Page 73 of Heart on the Line

Grace spun around on the footstool she was sitting on, her gaze imploring her new friend to understand the severity of the situation. “But he’s out there alone with the man who killed my father. A man who wants both of us dead.”

“And what, exactly, can you do that isn’t already being done for him?” Addie’s quiet question stole some of Grace’s steam.

The livery owner’s very pregnant wife took hold of Grace’s shoulders and repositioned her on the stool so she could resume working on her hair. “You’ve shot the scoundrel, stranded him without a horse, and alerted the sheriff—who apparently already knew about the situation because your man had somehow sent a telegram from the middle of the countryside. I still have no idea how he pulled that off.”

“He must have climbed a telegraph pole and cut the wires.” Though until this very moment, Grace hadn’t taken the time to fully digest what that meant. No ladder. No climbing gear. How had Amos accomplished it?

Addie chuckled softly. “Sounds to me like you have yourself a very resourceful fellow there. Have faith in him, Grace. There’s nothing worse for a man than for his woman to doubt his abilities.”

“I don’t!” Grace started to turn again as she voiced her protest, but Addie’s pointed look kept her in place. “Amos is the most intelligent, capable person I know. But he’s unarmed, running from a gunman who kills without conscience.”

The brush stilled. “And will your worry bring him back any faster?”

Grace sighed, knowing the answer but not knowing how to stop. “No.”

Wood clicked against wood as Addie set the brush on the end table beside her seat on the sofa. A moment later, her fingers separated Grace’s hair into sections and she began to plait. “Then let’s fill your mind with more worthy thoughts. Tell me about Amos. What is it about him that captured your heart?”

Grace sat silent for a long minute, sorting through all the wonderful memories she’d collected of the man she loved. The stories he’d entertained her with over the wire before they’d ever met in person—tales of his mother’s meddling, his sister’s teasing, and his young nephew’s exploits in the sports of glasses-grabbing and mud pie-eating. His genuineness. No unnecessary frills to dress up his tales and make them more titillating. No drive to impress. He was simply himself. Warm. Kind. He made her laugh and reminded her what it meant to be part of a family. The connection. The joy. The dedication to one another.

“He makes me feel like I’ve come home,” she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He took on my enemies as if they were his own and vowed to remain by my side no matter the danger. And he has. He’s so brave, Addie. So honorable.”

And if she lost him, she wasn’t sure she’d recover.

Addie must have sensed her melancholy, for she tied off the braid she’d fashioned with a bit of white ribbon then spun Grace around to face her. Her eyes twinkled, and her lips turned up impishly at one end. “And has he kissed you yet, this brave, honorable fellow?”

Heat rushed to Grace’s cheeks. She ducked her head.

“Aha! He has.” Addie’s laughter was infectious.

A smile crept onto Grace’s face.

“Was it a gentlemanly peck on the cheek, or something more . . . daring?” Addie leaned close, eager eyes wide and ready to absorb the secret.

And despite the fact they’d known each other for less than an hour, Grace wanted to tell her. Share confidences as if they were best friends with their heads bent together behind the schoolhouse after class. Addie had welcomed Grace into her home, after all, and given her dry clothes to wear—everything from undergarments to stockings to a lovely pink calico dress that had been one of Addie’s favorites before her pregnancy. A pregnancy that proved she knew a thing or two about kissing a man.

Grace’s gaze dropped to her lap, but her smile widened. “More than a peck.”

Addie hooted loudly enough that Grace feared Bart Porter might hear at the livery.

“Shhh!”

Addie clamped a hand over her mouth, yet her eyes continued to dance. Grace grinned. How could she not, when her hostess was such a delight?

And truly, remembering the kiss she and Amos had shared in the telegraph office—his strong arms around her, the way he’d looked at her as if she were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, his ardency as he’d taken control and led her down a road to passion she’d never travelled before but couldn’t wait to travel again, with him—her spirits couldn’t help but lift. She’d use her dreams of the future to hold the worries of the present at bay. She’d trust in the Lord to watch over the man she loved and continue praying for his safe return.

“Thank you.” Grace met Addie’s eyes as her friend’s hand fell away from her mouth. Understanding and comradery flowed between them. Addie nodded. Fear was an enemy best battled with an ally.

A dog barked outside, and Addie’s forehead crinkled. “We must have a guest. Scout wouldn’t carry on so if it were Bart. Though it’s awfully late for a caller.” She grabbed the arm of the sofa and started to lever herself up, the baby she carried making the movement awkward.

Grace hurriedly set down her nearly empty teacup and motioned for her friend to stay seated. “I’ll see to the door.”

“You don’t have—”

Grace narrowed her eyes in a mock scold. “I insist. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me tonight.”

Scout’s barking grew more insistent, and footsteps pounded on the porch as Grace made her way to the door. A burst of three knocks in quick succession echoed loudly in the room.

Grace set her hand to the latch but hesitated. What if Lockhart had tracked her somehow?