No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(74)
She protested at first, or at least, he assumed that’s what those sobbing exclamations meant. He couldn’t actually understand a thing coming out of her mouth. But as he carted her toward the vacant café, the oddest thing happened. The fight went out of her. She curled up against his chest. The rifle dropped, clanking onto the hard-packed dirt street behind them.
Mal didn’t stop to retrieve it. Someone else could get it. Porter, maybe. Or one of the ladies. There were bound to be a gaggle of them watching from the store or boardinghouse windows farther down the street. He only had one concern at the moment, and nothing short of a full-scale attack by the bandits would alter his course.
Reaching the café, Mal managed to get enough of a hand on the knob to unlatch the door. He then used his foot to push the portal open. Not wanting to risk Emma running off again, Mal kept her in his arms and closed the door behind him with a second kick of his foot. He strode to the first chair he found and plopped down onto the seat with Emma in his lap.
She didn’t boss him. Didn’t lecture him on proper behavior. Didn’t even lift her face to pierce him with a glare. All she did was burrow more deeply into him and let out a shuddery sigh that contained a hiccup left over from her weeping.
Mal looked to the ceiling, a silent prayer for help winging upward from his mind. Then he set his jaw and got down to business.
“Tell me what I did, Em. Tell me what I did to hurt you, and I swear I’ll put it to rights.” Somehow.
“Oo it ur ob,” she mumbled into his chest.
Well, that was less than helpful.
“I can’t understand what you’re saying, sweetheart.” Sweetheart? Had that word really just come out of his mouth? Mal grimaced. As if he wasn’t in enough hot water already. He didn’t need to make things more complicated than they already were.
Yet he couldn’t treat her like he didn’t care, either. Right now, she needed to be soothed, and heaven knew he was about as soothing as a cactus. Perhaps an endearment or two wouldn’t be so bad.
He took hold of her arms and gently eased her away from his chest. She ducked her head as if not wanting him to see her and quickly raised a hand to shield her from his view. A chill hit his chest. Not only because her warmth was no longer pressed there, but because of the damp spots she’d left behind.
Idiot. Offer her your handkerchief.
Leaving her propped unsteadily on his knees, Mal lifted his hips enough to jam his hand into his trouser pocket and pull out a—he gave it a quick inspection—clean handkerchief.
“Here.” He shoved it under her nose.
She still didn’t look at him, but she did accept his handkerchief. After wiping her eyes and giving her nose a delicate little blow that couldn’t have been of much practical use, she folded the cotton square back up and fisted it inside her palm.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded, still not looking directly at him, which was a pretty impressive feat since they were less than six inches apart. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Good. Now tell me again what I did to upset you.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip.
“Emma.” He snapped her name like a general giving an order.
She flinched, then answered in a small voice. “You quit your job.”
His job? How did she . . . ? Andrew. The kid must have told her. Mal had hoped to keep that little detail to himself, but apparently that was no longer an option. “There’ll be other jobs, Emma. It doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Fire sparked in her green eyes, and for once he was glad to see it. He’d take an avenging angel over a crushed one any day of the week. “Of course it matters! That job is important to you, Malachi. I know it is.”
He tried to shrug it off, but she was having none of it. She thrust her palms against his shoulders and pinned him to the chairback.
“Don’t pretend it doesn’t signify. It does. If someone tried to take my bank from me, I’d fight him every step of the way. Just like you fought to save your job. Don’t think I haven’t figured out why you suddenly decided to go outlaw hunting on Tuesday.”
He should have known she was too clever not to make that connection.
“That’s why you have to leave,” she said. “You have to fight for the job you love. You’ve given me enough, Mal. More than I had the right to ask for. Take the boy and get out of here while things are quiet. The outlaws have probably given up, anyway. It’s been four days without a sign of them. And Mr. Porter is here if we—”
“Porter?” Malachi surged to his feet, leaving Emma to slide off his lap. He grabbed her waist to steady her, then promptly set her aside. “You think I’m just going to walk away and leave your safety in Porter’s hands? The man’s still recovering from a cracked skull, for pity’s sake. He’d probably have trouble withstanding a stiff wind, let alone a full-blown attack from a pair of ruthless gunmen.”
Well, that might be overstating things a bit. Mal doubted a tornado would take the big man off his feet. But Porter cared more about the pretty shop owner than the others in town. It’s why he stood guard on her front porch. That left Emma and the aunts vulnerable. A completely unacceptable circumstance to Malachi’s way of thinking.
“Or maybe you think that since I’ve failed to solve your problem, you’ll just give the job to someone else.” He threw the accusation in her face even as he cringed inside, fearing that the statement was actually true.