Thankful for the blinders that obscured his movements from the horses’ view, Mal eased a hand into his front trouser pocket and extracted his knife. He slipped the largest blade from its folded position and gently locked it into place. Then, folding the leather of the first crossline over the sharpened edge, he sawed through the strap. He paused to croon and pat both horses again. The gelding pinned beneath Hermes stirred, bringing a touch of a smile to Mal’s face.
“What happened, old fellow? Hit a rock? A prairie-dog hole? Probably expected your partner to right you like he would if you were still hitched to the wagon, huh?” Mal turned slightly and took his knife to the second crossline. “Ended up pulling him right down on top of you instead. Bet you’re ready to get him off your back. Well . . .” Mal clicked his knife shut and slipped it back into his pocket. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
Keeping one hand on each horse as long as possible, Mal backed out until he was no longer between them. He moved to the outside edge and gently took hold of the halter straps near the top horse’s cheek. “Ready, Hermes? One. Two. Three!” Mal pulled on the strap. “Up now, Hermes. Up!”
As soon as the animal started to move, Mal released the halter and jumped out of the way. Hermes rocked and snorted, and finally rolled to his feet.
“Oh, ho! Good job, old man!” Mal grinned and started moving toward Helios, but the second Shire needed no human encouragement.
The second black craned his neck upward, then surged to his feet. The half-unlatched neck-yoke bar flopped down at a sharp angle beneath his collar, one end dragging the ground. The horse kicked at it a time or two, as if not sure if it was something to be afraid of, but Mal moved in quickly to quiet him.
“You’re a trouper, aren’t you?” Mal praised as he worked the buckle on the breast strap and freed the beast from the dragging bar. “Now, I just need you two boys to stand still a little longer so I can get you untangled from the rest of this mess.”
The obedient lads dipped their heads to chomp at the prairie grass while Mal set about unfastening the double yoke at the rear and tying up the reins that drooped behind them. He had to do some fancy hoof shuffling to get Helios untangled from the tug lines, but eventually everything was put to rights.
The team suffered several scrapes and cuts, and Mal was sure they would discover many places where the harness had rubbed them raw once he got them back to the station-house barn, but they were whole and hearty for the most part. He ran his hands along each of their legs, found some inflammation below both of Helios’s front knees, but Mal found no evidence of a break. Thank God. He didn’t want to think of what Porter would do to him if he’d had to put one of the animals down. Hermes and Helios would need a heavy dose of rest, salve for their scrapes, and plenty of pampering, but they should make a full recovery.
He clicked his tongue and got his borrowed nag to follow him as he led the two Shires back through the grass toward the road. Helios limped a bit but trudged gamely on, keeping pace with Hermes’s plodding as Mal walked between their heads, lightly gripping their bit straps. They’d nearly reached the road when the sound of an approaching wagon brought Mal’s head around. He released his grip on Helios and reached for the revolver at his hip. But there was no need. The driver didn’t pose a threat. At least not to the horses.
“Malachi! Thank heavens!” Emma dropped the arm she’d been holding up to shield her eyes from the sun and set the brake. Then in a flurry of deep red skirts that were far too fine to be traipsing through the dusty countryside, she clambered down from the high seat.
He tried not to notice the white ruffles of her petticoat or the flash of slender ankle momentarily exposed by her hurry, but such a feat was apparently beyond his heroic capabilities.
“What are you doing here, Em?” He resumed his stride, ducking his head to avoid the far too enticing sight of her, and led the horses up onto the packed dirt of the road. “Didn’t Porter’s episode prove it’s not safe to be out here alone?”
“You’re out here alone.” She crossed her arms and gave him one of her I-dare-you-to-argue-with-that-logic looks.
Unable to pass up the challenge, he looked her dead in the eye. “I’m armed.” He patted his holster.
She lifted her chin. “So am I.” She glanced back over her shoulder toward the wagon. “I’ve got Betty’s shotgun under the driver’s seat.”
“Doesn’t count if it’s not within reach.” Mal smirked at her, then led the horses past, shrugging very unapologetically as he went.
“Malachi Shaw!” she sputtered, uncrossing her arms and storming after him just like she used to do the times he bested her in an argument when they’d been kids. “You know quite well that gun was within reach until I stepped down.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not within reach now.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. Man, she was fun to fluster. Her cheeks got all pink, and she dropped that oh-so-proper-banker demeanor.
“Well . . .”