Morrow Creek Runaway

by Lisa Plumley

  “Then tell me.” He leaned on the hallway wall, arms at his sides, studying her closely. “If someone in town has scared you or hurt you, I swear I’ll see them pay for it.”

  He could do it, too. His presence assured her of that much. His attentiveness flattered her, his protectiveness touched her and his willingness to fight on her behalf alarmed her a little, too. The lighthearted stableman she’d known in Boston had been far less menacing than the man she saw today.

  Maybe they’d both changed.

  Maybe they’d both changed too much.

  But the dance they’d shared—and everything else—made Rosamond hope that wasn’t true. She…wanted Miles. He was the only part of her past that was good. He was the only part of her past that she could touch without wanting to scream. Or run.

  That had to be some kind of miracle, didn’t it?

  “Let’s just talk about the note I sent you.” Hedging, Rosamond crossed her arms. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  His mouth quirked in a half smile. Seeing it made her idly wonder if his beard would feel bristly to touch. Or soft.

  She hoped it would feel soft. She was a foolish woman.

  “Your note demanded that I come here and deal with Riley.”

  “Yes, I know. I wrote it.”

  “It said that your new puppy can’t sleep through the night, and neither can anyone else within earshot.”

  Rosamond made a comical face. “Poor thing. She whimpers all night most pitifully. I think she bonded with you on the night you got her, and now she can’t be satisfied with anyone else.”

  Miles nodded. “Sometimes I have that effect.”

  “No matter what I do, I can’t comfort her.”

  “And you think I can?” Dubiously, Miles raised his brow.

  “Yes. At least I expect you to try.” Rosamond couldn’t help grinning, knowing she was about to gain the upper hand, however briefly. “It’s only reasonable. After all, people who hesitate over caring for puppies cannot be trusted. That’s what I hear.”

  Undoubtedly recognizing his own earlier words to her, Miles laughed. He shook his head, looking at her with unearned fondness. “Some things never change. You always surprise me.”

  Rosamond let that reference to their shared past pass unremarked upon. “A good start would be for you to make frequent visits,” she suggested. “Especially at nighttime.”

  “To comfort the puppy?”

  “Of course. Why else?”

  His gaze swept over her tight-bodiced, bustled dress and curly auburn hair, then rose to her face. “That’s up to you.”

  “Believe me—if I didn’t already know that, we wouldn’t be here,” Rosamond assured him. “In my household, I’m in charge.”

  “In your household, you’re imprisoned,” Miles disagreed. “No matter how willingly.”

  She frowned. “I think Grace told you a little too much about me when she got you from the jailhouse. Otherwise—”

  “She didn’t tell me.” Miles stepped nearer. “You did. Just now. Mrs. Murphy told me you never leave, but she didn’t tell me you feel imprisoned here.” He seemed heartbroken at the thought. She’d never seen him appear so distraught. “Let me help you, Rose. Let me help you break free. I know I can do it.”

  For a heartbeat, Rosamond wanted to let him.

  She didn’t like feeling stuck. She didn’t like trading freedom for security, didn’t want to spend all her days tending to other people’s romantic lives and children instead of her own. But then she remembered everything that had brought her to this place, this household, this decision…and shook her head.

  “If I wanted to leave, I would,” she promised him. “And that’s enough said about that. When it comes to your helping to care for Riley, though, I think we should discuss the matter further. The most expeditious thing would be if you joined my mutual society,” Rosamond added vigorously, “since that would ensure both our reputations and enable you to come here—”

  “Prove it,” Miles broke in.

  Uh-oh. Immediately, Rosamond realized where she’d overstepped. Being with Miles muddled her thoughts and jumbled her priorities. Her pride and her longing had brought her to this place. Now she had only her wits to bring her out again.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she bluffed as a starting point. “I don’t have to prove anything. You, however, most assuredly do. As a potential member of my mutual society, you’ll have to acquit yourself with honor, bedazzle the ladies with wit and prove to everyone that you’re worth accepting.”

