Page 40 of Heart on the Line

She laid her fingers across his palm. Fingers, he noted, that trembled slightly. “I believe I am, Mr. Bledsoe. Thank you.” She dipped her chin slightly toward Dunbar as she stepped away from the tree and moved back into the road. “I’ll send word if I hear from my friend. Oh, that reminds me. Where will you be staying, Mr. Dunbar? I might not get word until later this evening and need to know where to find you.”

“The marshal’s letting me bunk in the jailhouse.” He grinned and rubbed a hand over his well-trimmed beard. “Not the most glamorous of accommodations, I’ll grant you, but I’ve stayed in worse. Got me a cot, a stove, and probably a cricket or two to sing me to sleep. All the essentials.”

Grace smiled yet continued edging closer to Amos. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll be sure to get a message to you when I learn how soon we can expect the rest of my father’s belongings to arrive.”

“Excellent.” Dunbar touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll wish you a good day then.”

“Good day.”

Amos said nothing, but then, neither of the others seemed to expect him to do so.

Dunbar took his leave without further question or comment, and Amos escorted Grace back to the office, keeping her hand locked in his the entire way.

Once the door was secured behind them, Amos ushered her behind the counter and gave her a stern look. “You can’t stay here alone tonight. It’s too dangerous. What if Dunbar suspects you’re stalling and decides to break in and search for your father’s documents himself? You’d be at his mercy.”

“Not completely.” Now that they were away from the Pinkerton, her pluck had returned, and her voice echoed with a firmness he couldn’t help but admire. She moved a few steps away from him then turned her back and rummaged with her skirts.

What in the world was she—

Pivoting to face him again, she held out a small pistol for his inspection. “I’m always armed.”

Amos stared at the derringer. “Where . . .”

“I have a garter holster.” She didn’t even blush as she made that announcement, just stated the fact as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe all women walked around with weapons strapped to their garters. How would he know? “Sometimes I carry it in my handbag, but I prefer keeping it closer to hand. A lady never knows when she might have her bag knocked away. At night I keep it on my bedside table, always within reach. Between that and the sturdy locks on my door and window, I’ll be safe enough.”

Amos didn’t know if he should be awed by her preparedness or cowed by her independence. Truthfully, it was hard to concentrate on either one after she mentioned garters. Visions of shapely legs and bits of lace securing silky stockings kept flashing through his mind, distracting him.

“At least now we know where he’ll be.” Grace slid into the office chair and leaned an elbow on the desk next to the telegraph. “I imagine Malachi offered the jailhouse so he could keep an eye on him.”

“Well, if the marshal can see the jail from the station house, that means I can help keep watch as well. I’ll speak to him tonight about taking shifts. If Dunbar starts roaming during the night, I want to know about it.”

“Mmm.”

Amos frowned at the distracted sound. Wasn’t she taking this seriously? Had the Pinkerton’s blathering about protecting her from Haversham lulled her into a false sense of security? She needed to be on her guard. Dunbar could be a coldhearted killer. Or at the very least, a money-hungry opportunist. All right, he could also be a legitimate detective, but Amos doubted it. Dunbar was too sly by half.

Determined to make sure Grace understood the peril of the situation, Amos planted himself directly in front of her. But before he could start his lecture, she glanced up at him and smiled. Not one of her polite smiles or even the shy curvings of her lips that made his heart flip. This grin was full and toothsome and stretched upward toward eyes that danced with mischief and intelligence. The brilliant show stopped Amos in his tracks and drove all thoughts of lecture from his mind.

“You need to collect Tori’s order,” Grace said.

Amos usually considered himself a man of astute mind, but in the face of that particular smile and the dramatic turn of topic accompanying it, he found himself at a loss. “What order?”

“The bicycles. From San Antonio.” Her tawny eyes glowed with barely banked excitement.

“Right now?”

She nodded. “Yes. With all due haste.” She launched from her chair and clasped his hand. “I have an idea,” she boasted, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “One that involves bicycles and shipments and me developing a rather speedy friendship with one of your wheelmen compatriots.”

20

You won’t find her,” the stranger growled, his eyes feral as he strained against the restraints.

Helen’s heart tripped over itself. She’d tied him like an animal and then left him. Surely she could have come up with some other way to ensure he didn’t leave. Why hadn’t she—

“Even if you flay the skin from my back, I won’t tell you.” He glared his defiance at Claire, his mouth drawn in a tight line, his face red from anger and fever. “You might be bigger, but my mind is stronger. You’ll never touch her again.”

Claire glanced at Helen, the fear that had held her frozen relaxing a little. “The poor man is clearly out of his head,” she whispered. “Whisht!” She chuckled softly and looked down at herself, holding her arms wide at her sides. “He thinks me bigger than himself!”

Helen smiled a little at the ludicrous idea of the young nurse being anything but diminutive when compared to the long, lean stranger. Yet she couldn’t summon more than a slight upturn of her lips. Not when her heart ached.