No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(4)

“It’s still warm,” she said. “I don’t have a cup, though.”

Malachi’s mouth salivated at the thought of drinking fresh milk. “I don’t need a cup.” He’d just put his mouth directly on the pail and tip it until the creamy goodness slathered his throat. But no. He couldn’t do that. Couldn’t drink like an animal in front of her. Couldn’t defile the milk by putting his mouth all over it.

He glanced around. There. On the workbench. A canning jar half full of nails and tacks and other odds and ends. Malachi rushed to the table, unscrewed the lid, and dumped the contents, careful not to let any fall onto the floor. He wiped the dust off on his still-damp pants and blew out the center. “This’ll do.”

Her nose wrinkled. “But it’s dirty.”

He grinned. “Little dirt never hurt me.”

She smiled in return, and the action almost felled him. Never had he seen anything so beautiful, so good, aimed his direction. Smiles like that were reserved for other people. Deserving people. Never for him.

Clearing his throat, he pushed past her and strode back to the milk pail. He didn’t want to dirty the rest of the milk by dipping the jar in so he set it on the floor and lifted the pail.

“I’ll hold it,” the girl chirped, still grinning as if this were some grand adventure.

Weakened from his ordeal, Mal’s arms shook with the weight of the pail. Some of the milk sloshed over the sides of the jar. His gaze flew to the girl, his chest tight.

“Keep going,” she urged, not angry in the least that he’d spilled milk on her fingers. “Fill it to the top.”

The tightness eased. He followed her instructions, then set the pail down and took the jar from her.

He lifted the glass jar to his lips. His eyes slid closed as the fresh, creamy liquid rolled over his tongue. He savored the sweetness, drinking slowly, deliberately. And when a third was all that remained, he made himself stop and set the jar aside.

“Why aren’t you finishing it? Aunt Bertie always makes me finish my milk before I leave the table.”

Wasn’t it Aunt Henry a minute ago?

Malachi shrugged it off. The aunt’s name didn’t matter. “I’m savin’ it fer later.” He’d learned never to eat everything he found all at once. He never knew how hard it would be to find something the next time. Better to squirrel some away while you had it.

“But we got plenty more.” She tipped her head toward the milk pail.

“That’s yours. Your family’s.”

The girl looked at him strangely, as if she didn’t understand what he’d just said. “The aunts won’t mind.”

Mal shook his head.

“Suit yourself.” His angel glanced around the barn, looking less than fully in charge for the first time since he’d met her. Then she hugged her arms around her waist and tried to hide a shiver.

“You’re cold,” Mal accused with more harshness than he should have, but doggone it, the girl should have told him she was getting cold.

He immediately threw her mittens back at her and stripped out of the coat. “You need to go back to the house, kid. Go sit by the stove or somethin’.”

“I’m not a baby.” But when her lower lip came out in a pout his resolve hardened. She was far too young to be shivering in a cold barn when a warm house was available.

“Scram, kid. I’ll be fine.”

She put the coat on and slipped the mittens over her small hands. “What’s your name?” she demanded.

He glared at her then finally relented. “Malachi.”

She smiled again, making him a mite dizzy. “I’m Emma.”

“Good for you,” he groused, still feeling guilty that he’d let her get cold. “Now, scram.”

She did.

And all the light went with her. Leaving Mal alone. In the dark. Where he belonged.

He’d gotten used to the condition. It shouldn’t bother him. Hadn’t bothered him for years, in fact. But it did now. Because now he knew what he’d been missing.

Mal picked up the saddle blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then he grabbed his jar and turned to go back to his corner and bury himself in the hay. The sight of the milk pail stopped him. She’d left it behind.

A little thrill coursed through him. Did that mean she’d be back? Or would the milk be left here? Forgotten. Like him. Maybe he should carry it up to the front stoop. To thank her for helping him.

He bent over to grab the handle. The barn door flew open.

“Good news, Malachi!” Emma stood in the doorway, the beam of her smile so bright he nearly had to lift a hand to shade his eyes. “The aunts said I can keep you!”





1


SUMMER 1894

HARPER’S STATION

BAYLOR COUNTY, TEXAS

Emma Chandler yanked the hostile note free of the nail that had tacked it to the church door. She wadded the vile thing in her fist and shoved it into her skirt pocket, though what she truly wanted to do was hurl it into the street, run over it with about fifty horses, spit on it, throw dirt clods at it, and finally set it on fire and watch it wither into a pile of harmless ash that would be erased by the wind.

How dare someone threaten her ladies? The fiend had no right!

“He’s getting bolder.” The stoic voice of her friend cut through Emma’s spiraling temper, reminding her that railing at injustice rarely solved the problem. Coolheaded planning. That’s what they needed.