Page 72 of Heart on the Line

Amos pulled the trigger.

But his wasn’t the only shot to ring out. Three others blasted through the night. Lockhart’s body jerked as each one hit from a different angle. Finally, he fell forward onto his face, the revolver tumbling from his hand unused.

“Nice of you to join the posse, Tabor.” Shaw tipped his hat to someone on Amos’s left, then dismounted and made his way to the body.

Amos got to his feet, his legs shaky and his mind numb. He’d never shot a man before.

“Well, I had me a personalized invite.”

Amos slowly turned his head toward the unfamiliar voice. A man on horseback with a star on his lapel was returning a gun to his holster.

The sheriff’s gray mustache twitched slightly as he crossed his wrists over his saddle horn, leaned forward, and scowled down at Lockhart. “Terrible business, this. Kidnapping womenfolk. Impersonatin’ lawmen. Pulling sheriffs away from perfectly good suppers to give chase. My stew’s gonna be stone cold by the time I get back to Seymour.” Sheriff Tabor shook his head as if that were the biggest crime of the night. “He dead, Shaw?”

The marshal stood from his crouch and nodded. “Yep. Though it’s impossible to tell whose bullet did him in.”

“Since you folks got no undertaker over in Harper’s Station, let’s say it were mine. That way, the county’ll pay for the pine box.” The sheriff eyed Shaw and Porter, his wily gaze lingering on the freighter’s mount. “I’ll let you younger fellas drag in the carcass, though. That Shire of Porter’s could probably carry all three of ya plus Lockhart’s dead weight without breaking a lather.”

“We’ll see to it,” the marshal agreed.

Sheriff Tabor tapped the brim of his hat in thanks and reined his mount back toward the road.

“Wait!” Amos darted forward, dropping his borrowed rifle near Malachi’s feet before intercepting the sheriff. “Could you take me back by the Gladstone place on your way? I stashed my mare near the barn, and I’ll need her to track down Miss Mallory.” He glanced back at his friends, hoping they’d understand his desertion. “Grace left here fleeing for her life. She’s terrified and most certainly injured. I have to find her and let her know she’s safe.”

“Whoa now, partner.” Sheriff Tabor leaned forward in his saddle. “Yer throwin’ words faster than my ears can catch ’em. This female yer talkin’ ’bout, she got brown hair, all wet and in a tangle, with a dark blue skirt?”

Amos nearly leaped from his shoes. “Yes! Have you seen her?”

The sheriff nodded, unhurried. “Crazy woman nearly ran me off the road. She had no business ridin’ a horse two sizes too big fer her. Stirrups floppin’ all over the place. Had to fix those for her before lettin’ her go on to town. All the while, she flapped her gums about some poor fella named Bledsoe being hunted down.” Tabor tilted his chin toward Amos. “I’m guessin’ that’s you. Anyhow, she demanded I leave her be and hurry over to Gladstone’s place to apprehend the same reprobate you wired about. Which I did. Thankfully in time to add my lead to the bullet sandwich you boys were offerin’ up.”

“So she’s in Seymour?” Amos fought to hide his impatience. The sheriff chewed his words like a cow did cud. Slow and circular, when Amos needed quick and direct.

“Yep. Told her to take the horse she borrowed to Bart Porter’s livery. Figured his wife would tend to her.”

“Their house is behind the livery,” Ben Porter said, blessedly concise and to the point. “On Main Street. A block north of Fischer’s Emporium. Not the stable near the depot where you rented that mule.”

Amos nodded, took the hand Sheriff Tabor offered, and swung up behind him.

“Addie’s a good woman.” The freighter’s endorsement of his sister-in-law’s character relieved Amos a bit, but the urgency to see Grace for himself refused to abate. “She’ll take good care of Miss Mallory.”

“Sorry to leave you to deal with Lockhart.” Well, not really. Amos’s stomach roiled every time he glanced at the fallen body, knowing he’d had a part in bringing him down. No matter how justified the killing, it still left him rather ill.

Shaw waved him on. “Don’t worry about it. Go see to Grace. She needs you.”

She needs you. The words did something strange to Amos’s chest, flooding it with warmth and protectiveness. And love so rich and soul-stirringly deep it left him rather shaken.

Grace needed him. Loved him. And heaven knew he needed her. Needed to be with her, to care for her, keep her safe, and never let her go.

Sheriff Tabor tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Ready, Bledsoe?”

Ready didn’t even begin to describe it. “Yes, sir.”

“Then hold on.” With a nudge of his heels, they were off, and for once Amos found himself glad to be on a horse instead of a bicycle. Transport involving four unwearied legs and superior night vision had its advantages. And he’d take any advantage he could wangle to get him to Grace’s side as fast as possible.

35

Grace couldn’t remember the last time someone else had brushed her hair. It should have been soothing, sitting in a chair by a warm fire, sipping tea while another woman gently removed the tangles from her matted tresses. Her scalp tingled pleasantly enough, yet her nerves refused to be assuaged.

“Relax.” Addie Porter’s southern lilt stroked as gently as her brush, yet both proved equally ineffective at releasing Grace’s tension. “You’ll do your man no favors if you fret yourself ill waiting on his return.”