by Lisa Plumley
“Home of rivers, bridges and a mother’s love.”
“I thought you only wanted to know about Miles Callaway.”
“He is Miles Callaway.”
“But you said— He said—” Bonita frowned. “I’m confused.”
“So am I. But one way or the other, I won’t be for long.”
“Then you’re ‘his Rose’? The runaway housemaid?” Bonita sounded baffled—and a little bit hurt, as well. “But you’ve never told me any of that. I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends.” Tearing herself away from the parlor window—from fruitlessly wishing Miles Callaway had ambled back into her life with a smile and a laugh and wholesome intentions to help her shoulder her burdens once more—Rosamond sighed. “But there are things no one needs to know about me. Sometimes, I wish I could forget them myself.”
Sympathetically, Bonita came nearer. Wisely, she stopped short of actually consoling Rosamond with a hug.
“Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t come back.”
Rosamond gave a wistful smile. “I feel positive it is.”
I only wish I could stop wanting him to come back anyway.
At least if Miles did return, she’d be ready.
Today, she’d been too taken aback by Miles’s unexpected arrival to react properly—to consider all the potential ramifications and inconveniences of pretending not to be the Rosamond McGrath Miles clearly believed she was.
She’d never been a skilled liar. Probably, she still wasn’t. Especially to someone who’d once known her well.
For a long time, her friend only regarded her. Then, “I guess you must be right.” With forced jollity, Bonita added, “Anyway, you and I—we’ve got each other, don’t we? In the end, that’s all we need. Nothing ever needs to change. Not if we don’t want it to. We’ve made things safe and secure and good.”
“Mmm. We’ve certainly tried.”
Absently, Rosamond smiled at her friend, hoping to reassure Bonita. But on the inside, she couldn’t help wondering…if Arvid Bouchard found her because of Miles Callaway’s visit, would she have anything at all left, for her or Bonita or anyone else?
Her so-called security had been tested and found wanting today. Her haven was no refuge at all. Not when someone like Miles could smash her security to smithereens with scarcely any effort at all. All this time, she’d been fooling herself, Rosamond knew now. She wasn’t safe. Maybe she never would be.
But maybe she could start strengthening her defenses straightaway, she decided as she collected her tea set. That’s exactly what she intended to do. Maybe she hadn’t done it yet, but Rosamond knew she could find some security eventually.
After all, that was all she’d ever wanted.
That and a certain burly, blue-eyed stableman to call her own, of course. It was only too bad she could never claim him…
Chapter Four
The following morning, after a fitful night spent haunted by memories of Miles Callaway—memories that had been hideously interspersed with confusing recollections of Arvid Bouchard in her nightmares—Rosamond made several decisions.
The first was that she would conduct herself intelligently from here on out. The second was that she would protect the people in her household. The third was that she would stay put. No one else was chasing her from her home. Not again. Not ever.
To that end, there could be no more swooning over Miles’s broad shoulders or raspy brogue, Rosamond chastised herself. There could be no more forgetting her own mission in favor of studying Miles’s chiseled cheekbones and assertive nose. There could be no more wishing that she could be different—could be as carefree as she’d been before Arvid Bouchard and his odious demands on her. No matter what it took, Rosamond swore, she would remain calm. Composed. In charge and in control.
There was safety in control. She needed that dearly.
To that end, Rosamond smiled up at her newest potential employee, a man named Dylan Coyle who’d come recommended to her.
“Two years at the lumber mill, you say?” She craned her neck way up to examine his expression for truthfulness and integrity. “Before that, a year with the Pinkertons?” His nod assured her that her information was correct. Nonetheless, Rosamond pushed harder. “What made you leave the agency’s employ?”
“I didn’t like the way they ran things.”
“The way they ran things?”
“With guns. They used guns.” Coyle’s steely gaze locked with hers. “I reckon if a man can’t disable a criminal with his own two hands, he doesn’t deserve to be called a man, does he?”
His hard demeanor both alarmed and reassured her. “I see.”
