Andrew lifted his chin. “I know. Go after your woman, Shaw. I’ll get Ulysses settled.”
Malachi’s feet danced sideways, continuing in the direction he had started, even though his eyes kept contact with the boy. “I’m staying in the barn at the old station house you just passed. Tell the aunts you’re a friend of mine, and they’ll let you in. Probably feed you, too.”
Andrew’s face lit up like any twelve-year-old boy’s would at the promise of food. He nodded and waved Mal on his way.
Malachi didn’t hesitate. He spun around and churned up the ground. She was racing for the store. Probably thought to seek shelter with Miss Adams. Not happening. He wasn’t about to let her hide from him. Not after that ridiculous little speech she’d just thrown in his face. They were gonna have words. A lot of them. However many it took for her to understand one thing clearly. He wasn’t leaving. Not as long as she and her ladies were in danger. No matter what kind of nonsensical excuse she came up with.
Porter spotted Emma coming and lurched to his feet, rifle at the ready, eyes scanning the area for a threat. When his gaze locked on Malachi, he raised his chin in question. Mal pointed to Emma, then slammed his hand back against his own chest.
She’s my concern. Don’t interfere.
Porter relaxed his stance. Even propped one booted foot on the bench he’d been sitting on moments ago. He braced the rifle stock against his thigh and leaned back to watch the shenanigans.
Mal didn’t care if he was making a scene. Some things were too important to let polite manners get in the way.
What he didn’t count on was another emotional female bursting into the mix. He was a step or two away from Emma when Victoria Adams threw open the door to the store and rushed onto the boardwalk.
“Emma!” she cried. “What’s happened?”
Thankfully, Porter was a quick-witted man. Quick footed, too. At the same instant Mal latched on to Emma’s arm, Porter grabbed the storekeeper around the waist and dragged her away from the steps leading to the street.
Tori screeched and kicked her legs, her feet waving about in midair thanks to Porter’s excessive height. “What are you doing? Let me go, you big lout!”
Mal heard the freighter rumble something in reply, but he was too distracted by his own handful of squirming woman to give it any heed.
He spun Emma around to face him and nearly got whacked in the head with the rifle she still carried. But it was the tears streaming down her cheeks that rammed into his chest like an unseen blow.
Had he done this somehow? Hurt her to the point that she would weep and run from him? The thought nearly weakened him enough to let her slip through his grasp. But then the same determination that had driven him to rise above his guttersnipe beginnings to excel at a profession that most men ran from exerted itself.
If he’d broken her, he’d just have to find a way to fix her.
Using instincts honed from a childhood spent dodging swiping broom handles and grabby lawmen arms, Mal ducked past the flying rifle, sidestepped the stomping shoe heels, and swept Emma up into his arms.
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.”
r /> 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.
“Of course not! You’re the one I trust implicitly. Not Porter.”
“Then why are you trying to get rid of me?” he practically shouted.
“Because I’m ruining your life!”
The bellow hung in the air between them for long seconds as Malachi tried to figure out what in the world she meant. Eventually he gave up.
Emma had turned her face away from him, but he gently took hold of her chin and guided her back around to where he could see her eyes.
“How, exactly, are you ruining my life?”
She tried to turn away again, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Don’t hide from me, Em. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
She let out a shaky sigh, then squared her shoulders and faced him head on. He dropped his hand from her chin, knowing she wouldn’t need the persuasion any longer.
“I’ve been selfish.”
He shook his head and started to interrupt, but she gave him one of those don’t you dare looks that always stopped him in his tracks.
“You asked,” she said, “so now you have to stand there and accept the answer.”
He shut his mouth.
She nodded her approval.
“When I asked you to come here and help me, I never once thought about what such an action would cost you. I thought only of myself. Of my ladies. My town. And thanks to my selfishness, you’ve lost your job and nearly lost your life. I can’t sit by and watch all you’ve worked for crumble around you, Mal. I care about you too much.”
She cared about him? Like a friend? Like a sister? Or like something more? Mal’s pulse leapt from a steady walk to a full-out gallop in a single heartbeat. Suddenly it wasn’t his job he wanted to talk about.
“There’ll be other jobs, Emma. But there’ll never be anyone as important to me as you . . . and the aunts. You’re the only family I’ve ever known. And family sticks up for family, no matter the cost. I’m not going to leave you to fight this battle on your own.”
“Then maybe it’s time I gave up the fight.” Her shoulders sagged. “It’s probably what I should have done in the first place. It was foolish to put my ladies’ lives in danger for a piece of earth that can be replaced.”
Mal drew back. “What? This can’t be Emma Chandler standing before me. She never backs down from a fight just because things get hard. And she especially wouldn’t back down from a pair of ill-mannered bullies picking on a group of defenseless women.”
Emma slammed hands on her hips, a frown turning the corners of her mouth down. “We’re not defenseless.”
He chuckled. “Now, that’s the Emma I know and love.”
Again with the mouth malfunctions.
Maybe she didn’t notice. It was just a turn of phrase, after all. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. In his case it did, but she didn’t have to know that.
Emma’s gaze searched his face. He swallowed hard but brazened out the scrutiny. At least for a few long seconds. When the look in her eyes changed . . . softened . . . invited . . . he started to talk again. It was either that or pull her into his arms and kiss her with a hunger he wasn’t sure he could completely control.
“We stand together, and we fight together,” he vowed. “No matter how long it takes. No regrets. No blame. Agreed?”
“But what about Andrew? It’s dangerous for him to be here.”
