No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(85)

The two women locked gazes. Flora’s full of apology. Emma’s with compassion. Then Angus’s voice shattered the moment.

“If Shaw manages to find you before the animals do, Flora, give him a message for me.” Angus paused then spun around to face his wife, swinging Emma away from her. “Tell him that if he wants to see his little banker friend alive again, he better clear out all them females from my town by tomorrow morning. Otherwise I’ll clear them out myself with bullets, and the first one I fire will go into this one’s heart.” He smacked Emma’s behind with the flat of his hand, then turned and strode with a fast pace deeper into the woods.

“I’m done playing, banker lady,” he grumbled as he pushed through the brush. “Done panderin’ to my wife’s sensibilities and my boy’s youth. I tried to clear y’all out the nice way, but you were too stupid to take the hint. So if Shaw don’t do it for me, I’ll start pickin’ off your pack one by one. They’ll never even see me comin’.”

“That’s mur . . . der.” The bouncing stride cut the moaned word in half. Not that her proclamation mattered. Angus just shrugged, jostling Emma even more.

“Nah. It’s consequences. You were warned. Now you’ll pay the price for your lack of cooperation.”

A rustling to Emma’s right shot hope through her heart. Had Malachi found her? Please, Lord, let it be him. It took her a moment to realize the sound was coming from the north, from deeper in the woods, farther from town.

Angus heard it, too. He froze, yanked a revolver from his left-side holster, then whistled a deep-toned birdcall. A second call, nearly identical, answered. Angus put his gun away.

Emma’s hope faded.

A tall, thin man pushed through the trees to Emma’s right. No, not a man, she realized as she caught a glimpse of his face. A boy.

“Pa! Everythin’ all right? I heard a shot.”

“Everything’s fine, boy. It’ll be even finer by tomorrow. Found me some insurance.” He swatted Emma’s rear again.

She gritted her teeth as disgust surged through her, but when the youngster walked over to examine her, his eyes unsure, almost apologetic, she knew she had one last chance.

“Ned,” she whispered, recalling the name Flora had used. “Your mother’s hurt back there. You have to help—”

Angus whipped around, separating her from the boy and renewing the torment in her head.

“Yer mother’s fine, boy. I sent her to town with a message. Get on back to camp and start packin’ up. We got to move again.” As Angus spun around and trudged in the direction that must lead to his camp, Emma fought through the pain to lift her head and watch Ned.

He had turned to gaze off into the direction his father had come from, and he hesitated. She willed him to go after Flora. If the two could escape, Angus would have no further hold on them.

“Now, boy!” Angus barked.

Ned jumped and scurried to follow his father.

Emma flopped back down, a tear leaking from her lashes.





32


Malachi crouched down and traced the faint outline of a footprint in the earth on the far side of the river. Emma’s footprint. The one he’d been tracking for the last twenty minutes. The one that disappeared after this final marking, as if the woman herself had sprouted wings and flown away.

“Where are you, Emma?” he whispered, his frustration and desperation mounting.

He’d tried to hold it together ever since he spotted Henry, still clad in her nightclothes, hurrying across the road toward the boardinghouse. Told himself Emma wasn’t that far ahead. He’d track her down. But now that her trail had evaporated, his nerves were fraying with alarming speed.

Why had he thought the danger had passed just because the sun had risen? If Porter hadn’t drawn him away to the boardinghouse, he might’ve seen Emma leave. Might’ve stopped her. If only . . .

Mal shook his head. Second-guessing his choices served no purpose. At least he knew who was responsible for leading Emma away. Porter had brought a distraught Esther to him and showed him the note the woman had found tucked into her Bible that morning. Mal had barely had time to scan the paper and read the signature at the bottom before Henry came flying across the street, her gray braid swinging wildly behind her. Mal had shoved the note at Porter and sprinted out to meet his aunt. When she’d told him what Emma had done, he hadn’t taken the time to confer with the freighter. He just grabbed his rifle from inside the boardinghouse door and raced for the river, trusting Henry to inform the others about what had happened.

Emma’s trail had been easy enough to read at first. He’d lost it for a while after she entered the river but picked it up on the opposite shore fairly quickly. Until it disappeared. He’d searched east and north, the two directions her path seemed to have been heading, but he’d found no trace of her. Not a single marking.

Which meant he was missing something. Again. Just like the two previous times he’d searched for the outlaws.

So he’d circled back to the last footprint he’d found. Now he stared at it, traced it, and prayed the Lord would show him what he was missing, because his own abilities were obviously not getting the job done.

“All right, Mal. A giant bird didn’t swoop down and snatch her up, so her next step had to fall somewhere.” He’d searched the far side of the branches that stood in her path, yet found nothing. So she either walked atop the dead brush back down into the river or she followed its path north. She’d already crossed the river, so returning that way made no sense. She must have headed north. Though why she would have chosen to walk upon such an uneven pile of dead branches and leaves when dirt and prairie grass offered much more stable footing, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around.