No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(45)

“Next time . . .” His voice rumbled in a deep octave that did odd things to her midsection. “Keep your eyes open when you pull the trigger.”

She should have been embarrassed, chagrined that he’d noticed her shameful lack of concentration, but she just couldn’t summon a proper dose of regret. Not when he was so close. Holding her. Nuzzling her neck. For he was nuzzling. She could feel the edge of his nose against her nape, his lips a hairsbreadth away from her skin.

If she turned her head a few inches . . . But she was afraid to move. Afraid to ruin the moment. The sensations flooding her were too extraordinary. Too wonderful.

“I will,” she breathed.

“Will what?” he asked, his whiskers brushing against her earlobe and sending shivers dancing down her back.

“Keep my eyes open.” Though at the moment her eyelids were drooping dangerously. She wanted nothing more than to let them slide closed and lean her head back against his shoulder. “When I shoot.”

He froze. His lips hovered just above the sensitive part of her neck that clamored for his attention.

No! Emma could have bitten her tongue off in that moment. She never should have reminded him of the shooting lessons, of the gun. But she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Her mind had been so deliciously fuzzy, thinking only of the man behind her, that the words had just slipped out. And now he was pulling away from her.

The warmth of his breath on her neck disappeared first, then the heat from his chest on her back as he stepped away. He released his hold on her arms and moved around to stand in front of her.

Wrapping his right hand around hers, he trapped the revolver between them. He raised the weapon slowly, his darkly intense gaze boring into hers as he placed the pistol’s barrel flush against his own chest.

“What are you . . . ?” Emma struggled to pull the gun away, unable to bear the thought of Malachi being on the receiving end of a bullet. Especially one she was responsible for. She didn’t care that the gun wasn’t loaded. The horrible thoughts running through her head played havoc with that truth. What if he had missed a chamber somehow when he’d removed the ammunition? If the gun went off, he couldn’t survive a shot at such close range.

“Stop it, Mal. This isn’t funny.” She tugged on the gun again, but his arm didn’t budge.

“You need to be ready, Em.” His voice came out hard, yet there was a sadness in his eyes that disturbed her far more. “If this man attacks you, you can’t hesitate. Aim at the widest target, his torso, and pull the trigger.”

Her heart thudded so hard in her chest it hurt. He squeezed her hand, and for a moment she thought her worst nightmare was about to come true—that he would force her finger back against the trigger. She shook her head. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Don’t,” she whispered.

He didn’t. But neither did he let her release the gun. It was almost as if he thought she needed protection from him.

She narrowed her gaze and tipped her chin sideways. What’s going on in that head of yours, Malachi Shaw? Did he think that what had happened between them a moment ago had proved him untrustworthy? A threat? Nothing could be further from the truth. Under his touch, she’d felt not only safe but cherished. As if she weren’t alone in her mission. As if she had a partner to lean on. One who cared for her first and her responsibilities second.

No wonder she’d felt weightless and light-headed. It was a wonder she hadn’t floated right off the floor to bump against the ceiling. For a few stolen moments, he’d released her from the burden of duty. It was a gift she needed to repay.

“I trust you, Mal.” She held his gaze, urging him to see the confidence she had in him, not only in dealing with the outlaws but in dealing with what was flaring between them.

His brown eyes softened just a little, but then he blinked and looked away. “I won’t always be there, Em,” he said, finally relaxing his grip on her hands and taking the gun from her.

Malachi stepped past to lay the pistol on the table behind her. An icy tremor coursed over her arms and shoulders, causing her to twitch and wrap her arms about herself for comfort. It was going to take some strong tea and an even stronger mind to keep from having nightmares about that gun pointed at Mal’s chest. She prayed she never saw such a sight again.

“Here.” Malachi handed her the rifle, the intimate huskiness gone from his voice. Nothing but cool, businesslike precision remained. “Show me how to load it, and then we’ll work on your stance.”

Emma swallowed her disappointment and gave him a quick nod. Time to take up the mantle of responsibility again. Collecting the first cartridge, she mimicked what she’d seen the other ladies do and fed it into the Winchester’s receiver. She pushed it into the magazine with her thumb, ignoring the pinch both in the pad of her finger and in her heart as she reached for the next cartridge.



With grim determination, Malachi saw to the rest of Emma’s training without a repeat of the disaster with the revolver. When she demonstrated sufficient capability with the rifle, he’d praised her efforts and then taken his weapons and left, using the same excuse he’d employed that morning. Sending a telegram. He’d never gotten around to wiring the county land office earlier, thanks to the outlaws’ interruption, so it gave him a legitimate reason to leave—one more palatable than the truth—that he didn’t trust himself alone with her.