew, at least for this moment, he was where God
wanted him. How ironic he was here to remind his preacher of grace when he himself
couldn’t find it the other day. “Logan.”

The drawers stopped. “I’m
here.”

McIntyre wandered back
and pushed the curtain aside. Logan grabbed a pile of clothes from his bed and
shoved them with brutality into his saddlebags.

“Going somewhere?”

Logan gave a derisive
snort. “Anywhere but here, I guess.”

McIntyre picked up a
bullet from the counter and fidgeted with it while he thought. “A recent
failure on my part, and now your situation, has had me studying.”

“
Situation
. You
like that word.” He raked a handful of socks into the bag.

“I made an interesting
discovery. There are no perfect men in the Bible, aside from Christ.”

Logan’s hands slowed a
little.

Encouraged, McIntyre
pushed on. “Adam couldn’t avoid one simple fruit. Moses had a terrible temper.
David thought he could use murder to hide a scandal. Worse, he thought he could
hide it from God.” He set the bullet down and looked at Logan. “What did all
these flawed, foolish men have in common?”

Logan stilled, waiting.

“God used them in spite
of their faults. He can still use you, Logan. Nothing you have done is worse
than what those Biblical patriarchs did. We have to let go of the condemnation.”
He made a fist. “Take hold of grace.”

Logan stared at
McIntyre, the battle to accept forgiveness raging in his eyes. “You know what
else those men had in common?”

McIntyre shrugged.

“Their sins had
consequences.”

“The new girls are
here.”

Blinking away thoughts
of Logan, Delilah lifted her head and followed the sound of Otis’s voice. He
backed away from the door and three young women strolled into the empty
theater. A pretty blond, a brunette, and a redhead stopped and waited for her
appraisal. In their early twenties, they were attractive enough, but had that
familiar razor’s edge to their features. Life had scraped away the innocence
and the hope from their faces as neatly as a two-dollar shave.

Restless, bored by this
part of her profession, she rose and surveyed the girls top-to-bottom and back
again. Better-looking than most, nice measurements, especially up-top.
Reportedly very willing girls.

Delilah could not have
cared less.

She felt as though a
spark had gone out somewhere deep inside her. It troubled her greatly, and made
conversation onerous. “Mary Hastings gives you high marks.”

“We don’t mind the
work,” the redhead said stepping forward. “Any kind, as long as the pay and the
conditions are good. Mary said you were giving us a raise and our own rooms.”

Mary had also said the
Barbary Coast Kittens, as they were called, were up for anything. Delilah had
purchased them planning such lewd entertainment that McIntyre, the fallen
preacher, and the rest of the saints of Defiance would simply faint from shock.
At the moment, however, the expected conversation was too tiresome, almost
repulsive. “Otis, please show them to their rooms. Ladies, join me for dinner
later and we’ll talk about your act.”

After the girls left,
she settled into her seat again . . . and for the millionth time
relived the few precious moments she’d spent in Logan’s arms. Especially that
one moment, when she was kissing him, and his resistance had broken . . .

What if she hadn’t gone
to Stillwater? What if she’d told Logan about the baby?

What if she’d told her
mother? Maybe she wouldn’t have sent her away.

What if, what if, what
if . . .

Delilah growled and
slapped the table.

She’d made her choices.
She would live with them. And so, by God, would everyone else.

Delilah didn’t visit
the cribs often. She didn’t even like walking around Tent Town. The place was a
haphazard assortment of canvas hovels, one-room shacks, and trash—human and
otherwise. Folks gawked as she strode by. Her red silk dress and voluminous
bustle were as out of place here as a mermaid in the desert.

She lifted her skirt to
step over what looked like vomit and walked a few more steps to the first tent
on the row. Otis pounded on the door for her then snatched it open.

As he had reported,
Mary Jean had indeed come back to her little home here on Crib Row. Delilah
thought for sure she’d stay with Logan.

She’ll wish she had.

Jealousy. Vengeance. Mere
spitefulness. Whatever one wanted to call it, Delilah was on a tear and Mary
Jean was her first target.

“I need your tent. Get
out. Oh, and you’re fired . . . in case there was any doubt.”

Mary Jean dropped the
petticoat she’d been folding and stared slack-jawed at Delilah. “What? Why? I
don’t have any place to go. I need a few days.”

“You should have
thought of that before you had your preacher ruin another auction.”

“I didn’t tell him to
rescue me, but I’m glad he did. You lied to me. You were gonna turn me into one
of your girls without even giving me a choice. I should go to the marshal.”

Delilah narrowed her
eyes to slits and slapped Mary Jean. The stinging swat left four fingerprints
on the girl’s cheek and jarred tears from her eyes. “Don’t threaten me. I never
forced you to do anything—”

“You drugged the sherry . . .
and his whiskey.”

“Prove it.”

Mary Jean blinked. She
had no way, of course. Only her word against Delilah’s.

“I did try to be gentle
with you. A wasted effort, but I’ll give you one last chance. Work for me or
get out . . . but before you get so high-and-mighty about
things, remember you owe me money for rent and food.
That
we can talk to
the marshal about.”

“I–I . . .”

“Your customers will
start showing up around eight.”

Done talking, Delilah
spun in a red flurry of silk and lace and exited. Out on the weedy path that
served for an avenue, she passed a handsome Hispanic boy and a pretty little
blonde.

She wouldn’t have paid
them any attention except they seemed somehow out of place here. And they had
stared back at her without fear, perhaps even with a little revulsion. Curious,
she turned. The two meandered past Mary Jean’s tent.

Otis followed her gaze,
but shrugged.

The young man struck
her as familiar, but she couldn’t place him. From the Chandelier, perhaps? She
had never seen the girl before. Delilah drummed her fingers on her skirt,
pondering, but decided to let it go. She had better things to do than stand
here studying strangers, so she turned up the path to the make her way to the
telegraph office.

