Morrow Creek Runaway

by Lisa Plumley

  “Then say yes, Rose. Just say yes. And kiss me again, too.”

  Gladly, Rosamond did. For now, she had everything she needed. Just as long as Miles didn’t snoop around too very much…

  Chapter Eleven

  It took a while, but Miles truly began to believe he was helping Rosamond. Every day they met at the mutual society. Every day they followed the same street into town, walking hand in hand. Every day Rosamond managed to linger just a little longer there in town, walking up and down Morrow Creek’s raised-plank sidewalks and chatting with the townspeople she knew.

  Right alongside her, Miles got to know Marcus Copeland, the lumber-mill owner, out on an errand to advertise for workers in the Pioneer Press. He got to know rancher Everett Bannon and his intrepid journalist wife, Nellie Trent Bannon. He got to know Thomas Walsh, the newspaper’s editor, and his ladylove, Mellie Reardon. He met schoolmarm Sarah, the wife of jovial blacksmith Daniel McCabe, and several members of Grace Murphy’s ladies’ baseball league, too, including her three sisters-in-law who’d arrived from the States. He encountered Judah’s brother, Cade Foster, and his wife, Violet. He even met the reclusive and wealthy Griffin Turner, owner of the Lorndorff Hotel, who was fixing to start up a newer and even fancier hotel in town.

  “I think that’s nearly everyone in this part of the territory,” Miles told Rosamond as they parted from Turner. He watched the hotel magnate stride away, his unforgettable visage lifted to the sun. Miles faced Rosamond again. “Everyone except for Jedediah Hofer.”

  “The mercantile owner?” Busily, Rosamond strode down the sidewalk, arm in arm with Miles as she glanced into the windows of the shops he hadn’t yet been able to encourage her to enter. “Mr. Hofer is a lot like most mercantile owners. Aproned. Businesslike. Constantly sweeping the front steps of his shop.”

  Miles refused to be deterred. “I still need supplies.”

  Rosamond balked. “But I’ll be trapped in there! The mercantile is crowded. It’s full of people and packed wall to wall with merchandise. If I feel an attack coming on—”

  “Maybe you won’t.”

  “—I won’t have anyplace to go. Everyone will see what’s happening to me. I’ll be even more gossiped about than when I came to town—and that’s saying a lot, given that I was taking over a supposed brothel with a passel of attractive ladies.”

  “It’s not as bad as all that.” Miles tipped his hat to a passing group of parasol-toting women. They tittered, then entered the apothecary shop. “It’s far worse for you. No one else can tell what’s happening. We’ll go in for only a minute.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather meet Olivia Mouton?” Clearly having been struck by that idea just that instant, Rosamond clutched his arm. She attempted to steer him toward the Lorndorff. “Her father manages the hotel. She’s engaged to Griffin Turner, but if there’s any man who can turn her head anyway, it’s you.”

  “That’s very loyal of you, but I don’t want to meet Miss Mouton. I want to take you into the mercantile. I want to buy flour and pans and at least two spoons. I want to scoop out about ten pounds of crackers from the barrel. If I’m feeling especially optimistic, I might even buy a tin of beans.”

  “Olivia Mouton is the prettiest girl in Morrow Creek.”

  “I heard Adeline Wilson was the prettiest girl in town.”

  Rosamond waved off that assertion. “Depends who you ask.”

  “Either way, that’s got nothing to do with our upcoming visit to the mercantile.” Miles sighted its storefront a few yards off and veered them straight toward it. “There it is.”

  “Yes, it does! You’ll see Olivia Mouton’s image at Hofer’s mercantile, but you’ll see the woman herself at the hotel.”

  Her tone suggested that doing so would be a treat beyond compare. “I’m hardly going to gawk at a stranger, Rosamond.”

  “We could be discreet. We could have tea!”

  He thought about it. Rosamond was dogged, he’d give her that. “Why would we see Miss Mouton’s image at the mercantile?”

  “Her picture is lithographed onto every single bottle of Milky White Complexion Beautifier and Youthful Enhancement Tonic. It’s a bestseller all over the world. She’s famous!”

