Page 5 of Heart on the Line

Amos glared at her. “Mother should never have told you about my inquiry into Harper’s Station.” His sister was far too clever and too much of a matchmaker to let a juicy tidbit like his friendship with a mysterious female telegraph operator go unexplored.

Lucy shrugged. “I had most of it figured out already. You spending less and less time here after dinner, always needing to swing by the office on your way home. I never expected it to last this long, though.” She elbowed him in the ribs as they walked into the front hall. “Something tells me you’re smitten, big brother.”

A denial rose to Amos’s lips as warmth crawled up his neck. Thankfully, his nephew saved him from telling a bald-faced lie.

“Unca ’Mus! Unca ’Mus!” The two-year-old boy ran like a runaway train straight for him, arms outstretched, grin wide.

Amos’s heart surged with love as he bent down to scoop up the rascal. “Harry! My goodness, but you’re getting heavy.” Pretending to struggle in lifting the tiny sprout off the ground, Amos grunted and groaned. They ran through this routine every night, and it never got old. How could one resist such an enthusiastic welcome?

Harry, of course, went straight for the glasses as soon as Amos settled him in his arms. Amos had given up trying to avoid the inevitable about six weeks ago and now just let it happen. It was easier that way. Lucy would scold and pry the spectacles out of Harry’s slobbery fingers. Amos would blow a buzz of air against Harry’s neck until the boy giggled uncontrollably and squirmed to get down. Once the little monster ran off, Lucy would hand Amos the glasses. He’d unbend the wire frames, rub the lenses clean, then join the rest of the family in the dining room.

Tonight, however, his sister held his spectacles for ransom after her son ran off to pester his grandmother. When Amos raised a brow at her, she simply looked at him, all teasing gone from her face.

“You’d make a great father, you know.”

“Lucy . . .” Amos shook his head. He didn’t need this tonight. Not after facing down Harriet Dexter and her maids-in-waiting. His sister meant well, but nagging him to marry only made things worse. It wasn’t like he was trying to stay single.

She touched his arm. “She’s out there, Amos. The right lady for you. And she’ll be a better match than you can even imagine. God will see to that. All you have to do is find her.”

Amos blew out a breath, a sarcastic laugh escaping with the air. “She’s hiding awfully well, sis.”

She patted his back then held out his glasses. “Maybe you’ve been looking in the wrong places.” She strolled ahead a few steps before swiveling for one last parting shot. “You might try Harper’s Station. I hear there’s a surplus of females there.” Her mouth curved into a smirk. “Might increase your chances with less competition around. I’m sure your friend at the telegraph office could make some recommendations.”

“Why, you . . .” Amos lurched forward, a growl rumbling in his throat.

Lucy shrieked and ran off, no doubt straight into her husband’s arms. The perfect refuge for such a disgustingly happy married woman.

Yet her words lingered, urging Amos to take a risk—to attempt to turn a fantasy into something real and lasting. What was the worst that could happen?

2

Harper’s Station, TX

It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Grace Mallory smiled at the soft comment from Emma Shaw as the two of them slowed their pace on the boardwalk outside the café, not wanting to encroach on the scene playing out in front of the general store.

“Another prayer answered,” Grace murmured, her joy true and deep at the sight of her friend finally opening herself to the possibility of love. “She deserves to be happy.”

“Amen to that.” Emma drew to a halt, a smile blossoming across her face.

Grace stopped as well, her own lips curving at the sight of Victoria Adams—shopkeeper, single mother, and former proponent of the never-trust-a-man-for-any-reason philosophy—standing in the circle of a man’s arms. A very tall, muscular man, whose slouch against the freight wagon at his back did nothing to disguise his massive physique. The complete adoration on his face as he looked down at the woman in his arms, however, made his size completely irrelevant.

That was what every woman wanted. Evidence of a man’s love, his devotion, his unwavering dedication. Malachi Shaw looked at Emma that way. Grace’s father had looked at her mother that way. And now Mr. Porter looked at Tori in the same manner. Grace’s heart warmed with delight for her friend, yet also panged with a strident chord of envy. Would she ever be the recipient of such a look?

The vivid image of the last look her father had given her as he lay dying in a cold Colorado street answered her question. Women in hiding didn’t have beaus. Couldn’t have beaus. Not if they wanted to ensure their suitors stayed alive.

Emma touched her arm. “Grace? Are you all right?”

Grace immediately smiled to erase any evidence of her melancholy thoughts. “Of course. It’s just that seeing Tori and Ben together reminds me of my parents. My father used to look at my mother that same way.”

Emma nodded and turned her attention back to the courting couple. “I envy you your memories. The aunts have told me stories about my mother and father’s courtship, and I have the pocket watch my mother gave him with her love note inscribed inside, but I can barely recall their faces, let alone the way they used to look at each other.”

Grace squeezed Emma’s hand, thankful for the reminder that she wasn’t the only one who had experienced loss and hardship. “I imagine they looked at each other in much the same way you and Malachi do now.”

Emma’s cheeks grew rosy, but her smile shone even more brightly. She squeezed Grace’s hand in return. “I hope you’re right. Because when Mal looks at me with love in his eyes, I feel like I can accomplish any task, endure any hardship, and overcome any obstacle, as long as he’s by my side.”

“I think you’ve proven that in the last few months,” Grace said with a soft chuckle.