by Lisa Plumley
Maybe he still could, if she would let him. Starting with the problem of Roy Bedell…and ending with whatever had made her so all-fired eager to get herself hitched to man she didn’t know. Maybe if Adam could figure out that much, he could devise the best way to tell her the truth without hurting her.
“Just as soon as you’re feeling up to it, I think we ought to get on with planning our wedding.” Savannah fussed with the tray of breakfast victuals she’d brought him. “A private ceremony in Avalanche would be awfully nice. That would be my suggestion, but of course I’d love to hear whatever you think about the issue. Here. Go ahead and have a seat now, won’t you?”
She gestured for him to sit at the small round table near the window. With his mind spinning from her sudden chatter, Adam obliged her. Savannah followed him with her tray. She exhaled, then set the food before him. Without meeting his gaze, she arranged his breakfast just so, then hurriedly went on talking.
“Avalanche is about a half-day’s trip from here, partway up the mountain. There’s no rail line there, so we’ll have to take the wagon. I’ll drive us, since you’re still recovering—”
“I’ll drive,” Adam objected. “I’m strong enough for that.”
Savannah looked at him askance.
And no wonder, Adam realized as his own hasty words sank in. He wouldn’t be driving them anywhere. He had to stop this.
It was bad enough that Savannah’s long-distance beau was really a lying, thieving, no-good killer. But Adam had added to that problem by deceiving her about himself. At first that had been an accident; he’d been too insensible to assert his true identity or explain why he was at the station. But now, three days later, he knew damn well he wasn’t Savannah’s genuine mail-order groom. As soon as he told her the truth about that, she would boot him out the door lickety-split. Deservedly so.
Maybe that was why Adam decided not to confess everything. Not just then. Instead he nodded and smiled at her.
It was a cowardly move, but he couldn’t help it. All he wanted was a little more time with Savannah—a little more time to let her feel happy. If that meant he waited an extra day or two to explain about Roy Bedell…well, that would ensure he could keep on protecting her, Adam reasoned. If Savannah tossed him out, he would not be able to keep sufficient watch over her.
“Well… I’m not entirely sure you’re ready to drive us on the journey, but you do appear almost well enough to travel. I certainly thought you were well enough to go on foot to Morrow Creek this morning!” Wearing a faint frown, Savannah gazed at him. Whatever she saw appeared to satisfy her. “I’d hate to push you overmuch, but time is of the essence with our wedding.”
Automatically Adam nodded. The rich aromas of fried eggs and fresh toasted bread wafted up to him. Belatedly realizing he was ravenous, he tucked into the breakfast she’d prepared.
Apparently gratified by his appetite, Savannah moved around him, making sure he had sugar for his coffee, butter for his bread, and a proper view of the flower she’d put on his tray.
Humbled by her generous efforts to please him, Adam felt a fresh pang of regret. He wished Savannah really were his. She was kind and gentle and determined. She was good. She deserved good things. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that.
He’d never met a woman so determined to make a man happy at home. Savannah’s efforts to nurse him, care for him and just plain welcome him had been remarkable. As a traveling man at heart, Adam had never experienced anything like the hominess he felt when he was with Savannah. He knew that gave him all the more reason to be honest with her. But he hated the thought of disappointing her—and so far, she’d been powerfully tickled about having her long-awaited “fiancé” under her roof.
“‘Time is of the essence’?” Remembering her words, Adam hesitated with a forkful of eggs. “What’s the hurry?”
Savannah stilled. Then she snatched up a linen napkin and shook it out with a businesslike snap. “Oh, you know. I simply don’t want to wait any longer than necessary to get married, that’s all. We’ve both waited so long already, haven’t we?”
She was hiding something. He could tell. After his many years as a detective, Adam hadn’t acquired much faith in his fellow man—but he had acquired the ability to detect deception. And Savannah, he realized, was trying to deceive him right now.
Not that he could reason out why. Surprised and newly alert, Adam watched Savannah. With her gaze downcast, she spread the napkin over his lap. With her cheeks pink, she patted it thoroughly into place. Her actions were clearly an attempt to distract him from discussing their hasty upcoming wedding.
