by Lisa Plumley
“Yes, well…I’m about to take care of that,” Rosamond told him crisply. Then she gathered her skirts and went to do precisely that—to take care of Miles Callaway and rid herself of him and all the dangers he presented, once and for all.
*
When Rosamond finally swept into her parlor, following in Miles’s wake, and ushered him toward the settee, Miles knew he was in for trouble. All he needed was one look at her lively, determined face to know that Rosamond was in fighting spirits.
He needed a counterattack. Something more effective than a cuddly puppy. With unswerving deliberation, Miles found one.
“I have a confession to make.” Still standing with his hat in his hands, he looked up. “I am Miles Callaway.”
Rosamond’s self-assured expression flickered. Only for a moment, but it did. The same as it had outside with Riley.
He’d known she’d love that puppy. He’d also known she believed he’d forgotten all the girlish dreams and hopes for the future she’d confided in him. But Miles hadn’t forgotten a thing. Not when it came to Rosamond. His memories of her had driven him here. They’d kept him going on trains and on foot.
“I know that probably doesn’t mean a thing to you,” he went on, more disingenuously this time, “since you say you aren’t the Rose he knew, and you didn’t know him—I mean, me—yourself. But I heard how hard it was to get in to see you, so—”
“So you thought you’d lie to me?”
“No. I never lied to you.” Miles thumbed his hat brim, buying thinking time. “Maybe some of what I said was misleading, and for that, I apologize. But this was important to me—”
“Infiltrating my household was ‘important’? Sidestepping my guards and stealing the loyalty of my children was ‘important’?”
“Interesting that you’d say they’re your children.”
Was, Miles wondered, one of them really her child?
It could have happened. Arvid Bouchard believed it had.
For the first time, Rosamond appeared flustered. She flashed Miles an impatient look, then paced across the parlor’s wide pine floorboards. “They’re as much mine as any I would ever have. I love them just the same. And it’s none of your business, besides. My household is my own, to run as I see fit.”
“Of course. You’ve done an admirable job of it, too.”
She stopped, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the armchair’s support. She seemed…moved. “Yes. I have!”
Miles grinned. The sprightly housemaid he knew would have sounded exactly that proud of herself for her accomplishments.
“Most people don’t say so, though,” Rosamond went on. “In fact, you’re the only one who has. No one here knows exactly where I started, how far I’ve come—” Her gaze met his, full of tremulous pride, then whisked away as she took up pacing again. Deliberately, she changed the subject. “If you’re Miles Callaway, why didn’t you say so yesterday?”
He’d already explained the difficulty in getting an appointment with her. Now, Miles added, “I can only blame the discombobulating effects of whatever you dosed me with.”
“Hmm.” Undeterred by his teasing, Rosamond surveyed him. She was indomitable, he’d give her that. “If you’re that susceptible to intoxicants, I hope you’ll stay away from the high-stakes faro games in town. You won’t stand a chance against the cardsharps who arrive for the occasional tournaments we host here. Even Jack Murphy’s saloon is full of men who’d as likely pick your pocket as share an ale with you.”
“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”
As though evaluating that claim, Rosamond moved her attention southward. Her gaze encompassed his chest and his arms…and the region where another man would have worn a gun belt, too. The innocent housemaid he’d known would not have done that. Miles couldn’t help wondering if she approved of what she glimpsed. Her friend, Miss Yates, certainly had. But before he could discern the same of Rosamond, she turned hastily away.
“You look it. Hale and hearty and strong. Probably this ‘Rose’ of yours would be glad to see you looking so well.”
He hoped she was. He hoped she dreamed of him, the same way he dreamed of her. Last night had been…fitful, to say the least.
“Maybe. I’ve decided to give up on looking for her.”
Rosamond wheeled to face him, her brows arched. “Really?”
Miles shrugged. “Sometimes folks don’t want to be found.”
A nod. “Sometimes they shouldn’t be found.”
“Sometimes a man’s got to know when he’s licked.”
