No Other Will Do

by Karen Witemeyer

  “What happened, old fellow? Hit a rock? A prairie-dog hole? Probably expected your partner to right you like he would if you were still hitched to the wagon, huh?” Mal turned slightly and took his knife to the second crossline. “Ended up pulling him right down on top of you instead. Bet you’re ready to get him off your back. Well . . .” Mal clicked his knife shut and slipped it back into his pocket. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

  Keeping one hand on each horse as long as possible, Mal backed out until he was no longer between them. He moved to the outside edge and gently took hold of the halter straps near the top horse’s cheek. “Ready, Hermes? One. Two. Three!” Mal pulled on the strap. “Up now, Hermes. Up!”

  As soon as the animal started to move, Mal released the halter and jumped out of the way. Hermes rocked and snorted, and finally rolled to his feet.

  “Oh, ho! Good job, old man!” Mal grinned and started moving toward Helios, but the second Shire needed no human encouragement.

  The second black craned his neck upward, then surged to his feet. The half-unlatched neck-yoke bar flopped down at a sharp angle beneath his collar, one end dragging the ground. The horse kicked at it a time or two, as if not sure if it was something to be afraid of, but Mal moved in quickly to quiet him.

  “You’re a trouper, aren’t you?” Mal praised as he worked the buckle on the breast strap and freed the beast from the dragging bar. “Now, I just need you two boys to stand still a little longer so I can get you untangled from the rest of this mess.”

  The obedient lads dipped their heads to chomp at the prairie grass while Mal set about unfastening the double yoke at the rear and tying up the reins that drooped behind them. He had to do some fancy hoof shuffling to get Helios untangled from the tug lines, but eventually everything was put to rights.

  The team suffered several scrapes and cuts, and Mal was sure they would discover many places where the harness had rubbed them raw once he got them back to the station-house barn, but they were whole and hearty for the most part. He ran his hands along each of their legs, found some inflammation below both of Helios’s front knees, but Mal found no evidence of a break. Thank God. He didn’t want to think of what Porter would do to him if he’d had to put one of the animals down. Hermes and Helios would need a heavy dose of rest, salve for their scrapes, and plenty of pampering, but they should make a full recovery.

  He clicked his tongue and got his borrowed nag to follow him as he led the two Shires back through the grass toward the road. Helios limped a bit but trudged gamely on, keeping pace with Hermes’s plodding as Mal walked between their heads, lightly gripping their bit straps. They’d nearly reached the road when the sound of an approaching wagon brought Mal’s head around. He released his grip on Helios and reached for the revolver at his hip. But there was no need. The driver didn’t pose a threat. At least not to the horses.

  “Malachi! Thank heavens!” Emma dropped the arm she’d been holding up to shield her eyes from the sun and set the brake. Then in a flurry of deep red skirts that were far too fine to be traipsing through the dusty countryside, she clambered down from the high seat.

  He tried not to notice the white ruffles of her petticoat or the flash of slender ankle momentarily exposed by her hurry, but such a feat was apparently beyond his heroic capabilities.

  “What are you doing here, Em?” He resumed his stride, ducking his head to avoid the far too enticing sight of her, and led the horses up onto the packed dirt of the road. “Didn’t Porter’s episode prove it’s not safe to be out here alone?”

  “You’re out here alone.” She crossed her arms and gave him one of her I-dare-you-to-argue-with-that-logic looks.

  Unable to pass up the challenge, he looked her dead in the eye. “I’m armed.” He patted his holster.

  She lifted her chin. “So am I.” She glanced back over her shoulder toward the wagon. “I’ve got Betty’s shotgun under the driver’s seat.”

  “Doesn’t count if it’s not within reach.” Mal smirked at her, then led the horses past, shrugging very unapologetically as he went.

  “Malachi Shaw!” she sputtered, uncrossing her arms and storming after him just like she used to do the times he bested her in an argument when they’d been kids. “You know quite well that gun was within reach until I stepped down.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s not within reach now.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Man, she was fun to fluster. Her cheeks got all pink, and she dropped that oh-so-proper-banker demeanor.

