"How do I know you're not after Savannah for her inheritance?"
"You don't. But you have the word of Mackenzy Cord, and if you took the time to ask around, you'd find out my word is as good as my aim.” Standing abruptly, Mac held out his hand. He wanted the deal sealed. Carrington reluctantly shook hands. “Now, let's get down to business so we can both accomplish our goals. I'll need any information you have about where Savannah might have been headed."
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Chapter Two
She'd done it! Savannah could hardly contain her exhilaration as she waited in line at the bank in Jamestown, New York. She'd traveled clear from Angel Creek, South Carolina, to the bustling excitement of Jamestown without a hitch.
"It's a mite different from your small home town, wouldn't you say, Miss Carrington?"
With a gracious smile, Savannah turned to the dark-haired man behind her. Ned Barlow and his sweet-natured sister, Raquel had been a God-send during the long, tedious train ride. They had even insisted on seeing her safely to the bank while she deposited the money she'd hidden in the hem of her traveling dress.
"Why, yes, it is,” she agreed, her gaze wandering among the crowd of people inside the bank. “Daddy would be pea-green with envy to see this many people clamoring to put their money in the bank."
Standing beside her brother, Raquel laughed at her remark. “Are you going to take my advice and send a telegraph to let him know where you are and that you're safe?"
"I don't know...” Frowning at the reminder, Savannah stepped forward as the woman in front of her completed her transaction. She handed the teller the carefully stacked money, watching as he counted it.
"I think it would be a good idea,” Ned said. “In fact, I think I'll insist upon it. He'll need to know where to send the ransom money."
Savannah started to laugh at his outrageous jest, but the sudden pressure against her spine strangled the words in her throat. No mistaking the click as Ned Barlow cocked the hammer on the gun.
"Would you be kind enough, Miss Carrington, to move aside so that I might make a withdrawal before we leave? Starting with your money, of course."
* * * *
"Miss Carrington checked in three days ago,” the Imperial hotel clerk informed Mac when he arrived in Jamestown a week after his discussion with George Carrington. “But I'm afraid you won't find her in her room."
Mac was tired, dirty, and in no mood to play guessing games with a bored hotel clerk. “Do you have a notion of where I might find her?"
"You mean you haven't heard?"
With exaggerated patience, Mac said, “I've just arrived in town."
The clerk's eyes began to gleam, giving Mac his first inkling that all was not as it should be with his lady love.
"Then you don't know."
Snapping his teeth together, Mac growled, “Just what is it that I'm supposed to know?"
"About Miss Carrington, sir. She's in jail."
Despite his fatigue, Mac threw back his head and laughed uproariously. When he finally managed to control his mirth to some extent, he gasped out, “I think you must be talking about another woman."
"Hair the color of ripened wheat? Sort of tall—for a woman, that is—and cornflower blue eyes? Dressed real fancy, with a right nice smile..."
Before the clerk could finish his startlingly familiar description, Mac was on his way to the hotel entrance. He hailed a passing carriage, barked out his destination, and urged the driver to hurry.
Mac hung on for dear life as the driver sent the horses into a fast clip, skillfully navigating the crowded street. What was Savannah doing in jail? Try as he would, he couldn't imagine the refined gentle Savannah behind bars. In fact, the hazy image he did conjure made him shudder.
Fifteen minutes later, the carriage pulled alongside the boardwalk in front of the Jamestown Jail. Mac paid the driver and jumped down, anxious to get to Savannah. George Carrington would suffer a stroke when he heard about this. Hell, he felt close to panic as well!
The sheriff, a burly, bearded man with tobacco-stained teeth and a stubborn glint in his eyes stopped Mac at the door. Beyond the sheriff's shoulder, Mac could see several deputies milling about, but no sign of Savannah.
"I'm here to see Savannah Carrington,” Mac announced, meeting and holding the sheriff's suspicious gaze.
"Miss Carrington ain't seein’ nobody until she tells us where Barlow's hiding out,” the sheriff said, firmly blocking the doorway.
This was insane, Mac decided, growing angrier by the minute. “What, exactly, are you holding her for?"