Another nod. She lifted her face to his. “That’s true.”
Had her chin just wobbled? Were those tears in her eyes?
Miles couldn’t hesitate to wonder why his supposed abandonment of his search was affecting Rosamond so strongly. He pushed onward, knowing that he had to brazen out this encounter if he was to have any hope of succeeding. “That’s why I came here today,” he said. “To say goodbye.”
Her mouth dropped open. Her brows knit. “Goodbye?”
“Yes. The puppy—Riley—was a goodbye gift.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t want to leave you unprotected in my absence.”
“Of course.”
“Also, you seemed as though you could use some uncomplicated affection in your life.”
That revived her. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He remembered everything they’d shared and knew she was lying. “I think we both know that’s not true.”
Their gazes met. Rosamond broke that contact first. In the game of cat and mouse they were playing, she wanted to win.
“You’re suggesting something that’s preposterous. You don’t know the woman I am. It’s better for you if you never do.” Rosamond squared her shoulders, then inhaled. “I asked you here to my parlor to tell you, privately, that you have to leave.”
Her confident tone would have fooled another man.
Miles was different. He took a step closer. “Go ahead, then.” He gestured with his hat. “Tell me I have to leave.”
Rosamond wavered. He’d known she would. “I—”
“Tell me you want me gone, and I’ll leave forever.”
That appeared to stymie her. “If you’re leaving anyway, why did you bother to tell me the truth about who you are?”
Because I wanted you to trust me. But Miles couldn’t say that, so instead he shrugged. “I had to tell you. Just to see what you’d do. It’s a bad habit of mine, being curious.” For so long, he’d been curious about her. “I reckoned that any woman who’s contrary enough to refuse a puppy would have an interesting reaction to a revelation like my name.”
“I see. And have I satisfied your expectations?”
Not in the least. He still wanted to see her smile again, to hear her laugh, to know that she wanted him there simply because she wanted him, not because he’d maneuvered her into doing it. But since beggars couldn’t be choosers…
“Partly. My expectations are partly satisfied,” Miles conceded. “I guess we’ll never know what could have been.”
She was audacious enough to agree. “I guess we won’t.”
Against all reason, he admired Rosamond for her spirit. It turned out that she possessed even more resilience than anyone had credited her with. Given the conditions they’d put up with at the Bouchard household, that was saying a great deal.
“Take care, Mrs. Dancy.” He put on his hat, then headed for the door. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. I would have liked to have joined your society—to have courted one very special woman.”
He meant her, of course. Rosamond divined as much and appeared flummoxed by it. Typically, she recovered quickly.
“If you mean me, I’m not a part of my mutual society,” she informed him, turning toward the mantel. “I don’t participate. And you’re in no position to evaluate such a thing anyway.”
“Too late. I believe I just did.”
“And I’ll
be the one to say when you should leave.”
He laughed. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m no woman’s patsy, Mrs. Dancy. Not even yours.”
She frowned. “I wish you’d quit calling me that.”
“Mrs. Dancy? It’s your name.” Now.
“I thought you wanted to apply for membership in my mutual society.” She gave him a clear-sighted look. “You said so.”
“At this point, I might need convincing.”
“No one needs convincing to join my mutual society.”
He waited, clearly indicating otherwise.
He won. Rosamond rushed in to fill the space between them.
“It’s a very reputable organization, where like-minded men and women can meet and converse under sociable circumstances. We engage in poetry readings, nonwagering card games, and dances and fetes of all kinds. All the members are properly vetted, ultimately by me, but also by my staff. My members possess good characters and fine hearts. They’re capable of providing a reasonable living and a secure home for each other.”
“Do the men in Morrow Creek know your ‘girls’ are former prostitutes?” Miles inquired. “Because it would be only fair.”
Rosamond seemed surprised he’d guessed the truth. But only for an instant. “My friends’ pasts are their own concerns,” she told him, rallying to their defense without hesitation. “As far as anyone needs to know, they are upstanding women.”
