Page 39 of Heart on the Line

“Amos,” Grace gasped, “what are you—?”

“Shh.” He positioned himself half in front of her, his bent arm casually braced against the tree trunk beside her head. “Gaze up at me as if I’m the most interesting man you’ve ever met.”

Her cheeks colored slightly, and Amos smiled, partly because it fit with the character he was trying to project, and partly because he just plain liked being the one to pinken her complexion. Much better than the blushes that snake Dunbar elicited.

Grace blinked at his authoritative tone, but she obeyed. He didn’t normally dictate unilateral decisions, but he could assert command when the situation warranted. And this situation more than warranted. Barking orders might not be the most successful wooing technique, but Grace’s safety was too important to worry about the possibility of hurt feelings.

When she’d convinced him to help her keep an eye on Dunbar as part of their investigation, he’d almost regretted mentioning the strategy earlier in the day. But he had to admit that sharing this adventure held its own thrilling appeal, and it offered a compelling reason to stay close to her side.

Grace lifted her chin and looked at him, her eyes soft and thoughtful. “You just might be,” she murmured.

“Might be what?” he asked, only half-listening to her as his ears picked up a horse nickering a short distance away and heavy footfalls approaching.

“The most interesting man I’ve ever met.”

That got his attention. Every one of his five senses honed in on the woman in front of him. He leaned in closer, drawn to her as everything else faded.

The clean scent of her skin teased him, tempting him to bend down and nuzzle her neck so he could breathe her in more completely. But then his eyes drank in her sweet face, the curve of her cheek, the way the wind blew a few loose strands of hair across her chin until they snagged at the corner of her mouth, and he was captivated anew. She reached a hand up to free the hairs from her mouth and tuck them behind her ear, and suddenly he wished it were his fingers touching her face. To brush across the plump softness of her lower lip, to skim along the edge of her jaw, to caress the delicate shell of her ear. Then her lashes fell and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and a new hunger rose within him. A hunger to taste, to savor, to—

“You know, Bledsoe,” a dark baritone rumbled behind him, jerking Amos back into reality with a start, “if you’re gonna court a gal, you should do it somewhere a little more private.” A large hand slapped against Amos’s shoulder blade, nearly sending him toppling into Grace. “That way, there’s less chance of being interrupted by a suitor who’s far more handsome and roguishly charming.”

Amos scowled at Dunbar, not at all surprised to find the Pinkerton blatantly making eyes at Grace right in front of him. The cad. Grace’s cheeks had darkened from pink to scarlet.

“Fortunately, the lady I’m courting is more concerned with substance than surface,” Amos said, forcing a confidence he didn’t feel into his tone. “But thank you for the advice just the same.”

Really, he should be grateful that his quickly formulated ruse had worked, convincing Dunbar that he and Grace were simply out for an afternoon stroll, not following the detective around in order to ascertain his motives. Yet the cocky, far-too-handsome Pinkerton left Amos’s nerves raw every time they interacted. Dunbar personified every insecurity Amos possessed. And worse, the detective knew it.

“Are you out for a walk as well, Mr. Dunbar?” Grace said, her voice breathy and . . . did her lashes just bat?

“Yep. Getting the layout of the town mapped in my brain.” Dunbar tapped the side of his head and grinned that arrogant, I-can-do-anything-better-than-that-dullard-you’re-with smile that set Amos’s teeth on edge. “Gotta be ready to protect my mission and the lovely lady tied to it should Haversham’s man show his face. I’ve been asking around, too. If anyone sees anything unusual—another man about, or signs of a trail or campsite—I’ll be sure to check it out.” He reached out and touched Grace’s face with the back of his hand. Her face! “Don’t you worry, Miss Mallory. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Amos clenched his fist, bit his tongue, stuffed down the raving beast inside him demanding he take retribution against the scoundrel who’d touched his woman. His woman.

It helped when Grace stepped away from the Pinkerton, letting his hand fall away from her. But hearing her syrupy sweet tones stroke the man’s already inflated ego made it a challenge not to gag.

“You’re so good to watch out for me, Mr. Dunbar.” She gave a shiver that actually looked genuine, then rubbed her arms. “I pray this whole ordeal is over soon.”

That made two of them. Amos was more than ready to send Dunbar packing. Or have him arrested. Whatever method of eradication proved appropriate.

“As soon as we get those books from your friend, this will all be behind you. I’ll take charge of the documents, give them to Whitmore, and Haversham won’t be able to touch you.” Dunbar absently kicked at an acorn near his boot. “Did you . . . ah . . . hear back from your friend yet? Is she sending the books?”

“No . . . she hasn’t responded yet.” Grace fidgeted with her sleeve and inched a hair closer to Amos. “But I suspect she will soon.”

“Then shouldn’t one of you be manning the wire?”

Grace shot a look at Amos. He sensed her fear and understood it. Dunbar was no idiot. He knew an operator wouldn’t leave his or her post during business hours. Did he suspect they were keeping tabs on him? They’d monitored his comings and goings from the telegraph office, either through the window or via an occasional stroll outside, until he’d headed for the clinic and left their field of view. Grace had insisted they follow him and dashed out of the office without even fetching her shawl. Amos hadn’t been about to let her go after Dunbar alone, so he’d hied after her, doing his best to keep her enthusiasm in check and her pretty self out of danger.

Dunbar frowned and shot Amos a hard look. “Maybe the courtship should wait until after Haversham is dealt with. Miss Mallory’s safety must come first. Don’t you agree?”

Was it Amos’s imagination, or was there a deeper threat beneath that not-so-friendly warning? Admittedly, it was hard to make a proper inference when jealousy tainted his perception. Either way, as much as it galled him to agree, Amos had to admit that Dunbar made a valid point.

Amos straightened to his full height, which was still a frustrating three or four inches shorter than the Pinkerton. “I assure you, Miss Mallory’s well-being is my chief concern.”

Dunbar glowered. “Then perhaps you should return to your post to ensure you don’t miss any important messages.”

Amos tamped down the surprisingly fierce urge to smash his fist into the condescending man’s face. It required significant effort to resist, seeing as his blood was running hot and sloshing through his veins with all the delicacy of a rampaging river, but he wasn’t so far gone that he’d lost hold of reason. Fisticuffs wouldn’t curry Grace’s favor. As richly satisfying as it might be to plow his hand into Dunbar’s chin, the retribution that would surely follow would only highlight his deficiencies. Dunbar would pummel Amos into the ground. Probably in a matter of seconds. Not that Grace wasn’t worth being pummeled for, but it wasn’t her honor that had been impugned. Dunbar’s disdain had strictly been aimed at Amos.

So, forcing his gaze away from the Pinkerton’s jawline—the spot he’d been eyeing as the target for a swift uppercut—Amos turned to Grace and held out his hand. “What do you say, Miss Mallory? Are you ready to return to the telegraph office?”