They worked. Adam shifted in his seat, his body reacting to her touch. Obliviously Savannah went on patting the napkin, seeming not to notice exactly how aggressively she did so.
Swallowing hard, Adam closed his hand over hers. “If you guard me any more diligently against crumbs,” he said in a rough voice, “I might find it difficult to remain gentlemanly.”
Her startled gaze flew to his. She glanced at his lap.
He could tell the exact moment Savannah realized what she’d done—and what’s more, how brazenly she’d done it. She clenched her fingers beneath his hand. Then, with a maneuver he’d learned was typically paradoxical of her, she inclined her head in a stiff little bow.
“I’m terribly sorry. That was awfully rude of me, wasn’t it?” She gave an awkward titter. “I promise, I’ll never, ever touch you that way again. No matter what else happens between—”
“No.” Briefly he closed his eyes. “Don’t promise that.”
At the thought of her touching him again—without the barrier of clothing and an unknown deception between them—Adam nearly lost control. With Savannah so near, and seemingly so willing, his ability to resist her felt downright paltry.
But then he’d known that from the start, hadn’t he?
She inhaled, then charged onward. “I will certainly do my best to respect your personhood and privacy, Mr. Corwin. I—”
“Adam. You promised to call me Adam.” Despite his best intentions, Adam found it difficult to remain suspicious of her—partly because her hand felt so good held in his. He’d never touched her so boldly before. He should not have done so now. But Savannah had nearly made herself an intimate acquaintance of his just a second ago. He’d had to intervene. He hadn’t had to continue to cradle her hand beneath his. That, he simply liked.
“Adam. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m so sorry.”
Against all reason, he found Savannah’s elaborate civility endearing. It stood at odds with her natural warmth and charm, but, strangely enough, it emphasized both those qualities, too.
“No more apologies. I forgive you.” But I still wonder what you’re hiding. Setting aside that question for now, Adam stroked his thumb over her hand. “Mmm. Your skin feels nice.”
“Oh. Thank you! I use a special soap.”
“Very soft and smooth. Not like my rugged hands.”
“On the contrary,” Savannah said courteously. “Your hands are actually quite—” she sneaked a peek, then frowned “—they are very rugged looking, as a matter of fact. How can that be, when you spend most of your days working the telegraph apparatus?”
Caught, Adam went still. Then, truthfully, he said, “I’ve had several occupations over my lifetime. I guess they’ve all left their marks on me, one way or the other.”
He hated himself for the prevarication—and Savannah seemed to notice it, too. She gazed closely at him, frowning again.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” she said in a quiet, careful tone, “exactly what occupations were those?”
Blast. “They’re not important now.” With a dismissive wave, Adam went back to his breakfast. “Mmm. These eggs are delicious. I don’t know why Mose is always badmouthing your cooking.”
“Feel free to enumerate those occupations. In order,” Savannah urged, not the least deterred by his attempt at misdirection. “You can’t possibly give
me too much detail.”
He glanced up. “In your letters, you always said a person’s plans for the future mattered more than their past.”
She shrugged. “I guess my philosophy is changing. I want to know all about you. I couldn’t be more curious.” With an unexpectedly alert expression, she dragged a chair in place right beside him. She sat in it, then put her chin in her hands. “So tell me: what have you done besides telegraphing?”
That one, at least, was easy. He could answer honestly.
“I’ve worked as a ranch hand and as a drummer. I’ve helped out on a printing press. I used to be a United States Marshall—”
“A Marshall? That sounds fascinating.” She looked at him with new admiration. “How long did you work for the government?”
Just long enough to realize that working for the detective agency would bring more bad men like Roy Bedell to justice.
No. He could not tell her that. His disillusionment with the Marshall’s office wasn’t at issue here. Uncomfortable with the necessity of another lie, Adam pushed aside his breakfast.
Savannah noticed. “What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?”
“I like it very much. But I find myself distracted.”
