Page 31 of Heart on the Line

“A little privacy would be welcome,” he said, his low voice rich and a tad . . . arrogant? He turned to Grace, and she swore she could feel his gaze touch the skin of her face as if his fingers had stroked her cheek.

A shiver ran down the back of her neck. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly. It was warm and tingly and made her insides tremble, but it also left her feeling unsettled. Such a look was too intimate between virtual strangers. They’d only met half an hour ago, too soon to have formed any meaningful attachment. Yet it might just be his way of showing attraction. She knew so little about how men courted women. And this man, in particular, seemed more potent than most.

Still . . . she’d feel better if he demonstrated at least a little nervousness. His abundance of self-assurance was making her lose a grip on her own.

It was so different from when she was with Amos. Mr. Bledsoe had a way about him that naturally boosted her confidence, made her feel comfortable in her own skin. No pretense, no need to impress. Just acceptance, respect, and honesty.

Grace suddenly hungered for those steady qualities. Mr. Dunbar, with his burning brown eyes and shiver-inducing smile, felt oddly . . . threatening. Like a sleek panther on the prowl. And the more sheepish she became in his presence, the more apt he’d be to pounce.

So get rid of the wool and find your gumption.

“Thank you, Ann Marie,” Grace intoned softly when they reached the corner table. “I’ll take tea and one of those butter cookies you make that are so tasty.”

She reached for the chair, determined to seat herself like an independent woman, but Mr. Dunbar beat her to it. He slid the chair out, brushing his fingers along her arm as he did so. She jerked her gaze toward him, but he simply smiled politely at her, with nothing untoward in his manner.

She nodded her thanks as Ann Marie sidled up to the Pinkerton. “I also make an apple turnover that’s light and flaky and goes real well with coffee. I got a few cooling in the back if you’re interested.”

“Sounds delicious. I’ll take two. Along with that coffee.” Dunbar winked at the waitress again, and Ann Marie nearly tripped over her own feet as she turned to make her way to the kitchen.

Grace bit back a sigh. Was that how all women reacted to this man? No wonder he exuded confidence. He was like walking whiskey, intoxicating unsuspecting females just by entering their proximity. Time to build up an immunity. Herschel Mallory’s mission deserved nothing less than clearheaded focus and insightful discernment. Not fluttery distraction and a mush-filled mind.

Mr. Dunbar took the seat across from her and shined the full force of his masculine glory directly at her. Grace ordered her stomach to cease its skipping. When it didn’t, she decided she needed a more assertive approach.

“How long have you worked with Detective Whitmore?”

Dunbar’s eyes widened slightly, and his surprise, even as subtle as it was, buoyed her confidence.

“A few years,” he answered as he leaned back in his chair. “Best mentor a man could ask for. He has a knack for finding people who don’t want to be found.” His eyes met hers, and he slowly leaned forward again, closing the distance between them by resting one forearm on the table near her side. The black sleeve of his coat grazed the white linen of her napkin. “That’s why I was so determined to find you. Didn’t want to let Whitmore down.”

Grace smoothed a wrinkle from the tablecloth to give her an excuse to glance down. He was too close. Too . . . intent. But she needed to watch him as he answered her next question, so she didn’t keep her gaze downcast for long. Just a heartbeat or two in order to give herself some relief from his stare. Then she banished the shy mouse inside her and raised her head. “How did you find me?”

Did his lips tighten just a bit at the corners? Grace peered more closely at his face, but it seemed the Pinkerton preferred to be on the giving end of scrutiny, not the other way around. He straightened away from the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “Good detective work.”

Grace waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t.

This time, she leaned across the table. She laughed, hoping to hide her determination to excavate details. “Can you be a little more specific?”

Mr. Dunbar smiled. That swaggering, I-could-kiss-your-garters-off-if-you-let-me smile that brought a warmth to her cheeks she was powerless to stop. “Can’t go giving away trade secrets, darlin’.”

She might not be able to control her blush, but she had a slightly stronger grasp on her mind. That smile was a decoy. He didn’t want to answer her question. Why?

Grace offered a smile of her own. One far less practiced yet, she hoped, flirtatious enough to play to his ego. “I won’t tell anyone.” She batted her lashes. She had no idea if such an action would help her cause or simply make her look ridiculous, but she figured it was worth a try. “You must have been quite clever to discover my hiding place after all this time. I thought for sure the trail had gone cold. What gave me away?”

He shrugged. “When I couldn’t find you, I turned my attention to Haversham. He’s wealthy, has lots of resources. I figured if I couldn’t uncover your hiding place on my own, I’d wait to see if Haversham did. Kept my ear to the ground, used a shared comradery with the Pinkerton agents on the mine payroll to gain access to inside information. Then, as soon as I heard about the telegraph lady in Colorado Springs giving up your location, I jumped on the first train headed south, praying I’d get to you before he did.”

“See,” Grace said, turning up the brightness on her false smile, “I knew you were clever.”

Dunbar preened at the praise, but the instant before his cocky grin returned in full force, the lines at the corners of his mouth relaxed. In relief that he hadn’t been caught in his web of deception.

For he was lying. Of that, Grace was convinced. She just wasn’t sure if he was lying now or had done so earlier.

Back in the telegraph office, Mr. Dunbar had seemed surprised when the marshal mentioned Haversham’s knowledge of her location. Yet now he claimed that he’d discovered her hiding place because he gleaned the information from Haversham’s men. Both scenarios could not be true. Had Chaucer Haversham gotten to Dunbar, corrupted him somehow, bribed his loyalty away from Whitmore? Or was the Pinkerton sitting across from her an honorable man who had simply been attempting to spare her worry when they first met, therefore choosing to minimize Haversham’s role?

Lord, help me discern the truth, Grace prayed as she dropped her attention to her lap.

“Here we go.” A cheerful voice interrupted Grace’s prayer as Ann Marie arrived at the table with a tray laden with beverages and sweets.

Mr. Dunbar scooted out his chair and stood. “Let me help you with that.” He reached for the tray.