Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) Page 16

  “Sure, yeah. Whiskey’d be fine.”

  “How ’bout water?”

  Brow creasing, she shrugged a shoulder. “OK, that’s good too.”

  He walked the drink over to her. “Tell me, Amanda, do you want out?”

  Glass at her lips, she paused before taking the sip. “Sure. Don’t we all?”

  “If you could do something different, what would it be?”

  Suspicion played on her face. “I’d be a duchess, I reckon.”

  “Is that what you would want? A house and servants?”

  Realizing he was serious, she sniffed and shook her head. “No, I’d like to be a teacher, especially for little ones just learnin’ to read.”

  A glimmer of a notion formed in his mind. “If you had the money and the opportunity, would you go back to school to learn to be a proper teacher?”

  She stared straight through him for a moment, pondering the crazy idea. “In a magical world filled with unicorns and fairies, I’d go to Wellesley.” She blinked. “My teacher at the freedmen’s school went there. But I believe I left my magic wand back in Denver.”

  McIntyre reached up and scratched his beard. “Maybe you did …”

  ~~~

  Twenty-Three

  Hannah hated having a soft heart. Why couldn’t she be tough and a little low on compassion like Naomi? She flinched at the rather unkind thought, but her sister had floated by Billy in the dining room the past several mornings as he ate his breakfast alone, and hadn’t shown him an ounce of concern. She’d poured his coffee, checked on him occasionally, but kept right on moving, ignoring the hunched shoulders, drumming fingers, and the way he pushed his food around the plate instead of eating it.

  This morning Hannah couldn’t take it anymore. Family ate in the kitchen. Besides, Billy could feed Little Billy and she wouldn’t have to juggle his care with caring for the customers.

  So far, the idea was paying off. Billy and son wore only modest amounts of porridge on their faces and clothes. Coming in from the dining room, she stopped, raised an eyebrow at the pair, and used her apron to wipe cereal off the father’s cheek. Billy’s eyes warmed at her touch and he smiled. A little alarmed at the flip her stomach did, Hannah jerked her hand away. She hurried over to the stove where Rebecca loaded her with several plates, each full of hash browns, bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Hannah was quite proud she could carry four meals this way. Head high, she sashayed past the two boys and backed through the swinging doors.

  When she returned to the kitchen several minutes later, Emilio had stationed himself at the opposite end of the table and was wolfing down his breakfast. “Good morning, Emilio.” She greeted him with a sing-song voice as she deposited a ton of dirty dishes into the sink. His mouth full, he nodded and waved a fork.

  Hannah assumed Billy had barely spoken to him. Furthermore, he probably supposed Emilio was just getting his day started. She decided to correct that assumption.

  “Emilio, how’s the hen house? Did you get the fence fixed?”

  “Si, I fixed the hole first thing this morning.”

  “And the woodbox?”

  “It’s filled.”

  “Milk?”

  “In the spring house.” He took a sip of coffee. “And I’m fixing that loose step right after breakfast.”

  Hannah skimmed her glance over Billy, whose lips were a tight line. “That’s wonderful, Emilio. Now, I was wondering …” She plopped cinnamon rolls onto saucers as she prepared to put in motion another idea. “We’ve got a piece of furniture down at the stagecoach office. Came in yesterday. I thought you and Billy could go get it today.” Both men jerked their heads up as if Hannah had just used profanity. Forks froze in midair. She bit down on her lip to stop the grin from escaping and picked up the pastry-laden tray. “I didn’t think either of you would mind. Besides, Billy needs something to do.”

  Without waiting for a response, she slipped gracefully through the batwings.

  ~~~

  Billy hadn’t missed Hannah’s impish grin twitching around the corners of her beautiful, inviting lips. Pulling an empty spoon from Little Billy’s mouth, he turned a not-so-friendly gaze on Emilio. Their eyes battled. For a second, the tension was palpable.

  Unexpectedly, Emilio shrugged a shoulder. “Ees fine with me.”