“Yep. Most folks do, when it comes to me.”
Rather than hurry onward, Rosamond deliberately allowed a long silence to fall between them. When faced with a silence, most people rushed to fill it. All she had to do was wait.
Eventually, Coyle rewarded her patience. The scarcest smile quirked his lips. “Also, about that same time, I met a lady.”
“Hmm.” Pretending not to have seen that telling smile, Rosamond looked down at her clasped hands. She didn’t want to embarrass the man. As a private person herself, she respected others’ privacy, too. It was only right. “Then you’re married?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not married.”
“But you just said—” Rosamond broke off, belatedly catching the hint of heartache in his voice. “Never mind. I have a job, and you have the ability to do that job. Marcus Copeland has vouched for you, and so has Cade Foster. With varied references like those—from a reputable lumber mill owner and a former cardsharp—I’d say you must be an interesting man, Mr. Coyle.”
He gave her a direct look. “With an observation like that in your pocket, you must be a sharp-eyed woman, Mrs. Dancy.”
“Please call me Rosamond. I insist.” She didn’t want to talk about her deep-seated need to be watchful. If he was going to risk his own well-being in her service, he deserved to be on a first-name basis with her. “All my men call me Rosamond.”
“All my friends call me Dylan.”
“Then we’re settled.” Rosamond stood. She felt better already, even before placing Dylan at his post. “Seth and Judah will brief you on your duties. I’m pleased to welcome you.”
Undoubtedly catching her signal that their interview had concluded, Dylan stood, as well. His gaze swerved to her hand.
He plainly expected to find it outstretched for a welcoming handshake. Resolutely, Rosamond kept her position steady.
Dylan’s brown furrowed. His astute gaze lifted.
“I guess a woman who hires three bodyguards has her reasons.” He plucked his hat from the coatrack, then gave her a genial nod. “Thanks for the work, ma’am. You won’t regret it.”
“I trust you’ll make sure I don’t.” Drawing in a breath, Rosamond smiled at him. “I’ll show you where to find Judah.”
She led the way, purposely taking the more impersonal long way around to avoid the house’s living quarters. They passed through the front door, across the side yard, toward the gate.
In her house’s small backyard, several of the children were already at play. Hearing the boys’ chuckles and the girls’ giggles made Rosamond feel more at peace immediately.
She may have given up on having a family of her own, but that didn’t mean she didn’t adore being with “her” temporary children. Along with her friendly “girls” and her own security, they were all she had. She needed to protect and cherish them.
At her side, Dylan went rigid. “Who’s that?” He pointed. “You said there were only two men in this household. We passed Seth at the door and I see Judah right there, so who is—”
In the center of the crowd of children, a tall man rose from his formerly crouched position. He held something in his arms, but Rosamond couldn’t tell what it was. She was too distracted by the realization that not only had Miles Callaway slipped past Seth again—and apparently bewitched Judah, too—but he’d
also made a mockery of her Morrow Creek household haven.
This was why she’d needed to hire additional security.
Miles had returned already, bearing…something.
“He’s the thorn in my side,” Rosamond finished for Dylan, briskly unlatching the gate. She couldn’t look away from Miles…couldn’t stop herself from wishing he hadn’t come back. Because his coming back today meant that he couldn’t be trusted. It meant that he wanted something from her—and it probably wasn’t an introduction to a suitable candidate for a wife.
That was what most men in Morrow Creek wanted from her. They’d learned, quickly, not to hope for anything more.
“Do you want me to deal with him?” Dylan kept his voice low, for her ears only. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t ask first, except—”
“Except Mrs. Dancy looks dumbstruck, as if she’s found her long-lost love?” Miles strode toward them both with masculine bonhomie, obviously having overheard them. He didn’t appear the least bit threatened by Dylan Coyle. Behind him, the children moaned in exaggerated disappointment at Miles’s leave-taking. They tagged along in his wake like the devoted admirers they’d become. “Yes,” Miles finished. “I’ve noticed that look, too.”
