Malachi lingered in the café, waiting for his pulse to settle and for the haze to clear from his brain. Thankfully, he’d had years of training working with explosive materials and knew how to calm his mind. A few reminders about keeping one’s focus usually did the trick. This time, though, it took more than a few. It took an entire lecture.
Emma was an emotional creature. Affectionate. She threw hugs around like they were handshakes. And kisses? Well, kisses were new, but not unheard of. She kissed the aunts on their cheeks all the time. It was a family thing, surely.
With her ill-placed guilt riling her up about his job, things had gotten out of hand. That’s all. Her tears proved her delicate state. Even as a girl she’d rarely cried. Not even when he left. Her chin had trembled and her voice had wobbled, but she’d held fast. Yet today she’d been sobbing as she ran from him. So when he’d finally convinced her he didn’t blame her for the consequences of losing his job, her relief had overcome her and she’d just reacted. His beautiful, impulsive angel had kissed him out of gratitude, nothing else.
That’s what he needed to believe, anyway, if he hoped to keep his wits from scattering.
Two outlaws were threatening Emma and the ladies of Harper’s Station. Wasting concentration on imagined motives for a friendly kiss would only put the women he cared about at greater risk. And that he wouldn’t do. He was here as protector, not suitor. Best he snuff out that fuse at the source before it ran away from him and eventually blew everything up.
Head screwed on straight, finally, Malachi strode out the café door and back down the street to the station-house barn, intent on finding Andrew. When he entered, a familiar nicker welcomed him. Ulysses. Man, but it was good to have his horse back.
Mal let out a low whistle, and his gelding answered with a snort and a bob of his head. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, old man.” Mal crossed to the stall where Andrew had set Ulysses up with fresh hay and water. His saddle and gear had been removed and he’d been given a quick rubdown, but the fellow could use a thorough brushing. Bertie had probably lured Andrew away with egg sandwiches and cookies. Mal patted his vest. Still had a couple cookies of his own tucked away. Gingerbread. Ulysses could probably smell them.
Even as the thought crossed Mal’s mind, the horse bent his neck over the stall’s half door and pushed his nose into Mal’s chest, eliciting a chuckle. “All right, you beggar. We’ll both have one.”
He dug into the inside pocket of his vest and pulled out the treats. Holding his palm flat under Ulysses’s nose, he offered the horse the one that was mostly whole. Then, after wiping his feeding hand down his trouser leg, Mal popped one of the broken pieces of the second cookie into his mouth.
The spices danced across his tongue, and the sweetness made him smile. The flavor reminded him of the ladies who had made them—spice for Henry, with her opinionated nature, and sweet for Bertie, the nurturer. The two made a perfect blend.
“It’s good, ain’t it?” Mal rubbed Ulysses at the base of his notched ear and threw the second half of the broken cookie into his own mouth. Dusting the crumbs from his hands, he stepped away from the stall to locate a currycomb and brush. “Let’s see if we can get some of that trail dust off.”
“I’ll take care of that, Mr. Shaw.” Andrew dashed through the barn doorway, coat flapping, cheeks bulging with an unfinished meal. The boy must have spied him through the kitchen window and come running. “I weren’t neglectin’ my duties. Honest. Miss Chandler was just so insistent, I didn’t think it’d be polite to turn her down.”
“No one thinks you’re neglectful, Andrew.” Malachi stepped forward and clapped the youngster on the shoulder. “You’ve taken fine care of Ulysses for me over the last couple weeks. I can tell. I’ve just missed doin’ for him myself. Like missin’ spendin’ time with an old friend.”
“So you ain’t mad?”
“Mad?” Malachi chuckled and gave Andrew’s shoulder an extra squeeze before releasing him and walking back to his horse. “Hardly. I lived with these women for two years when I wasn’t much older than you are now. They were always shoving food at me and demanding I come inside and eat at the table.”
Andrew scrunched his nose. “And wash up. Not just yer hands neither, but yer face and neck, too.”
Now that he mentioned it, the kid did look much cleaner than the last time he’d seen him. Mal grinned. “Yep.” He pointed to the tack shelf. “I think there’s a second brush over there. Why don’t you give me a hand, and you can catch me up on what’s been going on at the rail camp.”