The sheriff switched a wad of tobacco to the other side of his jaw, planting his fists on his hips. “Bank robbery."
For the second time that day, Mac laughed. He couldn't help it. First the hotel clerk had informed him Savannah was in jail, now the sheriff was telling him Savannah was involved in a bank robbery.
There was obviously some mistake. A big mistake.
"I don't see the humor in breaking the law, mister,” the sheriff snapped. “So, unless your some kin to the lady in there, get yourself lost."
"Well, sheriff...?"
"Porter."
"Sheriff Porter. I am kin.” Mac stood eye to eye with the sheriff as the blatant lie rolled from his tongue. “I'm Mac Carrington, her husband.” Well, he wanted to be, so that should count for something, although it stung his pride to use the Carrington name instead of his own.
Sheriff Porter's eyes narrowed with suspicion. His gaze crawled along Mac's lean form down to his dusty boots. “She didn't mention no husband."
Mac quickly formulated his plan. In his line of work, it paid to lie—and be good at it. Otherwise, he'd never get close to the wily outlaws he hunted. “We've had an altercation, so I'm not surprised she didn't mention me.” He lifted a brow for emphasis as he added, “If you know what I mean."
"Ran off, did she?"
"Yes, right after the argument.” Mac gave his head a rueful shake, lowering his voice. “You see, we've only been married a few days, and Savannah ... well, she's already talking about babies and—"
"Tell you what,” Sheriff Porter said, looking uncomfortable with the subject. “I'll give you five minutes with Miss—Mrs. Carrington. If she doesn't know you, I'll throw your mangy hide in there with her.” He gave Mac a hard, meaningful look and lifted a bushy eyebrow. "If you know what I mean."
The sheriff wasn't as dull-witted as he appeared, Mac realized. “You've got a deal, sheriff."
Sheriff Porter waved him inside. With an inward sigh of relief, Mac followed him through a cluttered office into a dim hallway. The success of his plans counted on Savannah being glad to see him. She always appeared happy to see him when he returned from his bounty hunting trips ... He reckoned there was no time like the present to find out if she was sincere. Of course, there was always the chance she'd realize right away that he'd followed her to Jamestown, and figure out who'd sent him.
"Mrs. Carrington? You've got a visitor."
Jarred back to the present by the protesting sound of metal as the sheriff opened the jail cell door, Mac quickly stepped through. His gaze settled on the statuesque blonde woman perched on the hard jail cot.
She was every bit as beautiful as he remembered, from her upswept blonde hair, to her long, narrow feet encased in sturdy brown traveling shoes. Her gaze remained focused on the gloved hands folded demurely in her lap, and as Mac scanned her pale features, he was relieved to note she looked understandably upset, but unharmed.
Unaware of Mac's presence, she said, “I've already told you, Sheriff Porter. I have no idea where Ned Barlow was headed when he left the bank with my money."
Although there was strength—and a hint of lingering anger—in her voice, Mac saw her bottom lip quiver before she caught it with her teeth. The betraying movement caused a peculiar ache to bloom in his heart. Lovely, brave Savannah. She was frightened but determined not to show it.
Reaching into his coat pocket, h
e withdrew a candy stick and removed the protective paper. Slowly he approached Savannah, aware that Sheriff Porter watched them covertly. One wrong word, one wrong move, and Mac knew they'd both be in a pickle barrel without an opening.
"Darling ... can we put this silly argument behind us and get on with our lives?” Mac pleaded softly, holding out his sweet offering.
Savannah's gaze focused on the candy stick, then flew upward; her stunning blue eyes widened in recognition. “Mac! What—"
"No, no, honey,” Mac said quickly, placing a finger on her lips. “Let's not talk about it. I've told the sheriff what happened ... that we had an argument, and that you couldn't possibly have anything to do with that bank robbery."
"But, Mac—"
"Now that he realizes you're my wife, he'll have to let you go."
"But, Mac—"
Mac grabbed her arms and hauled her against him, shocking her silent. His first body-to-body contact with Savannah momentarily stunned him as well. She was firm, yet soft, and felt oh-so-good against him. Better than his wildest dreams, and he'd plenty of those in the last few years.