  “Prove you can leave here whenever you want to,” Miles pressed. “Do it. Right now. Leave the house with me.”

  With faux jauntiness, Rosamond waved off his suggestion. She hoped he couldn’t sense the moisture that rose instantly to her palms. Or detect the parched feeling that closed her throat and threatened to wreck her ability to speak as she rambled on. “You will have to acquire character references from respectable locals,” she said hoarsely, “prove you have a reliable source of income and be assessed during social occasions on your deportment, abstemious nature and dancing abilities.”

  “I believe I already proved that last one.”

  Oh dear. He had. Now her knees felt wobbly, too. Surely that was a consequence of the dare Miles had issued and not a result of her all-too-intimate experience with his dancing.

  “Those are all vital qualities,” Rosamond strived to finish as serenely as she usually did. She wondered why Miles seemed so amused by her efforts. “They are qualities that the women participating in my mutual society demand. So until you satisfy me that you possess those qualities, I simply cannot admit you.”

  A pause. “You’re going on as if I’m desperate to be admitted. Did you forget that I already turned down your society once? What makes you think I won’t do it again?”

  “Just one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “Your softheartedness when it comes to puppies.”

  His laughter made her heart feel buoyant, despite her sweaty palms, dry throat, weak knees and the overall anxiety brought on by his suggestion that she go outside with him.

  “Nope.” Miles shook his head, calling her attention to his dark hair. It fell over his collar in a most appealing fashion, combining with his beard to make him seem both manly and rugged. “I’m not anywhere near as softhearted as you think.”

  “Softheaded, then? I won’t admit defeat, you know.”

  “I think I’d rather be thought mushy than simple.”

  “It’s your choice.” Brightly, Rosamond straightened. Another woman would have offered him a handshake. She merely tilted her head inquisitively at Miles. “Which will it be?”

  “I need more time,” he protested. “Choosing between mushiness and idiocy is more challenging than you think.”

  “I’m sorry.” She pretended regret. “I wouldn’t know.”

  His eyes sparkled at her with good humor. “Lucky you.”

  “I’m anything but lucky. Or patient. Well?”

  “Well…let me get this straight,” Miles said. “The deal is that my potential application to your marriage bureau—”

  “Mutual society.”

  “—and my visits to your puppy go hand in hand?”

  “Yes.” Rosamond confirmed it with a nod. “They do. If you want one—” she left it up to him to decide which one most appealed to him “—then you’ll have to accept the other.”

  She hadn’t planned to bargain with him. But she would win either way. Miles would stay, help solve her problems with Riley and continue making her mutual society seem irresistible. Or he would leave, ensuring that her sanctuary was secure.

  Too bad Rosamond really only liked one of those options.

  “All right,” Miles told her. “I’ll give you everything you want and more.” As he spoke, the fiddle music ceased. The society’s members filed into the hallway, gazing curiously at the pair of them as they did. “All you have to do in return—”


  Rosamond glimpsed a few of her friends veer toward them and knew she didn’t have time to shilly-shally. If anyone heard her striking a bargain with Miles for membership in her mutual society, her reputation would suffer an awful ding. She didn’t want to lose face in front of the women who relied on her.

  Neither did she want to forgo any potential calming effect on Riley. The puppy really was forlorn every night.

  And she very much wanted to get her way with Miles.

  “Whatever you want,” she said hastily. “It’s yours.”

  “—is come out with me to help me buy food for my larder,” Miles said at exactly the same time. “This afternoon.”

  Caught, Rosamond blinked. “Out? This afternoon?”

  Out. Outside. In the open. Where she would be at risk.

  At the very idea, her legs began to quiver.

  “I’ve taken a job with Owen Cooper, the livery stable owner,” Miles explained. “I’ll be moving into Gus Winston’s old quarters. While there’s a cookstove and some tinned peaches left there, I don’t think that will keep me going for long.”

  Rosamond couldn’t concentrate on those mundane details. Not when she’d just committed herself to an outdoor excursion with Miles. Although she was impressed that he’d secured gainful employment already. Cooper’s stable was a thriving business.

