Secrets, Spies & Sweet Little Lies (Secrets & Spies)

by Kingston, Tara

“I’ve heard tell of him. Mean dog of a man.” Miranda caught a torn edge that used to be sewn to Emma’s collar between her fingers. “We’ll get you another dress.”

  “Thank you,” Emma murmured.

  Releasing the fabric, Miranda reached up to smooth an errant tendril behind one ear. “I believe an introduction is in order.”

  “Please, call me Emma.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance. I’m Miranda. Years ago, I wiped that one’s bottom—”

  Cole shot the redhead a glare. “This isn’t the time for fond reminiscences.”

  Wicked amusement danced in Miranda’s eyes. Emma knew she had found an ally.

  “I’ve known Cole since he was in diapers. Back when he still went by the name his mother—my dear sister—chose for her youngest son.”

  “Miranda, that’s enough.” Weariness—and a trace of apprehension—threaded through his admonition.

  “A fine family name, might I add.”

  Emma couldn’t stop herself. “And what might this fine family name be?”

  “Hez—”

  “Miranda.” Gritted between Cole’s teeth, the word bore an unmistakable warning.

  The woman’s flame-hued coif bounced against her nape as she threw up her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll shut up for now. But sooner or later—”

  “Sooner or later, I’ll be long gone.” The affection in Cole’s eyes belied the low growl of his voice.

  Miranda shrugged. “You’re a stubborn one, like a mule. Always were. But enough of that.” She turned to Emma. “Tell me what’s going on before he buries the story in cow pies.”

  Sparing Cole a quick glance, Emma adopted her sweetest smile. “It all started when he abducted me from a train.”

  She’d expected shock and dismay, not the look of fond reminiscence that met her pronouncement. “Ah, that’s always a good start,” Miranda said, her tone wistful. “My Zeke hauled me off a B&O train back in forty-two. Nine months later, my Daniel made his entrance into this world.”

  Cole quirked a dark brow. “Now who’s shoveling cow pies?”

  The smile fading from her gaze, Miranda eyed the bandages that stood out against Cole’s blue work shirt. “Did that hawk-faced thug get you?”

  “The knife wound is his work. I don’t know who to thank for the other one. Either DuBois or Staton…one of their lackeys.”

  Miranda slanted Emma a glance. “She patched you up?”

  “Yep…both times.”

  “Pretty and resourceful. You got yourself a good one this time.”

  A self-conscious flush washed over Emma. The woman was talking about her as though Cole had brought home a bride and not a captive.

  He scrubbed a hand against his jaw as if it ached. “What I’ve got is a woman I need to keep alive until I can get her off my hands. The sooner Miss Davenport returns to her father’s waiting arms, the better.”

  The words stung, far more than they should have. Gone was the rogue who’d kissed her with tenderness and hunger. In his place stood a bone-weary man who embraced the thought of leaving her behind in what would be an oh-so-civil prison.

  “At this point, even my father will prove better company than…him.” Emma snipped the words between her teeth.

  Miranda draped an arm around Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t pay him no mind. He’s always been a bear when he’s tired and hungry.” She glared at Cole beneath her lashes. “I’ll show you to Mary Elizabeth’s room. My daughter’s off helping a neighbor with a…delivery. A hot bath and some clean clothes will put a smile back on your face.”

  “What about this tired bear?” Cole asked with the slightest hint of a smile in his eyes.

  “I trust you can forage for yourself. God knows you’ve spent enough time in my kitchen.”

  * * *

  Cole lounged against the porch rail, allowing some of the tension of the last few days to ease from his body. His wounds throbbed, but he did his best to hide the pain as Miranda joined him.

  “Let’s walk for a while,” he suggested, motioning her away from the house. As they slowly made their way to an apple grove, Cole laid out the mission and his role in it. He didn’t expect her to laud their cleverness, but her simmering disgust took him by surprise.

  “You kidnapped that girl from a train. Of all the rash, hare-brained schemes—”

  “What about the bucket of manure you spewed about you and Zeke and the Baltimore railroad?”

