Malachi gritted his teeth. He didn’t have time for this.
“Easy.” As he approached the gray mare, Mal kept his voice low and his movements slow despite the urgency in his gut that screamed at him to hurry. “Time to take a little ride. You want to run, don’tcha?”
He opened his arms wide and stepped closer. The mare snorted and jerked her head but didn’t flee. Mal said a quick prayer of thanks as he cupped a hand over the gray’s nose. “That’s my girl,” he cooed.
The horse might not be as well trained as Ulysses, but she knew her job. Her tail flicked and her withers trembled as she fought the remains of her distress and submitted to his touch.
Mal attached the lead line and, using the bottom fence rail as a step, swung up onto the horse’s bare back. The nag sidestepped a bit but settled quickly enough. “Easy, now,” Mal urged. He didn’t have time to fetch a saddle or bridle. They were going to have to do this with a halter and one rein. Nothing he hadn’t done with Ulysses in the past, but a daunting process with an untried horse. Directing was no problem. But getting the beast to stop? Well, Mal just hoped whoever had trained the mare had taught her to heed the rider’s leg and seat signals. If not, he’d most likely be walking home. With a passel of new bruises.
“I’ve got the gate, Malachi!” Aunt Henry waved at him from the edge of the corral and swung the gate outward.
Thankful she’d had the gumption to leave the house and lend a hand, Mal scraped his heels against the horse’s sides and lurched for the opening.
“Go get those scoundrels!” she called as he raced past.
He didn’t answer. Just bent low over the mare’s neck and galloped toward the river.
Two hours later, Emma stood at the café window, nibbling on the edge of her thumb as she watched for Malachi’s return. Ladies trailed past her a few at a time, taking the seats she had set out earlier after she’d swept up the broken glass in her office and on the walkway outside the bank. Everyone was gathering for the town meeting. A meeting Malachi was supposed to run.
So where was he?
A hand touched her shoulder, and Emma twisted her neck to see Victoria eying her with sympathy. “I’m sure he’s fine,” her friend said. “Maybe he managed to trail them back to their hideout, and by this time tomorrow, it will all be over.”
Emma tried to grasp the hope Tori offered, but it was like trying to capture a handful of water. All but the tiniest bit leaked out around the edges of her fist. She clung to the few drops that lingered behind, wanting desperately to drink them in. Yet they disappeared almost instantly in the desert of her worry.
Surely he wouldn’t have tried to bring in two men by himself. Would he? She’d caught a glimpse of the masked outlaws through her broken window as they rode past the bank. The first man was the same rider she’d seen before. She was certain. A formidable foe on his own, but with a partner? A shiver danced along Emma’s nape. Malachi only had his six-shooter with him. She’d spotted rifles in boots on both of the outlaws’ saddles in addition to their revolvers. They had Mal outmanned and outgunned. When he’d gone searching for a trail after the fire, he’d told her he only intended to scout the location of the hideout so he could report back to the sheriff and bring in reinforcements. But if the outlaws discovered Mal on their trail, there was nothing to stop them from ambushing him.
“Come on, Em.” Tori took hold of her arm and not-so-gently steered her away from the window. “Worrying won’t bring him back any faster.”
“No.” Sudden purpose steeled her spine. “But going after him will.”
She broke away from Tori’s grasp, ignoring her friend’s sputtering protests, and marched straight over to Betty Cooper, uncaring of the curious glances she collected along the way. “Did you bring your shotgun, Betty?”
The farm woman pushed to her feet and grabbed the double barrels lying on the floor beneath her chair. “You bet. After the shenanigans this morning, I think I might just sleep with this thing under my pillow.” The women seated around her giggled, but their nervous glances to the window and back made it clear they knew the jest wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Emma fully expected all the women would be sleeping with weapons close at hand this night, even if they had to resort to cast-iron skillets and hat pins.
“Come with me,” Emma ordered. “We need to go after Malachi. He’s been gone too long.” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her gaze darted back to the open doorway. “He may need our help. He could be injured or . . . or . . . captured. I’ve got horses at the station house. We can be saddled and ready to go in fifteen minutes.”