Page 75 of Heart on the Line

“Not this one.” Amos’s grin was downright mischievous. “Apparently she’s been nursing him for several days and has become rather well acquainted with the gentleman.”

Grace flopped back against the cushions of the sofa. Helen and the Pinkerton. Who would have even fathomed such an occurrence?

“Anyway,” Amos continued, “the real Dunbar recalled seeing Lockhart with the Gladstone woman on the train and figured he’d try to take advantage of that relationship. So Shaw and Porter left Harper’s Station in the hands of the Pinkerton and hightailed it out to the Gladstone place. The sheriff showed up as well, right when . . .” Amos glanced down at his lap and swallowed. “Well, let’s just say we had Lockhart surrounded, and he didn’t make it past us.”

Grace’s heart fluttered. “You mean . . . ?”

Amos lifted his face toward hers and nodded. “Lockhart’s dead, Grace. You’re safe.”

Her vision blurred.

Safe. After all this time. Mercy, she’d nearly forgotten what such a state felt like. Then, as if a dam had broken, the tears fell, purging her heart of all the grief, fear, and dread that had hounded her heels for the last year.

Amos curled her into the crook of his arm and gently pressed her head onto his shoulder. “Shh.” His lips brushed the top of her head. “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you.”

Yes, he did.

36

Grace waved farewell to her new friend early the following morning. After the men had caught a few hours of sleep in the livery, they’d been up at dawn, readying the horses for the trip back to Harper’s Station. Not that Grace could blame them. She was more than eager to be home. Lockhart might no longer be a threat, but Chaucer Haversham could send another henchman. She had to end this matter for good.

The men surrounded her as they rode, the marshal on her left and Amos on her right. Porter rode behind. Their protectiveness eased her mind and made her smile, as did their efforts to keep the conversation light.

“Tabor said Miss Gladstone nearly shot his toes off when he dared to imply that Lockhart had been less than honest in representing himself to her.” Malachi grinned and shook his head. “Gotta appreciate the woman’s dedication. She’s got spunk.”

Amos rubbed the back of his head. “A little too much spunk, if you ask me. She brained me with a lantern.”

Grace winced, recalling how limp he’d been when Lockhart dragged his semi-conscious body into the barn. “Make sure you get Maybelle to take a look at that when we get back.”

He shrugged. “It’s just a knot and a few scrapes, nothing requiring stitches.”

“Still . . .” Grace stared at him.

The marshal chuckled. “Better do what the little woman wants, Bledsoe. Trust me, it’ll go a lot easier on you that way.”

“I have a mother and a sister,” Amos quipped as he tossed a teasing glance at Grace, throwing in a wink for good measure. “I know all about the words that buy a man’s peace.”

All three men looked at each other then said in near perfect unison, “‘Yes, ma’am.’”

Grace rolled her eyes but smiled, unable to resist their amusement. It felt good to laugh. To smile. To . . . relax.

But when they reached Harper’s Station, relaxation gave way to intentionality. It wouldn’t take long for Haversham to learn of Lockhart’s demise, and the best way to protect herself and those she cared about was to find the documents her father had hidden.

So while Amos visited the clinic and Malachi sought out Lee Dunbar, the true Pinkerton, Grace retrieved her father’s books from Emma’s vault and invited everyone involved in the affair to join her at the telegraph office. The time for secrets had passed. The more minds they had working on the problem, the more likely they were to find a solution.

Within twenty minutes, her small office nearly overflowed with occupants. Helen hovered over a man with a thick mustache, who sat in the blue-striped chair along the wall, his leg propped up on the crate her false shipment of books had arrived in. Malachi Shaw and Ben Porter moved her desk and telegraph equipment against the back wall to create more open space by the window, while Emma and Tori helped Grace tidy the books Lockhart had scattered over her floor and work area. Amos arrived last with a scowling Claire traipsing behind him.

“Daft man saw ye all gatherin’ and decided he’d had enough doctorin’, but I aim to finish the job I started.” The redhead marched Amos straight to the office chair and directed him to sit with a point of her finger.

Amos chanced a quick glance at the marshal as he walked past then turned back to Claire. “Yes, ma’am.”

Malachi and Ben snickered, earning glares from their women.

Grace ignored them all and came up beside Claire. “How is he?”

The young healer waited for Amos to seat himself then pointed to a wet spot on the back of his head. Grace winced at the size of the knot showing through his flattened hair.

“That lump will pain him fer a wee while,” Claire said, “but I’ve cleaned the cuts and brought along an unguent of St. John’s Wort that’ll speed the healin’. As long as he keeps the area clean, the sun will shine on him.”