Page 79 of Heart on the Line

Grace slowly pivoted to face him.

“It seems the books have been damaged.” He ran his finger along the inside cover then held the volume up for her inspection.

Amos had helped her glue the endpapers back into place earlier, but the paste had not had time to dry completely, nor was there any way to hide the slit that Amos had cut along both spines.

Nonplussed, Grace met the man’s stare. “Yes. I believe my father intended to restore them, but he died before he could finish the job. I’m afraid you’ll have to be satisfied with my efforts.”

Haversham’s eyes narrowed, his gentlemanly veneer slipping. “Did you remove anything from the books, Miss Mallory?” His voice tightened to fit though his clenched jaw. “The court order specifies the books and any foreign contents contained therein are to be turned over to me.”

Sheriff Tabor nodded. “That’s true.” He looked at Grace. “You remove any foreign contents from them there books, Miss Grace?”

A slow smile spread over Grace’s face. “No, sir. I never removed anything from those books of a foreign nature. Everything I saw inside the book was written in English.”

“Good enough for me. Take yer books and skedaddle, mister.”

Haversham lunged forward and grabbed Grace’s arm. “You conniving—”

The sound of seven guns being cocked simultaneously cut off the rest of his words. In a flash, Malachi had Haversham’s arms pinned behind his back. The instant Grace was free of the man’s grip, Amos pulled her into his side, leaving the sheriff to collect the books that had fallen to the ground in the scuffle.

“You see that, Tabor?” Shaw asked as he fastened a leather strap around Haversham’s wrists.

“Unhand me, you cretin!”

“Yep,” the sheriff replied, completely ignoring Haversham’s protests. “Assault on a female. I’ll charge him and keep him locked up until the judge comes to town.”

Haversham struggled against his bindings until Ben Porter laid his big hands on the man’s shoulders and forced him to be still.

“This is outrageous!” Haversham cried. “I barely touched her. No judge will find me guilty.”

“Maybe not.” Lee Dunbar limped into the circle, revolver in one hand, crutch in the other. “But the judge won’t even hear your case for . . . what, Tabor, a week?”

The sheriff rubbed his chin. “More like ten days, I’d say. Circuit judge only comes once a month.”

“Plenty of time for me to return to Philadelphia and make my report to Whitmore, then,” Dunbar said. “Excellent.”

Haversham paled as the truth finally sank into his brain.

He had lost.

38

The next morning, Helen stood in front of the station house, watching helplessly as Lee checked the ties on his saddlebags. Maybe it wasn’t too late to tie him up again in her cottage and keep him from leaving. She’d hoped the difficulty of finding and capturing Lee’s horse would postpone his departure, but Ben Porter, drat his hide, was apparently the pied piper of mustangs. In less than two hours, he and the marshal had the horse caught, saddled, and ready to carry Lee away.

“I packed you a cold supper for the train,” she said as she held out a small sack that she’d stuffed with enough food to feed him and probably half of the other passengers as well. “I tucked extra bandages and salve into your satchel, too. Claire says infection can set in even after healing has begun, so you’ll need to change the dressing regularly.”

He accepted the bag of food from her and hooked the knotted end over the pommel. “Helen—”

“I’m still not sure you’re healed enough to ride,” she interrupted. She didn’t want to hear him say good-bye, to politely thank her for nursing him, then ride out of her life. “And on the train, you should keep your leg elevated. Claim a bench for yourself and don’t let anyone crowd you out of the extra space. It’s a long trip to Philadelphia.”

“Helen.” His voice echoed a little louder, a little more insistent.

Yet she rambled on, determined to delay the inevitable. “With Haversham locked up in Seymour, he won’t be able to interfere with you getting the documents to Whitmore, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others in his employ who could cause trouble. Keep your eyes peeled. Since Mrs. Flanders’s identity is still a secret, she should be safe from—oomph.”

Soft, warm, determined lips pressed against hers. Helen jerked in surprise, her eyes popping wide. Lee’s hands came up to cup her cheeks and his crutch clattered to the ground. Helen wrapped her arms around his waist, worried he might take a tumble, but his muscles felt like iron. So strong, so sure. In a heartbeat her grip changed from trying to hold him up to reveling in the vitality of the man she cared about.

All right, maybe more than cared. There was no point in lying to herself about it. And if he wanted to kiss her good-bye, she wasn’t about to argue. Her hands slid up his back, her lashes dropping closed as she immersed herself in sensation. His mustache tickled in the most delightful way. His thumbs caressed her cheekbones as he held her close, gentle yet firm at the same time. It was the most perfect moment of her life. Because for this one moment, Lee belonged to her. She savored the wonder of his kiss and seared the memory into her heart for the lonely days to come.

All too soon, he pulled away.