A Lady in Defiance (7 page)

Tying to move them past this awkward moment, he touched her
on the elbow and pointed at the next entrance. Opening the door for her, she
entered the bank and several men−employees and
customers−acknowledged her with appreciative glances. In turn, they also
offered greetings to McIntyre as he and Naomi walked toward the back of the
bank. They climbed a set of steps that took them to a door labeled Davis Ferrell,
Esq.

Naomi didn’t speak as she and Mr. McIntyre climbed the
stairs. She did inhale his scent of a musky cologne and apple-sweetened
tobacco. Pleasing odors even if the man was less-than-likable. She felt
completely foolish for having dropped her guard that way outside, revealing
such personal thoughts to this pirate. She attributed her momentary weakness to
simply being overwrought with grief...and irritation. It grated on her nerves
that he had spotted Hannah’s condition right off...which brought her back to the
statement he had made about women in his employ. How could he act like running
a brothel was as respectable as managing a mercantile? Disgusting. Whatever the
case, she would work harder to keep her chin up and back squared in front of
this rogue.

They reached the door and Mr. McIntyre knocked but did not
wait for an answer as he opened it for Naomi. They stepped into a small office
and found Mr. Ferrell at his desk. He looked up from his paperwork, casually
removing the spectacles from his nose.

Remembering his manners belatedly, he leaped to his feet and
reached for Naomi’s hand. “Pardon my manners. Mrs. Miller, it’s a pleasure to
meet you. McIntyre,” he acknowledged him with a nod and his clients took the
two seats in front of his desk. A skinny but dapper man wearing a plain, grey
suit, he moved with swift, jerky motions. Naomi wondered if he was always like
that or if Mr. McIntyre made him nervous. “I’ve just finished up the transfer
of deed for the hotel.” He slid a piece of paper over to Naomi and held out his
pen. “If you’ll write your full name here and here and sign here and here, that
will do it.”

Naomi took the pen but also took a moment to review the deed.
Mr. McIntyre leaned in uncomfortably close to her ear and whispered, “Davis may
look and act like Ichabod Crane, but he’s quite a gifted attorney.”

Frowning, she moved away from his breath ruffling her hair
and perused the legal document in her hand. Naomi noticed almost immediately
that there was no description of lot size or water rights, only information on
the building. “I−I’m sorry,” she sputtered puzzled. “This doesn’t seem to
be complete. Why is there no mention here of the lot size? And there is a well,
isn’t there?” she asked, eyeing both men.

“Lot size?” Mr. Ferrell repeated. “I’m not sure I follow. I
was under the impression you were getting the building only.” He looked at Mr.
McIntyre. “You were in a hurry when you stopped by, but I thought I understood
it was the building and not the land.”

“Not the land?” Naomi repeated toward Mr. McIntyre, knowing
there were daggers in her eyes.

“Let me explain,” he said, pulling a cigar from his breast
pocket. “You see, you came and asked to buy the building. You made no mention
of the lot. I assumed you didn’t need it or want it. This is a common practice
here in the west.”

Naomi was dumbfounded, struck completely speechless, but only
for a moment. The glowing ember of anger in her gut caught fire. Her voice
dropped to a deceptive calm as she addressed the attorney. “So we own the
building, but not the land on which it sits. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Ferrell answered simply.

She cut her eyes over to Mr. McIntyre. “Why would anyone buy
a building and not the land? And why didn’t you tell me you were separating the
two?” She was furious, but mostly with herself for being so stupid.

“Buying the building without the land keeps things affordable
and allows land owners to collect rent. I don’t want rent, however. Just think
of us as partners in the hotel business.”

Naomi jumped up so suddenly, she nearly flipped her chair
over. Fuming, she stomped away from the men as far as the little office would
allow, all of about six feet. Looking out the window, she couldn’t have cared
less about the low afternoon sun reaching to kiss the distant shimmering mountains.
She could’ve kicked herself a hundred times for getting in this mess and now
she would have to explain it to her sisters. How could she have been so
stupid?!