  Miles hesitated, trying to make sense of a town that was packed with so many unlikely types of people. All of them seemed to like Rosamond, though. He found that encouraging. Maybe her future here was brighter than he’d originally envisioned.

  “Well, then, I have to see that tonic bottle.” Tenaciously, Miles steered Rosamond onward. “Look at that. We’re here.”

  Undoubtedly unhappy that her diversionary tactics hadn’t worked, Rosamond bit her lip. Appearing full of foreboding, she stared up at the mercantile’s hand-painted sign. Its flourish-filled font and colorful background didn’t seem to reassure her.

  Glumly, she said, “There won’t be any cups of tea here.”

  As if that was the worst part of coming there. With empathy, Miles studied her. He knew this was difficult for Rosamond. He also knew that she was up to the challenge.

  “Remember, as soon as you’ve spent at least five minutes in a shop and purchased something, we’ll go back to the livery stable. I’ll show you my quarters. You can kiss me plenty.”

  Her eager-to-delay gaze shifted to collide with his. “That’s a fine idea. Let’s just do that right now, shall we?”

  Miles wanted that more than anything. But he hadn’t been convinced Rosamond had. So he hadn’t thought she’d call him on his bluff. He’d been having a few second thoughts about it.

  Dangling the promise of uninhibited kissing in front of her as an incentive was one thing. Fulfilling it was another.

  “Aren’t you worried about ruining your reputation?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Women have finer, more valuable reputations to protect.”

  “Not me. I’m a potentially scandalous widow. Besides, I’ve been nothing but full of decorum ever since I came here. It’s time to benefit from the goodwill and virtue I’ve built up.” Still looking panicky, Rosamond reexamined the mercantile sign. She gave an unconvincing airy wave. “I’ll tell everyone I’m helping you bring in supplies. No one will think twice. I’m unimpeachable.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re dawdling.”

  “You’re trying to sidetrack me.” Pointedly, Miles nodded at Hofer’s sign. “We have to go inside for a while first.”

  “No.” Very politely, Rosamond added, “Thank you, though.”

  Shakily, she turned. He stopped her. He put his hand under her chin, then tipped up her trepidation-filled face to his.

  “Please don’t give up. Don’t let Bouchard win.”

  Rosamond’s expression turned steely. “I haven’t given up. I’ve been here every day, haven’t I? I’ve spent longer and longer in town. Every time I try, I succeed a little more.”

  Patiently, Miles went on watching her. He nodded.

  A long moment passed. Rosamond’s face scrunched up.

  “Ah, I see what you’ve done there.” Her expression eased into a grin. “You tricked me into giving myself a pep talk.”

  “I’m getting a little hoarse after all the ones I’ve given lately,” he teased. “I don’t mind giving you a turn.”

  “I see. Well, I can’t very well contradict myself, can I?”

  “It would be very unlike you if you did.”

  “Then I guess I’m going in.” Shifting him another anxious look, Rosamond straightened. She clutched her woven shopping basket’s handle. “If I do this, will you quit pestering me?”

  “If you do this,” Miles assured her in a low, private tone, “I’ll kiss you all over…just as much as you want me to.”

  That stopped her. Her cheeks turned pink. Her mouth made an O. She seemed almost as perplexed by the notion of being kissed all over as she’d been a second ago by his wrangling to get her to encourage herself. It was evident that Rosamond had no experience in real lovemaking—no concept
of how remarkable it could be between two people who truly cared for one another.

  Damn Arvid Bouchard for stealing that from her. Miles almost wished his former employer had come to Morrow Creek, just so he could make the man pay for hurting Rose the way he had.

  Then Miles realized that Rosamond had finally divined what he meant. Her blush spread all the way to her neck. But her shaking stopped. So did her breathlessness. She leaned nearer.

  “All over?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Really?”

  Hellfire. She seemed entirely…thrilled by the idea.

  Miles swallowed hard. He wished he hadn’t kicked up this naughty conversation in such a public place. Beset by thoughts of himself kissing Rosamond’s mouth, her neck, her breasts and her belly and her knees and everyplace in between, he felt himself ache. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t speak at all.

  Manfully, he cleared his throat. He nodded. “Really.”

