Love in Disguise

by Barbara Baldwin

  “Who is Sarah?”

  “My wife.”

  His answer hit her like a blow to the chest, shattering her heart. Of all the things he might have said, she would never have imagined that. Oh, how he must have laughed when she confessed that she loved him. Her heartache turned to anger. She punched him with all her might, wincing when her small fist contacted hard muscle.

  “What was that for?”

  “You know what for.”

  Fuming and heartsick, she dug into her reticule and pulled out the small flask she carried. Then she tore another piece of cotton petticoat. She might hate him, but she wouldn’t let him bleed to death. He touched her arm, and she flinched.

  “Abby?”

  She refused to meet his gaze. Hands shaking, she uncorked the flask. Without preamble, she poured some of the brandy onto his wound to cleanse it and felt somewhat vindicated when he yelped. Hissing, he sucked in his breath. With his good arm he reached over and grabbed her wrist before she did it again.

  “Damn, woman!”

  “Oh, Max, how could you? You kissed me and touched—”

  He burst out laughing.

  Her jaw dropped in astonishment. She really did hate him.

  “No, no, don’t,” he gasped when she started to swing at him. He struggled to sit, groaning in the process. Abby didn’t help him at all.

  “You don’t know, do you?” he asked.

  Abby narrowed her eyes, fed up with him.

  “Know what?”

  “I’m not Max. I’m Montgomery Alexander Grant, Max’s brother.”

  * * *

  Max rubbed his shoulder where a sharp pain lingered. Since he didn’t recall getting punched, he could only think it had to do with Monty. He hadn’t seen his brother recently and hoped he was already ahead of them on the trail.

  Now, he watched Dillon hurry into a saloon on the opposite side of the street. He kept glancing over his shoulder. Max was happy to see his nervous behavior. Nervous men made mistakes. Max had put a freeze on Dillon’s assets, but he still needed to get to the San Francisco bank. He wanted to make sure there wasn’t an inside man who would let Dillon take the funds anyway. Dillon exited the saloon with saddlebags in hand and turned toward the livery. Max followed at a distance. As soon as the man left, Max would collect Abby and they would take a different route back to Denver.

  He was close enough to the livery doors that when Dillon rode out, he noticed a black eye and several red welts across his cheek. He saw him take a watch from his pocket, open it, then snap the cover closed and tuck it back in his vest. Max turned to go when realization hit him. Dillon didn’t wear a pocket watch.

  “What have you done with her?” Max shouted, running in his direction.

  Dillon jerked the reins, forcing his horse in a tight circle. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Max standing there.

  “I don’t know how you got loose. I hoped you burned in hell with her!” he yelled.

  Max grabbed at Dillon, but he slashed at him with the trailing ends of the reins, then turned and raced away, dirt flying beneath the horse’s hooves. Max knew a moment of indecision as he watched Dillon. He should go after him, but needed to find Abby first.

  “Fire!” someone yelled, and several of the old timers hurried out of the saloon doors.

  “Looks like it’s coming from the old James mine,” said one.

  “Yeah, well if it is, ain’t no loss. Nobody lives in that old rickety shack anyhow.”

  Max looked toward the column of smoke and recalled Dillon’s words—I hoped you burned in hell with her. He took off at a run.

  * * *

  Abby finished tying off Monty’s bandage. Luckily the bullet had gone clear through his shoulder, hitting the flesh instead of the bone. While she worked, Monty explained how he knew who she was. From his pauses, she felt he was leaving out information.

  “I’m still mad at him,” she said when he finished.

  He grinned despite the pain he was in. It was Max’s grin, the one that made his blue eyes twinkle and the cleft in his chin deepen. And yet now that she knew they were twins, there were nuances of difference between the two.

  “Don’t blame Max,” Monty said. “He has a very hard time letting anyone close, and from what I gather, you’ve managed to breach his armor. That in itself is a miracle, and he just needs to get used to it.”

  He leaned back against the tree.

