Page 78 of Heart on the Line

Chaucer Haversham rode into Harper’s Station like some kind of visiting dignitary, tipping his hat politely to each of the armed men he passed on his way. Malachi Shaw at the station house. Ben Porter in front of the store. Lee Dunbar at the bank where Helen, Claire, and Maybelle had decided to wait things out—Helen to stay close to the Pinkerton, and the healers to be on hand in case their services were required.

Amos stiffened as the man who’d instigated all of Grace’s hardship guided his horse toward the telegraph office. Sheriff Tabor shadowed him and deputies rode behind, but that offered small comfort. Amos adjusted his grip on the rifle he’d borrowed from the marshal. Whatever Haversham thought to accomplish by coming here, Amos intended to see he left unfulfilled.

“Good day to you, sir,” Haversham said as he drew his horse to a halt in front of Amos. “I’m here to see Miss Mallory. Would you be so kind as to fetch her for me?”

“I’m afraid Miss Mallory is unavailable.” Amos widened his stance as he eyed the man in the black tailored suit. Sunlight glinted off a silver ring on Haversham’s little finger as he lifted his hand to tip his hat to Amos just as he had done to all the others, who were now closing in on their visitor, surrounding him on all sides. Feeling the strength of their numbers, Amos grinned. “I’d be glad to convey a message to her on your behalf, if you would like.”

“I’m afraid that would be quite unsatisfactory.” Haversham met Amos’s gaze with eyes as smug as they were falsely solicitous. “You see, I’ve come to offer my most heartfelt apologies. I understand that a man formerly in my employ harassed Miss Mallory in recent days and caused her some manner of distress.”

“Some manner of distress?” A muscle ticked in Amos’s jaw. “Lockhart tried to kill her. And me.”

“Well, you can imagine my relief at learning that he was unsuccessful,” Haversham continued, his gentility so sickeningly sweet it was all Amos could do not to retch. “I would like to express my deepest regrets to the lady and assure her that I had nothing to do with the incident.”

“Then why are you here?” Amos glared up him, not believing a word that passed his lips. “If you’re so removed from this incident, as you claim, how is that you came to be in Seymour on the very day that your employee abducted and attacked Miss Mallory? Doesn’t seem very removed to me. Seems more like you had a vested interest in the matter.”

Haversham sighed. “I can see that you’ve already painted me guilty by association. Understandable, given the situation. But in truth, I followed Milton Lockhart to Seymour in order to stop him from doing anything . . . untoward. Milton could get rather fixated on things, you see, and when he realized how upset I was about the theft of a pair of books from my library, he took it upon himself to get them back. I insisted that we wait to get a court order, but he wouldn’t hear of it. As soon as he learned of Miss Mallory’s location, he set out to retrieve my property.”

The way he emphasized the words my property set off alarm bells in Amos’s head.

“And now, I really must insist on seeing Miss Mallory.” Haversham dismounted and strode forward until he stood directly in front of Amos. “She may meet me of her own accord, or I can have the sheriff drag her out and throw her in jail, if that is her preference.”

The marshal pushed his way through the deputies to flank Haversham from the rear. “Tabor? What’s he talking about?”

Sheriff Tabor dismounted as well, then reached inside his jacket and pulled out a paper folded in half. “He’s got a writ. Signed by a judge. It compels Grace Mallory to produce two novels marked with Tremont Haversham’s seal.” Tabor unfolded the paper and held it up to his face. “Oliver Twist and Guy Mannering,” he read. “She’s to return them to their rightful owner, Mr. Chaucer Haversham, or face arrest on charges of theft.” He handed the paper to Malachi. “I got no choice, Shaw. The law’s the law. Best if she just hands over them books. Then we can send this jackanapes on his way.”

“That jackanapes shouldn’t be sent on his way. He should be arrested for murder.” A feminine voice laced with steel echoed behind Amos.

Grace! Amos wanted to shout at her to get back inside, to stay as far from Haversham as possible. He’d nearly lost her yesterday. He couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to her today.

But Haversham couldn’t harm her. At least not physically. He was only one man, unarmed by all appearances, and surrounded by no less than seven men who’d not hesitate to put him down should the occasion call for it.

“Ah, the lovely Miss Mallory.” Chaucer Haversham removed his hat with a flourish and sketched a gallant bow. “What a delight to finally meet you in person. Let me say—”

“No. I won’t let you say.”

Amos nearly choked at the startled look on Haversham’s face as Grace marched past Amos and planted herself directly in front of her nemesis. Shy, quiet Grace Mallory had not only interrupted a conversation, but she’d placed herself directly in the center of attention. Every eye was locked on her, and she held herself like an avenging angel ready to pronounce judgment.

Clutching the books Haversham sought against her chest with folded arms, Grace raised her chin and stabbed him with an icy stare. “You killed my father.”

Haversham darted a glance toward Sheriff Tabor as he straightened and replaced his hat on his head. “I assure you, I did no such thing.”

“You might not have pulled the trigger yourself, but you ordered it done.”

He shook his head, a condescending smile sneaking onto his face. Amos wanted to smash it with his rifle butt. “My dear girl, I fear you’re laboring under some misguided notions.”

“I’m not your dear anything,” Grace ground out, “and everyone here knows you are guilty.”

Haversham made a tsk sound. “Miss Mallory, perhaps you are unaware, but in this country a man is presumed innocent until proven guilty.” He opened his arms and gestured to the men encircling him. “And since none of these fine, upstanding lawmen are rushing forward to take me into custody, I must assume that proof of my guilt does not exist. However, proof of your guilt does.” He nodded toward the books she held. “I believe those belong to me.”

Not for long. Satisfaction filled Amos at the thought of the arrogant rogue finally getting his comeuppance.

Grace thrust the books at Haversham, but as he closed his hands around them, she kept a grip on her end. “God knows the truth,” she said in a low voice that only those standing closest could hear. “And if justice does not find you in this life, Chaucer Haversham, it will find you in the next.”

With those words hanging like sharpened swords in the air, Grace released her hold on the books, turned around, and walked back toward her office.

Such courage and conviction. Amos grinned at her as she came alongside him. She was extraordinary.

“Oh, Miss Mallory?” Haversham called to her retreating back.