No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(78)

“Who’re they bringing in for the tunnel work?” Mal asked, moving down to the horse’s flanks.

“Ted Osbourne.”

Mal nodded to himself. That was one weight off his shoulders. “Osbourne’s good. Zach will be in good hands with him in command.” Though Mal would miss being the one grooming him. He was a good kid. Had a good head for the work—eager, at times a tad impatient, but never to the point of carelessness. Not working with him anymore was the only thing Mal truly regretted about losing the Burlington job. He was gonna miss that kid.

Mal cleared his throat and refocused on the kid here with him. “So what are your plans, Andrew? Will you head back to the rail camp?”

“Nah. I figured I’d hang out with you for a while.” He sniffed and set his face in manly lines, though he didn’t quite meet Malachi’s gaze. “Get a job in the area. That lady of yours even offered to show me around the bank. Asked if I was good with numbers. You think she’d care if she knew I ain’t learnt my times tables yet?”

Mal’s mind was flooded once again with Emma. That’s all it took—one simple question. And unfortunately, the images rushing in had nothing to do with banking or times tables or anything else that would be vastly less dangerous to contemplate.

Mal cleared his throat and tried to shift his mental picture of Emma from the café to the bank. From leaning in to kiss him, to leaning over ledgers at her desk. But, dad gum, if she didn’t look just as fetching bent over a stack of papers as she did raising up on tiptoes. “I, uh, think banking has more to do with adding and subtracting than—”

Footfalls coming fast cut him off.

Mal jerked to attention, shoved the currycomb at Andrew, and strode out of the stall. His hand hovered above his holster as Porter came into view. The big man carried the shopkeeper’s boy under his left arm like a sack of potatoes while his right held fast to his rifle.

“There’s trouble at the farm.” Porter shot a quick, suspicious look at Andrew, who had come up behind Malachi. “Spotted Mrs. Cooper driving that old wagon of hers like a cougar was on her trail. Them two gals are with her.”

Betty Cooper never left the farm unattended unless there was a town meeting or church service to attend. If she had Helen and Katie with her now, something was definitely wrong.

Mal nodded once to Porter, ordered Andrew to stay put, then drew his gun and ran out to meet the wagon flying in from the north.





29


Mal heard the wagon before he spotted it. Horse hooves pounding against earth. Harness jangling. Wood creaking. Betty was coming in fast. Too fast.

Porter finally put Lewis Adams down and with a swat to his rear sent the boy running in to his mother. Which meant Emma would be out in a blink and squarely in the middle of whatever trouble was heading their way.

Mal set his jaw, ran up the store steps, and planted himself in front of the door. He knew he couldn’t really expect to keep her inside, but he sure as shootin’ could keep himself between her and whatever danger had Betty charging into town like a spooked herd on stampede.

Sure enough, the moment Betty’s wagon careened around the curve past the clinic, Emma pulled open the store’s door and pushed none-too-gently against his back.

“Get out of the way, Mal,” she grunted, as if increased effort would make him budge. “I need to see what’s going on.” She gave up trying to shove him out of her way and swatted his shoulder instead. Not that it made a bit of difference.

“Do you have your rifle?” Mal snapped without turning to look at her. He knew she didn’t. He’d picked it up from where she’d dropped it in the middle of the street earlier and taken it back to the station house for her.

“Nooo . . .” she hedged, and he could tell her mind was spinning to find a plausible reason why he should let her out despite her unarmed state.

She was probably clever enough to come up with one, too, which would make Mal’s job that much harder. So before she could mount a counterattack, Mal pressed his advantage.

“No weapon means no exit. You stay inside until those of us who are armed determine it’s safe to come out.” He spoke harshly, giving her no room to argue.

“Fine,” she grumbled, her frustration rolling off her in waves he could actually feel through the back of his vest.

Then all at once, she was gone. He felt the heat leave from behind him, even though Betty’s call of “Whoa!” drowned out all sound of Emma’s movements.

She’d return. Of that he had no doubt. He’d better move fast.

Mal didn’t bother with the boardwalk stairs. He simply jumped down to the street, skirted far enough behind the rear of the farm wagon not to be blinded by the dust that was still settling, then scanned Betty’s back trail for any sign of her being followed.

No other clouds of dust heralded pursuit. No suspicious shadows stood out from the surrounding scrub brush or prairie grass. No approaching hoofbeats caught his ear. ’Course it was hard to hear much of anything above the sniffling and hiccups of the two ladies in the back of the wagon and Betty’s stomping as she climbed down from the driver’s box.

Not able to make out any visible threat, Mal turned around and marched up to meet Betty as she reached over the side of the wagon and hoisted a gunnysack out. She spun around, spotted Malachi, and threw the sack at his feet.