  A blush—an actual, goddamn blush—spread over Miranda’s face. Though his aunt was only a decade older than himself, he’d never really pictured her as a woman who could flush red as a strawberry over thoughts of her husband. She’d always been a maternal figure, helping his mother care for him and his younger sister while his father spent months at a time at sea, and then…well, those had been damned hard years after his parents were killed.

  Shipped off to live with some prune-faced relatives he’d met only once before the accident, he endured his great-aunt’s stiff-lipped reticence and her husband’s brutal skill with a strap until a newly-wedded Miranda sent for him. She brought Cole and his younger sister to live in the clapboard house she and Zeke made into a home, offering love and discipline and loyalty to her family stronger than any conflict.

  “That was different,” she protested. “I knew what he was up to. I was escorting a delivery to a safe house and he’d gotten word the authorities were onto us. He got us all off that train just in time to avoid the sheriff and heaven knows what would have come after that. But Emma had no idea who you are, did she?

  “No, and it needs to stay that way. She can’t find out, not yet. Once she’s her father’s problem again, he can tell her anything he wants.”

  “She must have been scared out of her wits.”

  An image of Emma’s defiantly upturned chin and rigid back flashed in his thoughts. “Maybe for all of five minutes in the beginning. Since then, she’s been riled that I derailed her scheme.”

  “I certainly hope you’re right.” She accented her words with a huff and folded her arms across her chest.

  “It seemed like the best solution at the time. She put herself in a dangerous position. My job was to get her out of it. Of all people, you should understand why I had to deceive her. Think of all the folks you duped in Richmond. Varina Davis had no idea the confidences she bestowed on you went straight to General McClellan.”

  “That was different. No one was getting shot at over lemonade and meringues. Besides, Varina never even realized what she’d done.”

  “We couldn’t let Emma get to Staton. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot of time to map out a strategy. If I didn’t get to her, someone else would have.” Cole stared at the ground for a long moment. “I don’t have to tell you what would have happened to her if the DuBois brothers got their hands on her.”

  “But why would they send you and that partner of yours? It’s a wonder he didn’t get under her skirt the first night. The man could sweet talk the drawers off Mary Lincoln.”

  “Your confidence is inspiring.”

  “This doesn’t have a thing to do with confidence and you know it. You’re good, Cole—one of the best in the field. I should know. I helped train you. But this is a lady you’re escorting, a very pretty young woman. Didn’t any of the thickskulled men who put this scheme together stop to consider her reputation?”

  “Reputation?” Cole scoffed. “At the time, her father was concerned with keeping her out of Staton’s hands. She ran away in the middle of the night, hell-bent on a rendezvous with the ruthless bastard. I’d say her reputation was at risk long before she ever laid eyes on me.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” Miranda folded her arms into a rigid knot at her waist, her delicate brows drawn into a stern line. “I don’t approve of this, not one whit, but she’ll feel more secure with another woman around.”

  “She might be safe here. I sure as hell hope so. I don’t know if I can protect her.”

  “You’ve done a fine job
so far. She’s no worse for wear. Wish I could say the same about you.” Her attention fell on his shoulder. “You are going to let me take a look at that, right?”

  “Later.” The mention of his injuries set them off again. Damn. “You still got your cache stored?”

  “Some. We’re getting depleted, and I’m waiting on a delivery. There’s no trouble coming this way we can’t handle.”

  “Wish I could be sure of that. We didn’t expect this much interest. Staton was predictable, but the DuBois brothers want her, too. What the hell was she thinking, getting mixed up with such underhanded characters?”

  “You care about her, don’t you?”

  Miranda’s question took him by surprise. “My mission is to keep her safe from Staton and anyone else who poses a danger. For now, she’s mine to protect.”

  “I’m not referring to your mission. I’m talking about you.”

  Damn, Miranda always had been able to see right through him. “She’s a fine woman.”

