23

Logan stood in front of the door he’d barged through as a kid and shuffled his feet. Then pulled off his hat. Then cleared his throat.

For pity’s sake, man. Just knock on the door. It’s not as if you’re asking her to marry you or anything. You’re simply paying a call.

At her home. With at least one brother in residence. The other, thankfully, was out working the sorghum. Logan had checked. Still, this was the first time he’d called at the Hamilton homestead of his own volition. Technically he’d attempted a call last night, but he’d never actually dismounted from his horse in all the excitement surrounding Eva’s disappearance, so that didn’t count. He hadn’t had time to get nervous.

Staring at the back door with a covey of flushed quail flailing about in his gut, Logan couldn’t help wishing for some other emergency to sweep in and save him. He much preferred having her on his turf, away from her brothers, but he’d grown impatient waiting for her to show up at his place today. And really, waiting was for cowards. What kind of man forced his woman to do all the courtship work? Men were the hunters, the pursuers. Seth and Zacharias were aware of his presence, so there was no point in hiding any longer. Time to lay claim to his woman, to make his intent clear.

An intent that had only become clear to him last night. Oh, it had been sneaking up on him for a while. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen it coming. He just hadn’t expected it to whoosh down on him like a twister, knocking his feet out from under him and banging his limp carcass against rocks and trees until finally spitting him out at the feet of truth.

He was in love with her. If he lost her . . . well, it would hurt a heck of a lot more than that twister ride.

“Ya gonna stand there all day or actually thump knuckles to wood?”

Logan lurched sideways, his hat nearly falling through his fingers as his heart rammed his rib cage. “Hamilton!”

Good gravy. He hadn’t even heard him approach. His nemesis stood not five feet behind him, just off the porch—smirking. So much for Logan’s keen observation skills.

“I didn’t hear you come up,” Logan said.

Was it possible for a smirk to get smirkier? If so, Zacharias Hamilton had mastered the maneuver. “Countin’ the grain lines in the wood?”

He was hilarious, too.

Logan shrugged. “Everyone’s got a hobby.”

Was that a flare of warmth in Hamilton’s steely eyes? Heaven help them if they actually started liking each other.

Not that it would stop Logan from doing what must be done, but burgeoning respect between them could make the final showdown less of an ordeal for Eva—something he found mattered more to him with each passing day.

“Well, if you’re willing to forfeit your counting, you can follow me inside.” Hamilton pointed to something up on the roof. “Seth called me in, so I imagine something interestin’ developed during his conversation with Christie.”

Logan craned his head back to view the roof. A small blue flag undulated gently in the breeze. Something else he’d failed to notice. Of course, he’d ridden in from the opposite side, but still—his pride was taking significant hits today.

“We rigged a pulley between the window of Seth’s room and the chimney years back so he could signal if he ever needed help. Red is raised in an emergency. Blue just means come when you can.”

Clever.

Logan tucked his chin back into place and turned to regard the man who’d stolen his father’s home and life. Gall didn’t surge up his throat to choke him as it had the first time he’d spotted Hamilton on his father’s property. Nor did hatred throb in his veins. A dull, resentful ache still permeated his chest, but even that was more a glowing ember of old hurt than the blazing fire of justice that had fueled him for so long.

He was going soft. And what was worse, he couldn’t seem to dredge up more than a twinge of outrage over that sorry state of affairs.

“So I take it Seth told you about his little foray into my camp last night?”

“Yep.” Hamilton climbed the porch steps, but instead of brushing past Logan and throwing open the door, he paused and held out his hand. “I misjudged you. What you’re doin’ for Christie . . . it’s a good thing.”

Logan stared at the proffered hand, stunned. If Hamilton knew his true intentions, that hand would be balled into a fist, swinging for Logan’s jaw.

Yet he couldn’t just ignore the gesture. So he slowly fit his palm to Hamilton’s, forcing his face to remain bland as his stomach churned. The contact was blessedly brief, neither of them wanting to prolong the awkwardness, but shaking hands with the enemy still rattled him.

His enemy had become an ally. Miss Gilliam needed assistance, and it seemed Seth wasn’t the only Hamilton brother invested in her well-being.

Hamilton yanked the door wide and marched into the kitchen. “You comin’?”

Logan followed, taking a moment to close the door behind him. His mama had scolded him so many times about leaving that door open, he swore her voice lingered on the very walls as part of the glue that held the decorative paper in place. She’d probably fuss about his boots, too, though he’d ensured they carried no mud when he dismounted earlier.

It wasn’t his mother’s voice he heard echoing down the hall, however, but Eva’s.

“We have to report this to the marshal in Ben Franklin.”

“No!” That from Miss Gilliam. “You don’t understand. They think I’m feeble-minded. They won’t believe my word against his. Not without proof. He dines with the mayor and his wife every other Saturday, heads the missionary committee at church, and lets the Populists use the schoolhouse for political meetings. He’s the town’s favored son. I’m just the bootlegger’s idiot stepdaughter.”

Logan caught the last half of that speech in person as he stepped inside the parlor. Seth stood beside the overwrought Miss Gilliam, a supportive hand on her shoulder, while Eva stood in front of a small sofa, a mulish look on her face.

“Then we go to the sheriff in Cooper,” Eva insisted. “Benson’s a criminal. You won’t be safe until he’s behind bars.”

Logan moved past Zacharias and approached Eva from the side. “But if she reveals herself without proof,” he intoned softly, “she’ll be in more danger than ever.”

Eva’s gaze jerked toward him. “Logan? Where did you come from?”

“Found him counting lines in the wood grain of the back door,” Zacharias supplied helpfully.

Eva frowned. “What?”