  “Besides, Max usually doesn’t talk about his family. In his line of work, he thinks he’s protecting us that way. Even though he’s only minutes older than me, he feels he must take on all that responsibility.”

  “He’s told me a little about you and the Blue Jays,” Abby replied.

  “He just neglected to tell me you were twins.”

  Abby’s heart calmed, and she longed to see Max so she could kiss him and then give him a good lecture. Why he thought he must solve all the world’s problems was beyond her understanding.

  “Speak of the devil,” Monty said, inclining his head.

  Abby swiveled, afraid she would see Dillon coming back for them. Instead, a familiar figure was trotting along the dirt path.

  “Max!”

  She gathered her skirts and ran to meet him. She flung her arms around his neck, and he clutched her tight, spinning madly in circles. She peppered his face with kisses.

  “Oh, Max, I thought it was you and he shot you and then he tied me up and put us in the shed and then—”

  His kiss effectively stopped her ramblings. Hungry for the taste of him, she took over, exploring with her tongue, feeling the now familiar ache in her lower regions that just kissing him caused.

  “God, Abby, I thought I’d lost you. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  He squeezed her so tightly, she could hardly breathe. She knew his anger was his way of dealing with the fear.

  “Max, I found Monty,” she said by way of distracting him.

  “Monty’s supposed to be on his way back to Denver.”

  He set her down, but kept his hands on her waist.

  “You knew he was here?”

  “Yes, we’ve talked—ouch!”

  He let go of her to rub his chest.

  Abby stalked away. Until she met Max, she considered herself a genteel lady. Now she found herself actually hitting people.

  “What did I say?” he called after her.

  “One of these days, Maxwell Jeffery Grant, you are going to learn to trust me. Or there simply is no future for us.”

  She walked back to the tree, plopping down beside Monty. Pain etched his features. Abby dug into her reticule for her flask and handed it to him. He took a sip and handed it back.

  “I’m sure the wound is clean, but it wouldn’t hurt to see a doctor,” she said to Monty, deliberating ignoring Max.

  “I suppose that is your fearless suffragists’ doing again,” Max said. “Teaching you how to take care of bullet wounds and carrying whiskey around with you.”

  “Brandy,” she corrected.

  He gave her a disgruntled look, squatting and checking the bandage she’d put on Monty’s shoulder.

  “Why the hell were you here in the first place?”

  “I followed you,” she said. “Well, I thought it was you, but it was Monty.”

  Max looked at her, one brow raised.

  “I followed Dillon,” Monty said, giving Abby a wink over Max’s head to let her know he would take the brunt of his brother’s anger.

  “He must have backtracked on me. When I got here, he came out of the woods behind me.”

  “Damn, I wish you two would let me do my job,” Max grumbled.

  “Is he always so testy?” Abby asked Monty, tired of Max’s attitude when she was only trying to help.

  “Always,” Monty replied with a grin. “Ever since he was a little boy. Why, I remember the time—”

  “I saved you from trouble is what you’d best be remembering,” Max interrupted.

  Abby watched Monty’s smil
e fade.

  “Forever looking after me, aren’t you, Max? Cleaning up my problems—”

  “That’s what big brothers are for,” Max interrupted, putting an arm around him and helping him to his feet. As Abby grabbed her bag and hurried after the two men, she fell in love with Max all over again. He was full of compassion and more love than he knew. All she had to do was get past his stubbornness, rudeness, bossiness and his inability to tell her he loved her.

  * * *

  The trip back to Denver was uneventful and went faster than Max anticipated. Monty’s shoulder gave him some trouble, but he didn’t develop a fever and he could sit a horse. Abby was quiet. Considering what she’d gone through, he didn’t consider that unusual. Now, two days after returning to Denver, he walked along the train platform with Monty and Simon Court, one of the government field agents Max used periodically. Simon would be traveling back to Boston with Monty.

  “Don’t trust him, not even to pi…sleep,” Max corrected himself when two ladies walked by. Simon nodded in understanding.

