No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(67)

She thought of what Malachi had speculated about the man using one of the upstairs windows as a vantage point to take out the women one by one. But if that had been his intent, why had they found traces of him in the basement instead of the bedchambers?

Emma dropped her spoon back into the gravy and rubbed the spot that throbbed right above her left eyebrow. She was missing something. . . .

A motion outside snagged Emma’s attention. She abandoned the gravy and moved closer to the kitchen window. There. A woman. Walking alone. Behind the church. Heading toward the river.

Pulse racing, Emma spun for the door. “Mind the gravy for me, Aunt Henry.”

“Where are you . . . ?”

Emma sprinted out the door, leaving Henry’s chopped-off question dangling in the air behind her. She couldn’t think about dinner, her aunt, not even Malachi. Her mind was locked on one target. The traitor.

Hitching her skirts past her calves, Emma ran down the back steps, past the barn, and across the field that separated the station house from the church. She recognized the navy blue dress and severely styled dark hair of the woman venturing into the brush west of the church.

Helen.

Emma picked up her pace. She’d not let Helen escape her sight. She could be meeting one of the villains or stashing a note informing them of some piece of vital information. Emma had no idea what that vital information could be since the guns had already been recovered, but that didn’t matter. Whatever Helen was doing, she had to be stopped.

Emma hit an uneven patch of ground and stumbled a bit. In the moment it took her to regain her footing, Helen disappeared.

No!

Setting her chin, Emma kept running in the direction she’d last seen the other woman. She couldn’t have gone far. The prairie would have had to swallow her up for her to disappear that quickly. Emma rushed through the scrub brush where she’d last seen Helen and nearly tripped over her quarry.

Helen shrieked and jumped to her feet from where she’d been hunkered over, some kind of metal blade in her hand.

Why hadn’t Emma thought to bring along a weapon? All this training, and she’d just run off and left a kitchen full of cutlery behind. What had she been thinking!

“Emma! You gave me a start.” Helen held a hand to her breast, her eyes wide. In genuine surprise, or in guilt over being found out? “Why are you running? Has something happened back in town?” Her gaze shifted past Emma’s shoulder toward Harper’s Station, her teeth biting into her bottom lip.

Such a convincing depiction of concern, but Emma wouldn’t fall for it. She narrowed her eyes as she struggled to control her labored breathing. Hard to sound authoritative while gasping for air. “What are you doing out here, Helen? Alone.”

The other woman returned her focus to Emma, her brow creased. “I was just—” The hand with the blade came up.

“Stop!” Emma thrust out her arm in warning.

“What?” Helen took a step back, her nostrils flaring in true alarm. “What’s going on?” She twisted from side to side as if looking for an attacker.

At her jerky movement, the fabric of her skirt fell away from the half-concealed blade. Or what Emma had assumed was a blade. In truth it was a . . . garden trowel? What was she using that for? To bury a secret message? To conceal pilfered goods?

“I’m sorry I frightened you, Helen.” Emma lowered her arm. “But I need to know what you are doing out here. It isn’t safe for you to be away from town.”

Helen eyed her warily. “I just wanted to collect some wild onions. I noticed them growing out here during the shooting lesson yesterday.” She gestured to the prairie.

Sure enough, a cluster of white flowers dotted the area. Onion flowers.

“Miss Betty said it would be all right as long as I didn’t dally.”

Emma hesitated. Had she jumped to the wrong conclusion? Helen appeared genuinely perplexed.

“I know this is going to sound odd, Helen, but I need to look inside your gunnysack. And have you turn out the pockets of your skirt.” If she had writing utensils or something suspicious hidden away, Emma would know her story was an elaborate ploy. If not . . . Well, then she’d just made a fool of herself and frightened one of her ladies for no good reason.

Helen bent down to retrieve the burlap bag she’d brought along to carry the wild onions in and handed it over. Emma peered inside. Empty. As were Helen’s pockets. Except for a completely innocuous cotton handkerchief.

Emma handed the bag back. “I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”

Helen’s eyes sparked with defiance, but even that couldn’t completely hide the hurt hiding in her gaze. “What did you think I was doing out here?” She lifted her trowel and forced a laugh. “Burying a dead body or something?”

“Nothing so gruesome, I assure you.” Emma smiled, trying to piece together the trust she’d just shattered. “I simply grew . . . concerned when I saw you wandering off alone.”

“Not for my safety, apparently.” Helen frowned. “You would have been more solicitous when you found me. No, you were suspicious about something.” Her eyes widened, and she took a step back. Then another. “Suspicious about me.”

“It was a mistake,” Emma repeated. “One I deeply regret. Your safety does matter to me. The safety of all the women matters to me.”