The marshal stood from his crouch and nodded. “Yep. Though it’s impossible to tell whose bullet did him in.”
“Since you folks got no undertaker over in Harper’s Station, let’s say it were mine. That way, the county’ll pay for the pine box.” The sheriff eyed Shaw and Porter, his wily gaze lingering on the freighter’s mount. “I’ll let you younger fellas drag in the carcass, though. That Shire of Porter’s could probably carry all three of ya plus Lockhart’s dead weight without breaking a lather.”
“We’ll see to it,” the marshal agreed.
Sheriff Tabor tapped the brim of his hat in thanks and reined his mount back toward the road.
“Wait!” Amos darted forward, dropping his borrowed rifle near Malachi’s feet before intercepting the sheriff. “Could you take me back by the Gladstone place on your way? I stashed my mare near the barn, and I’ll need her to track down Miss Mallory.” He glanced back at his friends, hoping they’d understand his desertion. “Grace left here fleeing for her life. She’s terrified and most certainly injured. I have to find her and let her know she’s safe.”
“Whoa now, partner.” Sheriff Tabor leaned forward in his saddle. “Yer throwin’ words faster than my ears can catch ’em. This female yer talkin’ ’bout, she got brown hair, all wet and in a tangle, with a dark blue skirt?”
Amos nearly leaped from his shoes. “Yes! Have you seen her?”
The sheriff nodded, unhurried. “Crazy woman nearly ran me off the road. She had no business ridin’ a horse two sizes too big fer her. Stirrups floppin’ all over the place. Had to fix those for her before lettin’ her go on to town. All the while, she flapped her gums about some poor fella named Bledsoe being hunted down.” Tabor tilted his chin toward Amos. “I’m guessin’ that’s you. Anyhow, she demanded I leave her be and hurry over to Gladstone’s place to apprehend the same reprobate you wired about. Which I did. Thankfully in time to add my lead to the bullet sandwich you boys were offerin’ up.”
“So she’s in Seymour?” Amos fought to hide his impatience. The sheriff chewed his words like a cow did cud. Slow and circular, when Amos needed quick and direct.
“Yep. Told her to take the horse she borrowed to Bart Porter’s livery. Figured his wife would tend to her.”
“Their house is behind the livery,” Ben Porter said, blessedly concise and to the point. “On Main Street. A block north of Fischer’s Emporium. Not the stable near the depot where you rented that mule.”
Amos nodded, took the hand Sheriff Tabor offered, and swung up behind him.
“Addie’s a good woman.” The freighter’s endorsement of his sister-in-law’s character relieved Amos a bit, but the urgency to see Grace for himself refused to abate. “She’ll take good care of Miss Mallory.”
“Sorry to leave you to deal with Lockhart.” Well, not really. Amos’s stomach roiled every time he glanced at the fallen body, knowing he’d had a part in bringing him down. No matter how justified the killing, it still left him rather ill.
Shaw waved him on. “Don’t worry about it. Go see to Grace. She needs you.”
She needs you. The words did something strange to Amos’s chest, flooding it with warmth and protectiveness. And love so rich and soul-stirringly deep it left him rather shaken.
Grace needed him. Loved him. And heaven knew he needed her. Needed to be with her, to care for her, keep her safe, and never let her go.
Sheriff Tabor tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Ready, Bledsoe?”
Ready didn’t even begin to describe it. “Yes, sir.”
“Then hold on.” With a nudge of his heels, they were off, and for once Amos found himself glad to be on a horse instead of a bicycle. Transport involving four unwearied legs and superior night vision had its advantages. And he’d take any advantage he could wangle to get him to Grace’s side as fast as possible.
35
Grace couldn’t remember the last time someone else had brushed her hair. It should have been soothing, sitting in a chair by a warm fire, sipping tea while another woman gently removed the tangles from her matted tresses. Her scalp tingled pleasantly enough, yet her nerves refused to be assuaged.
