A Promise in Defiance: Romance in the Rockies Book 3 (33 page)

Emilio opened his eyes.
He recognized the plain white walls of the examination room in Doc’s office,
but the silence struck him as unusually stark.

Puzzled, he twisted his
head around. And sound erupted. In the other room, Naomi and Hannah talked in
gentle voices. He heard the jangle of a wagon passing by outside.

Mollie shifted in her
seat and smiled at him. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

He didn’t answer as he
scoured the room with his gaze.

“Emilio? Is everything
all right? Do you feel all right?”

He laid a hand over his
right ear. Sound almost totally went away. He removed his hand and sound
returned. “I can’t hear out of my left ear.”

“Oh.” Mollie bit her
bottom lip. “I’ll get Hannah.”

Emilio repeated the
experiment with his ear until Hannah came in. “Here, let me take another look
at that.” She gently rolled his head away from her and peered into his left ear
with an otoscope. He only knew its name because she had told him once.

“How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts. And my
ear.”

Hannah sat down on the
bed. “I’m no doctor, Emilio. I could be making all kinds of mistakes.”

He wrapped his fingers
around hers, wishing he could hold her hand forever. “You are all we have. And
that will be enough.”

She relaxed a little. “You
have a slight concussion and a ruptured eardrum. I think your hearing will come
back . . . but I’m not sure.”

He was glad to be
alive. And he still had one good ear. He did not have Hannah. Never would. That
hurt worse than his head, but he had determined to deal with it. He pulled his
hand away. “It doesn’t matter. I think men died in that explosion. I will be
all right.”

Hannah patted him on
the forearm. “I’m glad you’re alive too.”

Emilio tried not to
read too much into that as she rose and left. They were more than friends but
not quite anything else. It would take time, but Emilio could heal. He had to.

“Do you think you’ll
ever get over her?”

Mollie’s voice from the
corner startled him. “I didn’t know you were still here.” Pathetic how blinded
he was to everything when Hannah was around. He needed to get back to the
ranch.

“You don’t want to
answer the question?”

Emilio pinched his
brow, flinching at a spike in his headache. “She is my friend. Billy is my
friend. I am already getting over her.”

Mollie stepped up and
settled gently on the bed. Her long golden braid hanging down called out to
Emilio to touch it. On a whim, he did and she leaned closer. Their gazes met,
deep and steady.

Her blue eyes sparkled
like a mountain lake. “Could you ever . . . care about me? Like
you do Hannah?”

He didn’t
know . . .but he wanted to try. He tugged on the braid, pulling
her in for a kiss. She was sweet and warm, and kind. She made him comfortable,
and brought him peace. Those were good places to start. “
Si,
” he
whispered against her lips. “I would like to find out.”

Naked, curled up on her
new divan, Delilah chewed on her thumbnail and stared out the window. Even
after a bath, she still felt so dirty. She’d done a lot of bad things in her
life, but she’d never committed murder.

She could sugarcoat
things all she wanted to, but she’d told Smith to blow up the mine. She had
quickly brushed away the possibility someone could die. All she had cared about
was getting even for the disappearance of her Orientals. She demanded respect.
She would have her revenge.

Now twelve men lay
buried beneath tons of rock, dead or dying. And it was her fault.

She scrubbed her face,
surprised at the tears that wet her fingers. Delilah Goodnight, alias Victoria Patterson,
had done nothing good with her life. Worse, at this moment, she was a blight on
the human race—no, a cancer, McIntyre had called her. Running a brothel was one
thing, but
killing
a dozen men?

Trying to hold back a
tidal wave of depression, Delilah rose and went to her dresser. With all the
life of a corpse, she pulled out a chemise and slipped into it, shaking her
sleep-tossed hair loose. As the gown flitted down over her head, her eyes fell
on her straight razor resting on the marble top.

It glittered and
beckoned to her, hypnotizing her. Her fingers meandered toward it.

Two simple cuts
 . . .

She could curl up again
on the divan, stare out over the roofs and tent tops, and drift away with the
light.

And all this pain would
stop.

She picked it up and
examined the blade, running her fingertip over the flat part.

No one will miss me. No
one at all.

Instead of that making
her sad, acceptance settled in. Choices had consequences. Not cut out to be a
saint, she’d become a sinner. A good one. She chuckled at her own pun. But
sinners like her didn’t leave any broken hearts behind when they departed this
world.

She walked over to the
divan and sat down. The light in the room darkened, picking up a melancholy
hint of orange. Sunset seemed the perfect time for a beautiful suicide. She
placed the razor’s edge on her wrist. Gripped the bone handle tighter. Her
heart beat wildly, her breath came in short, quick gasps. Yet her mind was
calm.

Logan’s voice came back
to her.
I’ve found a better way to live, Delilah. Peace and joy like I never
had. I wish you’d let me tell you about it.

Peace and joy? She’d
taken that from him and now he hated her. How could he help her? She flexed her
sweaty fingers. There was peace here. And she wouldn’t have to think about
Logan, or what-ifs, or mine explosions ever, ever again.

Tears sprang to her
eyes, but, determined, she pulled the razor across the perfect, white skin of
her wrist—

The door burst open and
she squeaked, dropping the tool. Logan stood in the door, dirty, dusty, hands
cut and bloodied. He surveyed the room. Delilah rolled her forearm in toward
her stomach to hide the cut, but the blood soaked her gown.

“What have you done?”
Logan practically flew across the room and grabbed her arm. The wound had left
a slick red spot on her chemise and colored his fingers. Pressing his hand to
the cut, he snatched a bandana from his pocket, snapped it in the air, and
wrapped it around her wrist. “Delilah, what were you thinking?”

She recovered from the
shock of his arrival. “What are you doing here?”

