No Other Will Do

by Karen Witemeyer

  Claire took it and tucked it into her skirt pocket. “I’ll be needin’ that, I’m a thinkin’. That scoundrel outside will require some patchin’ before they carry him off to the hoosegow.”

  Patching . . . “Oh my stars!” Emma exclaimed. “Malachi!” She turned to Claire. “You have to see to him right away. He took a knife to his shoulder, and there’s blood all over his shirt.”

  Emma grabbed Claire’s arm and started pulling her back out of the building even as she silently castigated herself. Just because the man had held her in arms that felt wondrously strong and kissed her with a passion that felt more vibrant and alive than anything she’d ever experienced didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting. How much blood might he have lost by now? What if the wound got infected?

  He should have been her first concern, but she’d been too worried about what her ladies would think of her kissing him in broad daylight.

  “Hurry,” she demanded, dragging Claire behind her as she rushed down the steps and around the corner.

  At first she didn’t see him, and her chest tightened in alarm. “Malachi?” The cry was loud even to her own ears.

  “Over here.” Betty Cooper called to them from the shadows of the church wall.

  Mal tried to stand when Emma ran over to him, but Betty forced him back down onto the empty crate he’d been using as a seat.

  “Sit still, Shaw,” Betty groused, “or you’re gonna mess up my bandage.”

  She’d wrapped a long strip of white cloth over his shoulder and across his chest. His bare chest. His very fit and well-defined bare chest. Emma’s mouth went a little dry. “Is . . . is he all right? I brought Claire to help with the wound. The loss of blood—”

  “I’m fine, Em,” Mal muttered, not meeting her gaze. “The leather on my vest kept the blade from going too deep. It’ll heal up in a few days.”

  “Might need a couple stitches,” Betty said, speaking more to Emma than the stubborn man sitting on the crate. She finished wrapping the bandage and tied off the ends. “You should have Maybelle take a look at it when she gets back tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Are we done?” Mal pushed to his feet before she could answer, grabbed his shirt from the ground, and yanked it over his head as he stalked off to join the other males tending to a rousing Angus.

  Emma frowned after him. He hadn’t even looked at her. Not once. Perhaps he was uncomfortable having three women staring at him when he wasn’t properly dressed.

  Or maybe . . . Her stomach clenched. Maybe he was shutting her out. Distancing himself, just as he’d done the last time he’d gotten ready to leave.

  She might have accepted his leaving without a fight ten years ago when she’d been a child, but she wasn’t about to let him get on his high horse of nobility and ride away from her again with some flimsy excuse about it being for her own good. Not after he’d kissed her like a starving man who’d finally been offered a place at the table. She might not have been kissed more than three times in her lifetime, but she knew the difference between polite interest, brotherly concern, and a soul-deep need that matched the longing of her own heart.

  Emma straightened her shoulders and set her chin. Mr. Malachi Shaw had better brace himself. He was in for the battle of his life. And she wasn’t afraid to fight dirty.

  40

  Two days later, Mal tied down his saddlebag with a heavy heart. He was going to miss Harper’s Station. All the women with their quirky personalities and independent spirits—he had no doubt they would flourish just as Emma had predicted.

  They’d flooded back into town first thing yesterday morning, as soon as they were assured Angus was behind bars. None of the men had accompanied them. A not-so-subtle message that it was past time for him to be hitting the trail.

  Porter had stayed in Seymour to get caught up on overdue shipments as well as to oversee the building of his new freight wagon. He’d also convinced his brother to give Andrew a job at his livery. The kid was a natural with horses, and since his pay included meals and a place to sleep, Mal figured he’d make out just fine. Trail might be a tad lonely without the kid along, but the boy needed stability, something Mal couldn’t offer right now. Even if he found work quickly, a rail camp was no place to raise a kid.