  “Well . . .”

  He slid a sidelong glance her way and swore he could see the wheels spinning in her mind. Then all at once triumph lit her eyes. Before he knew what she was about, she dashed around Helios’s head and planted herself right in front of Mal. He stumbled to a halt.

  “You’re within reach,” she announced right before she snaked an arm around his waist and ducked beneath his outstretched arm. “And you’re my greatest weapon of all.” Her eyes met his. The competitive triumph flickered, then slowly gave way to something softer. Warmer. “And you’ll never let anything hurt me as long as you are near.” Her chin tilted up as she gazed into his face, her lips plump, her words a husky whisper.

  “Never,” he murmured, surprised he could find breath enough to fuel even that single word. Her faith in him, her absolute trust, terrified him. Yet at the same time, it made him feel invincible. After his failure to find the men who threatened her, to stop them, how could she look at him with those brilliant eyes—eyes that sported not one speck of doubt to dim their shine?

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Malachi.” Her arm tightened slightly around his waist. Her lashes dipped. Her cheek turned.

  Mal bit the edge of his tongue and drove his gaze heavenward. Lord, have mercy. . . . He could feel her fingers through the cotton of his shirt right beneath his rib cage. Then she leaned closer. The scent of her hair directly beneath his nose, tantalizing him. Then her face touched his chest, and her second arm wrapped about him. She nestled in with little movements, like a pup finding just the right place to nap. And oh, how he wanted to hold her to him, to claim her as his, to let her nestle up against him just like that every night for the rest of their days.

  His arms trembled from the effort it took not to release the horses and cling to her instead. Could she hear his heart? He didn’t see how she couldn’t. The thing was driving against his ribs like a locomotive at full speed.

  “Em . . . ” he croaked, not knowing what he meant to say. Em, you can do worlds better than me. Or Em, you don’t know what you’re doing.

  But he feared that what he really meant deep down in his greedy, good-for-nothin’ bones was . . . Em, I love you more than I love my own life. Hold tight, girl, and never, ever, let me go.

  21

  Emma released her hold and reluctantly stepped away from Malachi. Who, she noticed, was looking prayerfully to the sky, jaw clenched tight.

  Probably begging the Almighty for patience to endure the crazy woman who kept forcing hugs on him when she knew full well he didn’t like to be embraced.

  Where had her restraint gone? Just because they’d shared a moment in the café—a moment when, in her defense, he’d not seemed the least uncomfortable with holding. Touching. Nuzzling. Of course, he’d been the one doing the holding. Her hands had been occupied with the revolver. Still, his guard had lowered and given her reason to hope he might welcome some affection from her. But apparently not.

  “Mr. Porter told us about a hidden compartment in his wagon,” Emma explained breezily as she circled around one of the giant black horses to get to Malachi’s mount. “One that might still be sheltering the weapons.” She reached the gray mare and collected the reins. “After Maybelle took over the doctoring, I decided I’d be of more use fetching our goods before someone stumbled across the wagon.” She summoned up the sunniest smile in her arsenal and flashed it at Malachi as she strolled past. He didn’t need to see her disappointment. The man had e
nough on his plate to worry about. She needed to lighten his load, not add to it.

  Besides, he was acting a bit odd. He hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d touched him. Just stood on the edge of the road, arms stretched between a pair of massive draft horses, body frozen in place. Only his eyes moved. They followed her, their dark brown gaze making her stomach dance. An uninterested man wouldn’t stare so intently, would he? Or maybe he was just trying to intimidate her into going back to town. Not that such a tactic would work. Which he knew from experience. He’d never been able to intimidate her. Not even when she’d been a slip of a girl. So there had to be something else in that stare. Something deeper she couldn’t quite decipher.