Think, think, think,
she told herself angrily, determined to hold back tears or
die trying.
Protect yourself. Lord, help me...

She spun back around. “You are a scoundrel, Mr. McIntyre, but
I have learned my lesson. You want to own everything in this town, don’t you?”
He dropped his eyes, but only for an instant. “So this is what I want.” Tilting
her chin toward Mr. Ferrell, she kept her eyes on Mr. McIntyre. “I want it in
writing that Mr. McIntyre cannot in anyway restrict us from the well. Also, I
want monthly payments that will buy the lot in the space of one year. I’ll give
you $100 for it.”

Mr. McIntyre snorted at the offer, but sobered quickly under
her burning gaze. He studied her hard but Naomi didn’t wilt or redden under the
scrutiny this time. If anything, she straightened up more defiantly.

“All right, let’s deal.” He took a match off Ferrell’s desk,
struck it on his boot heel and lit the cigar. “The lot is a good acre and this
is a boomtown,” he told her between puffs. “I’ll take one thousand dollars.”

“Back home you’d be hung for asking a penny over two
hundred.”

“Let’s say we split the difference.” He blew a smoke ring,
watched it float over their heads while he thought, and then countered with,

“Four hundred.”

“And the water rights,” she demanded.

“And the water rights.”

This time they shook on the deal. Naomi couldn’t help but
notice how fine and smooth his hands were, not big and calloused like John’s.
Funny how hands could speak volumes about a man. She wondered when he had last
done some actual physical labor or did he have a “man” for everything?

“It’ll take me a few minutes to write that up,” Mr. Ferrel
reminded them, peering over his spectacles. He looked as if he hoped they might
take their obvious differences outside.

“We’ll wait,” Naomi assured him, tenacious resolution in her
voice. Mr. Ferrell looked at Mr. McIntyre for the final answer.

He shrugged. “It’s fine, Davis. I’m in no hurry.”

“All right then.” The attorney sighed and pulled out a fresh
sheet of parchment paper. Mr. McIntyre tapped his cigar on the ashtray then
took his smoke to the window. Naomi settled back into her seat and stared into
the top of Mr. Ferrell’s balding head.

“Mrs. Miller, I believe you and your sisters have arrived at
an exciting time in Defiance’s life,” Mr. McIntyre offered in a conciliatory
tone. “Our little town is growing. More people are coming every day. Businesses
are expanding. A sixty-foot thick vein of quartz runs underneath our feet.
They’ll be digging silver and gold out of the ground for another century.” She
did not respond to his speech, but he kept going anyway. “We’ve already got two
stages coming in every week. I’m courting the railroad as well. Yes, sir, in
the not-too-distant future, Defiance could rival Denver. We have the common
goal of seeing your hotel and restaurant succeed. I hope you believe that.”

She cut him a disdainful glance. “You’re not a complicated
man, Mr. McIntyre. You will help us as long as it benefits you. I believe
that.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Oh, completely.” She turned her eyes back to Ferrell and
focused again on his last few remaining hairs. She wondered if he’d pulled them
out because of his business dealings with Mr. McIntyre. It would be entirely
understandable.

Chapter
6

McIntyre considered how Naomi spoke down to him, as if he
were an annoying flea, but once they were passed this paperwork, he was quite
sure he could win her over. Granted, she was probably the kind of woman who
could hold a grudge for a month of Sundays, but his magnetism, money and power
were relentless persuaders. He had charmed feistier women onto their backs and
this arrogant, self-righteous little belle would be no different.

On the way back to the hotel, McIntyre made a few more polite
attempts to settle their little misunderstanding, but Naomi was having none of
it. A stubborn woman, he knew she saw this as an excuse to keep him at arm’s
length. He thought about reminding her of her Christian duty to forgive
trespasses, but decided to stay away from that subject matter. Finally, at the
door, he made one more attempt at putting them on some kind of speaking terms.
In his experience with Naomi thus far, there was only one thing that got her
talking…anger.