  “Well, me too,” Billy added defensively. He scooped up a little more porridge and waved it in front of the child. “Sure, we can move some furniture for Mama.” Like a little bird, the boy opened his mouth, waiting for his breakfast. “Let me finish feeding my son, and I’ll be right with you.”

  ~~~

  The morning sunshine warming his shoulders, Billy assessed Defiance as he and Emilio strode down the crowded sidewalk. Most of the buildings were new, having not yet lost the slight golden hue that pine holds onto for a few years. Main Street itself was a busy flow of mud-encrusted miners, mules, horses, and freight wagons coming and going at an almost fevered clip. Above the creak of leather and buzzing, male voices, he noticed the constant clanging sound of metal. Reverberating in the air like church bells, gold pans hung from every saddle and backpack on the street, swaying, ringing, and glinting in the sun.

  Defiance could be described as chaotic, but it was not in chaos, Billy realized. These men had places to go, things to accomplish, and gold to find.

  A wall of plaid and leather pushed its way roughly past Billy, nearly knocking him off the boardwalk. Without thinking, he spun. “Hey, why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

  The man stopped and Billy’s mind immediately leaped back to Earl H. Goode. The miner, as broad as a plow horse and carrying a pick ax on his shoulder, slowly turned. A hairy, barrel-chested gentleman scowled as he appraised Billy. Billy fought the temptation to swallow or glance at Emilio, who had stopped beside him. The miner spit tobacco juice at his feet. “Git home, pup,” he said, sneering. “I hear your mama callin’ ya.”

  He turned and continued his trek down the boardwalk. Billy had never felt like such a flea in his life.

  Beside him, Emilio chuckled. “Come on, pup. We need to get that furniture.”

  Pup? Billy clamped his jaws shut, forcing himself to take a breath before he responded. He turned and his eyes followed Emilio as the boy walked a few steps ahead. “Call me pup again, greaser, and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

  Emilio stopped as if he’d run into a wall. He dropped his hands on his hips and shook his head. Billy couldn’t tell if he was laughing or arguing with himself. Maybe both. A few passersby seemed to sense the tension and slowed their progress, necks craning.

  Emilio backed up a step and turned on Billy at the same time. “I don’t want to fight you. Hannah wouldn’t like it.”

  Billy snorted. “Hannah wouldn’t like it?” he mocked. “Well aren’t you the considerate gentleman.”

  The shadow of a storm darkened Emilio’s face. Billy imagined he could hear the rumble of thunder. Teeth clenched, Emilio took two more steps and came nose-to-nose with Billy, bowler and cowboy hat colliding. “At least I respect her.”

  No conscious thought led Billy to hit Emilio with a sledgehammer of a punch, he just did it. The boy’s head snapped back, he staggered a step or two, growled and came back to throw a clumsy hook. Billy dodged it and hit Emilio with a combination right jab and left uppercut. The tan cowboy hat went flying as Emilio again staggered back. This time, he took a moment longer to recover. A sizable crowd of laughing, jostling men formed—amazingly fast, Billy thought—and encircled the boys.

  Billy raised his hands and shuffled skillfully back and forth in front of Emilio. He watched his opponent but stole wary glances at the crowd as well, in case someone else decided to join the fracas. Black hair hanging in his eyes, Emilio touched his lip and looked at his fingers. Blood. Billy’s confidence soared. He could beat the hound out of this greaser. He’d be shouting orders at him in a few minutes instead of working alongside him.

  Emilio shook his hair back and raised his fists. D
etermination burned in his dark eyes. Billy grinned. The two boys moved in and circled each other like animals in a cage. The fast-growing crowd shouted, but Billy ignored the noise. He saw flashes of gold as money changed hands.

  Emilio stepped in and swung a wild haymaker. Billy ducked and lunged with another uppercut. Emilio’s head snapped back. This time, blood spattered. Billy felt the spray hit his face. The boy cupped his bleeding nose briefly and straightened up. Shaking off the pain, he once again put up his dukes, but Billy saw him sway before regaining his balance.

  “More, greaser?” Although he felt like a rooster ready to crow, Billy grudgingly admired the boy’s tenacity. Some of the men around him cheered or roared with laughter. The crowd had grown, now running three and four bodies deep. Hairy, smelly miners watched eagerly, hungry for blood.

  “Come on, Emilio,” someone else yelled. “The tin horn with the bowler ain’t no match for you.”

  “Shoot, city boy, you can take that, greaser!” Billy didn’t know where the shouts came from, but they sounded ugly and eager for someone’s misery.

  Unexpectedly, Emilio lowered his head and charged like a bull. Caught at the waist, Billy, arms pin-wheeling, could only tumble back into the crowd, which parted like water. The two toppled into the street, sending up a dust cloud and spooking a horse tied in front of the Land Office. Emilio punched ferociously, landing three stunning blows to Billy’s head and ribs. Unsettled that the tables had turned, Billy flailed, kicked and squirmed. The punches kept raining down. He heard his nose crack and the pain made his eyes water.

  Emilio couldn’t fight, but he could brawl. Well, if there aren’t any rules… Billy grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it. As Emilio blinked and wiped, Billy tried to scramble out from under him.

  Still wiping at his eyes with one hand, Emilio clawed for Billy with the other. The two rolled around on the ground, kicking, gouging, grunting, fists thudding on flesh. Like snakes fighting to the death, they rolled and grappled. The crowd roared and Billy sucked wind like a dying fish, his arms growing heavier and heavier. Growling with Herculean effort, he shoved Emilio off.

  Gasping for breath, the boy rolled a few feet away and struggled to all fours. Billy copied him. Like panting dogs, they stared at each other from their hands and knees. Billy wondered if he looked as bad as Emilio. Face smeared with blood, the boy’s eye was swelling shut, something wasn’t quite right with the angle of his nose, his cheek sported a nice gash, his bottom lip was purple and already twice its normal size. His hair shot in every direction and his shirt hung in rags.

  A sudden wave of blackness threatened to fog Billy’s brain and he collapsed on his hip. Stars danced in his head and he tasted the copper of his own blood. He glanced down at his knuckles. Skinned and bleeding. The hand that had barely recovered from his last fight was swelling fast. His ribs ached like he’d been kicked by a mule. His head hurt too, but he couldn’t pinpoint whether his nose, jaw, forehead or mouth was the center of the pain.

  Chest heaving, Emilio fell back on his bum and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We forgot the wagon.”

