Page 81 of Heart on the Line

Grace hugged his arm and looked up into his face. “Good. I tend to prefer Denison operators to the ones from Seymour, anyhow.”

Amos pulled his mount to a halt a few feet from where the others waited. He turned to Grace and stroked her cheek. His gaze captured hers with such sweet intensity that her pulse skipped a beat. “I’ll be on the wire tonight after hours if you want to get an early start on nurturing those relations.”

“I’ll be listening for you.” Grace turned to face him more fully, slid her hands up to his coat lapels, and smoothed them flat against his chest. Not because he needed the grooming, but simply because she wanted to touch him. To feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips. “Be safe,” she whispered.

“You, too.” He bent and kissed the top of her head.

Her eyes slid closed at the contact. Heavens, she was going to miss him.

She opened her eyes and spotted Helen—someone who would have to wait much longer to be reunited with her man.

As Amos mounted the horse Bart Porter had loaned them after Lockhart’s attack, Grace walked over to Helen and wrapped an arm around the other woman’s waist. They stood together quietly as their men met up and waved their final good-byes.

“They’re good men, Helen,” Grace said, squeezing her friend close as much to offer comfort as to gain it for herself. She lifted her hand in farewell then watched as Amos and Lee turned their horses and set off down the path to Seymour. “They’ll be back.”

Helen leaned her head onto Grace’s shoulder. “I pray you’re right.”

Epilogue

Three months later

A February chill stung Grace’s nose and cheeks. Wind buffeted her face as she raced down the slope. Dual wheels bumped over the hard-packed earth, and her arms absorbed the shock as she steered the velocipede onto the straightaway. Laughing with delight, she pumped the pedals faster and faster, determined to catch the fine figure of a man who rode a few feet in front of her. No longer a novice rider, she kept up with Amos quite well these days on their little jaunts around Harper’s Station.

She’d spent the last few months attempting to train Flora Johnson to take her place at the telegraph office. Flora could use the funds such a position would provide, and Grace could use a capable substitute to cover the wire whenever Amos came to visit. Unfortunately, Flora struggled to distinguish the dots and dashes, but her son Ned had a real ear for code. He wasn’t yet old enough to apply for a position himself, but with additional training, he would have a marketable skill to provide for himself and his mother one day. Recognizing that fact, he’d gladly volunteered to mind the wire for her while she and Amos took their ride.

Amos slowed his bicycle and raised an arm to point to something colorful on the ground a few yards from the east bank of the Wichita River. “Let’s stop over there,” he called over the noise of the wind and wheels.

Taking advantage of his slowing pace, Grace grinned and pedaled past him. “Last one there forfeits a favor!”

“You’re on!”

Amos rose to the challenge, as she knew he would. He loved a good race. Of course, that was probably because he always won. The man had a competitive streak and insisted that he respected her too much to let her win simply because she was female. As if she would want to win in such an underhanded way.

However, getting a head start when the competition was distracted was another matter entirely. That was simply using one’s wits. A perfectly acceptable advantage. All was fair in love and cycling.

Grace raced for the blue cloth pinned to the ground by eight large stones. The fabric flapped between the rock anchors, urging her on.

She was going to win this time. She felt it.

Leaning forward over the handlebars, she drove her legs faster, her heart pounding with excitement. The finish line loomed, but she dared not slow down. Better to simply steer away from the rocks.

“Be careful!” Amos called out from behind her.

From behind her! Grace laughed and continued pedaling. At the last moment, she steered to the left to avoid the rocks, but the jerk of the front wheel threw off her balance. She wobbled.

“Brake!” Amos yelled.

Grace reached for the braking lever, but when she loosened her grip on the handlebars, what little control she’d managed to maintain was lost. The bicycle tipped. She jumped from the seat, but the wheels kept rolling. The frame clipped her legs. Grace tumbled, bracing herself as she fell. One hand hit the blue blanket, and the other grabbed for a corner rock to ensure she didn’t strike her head.

“Grace! Are you all right?”

Grace rolled onto her side in time to see Amos execute a perfect, full-speed dismount, clearing the metal frame with an agile leap while the bicycle rolled past and toppled harmlessly to the ground a few feet away.

It really was quite impressive—and patently unfair—that he should be so graceful in his dismount while she lay sprawled on the ground in an inelegant heap. Yet she couldn’t help but admire his athleticism.

Grace smiled as Amos reached her, his worried gaze scanning her for injury. “Are you hurt?”

She giggled and shook her head. She might have a bruise or two on her hip, and her wrist might be a tad sore after the awkward grab of the rock, but she was fine. Glorious, really.