  “I think my scalp is perspiring,” she blurted. “It’s the oddest thing!” She broke off, putting a hand to her head. She frowned. “My goodness, I feel quite dizzy, too.” She peered at Miles as her friends approached. “Is it getting dark in here?”

  He gazed into her face, then stepped nearer to her. His nearness and steady indigo gaze had wondrously calming effects.

  The hallway even grew a teensy bit brighter.

  “It will be all right, Rose. You can do this.”

  “Of course I can,” she parroted automatically. It would not be like her to allude to any personal weakness. “I wouldn’t have mentioned my physical symptoms—” which hadn’t entirely abated “—except for their being so very unusual.”

  “I understand.” He could not. “Have you had these symptoms before?”

  Yes. Memorably. And not in a good way.

  Rosamond fussed with her skirts, unwilling to say so. But she would never forget the first time that peculiar collection of maladies had struck her. She’d been strolling in the town square with her friend Molly Copeland, both of them making goofy faces at the Copelands’ little daughter, when she’d glimpsed a heavyset man who resembled Arvid Bouchard in the distance.

  Instantly, Rosamond had been beset with dizziness. Shakiness. Overall perspiring. Shortness of breath. Worst, with a powerful sense of imminent doom. She’d stuttered an excuse to Molly and then scrambled away, certain she was dying.

  She’d made it home. Her condition had improved.

  She hadn’t ventured far from her house since that day.

  “Let’s just say you’re a provisional applicant for membership in my mutual society and leave it at that, shall we?” Rosamond proposed, desperate to forget that incident. Hastily, she stuck out her hand to Miles to shake on their deal. “Congratulations, Mr. Callaway. I believe you’ve set a new record.”

  Chapter Seven

  Miles stared at Rosamond’s outstretched hand, struck both by its significance and by her fixed, fraught expression. She must be even more shaken by the idea of leaving her household than he’d realized. She’d forgotten to fear touching him.

  Of course, she’d forgotten to do that earlier, too, during their dance—during their long-delayed, heart-stirring dance.

  Years ago now, he’d begged his older sister, Colleen, to teach him how to dance in preparation for that moment with Rosamond. Now it had finally happened. He’d held Rosamond in his arms. Remembering it made a cozy sense of warmth curl up inside Miles’s midsection and take up residence near his heart.

  He was winning. He’d known he could win.

  With the force of love on his side, how could he not?

  “I’ll need you to complete your formal application very quickly, of course,” Rosamond told him in a clipped undertone. Her gaze darted nervously at the women who were about to encroach on their conversation. “As far as anyone needs to know, you’re being evaluated on a probationary basis, pending your completion of all the mutual society’s admission requirements.”

  “Right. So I’ll need to be honorable, witty and worthy,” Miles recited. “I’ll need to wrangle character references, a job with a reliable income and an ability to dance well enough that your members will want to repeat the experience a second time.” He paused, grinning meaningfully down at her. “That last one might be challenging.”

  “For you?” She smiled back. “I’m very afraid it might be.”

  Her pert expression belied her rueful tone, though, telling him she was teasing. That took away some of the sting from her earlier refusal to repeat their dance. Miles understood her reticence. If he’d put together the pieces from the Bouchards’ dual accountings of things and Rosamond’s reaction to Gus Winston correctly, then he understood all too dismally well.

  “Worst of all,” Miles said on a faux groan, putting aside that troubling concern for now, “I’ll have to get ahold of an abstentious nature from someplace.” He patted his pockets. He came up with nothing. “Not a single whiff of teetotalism in here. Do you know where a man can get something like that?”

  “I wouldn’t suggest Jack Murphy’s saloon as a starting point. But I am impressed with your powers of recollection. You’ve remembered every requirement of my mutual society.”

  “Even a stableman can recount a simple list.” He didn’t like that Rosamond kept underestimating him. “Did you really think I came here to Morrow Creek—” to you “—without any idea of what you required of your mutual society members?”