  Whatever it was, it brought an uncomfortable warmth to her cheeks. She lengthened her stride to pass him and turned her attention to tying the mare’s lead to the back of her buckboard. “Did you happen to see Mr. Porter’s wagon while you searched for his horses?” she asked without looking up from her task. “I plan to dig out the guns and salvage whatever else I can find before heading back. I was hoping you’d be able to assist, but it seems you have your hands full. No matter. I can manage. There are less than a dozen rifles, and the revolvers will be easy enough to carry.” She glanced up, caught his scowl, and made a point to approach the driver’s box from the far side of the wagon.

  Grabbing a handful of skirt, she fit her foot to a wheel spoke and hoisted herself up. Then she had to scoot across the bench to reach the brake on the left side, making it all too obvious that she’d taken the coward’s way out to avoid being near him. Which hadn’t mattered anyway, because by the time she reached for the brake lever, the man she’d been striving to circumvent had released Porter’s horses, bounded up the near side of the wagon, and covered her hand with his own. His hold was firm and unyielding, not tender in the slightest, yet the possessiveness of it had her pulse fluttering. Her gaze flew to his.

  “If you think I’m going to let you roam around out here alone,” he growled through a clenched jaw, “you’re crazy. And for all your independent ideals, I know you ain’t lost yer marbles.” His grammar was slipping, a sure sign of his agitation. “Not yet, anyway.” He muttered the last as he hopped down from the wagon.

  He trudged back to Porter’s draft horses and took hold of their halter straps again. Slowly, he edged them past the wagon, his attention focused on the ground in front of him in order to steer them around any uneven patches that might cause them discomfort.

  “Porter’s rig is about a quarter mile out. I’ll lead you there, but you’re gonna have to plod along at my pace.” He cast a sharp glance over his shoulder at her. “And for the sake of my nerves, move that shotgun up to your lap. If trouble finds us, I want you to be ready.”

  Emma obeyed, too pleased to have his continued company to complain about his high-handed manner. Despite the fact that she’d traveled this very road without a man to guard her more times than she could count, she had to admit—at least to herself—that she’d not been looking forward to doing so today. The attack on Mr. Porter had rattled her. Her adversaries were unpredictable, their strikes calculated and always one step ahead. If she and Malachi had a chance at stopping them, they’d have to ferret out the traitor in the colony. Soon.

  Salvaging supplies took less time than Emma expected. Flour, cornmeal, and sugar had scattered to the winds in the crash, thanks to the bandits’ vandalism. Emma collected what little remained inside the sacks and tied off the slashed tops to keep them closed. Mal found the cache of guns right where Mr. Porter had said they would be, in a compartment hidden in the wagon bed directly behind the driver’s box.

  The freighter had built three wooden frames at the top of the wagon bed for carting smaller or more delicate objects, like the glass jars of canned goods the Harper’s Station ladies sold. Emma had always thought the compartments terribly clever. Little did she realize that they served a second purpose—camouflage. For the box frames hid the seams in the wood of the wagon bed beneath. Anyone looking at the wagon would see nothing more than what showed on the surface. Mal had tugged on the boxes quite forcefully when trying to figure out the hidden compartment’s location, and the wood had barely budged. It was only when she’d climbed up into the driver’s box to help that she’d discovered the latches against the floor behind the bench. After she’d reached down to undo them, Mal tugged on the box frames again. This time the one in the center slid backward to reveal a rectangular opening. The guns and ammunition had been secreted inside.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Tori about it. Emma smiled to herself, swaying with the motion of the slow-moving wagon as she followed Malachi and the draft horses back to town. Her friend had always insisted that big men had small brains. It was why so many of them became brutes. Using their size to get what they wanted required less effort than thinking for themselves. It was why Tori had urged Emma to hire a different freighter to run her goods when she’d first met Mr. Porter. Once she understood that Porter was the only one willing to do business with a female store owner, she’d relented, but it had taken months for her to let down her guard around the man.

