21

Grace spent the remainder of the afternoon burning up the telegraph wires, shuffling the pieces on her imaginary chessboard until they lined up to her satisfaction. Thanks to a cycling enthusiast with a spinster sister on friendly terms with every bookseller in San Antonio, Grace now had a crate of tomes shipping to Harper’s Station with her name on it. Tomes that just happened to include copies of Oliver Twist and Guy Mannering.

“Do you think it will work?” Amos asked after she closed the circuit for the final time and leaned back in her office chair.

Grace blew out a breath, the excitement that had driven her the past three hours fading now that her course was set and she could no longer turn back. “I don’t know. But it seemed like a risk worth taking. If Detective Dunbar falls for the ruse, he’ll take the books and leave, giving me time to make a run for Philadelphia without him being aware.”

Having come to the conclusion that she was never going to trust Elliott Dunbar with her father’s documents, there’d been only one recourse: travel to Philadelphia and place the items in Detective Whitmore’s hands personally. The trip would be expensive, requiring a loan from Emma on top of clearing out most of Grace’s meager savings, but it wasn’t the money that had her worried. Haversham knew her whereabouts and could be lying in wait even now. If she left the safety of the town, she painted a target on her back. Yet she saw no other resolution, and it was past time to bring this matter to a close.

Amos rose from the striped chair and tugged at the bottom of his brown worsted vest, drawing Grace out of her troublesome thoughts. He was so fastidious. Barely a wrinkle marred his clothes, even after a vigorous day of spying and plot contriving. His matching suit coat hung on the wall hook. The rest of his apparel remained formal—shirt buttoned to the chin, tie neat and unloosened. When Amos stood, straightened his shoulders, and cleared his throat, Grace felt a bit as if her old schoolmaster was about to address the class. It was adorable, really. Amos fidgeting yet formal all at the same time.

“It would be my honor to escort you on your journey, Miss Mallory.” A slight reddening of his neck and ears accompanied the pronouncement. “It is not proper for a young woman to travel such a distance unescorted. Nor is it safe, in your current situation.” His light blue gaze glimmered with sincerity and concern. “I realize I’m not a family member”—his ears darkened another shade—“yet I hope you consider me a close enough friend to accept my offer.”

Grace’s mind spun at a dizzying speed. Good heavens. She’d never considered . . . Did he feel obligated? His company would be a boon for sure, yet there’d be ramifications for him. “Amos,” she sputtered, trying to find the words, “the fare to Philadelphia is so expensive. I had to arrange a loan with Emma just to cover my cost. I couldn’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.” He strode over to her with all the purpose and confidence of a band leader on parade. He halted in front of her chair and extended his hand.

Grace slowly fit her palm to his. He pulled, bringing her to her feet. The sweet, nervous Amos was endearing and comfortable to be around, but this more masterful version? He made her toes tingle.

The same sensation had washed over her earlier when he’d grabbed her arm and pressed her against that tree. For a heart-stopping moment, she’d thought he was going to kiss her, and oh, how she’d wanted him to. But that had been for show. Now they were alone, with no need for pretense or subterfuge. Yet here they stood, her hand in his, light blue eyes gazing down at her with such tenderness and determination that her pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing.

Rarely did a person sense a life-changing moment before it occurred. Usually only hindsight revealed its significance. Grace had experienced such a premonition once before, in the moment she watched her father step into that Denver street. She felt it again now. A weight of importance. A buzz of excitement. An anticipation that shallowed her breath.

“Grace.” Amos rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I came to Harper’s Station for you. Not because I overheard your friend’s warning, although that did expedite my arrival, but because I had started falling in love with you over the wire. I had already made up my mind to arrange a meeting before we started talking that evening. I wanted—no, I needed to meet you in person, to determine if we might be compatible in more than simply wire chatter.”

Grace’s mouth grew so dry, she feared she’d be unable to speak. Not that her mind was functioning properly enough to form a coherent sentence anyway, but such a soul-baring speech merited some kind of response.

