Then, because Bertie couldn’t stand to see anyone uncomfortable, she’d suggested that Mal fetch her sister a piece of the lovely blueberry pie Bertie had made just that morning. Henry’s favorite. Mal had immediately agreed, worried that if he hesitated, Aunt Henry would take note of his gender and set her tongue to flapping at him for the sins of his long-dead male forebears.
Emma had smiled at him with impish delight as he’d gotten to his feet, nearly letting the giggle he could tell was building inside her escape from behind the hand she raised to cover her mouth. She’d looked so happy, so carefree, he couldn’t imagine anything bad ever befalling her.
But when he’d collected the pie from the food table some distance away and turned to head back to the aunts, his stomach clenched. Emma wasn’t there. He picked up his pace, his eyes scouring the gathering for any sign of her. Nothing. His back had only been turned for a minute. How could she have disappeared so quickly? She couldn’t have . . . unless someone had been waiting for him to break his vigil.
Oliver.
Mal dashed back to the aunts, uncaring that the slice of pie slid precariously close to the edge of the plate. He thrust the dessert at Henry and immediately demanded to know where Emma had gone. Flustered by his forceful tone, the aunts took precious seconds to gather themselves and answer. Abby Pierce had dragged Emma off to see a nest of duck eggs she’d discovered by the little pond behind the church. Some of the boys were threatening to stomp on the eggs, and Abby feared for the unhatched little ducklings.
Mal groaned and immediately raced for the pond. He dodged families, trees, girls rolling hoops, men tossing horseshoes. Dread built in his chest with every step.
Abby was no great friend of Emma’s, her brother being one of Oliver’s most loyal cronies. Yet Emma would never allow a helpless animal to be harmed if she could do something about it. No doubt she had rushed to the ducklings’ defense, not once considering it could be a trap. Mal clenched his jaw. There probably wasn’t even a nest to defend.
He rounded the corner of the church and slid down the embankment that sheltered the pond. A flash of blue off to the left caught his eye. Had Emma been wearing a blue dress? Doggone it. He couldn’t remember. He’d been more concerned about keeping track of where she was than what she was wearing. Stupid. Stupid!
He veered to the left anyway, and chased down the blue dress. Only to find it attached to a blond-haired female. Not Emma.
Mal grabbed Abby’s arm and spun her to face him. She let out a squeal of distress, but he didn’t loosen his hold.
“Where is she?” he snapped.
Tears filled the girl’s eyes. “I didn’t know. I thought they were just going to have some fun. . . . I didn’t mean . . .” The girl was sobbing in earnest now, her broken sentences telling him nothing.
He shook her arm and bit out one word. “Where?”
Abby lifted her free hand and pointed toward a large cottonwood several yards back the way he had come. He released her and ran toward the tree.
He heard Emma before he saw her.
“Let me go. Please . . . stop. You’re hurting me. . . .”
Her whimpers sliced through Mal’s chest like a cavalry saber. He rounded the tree and stumbled to a halt. Every instinct demanded that he rush Oliver like a bull, take the fiend to the ground and pummel him until his face was too broken and bloody for even his old man to recognize. But Oliver was too close to Emma, bending over her while he held her pinned against a tree. Mal couldn’t risk causing his angel pain. But Oliver? Oh, Oliver would be feeling lots of pain. Real soon.
“Just one kiss,” Oliver demanded in a sickly smooth voice that turned Mal’s stomach. “That’s all. Then I’ll let you go.” His head lowered.
“No!” Emma jerked her face to the side. “I’ll never kiss a pig like you!” Then without warning, she threw her head forward and slammed her forehead straight into Oliver’s puckered lips.
The boy cursed and reared back, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Emma broke free of his hold for an instant, but Oliver recovered too quickly. Snatching her arm so hard she fell backward, Oliver raised a fist.
“I’ll teach you to—”
Malachi let out a roar and charged. By all that was holy, he was going to tear the swine limb from limb.
But just as he came within reach, two of Oliver’s cronies rushed him from behind. They tackled him, one throwing punches in his side as the other ground his face into the dirt. Malachi kicked and bucked, but they were too heavy. They twisted his arms behind him and forced him to his feet.
“I just wanted a taste of what you’ve already had, Malachi,” Oliver taunted, his rage of a moment ago supplanted by smug superiority as he dragged a struggling Emma beside him. “It must be nice living under the same roof as her with no one but the crazy Chandler sisters to act as chaperones.”
Malachi narrowed his gaze, silently promising retribution for the slur against Emma, but Oliver was too stupid to realize the danger he was in.