Logan shot Hamilton a glare. “Ignore him.” He turned back to Eva. “Did Christie remember something about the schoolmaster?” He glanced toward Seth to include him in the question.

“You were right about the book,” Seth explained. “It was a ledger. Benson apparently helps Earl with his bookkeeping. Only instead of leaving one of Earl’s ledgers for Christie to retrieve, he accidentally left one of his own. One that showed the creative accounting methods he’s using to pocket school board funds.”

“See? He’s a criminal.” Eva, bless her innocent heart. She probably thought all lawmen were honest and chivalrous and would do everything in their power to protect a female in trouble.

Logan knew different. As did Seth and Zacharias, judging by the matching scowls on their faces. Even an honest lawman couldn’t do anything without proof. The ledger was gone, no doubt retrieved by Benson when he attacked Miss Gilliam, and if she never saw her attacker, she couldn’t level a charge of assault against him.

Logan couldn’t testify that Benson was the man he saw dump her in the river, either. They’d been too far away to identify him with certainty. All he could say was that the men were of the same height and build. Maybe if they found the wagon or matched the horses to ones Benson owned, but even that would be circumstantial. And judging by the shiny black buggy the schoolmaster drove, he’d probably borrowed the rickety wagon Logan had seen. Most likely from Earl.

Logan cupped Eva’s shoulder and waited for her to turn her vivid, adorably mismatched eyes on him. “The sheriff can’t arrest a man with no proof of wrongdoing. And if Miss Gilliam comes out of hiding to accuse Benson”—he eyed Seth—“he’ll know where she’s been staying and who’s been helping her.” He rubbed Eva’s arm, trying to soothe both her and himself at the thought he was about to voice. “Not only would Miss Gilliam be in greater danger, but so would you and your brothers.”

Eva looked at him, defiant even in the face of defeat. Man, but he loved her spunk. “We can’t sit back and do nothing, Logan.”

He smiled at her, thankful for the chance to be her hero once more before tumbling off his knightly steed into the mud. “I’m not the do-nothing kind, sweetheart.”

A snort echoed behind him, but Logan didn’t care, not when hope lit Eva’s face and her eyes glowed with absolute confidence in him. He savored that look for a heart-stopping moment, knowing it would probably be the last time he saw such unwavering faith, at least for a while, then thrust it aside to get back to business.

“I said we couldn’t go to the sheriff without proof. So what do you say we get some?”

Evangeline’s heart nearly burst from the sudden onslaught of love gushing through her. Love . . . and fear. Logan looked so capable, standing there with that cocky smile and loose-limbed stance. Yet as much as she wanted Christie to be free of the man bent on hurting her, she didn’t like the idea of Logan taking all the danger upon himself.

A masculine throat cleared at the back of the room. “I’ll help.”

Zach. Of course. Evangeline shot a thankful smile across the room to her eldest brother. Zach might act like a lone wolf, but he was a protector by nature. He’d never stand idly by and let a woman be persecuted if there were something he could do to prevent it.

“Me, too,” she immediately volunteered, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting out her chin to let Logan know she’d not be relegated to the sidelines. “What can I do?”

Logan’s jaw tensed. “You can stay as far away from Mr. Benson as possible.”

And there he went, relegating her to the sidelines. He better think twice about that snap judgment before she—

“Please!” Christie raised her hands to her head as if grasping for purchase in a windstorm. “Everyone’s speaking too fast. I can’t keep up.”

Evangeline glared a warning at Logan that their discussion of her involvement was not over, then moved in front of Christie. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was rude of us.”

“I don’t care about rude,” Christie responded, her voice agitated. “I care about understanding what you plan to do.” She stepped away from Seth and marched over to Logan. “You want to go after the ledger, don’t you?”

Logan tossed his hat onto the settee. “Yep. I think I know where he keeps the logbooks stashed, at least the ones containing Earl’s accounts. And if he mixed his ledger up with Earl’s on the day you retrieved it, it follows that he must keep them both in the same general vicinity.”

“But wouldn’t the mix-up cause him to change that pattern?” Christie asked. “You could be searching in the wrong place.”

Logan shrugged. “Possibly. But we won’t know until we look, will we?”

Seth crossed to Christie’s side, and Evangeline followed. Zach joined the group as well so that they all stood in a circle.

Seth took Christie’s hand and squeezed it. “How often does Earl have Benson check his accounts?”

“Every two weeks.”

“Then we have some time.” Seth cast Logan a meaningful glance. “If Earl collected his ledger from Benson yesterday, that gives us a dozen days to strategize.”

Logan frowned. “Why do we have to wait for Earl’s ledger to come back into Benson’s possession? Benson’s account book is the one we care about.”

“Discrediting Benson and getting him behind bars where he can’t hurt Christie is the main objective. But it’s not the only one.” Seth brought the back of Christie’s hand up to his lips and laid a gentle kiss on it. “I have a young boy to find.”

Christie’s eyes filled with tears as she bit her trembling lower lip. Evangeline patted her friend’s back, her own eyes misting.

“If we go after Benson’s ledger now, we’ll spook Earl and lose our chance to get our hands on the information we need from his account book. We need to make our move when both ledgers are in Benson’s possession. Two birds, one stone.”

Logan’s forehead scrunched, making the scar across his left eye more pronounced. “What does a kid have to do with anything?”

Evangeline touched his arm. “I’ll explain later. The two of us need to talk anyway.”

She ignored the raised eyebrows of the two other men in the room, concerned only with the man to her left. The man whose gray eyes had just clouded with . . . dread.

Suddenly, outmaneuvering a murderous schoolmaster seemed far less worrisome than cracking open her heart to her inscrutable neighbor.