  “I didn’t realize my society was so infamous.”

  “I didn’t count on the secret puppy clause.” Paying nightly visits to Rosamond wouldn’t be easy. The temptation to leap back into the camaraderie they’d shared would be immense.

  The temptation to try for even greater intimacy between them would be even stronger. He’d have to proceed cautiously.

  The problem was, Miles didn’t have much time. Bouchard might be growing impatient for a report from him even now. Arvid didn’t know Miles had never intended to deliver that report. He wouldn’t be pleased when he discovered as much, either.

  “Well, it’s too late for regrets. You’ve already agreed. Riley will be glad.” So will I, Rosamond’s gaze said. She waggled her fingers. “Well? Shall we seal our deal?”

  “Yes. No regrets.” He’d never regret finding Rosamond, Miles knew as he accepted her handshake. He’d only regret not being able to find her sooner. He still felt gutted to know that she was struggling. It broke his heart to know that she felt imprisoned here in her own household. “I agreed gladly. So did you. Speaking of which, we should leave soon. My shopping—”

  Can’t wait. He didn’t have an opportunity to say so. Miss Yates chose that moment to interrupt. She came forth at the head of a cluster of the household’s women like a tugboat pulling a steamer, only to stop disapprovingly in front of Rosamond.

  “That was not the best dancing lesson we’ve ever had,” Miss Yates announced, “but it was adequate, given the interruption.”

  Her gaze centered in on Miles and Rosamond’s handshake.

  A vinegary look crossed her pretty face.

  Seeing that look, Rosamond hastily pulled away her hand. She blinked at her palm, seeming surprised to have found herself touching Miles. Deliberately, pretending to be interested in the movements of the household’s women who were wandering away to their next activities, Rosamond tucked her hand into her skirts.

  The impact of her handshake wouldn’t be easily forgotten, though, Miles realized. At least not by Miss Yates. He’d caught the way she’d looked when he’d initially touched Rosamond in the improvised ballroom. More important
ly, he’d noticed the way Miss Yates had frowned when Rosamond hadn’t shied away from him.

  Rosamond’s friend and assistant clearly didn’t like Miles being there. Which was odd, given the interested—even blatant—way Miss Yates had assessed him during his initial visit.

  He’d never been more openly ogled in his life.

  Given the boisterous conduct of some of the women he’d met, that was saying something. There were reasons Miles felt comfortable with Rosamond’s forthright behavior and her past in service. They were alike, the two of them—both from the same world, and now, at long last, both headed in the same direction.

  He only wished he’d known, somehow, what Rosamond had faced in the Bouchards’ household. He would never forgive himself for not divining what was wrong—for not putting a stop to it.

  “Mr. Callaway.” Miss Yates turned to him politely, her hands folded primly at her skirts. “Shall I escort you out?”

  Rosamond frowned. “Our visit hasn’t concluded yet.”

  “Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood your handshake.” Miss Yates’s censorious gaze transferred to Rosamond’s face. “I thought it was a goodbye.”

  “Not yet,” Miles told her cheerfully. “I’m going to be around for a while, working up proof of my worthiness.”

  “I see.” Miss Yates looked away. “Good luck with that, Mr. Callaway. Given your ignoble entrance into our lives, I think you’ll need an angel on your shoulder to accomplish that.”

  “There’s no need to start calling on the Almighty already, Miss Yates. Mr. Callaway’s own merits should be enough.”

  “I’ve seen his ‘merits.’ I didn’t think he’d be using them to get admitted to your mutual society. That’s a new one on me.”

  “Also, you should know that Mr. Callaway will be visiting us regularly. He’ll be helping with Riley while I complete his admission into the mutual society.” Rosamond’s firm tone brooked no disagreement. Her authoritative demeanor was, in a word, impressive. “I assured him we would all welcome him.”

  For a moment, both women squared off silently. Then…

  “Naturally,” Miss Yates relented. “Welcome!”