Malachi had left his job. For her. Emma couldn’t seem to think her way past that stark fact.
She had brought him into this mess, asked him to risk his life to help her protect her ladies, never giving thought to how long it might take or what kind of repercussions it might create for him. In truth, she hadn’t cared. All she’d cared about when she sent that telegram was protecting her colony. The community she’d built. The things she cared about. There had even been a part of her, deep down, that had wanted to send for him just so she could see him again. Emma bit her lip. What a selfish creature she was. So concerned with her own desires, her own plans, that she never once considered what Mal might be forced to sacrifice. She’d banked on his loyalty, and he’d paid the price.
“Miss? You all right?”
Emma gave herself a mental shake and glanced back at the boy. “Of course. I’m . . . fine.”
He didn’t look like he believed her.
“When . . . when did your employer send his telegram?” An awful thought started piecing itself together in the fog of her mind.
The boy’s forehead wrinkled. “Monday, I think. Why?”
“Monday,” she whispered, then turned to peer in the direction of the river. The last pieces clicked into place. The message Grace delivered before shooting practice. Mal’s sudden desire to search out the bandits the next day. It was his only chance to save his position with the railroad while still fulfilling his pledge to her. He’d wanted to keep that job. Wanted it so badly he’d hunted two armed gunmen. By himself. In their own territory.
Thank God he hadn’t found them. A shiver coursed through Emma at the thought of what could have happened. Yet what had happened hurt, too. She’d stolen the one thing that had given him pride and respect. And what had she given him in return? Nothing but trouble.
Emma was so deep in her thoughts, she failed to hear the jogging footsteps approaching until the horse nickered and stamped his front hooves. Her head whipped around as she belatedly lifted her rifle.
Malachi.
His gaze searched her face for a brief moment before he turned his attention to the boy. “Andrew! You’re a long way from Montana.”
The boy straightened like a soldier coming to attention. “I been watchin’ over your things, Mr. Shaw, just like I told you I would. Brought Ulysses to you.”
“So you did.” Mal was grinning like a kid who’d had a long-lost toy returned. The gelding bumped Mal’s shoulder with his nose. Mal chuckled softly and immediately started stroking the animal’s mismatched ears, placing his forehead against that of the horse. “I missed you, old man,” Mal murmured. “It’s good to have you back.”
“I brought your trunk and the rest of your stuff, too. Even your big copper tub. Had to leave that at the depot in Seymour, though. It was too big to tie to the saddle.”
A deep rumble of laughter echoed in Malachi’s chest, the sound warming Emma’s heart even as it twisted the guilt deeper into her soul.
“I can just picture you trying to lash that big ol’ thing to Ulysses’s back.” Mal glanced over to Andrew, then leaned back in to murmur to his horse. “You wouldn’t stand for that, would you, old man?” Ulysses lifted his head and shook it as if in answer. Mal grinned, his own head pulling back even as his hand lingered. He stroked the gelding’s cheek, a more thoughtful expression spreading across his features. Mal raised a brow at the boy. “Why did you leave the camp? I would have returned to collect my things eventually.”
“I figured you might need some help,” Andrew said. “Seemed to me that whatever trouble you got tangled up in was more complicated than you first thought. So I came down to lend a hand.” The boy’s cocksure voice couldn’t quite conceal the pleading undertone. He wanted to stay with Malachi—likely the only man who had ever shown interest in him, who’d ever treated him with kindness, dignity.
But if he stayed, Emma’s trouble could get him killed.
“No!”
Both males jerked their faces toward her.
“You need to go.” Her eyes met Malachi’s. “Both of you.” She’d been selfish long enough. Yet the thought of him leaving her again ripped her heart from her chest. A sob welled inside her. She forced it back, the effort leaving her vulnerable to the tears cresting the rims of her eyes. “You’ve given me enough, Mal. Go back to Montana. To the railroad. You’re the best blaster in the business.”
The best man she’d ever known. The man she trusted above all others. The man she . . . loved. Yes, loved. Not with the girlish infatuation of her past, but with a mature ardency that urged her to set her own desires aside and do what was best for him. By keeping him here, she was slowly stripping away his identity and everything he’d built for himself. It had to stop.
“Em.” Mal dropped his hand from the horse and stepped toward her.