Mal inwardly smiled. How could this compassionate woman ever think herself selfish? She was always thinking of others. Always.
“I’ll fill him in on the facts of the situation, then give him the same choice you gave your ladies. Stay and fight, knowing the risks, or leave with my blessing and respect intact. He’ll decide for himself.”
“You’re a good man, Malachi Shaw.” Then before he could even think of dodging, Emma clasped his cheeks, raised up on tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his.
It lasted only a heartbeat—although, he was pretty sure his heart stopped beating in that moment, so that particular measurement was probably not very accurate. The only thing he knew for sure was that the kiss ended before his stupefied mind could respond.
Then she vanished. And all he could do was stand in the empty café and wish he’d chosen kissing over talking when he’d had the chance.
28
Lips tingling and mind awhirl with shock over her own boldness, Emma flew from the café to the store in such a fog of delight and embarrassment that she was nearly upon Tori before recognizing that the freighter had a grip on her friend’s waist. And Tori was making no effort to escape. Oh, her posture was stiff, and her hands were braced against Porter’s chest with her elbows locked as if trying to maintain the maximum distance possible. But none of that changed the astounding facts.
A man. Holding Tori. In broad daylight. And she was allowing it.
In fact, the two were staring at each other so intently, they didn’t notice Emma’s approach until her heel clicked on the bottom stair. The tiny sound elicited a reaction more in keeping with a gunshot.
Both parties jumped. Tori gasped. Porter whipped his head around, his expression fierce as he gripped Tori to his chest with all the might of a grizzly and instinctively twisted to put himself between her and danger. Tori’s arms folded like a rag doll’s as she collapsed against the big man’s chest. Her mouth, apparently, worked just fine, however.
“Let me go, you cow-handed oaf. You promised to release me as soon as Mr. Shaw finished his discussion. Well, Emma’s here now, so—”
His arms let go of Tori’s waist so fast, she staggered backward and would have fallen against the store wall if Mr. Porter hadn’t grabbed her elbow to steady her. Her face flaming pink, Tori batted away his help the moment she regained her footing.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, though the blush on her cheeks told a different story. Emma couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her friend so flustered.
“Mr. Ben wasn’t hurtin’ her,” Lewis chimed in as he popped up from his hiding place behind the bench, giving Emma a turn at being the one startled. “I checked.”
He looked like such a little man making that proclamation that Emma couldn’t help but grin. Which only made Tori’s color deepen.
“He was just makin’ her stay put.”
“Yes, well . . .” Tori straightened her apron and stepped around the freighter, making a concerted effort not to look at him as she did so. “He had no right to hold me here against my will. It’s . . . barbaric.”
Lewis’s nose scrunched up. “But you do it to me all the time, Mama. When I need a bath. When I’m squirmy in church. When—”
“Enough, Lewis!” Tori placed a hand on her stomach, closed her eyes for a moment, and inhaled a long, deep breath. When next she spoke, it was in the calm, rational voice Emma was accustomed to hearing. “Why don’t you go with Mr. Porter on his rounds? He hasn’t made his usual circuit around town and up to the steeple yet. Maybe you can help him spy an outlaw from the bell tower.”
Lewis’s face lit up and his feet started dancing in a tight little circle. “You mean it? You’ll let me go on rounds with him?”
“Only if you promise to be careful and do precisely as Mr. Porter tells you.”
“I will! I promise.” Lewis jumped straight at the freighter, grabbed his hand and started tugging the big man toward the steps. “Come on, Mr. Ben. Let’s go climb the steeple!”
Porter allowed the boy to drag him along, but his gaze pressed into Tori as he passed. Tori stared
pointedly at the boardwalk beneath her feet. She might trust the man enough to let her son romp around in his company, but she seemed to be working mighty hard to discourage any personal entanglement.
The freighter apparently had a thick hide to go with those thick muscles of his, for he showed no sign of Tori’s coldness affecting him. In truth, he acted the same as if she had met his gaze and smiled politely to him. He doffed his hat and rumbled the only words Emma had heard him say since she arrived. “I’ll take good care of the boy, ma’am.”
Then he nodded to Emma, ruffled Lewis’s hair, and gestured for the boy to lead the way. Lewis set off for the church in a full sprint. Mr. Porter followed at a steadier pace, his long legs keeping the boy from getting too far ahead.
Emma climbed the stairs to stand beside Tori, who now couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of the big man tromping behind her son.
“The two of them seem to get along well.” Emma’s observation broke Tori’s stare. She immediately spun around, not quite glaring at Emma, but frowning for certain.
“Lewis is a young boy infatuated with the only man of his acquaintance. It’s only natural for him to seek out a male influence in a town full of females.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “I don’t see the harm in it.”
“Neither do I,” Emma assured her friend. “In fact, I commend you for allowing Lewis to spend time with Mr. Porter. He seems a dependable sort. Kind. Responsible. Capable. There are far worse examples of manhood your son could emulate.”
Tori pierced Emma with a sharp gaze. Emma held her stare, knowing Tori must be thinking of the man who had hurt her, reminding herself of all the reasons a man couldn’t be trusted. But then she nodded once in belated agreement to Emma’s assessment of Mr. Porter’s character before raking her gaze over Emma, a new intensity lighting her eyes. She grabbed Emma’s hands and held them out wide while she made a head-to-hem inspection.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he? I saw him snatch you off the street and cart you away. You say you trust him, but no one really knows what a man is capable of when he’s angry, Emma. I was worried sick. And then that brute of a freighter wouldn’t let me go after you.”