“Some with fatherless children to raise. Is that a bonus for your members? I’d imagine some might not see it that way.”
Her eyes flashed at him. “There are many fatherless children in the West. I was a fatherless child after my parents’ passing. If you are concerned about being saddled with an urchin that’s not your own, then you should definitely not—”
“You’ve misunderstood me,” he broke in, delivering her an assessing look. When had his Rosamond become so cynical? “I like children. I think you saw that yourself this morning.”
In fact, he’d loved those little rapscallions. Being around them had reminded Miles of being in his own rollicking household in the tenements, with his beleaguered but loving mother trying to hang laundry, cook corned beef and change the diapers of his younger siblings all in quick succession. Mary Callaway had managed admirably.
At times, Miles had helped her care for the littler children. In a busy household with a strong woman at its head, everyone pulled their weight. Even his rascally father had done his share of bathing and storytelling and spoon-feeding porridge.
Unexpectedly, Rosamond gave a heartfelt smile. “Yes, they did seem to love you out there in the yard, didn’t they?”
Her smile almost undid all of Miles’s good intentions. Almost. He needed to be smart. He needed to be tough. He needed to be resolute. But when faced with Rosamond’s sunny smile…
All he wanted to do was be beside her. Forever.
Nevertheless… “But you can count me out, all the same, Mrs. Dancy. I’ve decided that people who hesitate over caring for puppies cannot be trusted. So I’m rejecting your society.”
She gawked at him, obviously at a loss for words.
“Perhaps we’ll see each other in town someday,” Miles went on with a tip of his hat. “Goodbye, Mrs. Dancy. And good luck.”
Then, with a few thuds of his boot heels, he left the woman of his dreams behind—and, in the process, took the biggest gamble of his life so far.
Chapter Five
Rosamond was just finishing her third cup of strong coffee when Judah Foster strode into her breakfast room with his hat in his hands. Surprised by his swift arrival—since she’d only just sent him on his latest errand twenty minutes earlier—Rosamond clattered her coffee cup into its saucer.
“That was fast,” she said. “Did you run all the way?”
She glanced past her security man with an instant smile on her face, half expecting to find Miles Callaway standing there, all tall and handsome and confounding. She’d sent Judah to fetch him—or, failing that, to deliver a note to him—but it wasn’t beyond reason that Miles might impulsively decide to come for breakfast instead of simply answering her summons later.
After all, Miles had done several unexpected things so far, Rosamond mused—including arriving at her doorstep in the first place. His pretending not to be Miles Callaway—not to know her—had roused her suspicions. But when he’d told her his name two days ago, his unexpected truthfulness had gone a long way toward disarming her defenses.
So had his telling her he was giving up on his search for “his Rose.” It was significant that she’d nearly burst into tears upon hearing the news, Rosamond knew. She’d realized then that she didn’t want to lose Miles so soon after seeing him again.
She wanted to trust him. She couldn’t possibly trust him.
But if Miles wasn’t in town at Arvid Bouchard’s behest…
Well, if he wasn’t, that changed things completely.
Rosamond so wanted to be herself with Miles—to be with Miles. It had been one thing to remain aloof when they’d both been pretending not to know one another. It had been another after he’d come clean.
If Miles was going to be honest…maybe so could she.
First, she needed to see him again. That was proving to be more difficult than she’d planned. But Rosamond was nothing if not confident in her capacity for rising above difficulties.
Almost from the moment Arvid Bouchard had cast his first lecherous glance her way, that was all she’d been doing.
“I’ve never known you to move so fast, Judah,” she joked, spying no tall, dark-haired, bearded subject of her dreams in the doorway but holding out hope for a miracle nonetheless. She returned her gaze to the young man in her employ. “When your brother, Cade, recommended you for this job, he should have mentioned you could put a jackrabbit’s pace to the test. He seemed to believe that your previous leg injury would hinder you, but that’s clearly not the case, is it?”