  Taking hold of Ulysses’s reins, Mal led the animal out of the barn and around to the front of the station house. No voices echoed within. No pots and pans rattled, no shoe heels clicked on the wood floors. Deserted. Empty. Downright depressing.

  Well, at least the ladies had made the rounds yesterday to say their good-byes.

  Maybelle had added a couple of stitches to his shoulder and given him a sack of clean bandages and salve along with strict instructions on how to tend the wound. Betty had ordered him to keep a sharp eye out for bandits while he traveled. Grace offered to wire his former employer on his behalf, but he’d turned her down, wanting to start somewhere fresh. Tori had gifted him with two new boxes of cartridges for his rifle and a leather satchel for carrying his additional belongings, which he needed after Henry loaded him down with a thick stack of writing paper, pens, and ink, and Bertie heaped more food on him than he could possibly eat in a week.

  The only person he hadn’t said good-bye to was Emma.

  Mal clenched his jaw and forced his boots to keep walking, one foot in front of the other. He wasn’t looking forward to this last farewell. Saying good-bye to the aunts had been hard enough this morning. They’d both put a good face on things, but if they felt even a fraction of the tearing pain he did at the prospect of being separated from the only family he’d ever known—again—they’d hidden more hurt than they’d let show. Of course, they might’ve already made peace with his leaving. He’d been gone for ten years, after all. Easy enough to slip back into old habits.

  Ulysses snorted as he clomped along. Mal sighed, as well, then forced his chin up. He had plenty of lonely miles ahead to wallow in the doldrums. He needed to put on a cheerful face for Emma. Show his support of her work. Let her know how proud he was of the woman she’d become. Not to mention drinking in the sight of her one last time, memorizing each line and curve so he’d be able to carry her image in his mind.

  Pulling up to Tori’s store, he tossed Ulysses’s reins over the hitching post and leaned his back against the railing to wait. All the women had congregated inside the café next door for a meeting or planning session or some such gathering. He hadn’t been invited.

  He’d barely settled in when the café’s door creaked open. Emma stepped onto the boardwalk and descended to the street. She was so beautiful. Her prim banker’s suit with the dark blue jacket and matching skirt showed off her slim waist and delicate figure. The white shirtwaist drew his gaze up to the slender line of her throat, the curve of her cheek, and the few tendrils of black, curly hair blowing in the breeze that refused to be tamed by her topknot.

  He straightened away from the railing, his arms aching to hold her one last time, his lips starving for another taste of her sweetness. He locked down the impulses but could do nothing to slow the racing of his heart or the twisting in his gut.

  She stopped two steps away from him, just out of reach. “So you’re really leaving.” Her green eyes accused him, making his gut clench tighter as guilt tangled around the knot already there.

  He tried to shrug it off, to make some flippant comment about it being time since he’d done what he came to do, but he couldn’t. Not with her eyes flashing green fire at him—fire that couldn’t quite hide the pain lingering behind the sparks.

  She deserved the truth from him. It might not change anything, but he’d not tuck tail and run with so much unsaid between them.

  “You should at least wait until Sheriff Tabor gets back,” she said before he could find the words he sought. “Deputy Lang mentioned there was a reward for finding the gold. That money belongs to you.”

  Mal shook his head. “Nah. The gold was in your house, and I destroyed most of the basement to get to it. Keep what you need to make repairs and gi
ve the rest to Flora. She and Ned need a chance to make a fresh start.”

  “But what if I need you again?” Something broke in her voice this time, as if her control was as much of an illusion as his was.

  His gaze flew to hers. Moisture glistened. Not tears, Emma. Please. I’ll never make it if you cry.

  Even as the thought ran through his head, she blinked the moisture away and straightened her shoulders. His brave little soldier once again. Somehow that made his heart ache all the more.

  Stepping closer, he took her hand and clasped it between both of his. “I’ll come whenever you call, Em. You know I will. I . . .” He glanced down at the dirt, then forced his gaze back up to her face. “I love you. I think I have since the day you found me shivering in your aunts’ barn and told me you were gonna keep me.” Mal shook his head and ducked his chin. “I want to keep you, Em. More than I ever wanted anything in my life.”

