Whatever it was, it brought an uncomfortable warmth to her cheeks. She lengthened her stride to pass him and turned her attention to tying the mare’s lead to the back of her buckboard. “Did you happen to see Mr. Porter’s wagon while you searched for his horses?” she asked without looking up from her task. “I plan to dig out the guns and salvage whatever else I can find before heading back. I was hoping you’d be able to assist, but it seems you have your hands full. No matter. I can manage. There are less than a dozen rifles, and the revolvers will be easy enough to carry.” She glanced up, caught his scowl, and made a point to approach the driver’s box from the far side of the wagon.
Grabbing a handful of skirt, she fit her foot to a wheel spoke and hoisted herself up. Then she had to scoot across the bench to reach the brake on the left side, making it all too obvious that she’d taken the coward’s way out to avoid being near him. Which hadn’t mattered anyway, because by the time she reached for the brake lever, the man she’d been striving to circumvent had released Porter’s horses, bounded up the near side of the wagon, and covered her hand with his own. His hold was firm and unyielding, not tender in the slightest, yet the possessiveness of it had her pulse fluttering. Her gaze flew to his.
“If you think I’m going to let you roam around out here alone,” he growled through a clenched jaw, “you’re crazy. And for all your independent ideals, I know you ain’t lost yer marbles.” His grammar was slipping, a sure sign of his agitation. “Not yet, anyway.” He muttered the last as he hopped down from the wagon.
He trudged back to Porter’s draft horses and took hold of their halter straps again. Slowly, he edged them past the wagon, his attention focused on the ground in front of him in order to steer them around any uneven patches that might cause them discomfort.
“Porter’s rig is about a quarter mile out. I’ll lead you there, but you’re gonna have to plod along at my pace.” He cast a sharp glance over his shoulder at her. “And for the sake of my nerves, move that shotgun up to your lap. If trouble finds us, I want you to be ready.”
Emma obeyed, too pleased to have his continued company to complain about his high-handed manner. Despite the fact that she’d traveled this very road without a man to guard her more times than she could count, she had to admit—at least to herself—that she’d not been looking forward to doing so today. The attack on Mr. Porter had rattled her. Her adversaries were unpredictable, their strikes calculated and always one step ahead. If she and Malachi had a chance at stopping them, they’d have to ferret out the traitor in the colony. Soon.
Salvaging supplies took less time than Emma expected. Flour, cornmeal, and sugar had scattered to the winds in the crash, thanks to the bandits’ vandalism. Emma collected what little remained inside the sacks and tied off the slashed tops to keep them closed. Mal found the cache of guns right where Mr. Porter had said they would be, in a compartment hidden in the wagon bed directly behind the driver’s box.
The freighter had built three wooden frames at the top of the wagon bed for carting smaller or more delicate objects, like the glass jars of canned goods the Harper’s Station ladies sold. Emma had always thought the compartments terribly clever. Little did she realize that they served a second purpose—camouflage. For the box frames hid the seams in the wood of the wagon bed beneath. Anyone looking at the wagon would see nothing more than what showed on the surface. Mal had tugged on the boxes quite forcefully when trying to figure out the hidden compartment’s location, and the wood had barely budged. It was only when she’d climbed up into the driver’s box to help that she’d discovered the latches against the floor behind the bench. After she’d reached down to undo them, Mal tugged on the box frames again. This time the one in the center slid backward to reveal a rectangular opening. The guns and ammunition had been secreted inside.
She couldn’t wait to tell Tori about it. Emma smiled to herself, swaying with the motion of the slow-moving wagon as she followed Malachi and the draft horses back to town. Her friend had always insisted that big men had small brains. It was why so many of them became brutes. Using their size to get what they wanted required less effort than thinking for themselves. It was why Tori had urged Emma to hire a different freighter to run her goods when she’d first met Mr. Porter. Once she understood that Porter was the only one willing to do business with a female store owner, she’d relented, but it had taken months for her to let down her guard around the man.
And now, Emma had proof that the man was not only kind but intelligent. Clever enough to fashion an undetectable hidden compartment in his wagon. Wise enough to anticipate trouble and put said compartment to use. And well-read enough to name his faithful steeds after mythological beings related to his own profession. Who else but an educated man would name his horses Hermes and Helios? One for the Greek god of trade and border crossings, the guardian of travelers. The other for the Greek god of the sun who relied on mighty steeds to pull his golden chariot through the sky. No small intellect in that large man’s head.
Unless it had been permanently damaged by the blow he’d just taken.