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners, and the solemn set of her mouth lifted. “My, oh my, it had to happen sometime.”

  “There you go, shoveling manure. If it gets much deeper, I’m going to need boots past my knees.”

  “Just telling it the way I see it. There are worse things in life than falling for a clever girl who cared enough about you to make sure you didn’t bleed to death.”

  He shrugged. “She was smart enough to realize I was her first line of defense. If I couldn’t fight for her, she’d be on her own.”

  “But isn’t that what she wanted?”

  The aroma of pine and wildflowers surrounded them, and he relaxed for the first time since he’d been drawn into the senator’s scheme. “She seemed to change her mind right about the time the thugs started to come after her. Even I’m preferable to men who don’t bother to wash the blood off their hands.”

  Emma stepped onto the porch. The wind rippled her chestnut waves as the sun’s rays lit on her delicate features. The clean blue dress she wore fit her in all the right places.

  Cole swallowed hard. “Where’d you get the dress?”

  “It’s Mary Elizabeth’s. Fortunately, her proportions and Emma’s are about the same.”

  At the mention of his cousin’s name, an image of a girl with long, blond braids clutching a china doll popped into his mind. “Does she still play with the doll I brought her from Philadelphia?”

  Miranda smiled, but shook her head. “Matilda has a prominent place on a shelf in her room, but she doesn’t play with it anymore. She’s a woman now, gone off to help Susanna with a delivery.”

  “From the south?”

  “Not too deep. We had a man in Norfolk for a few months, but it was time to extract him.”

  “And Mary Elizabeth and Susanna are doing the job?”

  “They’ve been working in the field for more than a year now. Good thing I raised ’em to act like ladies.”

  Stunned by the news, Cole managed a nod. How was it possible his tomboy cousins were field agents, most likely playing the coquette with the same finesse their mother managed when the occasion called for it?

  His gaze drifted back to Emma. She stepped off the porch and plucked a dandelion from the ground. A breath later, and the seeds scattered in the breeze. She was a surprising woman, the kind of woman who needed a man who wouldn’t cage her in a fancy cell.

  But he wasn’t that man. It didn’t matter how much he wanted her. Emma Davenport didn’t belong with a man like him. He had his mission. He had his orders. And he’d fulfill them.

  But when it was all said and done, she belonged in Washington. As for him—if he was still breathing, he’d head back into the field and try his damnedest to forget how good she’d felt in his arms.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The scrubbed oak floor and quilt-covered bed were a welcome sight for Cole’s weary eyes. After nights sleeping on the unforgiving ground, stretching out on the feather mattress would feel mighty good. But first, he needed to wash up.

  Shrugging off his shirt, he poured warm water in the porcelain basin on the dresser. He wet a cloth and scrubbed his neck, shoulders and arms, careful to avoid the tender wound near his collarbone. The bleeding had stopped, but the flesh was hot to the touch and hurt like hell.

  Standing before the dresser mirror, he gingerly unwrapped the strip of cloth that held the bandage over his shoulder. The injury was angry, reddened around a small white core. Damn! He leaned closer to the mirror, taking a better look. The dagger hadn’t left much of a mark, but experience told him punctures were vulnerable to infection. To hell with it. He shook off the worry that nagged like a burr in his saddle and went about the business of cleaning and rebandaging the wound.

  Fatigue spread though his muscles, weighting them as though they’d been infused with lead. He rubbed his hand over the coarse stubble on his jaw. The exhausted man staring back at him in the mirror might have passed for a saloon vagrant. He hadn’t looked this convincing when he slunk around the Norfolk waterfront.

  With a groan of resignation, he spread a thin layer of shaving soap over his face. He’d begun to skim the razor over his chin when a small gasp told him he wasn’t alone.

  He turned slowly, taking in the scene with a leisurely sense of enjoyment. Emma looked from him to the floor to the neatly folded clothing in her arms, as if she couldn’t quite decide where to focus.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Her gaze settled rigidly on his face as she presented several shirts on outstretched arms. “Miranda asked me to bring these to you. They belong to her husband.”

