Page 58 of More Than Meets the Eye

Was that a flare of warmth in Hamilton’s steely eyes? Heaven help them if they actually started liking each other.

Not that it would stop Logan from doing what must be done, but burgeoning respect between them could make the final showdown less of an ordeal for Eva—something he found mattered more to him with each passing day.

“Well, if you’re willing to forfeit your counting, you can follow me inside.” Hamilton pointed to something up on the roof. “Seth called me in, so I imagine something interestin’ developed during his conversation with Christie.”

Logan craned his head back to view the roof. A small blue flag undulated gently in the breeze. Something else he’d failed to notice. Of course, he’d ridden in from the opposite side, but still—his pride was taking significant hits today.

“We rigged a pulley between the window of Seth’s room and the chimney years back so he could signal if he ever needed help. Red is raised in an emergency. Blue just means come when you can.”

Clever.

Logan tucked his chin back into place and turned to regard the man who’d stolen his father’s home and life. Gall didn’t surge up his throat to choke him as it had the first time he’d spotted Hamilton on his father’s property. Nor did hatred throb in his veins. A dull, resentful ache still permeated his chest, but even that was more a glowing ember of old hurt than the blazing fire of justice that had fueled him for so long.

He was going soft. And what was worse, he couldn’t seem to dredge up more than a twinge of outrage over that sorry state of affairs.

“So I take it Seth told you about his little foray into my camp last night?”

“Yep.” Hamilton climbed the porch steps, but instead of brushing past Logan and throwing open the door, he paused and held out his hand. “I misjudged you. What you’re doin’ for Christie . . . it’s a good thing.”

Logan stared at the proffered hand, stunned. If Hamilton knew his true intentions, that hand would be balled into a fist, swinging for Logan’s jaw.

Yet he couldn’t just ignore the gesture. So he slowly fit his palm to Hamilton’s, forcing his face to remain bland as his stomach churned. The contact was blessedly brief, neither of them wanting to prolong the awkwardness, but shaking hands with the enemy still rattled him.

His enemy had become an ally. Miss Gilliam needed assistance, and it seemed Seth wasn’t the only Hamilton brother invested in her well-being.

Hamilton yanked the door wide and marched into the kitchen. “You comin’?”

Logan followed, taking a moment to close the door behind him. His mama had scolded him so many times about leaving that door open, he swore her voice lingered on the very walls as part of the glue that held the decorative paper in place. She’d probably fuss about his boots, too, though he’d ensured they carried no mud when he dismounted earlier.

It wasn’t his mother’s voice he heard echoing down the hall, however, but Eva’s.

“We have to report this to the marshal in Ben Franklin.”

“No!” That from Miss Gilliam. “You don’t understand. They think I’m feeble-minded. They won’t believe my word against his. Not without proof. He dines with the mayor and his wife every other Saturday, heads the missionary committee at church, and lets the Populists use the schoolhouse for political meetings. He’s the town’s favored son. I’m just the bootlegger’s idiot stepdaughter.”

Logan caught the last half of that speech in person as he stepped inside the parlor. Seth stood beside the overwrought Miss Gilliam, a supportive hand on her shoulder, while Eva stood in front of a small sofa, a mulish look on her face.

“Then we go to the sheriff in Cooper,” Eva insisted. “Benson’s a criminal. You won’t be safe until he’s behind bars.”

Logan moved past Zacharias and approached Eva from the side. “But if she reveals herself without proof,” he intoned softly, “she’ll be in more danger than ever.”

Eva’s gaze jerked toward him. “Logan? Where did you come from?”

“Found him counting lines in the wood grain of the back door,” Zacharias supplied helpfully.

Eva frowned. “What?”

Logan shot Hamilton a glare. “Ignore him.” He turned back to Eva. “Did Christie remember something about the schoolmaster?” He glanced toward Seth to include him in the question.

“You were right about the book,” Seth explained. “It was a ledger. Benson apparently helps Earl with his bookkeeping. Only instead of leaving one of Earl’s ledgers for Christie to retrieve, he accidentally left one of his own. One that showed the creative accounting methods he’s using to pocket school board funds.”

“See? He’s a criminal.” Eva, bless her innocent heart. She probably thought all lawmen were honest and chivalrous and would do everything in their power to protect a female in trouble.

Logan knew different. As did Seth and Zacharias, judging by the matching scowls on their faces. Even an honest lawman couldn’t do anything without proof. The ledger was gone, no doubt retrieved by Benson when he attacked Miss Gilliam, and if she never saw her attacker, she couldn’t level a charge of assault against him.

Logan couldn’t testify that Benson was the man he saw dump her in the river, either. They’d been too far away to identify him with certainty. All he could say was that the men were of the same height and build. Maybe if they found the wagon or matched the horses to ones Benson owned, but even that would be circumstantial. And judging by the shiny black buggy the schoolmaster drove, he’d probably borrowed the rickety wagon Logan had seen. Most likely from Earl.

Logan cupped Eva’s shoulder and waited for her to turn her vivid, adorably mismatched eyes on him. “The sheriff can’t arrest a man with no proof of wrongdoing. And if Miss Gilliam comes out of hiding to accuse Benson”—he eyed Seth—“he’ll know where she’s been staying and who’s been helping her.” He rubbed Eva’s arm, trying to soothe both her and himself at the thought he was about to voice. “Not only would Miss Gilliam be in greater danger, but so would you and your brothers.”