His gaze met hers, then held. In it, Rosamond glimpsed all the caring, all the remembrance, all the teasing she’d missed.
Intentionally, she looked away. She knew she was guilty.
She didn’t want him to know that. Because, more than likely, she did look at Miles as if he were her long-lost love. Rosamond heartily wished he had been hers once…or was hers now.
Her Miles. He was here like the answer to all her most heartfelt prayers…and she couldn’t trust him one whit.
“Maybe you’ve had too much ‘tea’ this morning, and that explains that addlepated look of yours?” Miles guessed, his eyes sparkling at her with all the boyish audacity she remembered. “I understand your Miss Yates makes a mean brew.”
Unwaveringly, Rosamond straightened. “If I look—” love-struck “—funny, it’s only because I don’t approve of trespassing. I usually don’t entertain visitors at this hour of the morning.”
Pointedly, Miles looked at Dylan. Her visitor.
“Except if they’re employees,” Rosamond amended.
How did Miles set her akilter so easily? Drat him!
“I see. Well, it turns out that we both had the same idea today.” Miles easily sized up Dylan. He nodded at him in instant affability, then switched his attention back to Rosamond. “You wanted more security, so you hired another ‘protector.’”
Rosamond didn’t like that Miles had guessed her motives so easily. She didn’t want him to know that his presence had shaken her hard-won security so thoroughly. “How do you know Mr. Coyle isn’t a proud member of the Morrow Creek Mutual Society?”
“I doubt the members of your society have arms like tree trunks, belligerent attitudes and a complete disinterest in the alluring way your bustle sways when you walk. Coyle does.”
Rosamond felt her mouth drop open. She didn’t know whether to be impressed by Miles’s accurate assessment of her newest security man or appalled that she cared that Miles apparently did have an interest in what went on with her bustled backside. Otherwise, he couldn’t have made that observation, could he?
Before she could collect herself, Miles went on.
“I wanted you to have more security myself, after I saw how feeble yours was yesterday,” he was saying, “so I went with the most reliable and fearsome protector I could get for you.”
Triumphantly, Miles lifted the thing in his arms.
It wriggled. Then it gave a tiny yip. A puppy.
The children went wild. “We want to play with it again!” Agatha cried out. “Please let us play with it again!”
“Can we name it?” Tommy pleaded. “I have a good name!”
“In a minute, you can play with it again,” Miles assured them all, his voice a rumble of promise and possibility. “And no, Tommy, you can’t. I’m afraid Mrs. Dancy has naming rights on this little rascal.”
Rosamond stared. “You brought me a puppy?”
Miles blinked. “Oh. Is that what this is? I wasn’t sure.”
At his mischievous tone, the children guffawed. Tobe Larkin elbowed Miles in the ribs. They were obviously chums now.
“Aw, come on, Callaway. You knew what it was!” he said.
The bunch of them stared hopefully at Rosamond, awaiting her response. She swallowed hard, wholly unable to muster one.
This was a serious aberration from her typical morning.
If she turned away a puppy, the children would be crestfallen. Miles Callaway was devious, indeed. The only thing more irresistible than one of his smiles was this maneuver.
“She’s not an Irish setter, like you’ve always wanted,” Miles explained into the gap that fell, his voice as intimate as any long-lost friend’s, “but the man I got her from last night promised me she’d be a good guard dog once she grew a little.”
That didn’t help. “An Irish setter? I’ve always wanted—”
An Irish setter. Rosamond broke off, her dreamy, innocent past colliding with her practical, safeguarded present. At one time, she’d thought her future would turn out so differently from this. She’d thought she could be safe and happy.
She’d also thought Miles hadn’t paid much attention to the daydreams she’d shared with him. Evidently, he’d remembered.
She cleared her throat. “I do not need a puppy.”
Miles appeared undaunted. “Everyone needs a puppy.”