  “I’m not some boy in short pants,” Monty protested.

  Max raised an eyebrow. His brother’s arm was in a sling and the bruises on his face were not yet healed.

  “Right.”

  “It’s my problem. I should be the one going to San Francisco after Dillon.” Monty continued the argument they’d been having for the last two days—four, if Max counted the trip down the mountain.

  “You’ll be lucky if there’s time to get home before Sarah’s confinement. If I let you go with me, she may decide she doesn’t want you back at all.”

  Sarah was his ace in the hole, for he knew Monty would move heaven and hell for his wife. Max wasn’t above using underhanded tactics to get his brother to obey him. The train whistle blasted to clear the tracks. Monty climbed on the steps after Simon.

  When the train began to move, he turned to Max one last time.

  “Give Abby a kiss for me.”

  He grinned wickedly and Max glowered. Monty had hounded him since their return to marry Abby while he was there to witness their union. He’d become her champion and extolled her virtues to Max anytime he was within hearing distance. And still, Max refused to confess to his brother what he’d finally accepted in his heart. He decided to walk back to Garland House, and for the better part of an hour thought about Abby. How did he go about convincing her…asking her? Hell, he didn’t even know for sure what he wanted from her.

  “That’s a lie.” He closed the garden gate behind him. “You know damn straight what you want.”

  The problem was, what did Abby want? There was only one way to find out.

  He knocked on her door. When she opened it, she stood a little behind the panel, but motioned him in. The door shut with a soft click, but to Max it sounded like a cannon blast. His heart was in his throat. He turned to tell her how he felt when he noticed what she wore. The chemise, though demure by fashion standards, was still shockingly intimate to him. For long moments, he simply stared, taking in the gentle swell of her breasts, delicately covered in white cotton with just a hint of lace at the top. Her arms were bare, and his fingers itched to touch her softness again.

  “I…needed to wash my things,” she stammered, and he thought she couldn’t possibly be as flustered as he was. Even though he considered himself a man of the world, she made him tremble. Then he noticed the heavy pulse at her throat and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Now that the moment was upon him, he hesitated.

  “I’ll come back later.”

  She stepped between him and the door.

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “I’m not playing Fishbone today.”

  “Max, I love you.”

  Even though he’d longed to hear those exact words, he wanted to make sure she knew the truth.

  “I’m not the kind of man a woman should fall in love with.”

  Abby frowned. “Nonsense. From the first day I saw you, or rather Mr. O’Flagherty,” she smiled, “you have been all that is good and kind. Why do you keep saying you’re not?”

  All the years of hearing his father denigrate him came back to haunt him in those few seconds.

  “I’ve killed people, Abby.”

  “Only to see justice done.”

  She moved right in front of him, winding her arms around his neck. She heaved a dramatic sigh, looking at him with dreamy eyes. Max longed to caress those bare shoulders, but forced himself to keep his hands at his sides.

  “Max, I have been traveling with four men for some time now, and I must admit that you are the best of the lot.”

  She waved a hand airily, her green eyes twinkling. Max should have known what was coming.

  “There’s Mr. O’Flagherty, but he’s so ornery. And of course, Reverend Fishbone, who is far too pious for me.”

  Max chuckled.

  “What about Markham? Don’t you have anything to say about his southern charm?”

  “Ah, Jeffery Markham. So suave, such a gentleman.” She traced his jaw with her finger, and he felt the tension build.

  “I love all of them, Max, because in actuality they are all bits and pieces of you that you won’t let others see in real life.”

  “Abby—”

  “Shh,” she whispered against his lips, rising on tiptoe to kiss him. She hadn’t initiated their kisses before, and he wasn’t about to refuse her, even though he ached so desperately with longing it almost doubled him over. After a kiss that went on forever, Max dragged his mouth away.

  “Marry me.”

  “What?” Her eyes grew round.

  He shrugged. “If you do, at least your mother can’t make you marry Dilbert Crabtree. Besides, you need someone to take care of you.”