“Is she still looking?”

Emilio sneaked a casual
glance over his shoulder. Both Delilah and Otis were on their way in the
opposite direction. “No. Let’s go.”

He took Mollie by the
elbow and they backtracked to Mary Jean’s tent.

“I told you she would
only give you two choices.” Mollie picked up a hand mirror and sat down on Mary
Jean’s cot.

“I won’t work for her.
Not that way. But what am I supposed to do? I need a place to stay and a job.”

“I told you there’s a
room for you at the town hall with us. And if you want to stay in Defiance, you
can have a job at the hotel.”

Emilio nodded. “
Si
.
You could work there for a while.”

“Maybe.” Looking a
little pale, Mary Jean sat down. “I’ve been feeling poorly ever since I left
the other night. And my hands want to shake.” She sounded mystified by her
condition.

Mollie put the back of
her hand to Mary Jean’s forehead. “No fever, but you’re clammy. It takes a day
or two for the laudanum to leave your system.”

Mary Jean hunched her
shoulders, rubbed her arms, and looked around the room. She wasn’t leaving
much, Emilio thought, but he understood the fear of leaving what you knew. He
suspected she would overcome it pretty readily. As long as there was hope, he
didn’t think Mary Jean was the type to give in to Delilah.

“I owe it to Preacher
to get out of here. What about the money I owe her?”

Emilio knew a man with
money and a heart for these lost girls. “I’d bet Mr. McIntyre can get that
taken care of.”

“All right.” She pulled
her shoulders back. “And thank you.”

Mollie touched her arm.
“You shouldn’t be seen with us. Pack and come up to the hotel in about half an
hour.”

“Injuns. Only good one
is a dead one. But as my Pappy used to say . . .”

McIntyre stopped inches
from the open bunkhouse window. He pulled back to listen, hoping Lane’s words
were about something else.

Silverware clattered as
Lane continued. “My pappy used to say it is what it is. That boy is the boss’s
son. Don’t matter if he’s black, white, Injun, or Chinese. You wanna keep your
jobs, boys, I reckon you’ll suck up what you think.” Something sizzling on the
stove covered up another man’s voice, but Lane replied, “Whether Delilah put
him up to it or not, he shoulda been smarter. If you’re gonna mess with the
kid, make sure ain’t nobody else around. Especially McIntyre.”

McIntyre curled his
fingers into fists. The powerful desire to march into the bunkhouse, grab Lane
by the hair, and shove his face into the grease nearly grabbed hold. He took a
step back to fight it, and prayed for self-control.

He could at least fire
Lane . . .

And, apparently, all
his hands.

Disgusted, he ambled
over to the other side of the barn because it afforded the best view of his
valley and his cattle. He liked owning cattle. He enjoyed the company of most
of the boys, especially Lane. Until now.

How could he look these
men in the eye, knowing they would do his son harm? How could he refrain from
killing them?

“Charles?”

He smiled, her presence
bringing him some peace, and extended his hand, but didn’t look at her. Naomi
grasped his fingers and slid up close to him. “I saw you walk over here. Or
should I say ‘slog’? I could tell something was wrong.”

He hated to tell her.
He knew her heart broke for Two Spears, and for them as a family. “I overheard
Lane and some of the boys talking.” Shaking his head, he stepped away and gazed
out over the view, furling and unfurling his fists. “I cannot force the bigotry
out of them, Naomi.” He sighed and rested his hands on his hips. “I can’t beat
it out of them. They’ll still hate Indians. What am I supposed to do? How do I
protect him?”

“Teach him to be strong,
but teach him about love too. Otherwise he’ll grow up full of hate, and that
would be the real tragedy.”

“I know things wouldn’t
be different anywhere else, but there are days—few and far between, but there
nonetheless—when I think about leaving Defiance.”

She stepped up beside
him, eyes wide as full moons. “Leaving? You’ve just gotten the ranch started.
Would you start all over?”

He brushed a thumb down
her jawline. “The idea of a fresh start is appealing at times. If for no other
reason than the adventure of it.”

Naomi frowned. “My
sisters are here.”

“I know.” Something in
his spirit deflated and it surprised him. He’d only toyed with the idea of
leaving . . . but a fresh start, new challenges, they held some
appeal. He shook off his consternation for her sake. “Just thinking out loud,
princess. I take it you don’t spark to the idea?”

“I don’t know.” She
unrolled and then rolled her sleeve as she pondered his question. He adored the
deep ‘v’ that etched itself in her forehead when she was troubled. “I guess it
might depend on where.”

McIntyre slipped his
arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Don’t fret. Merely idle reverie.”

“If you say so.”

Yet they both knew it
wasn’t.

Have arrived Salt Lake.
Arrive Defiance one week. Sit tight. M

Delilah crumpled the
telegram and tossed it to the boardwalk. Otis bent down and picked it up. Probably
smart. At least he wasn’t thinking like an emotional female.

A freight wagon rolled
by, kicking up a slow-moving cloud of dust. The stagnant air and dirt from the
street annoyed her by turning the hem of her new blue dress a dingy gray.
Frankly, everything annoyed her. Nothing made her happy. She was simply . . .
angry. She wanted to scream and curse Heaven for the way things in her life were
right now . . . or maybe for every single event that had brought
her here. Back to Logan.

Refusing to devote
another second to thoughts of him, she lifted her skirt higher and marched back
toward Tent Town. She winked and smiled at the male citizenry as she went, or
at least most of them. She knew the regulars, the big spenders . . .
and the skinflints. She glared at Mel Watson as he bent to tip his hat. All
show. Argued the price of every single poke. He backed off and cut away from
her.