Page 66 of Heart on the Line

Lockhart pressed a knee between Amos’s shoulder blades and jammed his gun against the back of Amos’s head. “Tell me where the books are, Grace, or I’ll shoot Bledsoe and cut the answers out of you piece by piece.”

“If you kill him, I’ll never tell you.” She leaned forward against her restraint, the leather digging into her chest. “No matter what you do to me. But if you let him go, I give you my word that I’ll tell you where they are.”

“Grace, no,” Amos groaned, straining against Lockhart’s weight, but the larger man restrained him with ease.

Lockhart looked from one prisoner to the other. Grace could practically see the thoughts running through his mind. He knew what she’d endured already. Knew her mental fortitude. He also knew he was running out of time. If he didn’t get the answers he sought tonight, his best window of opportunity to retrieve the books without fully exposing himself would be lost. He might very well follow through on his threat to gather his compatriots and storm Harper’s Station, but that would take time. Time that would allow Malachi to bring in reinforcements of his own.

On the other hand, letting Amos go meant running the risk of the telegraph operator fetching Sheriff Tabor. Lockhart would have to abandon the security of the Gladstone farm. Would he take the risk, or would he give up on the books, kill them all, and make his escape?

32

Grace stared at Lockhart, daring him to take her offer.

He rubbed his jaw, scowled, then cursed. “All right. I’ll let Bledsoe go. But on my terms.” He removed his knee from the center of Amos’s back, then grabbed his arm and yanked him to his feet. “There’s a clearing half a mile east of here,” Lockhart said with a wave of his gun. “Far enough away to muffle any necessary gunshots.”

He shoved Amos forward, pointed his gun at his back, and marched him toward Grace.

Bending forward to shield her hands, Grace slipped the shears from her lap to beneath her knees, praying her captor’s view was sufficiently obstructed by his prisoner.

Amos caught the action, though, and met her gaze. His eyes burned like blue fire, his jaw set. I’m not leaving you with him, his face all but shouted.

She lifted her chin and stared back. You must.

A muscle ticked in Amos’s cheek and his eyes blazed, but he nodded. Just a tiny dip of his chin, yet it conveyed everything Grace needed. He would escape and protect the ladies of Harper’s Station.

“On your feet, Grace,” Lockhart barked. “You’re gonna fetch my horse.”

“Hard to do when I’m strapped to the wall,” she sassed as she struggled to get her feet under her while keeping a grip on the fabric of her skirt to camouflage her hands. She hadn’t had time to saw through all the rope, but it had definitely frayed. Whether it was frayed enough to allow her to break free was yet to be determined, but she couldn’t afford Lockhart suspecting anything amiss.

Unable to use her arms for balance, Grace rose awkwardly, nearly tumbling sideways. Amos took hold of her shoulders, steadying her. Grace smiled her thanks until Lockhart leaned around Amos and knocked his arms away. Grace glared at him.

Lockhart shrugged. “Consider me your chaperone, darlin’. Rest assured there’ll be no hanky-panky on my watch.”

“I’m so relieved,” Grace said, sarcasm dripping from her tongue as thick as molasses from a spoon. She turned to present her back to the men. Someone would have to loosen the leather strap.

“Unbuckle it, Bledsoe. But only the strap, mind you. The lady’s clothes must stay where they are.”

Grace wanted to slam her fist into Lockhart’s mouth. Not that it would help matters. It probably wouldn’t even dent a tooth, not with him being so tall and her being so wrung out. But the thought buoyed her flagging spirits. This was a war, after all, and it was time to fight.

Once Amos released her from the strap, Grace circled her shoulders and stretched her elbows wide, reminding her arms how to move. Amos’s hands lingered at her waist, squeezing gently, instilling hope. It would have been a lovely moment had Lockhart not snatched her arm and jerked her away.

“Fetch my horse. Last stall.”

She glowered at her captor, then met Amos’s gaze as she walked past. How she wished they had more time. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much of life she wanted to share with him. She wanted to meet his sister and his mother, play with his nephew, and perhaps even give young Harry a cousin or two to boss around during family outings.

She even wanted to learn how to ride that ridiculous velocipede. She’d seen pictures of bicycles fashioned for two riders. She and Amos could cycle together on the same machine. Laughing, causing havoc in the streets. It would be paradise.

Lockhart’s fist crashed into Amos’s jaw. Amos’s head snapped sideways, his spectacles skewed across the bridge of his nose. Grace gasped.

“Move faster, girlie,” Lockhart ordered, “or next time I’ll use my knife instead of my fist.”

Grace blinked away the shards of paradise lost and dashed deeper into the barn, searching out the last stall. Lockhart’s gelding lifted his head from the feedbox as she approached. All his tack remained in place—saddle, bridle, pack. All she had to do was tighten the cinch to make him ready. Her captor obviously preferred keeping his getaway options open. He might be cocky, but he wasn’t stupid.

Well, she wasn’t stupid either. Nor was she helpless. And if everything went according to plan, she just might live long enough to make the future she’d envisioned with Amos a reality.

Grace unnotched the buckle on the cinch, then did her best to tighten the strap despite the awkwardness of bound hands. Once satisfied with the result, Grace took hold of the brown gelding’s reins and led him from the stall. The clop of his hooves echoed dully in the barn as they struck the packed dirt floor, but Grace barely registered the sound. She was too concerned about the frayed edges poking up around the center of her wrists. Her work with the cinch had frayed the rope further, and with her arms exposed as she led the horse, there was no way to hide the evidence. Would Lockhart notice?

She stole a glance at her captor. Holding Amos at gunpoint, he was ordering his prisoner to open the barn door. Which meant his back was turned to her. Thank God. With Lockhart’s focus on Amos and the increasing shadows as dusk darkened, she just might make it. Grace clasped her palms together around the reins to keep from putting any undue pressure on the weakened rope and strode forward, careful to keep on Lockhart’s right so her body would impede his view of her arms.