Her lighthearted tone didn’t budge the frown from her security man’s face. Instead, Judah studied his hat brim.
It became clear that Miles was not waiting in the wings.
“I couldn’t find Callaway,” Judah confessed. “He wasn’t at the boardinghouse. Miss Adelaide said he left all his kit in his room last night and didn’t come back.”
Hmm. It was unlikely Miles would have left behind all the cash that Bonita had found in his bag. Also, Rosamond couldn’t help feeling it was unlikely Miles would have left her. Not after they’d just found one another. Not after all this time.
No matter that Rosamond had done exactly the same thing to him. She’d abandoned Miles back in Boston, too distraught to consider the consequences.
All she’d wanted was to find safety somewhere. Endangering Miles and his reputation hadn’t factored in. That’s what would have happened if she’d turned to him for help. She would have destroyed Miles’s future as well as her own.
“You should have waited,” she told Judah. “It’s scarcely past dawn. He might have simply gone for a walk, that’s all.”
“A man who stays out all night isn’t generally in a hurry to get back home again.” Judah twisted his hat brim, sounding discontented. “A man who stays out all night isn’t generally too fond of fresh air, either. I bet he’s pulled foot.”
“You think Mr. Callaway has left town?” Rosamond dismissed the notion instantly. Maybe because she didn’t want it to be true. “No, he can’t be gone already. He just got here.”
“Maybe he knew he couldn’t get what he came for.”
“Which was…?”
“Well, not to put too fine a point on it…” Judah scowled at her wainscoting, obviously not wanting to say. “You.”
“Pshaw. He wouldn’t even join my mutual society.” That still irked her. No man had yet refused a direct invitation.
“He wouldn’t? He turned down your marriage bureau?” Judah gawked at her, then smacked his hat-holding hand upside his head. “There goes five dollars I’d rath
er have kept to myself.”
“Five dollars?”
“Seth told me Callaway turned down a membership to your marriage bureau. I bet him five dollars he was dead wrong.”
Rosamond felt touched by Judah’s faith in her and her society’s supposed irresistibility. Also, troubled by Seth’s apparent eavesdropping. She’d have to look into that. In the meantime… “Yes. Mr. Callaway did express a…reluctance to apply.”
That was putting it mildly. The more Rosamond considered it, the more miffed she felt. How could Miles have dismissed her mutual society so readily? So easily? He had to reconsider.
She would have to make sure he reconsidered.
It was a matter of personal pride, wasn’t it? Her pride. Aside from her friends and the children, what else did she have?
“But I’ve never heard of anybody refusing you,” Judah protested loyally. “Most men are beating down the doors of this place wanting an introduction to one of your friends.”
“That’s true,” Rosamond agreed, pleased that Judah had taken care to refer to them as her friends and not—as Miles had done—as former prostitutes. Miles’s description had been accurate, but Rosamond didn’t like to think about that fact. All of them—herself included—had moved on with their lives. “Most men are very keen for a membership in my mutual society.”
“I reckon Miles Callaway isn’t like ‘most men.’”
Judah sounded disgruntled to say so. But the more Rosamond considered those words, the more she believed them.
After all, “most men” wouldn’t have crossed several states and territories just to find a simple runaway Boston housemaid. Only that housemaid’s old friend, Miles, would have done that.
Or a hired man working for the Bouchards. He would have done that, too. For a price.
Rosamond wanted her friend, Miles. She feared her potential pursuer, Miles. She didn’t want to be dragged back to Arvid.
She knew all too well what Mr. Bouchard likely wanted with her. Miles’s interest in the children playing outside the house—and their ages—had been far too obvious to misread.
But if Miles truly had had nefarious intentions, would he have given up on them so easily? He’d only spent a short while with her. What’s more, he’d left empty handed, with little information and no definite conclusions. Arvid Bouchard did not like to take no for an answer. Rosamond—and everyone else in Boston—knew that. If Miles had been working for Arvid, if Miles crossed him…Rosamond knew there would be hell to pay.
