No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(46)
He never should have held her so close, not while the scare of the gunfight that morning had still been fresh in his mind. A single stray bullet could have ended her life. The discovery that the outlaws had been stalking the ladies for weeks only added to his unnerved state. Imagining that coldhearted snake watching Emma, learning her routines, her habits . . . It chilled his blood.
So when she’d leaned back into his chest, thawing—no, heating—his blood, he’d been drawn in like a man craving a blazing hearth after fighting his way home through a snowstorm. That’s what she’d felt like. Home. The way she’d lightly pressed against him, her body soft and pliant. Her voice dripping over him like honey. The smell of her hair, the pale column of her neck begging to be tasted. He’d nearly given in. He’d wanted to give in. Shoot, a part of him still did. Then she said she trusted him, her eyes green pools of sincerity—sincerity mixed with something deeper that grabbed his gut and twisted it into a knot he had yet to untangle. He’d been a breath away from grabbing her to him and kissing her with all the yearning he’d suppressed since the moment he’d arrived to find her a woman grown.
She was dangerous, tempting him to dream of things beyond his reach. He had a job. The respect of men he admired. A purpose in mentoring young pups like Andrew and Zachary. He didn’t need her planting impossible ideas in his head. She would never leave her ladies. Her place was here with them. His was in Montana on the rail lines. He could never belong in a women’s colony. One had only to note his gender to figure that one out. And Emma couldn’t follow him to the rail camps. Living in tents, constantly on the move—it was a harsh existence, filled with rough men and even rougher women. Drink ran high. Morality ran low. She wouldn’t be safe. Or happy. And he cared too much about her to subject her to that kind of life.
Best he just get on with the business at hand.
Malachi climbed the steps to the telegraph office and stomped inside. Grace glanced up from her position behind the counter and set down the long paper tape she’d been examining.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Shaw?”
Mal touched the brim of his hat and bent forward to prop his rifle against the wall of the counter. “Need to send a couple telegrams,” he said, straightening. “One to the county land office and the other to my outfit up in Montana.”
It was past time to check in with the rail boss and to remind himself where he belonged.
17
Emma didn’t linger in the empty café. She needed company. The sensible, level-headed kind. The kind that could manage objectivity even while being fiercely loyal. She needed Tori.
Shoulders set, Emma marched down the boardwalk to Victoria’s store and pushed open the door. At the sound of the bell jangling, Tori came out from the back room, a welcoming smile on her face. A smile that shifted from welcoming to penetrating in a blink of an eye. Emma’s shoulders sagged in reaction—not in disappointment, but in relief. Here she didn’t have to pretend to have all the answers. Here she didn’t have to be in charge. Here she could be her weak, filled-with-doubts self, and no one would care.
“Go ahead and flip the Closed sign over.” Tori gestured toward the placard hanging in the front display window. “I’ve already got some water heating for tea.”
Emma grinned and shook her head. “How’d you know I’d be coming over?”
Tori gave her a disbelieving stare. “Private ammunition lessons in the café with the man you’ve pined over for half your life? Please. I put the kettle on the moment I spied Betty and Grace leaving.”
Warmth infused Emma’s face. Were her feelings so obvious? Heavens, she hoped not. What would people think?
Ducking her head, Emma pivoted away from the knowing look in Tori’s eyes and flipped over the sign. She turned the lock in the door, as well, needing to ensure that the embarrassing conversation she was about to have with her best friend stayed between the two of them.
“Come on,” Tori urged as she held up the edge of the curtain that separated her living quarters from the store. “I want to hear all the details.” She pointed a finger at Emma as she neared, her eyes taking on a faux-stern expression. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your odd behavior during the meeting, either. Time to spill your secrets, Emma Chandler. The juiciest ones first.” She waggled her eyebrows, and Emma laughed.
“You know, it’s not too late to kick you out of the colony,” Emma threatened. She added a thump to her friend’s shoulder for good measure as she passed into the small sitting room that adjoined the dining and kitchen areas farther back.
Tori didn’t laugh at Emma’s quip. She never laughed. But she did grin in good humor as she followed Emma into the chamber.
“Hi, Miss Chandler.” Lewis scrambled off his belly, where he’d been playing with a miniature iron train set on the floor, and dipped his head to Emma. His gaze darted over to his mama as if to ensure she witnessed his fine manners.
Emma hid a smile. Tori was a stickler for gentlemanly behavior. When she nodded slightly to him, pride lit Lewis’s features. He turned his attention back to their guest, his mannerly obligations fading under a burst of excitement.
“Did you know Mama’s getting a big shipment of guns on Monday? She’s even letting me have my own!” He danced around Emma, his nickel-plated train engine dangling half out of his fist. “A popgun that really shoots!”