When he’d wired the rail boss after the shooting, he’d informed the man that he’d probably need a few extra days to wrap things up. The boss had given him one. One extra day and a deadline with zero flexibility. Mal’s numb mind desperately tried to piece together a scenario that could possibly allow him to meet that deadline without leaving Emma in the lurch. Only one came to him. Catch the attackers by tomorrow.
Odds of success? A hundred to one. Mal rubbed the back of his neck. More like a thousand to one. He hadn’t even taught the women how to shoot yet. And he couldn’t exactly leave them unprotected to go scouring the countryside for a camp that seemed to move to a new location every night.
So where did that leave him? In the middle of no-way-to-winsville, that’s where.
Mal slammed the pad of his fist against the barn wall. Bottles and tins rattled on the shelves. Harnesses jangled. Pain ratcheted up his arm. He didn’t care. He reared back and hit the wall again. This time Hermes and Helios took notice. They snorted and tossed their heads, their white eyes glaring at him for disturbing their much-earned respite.
“Mind your own business,” he growled at them. “You’re out of your jam. I’m mired chest deep in mine.”
“Sounds like a sticky situation.”
Mal jerked to the left, then spun toward the small side door that led to the house. “Bertie.” He swallowed hard. Great. Just what he didn’t need. “Why aren’t you . . . ah . . . with the others at the store?”
She waved a hand in the air. “I’ve always been more of a pacifist than most. Drives Henry crazy.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll do my part to keep watch, but I’ll not be purchasing a gun.”
Somehow he wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t quite picture his gentle, bighearted aunt pointing a loaded weapon at another human being. He’d barely gotten her to hold the unloaded practice gun at the café the other day. It was only when Emma told her that she needed to set an example for the other ladies that Bertie had given in.
“I won’t be showing up for shooting practice either, young man,” she said when he opened his mouth to offer her the use of his rifle for just that purpose. She pointed her finger at him as if taking him to task for even suggesting such a thing. Which he hadn’t. Yet. Because she shushed him before he could. The woman could read minds the way a schoolmarm read books. Or so it seemed to Mal. Ten years hadn’t dulled her skills one iota.
She brushed past him and moved to the tack shelves. There she found a bottle that had tipped over during his little steam-letting session and righted it. “Someone’s got to keep watch in town, after all, while everyone is out at target practice. I’ll be up in the steeple keeping an eye on things with Lewis. We’ll ring the bell if we see anything suspicious.”
Mal stilled. She was right. The attackers would hear the gunfire. Realize they’d been tricked. But they’d also be able to scout the area and determine that everyone had gathered by the church, leaving the rest of town unguarded. They’d not take a chance straight on against so many weapons, but what would stop them from setting another fire or destroying property? The store. Emma’s bank. The clinic. They could do serious damage to the women’s livelihoods.
“That’s a good thought, Aunt Bert. Think I’ll put Porter on guard, too. He might still be under the weather, but another pair of eyes will be good to have around.” Especially if those eyes were attached to a man who actually carried a gun and possibly even a grudge against the men attacking.
Bertie turned and smiled. “Yes. I’m so glad the ladies voted to allow that dear Mr. Porter to stay on until these difficulties are dealt with. I’ll sleep better knowing we have another capable man about the place.”
“Porter’s staying?” Could this be the answer Mal sought? Could he turn the women over to Porter? The thought soured his tongue. Tasted an awful lot like quitting.
“Just until the unpleasantries are sorted out.” Bertie sauntered closer and winked up at him. “He says he wants to stay because those bandits dragged him into our business by attacking him on the road. But if you ask me, he has another reason altogether. Two, actually. One with blond hair and a head for business. The other with short pants and a severe case of hero worship.” She tapped Mal’s arm and tittered, her eyes alight with merriment and some kind of hidden message that made his mouth go a little bit dry. “I do so adore watching young people fall in love. Some tumble as easily as a pecan dropping from a tree in the fall wind. Others fight against it with everything they have.” She paused and stared up at him.
His palms grew moist. She couldn’t know. Surely. He kept those feeling bottled up tight. She couldn’t—