  ~~~

  Twenty-Four

  Descending the steps, Naomi was surprised to see Matthew hobbling through the front door, a new cane in his hand. Her stomach dropped at the prospect of telling him about Charles’s proposal. She really didn’t want to hurt him, but perhaps the sooner they got this out of the way, the easier it would be for both of them to move on.

  He shut the front door and, holding his side, limped his way across the entry toward the dining room. Dreading this, but resolved, she wiped sweaty palms on her apron and licked her lips. “You missed lunch, Matthew.” He sagged a bit at the sound of her voice. “But I could fix you a sandwich or perhaps some country ham and a biscuit.”

  “No, thank you, Naomi.”

  The awkwardness between them stamped every word they spoke. She bit her lip, knowing it was about to get worse. He waited for her at the entrance of the dining room, but she could only offer him quick, guilty glances. “I see you picked up a cane. From the general store?”

  “Yeah, I had to get some fresh air before I started climbing the walls, but by the time I’d walked that far, my side was hurting pretty good.” He twirled the dark brown cane. “I missed a good street fight. Would have liked to watch it, but that chair in the dining room was calling my name.”

  “That’s the first fight in a while.” She clasped her hands in front of her and rocked on her heels. But it wouldn’t be the last. And it didn’t matter at the moment. “Matthew, I need to tell you something.”

  “Uh-oh.” He hobbled on into the dining room and took his favorite seat next to the fireplace. Naomi quietly followed him but didn’t sit down. Resting his cane’s tip between his feet, he drummed his fingers along the handle and waited. “What is it?”

  “Charles asked me to marry him this morning. I said yes. The preacher will be here in a few days.”

  Before the announcement could even register with him, a loud commotion drew their attention to the front door. Billy and Emilio, resembling the bloody survivors of an Indian attack and carrying a large wooden crate between them, bounced and slammed their way into the center of the front room. They set the crate down with an unceremonious thud. Like troops returning from a lost battle, they slowly removed their hats and waited. Their expressions, what she could see beneath the blood, seemed to dare her to scold them.