  She gave a little gasp, and her free hand flew to cover her mouth as if reliving the kiss they’d shared . . . and the truth it had revealed.

  He stroked her fingers, surrounding their coolness with the warmth of his palms even as his heart cracked straight down the middle. “But you have a life here. An important life ministering to women who need you. It’s your calling. Your God-given purpose. I’d never ask you to leave that. It’s who you are.”

  Her hand fell away from her mouth, revealing a bottom lip that trembled. “Oh, Malachi. I love you, too. With all my heart.”

  Joy, bittersweet and sharp, stabbed through him at her words. If only there was a way . . .

  She reached out and caressed his jaw, her touch sending shivers over his skin. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Malachi. I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

  Mal slowly wagged his head, careful not to shake off her touch. “You don’t owe me a thing, Em. You saved my life. Gave me a family. Made me believe I was worth more than the gutter trash everyone always compared me to. Fighting off a no-good outlaw doesn’t even make a dent in that debt.”

  She shook her head at him and dug her teeth into her bottom lip. Then she twisted away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you promise?” she blurted.

  At this moment, he’d promise her anything if it was in his power to grant. “Promise what?”

  “To come. If I need you.”

  He sagged with relief. That he could promise. All day long. “Yes. I promise.” He cupped her upper arms. “All you have to do is send word, and I’ll be here. I swear it.”

  “You better.”

  He grinned and bent close to touch his lips to her forehead. Man, but he loved it when she got all bossy on him.

  He started to back away, sure that if he didn’t leave now, he’d never find the strength to do so. But Emma reached out and clasped his arm.

  “Malachi?”

  He swallowed and turned to face her. “Yeah?”

  “I need you.”

  His heart thumped an awkward beat. What was she saying?

  She said it again. Louder this time. Imperious. “I. Need. You.”

  “Em, I don’t understand. . . .”

  She closed the distance between them with one long step, released his arm, and grabbed him around the waist, holding him as if she planned to make him her prisoner. Then she tipped her head back and glared up at him. “You promised you would come if I needed you. Well, I need you. Today. Tomorrow. The next day. I’m going to need you forever.”

  “But what about your ladies? You can’t just abandon your work.” Though in that moment he wanted her to. Wanted her to choose him over her ministry, God forgive him. But that wasn’t right. It was selfish. Greedy. Mal reached for her arms and tried to pry them away from his midsection. “You belong in Harper’s Station, Em. I belong in a railroad camp. There’s no way for us to be together.”

  “What if there was a way?” She threw the words at him like a hunter taking down a buck, and heaven help him if he didn’t feel the blow straight through his chest. “Would you stay, then?”

  Letting go of her arms, he traced a path up to her face and lightly stroked the edge of her cheek. He couldn’t quite meet her gaze, so he watched his fingers move back and forth along the soft skin.

  “Yes, angel.” The words hitched in his throat. “I’d stay. I’d marry you and spend the rest of my days loving you. We’d have children and raise them to follow their dreams and passions, making sure they knew their parents believed in them and saw them as people of value and worth. We’d grow old together, and sit on the porch in matching rocking chairs and watch the sun go down while we reminisce about how an ornery outlaw brought us together.”

  Moisture trickled into the path of his fingers. She was weeping. Biting back a groan, he dragged her into a hug and tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder. For once, he was the one instigating, a fact that should surprise him but oddly didn’t. His barriers had crumbled. No more holding back, no more protecting the hidden places inside him.

  She loved him. If she could bear up under the uncertainty of the future, so could he.

  He ran a hand over her hair as her brow nestled against the side of his jaw. “Maybe someday, when things change . . . But for now, your place is here. And as much as I believe in your work and in this place, I don’t belong in it. There’s no permanent place for a man in a women’s colony.”