  Abby sputtered. “I don’t need to marry anyone and I certainly won’t marry you just to keep from marrying Dilbert.”

  She pulled away, planting her fists on her hips.

  “Fine, then marry me because I love you,” he shouted, exasperated at her quicksilver change in attitude.

  “Don’t yell at me,” she said, then her eyes widened. Her mouth formed a small “o”.

  “That was badly done,” he said, pulling her hands away from her sides to kiss her knuckles.

  “I love you, Abigail Faith O’Brien. More than the number of stars in the sky, for as long as the moon glows. My heart is yours long beyond the time it quits beating.”

  “Oh, my. I don’t recall Mrs. Nye-Starr having anything to say about so eloquent a declaration.”

  “Say yes,” he replied, plying her with kisses along her bare arm. “Say yes,” he repeated, peppering kisses across her collarbone to the pulse at her throat. Abby breathed the word he needed to hear as his lips found hers. His finger hooked under the strap of her chemise, sliding it off her shoulder. The clock in the downstairs foyer chimed the hour, bringing him to his senses with a groan.

  “Can you be ready to get married in an hour?” he asked, studiously avoiding looking lower than her chin, afraid her lack of dress would drive him over the edge.

  “An hour?”

  “While I was seeing Monty off this morning, I instructed the stationmaster to have the Pullman coupled to the three o’clock westbound. That only gives us three hours.”

  “Max, I—”

  “We’re already days behind Dillon, and I can’t afford to delay any longer.”

  “Oh?” Her imperious tone of voice told Max he was in trouble.

  “Not good enough, huh?”

  She slowly shook her head. “Not by a long shot.”

  As he captured her gaze, her twinkling green eyes full of love, Max knew he would say or do anything she wanted, just to have her look at him like that.

  “Abby, I love you and I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve pushed me to the limit of my control, and if we spend one more night together in the confines of that train car, I’m going to make love to you, married or not.”

  “Oh.”

  This tim
e it was a breathless gasp, but it didn’t affect Max as much as the gloriously sexy smile which followed it.

  “Really?”

  She snuggled close, rubbing her chest against his. He bent his head to kiss her. He relinquished his heart to her safekeeping, and all the burdens he had carried for so many years vanished. He understood both Monty’s and Jessica’s attitudes. Love was truly liberating.

  “You’d better get moving,” he said, releasing her from his embrace. “If the train leaves without us, you’ll be sitting on a hard bench all the way to San Francisco, instead of lying on my soft feather bed.”

  He opened the door to leave and found the maid, Rebecca, prepared to knock, a breakfast tray in hand.

  “We’re getting married,” Max said.

  “Why does it take a man so long to see what’s as plain as the nose on his face?” she asked, adding a tsk when she walked right past him into the room.

  Max hurried downstairs, issuing orders to various household staff. He hurried through rooms looking for his aunt. He sent Forbes after a minister. There wasn’t time to procure the church or a lot of fancy trappings, but Abby hadn’t protested. He would make it up to her in Boston when this case was settled. Thinking of her parents, he jotted a note and added a stop at the telegraph office to Forbes’s errands. When he found Hickory and gave him instructions to get flowers, a huge grin flashed white in his dark face.

  “I see you’ve finally come to your senses.” Aunt Elizabeth wagged her finger under his nose. “It’s about time. You’re very lucky Christopher Stanwick hasn’t snatched her up.”

  It appeared that his falling in love came as no surprise to anyone but him.

  * * *

  It took longer than an hour to get everyone and everything ready and now Max nervously paced in the formal sitting room. The servants scurried around placing vases of flowers on the tables and opening the drapes to let in the warm afternoon sun. The minister stood before the fireplace with a slight smile on his face. Max guessed he wasn’t the first nervous bridegroom the man had seen. He pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open. One-fifteen. They had only a little over an hour. Abby was out of time. He took a step toward the double doors when they opened.