© 2017 by Karen Witemeyer
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978–1-4412–6497–8
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Author is represented by Books & Such Literary Agency.
To all the ladies who helped me brainstorm plot ideas for this story on the Inspired by Life and Fiction blog.
Special thanks to Alexandra, Darcy, Johnette, and Karen. Faithful, creative readers are such a blessing!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Excerpt from Heart on the Line
Prologue
1
2
3
About the Author
Books by Karen Witemeyer
Back Ads
Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.
2 Corinthians 5:17
CHAPTER
1
OCTOBER 1894—HARPER’S STATION
BAYLOR COUNTY, TEXAS
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Victoria Adams stared down at her exposed right leg as her friend Grace Mallory fit the Remington Model 95 over-under double-barreled derringer into the small holster affixed to her garter. “I’d hate to hit a rut in the road and shoot off my foot.”
Grace peered up at her with a reassuring smile. “You could carry it in your handbag, if you prefer, but after all that trouble we had with Angus Johnson a few months back, I decided I’d rather have mine secured in a place more readily accessible.”
Grace adjusted the stocking gun a final time, then reached for the bunched-up skirts Tori held against her thigh and arranged them smoothly over her handiwork, erasing all evidence that a weapon lurked beneath the layers of cotton and muslin. “A handbag can be out of reach in a critical moment or torn away from your grip before you can avail yourself of what’s inside.” Grace straightened to her full height, which put her light brown topknot below Tori’s chin. “Better to have it close at hand at all times, and in a place no one knows about.” She lifted her own skirts to reveal an identical pocket pistol strapped above her knee. “I’ve been carrying mine like this since July, and I haven’t shot my foot off yet.” Grace’s eyes sparkled with teasing humor, and Tori couldn’t help but relax.
“You probably think I’m foolish, taking such precautions with a man who’s been nothing but kind to all of us.” Tori dropped her gaze as her insides clenched. She knew she was overreacting, but she just couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t been alone in a man’s company for over five years—not since . . . No, she wouldn’t think about it.
Tori fisted her hands at her sides, willing her mind to slam the door closed on those memories. The past would not control her. She had a future to create, a son who depended on her provision. The livelihoods of the women of Harper’s Station depended on her ability to sell their goods.
Benjamin Porter was a good man. An honorable man. He’d been delivering goods to her store for over a year, since Emma Chandler first established the women’s colony at Harper’s Station. For months, Mr. Porter had been the only male allowed into their sanctuary, and never once had he betrayed that trust.
The freighter charged fair prices, and when her regular market in the neighboring town of Seymour dried up, he went the extra mile to find new places for her to sell the eggs, canned goods, and quilts the ladies of Harper’s Station manufactured. And when Angus Johnson attacked their community, Mr. Porter stood beside them. Fought for them.
Warmth spread across Tori’s face as she remembered the freighter standing guard day after day in front of her store. He hadn’t been protecting the community at large. He’d been protecting her. He’d made no effort to hide his growing interest in her, and that, perhaps more than anything, was what had driven her to seek Grace’s counsel regarding concealed weapons.
The gentle touch of Grace’s hand upon Tori’s arm cleared away the conflicting thoughts fogging Tori’s brain. The young telegraph operator met her gaze with an intensity that spoke of secrets the normally shy woman took great pains to hide.
“Taking precautions is never foolish. Better to have a way to defend yourself and not need it than to need it and not have it.” The quiet statement rang with the truth of experience, making Tori question, not for the first time, what had led Grace Mallory to Harper’s Station.
“You’re right, of course.” And she was. If Ben Porter remained a gentleman during today’s excursion, there’d be no reason for anyone to know about the miniature gun hidden beneath her petticoats. She prayed that would be the case, that Mr. Porter’s character proved to be as impeccable as it appeared and wasn’t just a sham to convince her to drop her guard.
Surely no man would invest a year of his life charming a woman who’d made it clear on several occasions that she’d not welcome courtship of any kind. No dalliance was worth that kind of effort. She wasn’t worth that kind of effort.
Forcing that pathetic, self-pitying thought back into the dark region of her heart where it belonged, Tori placed her hand atop Grace’s, where it rested on her arm, and squeezed. “Thank you so much for sharing your expertise. I never would have found the courage to embark on this particular business venture without your help.”
Grace’s lips curved up at one corner. “Emma’s always saying that we ladies can do anything we put our minds to, as long as we stick together. I guess after nine months of living here, I’m finally becoming a believer.”
Tori smiled and allowed a soft chuckle to escape. “It’s about time.”
Grace joined in the laughter only to immediately attempt to stifle the sound when the curtain separating the back storage room from the area behind the general store’s counter floated sideways.