  “Well, then. I think I might like that. I can pretty well imagine what that might be like.” She gave a pert nod. “Have I ever told you what an extraordinary imagination I have?”

  Sweet heaven. If she kept on talking like that—looking like that—he was the one who might die. From unfulfilled longing and unrequited desire. Didn’t Rosamond know how she affected him?

  When she was nearby, it felt as if Miles was better than he’d ever been. Then she tempted him to kiss her…and all his better intentions flew out the window. He simply needed her.

  “No.” He shifted. “I don’t think you told me that.”

  “Yes. Well, I do.” A nod. “My imagination is as big as the territorial sky, and it’s broadening every second, thanks to you.” She delivered him a chiding look. “Why didn’t you say all-over kissing was an option before?” Appearing emphatically revived, Rosamond gave him an eager smile. “Let’s get cracking.”

  It was at that instant that Miles finally realized he’d underestimated her again. Rosamond McGrath Dancy was nothing if not full of surprises for him. He loved that about her.

  He loved her. Because of that, he’d do anything.

  Even stand in a crowded mercantile with a headful of ribald thoughts and a heart full of need and a soul full of secrets.

  Rosamond caught him dawdling on the sidewalk moments after she’d already sailed inside. She doubled back to haul him in after her. “Come on, slowpoke! We’ve got shopping to do!”

  Lord help him. Rosamond had fully set her sights on him.

  He had no chance at all to defend himself now.

  *

  It didn’t take Rosamond long to realize that she’d made a terrible mistake. One minute, she was strolling along, just one of many nearly shoulder-to-shoulder customers inside Mr. Hofer’s mercantile, feeling blithe and authoritative and absolutely ready to just get finished with her shopping and get on with kissing Miles…or with having him kiss her in that intriguing all-over way he’d mentioned. The next minute, she was seized by a powerful wave of lightheadedness and fear. Just like always.

  She knew she was doomed. Now. Again. Forever and ever.

  She’d been a fool to think she could force her way through this. She’d been a fool to leave her nice safe sanctuary.

  The mercantile darkened precipitously around her. Rosamond grabbed a pickle barrel, feeling wobbly. Her heartbeat kicked up. Her mind raced. Her throat closed, giving her the simultaneously heartening and terrifying thought that at least she wouldn’t embarrass herself by screaming at the top of her lungs.

  Miles saw her stop. He was beside her in an instant.

  “Just breathe,” he instructed, taking hold of her hand. “Don’t think about what might happen. Just breathe with me.”

  Ludicrously, he demonstrated for her. Making sure she was watching, Miles inhaled mightily. He blew out that breath while puffing his cheeks, his gaze holding calm and steady on hers.

  It might have been silly to demonstrate something as elementary as breathing, but Rosamond felt grateful, all the same. Miles’s presence—and his breathing— anchored her amidst a sea of emotions and fears and noise and thoughts and dizziness.

  She clutched his hand for dear life, then breathed in.

  Her first inhalation helped. Her second was even better.

  Dimly, Rosamond began to feel calmer. Then, hopeful.

  Instantly, as though in punishment for her paltry success, a heat wave overtook her. Her body broke out in a sweat. Her hands trembled. Her knees shook. This wasn’t working. It wasn’t.

  “I can’t.” Rosamond shook her head. “I have to leave.”

  “You are,” Miles disagreed with his usual contrariness. “You’re here and you’re holding steady, just like always.”

  “No, I’m not. Most of the time I run away. Or I don’t come in the first place.” She eyed him doubtfully. “I know what you’re trying to do. You can’t distract me with an argument.”

  He lowered his gaze to her mouth. Tellingly.

  “Or with thoughts of kissing, either,” she added shakily.

  Although the idea did have merit, she found. Her terror eased a fraction as she considered it. That was encouraging.

  Someone nudged her from the side. Rosamond jumped, holding back a strangled shriek of alarm. Frustrated, she grit her teeth. She stared up at Miles in consternation. “When will this end? I’m doing all I can, but this feeling is still there.”

  “What feeling?”

  “That something awful is going to happen to me.”

