Page 43 of Heart on the Line

Grace’s mind spun at a dizzying speed. Good heavens. She’d never considered . . . Did he feel obligated? His company would be a boon for sure, yet there’d be ramifications for him. “Amos,” she sputtered, trying to find the words, “the fare to Philadelphia is so expensive. I had to arrange a loan with Emma just to cover my cost. I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.” He strode over to her with all the purpose and confidence of a band leader on parade. He halted in front of her chair and extended his hand.

Grace slowly fit her palm to his. He pulled, bringing her to her feet. The sweet, nervous Amos was endearing and comfortable to be around, but this more masterful version? He made her toes tingle.

The same sensation had washed over her earlier when he’d grabbed her arm and pressed her against that tree. For a heart-stopping moment, she’d thought he was going to kiss her, and oh, how she’d wanted him to. But that had been for show. Now they were alone, with no need for pretense or subterfuge. Yet here they stood, her hand in his, light blue eyes gazing down at her with such tenderness and determination that her pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing.

Rarely did a person sense a life-changing moment before it occurred. Usually only hindsight revealed its significance. Grace had experienced such a premonition once before, in the moment she watched her father step into that Denver street. She felt it again now. A weight of importance. A buzz of excitement. An anticipation that shallowed her breath.

“Grace.” Amos rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I came to Harper’s Station for you. Not because I overheard your friend’s warning, although that did expedite my arrival, but because I had started falling in love with you over the wire. I had already made up my mind to arrange a meeting before we started talking that evening. I wanted—no, I needed to meet you in person, to determine if we might be compatible in more than simply wire chatter.”

Grace’s mouth grew so dry, she feared she’d be unable to speak. Not that her mind was functioning properly enough to form a coherent sentence anyway, but such a soul-baring speech merited some kind of response.

“Amos . . . ,” she managed, though she had no idea what would follow his name.

He shook his head. “No, let me finish.”

Oh, thank heavens. His finishing meant she could delay beginning. She needed all the time she could get to scrape together the remnants of her scattered wits. Not to mention the fact that she really, really liked hearing what he was saying.

“I don’t know what will come of this situation with Dunbar and your father’s missing documents, but I do know that your safety means more to me than my own life. More than my worldly goods. I may not be a rich man, but I have enough to support a mother, and before Lucy married, a sister as well, while still squirreling away funds for a rainy day. If that rainy day arrives because the woman I . . . I care for needs my assistance, then I will gladly reach for an umbrella to shelter the two of us as we move forward together.”

Grace smiled. Well, it started as a smile, then it stretched into a full-out beam of a grin. An umbrella? Oh, Amos. Delightfully gawky when it came to romance but so wonderfully sweet.

He hadn’t changed. He was still the friend who made her laugh, the man who wore spectacles and tapped the sounder like a regimented woodpecker, the unconventional sportsman who preferred a bicycle to a horse. However, seeing this new side of him made it clear that he was also a man a woman could depend on when life’s burdens grew too heavy to carry alone. A man unafraid to step forward and take the lead. Not with bullying swagger or excessive posturing, but with decency and gentle authority. He was a man worthy of respect. A man who made her feel stronger just by holding his hand.

“I have feelings for you, Grace,” he said, shifting slightly and raising his free hand to adjust the perch of his spectacles on his nose even though they were already straight. “Feelings that have only grown stronger during the time we’ve spent together the past few days. I’d like . . .” He paused, glanced down at his feet and swallowed, then lifted his gaze to hers again. His bright, unapologetic, incredibly courageous gaze.

How brave he was to speak such words. She might have thought along similar lines, but saying such things aloud? So bold and forthright after such a short acquaintance? She’d be a trembling, stammering, tomato-red mess. Admiration swelled in her breast as she held her breath, waiting for whatever came next.

“I’d like to pay court to you, Grace. Officially. With the intention of asking for your hand if the idea proves amenable after a sufficient wooing period.”

The smile that had faded to respectable lines when his proposal began fought to break free again, but she restrained it. Some women might consider his intellectual recitation dry and lacking passion, but they would be wrong. Grace could see the depth of emotion glittering in his eyes and recognized his formality as a tribute to the importance he placed on the occasion. She would respond in kind.

Forcing her eyes to maintain their connection with his despite the nearly overpowering urge to glance away, she gave a slight nod. “I accept your suit, Amos Bledsoe. And I accept your generous offer of escort, as well.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and Grace loosened the reins on her smile, allowing it to welcome his suit, his affection, his . . .

Kiss?

Amos fit his hand to her cheek, cupping her face so tenderly, so intimately that Grace’s heart stumbled in its rhythm. The gentle pressure of his hand tilted her face upward, and the sweet curve of his lips as he gazed at her made her feel beautiful and treasured and horrendously nervous all at once.

She’d never kissed a man before. Well, none except her father, and those cheek pecks surely didn’t count. What if she did it wrong? She couldn’t bear being a disappointment to Amos, not after all those wonderful pledges of devotion he had given her. Yet she couldn’t escape either. Pulling away at this juncture would only hurt and confuse the man she’d just accepted as suitor. The man she was quickly coming to admire above all others.

So she held fast, her focus dropping from his heavy-lidded eyes to the lips that hovered a scant inch above hers.

“May I kiss you, Miss Mallory?” His husky whisper sent shivers dancing across her skin.

Land sakes! Did he actually expect her to verbalize an answer? Simply keeping her legs beneath her required every spare faculty at the moment. Somehow she managed a slight dip of her chin, and Amos—possessed of considerably more of his faculties, apparently—astutely recognized the minuscule motion as assent.

When his lips touched hers, the gentle contact soothed her fears even as it lured her in for more. He brushed his mouth over hers once, twice. On the third pass, he lingered, his fingers on her face drawing her closer as they caressed her skin with the lightest touch.

She tried to stay still, to let him direct things, since he seemed to have an inkling of how to accomplish this particular feat. However, when he let go of her hand in order to wrap his arm around her waist and drag her against his chest, she could no more hold back her response than she could hold back avalanching snow.

She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him back, praying she didn’t do something gauche and embarrass them both. He didn’t thrust her away, which she took as a good sign, but neither did he react. It was as if her sudden participation shocked him into paralysis. Until she tentatively reached out and laid her palm over the place she imagined his heart to be. Then, as if a jolt of lightning had passed through her fingertips into his chest, he clenched his arms and tightened his hold on her, his lips pressing deeper, tasting her more fully.

Sensations bombarded her, making her dizzy. Her knees weakened beneath the assault, but Amos held her firm, her anchor in the vortex. She found the idea of a future with this man very amenable indeed.

Yet as much as his kiss exhilarated her, the loss of control it inspired unsettled her. She pushed more firmly against Amos’s chest, a tricky feat in itself, since her arms currently held all the strength of wet newsprint. Nevertheless, Amos reacted immediately. He loosened his grip and separated his mouth from hers.