He knelt down in front
of her and tied off the bandana. “McIntyre has called off the diggin’ for now.
I went back to the church to pray.” He held her wrist between his hands and
shook his head. “And suddenly, I don’t know how to explain it, I just knew . . .”
He looked up and the tenderness in his eyes made Delilah pull back. “I just
knew I had to come see you.”

She didn’t know what to
say. Had he saved her? Would she try again when he left?
Was
there a God
Who for some reason thought today was not the day Delilah should die?

He pulled her hand to
his heart. “Delilah, please, if someone has to die to give you peace . . .”
He picked up the razor from the floor. “Let it be me.” He set her injured arm
on her knee, put the razor in her other hand, and wrapped her fingers around
the handle. Then presented his wrist. “I
give
you my life. To prove I’m
so sorry, to prove that I wish things had turned out different. To prove . . .
I love you.”

He tugged his sleeve
higher. “God’s Word says there is no greater love than this: that a man would
lay down his life for a friend.” He put her hand and the razor to his own
flesh. “If you can’t forgive me, if you don’t believe I’m a different man, know
this.” He leaned forward. “I love you. He loves you. He gave His life for you.
I give my life to you.”

Delilah couldn’t think.
What was he saying? Why would he do this? She looked at the razor in her hand,
the blade pressed to his skin. Fear, white-hot, shot through her and she
dropped the instrument like it was a burning coal. “Why are you doing this?”

She rose, squirmed past
him and rushed to the window. “You don’t know what I’ve done.” She stared off
in the distance toward the mine. His offer unnerved her. The old Logan would
have never . . . “Those people are dying, or dead, in that mine
because of me. I ordered him to blow it up because you stole my Orientals.”

“I know. Smith told me . . .
just before he died.”

Smith was dead? And
Logan knew the truth. Yet, he was here anyway. She shook her head in agony. “I
don’t deserve to live, Logan. I’ve done so many terrible things, but this is
the worst.”

He hurried over to her
and folded her into his arms. “We all deserve a second chance, Delilah. God is
eager to give it to us. But it means walking away from our old lives. It means
not only being sorry, but also asking for forgiveness. And accepting it.”

“That all sounds too
hard.”

“Sometimes, I guess it
can be. Especially that part about
accepting
forgiveness. That’s where I
struggle. You have no idea how ashamed I am of . . . the other
night.”

“All of it?” Was he
ashamed of having bedded her, sleeping with a prostitute?

He eased back and
lifted her chin. “Yes. What we did should never be outside the bonds of
marriage. I’m sorry I used you. Back when we were young, and . . .
here. You deserve better. To be honored. Respected.”

She wanted to be hurt,
but he sounded so contrite and . . . loving. “I don’t understand . . .
you. You’ve changed so much. Even just from the other night.”

He licked his lips. “I
think I finally have a handle on . . . grace.” He eased her over
to her bed and helped her crawl beneath the covers. “Grace is not an excuse to
sin, but it is His love in action. He said if we confess our sins, He’s
faithful and just to forgive them. Then He’s done with them. He moves on. I had
to watch a man die to understand that. Delilah, who I am doesn’t change Who God
is. He wants to forgive you and let you start over.”

His words, his presence
here . . . his
love
terrified her. “Logan, what if I can’t
forgive myself? What if I just can’t live with what I’ve done?”

He caressed her hand
and the tender gesture made more tears flood her eyes.

“I’ll help you. If you’ll
let me. But you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you won’t ever
try to hurt yourself again. Promise me. Please.”

The way he looked at
her nearly stopped her breathing. Intensity, passion, but not like any she’d
ever seen in anyone’s eyes before. She nodded.

“Say it.”

“I promise.”

“All right. I’ve got to
go gather up some candles for a prayer vigil at the church tonight. Will you
come?”

She toyed with the
bandage on her wrist. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He’d given her so much to take in,
she wasn’t sure she could handle any more. “Maybe.”

“Here.” Ian pointed at
a spot on the map. McIntyre leaned in and pulled the lamp closer. The table
quivered on the uneven ground as Ian tapped the paper. “If we canna get in from
the main entrance, then we might be able to dig in from the side here. The men
made it fifty feet into the main entrance before the sides became too unstable.
We might,” he held up a finger, “
might
be able to dig down and come out
the other side of the debris.”

McIntyre tapped his
fingers on the map. “Risks?”

Ian sighed, deeply. “We’re
digging blind. We’ve no idea how much of the mountain collapsed—how much of the
tunnel is blocked. We could bring the rest of the mountain down on any
survivors in there.”

“But they die for sure
if we do nothing.” McIntyre turned his back on the map and sat on the edge of
the table. “I have always known an accident like this could happen. I never
once thought how difficult the choices might be to save lives.”

“What doesn’t kill you
makes you stronger.” Both men looked up as Logan stepped out of the darkness
and shrugged. “So I’ve heard.”

McIntyre flinched. He
couldn’t even imagine how strong he would be when all this was over.

“You should know too,”
Logan wandered over to the map, “it was no accident. Smith did it.”

“Aye, then, that would
be the fuse Emilio saw.”

“We’re having a candlelight
vigil at the church in an hour, if either of you are of a mind to come.”

McIntyre folded his
arms, hoping his friend could hang his heart on a spiritual breakthrough. “You
are back in the pulpit then?”

“At least for tonight.
People need comfort and peace. Maybe I can’t lead them as a preacher—I don’t
know—but I can pray with them.”

“Amen,” Ian added
softly.

Logan’s humility
encouraged McIntyre. Sometimes, the only way a man could truly appreciate the Light
was to travel through the darkest night.

“That said, I don’t
know if anyone will come to church tonight, but you’re invited just the same.
Hope to see ya there.”