“Oh?” She looked around as though expecting to find a tap-dancing mouse under his chair. “By what?”
“By you,” Adam said. “You’re powerfully distracting.”
No longer able to resist her, he put his hand under her chin. Gently he urged her closer, his heart pounding with eagerness. He’d kissed a few women in his time. That was true. But none of those women had ever made him feel as needful as he did right now. He could scarcely remember them. His fingers shook as he drew Savannah nearer, then lowered his head.
The first touch of her lips was pure bliss. At the feel of her mouth beneath his, Adam felt nearly as swoony as he had under the influence of Doc Finney’s tincture. He moaned and held on to her, daring to deepen his kiss…and Savannah welcomed him. Her hands came to his shoulders as she clung to him, sweet and soft. Their mouths met again. It was good. So good…
A short distance away, something banged. Loudly.
It was probably his heart, Adam reasoned as he tightened his grasp on Savannah’s hand. He kissed her again, gladly. His heart was unschooled in these romantic matters. It likely didn’t know what to make of the giddy pleasure he felt right now.
“Good gracious!” came a shrieking female voice from behind him. “What in heaven’s name is going on here?”
Jolted by that shrill sound, Adam and Savannah jerked apart. An unfamiliar woman wearing a starched dress stood there, staring down at them both with an air of distinct disapproval.
“I am Mrs. Finney. My husband led me to believe you might require some assistance with your wounded traveler, here at the station.” Her gimlet gaze traveled from Adam’s unclothed, bandaged chest to Savannah’s face. “But all you seem to require, miss, is a dose of commonsense morals!”
“No! Mrs. Finney, you don’t understand. I have plenty of commonsense morals! I’ve worked very hard on acquiring them.” Wearing a look of panic-stricken apology, Savannah bolted to her feet. She gestured wildly, her eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. What you just saw was merely a—a—”
She faltered, glancing at Adam for support.
He opened his mouth to help, but Mrs. Finney cut him short. “I know exactly what I just saw.” The doctor’s wife lifted her chin. Her aged neck appeared strangled by her stiff, lacy dress collar. “And it is nothing with which I wish to be associated! You should be ashamed, young lady. Ashamed.” She aimed a censorious sniff in Adam’s direction, but didn’t seem to expect the same high morals from him. She gathered her ramrod posture. “And I should be leaving. Good day to you both!”
Before Savannah or Adam could speak, the woman marched out of the station, headed in the direction of Morrow Creek—and traveling at twice the speed, Adam reckoned, that she needed to go in order to reach the place in time for a gossipy teatime.
Chapter Seven
With her heart in her throat, Savannah picked up her skirts. She raced outside in pursuit of Mrs. Finney.
There was no time to lose. The woman’s steely-eyed gaze had left little doubt of her opinion of Savannah’s behavior. By noontime, every gossip in Morrow Creek would know that the local adjunct telegraph-station operator had been caught canoodling with a stranger—a stranger who was only half dressed! By sundown, Savannah expected, the sheriff would come calling with an all-too-familiar request for her to pack up and move on.
This is a good town. We don’t need your kind around here.
That was what the Ledgerville sheriff had said, after word had spread about her scandalous past. Standing beneath his contemptuous gaze, Savannah had felt like the worst sort of person imaginable. None of her efforts to change had mattered at all. In the end, all that had mattered was her name.
Her unfairly sullied, notoriously recognizable name.
Blast whoever had attacked poor Adam! Not only had they hurt him, but they’d delivered a cruel setback to her plans, too. If not for Adam’s attacker, she and her fiancé would have already been wed—and Mrs. Finney would not have barged in on what must have appeared to be an utterly disreputable dalliance.
As a point in fact, Savannah realized dazedly, it had been a disreputable dalliance. But it had felt…wonderful.
Shoving aside the memory of Adam’s kiss for now, Savannah kept moving. Partway across the yard, she glimpsed Mrs. Finney. To her relief, the doctor’s wife hadn’t yet left for town. She stood beside an elaborate rig with a single spirited horse at its head, staring at Mose—who held the traces—with a mulish expression. What could they possibly be discussing?