  Against his will, his thoughts drifted to the bed. An image of Emma reclining on the patchwork quilt taunted him. He toweled the soap off his face, snatched a shirt from the stack, and slipped it over his head.

  “Zeke’s with Grant’s forces in the South.” As he worked the buttons on the shirt, his mind wandered to those on her dress. How long would it take to free each tiny fastener and bare her to his eyes?

  “She told me all about him. He sounds like a wonderful man.”

  An image of pale blue cotton drifting to the floor around Emma’s ankles invaded his thoughts. His mouth went dry as Texas sand, but he swallowed hard and searched for something to say that had nothing to do with plundering her sweet body.

  “Zeke? You sure you’ve been talking to Miranda about her husband?” he managed despite the vision of lace-trimmed petticoats joining the blue dress at Emma’s feet.

  “Of course she’s talking about her husband,” Emma said with a perplexed quirk of her brows. “Miranda said to tell you to fetch some water when you’re done washing up.”

  “How much?”

  “Enough to fill the tub. I’m going to take a bath.”

  Emma twirled around and sauntered to the door. As the gentle sway of her hips held him mesmerized, every drop of blood in his brain coursed to his groin.

  She cast a glance over her shoulder as her fingers curled over the knob. A smile that was anything but demure tugged at her rosebud lips.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  * * *

  Emma stepped into the metal tub Miranda had set up in her kitchen and sank into the comfort of freshly heated water. Heavenly! She closed her eyes, her mind drifting aimlessly as the soothing heat surrounded her.

  Cole’s voice intruded into her paradise. “You’re enjoying your bath, huh?”

  She sputtered to attention. Craning her neck, she spied Cole in the doorway. A rogue’s smile curled his mouth, while masculine appreciation gleamed in his eyes. Her hands instinctively covered her breasts as warmth flooded her core.

  “Your back is to me, Emma,” he said. “Unfortunately, I can’t see anything other than your shapely neck and the mass of hair you’ve piled on your head.”

  Heat that had nothing to do with the water in the tub washed over her, even as the cocky light in his eyes pricked her pride. He had no right taking pleasure in shredding what little remained of her modesty. She glared at
him over her shoulder.

  “Please go.” She forced ice into her tone. “Your presence here is indecent.”

  “Actually, Miss Davenport, it’s one of the most decent sights I’ve seen in a long time.” His crooked grin widened. “Next time, I’m going to fetch a smaller tub. One that leaves less to the imagination.”

  “Leave.” She bit the syllable between her teeth.

  “You sure you don’t want me to stand guard? There’s probably some critter waiting for a chance to dive in the water with you.”

  “The only critter I see around here stands on two legs and has his mind forever in the gutter.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “If this is the gutter, the view’s damn good.”

  “Oooh,” she murmured. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

  He chuckled. “If I stand here long enough, the water will get cold and you’ll want to get out. Now that will be a sight worth waiting for.”

  Heat blossomed over her cheeks. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Oh, wouldn’t I? I’m a wicked desperado. Or did you forget so soon?”

  “You are behaving more like a schoolboy. What’s next, a frog dangled in front of my face?”

  “Hmmm…would that get you out of the tub?”

  “Good gracious, you are an exasperating man.” She snatched up the white square she’d intended to use as a washcloth. Squeezing it into a ball, she took aim at her six-foot male target. Perhaps a mouthful of soapy wet cotton would wipe the smirk off his face.

  The cloth flew out of her hand, hurtling toward his no-longer grinning mouth.

  He stared down at her, sopping cotton in hand. Drat! The man had the reflexes of a wildcat.

  “If you wanted me to wash your back, all you had to do was ask.”

  One long stride cut the distance between them. Emma’s breath caught. Another stride. She gave her head a furious shake.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  He cocked a brow. “No?”

  “No.”

  He dangled the cloth just as she imagined he’d display the frog she’d mentioned. “You requested my services.”