Emma watched the women on her list. Claire fidgeted in her seat. Flora stared at her lap. Helen reached for Katie’s hand and squeezed it. All acted nervous, but none stood out. Not in a room where stress and anxiety hovered over the crowd like a swarm of angry bees.
A movement to Emma’s right brought her head around. Tori. Emma released a breath. Her friend had come up beside her while she’d been scrutinizing the seated ladies. She gave Emma a penetrating look, one that promised there would be questions to answer later, then turned to face the front. “Could there be more men out there that we haven’t seen yet? Until today we’ve assumed the threat came from a single man. Now we’ve seen two.”
That muscle in Malachi’s jaw ticked again. “I can’t say with certainty, but I don’t believe there are more. The camps I found were small and spread out. If there were more men, the individual camps would be clumped together to enhance communication, not half a mile apart. No, I think we’re looking at a small operation, but a savvy one. The fact that the man revealed the ace up his sleeve—a second man—means we’re running out of time.”
“Running out of time before what?” Betty demanded.
Malachi scowled, ran a hand over his face. “Before he decides he needs more than scare tactics to get what he wants.”
A murmur arose in the room as the ladies turned to one another in shared concern, but Malachi’s sharp voice cut them off with all the efficiency of a butcher’s cleaver taking off a squawking chicken’s head. “Stop!”
All tongues froze. All eyes zeroed in on the man at the front of the room.
“You don’t have time to chatter and fret. Not if we’re going to make a stand. Today he came after me, foolishly believing I was his only threat.” Mal’s hard gaze scoured each face in the room, then came to rest on Emma. “He was wrong.”
Emma sucked in a breath, her heart fluttering in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Mal turned back to the room at large. “We have an army that outnumbers his forces. An army of strong, capable women who are ready to fight for their homes. All you need is a little organization and training. That starts now.” His voice brooked no argument, and none was forthcoming. In fact, several women sat straighter in their seats, squared their shoulders, and set their chins.
They were magnificent! Each and every one of them.
“Emma.”
She snapped her gaze to Malachi at the sound of her name spoken in his commanding tones.
“Fetch my rifle and saddlebags from the barn.” She started moving for the door as he turned his attention back to the women. “Betty. Grace. Come to the front. No female is going to leave this room until she can properly hold and load a weapon. And the minute the new shipment Miss Adams ordered arrives, we’ll begin target practice.”
Emma paused in the doorway, glancing back to catch Mal’s eye one more time. Needing him to see her gratitude, her faith in him, her admiration as he single-handedly turned a gaggle of frightened geese into would-be tigresses.
He nodded to her, the movement of his jaw firm, convicted. “They won’t catch us off guard again.”
16
After retrieving the rifle, Emma retreated into the background, insisting that the other ladies be instructed first. Malachi’s air of authority calmed their nerves for the most part, though it was his patience that kept them from getting flustered. He didn’t allow them room for squeamishness but neither did he raise his voice when they made a misstep or heave a frustrated breath when he had to repeat himself, which he did . . . often. Even when Helen wanted no part in the training—or, more accurately, no involvement with Malachi—he kept a lid on his temper. He simply walked across the room to Betty, handed her the rifle, shooed the man-shy Helen toward her supervisor, and temporarily took over shotgun lessons.
By the time the café cleared out, each of the women had an idea of which type of weapon they would feel most comfortable using and which would be best suited for each situation. Rifles for longer distance, as when the newly paired partners would be on watch, and handguns for personal protection in closer quarters. After observing Malachi’s instruction for several hours, Emma could easily recite the differences between the shells of a breech-loading shotgun, the side-feeding cartridges of the repeating rifle, and the bullets that fit within the round chambers of the Colt Army Revolver without error. She was doing just that, internally, when Betty and Grace took their leave. Anxious to prove to Malachi that she’d been paying close attention, she held her hand out to accept the revolver. Yet when he set it in her palm, the weight of it took her by surprise.
“Use two hands,” Mal instructed, reaching for her left hand and positioning it beneath her right. “It will steady your aim and keep your arm from getting fatigued.”
Emma nodded and firmed up her grip, but the moment his hand brushed hers, her insides started trembling.