Hearts in Defiance (Romance in the Rockies Book 2) by Heather Blanton Page B
Authors: Heather Blanton
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feet instead. She blinked, surprised that she
was both embarrassed and disappointed.
“I—I have to go run errands
for Mr. McIntyre,” he said, practically tripping over his chair. “I’ll be back
to finish this up.”
Hannah opened her mouth to
speak, but no words escaped.
It didn’t matter. Emilio was
gone.
~~~
Six
McIntyre tapped the engagement ring on his desk. The sound ricocheted like a rifle shot in the silence of the Iron
Horse. The ring with a modest emerald once belonged to his mother and had made
its way to him in a box of her things, shortly after her death. He wished she
could have met Naomi, seen the direction his life was headed now. Part of him
suspected that his mother had always known. Her faith had been rock solid.
She would have approved of
Naomi.
McIntyre had known the
moment he’d heard about the party that this was the night to ask her. The question
he wrangled with now was how . Should he make it a quiet, private
request? Or should he do the bended knee in front of everyone? Showmanship
wasn’t part of his personality, but asking her that way struck him as noble and
honorable. It would hold him publicly accountable to be a decent man and good
husband.
The snort of derision from
his condemning past was almost audible. It sat in the room with him like a
lurking shadow. After all, his audacity was astounding. Who was he to think he
could make Naomi happy? What if he wound up bored by the sedate, responsible
lifestyle? What if he decided he wasn’t really meant for monogamy? What if his
past was too much for her?
For him?
Frustrated by these
questions, he nearly flung the ring across the room. But something stopped him.
He waited and after a moment, heard, or rather felt the words: Therefore if
any man be in Christ, he is a new creature. Old things are passed away, behold,
all things are become new. Naomi had urged him repeatedly in the past few
weeks to hold on to that Scripture. And he would try, because in that direction
laid hope.
He didn’t relish the
alternative.
~~~
McIntyre stood on the back stoop for a moment, enjoying the sight
of his prospective bride laughing with her sisters, and Ian and Emilio. He was
pleased to see that Naomi had again passed on her usual braid and left her hair
free and flowing. Captivated by the joy shining in her eyes, not to mention the
perfect fit of her pink paisley dress, he watched her with a hunger far more
than physical. He’d never be able to make her understand how much he loved her.
How could he? He didn’t understand it himself.
Grudgingly, he dropped his
perusal of her and admired the decorations. A string of glowing paper lanterns
ran from the stoop over to one corner of the chicken coop, to a makeshift log
support, and back, framing the backyard in a large, glowing square. Fried
chicken, venison, mouth-watering fixings, and a birthday cake covered the
kitchen table now sitting at the edge of the party. Shorty and Bud, staged in
the back of a wagon with their fiddle and banjo, filled the air with a
sprightly version of “Dixie.” A small bonfire burned at the center of the
activities for light and warmth. McIntyre’s former Flowers—Lily, Iris, Jasmine,
and Daisy—stood near the musicians, smiling and tapping their toes.
He eyed the younger, paler
Flower and corrected himself. Daisy went by her real name now. Mollie was no longer a Flower blooming in his brothel. Instead, she lived here at the
hotel, blossoming in her new-found faith. His other girls, retired by him, had
been spending hours here with Mollie and the sisters getting new clothes made
to hide their past. Tonight, they wore simple cotton dresses with high
necklines. They could now pass for any respectable women, with no telltale
signs of their former vocation visible.
While he was pleased the
girls were getting out of the business, he hated the part he’d played getting
them into it. He hoped when they took the stage out of here, they’d
was both embarrassed and disappointed.
“I—I have to go run errands
for Mr. McIntyre,” he said, practically tripping over his chair. “I’ll be back
to finish this up.”
Hannah opened her mouth to
speak, but no words escaped.
It didn’t matter. Emilio was
gone.
~~~
Six
McIntyre tapped the engagement ring on his desk. The sound ricocheted like a rifle shot in the silence of the Iron
Horse. The ring with a modest emerald once belonged to his mother and had made
its way to him in a box of her things, shortly after her death. He wished she
could have met Naomi, seen the direction his life was headed now. Part of him
suspected that his mother had always known. Her faith had been rock solid.
She would have approved of
Naomi.
McIntyre had known the
moment he’d heard about the party that this was the night to ask her. The question
he wrangled with now was how . Should he make it a quiet, private
request? Or should he do the bended knee in front of everyone? Showmanship
wasn’t part of his personality, but asking her that way struck him as noble and
honorable. It would hold him publicly accountable to be a decent man and good
husband.
The snort of derision from
his condemning past was almost audible. It sat in the room with him like a
lurking shadow. After all, his audacity was astounding. Who was he to think he
could make Naomi happy? What if he wound up bored by the sedate, responsible
lifestyle? What if he decided he wasn’t really meant for monogamy? What if his
past was too much for her?
For him?
Frustrated by these
questions, he nearly flung the ring across the room. But something stopped him.
He waited and after a moment, heard, or rather felt the words: Therefore if
any man be in Christ, he is a new creature. Old things are passed away, behold,
all things are become new. Naomi had urged him repeatedly in the past few
weeks to hold on to that Scripture. And he would try, because in that direction
laid hope.
He didn’t relish the
alternative.
~~~
McIntyre stood on the back stoop for a moment, enjoying the sight
of his prospective bride laughing with her sisters, and Ian and Emilio. He was
pleased to see that Naomi had again passed on her usual braid and left her hair
free and flowing. Captivated by the joy shining in her eyes, not to mention the
perfect fit of her pink paisley dress, he watched her with a hunger far more
than physical. He’d never be able to make her understand how much he loved her.
How could he? He didn’t understand it himself.
Grudgingly, he dropped his
perusal of her and admired the decorations. A string of glowing paper lanterns
ran from the stoop over to one corner of the chicken coop, to a makeshift log
support, and back, framing the backyard in a large, glowing square. Fried
chicken, venison, mouth-watering fixings, and a birthday cake covered the
kitchen table now sitting at the edge of the party. Shorty and Bud, staged in
the back of a wagon with their fiddle and banjo, filled the air with a
sprightly version of “Dixie.” A small bonfire burned at the center of the
activities for light and warmth. McIntyre’s former Flowers—Lily, Iris, Jasmine,
and Daisy—stood near the musicians, smiling and tapping their toes.
He eyed the younger, paler
Flower and corrected himself. Daisy went by her real name now. Mollie was no longer a Flower blooming in his brothel. Instead, she lived here at the
hotel, blossoming in her new-found faith. His other girls, retired by him, had
been spending hours here with Mollie and the sisters getting new clothes made
to hide their past. Tonight, they wore simple cotton dresses with high
necklines. They could now pass for any respectable women, with no telltale
signs of their former vocation visible.
While he was pleased the
girls were getting out of the business, he hated the part he’d played getting
them into it. He hoped when they took the stage out of here, they’d
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