  She pulled back from him and gazed into his face with tear-filled eyes at odds with the smile curving her lips. “Don’t you see, Malachi? Your belief in this work is exactly why you do belong.”

  Emma took another step backward, so much energy vibrating through her, she couldn’t stand still. “This place was never created to keep men out. It was created to give women power over their own destiny. Omitting men just seemed to be the easiest way to accomplish that feat. But our ladies voted, Mal.” She clasped his hand and beamed up at him. “They voted to accept you as a permanent resident of Harper’s Station. Unanimously, I might add. You’ve earned their trust, their loyalty. You’re family now.”

  Mal reeled, not quite able to absorb what she was saying.

  Emma winked and squeezed his hand. “Even Helen voted to let you stay.”

  Hope surged to such fierce heights inside him, he balked. Afraid to believe he could finally regain what he’d lost a decade ago—a home.

  “But what would I do?” Mal tugged his hand from her grasp and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t exactly stitch a quilt or put up vegetables. A man has to work, Em. I can’t stay if there is no way for me to provide for you, for a family.”

  Her smile never dimmed. “That’s what we met about today,” she said. “We fully expect the town to start growing again. Grace will be sending telegrams out to those who left us at the start of all the trouble, letting them know it is safe to return. And others will come, too. Especially if we can promise them protection.

  “Some of these women come to us seeking sanctuary from abusive fathers or husbands but are afraid to stay because they don’t feel safe with only females standing between them and their abusers. But if there was a man, a good man—say, a town marshal—willing to guard them, they’d be more likely to stay and eventually to thrive as the strong women God always desired them to be.”

  A marshal? Mal nearly laughed at the irony. How many times had he evaded the law during his youth? And now she thought him worthy of being the law, himself?

  “Think of Lewis and Ned and the other returning families with children,” Emma continued. “They need godly men in their lives. Boys need an example to emulate, and girls need a way to recognize a man of character who will respect and honor them.

  “The pay wouldn’t be what you’re used to at first, but as the town grows, so will your salary. We’ve already voted in a city tax ordinance. Of course, it’s with the understanding that when things are quiet, you’ll make yourself available to assist with things that require heavy lifting or repairs. Betty said if you’d help her build on to her henhouse, she’d donate a
percentage of her profits from the additional chickens to the law enforcement fund.

  “Mr. Porter convinced Tori to expand her business, as well, by starting a delivery route to area farms and ranches, saving the owners from having to travel into Seymour or Wichita Falls for supplies. If that partnership proves as lucrative as they expect, that will mean increased sales of all our products—quilts, canned goods, eggs. The more the economy grows, the more we can afford to pay—”

  “Slow down.” Mal chuckled, holding up a hand. His stunned mind could barely keep up with her rapid-fire explanations.

  The woman was amazing. While he’d resigned himself to the fact that his dreams of a life with her were unattainable, that banker’s brain of hers had been busy plotting a perfectly feasible plan to make the impossible possible.

  He grinned at her, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips. “I don’t need a big salary, Emma. Just enough to provide for you and our children.” He pressed his lips slowly to the back of her hand, gratified when a tremor passed through her that matched the one dancing around in his belly.

  “So you’ll stay? Oh, please say you will.” She leaned her head against his chest in a quick hug, then turned her face back up to look at him. Her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes glowed with love. “You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, Malachi Shaw. No other will do.”

  He nodded. “I’ll stay.”

  With a squeal of pure happiness, Emma threw herself into his arms. He swept her around in a circle, laughter gurgling up inside him as her feet dangled in midair. As he lowered her back to earth, he bent his head for a kiss—one not born of desperation, but born of love, a love they had years to explore.

  “That better mean you’re staying, young man,” Aunt Henry shouted.

  Mal lifted his head but didn’t release his hold on Emma’s waist. Not only was Henry looking on, but the entire town had stepped out of the café to watch, each lady with a smile on her face.