No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(28)

Mal raised his arms out to the side, away from his gun, hoping to soothe her. Buckets started to pile up around the third lady in the line as she gaped at the scene.

“It’s all right, Grace.” Emma came up beside the gun-toter and gently placed a hand on her arm. “This is Malachi Shaw. The friend I told you about. He just arrived tonight. I didn’t have time to tell you. He’s been out searching for the culprit.”

“And now I’m here to help put out the rest of this fire,” Mal said, keeping his voice as friendly as possible. “If you’ll allow me to help.”

Grace slowly lowered her arm. “Of course. Forgive me.” She glanced down at her shoes as she uncocked the derringer and slipped it back into her pocket. “I didn’t realize who you were.”

“No harm done.” Malachi grinned. “I’m actually glad to see that you carry a weapon. With all the trouble around here, the more protection you ladies have, the better.”

With the gun now out of the equation, Mal lowered his hands and strode over to where another woman stood with what looked like a stockpot in hand. Her eyes wide, she made no move to stop him as he took the pot from her. He murmured a thank-you, then marched back toward the building and tossed the water high enough to douse the top edge of the flame at the roof’s eave.

Emma slid into place behind him and handed him bucket after bucket. It didn’t take long to extinguish the dying fire, but he doused the wood several additional times just to make sure no embers sprang back to life.

Once he called a halt, the women crowded around to assess the damage. Many turned their buckets upside down and used them as stools. All eyes rested on him. Or on the blackened wall behind him. He wasn’t quite sure which.

Emma stepped in front of him, her hand smoothing her hair back from her face, her arm trembling with fatigue. “We did it, ladies. We saved the church!”

A cheer rose, and tired smiles broke out across the women’s faces. A few even found the energy to raise arms into the air.

“It will require love and attention to restore the church to its former glory, but it is still standing. Just like us. We are still here. Still standing. And still strong!”

Calls of “That’s right” and “Amen” rang out amid a round of applause and a score of nodding heads. Malachi’s chest tightened, pride shooting through him. Emma was incredible. Was it any wonder these women flocked to her? She was a natural leader. A fighter. An inspiration.

She walked among the throng, stopping to speak to each woman there. All but one. The short one who’d pulled the gun on him earlier. Grace, wasn’t it? The quick-draw female had wandered back over to the church, and was staring at the wall, her brow furrowed. She slowly paced the length of the charred area, her hand raised as if to trace some kind of pattern.

Curious, Mal moved closer, his boots sinking slightly in the shallow mud. “What do you see?” He was careful to approach from the side instead of the rear, not wanting to startle her again.

“There’s something odd about this charring.” Her eyes never veered from the wall. “Certain sections seem darker. Deeper. As if the fire burned hotter or longer there.”

Mal squinted at the blackened wall. With smoke in the air and only a half moon, it was hard to make out the details. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called over his shoulder.

“Emma!” He waited for her to look his way. “Bring a couple of those lanterns up here, would you?” He pointed to the four lanterns someone had set up to help light the way for the bucket line.

Emma glanced back at the lanterns and nodded to him that she understood.

Mal studied the wall. There did seem to be darker strips. Some vertical. Some horizontal. It was odd. If he wanted to torch a church, he’d douse the interior with turpentine or kerosene and light it up from within. It would take longer for someone to notice the danger that way and therefore cause more damage.

But damage didn’t seem to be the ultimate goal of this attack. The man had only lit one side of the building, the side facing town, the side most likely to be spotted. And it had been. Early. Before the flames had spread. So destruction hadn’t been his aim. Was he trying to instill fear or testing the ladies’ resolve? Mal frowned. Perhaps both.

“Here, Malachi.” Emma handed him a lantern. Women crowded around, three of them carrying lights as well. “What are we looking at?”

Mal gestured with a jerk of his chin toward the wall. “There are lines burned into the wall.”

“I think they might be letters,” Grace said, tracing a pattern in the air with one hand as she stared at the church.

Letters? A cold knot twisted in Malachi’s gut. He held his lantern aloft, shining the light against the charred wood. The other three ladies moved forward and held their lights up, the water-soaked wood glistening in the soft glow.

A gasp echoed behind him. Then a low murmur spread among the group. Mal clenched his teeth in an effort to tamp down the rage swelling from his gut up through his throat.

The man hadn’t just splashed turpentine on the wall. No. He’d taken his time. Painted a warning meant to intimidate. To bludgeon. To terrorize.

For there in black, scarred letters blazed the message.

LEAVE or DIE.





10


“Well, if he wants me dead,” Aunt Henry’s disgusted tone cut through the low buzz of shocked murmuring, leaving silence in her wake, “he’s going to have to come take care of the job face-to-face. I’m not leaving, and I’m not about to keel over just because he scored some shabby-looking letters into the side of the church.”