No Other Will Do (Ladies of Harper's Station #1)(90)

The circuit rider’s indrawn breath was the only hint of his shock. His expression remained serene, though his eyes did warm with concern. He crossed the small porch to the steps and laid a hand on Mal’s shoulder. “The sermon can wait for another day, but when everyone gets here, I insist we spare a few moments for prayer. If ever there was a time for divine direction, it is today.” The preacher gave Mal’s shoulder a squeeze, then stepped back. “‘Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.’”

Mal nodded. The old man was right. All his planning would be in vain if the Lord wasn’t leading their efforts. “Thanks, Parson. An invocation would be much appreciated.”

“Mr. Shaw!”

Mal spun around to see Victoria Adams running up to the church, dragging her son by the hand beside her.

“Mr. Shaw,” she repeated as she neared him, her breath heaving. “Where’s Emma?” Her gaze shifted from the church entrance to the yard to the station house behind them. “I heard the bell and thought she would be here. Is she—”

Mal held up a hand to forestall what was sure to be a torrent of frantic questions. “I’ll explain what happened as soon as everyone gets here.”

“Why don’t you come inside with me, Miss Adams.” Brother Garrett gestured for her to follow him into the church. “I was hoping Lewis might tell me some more about that rock collection of his. I picked up a stone a couple days ago that had some lovely quartz streaks running through it. I think I might have put it in my pack . . .”

Lewis bounded up the stairs, a grin on his face as he traded his mother’s hand for the preacher’s. “Is it white or pink?”

“But . . .” Tori glanced from her son to Mal. Her protest died away. She must have seen his torment. Heaven knew he was barely holding it at bay. She bit the edge of her bottom lip, then straightened her posture, lifted the hem of her skirt an inch or two to navigate the stairs, and marched past him. “I’ll see you inside.”

She didn’t have long to wait. A steady stream of females filed into the church over the next ten minutes. Porter followed the last stragglers inside and posted himself by the door, rifle in hand. Mal did a quick count. Everyone was here. Well, except for Maybelle and Flora at the clinic. And Emma.

He swallowed hard to rid himself of the anguish that last thought conjured, tugged his hat off, stepped up to the podium, and cleared his throat. Instant silence blanketed the room.

“The outlaw has captured Emma,” Mal said without preamble. “And he’s threatened to kill her unless everyone vacates town by tomorrow morning.” Ignoring the gasps filling the room, Mal set his jaw and continued. “So everyone will be leaving today.” He stared pointedly at Betty. “No exceptions.”

He took a deep breath and scanned the faces staring up at him. Friends. Neighbors. Women he respected. Admired. Women he’d been called to protect, a task he must accomplish no matter the cost. Before he could send them off to safety, however, he needed something from them. Something that could make the difference between saving Emma or losing her.

“But you are—we are—a community,” he reminded them. “A community that thrives because you help one another. And you never abandon a sister in need.”

“That’s right!” Henry jumped to her feet and stabbed a finger in the air. “And if you think we’re going to abandon Emma when she needs us most, you’ve gone plumb loco.”

Head nods and murmurs of assent filled the room.

“Good,” Mal said. “Because I need your help. There’s only one way to ensure Emma’s safety, and that’s to shift the bargaining power in our favor. I don’t trust this outlaw to keep his word. Emma can identify him, which means as soon as she outlives her usefulness, he has no reason to keep her alive. Our best chance is to find what he wants before morning and force him to negotiate a trade.”

“But we don’t know what he wants,” Henry cried.

“Yes, we do,” a timid voice said from the rear of the church.

Everyone twisted around in their pews to see Maybelle propping up a battered Flora. The woman’s right eye was swollen shut, her face covered with bruises, her arm still wrapped protectively around her side, but she held herself with dignity, purpose, and determination.

Gripping the doorpost, Flora braced her feet and stood a little straighter. “He wants his gold.”





34


Mal hurried down the aisle and swept Flora into his arms.

“Careful,” Maybelle cautioned. “I think her ribs are broken. Fool woman should be curled up on a cot in the clinic, but she insisted on coming. Said she had to do all she could to help Emma.”

Mal cradled the brave woman gently, giving her a nod of approval. “You’re a strong lady, Flora,” he said, meeting her gaze squarely as he recalled her earlier words about being weak when it came to standing up to her husband. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you different. I’m glad to have your help.”

Henry and Bertie, seated on the front pew, immediately scooted down to make room. “Set her here, Malachi,” Bertie instructed. “Maybelle and I will see to her comfort as you continue.”

Mal complied and lowered Flora softly to the pew. Maybelle slid onto the bench beside her.