Betty harrumphed, obviously unhappy with his pronouncement, but she made no further argument. A good sign. The crotchety chicken farmer might just be warming up to him.
Thankfully, with Mal sleeping in the barn, he’d hear anyone who came to the station house looking for Emma, so he wouldn’t need to countermand Betty’s instructions, a chore that would certainly undo any goodwill he’d just scavenged for himself. Besides, he planned to cover the four-to-six shift every morning. Most people assumed that if they’d made it through the darkest hours of night with no incidents they were in the clear. But a canny attacker, like the one laying siege to Harper’s Station, could easily turn such beliefs to his advantage. If Mal were the outlaw, that was precisely the tack he would take. Wait until vigilance was low, use the encroaching light of dawn to his advantage, and strike before the rooster crowed.
Mal spotted Helen approaching, the old revolver dangling loosely in front of her skirt. She glanced up and stuttered to a halt. Mal took that as his cue. He gathered his discarded tools and the empty nail jar and fingered the brim of his hat.
“I’ll be on my way, then.” He raised his voice and managed a small wave in Helen’s direction without dropping the hammer tucked beneath his arm. “Have a good night, ladies.”
He prayed they would. Have a good night. A quiet night. Free from attack or any malicious furtive activity. He doubted the men who’d ridden through town earlier today would strike again so soon. If they kept to their pattern, they would take a day or two to regroup before making another attempt to drive the women out. Perhaps they would wait for information to be passed from their spy before crafting their next move.
The thought had Mal pivoting back toward the women. “Mrs. Cooper?”
Both women’s backs were turned. Helen flinched at the sound of his voice and made no effort to face him. Betty shooed the girl on into the church, then glanced behind to meet Malachi’s gaze. “Yeah?”
“I want a report on all activity. Even the women. If you see Maybelle or Claire making a house call in the middle of the night or Aunt Henry lighting the kitchen lamp to get a late-night snack, I want to know about it. The better I understand the women’s activities, the better I can protect them.” Especially from the traitor in their midst.
Betty looked at him long and hard until something that felt like understanding zinged through the air between them. Finally she gave a sharp nod. “I’ll make sure the second watch knows and tell the others after worship tomorrow.”
“Appreciate it.” Mal dipped his chin, then resumed his trek to the station house.
So far, the enemy had never truly attacked at night. The spy had set the church afire as evening fell, but the shooter himself had only made appearances during the day. Mal hoped that trend continued. He had a better chance of stopping an enemy he could see than one who used the cover of darkness. And heaven knew he couldn’t afford to miss again.
Emma fought a yawn and lost as she sat at her office desk late Monday morning. Her mouth spread wide, and she made no effort to cover the cavernous expanse with her hand. Why should she? No one was around, and she was just too tired.
She and Flora had taken the second watch the night before, and she’d been so keyed up about having four hours alone with one of her suspects, that she’d not been able to sleep before her shift began. A fact she greatly regretted.
The numbers in the open ledger on her desk swam before her eyes. If only they would stay in the columns they were assigned and quit blurring into the others, maybe then she’d be able to finish her tallies.
Grace had brought over the telegrams from the New York broker who managed her investments. As on every Monday morning, he’d sent her the gains and losses she had earned the past week, both from her personal accounts and those for the bank. She needed to compile the figures, analyze trends, and decide whether or not to continue with her current investment strategy or make adjustments. But concentration seemed beyond her capabilities this morning.
Another yawn hit her, causing her eyes to water and her nose to run. Admitting defeat, Emma shoved the ledger away from her and retrieved her already dampened handkerchief from her skirt pocket.