He gazed meaningfully into her wide eyes, hoping she wouldn't notice his even more shocking reaction to her nearness. His voice low and vibrant with emotion, he said, “It scares the hell out of me to think of you in danger, as you must have been during that bank robbery.” It was the truth; it did scare the hell out of him to think of Savannah in the midst of violence. “So what do you say, darling? Shall we kiss and make up?"
If her eyes had been wide before, they nearly swallowed her face now. “K—kiss?” she stammered.
Smiling at her dumbfounded expression, Mac nodded. “And I've changed my mind. I want to have lots of babies with you.” It was so easy, Mac thought, because everything he said was the God's honest truth.
"Mac!” Savannah squeaked, her cheeks flaming with gorgeous color. “Have you lost your—"
Mac told himself that he had no choice as he kissed her. He would have preferred a more private, romantic setting for the glorious, memorable occasion of their first kiss, but there was no hope for it. At least, he mused with an inward smile, it would be a tall tale to pass to their children.
Her lips were warm and soft against his, and she tasted sweeter than he'd ever dreamed. Coaxing, moving his mouth experimentally against her lips, he kissed Savannah until she gave up with a little sigh and began to kiss him back. Her arms came up and around his neck, pulling him closer.
Her response gave Mac a burst of hope. Savannah was kissing him like she meant it—as if she wanted to.
"Ahem.” When clearing his throat didn't work, Sheriff Porter gave his keys a nosey jangle.
Reluctantly, Mac pulled free of Savannah's moist, kissable mouth and placed his lips near her ear. “Are you with me now?” he whispered. He felt her slight nod against his chin. “Good. Because if we're going to get out of here, we need to be convincing."
Slipping his arm around her waist, Mac turned toward the sheriff. “Sheriff, as you can see, my wife is clearly not a bank robber.” Mac smiled as if the mere idea were ludicrous. “We'd like to get on with our honeymoon, if that's all right with you."
Sheriff Porter hesitated, glancing at Savannah's flushed face and glazed eyes. “I've got about a dozen witnesses that heard Barlow call her by name. He called her ‘Sweet Savannah."
Mac didn't have to invent the jealous scowl at Porter's remark. He'd like to know the answer to that riddle himself. In the meantime, he'd have to improvise. “Anyone who knows Savannah knows that she never meets a stranger.” Slanting her an admonishing glance, he said, “I've told you about talking to strangers, haven't I darling? Now look what's happened. You've got Sheriff Porter here thinking you're a bank robber!"
There was an answering spark in her eyes as she gazed back at him. “But it all worked out for the best, didn't it darling? After all, we kissed and made up, and we're going to have lots of babies." The spark became a definite flame. “I'm sure daddy can't wait to bounce grandchildren on his knee."
So, she'd gotten over the shock of seeing him and figured out why he was in Jamestown, Mac mused. Well, what had he expected? She'd traveled all the way from Angel Creek to escape her overbearing father and an impending marriage she didn't want. It wasn't likely she'd agree to go home without a fight.
Mac wasn't too concerned about the time-consuming task of convincing her—if it meant he'd get to spend more time in her company. Linking her hand with his, he smiled into her glittering eyes. “Come along, darling. We've got some making up to do."
Her fingers tightened meaningful. “Yes, we do need to talk."
"You plan to stay in town long ... Mrs. Carrington?” Sheriff Porter asked.
Sensing the sheriff harbored a few lingering doubts, Mac answered quickly, “Yes. We plan to stay a few days and see the sights."
"Good. If I have any further questions, I'll know where to find you."
Another delay ... and more time to spend with Savannah. Mac could hardly believe his good luck. With dreamy visions of candlelight dinners, moonlit walks, and tender kisses, he offered his arm and led Savannah out of her temporary prison.
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Chapter Three
"I'm going after Ned Barlow, and I'm going to get my money back. If you won't go with me then I'll hire someone else."
Over my dead body, Mac thought, but was wise enough not to voice his thought aloud.
