Page 53 of Heart on the Line

“I know about the gun.” Bledsoe paced to the station house wall and kicked it with the toe of his shoe. “But if she has it, why didn’t she use it already? If nothing else, the sound of the gunshot would have alerted the town and brought us running.”

“Maybe in the panic she forgot or . . . didn’t get a chance.” Emma tried to make it sound harmless, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

A big burly fellow versus the tiny telegraph operator? Helen’s mouth tightened. He could overpower her in a snap of his fingers.

“Whatever her reason for not firing it,” the marshal said with a firm voice, “she still has the weapon with her, and it’s concealed. Dunbar, or whatever his name is, won’t even know she has it. That will give her an advantage.”

Only if the imposter didn’t keep her tied up, which of course he would. Helen kept that thought to herself, though. Stating the obvious never helped. They were all worried about Grace, and Helen had pieces of the puzzle that could help find her friend.

“His name’s Lockhart,” Helen announced.

All three heads swung around to look at her.

“The man at my cabin has been either unconscious or delirious with fever since I found him on Friday, but his fever broke this morning, and he told me that he recognized the fellow who attacked him. Milton Lockhart, Haversham’s second-in-command at the mine.” She glanced at Emma, then the marshal, then finally screwed up her courage to face Bledsoe again. “Lee suspects that Lockhart’s the shooter who took down Grace’s father.”

Bledsoe grabbed the marshal’s arm. “We’ve got to go. Now!”

“I know, but we’ve got to play this smart, too.” Malachi tugged free of the other man’s hold, then hunkered down to examine the markings Lockhart had left behind in the dirt. Then his gaze lifted to the road. “There’s no distinguishing marks, no nicks in a hoof or missing shoe. And his path leads straight to the road. We’ll have to ride slow and watch for a trail that leaves the main path if we hope to find him holed up somewhere.”

The marshal pushed to his feet and rubbed a hand over his face. “A man like Lockhart doesn’t strike me as the hole-up-in-the-middle-of-nowhere type, though. He’s used to his comforts, to getting whatever he wants with a wink and a smile, especially where females are concerned. Even staying in the jailhouse, he convinced Ann Marie to bring him breakfast the last two mornings and flirted with Katie enough after church that she brought by extra pillows and blankets for his cot yesterday afternoon along with a dozen of her famous pecan pralines.”

Helen frowned at the knowledge that the pecans she’d harvested had gone to feed a monster’s sweet tooth.

“He still has Detective Dunbar’s credentials,” Emma added, her face growing more troubled. “It would be easy for him to convince someone that he’s a lawman transporting a prisoner. And since Grace has made a point never to venture outside Harper’s Station while she’s lived here, very few people would recognize her.”

“So we bang on every door between here and Seymour,” Mr. Bledsoe insisted, undaunted.

Helen had to admit to being impressed by his persistence. Most men would be hesitant to go up against a gunman with a history of putting bullets into people who got in his way.

“We will,” the marshal said, but there was an odd reluctance in his voice. He turned to Emma, his jaw clenching. “But I’ve got to be back here before nightfall.”

Emma’s forehead scrunched. “Why? Finding Grace takes precedence over everything—”

“Not everything,” Malachi ground out. “I’ll do all in my power to find her, Em, but if he gets her to talk . . .”

Bledsoe blew out a harsh breath. “He’ll come straight to the bank. And to the one person who can open the vault and retrieve the books.”

“I can’t leave you unguarded, Em. Don’t ask me to.” The tortured look on the marshal’s face was too much to take. Helen glanced away.

Emma stepped close to her husband, her eyes fierce as she placed her palm against his cheek. “Then I guess you better find her before nightfall.” She gazed steadily at him, her emotions raw and exposed but her conviction strong.

Helen swore she could feel the air thickening around her. What must it be like to feel such a connection to another person, as if speaking aloud were superfluous?

The charged moment ended when Emma stepped back. “I’ll fetch Ben Porter from Tori’s store. He knows the area farms and ranches better than anyone. Maybe he can help you narrow the search.”

Malachi nodded. “Good. Then I need you to gather the women and put them on high alert. If Lockhart comes back to town, everyone needs to be ready. And armed.”

“I’ll tell Betty and the others at the farm,” Helen volunteered. “I’d offer to help keep watch in town, but I’ve got to get back to Lee. If Lockhart figures out he’s alive, he’ll be a target, too. And I didn’t nurse him back to health just so that skunk could put another bullet in him.”

“Are you sure he can be trusted?” the marshal asked.

Helen paused, met the lawman’s gaze square on, and nodded. “Yes. He’s the most protective man I’ve ever met. When I told him I had seen Lockhart in town, he tried to crawl out of bed, determined to get to Grace. I had to bar the door from the outside and shutter the window when I left just to make sure he’d stay put. The man’s so weak he can barely feed himself, yet he’s ready to take on Lockhart to save a woman he’s never met. He can be trusted.”

Bledsoe’s fist unclenched and something nearing acceptance softened his features. Then his forehead scrunched. “Does he wear a mustache?”

Helen started a bit at the unexpected question, then smiled. Emma’s brows shot up to her hairline, but Helen didn’t care. “Yep. A real thick brown one, trimmed at the edges.”

Bledsoe nodded. “Grace contacted the Pinkerton Agency about Detective Dunbar when he first arrived,” he said. “Asked about his appearance. Brown hair. Mustache. Just like Lockhart. Beard was questionable, though.”