“Amos . . . ,” she managed, though she had no idea what would follow his name.

He shook his head. “No, let me finish.”

Oh, thank heavens. His finishing meant she could delay beginning. She needed all the time she could get to scrape together the remnants of her scattered wits. Not to mention the fact that she really, really liked hearing what he was saying.

“I don’t know what will come of this situation with Dunbar and your father’s missing documents, but I do know that your safety means more to me than my own life. More than my worldly goods. I may not be a rich man, but I have enough to support a mother, and before Lucy married, a sister as well, while still squirreling away funds for a rainy day. If that rainy day arrives because the woman I . . . I care for needs my assistance, then I will gladly reach for an umbrella to shelter the two of us as we move forward together.”

Grace smiled. Well, it started as a smile, then it stretched into a full-out beam of a grin. An umbrella? Oh, Amos. Delightfully gawky when it came to romance but so wonderfully sweet.

He hadn’t changed. He was still the friend who made her laugh, the man who wore spectacles and tapped the sounder like a regimented woodpecker, the unconventional sportsman who preferred a bicycle to a horse. However, seeing this new side of him made it clear that he was also a man a woman could depend on when life’s burdens grew too heavy to carry alone. A man unafraid to step forward and take the lead. Not with bullying swagger or excessive posturing, but with decency and gentle authority. He was a man worthy of respect. A man who made her feel stronger just by holding his hand.

“I have feelings for you, Grace,” he said, shifting slightly and raising his free hand to adjust the perch of his spectacles on his nose even though they were already straight. “Feelings that have only grown stronger during the time we’ve spent together the past few days. I’d like . . .” He paused, glanced down at his feet and swallowed, then lifted his gaze to hers again. His bright, unapologetic, incredibly courageous gaze.

How brave he was to speak such words. She might have thought along similar lines, but saying such things aloud? So bold and forthright after such a short acquaintance? She’d be a trembling, stammering, tomato-red mess. Admiration swelled in her breast as she held her breath, waiting for whatever came next.

“I’d like to pay court to you, Grace. Officially. With the intention of asking for your hand if the idea proves amenable after a sufficient wooing period.”

The smile that had faded to respectable lines when his proposal began fought to break free again, but she restrained it. Some women might consider his intellectual recitation dry and lacking passion, but they would be wrong. Grace could see the depth of emotion glittering in his eyes and recognized his formality as a tribute to the importance he placed on the occasion. She would respond in kind.

Forcing her eyes to maintain their connection with his despite the nearly overpowering urge to glance away, she gave a slight nod. “I accept your suit, Amos Bledsoe. And I accept your generous offer of escort, as well.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and Grace loosened the reins on her smile, allowing it to welcome his suit, his affection, his . . .

Kiss?

Amos fit his hand to her cheek, cupping her face so tenderly, so intimately that Grace’s heart stumbled in its rhythm. The gentle pressure of his hand tilted her face upward, and the sweet curve of his lips as he gazed at her made her feel beautiful and treasured and horrendously nervous all at once.

She’d never kissed a man before. Well, none except her father, and those cheek pecks surely didn’t count. What if she did it wrong? She couldn’t bear being a disappointment to Amos, not after all those wonderful pledges of devotion he had given her. Yet she couldn’t escape either. Pulling away at this juncture would only hurt and confuse the man she’d just accepted as suitor. The man she was quickly coming to admire above all others.

So she held fast, her focus dropping from his heavy-lidded eyes to the lips that hovered a scant inch above hers.

“May I kiss you, Miss Mallory?” His husky whisper sent shivers dancing across her skin.

Land sakes! Did he actually expect her to verbalize an answer? Simply keeping her legs beneath her required every spare faculty at the moment. Somehow she managed a slight dip of her chin, and Amos—possessed of considerably more of his faculties, apparently—astutely recognized the minuscule motion as assent.