“Relax.” Addie Porter’s southern lilt stroked as gently as her brush, yet both proved equally ineffective at releasing Grace’s tension. “You’ll do your man no favors if you fret yourself ill waiting on his return.”
Grace spun around on the footstool she was sitting on, her gaze imploring her new friend to understand the severity of the situation. “But he’s out there alone with the man who killed my father. A man who wants both of us dead.”
“And what, exactly, can you do that isn’t already being done for him?” Addie’s quiet question stole some of Grace’s steam.
The livery owner’s very pregnant wife took hold of Grace’s shoulders and repositioned her on the stool so she could resume working on her hair. “You’ve shot the scoundrel, stranded him without a horse, and alerted the sheriff—who apparently already knew about the situation because your man had somehow sent a telegram from the middle of the countryside. I still have no idea how he pulled that off.”
“He must have climbed a telegraph pole and cut the wires.” Though until this very moment, Grace hadn’t taken the time to fully digest what that meant. No ladder. No climbing gear. How had Amos accomplished it?
Addie chuckled softly. “Sounds to me like you have yourself a very resourceful fellow there. Have faith in him, Grace. There’s nothing worse for a man than for his woman to doubt his abilities.”
“I don’t!” Grace started to turn again as she voiced her protest, but Addie’s pointed look kept her in place. “Amos is the most intelligent, capable person I know. But he’s unarmed, running from a gunman who kills without conscience.”
The brush stilled. “And will your worry bring him back any faster?”
Grace sighed, knowing the answer but not knowing how to stop. “No.”
Wood clicked against wood as Addie set the brush on the end table beside her seat on the sofa. A moment later, her fingers separated Grace’s hair into sections and she began to plait. “Then let’s fill your mind with more worthy thoughts. Tell me about Amos. What is it about him that captured your heart?”
Grace sat silent for a long minute, sorting through all the wonderful memories she’d collected of the man she loved. The stories he’d entertained her with over the wire before they’d ever met in person—tales of his mother’s meddling, his sister’s teasing, and his young nephew’s exploits in the sports of glasses-grabbing and mud pie-eating. His genuineness. No unnecessary frills to dress up his tales and make them more titillating. No drive to impress. He was simply himself. Warm. Kind. He made her laugh and reminded her what it meant to be part of a family. The connection. The joy. The dedication to one another.
“He makes me feel like I’ve come home,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He took on my enemies as if they were his own and vowed to remain by my side no matter the danger. And he has. He’s so brave, Addie. So honorable.”
And if she lost him, she wasn’t sure she’d recover.
Addie must have sensed her melancholy, for she tied off the braid she’d fashioned with a bit of white ribbon then spun Grace around to face her. Her eyes twinkled, and her lips turned up impishly at one end. “And has he kissed you yet, this brave, honorable fellow?”
Heat rushed to Grace’s cheeks. She ducked her head.
“Aha! He has.” Addie’s laughter was infectious.
A smile crept onto Grace’s face.
“Was it a gentlemanly peck on the cheek, or something more . . . daring?” Addie leaned close, eager eyes wide and ready to absorb the secret.
And despite the fact they’d known each other for less than an hour, Grace wanted to tell her. Share confidences as if they were best friends with their heads bent together behind the schoolhouse after class. Addie had welcomed Grace into her home, after all, and given her dry clothes to wear—everything from undergarme
nts to stockings to a lovely pink calico dress that had been one of Addie’s favorites before her pregnancy. A pregnancy that proved she knew a thing or two about kissing a man.
Grace’s gaze dropped to her lap, but her smile widened. “More than a peck.”
Addie hooted loudly enough that Grace feared Bart Porter might hear at the livery.
“Shhh!”
Addie clamped a hand over her mouth, yet her eyes continued to dance. Grace grinned. How could she not, when her hostess was such a delight?
