Mail-Order Groom (17 page)

But Savannah only laughed. “I hope you have a good time tonight, too. I wish I could stay entirely by your side—”

“Me, too,” Adam said, “to show you off.”

“—but proper etiquette
does
demand that we circulate.”

Mose cast her a proud glance, then gave her a gruff nod. His pleasure at her remembrance of that rule made Savannah wonder exactly how often Mose had been sneaking glances at her etiquette handbook. She'd only caught him at it once or twice…

“I'll try to stay within earshot,” Adam assured her. “I don't intend to let you out of my sight, either.”

As he said it, his arm and shoulder tensed against hers, giving Savannah reason to wonder about Adam, too. Exactly what dangers did he think she might encounter at a fancy reception?

“Don't be silly,” Savannah told him. “I'll be perfectly safe. You can't spend all your time watching over me.”

“Oh, yes, he can!” Mose said.

“Yes, I can.” Adam said at the same time. “And I will.”

But their combined insistence gave Savannah other ideas—ideas about slipping out of sight once or twice…just long enough to prove to Adam and Mose that she would be fine on her own. After all, she hadn't come all the way west to feel even
less
free than she had while working on the New York stage!

If she didn't start out her married life the same way she intended to go on, there would be trouble ahead for sure. She had to assert her independence right now, Savannah decided.

A few minutes later, they reached the party. Mose parked the wagon near the two-story clapboard house across the street from the Finneys, then issued a few admonitions of his own.

Finally, after saying their goodbyes to Mose, Savannah and Adam joined hands. They headed together inside the brightly lit reception, where Savannah would learn if their future together was a real possibility—or only a dream that she would have to abandon…all over again.

 

“My goodness! I didn't even know there were this many people in all of Morrow Creek,” Savannah said later, fanning herself in the crush, “much less that so many of them would willingly squeeze in so tightly for a party! Can you imagine?”

“Well, it's not often that someone new takes up residence in our little town. We're all
very
curious about you.” This came from Sarah McCabe, the town's friendly, bookish schoolmarm. She cast a glance at Adam, who stood a few feet away amid several other partygoers, talking with her
husband, Daniel, the town blacksmith. “We're all very curious about your husband, too, of course. Tell me… How did you two meet?”

At Sarah's inquisitive expression, Savannah blanched. Foolishly she had not prepared herself for this question. Now that it had inevitably arrived, she could not have felt sorrier for her lapse. She wanted to begin her new life truthfully. But she could hardly confide that she and Adam had met over the telegraph wires, become romantic pen pals, then arranged for a long-distance wedding…could she?

Fumbling for a reply, Savannah decided to buy herself some time. Affecting a perplexed expression, she leaned forward with a hand to her ear, then gestured at the milling crowds of partygoers. “I'm sorry. It's so loud in here! What did you say?”

Sarah smiled. “I said, how did you and Mr. Corwin meet?”

“Oh! Well, we have a shared interest in telegraphy, you see,” Savannah began, casting a sideways glance at Adam, “and—”

“Ooh! Do tell us all about that, please.” This came from Grace Murphy, Sarah's sister and—as Savannah had learned—a staunch suffragist with interests including journalism, bicycling, hosting several women's groups, and assembling educational lectures. “I have an avid interest in all forms of machinery,” Grace confided, “and the telegraphy apparatus seems especially fascinating. In fact, it would make an absorbing discussion topic for the next meeting of the Social Equality Sisterhood. Would you consider speaking to the group?”

“Of course.” Surprised—and relieved to be saved for the moment from discussing the story of her courtship with Adam—Savannah nodded. “But are you sure your members would be interested? I've heard that only men have the
correct aptitude for understanding things of a mechanical or technical nature.”

“Nonsense!” With vigor, Grace waved away her concerns. “All women need are opportunity and education. If only we could—”

“Now you've done it.” Grinning, Sarah interrupted her sister. “Please, Grace. No lectures tonight.” She turned to Savannah, her expression good humored. “Next Grace will be trotting out her picket signs, ready to protest the local telegraph station for not hiring women operators.”

Grace's eyes brightened. “That is an
excellent
idea!”

“But they already have hired a female operator,” Savannah hastened to point out, feeling giddy to be included in so much jovial conversation. She'd been cheerfully surrounded and welcomed from the moment she'd set foot inside the Finneys' home, over an hour ago. “They hired me, didn't they?”

“Oh, but won't you be quitting soon?” This from a rosy-faced Mrs. Finney, who stood beside Sarah with a glass of spirits in her hand. “Surely you'll want to start a family?”

The other women in their group nodded. All around them, the reception carried on in full swing, lighted by expensive oil lamps, augmented with fiddle music, and embellished with the sights and smells of delicious foodstuffs from the buffet.

“She will be able to do both, if she wishes.” Another Morrow Creek resident approached with a dark-haired baby on her hip. The child clutched her mother with tiny, plump hands, making Savannah suddenly yearn for a similar babyish grasp. “That's what I've done, after all, with a few fits and starts.”

Sarah introduced the newcomer as her sister, Molly Copeland, “one of the town's best bakers.” Although she'd had a bit of trouble keeping up with the many people she'd
met so far tonight, Savannah smiled at Molly. The woman's charming face, full figure and convivial manner would be easy to remember.

“If you're going to speak at one of Grace's women's club meetings,” Molly said, “as I heard you say earlier, you'll have to agree to come address one of
my
favorite groups, too.”

“Of course,” Savannah said. “Which group is that?”

“The cinnamon bun group.” Molly offered a dimpled smile. “Or the snickerdoodle cookie group, the apple pie group—it's your choice, really. They're all available down the street at my bakery. Does your husband like sweets? Because mine are rumored to be especially…potent.” Molly gave an impish look.

“Potent?” