Page 46 of Heart on the Line

“Ben is a good man.” Tori jutted her chin slightly, ready to rush to her man’s defense.

Grace immediately reached across the counter to touch her friend’s arm. “I meant no criticism. Mr. Porter is a fine man. One of the best I know. I’m thrilled that the two of you are finally courting. The man adores you, Tori. Lewis, too. And with your similar business interests? Well, I’d say you two make a perfect match.”

“And what about your visitor?” Tori’s eyes sparkled as she neatly turned the conversation around on Grace. “A man with similar business interests and an attention to your welfare that goes well beyond that of a casual acquaintance.”

Grace blushed, and not the delicate touch of pink that Tori had displayed earlier. Grace’s cheeks ignited with instant inferno-level heat. It didn’t help that talk of courtship had already brought Amos to mind. Amos and that kiss the two of them had shared. In this very room. It was all Grace could do not to turn and stare at the area behind her desk where he had held her in his arms and swept her away with unexpected passion. Who knew a bespectacled, gawky cycling enthusiast could steal her breath so completely?

“Aha!” Tori smirked. “There is something between you two.”

Grace withdrew her arm and retreated behind the half-wall separating them, a wall that suddenly felt far too short. Not that this stopped her friend from following. Tori just leaned over the counter, making it clear there would be no escape.

It was time to put her shyness aside and stand tall for the man whose name she hoped to share one day. Straightening her shoulders, Grace forced herself to meet Tori’s gaze. “Mr. Bledsoe asked to court me, and I accepted.”

The shopkeeper’s teasing challenge dissolved into an expression of sweet joy. Had Emma been here, she probably would have squealed and dashed around the counter to sweep Grace up in a hug, but calm, unflappable Tori simply smiled. Yet that smile somehow filled the room with such warm acceptance that all Grace’s nervousness drained away.

“That’s wonderful.” Tori’s smile dimmed slightly as her gaze roamed to the open doorway and scanned the street. She turned back and lowered her voice slightly. “After seeing you and Mr. Dunbar in the café a few days ago, I worried you might be developing feelings for the handsome Pinkerton agent.”

Grace’s attention sharpened. “Is there something about Mr. Dunbar you dislike?”

Tori had never been terribly fond of men in general, but she was as close to an objective third party as Grace and Amos were likely to get without giving away their suspicions.

The shopkeeper shrugged. “Nothing I can put my finger on. He’s always polite, and I suppose the questions he asks are just part of his detective work, but sometimes . . . I don’t know. His eyes go cold.” She rubbed her arms. “Yesterday after church, I stopped him from questioning Lewis about the runaway horse he and Ben saw, because I could tell his pressing was making my son uneasy. Lewis kept ducking behind my skirts as if trying to escape. Something angry and almost mean flashed in Mr. Dunbar’s eyes. It only lingered for a second before Ben stepped in and offered to answer all of his questions, but it left my heart pounding. I’ll be glad for him to leave.”

“Me, too,” Grace concurred. “He shouldn’t be here much longer. He might even leave today.”

If he took her bait.

“Oh?” Tori’s eyebrows lifted.

“A package should be arriving for me with the shipment of bicycles from San Antonio. Hopefully the contents will satisfy Mr. Dunbar’s curiosity and send him on his way.”

A jangling harness sounded outside, and Tori’s head jerked toward the door. Her eyes lit up. “That will be Ben with my supplies. And those crazy bicycles, no doubt. He was going to meet the train to collect them this morning before heading out.”

Grace came around the counter and followed Tori outside. Sure enough, Mr. Porter’s large freight wagon was rolling toward the store. But he wasn’t alone. Nearly every lady in Harper’s Station had come out to welcome him, buzzing with curiosity. Henrietta Chandler pushed through them all, shouting at Mr. Porter to stop already so she could get a gander at her new velocipede.

“Oh, dear.” Tori shared a laughing look with Grace. “I better lend a hand before the swarm drags him down.”

Grace grinned. Then she spotted a familiar figure joining the crowd, one whose tidy suit and bespectacled features made her pulse flicker. She pointed his direction. “There’s Amos. He’ll distract the hordes long enough for you to extricate Mr. Porter.”

Tori took several steps into the street, her smile bright as she glanced back at Grace. “Your Mr. Bledsoe might be the one who ends up needing to be rescued. Better keep an eye out.”

Grace laughed as she waved to her friend. “I will.”

Knowing how busy her Monday mornings always were, Grace had shooed Amos away from the telegraph office. He’d volunteered to keep tabs on Detective Dunbar while she worked, so the Pinkerton was probably close by as well. Not that she had expected anything else. He’d be as eager to examine the freighter’s load as anyone, waiting for her shipment. Though at the moment, the ladies appeared to be taking over.

Grace smiled as Ben handed down the first women’s Yukon to Amos from the back of the wagon. Females engulfed the poor man before the tires even touched the ground. Henry and Emma clambered around in the heart of the fray, taking hold of the handlebars and pushing at the pedals with the toes of their shoes.

It seemed Amos was about to get roped into cycling lessons. Grace wished she could join the others and watch her man in action, but work came first. Emma’s broker needed the financial report before noon.

With a last fond look at the wheelman in the eye of a calico whirlwind, Grace headed back inside.

After deciphering the final line of the report, Grace set her pencil down and lifted the completely filled telegraph blank to review. She wanted to scan it for errors one last time before sending and cross out as many unnecessary words as possible in order to save her friend the extra expense. She’d just crossed out her third and when the office door banged open, startling her so badly she jumped.

“Sorry about that,” Detective Dunbar said as he stepped into the office carrying a large crate. “My hands are full.” He smiled and lifted the box a few inches higher to emphasize the truth of his words—and the breadth of his biceps. As if such a manly display excused his kicking her door in. The peacock.

Amos would have set the crate down and opened the door like a regular human being. Because Amos cared about protecting her property and not scaring her out of her wits.

Grace did not return the Pinkerton’s smile, but she did rise from her chair and walk toward the counter. “What can I do for you, Mr. Dunbar?”