And truly, remembering the kiss she and Amos had shared in the telegraph office—his strong arms around her, the way he’d looked at her as if she were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, his ardency as he’d taken control and led her down a road to passion she’d never travelled before but couldn’t wait to travel again, with him—her spirits couldn’t help but lift. She’d use her dreams of the future to hold the worries of the present at bay. She’d trust in the Lord to watch over the man she loved and continue praying for his safe return.
“Thank you.” Grace met Addie’s eyes as her friend’s hand fell away from her mouth. Understanding and comradery flowed between them. Addie nodded. Fear was an enemy best battled with an ally.
A dog barked outside, and Addie’s forehead crinkled. “We must have a guest. Scout wouldn’t carry on so if it were Bart. Though it’s awfully late for a caller.” She grabbed the arm of the sofa and started to lever herself up, the baby she carried making the movement awkward.
Grace hurriedly set down her nearly empty teacup and motioned for her friend to stay seated. “I’ll see to the door.”
“You don’t have—”
Grace narrowed her eyes in a mock scold. “I insist. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me tonight.”
Scout’s barking grew more insistent, and footsteps pounded on the porch as Grace made her way to the door. A burst of three knocks in quick succession echoed loudly in the room.
Grace set her hand to the latch but hesitated. What if Lockhart had tracked her somehow?
The knocks came again. Three rapid beats.
“Mrs. Porter?” a male voice called through the door. “Your husband sent me. My name is Amos Bledsoe. I’m looking for—”
Grace threw the door wide and launched herself into Amos’s arms.
“Grace!” His arms closed around her. “Oh, thank God.” His embrace tightened, and a sob born of pent-up worry and immense gratitude erupted from her throat.
He released her immediately, setting her away from him and running his gaze over her from head to toe. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head even as her body trembled from the sudden emotional release. “I-I’m just s-so happy to s-see you!” She threw herself back into his arms, yearning for the comfort of his embrace.
Amos, smart man that he was, caught on and held her close, one hand pressed against her spine, another reaching up to cup the back of her head.
She sighed and snuggled against his chest, her tremors abating as the reality of his presence soothed and comforted her. After a long, heavenly moment, Grace pulled back slightly so she could look into his eyes. Her arms moved up to twine about his neck. “Oh, Amos, I’m so very, very glad that you’re all right.”
The blue of his eyes darkened. “I love you, Grace Mallory.”
She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, all her recent talk of kissing putting rather scandalous thoughts in her head. If he didn’t take care of the matter soon, she just might have to pursue the business herself. “And I love you. With all my heart.”
Tugging gently, as if she were made of the most delicate lace, he drew her face close, his fingers tunneling into her loose braid as he tilted her mouth up to meet his. When his lips finally met hers, she sighed. This was where she belonged. With this man. Loving him and basking in the gift of his love.
His kiss started as a tender caress, sweet but far too careful to Grace’s way of thinking. They had escaped death tonight. She wanted to feast on life and love.
She tugged on his neck to bring him closer and lifted up on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss.
Amos reacted instantly. With a little growl that vibrated in his throat, he clutched her to his chest and gave her the kiss she’d been longing for. Passionate, possessive, and just the tiniest bit out of control. His fingers massaged her scalp as his lips crossed over hers at a new angle. Shivers danced down her neck and along her arms.
A throat clearing softly nearby penetrated their celebratory haze. Amos broke off the kiss to lift his head and peer behind her shoulder.
“As much as I hate to interrupt such an . . . enthusiastic reunion, I think we ought to at least move it off the front stoop and away from prying eyes.”
Grace could hear the smile in Addie Porter’s voice and knew she meant no censure, but her cheeks flamed anyway. She’d completely forgotten where they were and that they had an audience.
Amos’s neck flushed red, too, but he stood straight and tall and kept a hand at Grace’s back as they moved inside and closed the door. He might be embarrassed to have had their private moment witnessed by another, but there was nothing about him that indicated shame. In fact, the look he gave her as he led her to the sofa radiated a pride so rich, she felt like the most highly sought girl at the fair instead of the practically invisible telegraph operator she knew herself to be.
