Page 16 of Heart on the Line

“I’m convinced he is who he claims to be,” she said.

Amos desperately wanted to scratch the suddenly violent itch that flared around his collar. Why wouldn’t she look at him?

“But I think we should leave him here until I have a chance to address the ladies at the town meeting tonight. You know how some of them get when unknown men roam the streets. I think it would be better if I warn them about him before turning him loose.”

She was going to leave him locked up? Amos tried not to be offended, but he was a law-abiding citizen whose only crime was wanting to help a lady in distress. A lady who had plumbed his depths without offering him an ounce of insight into her own state of mind.

Miss Mallory glided to the door, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. Not at Amos, but at the marshal. “I’ll stop by the café and ask them to send dinner over for him.”

Then she left. Without a single glance in Amos’s direction. With no word to him. Not even a hint as to her reaction to all he had shared.

The marshal strode up to the bars. Amos expected a scowl or a series of threats about leaving Miss Mallory alone, but Mr. Shaw surprised him. The smile he offered felt almost conciliatory.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “The meeting’s in less than an hour. You won’t have to wait long.” He tipped his hat back on his forehead and leaned his shoulder against the barred door. “The women around here run a strict democracy,” he explained. “Everyone gets a say about what goes on in town. Grace is playing things safe by having you cool your heels here until she can explain your presence to the others—some of whom ain’t too fond of our kind, I’ll warn you—but she’s the cautious sort. And not without cause.” He aimed a pointed look in Amos’s direction.

Amos nodded, understanding the unspoken message. Grace Mallory had endured hardship, the kind that changed a person. He’d have to be patient if he hoped to woo her.

Mr. Shaw knocked a knuckle against the bar. “Might as well get comfortable.” He tilted his head toward the cot against the outside wall. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee so you don’t have to drink yesterday’s leftover sludge with your dinner.” He chuckled and shook his head as he walked toward the small wood-burning stove in the corner. “I still can’t believe she drank that stuff. I know it was vile. I only drink it because I hate wasting anything edible.”

As the lawman’s friendly rambling dwindled, Amos tried to get comfortable on the cot. He rested his head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh.

Then he heard it. A gentle rap from the other side of the wall as if someone were knocking on the brick. Knocking in a discernible pattern.

. . - - - - . . - . . . - - . . - . - - - - - . . - - . - . . - - - .

I’m glad you came.

Amos smiled, the weight pressing down on his chest lessening considerably at the four small words echoing through the wall at his back. He stretched his hands casually over his shoulders as if to pillow his head, but before he laced his fingers together, his knuckle rapped out a quick reply.

- - . - - - - - - -

Me too.

7

Helen Potter filed into the church with the rest of the ladies who had gathered for the town meeting. She edged into the sanctuary, making a point to keep Betty Cooper, her employer, between her and the marshal, who stood guard at the door. With Betty as a buffer, she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye.

Malachi Shaw had proven himself a decent sort, but Helen still didn’t feel comfortable around him. Of course, she’d never felt comfortable around any man. Loathed most of them on sight, as a matter of fact.

Coming to Harper’s Station a year ago had felt like walking into heaven. No men anywhere. She didn’t care how hard the work was at the chicken farm. No men meant no fear. No worrying about where the next blow would come from. No constant strategizing how to avoid crossing a man’s path. No fretting about the consequences of saying the wrong thing or not enough right things. She’d shovel chicken manure and have henpecked hands for the rest of her days if it meant never laying eyes on a man again.

But good things tended not to last in her life, and the paradise of Harper’s Station’s male-free environment was no different. The town’s founder, Emma Chandler, had gone and married the fella she’d brought in to help rout the outlaw threatening them several months ago. That meant their colony had a male resident. A permanent resident. A voting resident. And Emma wasn’t the only defector.

Victoria Adams, one of the staunchest supporters of the male-free life—a successful shopkeeper, mother, and co-founder of the colony—was actually allowing a man to court her. Helen had been devastated when she’d heard the news. She’d long admired Tori’s independence and had held her up as an example of what a woman could achieve without a man at her side. Tori had been Helen’s inspiration. Until she’d turned traitor.

It felt as if the women she shared a bond of sisterhood with were, one by one, changing before her eyes. Opening themselves to the influence of men. Yes, the men they’d chosen to align themselves with seemed honorable and kind—so far—but it still felt like a betrayal.

Helen followed Betty into one of the pews several rows from the front. As she took her seat, Katie Clark slid in beside her and leaned close to whisper in her ear.

“Have you heard about the new man in town?” The gossip bubbled out of Katie like the sticky froth from boiling rice, scalding Helen with the unwelcome news. “I heard Mr. Shaw has him locked up in the jail. I don’t know what he did, but I think it has something to do with Grace. Ann Marie said Grace came into the café and ordered dinner for him. He’s some kind of friend of hers, I think.” A frown marred the young blonde’s smooth forehead. “Not sure why he’s in jail if he’s a friend, but I bet this meeting has something to do with him.”

Betty had brought the girls into town early so they could deliver eggs before the meeting started, saving them a trip in the morning. Helen had taken a basket to the boardinghouse while Katie had delivered to the café. Then they’d met back up with Betty and the other girls from the farm at Tori’s store and helped unload the rest. Well, Helen had helped unload. Katie hadn’t returned until the work was practically finished. Apparently she’d become entwined in the café’s grapevine of idle chatter.

Helen gave Katie a disapproving look. “Emma will tell us what we need to know soon enough. We don’t need to speculate.”

Katie’s bubbles continued frothing, completely unaffected by Helen’s attempt to dampen them. “But aren’t you curious about him and what his relationship is with Grace? She never talks about him. About anyone from her past, actually. He could be an old suitor or a long-lost brother who’s been searching for her for years.”

“Or he could be a confidence man using his relationship with Grace to talk his way into our midst so he can empty our pocketbooks and leave us destitute,” Helen snapped.