“There you are!” Emma Chandler—Emma Shaw, now, since she and Malachi married two weeks ago—swept into the back room, her eyes alight with teasing. “I told Lewis you hadn’t locked yourself in your room, but he didn’t believe me. Begged me to fetch you before you changed your mind.”
“That boy.” Tori shook her head even as her heart warmed. Her son might be only four, but he knew his mama well. Too well sometimes. He picked up on her moods faster than a flapjack soaked up syrup. It was one of the reasons she tried so hard to keep her emotions under firm control. She wanted his childhood to be happy and free, not fraught with suspicion and mistrust inherited from his mother. “He’s been talking about this
trip nonstop since I agreed to it last week. You’d think we were embarking on an expedition to discover unknown lands instead of making rounds to drum up new customers. I couldn’t back out now if I wanted to.”
Emma came forward and clasped Tori’s hand. “Do you want to back out?”
Tori kept her face serene as she shook her head. “Of course not. I made a promise, and I never go back on my word. You know that.”
Of course Emma knew that. The two of them had been friends, confidants, and business associates for the past three years. Which was why Emma also knew how much Tori dreaded being alone in a man’s company. Especially a large man. One built like the pair of giant Shires he had pulling his freight wagon. One who could overpower her with a flick of his wrist.
Tori’s free hand fisted into the fabric of her skirt as her gaze sought out Grace and confirmation of the secret they shared. Grace dipped her chin in a nearly imperceptible nod.
Even large men weren’t impervious to bullets.
Slowly forcing air back into her lungs, Tori relaxed her fingers and returned her attention to Emma, offering her a small smile of reassurance. “I won’t say I’m comfortable with the whole idea, but it won’t be the first time I’ve set my personal preferences aside in order to do what’s best for the business.”
Tori extracted her hand from Emma’s and leaned over to collect the luncheon basket she’d prepared for the trip. “Mr. Porter’s idea of delivering goods to area farm and ranch families has merit. If I can offer greater convenience at reasonable prices, customers who normally travel to Seymour or Wichita Falls to stock up on supplies might decide having a few staples delivered once a month at a slightly increased rate merits doing business with a woman. Especially if it means saving them the loss of a day’s work.”
Emma raised a brow. “Are you convincing me or yourself?”
Tori sighed inwardly. It really was dreadfully annoying having such a perceptive best friend. “Myself, I suppose.” Her shoulders sagged a bit as she let a touch of her uncertainty creep into her posture. “I’ve been running logical arguments through my head all week. Increased business is not only good for me—it’s good for the entire town. Nearly every lady in Harper’s Station relies on my ability to sell the goods we produce. A larger market means larger profits for all of us.”
“But not at the expense of your peace of mind.” Emma reached out and took the picnic basket from Tori’s hands, but it was her unconditional support that left Tori feeling unburdened. “If you want, I can ask Aunt Bertie to ride along with you. She’d be happy to act as chaperone. She could help mind Lewis while you and Mr. Porter broker your deals.”
Tori shook her head. “No. This is something I need to do.” Though she had to admit to being tempted by the offer. Alberta Chandler was a dear woman, always so kind and positive. She’d make the perfect buffer between her and the freighter. But this was a business trip, not a scenic excursion. She needed to treat it as such. “If I were a man, I’d be traveling alone. I’m a shopkeeper. A business owner. There is nothing improper about accepting Mr. Porter’s escort, especially since he knows the route far better than I do and has already made contact with many of the families.”
Tori reached an arm around Emma’s shoulders and squeezed. “You’re a good friend, Emma, but it’s time. Time for me to venture outside the cocoon of this place and prove to myself that I’m strong enough to stand my ground in the real world.”
Emma grinned a full-fledged, teeth-baring grin that glowed with all the inner radiance personified by the incredible woman who had given so many ladies power back over their own lives. Tori most of all.
“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met, Victoria Adams.” Emma leaned into the brief hug, then stepped back to face Tori straight on—her expression, her posture, everything about her oozing with confidence. “You’re not just going to stand your ground, my friend. You’re going to soar.”
Benjamin Porter did his best to hide his nerves by double- and triple-checking the security of the goods packed into the front of his freight wagon. Assorted bolts of fabric, rolls of ribbon, scented soaps, creams, and a host of other female fripperies he couldn’t begin to identify lay carefully stored in crates lined with cotton batting to keep them protected from the jostling that was bound to occur over the rutted roads that lay between Harper’s Station and Wichita Falls.
It had to be one of the smallest loads he’d ever hauled, yet it was easily the most significant. His entire future rested on the outcome of this venture. Well, not his entire future, but certainly the most interesting parts. After months of patient hint-dropping and carrot-dangling, today was the day he would finally break through Tori’s resolve and convince her to take their partnership from strictly business to something more. He’d been aching for that something more for over a year now, but every time he’d broached the subject, she’d made it clear she had no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with any man.