“Look, Your Ladyship, there’s no reason to be upset with me.
This mix-up was not intentional. You assumed the land was part of the deal. I
assumed you knew what you were doing.”

“My name is not Your Ladyship!” She snapped. “Or Princess.
It’s Naomi.” She shook her head for correction. “I mean
Mrs
.
Miller
to you. And
you
were the one who knew exactly what you were doing. But
that was the first and last time you will take advantage of us, Mr. McIntyre.”
Naomi pointed an accusing finger at him for emphasis as her temper flared.
“You’re a scoundrel and a snake. I won’t make the mistake of trusting you
again.”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Now you’re getting it. That’s the
only way to do business in Defiance, much less with me.”

Naomi looked stunned. Rolling her eyes and collecting her
thoughts, she grabbed the doorknob and spoke without looking at him. “I see.
Now, for the next few days at least, could you leave us alone to settle in?”

He understood the reasons for her request and decided to
offer some mercy. He had other enterprises that certainly needed his attention
as well. Needling this little princess wasn’t making him any money, even if it
was grand entertainment. Emilio and Ian could keep him apprised of things here.

“As you wish, Mrs. Miller.” He tipped his hat and started off
for the Iron Horse, but stopped abruptly. “Oh, by the way…” He waited for Naomi
to look at him. “I’ve left you and your sisters a gift upstairs.” He flashed
his most winning, most rakish smile at her. “Perhaps you’ll think of me when
you use it.”

~~~

When Naomi entered the hotel, she heard a commotion upstairs:
voices and what sounded like furniture scraping across the floor. She called
out to her sisters and they answered excitedly.

“We’re up here, Naomi!”

“Come see what Mr. McIntyre has given us.”

Was this the gift he’d mentioned? Tired of the emotional
rollercoaster he caused her, she trudged up the stairs and turned the corner of
the rail to discover her sisters and an underfed, young Mexican boy assembling
a massive pencil post bed. Lying next to it was a gigantic mattress, factory made
and apparently stuffed with something other than cotton rags or corn shucks.

He hoped she’d think of him every time she used it?
The audacity and lewdness of the
comment shocked Naomi. Had the man no decency whatsoever to say such things to
a widow? She was utterly appalled.

Eager to forget Mr. McIntyre, she looked around the vast,
open space of the upstairs floor which was intermittently broken up by the
sparse, unfinished skeletons of walls and one stone fireplace. The area was
warm and dry, though, and would sport a real bed in a few minutes. It was
enticing, Naomi admitted grudgingly. Maybe she would actually sleep tonight.

When Hannah looked up and saw Naomi, she dropped the bed rail
she was holding and ran to her sister. “You must see this,” she sang joyfully,
leading Naomi over to the mattress. “Lie down on it.” She pulled Naomi down to
the mattress and forced her to recline on it. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Hannah
flopped down beside her, giggling.

Naomi had to agree it was far more comfortable than the
ground underneath a wagon and even beat their cloth tick mattress back home.
She closed her eyes and tried to lose herself in the relatively soft bedding,
the way it supported and comforted her. Then there was the image of Mr.
McIntyre and she sat bolt upright.

She hadn’t slept well since John’s death and the stress of it
was beginning to show. The nights were hideously long. She dreaded the
darkness, the silence, the loneliness of them. Would this bed be a magic carpet
to Dreamland? Would she sleep through the night without waking and reaching for
John? Tempted, she lay back on the mattress again and gave into the experience.

“Naomi, this is Emilio.” Rebecca spoke from the other side of
the almost complete bed, tightening a screw in the headboard. “Emilio, this is
my sister Naomi.”

Naomi and Hannah both sat up. Just a gawky teenager, about
the same age as Hannah, he dipped his chin and grinned sheepishly. “
Hola
,
S
enora
.”

“We just couldn’t help ourselves,” Rebecca rushed on. “When
the marshal told us about the bed, we came right up and started putting it
together. I can’t wait to sleep in it.”