Page 9 of Heart on the Line

Grace straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I need to have a word with you and Emma. If she’s available.”

“I’m right here, Grace.” Emma strode into the parlor from the kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her ink-stained fingers suggested she’d been tallying household accounts. A long tress of dark hair had fallen loose from its pins and hung across her forehead. Emma tucked it behind her ear as she stepped into the room. Her hand grazed Malachi’s arm as she moved past him, the movement natural and affectionate, yet her compassionate eyes never left Grace’s face. “Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”

Henrietta Chandler followed on Emma’s heels, her sleeves also rolled up. She held a dinner plate in one hand and a dish towel in the other. Her face glowed with righteous purpose. “Should I get my bloomers?”

Grace couldn’t help but smile just a bit. Lord love Aunt Henry. She was always ready to battle the forces of intellectual darkness for the cause of women’s rights, her famous bloomers being her armor of choice. “I don’t think the bloomers will be necessary tonight, Henry. I just need to talk.”

One brow rose on the eldest Chandler sister’s forehead. “If it’s serious enough to summon Malachi, it’s serious enough for bloomers. I’ll fetch ’em as soon as I finish the dishes.” Which she set to immediately, spinning about in a swish of skirts to march back into the kitchen.

Bertie Chandler’s amused gaze met Grace’s. “Henry’s been complaining that things have been dull around here lately. You know how she loves a good crusade. She’s been itching for an excuse to don those awful pantaloons for weeks.” Bertie shuddered, eliciting a chuckle from Grace, no doubt Bertie’s intent from the beginning. She had a gift for putting people at ease.

And it worked. Emma joined in the quiet laughter, and even a bit of the vehemence dimmed from Malachi’s expression when he smiled along with them.

Grace’s nerves hadn’t completely abated, but the release gained by laughing, even for the briefest of moments, slowed the frantic pace of her swirling stomach.

“Come,” Emma said as she took Grace’s arm and led her toward the parlor’s sofa. “Sit down and tell us what happened. It must be a new development, since you didn’t say anything at dinner.”

“Yes.” Grace swallowed the last of her reticence as she took a seat. Emma sat beside her, close enough to offer support without smothering. Malachi sat in the chair catty-corner to the sofa and leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs.

“Did you receive a telegram?” Malachi inquired as Bertie discreetly disappeared into the kitchen.

Grace nodded. “I have reason to believe that the man I’ve been hiding from for most of the last year has discovered my location. He’s coming for me. And his coming might put Harper’s Station in danger.”

She turned to look at Emma, not wanting to witness the disapproval in Malachi’s eyes. He was a good man, but protecting the women of Harper’s Station was his priority. Emma and the aunts, in particular. The secret Grace had kept from all of them had put the people he loved in jeopardy.

“If you could just retrieve the items you placed in the bank vault for me,” Grace blurted, “I can leave by morning. If anyone arrives looking for me, you can assure them that I’ve gone.”

Emma stiffened, her expression changing from that of patient listener to offended tigress in a flash. “Didn’t you once say that you were done running? That Harper’s Station was your home?”

“Well . . . yes.” Grace darted a glance at Malachi. His expression was as fierce as his wife’s, yet not with the disapproval she’d feared. It looked more . . . protective. Of her.

“Then there’ll be no more talk of you leaving.” Emma folded her arms across her chest and glared. “If you think I’m going to let you face this threat alone, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Emma’s right.” Malachi’s deep masculine tones vibrated with authority. “You’ve got a better chance here with us. We stand together, Grace. No matter what comes. That’s what Harper’s Station is all about.” He leaned back and crossed one booted foot over his knee. “Besides, if a man is after you, he’ll stand out like a sore thumb the minute he steps foot in town, which gives us the advantage. You’re safer here than anywhere else.”

Grace shook her head—not in argument, but in amazement over the staunch support being offered. Emma didn’t catch the difference, however. Her expression grew more mulish.

“You’re not leaving, Grace, so don’t even try to argue. Let’s move on to the explanation of who this man is and what he wants with you.”

Grace wanted to jump up and hug her friends, but she’d never been the type to throw herself at others, preferring quiet observation over demonstrative displays. So she squashed her rioting emotions and gave a simple nod of acquiescence instead.

It seemed to suffice. Emma loosened her arms, and Malachi uncrossed his legs. He slapped his palms against his thighs as he leaned forward, his alert gaze pinned to her face.

Grace swallowed. “His name is Chaucer Haversham, and either he or someone acting on his orders shot and killed my father.”

“Oh, Grace.” Emma reached across the sofa and clasped Grace’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“What does he want with you?” Malachi asked, his tone kind even as he probed for specifics.

Grace focused on the level-headed marshal instead of his sympathetic wife. She needed to concentrate on the problem, not her loss, if she hoped to get through this explanation without breaking down.

“He wants the same thing he tried to get from my father—documents that prove he is not the only heir to the Haversham fortune. My father discovered them while doing an inventory of the library in Haversham House. If those documents come to light, Chaucer Haversham stands to lose over half of his newly acquired inheritance.”

Malachi let out a low whistle and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “And you have these documents, I assume?”

Grace nodded. “They’re locked up in Emma’s safe at the bank.”

Malachi’s gaze flew to his wife, his thoughts clear on his face. He was assessing the likelihood of Emma being in the line of fire when Haversham arrived.