Having come closer now, Dylan agreed. He petted the creature’s muzzle with his big, former-Pinkerton-man’s hand. “She’s a beauty, all right. Just look at those paws! Once she grows up, she’s going to be a sizable dog.” Dylan laughed as the critter nuzzled his palm. “Maybe not too fearsome, though.”
“If I wanted a guard dog,” Rosamond went on tightly, hoping to regain control of this situation, “which I don’t, wouldn’t I want a male dog? Male dogs are stronger. More aggressive.”
“The right female can be just as ferocious,” Miles argued.
Rosamond scoffed. “Until a bigger, meaner dog comes along.”
“When it does, that’s when we’ll see how scrappy she is.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Dubiously, Rosamond watched the puppy as it wriggled in Miles’s arms. Its tiny tongue lolled. Its small feet scrabbled for purchase against Miles’s muscular, coat-covered forearm. The puppy yawned, then flopped onto its belly, gazing up at Miles through shiny brown eyes. It was so helpless, so adorable…so trusting. “I don’t think she stands a chance.”
“She stands every chance in the world,” Miles disagreed. “I’m betting on the underdog. All she needs is time and a little help. All those bigger, meaner dogs will be no match for her.”
His meaning-laden tone referred to far more than the puppy and her care. Evidently, now Miles wanted her to believe he was there to help her. The irony of that was too much for Rosamond.
Before she could offer a rebuttal, Agatha piped up.
“He’s right! She just needs you to take care of her!” The girl eagerly pointed at the puppy. Impatiently, she pushed up her wire spectacles. “Just like you take care of all of us.”
Expectantly, they all regarded her, children and men alike. Even Judah had wandered over, arms crossed, to look at the puppy. He grinned, then scratched beneath its fuzzy chin. It was ludicrous to see such an intimidating man brought to his knees by a puppy. After all, it wasn’t even an Irish setter puppy.
“I don’t know how to take care of a puppy,” Rosamond protested, feeling backed into a corner. Judging by Miles’s still-sparkling eyes, he’d known this would happen. “I don’t.”
“You’ll master it eventually,” Tommy chimed. “You will!”
It was her catchphrase: I’ll master this eventually.
Just like that, Rosamond’s fate was sealed.
How could she go against her own oft-repeated motto?
The children were counting on her. She had to set a good example.
She straightened. “Fine. The puppy’s name will be Riley.”
Tobe made a face. “That’s a terrible name!”
“No, it’s not.” Miles shook his head, his attention shifting from the puppy. “It means courageous. Valiant warrior.”
Uncomfortably, Rosamond looked away. She’d forgotten that Miles was every bit as Irish as she was. He knew the same folktales and Gaelic wisdom that she did. He’d grown up with them.
“I like the sound of it, that’s all,” she told him.
He didn’t believe an inch of it. “Yes. And I’m here because I like the fragrance of honeysuckle on fence posts.”
Miles’s wry tone almost made her accept that. She’d missed this. She’d missed sharing jokes with him…smiling with him.
She gestured at those aforementioned flowered vines on her fence. “You’ll have to thank Mrs. Jorgensen, Agatha’s mother, then. She’s the one with the green thumb in the household.”
“Mama will love meeting you!” Agatha chimed. “She’s always sayin’ she’s got a soft spot for handsome fellas, and you’re—”
“He’s sadly not staying for long,” Rosamond interrupted. She gave Miles a straightforward look. “Please follow me.”
“Anywhere. Anytime.”
“To my parlor. Right now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Obligingly, Miles crouched again. He deftly transferred the puppy to Agatha’s waiting arms. Then, while all the children gathered around to take turns petting the tiny tuckered-out critter, he straightened again. “I’m all yours.”
If only. Rosamond nodded. “Right this way.”
Compliantly, Miles headed for the gate she indicated.
Alertly, Dylan stepped up. “I’ll come with you.”
“There’s no need for that, Dylan. You stay here. Judah will fill you in on the way things run around here.”
“The way things run isn’t the same since he showed up,” her other protector pointed out, jutting his chin at Miles.