Savannah couldn’t wait to find out. She charged in that direction, but Mose spotted her—and held up his hand in a clear sign to keep her distance. Perplexed, Savannah hesitated.
As she did, Adam arrived at her side. He’d pulled on a shirt. He buttoned it—crookedly—with impatient movements.
“This is my fault.” He nodded at Mrs. Finney, his jaw tight. “I’ll talk to her. I know how to smooth things over.”
“No. Wait.” Savannah held him with a hand on his muscular, shirtsleeve-covered forearm. “Mose is handling it.”
“Your hired man? What could he do about it?”
“I don’t know. But he signaled me to keep my distance, and that’s what I’m going to do. I trust him.”
Adam squinted at her friend. Then at Mrs. Finney. “Are you sure? If Mose somehow makes things worse for you—”
“He won’t.” Savannah bit her lip, waiting for that distant conversation to come to its conclusion. “I can count on him.”
A few minutes later, her faith in Mose was rewarded. Her friend nodded at Mrs. Finney, then the two parted. The doctor’s wife cast a speculative glance at Savannah and Adam. Behind the woman, Mose pantomimed a stage direction—a signal to take a bow.
Instantly understanding what he meant, Savannah grabbed Adam’s hand. He tried to pull away—undoubtedly thinking that any physical intimacy would worsen their predicament—but Savannah held firm. She plastered a big smile on her face, then nudged Adam with her shoulder. “Just smile and wave,” she told him in a taut undertone. “Everything is going to be fine now.”
At her suggestion, Adam’s tall body fairly vibrated with resistance. She felt a tremor pass between them. She didn’t dare look at him for fear of ruining her—their—performance. All she could do now was pray he would trust her enough to go along.
He did. He laced his fingers in hers, then raised his arm in a salute to Mrs. Finney. At his friendly gesture, that gray-haired lady visibly eased her posture. She smiled, then waved to them. With Mose at hand to help her, she alighted her fancy carriage. Then she took up the reins and clucked to her horse.
The rig’s wheels creaked. To Savannah’s relief, Mrs. Finney headed away from the station, traveling at a cautious pace down the bumpy, mountainous road. The moment the doctor
’s wife passed out of sight, Mose crossed the station yard with hasty steps.
“You can thank me later,” he said. “Right now, you two better get going. I’ll keep watch over things around here.”
Savannah nodded. “Thank you, Mose.” She squeezed him close in a hug. Her grateful gaze met his. “I’ve decided Avalanche would be best for the ceremony. That means we’re going to need the horse and wagon. Will you be all right without them?”
“I’ll make do.” He frowned. “Go on now. No time to waste.”
She picked up her skirts again, preparing to go inside and pack a few things. She’d need a picnic lunch for the journey, her best dress, the licensing paperwork she’d arranged for—
“Get going where?” Adam turned to Mose, his face set in a doubtful scowl. “What did you tell Mrs. Finney? She ran out of the station like a wildcat, but she left like a kitten.”
“That’s a very colorful turn of phrase,” Savannah assured him. “But we don’t have time to discuss it right now.”
She turned away again. Adam grabbed her arm to stop her.
His determined gaze met hers. His rigid stance brooked no further misdirection. “I reckon you’d better make time.”
Uh-oh. She hadn’t anticipated this hard-edged aspect of his. For lack of a better strategy, Savannah batted her eyelashes at him. It was a maneuver that typically never failed. “Why, Mr. Corwin! Not even a please or thank you to go with that request? I’m awfully surprised at you. Usually you’re so—”
“I guess Mrs. Finney might be more obliging about answering my questions.” Adam turned, his manner purposeful as he made ready to cross the yard in pursuit. “I can still catch up with her, if I hurry.”
“Don’t be silly.” Running after him, Savannah gave a panicky laugh. Adam could not confront Mrs. Finney himself. He would ruin everything! She grabbed him again to make him stop. “A man in your situation shouldn’t overexert himself.”
“A woman in your situation shouldn’t hide things from her fiancé.”