When his lips touched hers, the gentle contact soothed her fears even as it lured her in for more. He brushed his mouth over hers once, twice. On the third pass, he lingered, his fingers on her face drawing her closer as they caressed her skin with the lightest touch.

She tried to stay still, to let him direct things, since he seemed to have an inkling of how to accomplish this particular feat. However, when he let go of her hand in order to wrap his arm around her waist and drag her against his chest, she could no more hold back her response than she could hold back avalanching snow.

She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him back, praying she didn’t do something gauche and embarrass them both. He didn’t thrust her away, which she took as a good sign, but neither did he react. It was as if her sudden participation shocked him into paralysis. Until she tentatively reached out and laid her palm over the place she imagined his heart to be. Then, as if a jolt of lightning had passed through her fingertips into his chest, he clenched his arms and tightened his hold on her, his lips pressing deeper, tasting her more fully.

Sensations bombarded her, making her dizzy. Her knees weakened beneath the assault, but Amos held her firm, her anchor in the vortex. She found the idea of a future with this man very amenable indeed.

Yet as much as his kiss exhilarated her, the loss of control it inspired unsettled her. She pushed more firmly against Amos’s chest, a tricky feat in itself, since her arms currently held all the strength of wet newsprint. Nevertheless, Amos reacted immediately. He loosened his grip and separated his mouth from hers.

They stood there for a long moment, silent except for the breathless huffs filling the air between them. Grace couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze, so she stared at a spot about an inch above the V of his vest, oddly comforted by the fact that his chest rose and fell with the same erratic rhythm as her own.

“Forgive me, Grace,” he finally said, taking a step back from her and tugging on the hem of his vest in that nervous way of his she was starting to find charming. “I’m afraid my ardency got a bit out of hand.”

“You weren’t alone in that,” she admitted softly, unwilling to let him place all the blame on himself.

“Still . . .” He cleared his throat. “A gentleman never places a lady’s reputation at risk. We are in a public office. Anyone could have come in.” His body turned slightly. “Or seen through the window.”

Grace lifted her head to peer through the paned glass, relief washing over her when she saw nothing but dirt and trees and a handful of buildings. Most people were at home this time of day, preparing for the evening meal.

However, despite her gratitude over not being caught in a private embrace, she sensed an increasing awkwardness about Amos that tugged at her heart. She recalled the humorous, self-deprecating stories he’d entertained her with over the wire about his nemesis, one Harriet Dexter, who believed it her calling in life to point out his shortcomings to the female population of Denison. Now Amos was apologizing to her as if worried he’d embarrassed her with his attentions.

Well, Harriet Dexter was an idiot, and as soon as Amos and Grace returned from Philadelphia, she intended to travel to Denison and rub the woman’s face in her mistake. Amos Bledsoe was a man any woman would be proud to have by her side. And if he continued to find Grace amenable after their sufficient wooing period, she intended to make the arrangement permanent. Permanent and so blissfully happy that all those foolish Denison girls who let him slip through their fingers would kick themselves for their stupidity.

“We’re courting, Amos. Officially,” Grace said, her voice firm, her attention capturing and holding his gaze hostage. “There is nothing improper about a courting couple sharing a celebratory kiss. And if anyone did happen to spy our embrace, I would accept whatever teasing resulted with good grace because I know how fortunate I am to have a man like you as my beau.”

A warmth came into his blue eyes that made her pulse flicker. “I am the fortunate one, Miss Mallory. And whatever transpires over the next few days with this scheme of yours, know that I will remain steadfastly by your side. Come what may.”

Come what may, indeed. Grace could only hope that what came was a successful double-cross and an uneventful journey to Philadelphia. Everything hinged on Detective Dunbar being less clever than he was pretty. Generally, those who relied on looks to get through life spent little time harnessing their intellect, but the Pinkerton didn’t strike her as a fool. He was canny. How canny was yet to be determined. Only time, and a box of musty books, would tell.