No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(103)

“I’ll be staying to help out with things around here,” Grace said as they climbed the front steps to the church entrance. “See if Claire needs a hand with Flora. I’d wanted to stay behind in the first place, to offer my gun to the fight, but Mr. Shaw insisted I leave with the rest. He hadn’t wanted anyone to stay behind. He was afraid of what might happen to you if Angus thought we weren’t complying with his demand. But Flora was adamant that she wouldn’t be leaving as long as her son was in the line of fire.”

“And Claire was in no hurry to return to Seymour, what with Stanley Fischer still upset over his mail-order bride running out on him.” Tori gave Emma a knowing look. “So Mr. Shaw agreed to let the two of them stay as long as they stayed out of sight.”

“Oh, speaking of Claire . . .” Grace said as they crossed the threshold into the back of the sanctuary.

“Is that my name, I’m a hearin’?” The redhead stood up from where she’d been helping Flora settle onto a pallet of quilts in the corner. “Oh, but it’s good to see ye ladies.” She bustled forward and hugged each one in turn. “Now, tell me, why were me ears burnin’ when ye came in?”

Grace laughed. “I had just remembered that Maybelle sent me back with the key to her medical cabinet. She meant to leave it with you but forgot to take it out of her doctor’s bag.” Grace reached for the chain around her neck and pulled it from beneath her dress. A small key dangled from the end. She lifted the chain over her head and handed it to the younger woman.

Claire took it and tucked it into her skirt pocket. “I’ll be needin’ that, I’m a thinkin’. That scoundrel outside will require some patchin’ before they carry him off to the hoosegow.”

Patching . . . “Oh my stars!” Emma exclaimed. “Malachi!” She turned to Claire. “You have to see to him right away. He took a knife to his shoulder, and there’s blood all over his shirt.”

Emma grabbed Claire’s arm and started pulling her back out of the building even as she silently castigated herself. Just because the man had held her in arms that felt wondrously strong and kissed her with a passion that felt more vibrant and alive than anything she’d ever experienced didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. How much blood might he have lost by now? What if the wound got infected?

He should have been her first concern, but she’d been too worried about what her ladies would think of her kissing him in broad daylight.

“Hurry,” she demanded, dragging Claire behind her as she rushed down the steps and around the corner.

At first she didn’t see him, and her chest tightened in alarm. “Malachi?” The cry was loud even to her own ears.

“Over here.” Betty Cooper called to them from the shadows of the church wall.

Mal tried to stand when Emma ran over to him, but Betty forced him back down onto the empty crate he’d been using as a seat.

“Sit still, Shaw,” Betty groused, “or you’re gonna mess up my bandage.”

She’d wrapped a long strip of white cloth over his shoulder and across his chest. His bare chest. His very fit and well-defined bare chest. Emma’s mouth went a little dry. “Is . . . is he all right? I brought Claire to help with the wound. The loss of blood—”

“I’m fine, Em,” Mal muttered, not meeting her gaze. “The leather on my vest kept the blade from going too deep. It’ll heal up in a few days.”

“Might need a couple stitches,” Betty said, speaking more to Emma than the stubborn man sitting on the crate. She finished wrapping the bandage and tied off the ends. “You should have Maybelle take a look at it when she gets back tomorrow.”

“Fine. Are we done?” Mal pushed to his feet before she could answer, grabbed his shirt from the ground, and yanked it over his head as he stalked off to join the other males tending to a rousing Angus.

Emma frowned after him. He hadn’t even looked at her. Not once. Perhaps he was uncomfortable having three women staring at him when he wasn’t properly dressed.

Or maybe . . . Her stomach clenched. Maybe he was shutting her out. Distancing himself, just as he’d done the last time he’d gotten ready to leave.

She might have accepted his leaving without a fight ten years ago when she’d been a child, but she wasn’t about to let him get on his high horse of nobility and ride away from her again with some flimsy excuse about it being for her own good. Not after he’d kissed her like a starving man who’d finally been offered a place at the table. She might not have been kissed more than three times in her lifetime, but she knew the difference between polite interest, brotherly concern, and a soul-deep need that matched the longing of her own heart.

Emma straightened her shoulders and set her chin. Mr. Malachi Shaw had better brace himself. He was in for the battle of his life. And she wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.





40


Two days later, Mal tied down his saddlebag with a heavy heart. He was going to miss Harper’s Station. All the women with their quirky personalities and independent spirits—he had no doubt they would flourish just as Emma had predicted.

They’d flooded back into town first thing yesterday morning, as soon as they were assured Angus was behind bars. None of the men had accompanied them. A not-so-subtle message that it was past time for him to be hitting the trail.