Emma made a note in the account book she kept locked in the till. At the end of the day, she’d transcribe the transaction into the main ledger she stored in the vault.
“Anything else I can do for you?” Emma asked as Maybelle folded the bank notes and stuffed them into her purse.
“That should do me for a while, I think.”
Emma nodded and slid the money drawer closed. She had just turned the key in the lock when Lewis burst through the front door.
His head swiveled from side to side, his wide-eyed gaze zeroing in on Emma. “Miss Chandler! Come quick. My ma needs you!”
Emma’s stomach clenched. All tiredness fled from her bones, leaving a desperate energy humming through her. Grabbing the teller door key and forcing it into the lock with trembling fingers, she called out to the boy. “I’m coming!”
“What’s happened?” Maybelle asked as Emma fumbled with the door.
For pity’s sake, why would the stubborn thing not open?
Finally the key slid home and the lock turned. She threw the door wide and slammed it shut behind her. Taking precious seconds to lock it back, she nearly missed Lewis’s answer.
“He’s hurt,” Lewis sputtered. “He’s hurt real bad.”
Emma’s heart screamed a denial. Please, God. Not Malachi. But who else could it be? There were no other men in Harper’s Station.
“I’ll go fetch my doctorin’ kit and meet you there,” Maybelle said, already hurrying out the door.
Emma met Lewis’s worried gaze, her own heart pounding so loudly in her chest she was surprised it didn’t echo off the rafters. “Is he at the store?” she asked.
Tori’s son gave a sharp nod and took off like a shot. Emma followed, barely pausing long enough to pull the bank door closed as she ran.
19
Emma’s shoes pounded against the boardwalk. Lewis didn’t dash through the main store entrance as she expected but sprinted around the far corner. Snatching a handful of skirt to keep from tripping on the stairs to the street, Emma followed without question. She had to reach Malachi. Wherever he was.
Wagon ruts in the dirt created an alleyway of sorts and then turned right, around the building. Lewis disappeared into the back storeroom. Emma increased her pace to catch up but twisted her ankle as her heel caught on the uneven ground. Wincing at the twinge, she recovered and continued on, keeping her gaze glued to the ground so as not to repeat her folly.
Had Mal been helping Tori with her merchandise? Had the shipment of guns arrived while Emma had been dozing at her desk? But no. The freight wagon would be here. And even as tired as she’d been, surely she would have heard . . .
Her imagination raced faster than her feet as she rounded the corner. Had he been cut? Had a pile of heavy boxes smashed his skull? Would he die?
She gained the doorway and rushed inside. Then stumbled to a halt. For there stood Malachi. Tall. Strong. Unharmed.
Or was he? Blood and dirt smeared the tan fabric of his shirt. Yet he was talking, giving orders.
“Stay here,” he commanded. “I’ll fetch them.” He took a step toward the door, then growled and lurched back the way he’d come. “I swear if you get out of that chair one more time I’m going to shoot you myself.”
Emma’s exhausted brain struggled to make sense of the scene. Hard to do when her gaze refused to leave Malachi to see whom he might be speaking to.
“I’ll keep him here, Mr. Shaw.” Tori’s voice. “You can go.”
Malachi nodded and turned toward the door. He came up short when he saw her. His eyes warmed for a minute, then cooled to businesslike efficiency. “Good. You’re here. It’ll likely take two of you to keep the fool from going after his pets.” Mal pivoted sideways to squeeze past her and out the door.
She had no idea what pets he was talking about. This whole episode left her feeling a bit like Alice, fallen down a rabbit hole into some kind of nonsensical world. All she knew was that she couldn’t let her rabbit scamper off without answering one vital question.
“Wait!” she called, stirring from her stupor enough to dash after Malachi and lunge for his arm. Her fingers closed over his sleeve, and he stopped.
He tossed an impatient glance over his shoulder. “What, Em? I need to go before that stubborn cuss changes his mind.”
She examined him from head to toe, not caring that a gentlewoman wouldn’t ogle a man in such a way. The fear still spearing through her was far from gentle. She had to know for certain. “You’re not hurt?”
His forehead wrinkled. “No.”
“Lewis said to come quick. That he was hurt. A man was hurt. I thought . . .” She cleared her throat and released her hold on his arm, realizing at last how silly she must look. Like some kind of dull-witted female who couldn’t understand the most basic facts of biology.
Malachi’s eyes softened. “You thought he meant me.”