He supposed he should take comfort in the fact that it wasn’t him she objected to but his gender as a whole. It still didn’t sit well, though. It wasn’t fair of her to paint him with the same brush that she painted every other trouser-wearing yahoo who crossed her path. Especially the one who had put her off men in the first place.
Ben had no idea who the scoundrel was or what he had done, but he didn’t doubt the man’s existence. She’d never spoken of a husband, and always introduced herself as Miss Adams, not Mrs., so he figured whoever had fathered Lewis had probably not seen fit to put a ring on her finger first.
And he’d remembered the terror in her eyes when they’d first met. He’d once worked with a horse that had that same look, who’d spooked every time he’d tried to get close. That gelding would kick and bite and run every chance it got. Turned out, its previous owner had taken pleasure in applying his spurs and whip. It took months to earn that roan’s trust—months where he’d endured bites and kicks, months of letting the animal run away without forcing his cooperation—but in the end, the roan came around and became the best saddle horse Ben had ever owned.
Tori had suffered at a man’s hands—of that Ben was certain. But now that she’d had months to get used him, to stop spooking every time he spoke to her or walked into her store, it was time she ceased viewing him through the lens of her past and saw him as his own man—strengths, flaws, and everything in between.
Well, maybe not the flaws. Not all of them anyway. He wanted to recommend himself to her as a potential husband, not scare her off for good.
“If you check those boxes one more time, I’m going to arrest you for disorderly conduct.”
A strong hand gripped Ben’s shoulder. He turned around and mockingly glared at Malachi Shaw, the newly minted town marshal.
“What do you mean disorderly? These crates couldn’t be more orderly.” Ben crossed his arms over his chest, flexing his biceps for good measure.
Mal raised a single eyebrow, unimpressed with Ben’s display. “It ain’t the boxes that’s disorderly. It’s your conduct. But then, I guess that’s to be expected. Waiting on a woman would send any man off his feed.” The marshal cracked a grin, and the two friends slapped each other’s backs in sympathetic bonding.
“So true.” Ben stepped away from the wagon, relieved to have some other way to distract himself. He’d never admit it to Mal, but he was half afraid Tori would march outside and announce in that no-nonsense voice of hers that she’d changed her mind. Even after Lewis helped Ben load all the crates she’d packed up the night before, he had no guarantee that she’d actually go through with the trip.
“Mr. Ben! Mr. Ben!” Lewis sprinted toward the wagon, a pile of old quilts spilling from his arms. “Is my ma ready yet?” He nearly tripped over a quilt corner that dragged the ground right in front of him, but with the adroitness of a boy used to hopping stones in streams and balancing on store railings when his ma wasn’t looking, he danced sideways, then slung his load upward in a sweeping arc to clear the path for his f
eet.
Ben snagged the blond-headed scamp around the waist and hoisted him in a sweeping arc of his own, off the ground and into the back of the wagon. “Not yet, but I imagine she’ll be along soon. Why don’t you arrange that bedding so you’ll have a comfortable place to ride? I’ve got the boxes tied off, so you don’t have to worry about them sliding around.”
Lewis dropped the quilts in a heap right where he stood, then scrambled back over to the edge of the wagon and leaned far enough over the side to make Ben nervous about him toppling. Apparently the boy thought a lumpy mass of bedding would be sufficient for his needs. Ben doubted Tori would agree.
“Do a better job straightening those quilts, Lewis. If your ma sees that mess, she’ll insist on straightening it herself, and then it’ll take us even longer to get on the road.”
“Aww, Mr. Ben . . .” the boy whined.
Ben gave him the eye. The one that made it clear he wouldn’t be changing his mind. Lewis heaved a dramatic sigh, pushed away from the edge of the wagon, and set about creating a pallet. Not that Ben expected it to be much better than the current heap—a four-year-old could only manage so much neatness—but it kept the scamp occupied and taught a bit of responsibility.
“Don’t just wad them up, now. Fold them like your ma would do.”
Another sigh and a woeful glance over a shoulder. “Yes, sir.”
Ben bit back a grin and returned his attention to the marshal. “Sending Lewis to fetch those quilts was brilliant. He was about to drive me crazy with his constant questioning about when we would leave.”
Malachi’s chest puffed out as he tilted back on his heels. “My Emma’s a smart one. Always has been. She’ll get your woman out of that store, too. Just watch.”
An unwelcome heat crept up the back of Ben’s neck. “She’s not my woman. We’re just business partners.” Though he wished like anything that he had the right to change that claim.
“Uh-huh.” Mal sounded less than convinced. “We’ll see.” He gave a little nod toward the store.