  “I see.” Miles nodded. “What does it feel like?”

  “Like impending doom. What do you imagine it would feel like?” She hauled in another breath, detecting the familiar scents of pickling brine, dried meat, crackers and tobacco and vaguely musty fabric. “I can’t explain it. It’s just there.”

  “So are you. You’re still here. You’re all right.”

  She scoffed. But Miles had a point. Grudgingly, Rosamond admitted it. “I haven’t crashed to the floor yet, if that’s what you mean. I guess I ought to have a party to celebrate.”

  He smiled. “That’s the Rose I know.” He squeezed her hand again, ignoring the inquisitive onlookers who passed them while coming and going from the mercantile. Miles behaved as if they were all alone. “Do you still feel shaky? Dizzy? Queasy?”

  “If you’re trying to bring on those symptoms—”

  “I’m not. I’m trying to make you see that you can survive them. Nobody ever died from a little sweatiness.”

  “Glowingness, I’ll have you know.” She wanted to withdraw her hand from his but didn’t dare. Not yet. “And I resent your implication that what’s happening to me isn’t serious.”

  “You think I’m belittling you?”

  “Only because you sound as if you’re making fun of me.”

  “Never. I’m not.” To prove it, Miles put his free hand on his heart. His repentant expression drew stares and knowing nudges from Mrs. Sunley and Mrs. Archer, two die-hard romantics and two of Morrow Creek’s most meddlesome matchmakers, who were shopping nearby. Paying no attention to them, Miles peered in thought at Rosamond. “Maybe if you try to withstand how you’re feeling for long enough, it will go away on its own.”

  If Rosamond’s throat hadn’t felt so parched, she would have used it to laugh outright at that. “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m hoping the same strategy will work for me. To vanquish the feeling I have that I might die without you in my arms.”

  Oh. That pulled her up short. Rosamond eased her grip on the pickle barrel a little. “You do have a way with words.”

  “It’s a family trait, passed down through the generations. Like blue eyes and stubbornness.” He grinned, proving both those assertions in a single go. “So…are you game to try?”

  “I’m not sure. Have we already been here for five minutes?”

  If they had, she could escape this situation and still fulfill Miles’s harebrained requirements…if she somehow found the wherewithal to make a purchase from Mr. Hofer first.
<
br />   Rosamond’s spirits sank. She couldn’t possibly accomplish a retail interaction in the state she was in. But she wanted to experience that special kissing Miles had talked about before.

  “Fine.” Rosamond relented. “What do I have to do?”

  She could always search for a getaway route while Miles formulated and described whatever plan he had in mind. It was always good, Rosamond reasoned, to have a secondary plan ready.

  “First,” he coached her, “close your eyes.”

  “Here? In the mercantile?” She shook her head. “I’ll look like a lunatic.” Although given the state she was already in…

  Cooperatively but skeptically, Rosamond closed her eyes.

  “Now, feel your heart racing. Is it racing?”

  “Are you trying to make it race harder?”

  “No.” Miles held her hand. “But is it?”

  “Yes. My heart is racing. I’m afraid it’s going to overtax itself. You know that Doc Finney says we only have so many heartbeats in a lifetime, don’t you? If I use up all mine now, I’ll have less of them to spend later, with you.”

  Miles went silent. Possibly—if she didn’t die now—he was savoring the notion of being together with her in the future.

  She hoped he was savoring the notion of being together.

  Then, “Don’t make up a story about how awful it is,” he suggested. “Just feel it. Really feel it. Feel it and trust me.”

  She frowned. “Are people gawking at me yet?”

  A second passed. Then, “They’re all too busy shopping.”

  That was a relief, at least. Rosamond turned her attention to her pounding heart. She concentrated as hard as she could.

  To her surprise, her thundering heart slowed a little.

  Astonished, she opened her eyes. “It’s better!”

  Miles smiled, too. “How about your breathing?”

  “I haven’t thought about it for at least a minute or two.” It was a verifiable wonder. “My breathing is much better.”

  “Good. Do you still feel unsteady?”

  Tentatively, Rosamond let go of the pickle barrel. She waited to see if she’d crumple and prove Miles’s theory wrong.