Amos Bledsoe wanted her. Loved her. Had chosen her from all the ladies of his acquaintance. And when this mess with Lockhart was concluded, she planned to show him that she had chosen him as well.
Addie lowered herself into a rocker. “Did you happen to run across Sheriff Tabor, Mr. Bledsoe? Grace was worried the two of you might not find each other out there in the dark.”
Grace swiveled in her seat, her gaze intent on Amos’s face as he gave a solemn nod. The joy humming through him a moment ago seemed to sputter and fade. Something had happened out there. And whatever it was, she wanted to be the one to shore him up. Taking his hand, she twined her fingers through his and squeezed.
His eyes met hers, yet it felt as if something deeper than their gazes connected.
“Yes, ma’am,” Amos answered, turning his attention back to Addie. “I met up with Sheriff Tabor along with Malachi Shaw and your brother-in-law.”
“Benjamin was out there?” Addie sat a little straighter in her chair, her brow puckering slightly.
“Yes, and he’s fine, by the way.” Amos rubbed the edge of Grace’s thumb as he glanced sideways at her. “They all are.”
Grace exhaled in relief.
“Shaw and Porter split up when we began the search then headed back to town when dark began to fall.”
Grace heard what he didn’t say. The others had returned to Harper’s Station, but not Amos. He’d continued hunting for her alone. Even knowing how badly Lockhart outgunned him. He truly was her hero.
“Apparently the Pinkerton who Lockhart had been impersonating had recovered enough for Miss Potter to bring him to town.”
“Helen?” Grace couldn’t stop herself from interjecting, too shocked by this piece of information to remain quiet. “Helen brought the Pinkerton to town? But she hates men.”
“Not this one.” Amos’s grin was downright mischievous. “Apparently she’s been nursing him for several days and has become rather well acquainted with the gentleman.”
Grace flopped back against the cushions of the sofa. Helen and the Pinkerton. Who would have even fathomed such an occurrence?
“Anyway,” Amos continued, “the real Dunbar recalled seeing Lockhart with the Gladstone woman on the train and figured he’d try to take advantage of that relationship. So Shaw and Porter left Harper’s Station in the hands of the Pinkerton and hightailed it out to the Gladstone place. The sheriff showed up as well, right when . . .” Amos glanced down at his lap and swallowed. “Well, let’s just say we had Lockhart surrounded, and he didn’t make it past us.”
Grace’s heart fluttered. “You mean .
. . ?”
Amos lifted his face toward hers and nodded. “Lockhart’s dead, Grace. You’re safe.”
Her vision blurred.
Safe. After all this time. Mercy, she’d nearly forgotten what such a state felt like. Then, as if a dam had broken, the tears fell, purging her heart of all the grief, fear, and dread that had hounded her heels for the last year.
Amos curled her into the crook of his arm and gently pressed her head onto his shoulder. “Shh.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you.”
Yes, he did.
36
Grace waved farewell to her new friend early the following morning. After the men had caught a few hours of sleep in the livery, they’d been up at dawn, readying the horses for the trip back to Harper’s Station. Not that Grace could blame them. She was more than eager to be home. Lockhart might no longer be a threat, but Chaucer Haversham could send another henchman. She had to end this matter for good.
The men surrounded her as they rode, the marshal on her left and Amos on her right. Porter rode behind. Their protectiveness eased her mind and made her smile, as did their efforts to keep the conversation light.
“Tabor said Miss Gladstone nearly shot his toes off when he dared to imply that Lockhart had been less than honest in representing himself to her.” Malachi grinned and shook his head. “Gotta appreciate the woman’s dedication. She’s got spunk.”
Amos rubbed the back of his head. “A little too much spunk, if you ask me. She brained me with a lantern.”
Grace winced, recalling how limp he’d been when Lockhart dragged his semi-conscious body into the barn. “Make sure you get Maybelle to take a look at that when we get back.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a knot and a few scrapes, nothing requiring stitches.”
“Still . . .” Grace stared at him.