Page 19 of Heart on the Line

Sisters?

She’d never had a sister. Or a brother. And now, when her problems threatened to bring harm upon their own lives, these women surrounded her with a level of acceptance and support that truly superseded the boundaries of ordinary friendship. Only God could bring about such a blessing.

“‘A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity,’” Grace quoted softly, the familiar proverb speaking to her heart with a depth she’d not experienced before today.

Emma twisted around on the stairs and grinned. “As Aunt Henry would say, change that brother to a sister and you’ve got a promise to hang your hat on.”

Grace shook her head in amusement as she made her way down the steps. She could hear those very words coming from Henrietta Chandler’s lips. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest to learn that Aunt Henry was secretly writing a suffragette version of the Holy Scriptures, replacing all the mankind and brethren terminology with words more suited to readers of the female persuasion.

“Although,” Tori said as the others caught up to her on the path, “Grace seems to have a brotherly friend interested in assisting her as well.”

“That’s right.” Emma neatly maneuvered Grace into the middle of the trio, ensuring she couldn’t escape. “Why is it that I’ve never heard of this man before? You didn’t even mention him last night when you came by to talk to Mal.”

Grace stared at the ground. It looked dry enough to absorb her if she could just find a way to liquefy herself and melt into the dust. How could she explain that she’d been carrying on intimate conversations with a complete stranger? That she’d not even known his true name before today? They’d surely think her foolish, if not an outright loon. Yet these were her sisters. And sisters shared secrets.

“Amos and I have been corresponding for a few months. In the evenings, over the telegraph wire. We were chatting last night when the message came through from Colorado. He overheard. I didn’t expect him to show up, though. We’ve never actually met.”

Emma threaded her arm through Grace’s. “And yet he rushed immediately to your aid.” She glanced past Grace to meet Tori’s eye. “If you ask me, there’s something stronger than friendship motivating his actions.”

Heat rushed to Grace’s cheeks. Yet even as she squirmed under Emma’s assumption, she couldn’t stop a little thrill from shooting through her chest. She’d had much the same thought. After all, Amos had admitted to caring about her when she’d questioned him earlier. He said he wanted the chance to get to know her. That alluded to a possible future, didn’t it?

“I agree,” Tori said. “Ben found countless excuses to visit my store during the months he was trying to convince me to let him pay court. He says he was letting me get used to the idea of having him around. Something about cooking a frog in cold water that slowly warms instead of throwing the creature into boiling water and having him jump out.”

Grace sputtered on a suppressed laugh that threatened to choke her. “Did he really compare you to a frog?”

Tori cocked a wry grin. “I’ve learned to look past the object of the analogy to the meaning behind it when talking with Ben. Otherwise I’d be constantly offended by how many times he compares me to a horse.”

“Well,” Emma said, leaning across them, “Ben does love his horses, so coming from him, such a comparison is probably high praise.”

“True.” Tori lifted her face toward the sun, a smile of pure contentment eliciting a twinge of envy in Grace’s belly. Then the moment passed and the shopkeeper turned her attention fully on Grace. “No man is perfect,” she said. “But if he loves you and respects you and treats you with kindness, the flaws fade away.”

“Unless you’re in the middle of an argument,” Emma said. “Then they seem to magnify.”

Grace and Tori chuckled. It was well-known that the town founder and the town marshal had occasional differences of opinion over how things should operate in the community. Differences that could become rather boisterous.

“Of course, it’s a temporary condition.” Emma ignored their laughter, injecting her voice with schoolmarm precision as she shared her vast wealth of married knowledge with her companions. “Those flaws shrink back down to near invisibility as soon as he says something sweet or holds you in his arms or kisses you.”

Grace nibbled her lower lip. She didn’t know what Mr. Bledsoe’s flaws were. She didn’t know him. Over the past months she’d built up an ideal, a fantasy in her mind of what her Mr. A would be like. An unrealistic standard impossible for any man to live up to.

She’d envisioned a tall man with midnight hair and skin tanned from working outdoors, which was ridiculous, since she knew Mr. A worked in a Western Union office. Yet that hadn’t stopped her from dreaming of him having rugged masculinity, swagger, and confidence. A man with a physique that would make one’s mouth go dry. A man not unlike Malachi Shaw or Benjamin Porter.

Amos Bledsoe had not been blessed with such attributes. He had his own, more subtle type of handsomeness, centered around his eyes—piercing blue, yet not in a hard way. They were honest and open and seemed to look straight into her. Even through the spectacles. His personality was just as sweet and clever as it had been over the wire. And the fact that he had rushed to her rescue did make her heart flutter.

But it also raised doubts. What kind of man left his job and his family to ride to the rescue of a woman he’d never met? It seemed a bit extreme. Perhaps he was too invested in her. Would allowing him to stay put her in a different kind of danger? Hadn’t it been an obsessed admirer who killed that saloon singer down in Tarrant County? The wires had been abuzz with the gossip for weeks.

Grace gave her head a little shake. She needed to get a grip on her imagination. The man she’d met in the jailhouse earlier had been perfectly normal. Gentlemanly, sincere, and candid regarding his intentions. Intentions that still made her blood pump a little faster when she thought of them, despite the fact that he hadn’t quite matched the image she’d built up of him in her mind.

A sudden thought scurried across her mind. What had he expected her to look like? And how far short had she fallen? Had he pictured her as a statuesque blonde like Tori, or perhaps a fiery, take-charge dynamo with dark curls and vibrant green eyes like Emma? He probably hadn’t expected a short, shy, secretive female with a murdering mine tycoon on her trail.

A sigh slipped silently through her parted lips. She was certainly no great prize. Yet he’d said he wanted to stay. That he was glad he’d come. Even after she’d left him locked up in Malachi’s jail. Surely that was worth more than a pair of broad shoulders and a wagonload of muscles.

9

Bertie’s fixin’ a cot for you down in the basement of the station house,” the marshal said as he unlocked the door to Amos’s cell. “The boardinghouse is full up, and the ladies there wouldn’t take kindly to a male guest anyhow, so we figured it’d be easier for you to bunk with us.”

Amos put his hat on and stepped out into freedom. Odd how the air felt fresher on the other side of the bars. And he’d only been inside for a couple hours. What must it be like for someone who’d actually been convicted of a crime?

Feeling stiff—more from the stress of not knowing what was being said about him in the town meeting than the marshal’s rudimentary accommodations—Amos rolled his shoulders and bent his neck from side to side a few times as Malachi Shaw closed the cell door behind him.