No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(59)
She couldn’t wait to tell Tori about it. Emma smiled to herself, swaying with the motion of the slow-moving wagon as she followed Malachi and the draft horses back to town. Her friend had always insisted that big men had small brains. It was why so many of them became brutes. Using their size to get what they wanted required less effort than thinking for themselves. It was why Tori had urged Emma to hire a different freighter to run her goods when she’d first met Mr. Porter. Once she understood that Porter was the only one willing to do business with a female store owner, she’d relented, but it had taken months for her to let down her guard around the man.
And now, Emma had proof that the man was not only kind but intelligent. Clever enough to fashion an undetectable hidden compartment in his wagon. Wise enough to anticipate trouble and put said compartment to use. And well-read enough to name his faithful steeds after mythological beings related to his own profession. Who else but an educated man would name his horses Hermes and Helios? One for the Greek god of trade and border crossings, the guardian of travelers. The other for the Greek god of the sun who relied on mighty steeds to pull his golden chariot through the sky. No small intellect in that large man’s head.
Unless it had been permanently damaged by the blow he’d just taken.
Emma’s smile faded. Mr. Porter had seemed much less agitated and confused when she’d left, but head injuries could be tricky. She said a quick prayer on his behalf, asking the Lord to bless him with a full recovery.
“I see the station up ahead,” Malachi called over his shoulder. “I’ll take Porter’s beasts there. Start rubbing them down and tending to their bruises and scrapes. If you’ll untie my mare when we get there, she’ll follow me into the barn.”
Emma straightened on the seat, nodded, and then realized he couldn’t see her assent. “All right. I’ll take the supplies to Tori and check on Mr. Porter, reassure him that his horses are alive and in good hands.”
“The stubborn cuss will probably try to come check on them himself. Don’t let him leave if Maybelle thinks he’s not fit. Tell him I’ll give a full report as soon as I finish seeing to his team.”
“I will. Betty should have the women gathered by now, too, so we can start distributing the weapons.” Emma had explained the morning’s events to Mrs. Cooper when she’d gone to borrow the shotgun. Betty agreed to round up the ladies as well as take a vote on whether or not to allow Mr. Porter to stay.
Emma hoped everyone saw the wisdom in letting the freighter remain within the town limits. They’d accepted Malachi with a minimum of grumbling even though he’d been a complete stranger to them, having only her endorsement and the desperation of their circumstances to recommend him. Their circumstances were equally desperate now, if not more so, and they already knew Mr. Porter. Hopefully those factors would sway the vote in favor of letting him stay.
Now that Emma knew they faced at least two outlaws, it seemed sensible to have two experienced, trustworthy men on their side. Even with the training Malachi would be giving them, she and the other ladies wouldn’t turn into a company of competent sharpshooters overnight.
Emma drew her buckboard to a halt at the station-house corral. Mal left the Shires standing obediently in the road long enough to open the gate. Emma scrambled down from the wagon seat, circled to the rear, and untied the gray mare. Mal met her there and took the reins from her. She tried not to notice the way his palm brushed along the back of her hand as he reached for the leather straps, but the resulting tingling sensation was impossible to ignore. Emma kept her chin down to hide her gaze from him, afraid he would see too much. She really needed to get her reaction to him under control.
“Once the guns have been distributed, take the ladies out behind the church,” Mal instructed, his voice gruff. “Betty and Grace can supervise the ammunition loading and go over safety protocols. After I get the horses settled, I’ll meet you there, and we can start the shooting lessons.”
“All right.” Feeling more in control of her emotions with a plan laid out for her to follow, she looked up. Directly into his eyes. He startled as if caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t, which made absolutely no sense, for he hadn’t been doing anything besides conversing with her.
Yet in the sliver of a moment before he blinked it away, she could have sworn she saw something in his dark-eyed gaze. Something stark yet tender. Something that resonated with the emotion pulsing in her own heart—longing.
Her stomach flipped in ecstatic little circles, but she held her facial expression carefully neutral. She had a job to do, a job that required her full attention. She’d wrap her discovery in brown paper and set it aside to ponder later. And ponder she would. For just like any investment that projected early signs of a great return, one still had to approach with a strategic mindset, calculating risk and evaluating proper timing. Make a move before the asset was secure, and an investor could be left holding an empty bag. Wait too long, and the opportunity could slip through her fingers to be capitalized on by another. Neither prospect was acceptable.
So for once in her life, she ignored the insistent impulses twitching inside her. She didn’t blurt out her burgeoning feelings or lift up on her toes to touch her lips to his when the sudden craving surged through her. No. This time she’d plan. Analyze. Because this was one investment she’d not be able to recoup if lost.