  And now, Emma had proof that the man was not only kind but intelligent. Clever enough to fashion an undetectable hidden compartment in his wagon. Wise enough to anticipate trouble and put said compartment to use. And well-read enough to name his faithful steeds after mythological beings related to his own profession. Who else but an educated man would name his horses Hermes and Helios? One for the Greek god of trade and border crossings, the guardian of travelers. The other for the Greek god of the sun who relied on mighty steeds to pull his golden chariot through the sky. No small intellect in that large man’s head.

  Unless it had been permanently damaged by the blow he’d just taken.

  Emma’s smile faded. Mr. Porter had seemed much less agitated and confused when she’d left, but head injuries could be tricky. She said a quick prayer on his behalf, asking the Lord to bless him with a full recovery.

  “I see the station up ahead,” Malachi called over his shoulder. “I’ll take Porter’s beasts there. Start rubbing them down and tending to their bruises and scrapes. If you’ll untie my mare when we get there, she’ll follow me into the barn.”

  Emma straightened on the seat, nodded, and then realized he couldn’t see her assent. “All right. I’ll take the supplies to Tori and check on Mr. Porter, reassure him that his horses are alive and in good hands.”

  “The stubborn cuss will probably try to come check on them himself. Don’t let him leave if Maybelle thinks he’s not fit. Tell him I’ll give a full report as soon as I finish seeing to his team.”

  “I will. Betty should have the women gathered by now, too, so we can start distributing the weapons.” Emma had explained the morning’s events to Mrs. Cooper when she’d gone to borrow the shotgun. Betty agreed to round up the ladies as well as take a vote on whether or not to allow Mr. Porter to stay.

  Emma hoped everyone saw the wisdom in letting the freighter remain within the town limits. They’d accepted Malachi with a minimum of grumbling even though he’d been a complete stranger to them, having only her endorsement and the desperation of their circumstances to recommend him. Their circumstances were equally desperate now, if not more so, and they already knew Mr. Porter. Hopefully those factors would sway the vote in favor of letting him stay.

  Now that Emma knew they faced at least two outlaws, it seemed sensible to have two experienced, trustworthy men on their side. Even with the training Malachi would be giving them, she and the other ladies wouldn’t turn into a company of competent sharpshooters overnight.

  Emma drew her buckboard to a halt at the station-house corral. Mal left the Shires standing obediently in the road long enough to open the gate. Emma scrambled down from the wagon seat, circled to the rear, and untied the gray mare. Mal met her there and took the reins from her. She tried not to notice the way his palm brushed along the back of her hand as he reached for the leather straps, but the resultin
g tingling sensation was impossible to ignore. Emma kept her chin down to hide her gaze from him, afraid he would see too much. She really needed to get her reaction to him under control.

  “Once the guns have been distributed, take the ladies out behind the church,” Mal instructed, his voice gruff. “Betty and Grace can supervise the ammunition loading and go over safety protocols. After I get the horses settled, I’ll meet you there, and we can start the shooting lessons.”

  “All right.” Feeling more in control of her emotions with a plan laid out for her to follow, she looked up. Directly into his eyes. He startled as if caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t, which made absolutely no sense, for he hadn’t been doing anything besides conversing with her.

  Yet in the sliver of a moment before he blinked it away, she could have sworn she saw something in his dark-eyed gaze. Something stark yet tender. Something that resonated with the emotion pulsing in her own heart—longing.

  Her stomach flipped in ecstatic little circles, but she held her facial expression carefully neutral. She had a job to do, a job that required her full attention. She’d wrap her discovery in brown paper and set it aside to ponder later. And ponder she would. For just like any investment that projected early signs of a great return, one still had to approach with a strategic mindset, calculating risk and evaluating proper timing. Make a move before the asset was secure, and an investor could be left holding an empty bag. Wait too long, and the opportunity could slip through her fingers to be capitalized on by another. Neither prospect was acceptable.

  So for once in her life, she ignored the insistent impulses twitching inside her. She didn’t blurt out her burgeoning feelings or lift up on her toes to touch her lips to his when the sudden craving surged through her. No. This time she’d plan. Analyze. Because this was one investment she’d not be able to recoup if lost.