No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(73)

“I can just picture you trying to lash that big ol’ thing to Ulysses’s back.” Mal glanced over to Andrew, then leaned back in to murmur to his horse. “You wouldn’t stand for that, would you, old man?” Ulysses lifted his head and shook it as if in answer. Mal grinned, his own head pulling back even as his hand lingered. He stroked the gelding’s cheek, a more thoughtful expression spreading across his features. Mal raised a brow at the boy. “Why did you leave the camp? I would have returned to collect my things eventually.”

“I figured you might need some help,” Andrew said. “Seemed to me that whatever trouble you got tangled up in was more complicated than you first thought. So I came down to lend a hand.” The boy’s cocksure voice couldn’t quite conceal the pleading undertone. He wanted to stay with Malachi—likely the only man who had ever shown interest in him, who’d ever treated him with kindness, dignity.

But if he stayed, Emma’s trouble could get him killed.

“No!”

Both males jerked their faces toward her.

“You need to go.” Her eyes met Malachi’s. “Both of you.” She’d been selfish long enough. Yet the thought of him leaving her again ripped her heart from her chest. A sob welled inside her. She forced it back, the effort leaving her vulnerable to the tears cresting the rims of her eyes. “You’ve given me enough, Mal. Go back to Montana. To the railroad. You’re the best blaster in the business.”

The best man she’d ever known. The man she trusted above all others. The man she . . . loved. Yes, loved. Not with the girlish infatuation of her past, but with a mature ardency that urged her to set her own desires aside and do what was best for him. By keeping him here, she was slowly stripping away his identity and everything he’d built for himself. It had to stop.

“Em.” Mal dropped his hand from the horse and stepped toward her.

She shook her head and backed away. The tears fell freely now, and the sob pressed against her throat, nearly choking her.

“I never should have asked you to come. It was wrong. Selfish. I’m so sorry.”

He reached for her.

She bolted.





27


Malachi sprinted after Emma for three steps, then remembered Andrew. He skidded to a halt and turned back. “Sorry, kid. I gotta . . .”

Andrew lifted his chin. “I know. Go after your woman, Shaw. I’ll get Ulysses settled.”

Malachi’s feet danced sideways, continuing in the direction he had started, even though his eyes kept contact with the boy. “I’m staying in the barn at the old station house you just passed. Tell the aunts you’re a friend of mine, and they’ll let you in. Probably feed you, too.”

Andrew’s face lit up like any twelve-year-old boy’s would at the promise of food. He nodded and waved Mal on his way.

Malachi didn’t hesitate. He spun around and churned up the ground. She was racing for the store. Probably thought to seek shelter with Miss Adams. Not happening. He wasn’t about to let her hide from him. Not after that ridiculous little speech she’d just thrown in his face. They were gonna have words. A lot of them. However many it took for her to understand one thing clearly. He wasn’t leaving. Not as long as she and her ladies were in danger. No matter what kind of nonsensical excuse she came up with.

Porter spotted Emma coming and lurched to his feet, rifle at the ready, eyes scanning the area for a threat. When his gaze locked on Malachi, he raised his chin in question. Mal pointed to Emma, then slammed his hand back against his own chest.

She’s my concern. Don’t interfere.

Porter relaxed his stance. Even propped one booted foot on the bench he’d been sitting on moments ago. He braced the rifle stock against his thigh and leaned back to watch the shenanigans.

Mal didn’t care if he was making a scene. Some things were too important to let polite manners get in the way.

What he didn’t count on was another emotional female bursting into the mix. He was a step or two away from Emma when Victoria Adams threw open the door to the store and rushed onto the boardwalk.

“Emma!” she cried. “What’s happened?”

Thankfully, Porter was a quick-witted man. Quick footed, too. At the same instant Mal latched on to Emma’s arm, Porter grabbed the storekeeper around the waist and dragged her away from the steps leading to the street.

Tori screeched and kicked her legs, her feet waving about in midair thanks to Porter’s excessive height. “What are you doing? Let me go, you big lout!”

Mal heard the freighter rumble something in reply, but he was too distracted by his own handful of squirming woman to give it any heed.

He spun Emma around to face him and nearly got whacked in the head with the rifle she still carried. But it was the tears streaming down her cheeks that rammed into his chest like an unseen blow.

Had he done this somehow? Hurt her to the point that she would weep and run from him? The thought nearly weakened him enough to let her slip through his grasp. But then the same determination that had driven him to rise above his guttersnipe beginnings to excel at a profession that most men ran from exerted itself.

If he’d broken her, he’d just have to find a way to fix her.

Using instincts honed from a childhood spent dodging swiping broom handles and grabby lawmen arms, Mal ducked past the flying rifle, sidestepped the stomping shoe heels, and swept Emma up into his arms.