They were seated in the sitting room adjoining her bedroom at the Imperial hotel after a hasty meal in the hotel restaurant downstairs. In all the years he'd known Savannah, it was the first time he'd seen her angry. Yet there was no mistake—she was furious. Her eyes had deepened from violet to nearly black.
"That—that smooth-talking thief has a thousand dollars of my money, Mac, and he's not going to get away with it. He—he also took something else of mine that was very dear to me, a locket that once belonged to my mother. I thought I lost it on the train, but now I realize that he must have stolen it right from under my nose!"
Mac tried not to speculate on just what Barlow had been doing when he managed to steal the necklace. “You heard the sheriff,” he argued gently. “He practically ordered you not to leave town."
The truth was, he suspected he'd feel the same way in her place. But then, he was a man—a bounty hunter. Savannah was the pampered daughter of a wealthy banker. She was soft, tender-hearted; he was hard and had faced death many times in his twenty-five years.
After they returned to the hotel, Savannah had changed into a dove-grey dress trimmed in black. The style outlined her trim waist and generous bosom, sweeping in gracious folds to her feet. Savannah wasn't a conventionally small woman, but to Mac she was the most fetching sight he'd seen in a long time. Even more so with her stunning eyes now darkened with emotion. He wondered if her eyes would darken that way when she was aroused...
"He has no valid excuse to hold me here in Jamestown, and you know it."
"Maybe. Maybe not.” Mac rose from his chair and strode to the cold fireplace. He propped a booted foot upon the hearth. A previous occupant of the room—perhaps a child—had traced a smiling face in the cold ashes. “Savannah, this isn't just about the money, is it? Sheriff Porter said Barlow knew you.” He glanced at her, and with growing interest, watched a flush creep into her cheeks. Jealousy quickly followed. “Savannah?” he prompted. “Don't you think it's about time you told me what happened?"
Her direct gaze clashed with his. “Why? So that you can report back to Daddy? So that you can tell him what a gullible fool his daughter is? Tell me, Mac, how much did my father pay you to bring me back?"
Mac winced and considered evading the question, but figured she'd find out soon enough. “He offered me five thousand dollars.” But I didn't take it. If he told her that, then he would have to explain why, and he wasn't—she wasn't ready to know. He was ready all right. More than ready.
"Dead? Or alive?"
"Don't be ridic
ulous. Your father loves you.” And so do I. Mac shifted his weight and placed his elbow on the mantel. “Tell me what happened. We've been friends—” Mac nearly choked on the platonic word—"For a long time, Savannah. That hasn't changed, has it?” To his relief, the fierce light in her eyes softened at his coaxing tone.
"Yes, we have.” She glanced at her folded hands, her cheeks still flushed. “There isn't much to tell. I met Ned Barlow and his sister on the train, and we became friends.” She frowned in remembrance. “Mr. Barlow seemed like a nice man. Witty, funny, and charming. A gentleman, or so I believed. We ate our meals together—with his sister, of course.” Savannah's lips twisted in a self-derisive smile. “It wasn't long before I found myself telling them about daddy, and why I left Angel Creek."
"So he knew your father was a banker.” Mac was beginning to see the ugly picture take shape. No wonder Savannah was furious with Barlow!
Savannah nodded. “I never had the slightest notion Barlow was anything but a gentleman, and his sister Raquel anything less than a lady."
"An honest mistake, by the sound of it,” Mac offered softly.
"A mistake you would never make."
He flushed at her compliment. Before he could deny it, she held up a detaining hand.
"Believing they were my friends made the conclusion all the more humiliating. Continuing his pretense as a gentleman, Mr. Barlow insisted on accompanying me to the bank to deposit my money. The moment I handed it to the teller, he robbed the bank and tried to force me to leave with them. He was planning to hold me for ransom."
A shiver crept along Mac's spine as he imagined Savannah in the hands of Barlow had he succeeded. Obviously, though, his plans had gone astray. “How did you get away?"
For the first time since finding her in the jail cell, Mac saw a genuine smile. She lifted a hand to the hat perched on her thick, upswept hair.
"I—I was wearing a hat decorated with a big purple feather. It must have startled the horses. I managed to run back into the bank, and once I was inside, the teller locked the bank doors."
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