  Naomi couldn’t scold them. Their condition left her speechless.

  Matthew hobbled up beside her and whistled. “You two have been busy.” The young men traded uneasy glances and Matthew laughed. “Sorry I missed it.”

  Snapping out of her shock, Naomi stomped forward to examine them. “Good grief, what happened?” She touched Emilio’s jaw, lowering it so she could get a better view of his swollen eye and various abrasions. Shaking her head in disapproval, she moved her attention to Billy. Pushing his forehead back, she eyed his cuts and rapidly swelling, bloody nose. She caught him flexing his fingers and gently lifted his abused hand to eye level. It was already twice its normal size.

  “Oh my goodness!” Hannah cried from the top of the stairs. Jaw clenched, she stormed down the staircase like Stonewall Jackson chasing Yankees. The two boys shifted uncomfortably. Pleasantly shocked at her little sister’s flaring temper, Naomi stepped aside.

  Hannah planted herself between Emilio and Billy and jammed her hands onto her hips, her chest heaving. “You two did this to each other, didn’t you?”

  Immediately the boys started talking over each other and pointing like angry toddlers.

  “He started it—”

  “I told him you wouldn’t—”

  “He called me a—”

  “Enough!” Hannah bellowed. The boys clammed up like someone had slapped them. Naomi crossed her arms and grinned with enormous pride as Hannah’s temper sizzled like the fuse on a stick of dynamite. She was hopping mad and the fireworks were promising indeed.

  “You can’t walk two blocks without coming to blows?”

  “I tried not to,” Emilio argued, but pride got the better of him and he straightened up. “Sometimes, a man must fight for his honor.”

  Hannah raised her brow then nailed Billy with a sideways glare.

  Apparently trying to wring the life out of his bowler, he raised it to his chest. “He called me a pup.”

  Naomi heard a snort from Matthew.

  “A pup?” Hannah’s eyebrows arched. “So how did you offend his honor?”

  The boys squirmed as if they would prefer to be anywhere but here. Hannah started tapping her toe. Billy buckled and stepped toward her, slicing the air with that ridiculous hat.

  “Darn it, Hannah, we had words, but I didn’t hit him until he said I don’t respect you.”

  Hannah’s jaw dropped and she backed up a step. After a moment, her expression transformed from shock to something harder and inscrutable. Naomi wondered if she was trying not to give too much away.
>
  “Who won?” Hannah asked softly. The boys answered with stoic silence.

  “Fine.” Her scorching gaze raked the bloodied pulps standing before her. “You two go out to the back porch. I don’t want blood in my kitchen. I’ll be there shortly to clean you up.”

  Head held high, Hannah marched off to the kitchen. Naomi had only been this proud of her little sister one other time, during her confession to the whole church, which she had done alone when Billy wasn’t even in the state.

  “Well, boys …” Naomi laughed, absolutely delighted with her little sister’s display of temper. “You have lit a fire under Hannah Frink. I like her this way, don’t you—?” she turned to include Matthew in the comment, but he was gone. Relieved, she turned back to Emilio and Billy. They were a pitiful sight. Beaten, swollen, covered head to toe in dirt and blood, and yet neither of them had claimed victory. Puzzled, she let the question pass and motioned toward the back. “Get on out to the back stoop.” They shuffled off, heads lowered, shoulders bent, both holding their hats over their hearts as if they were heading off to an execution … theirs. “And don’t get blood on anything.”

  ~~~

  Twenty-Five

  Billy took a seat on the back steps, one beyond the shadow cast by the building, and leaned against the handrail. He hurt. Not as badly as after the beating from Earl H. Goode, but darn near it. Emilio had a sledge hammer for a punch, but he was sloppy and let his guard down too much. The sun felt good, though. It eased some of the aching.

  He opened one eye and watched Emilio. He had plunked down on the top step and was carefully pressing his shirt tail to his bloody knuckles. Billy was confident he could have beaten Emilio if they’d both been using Queensbury Rules. As it was, street brawling had proven a bit more effective. In all honesty, he would have given the match to the greaser.

  “You won the fight, si?”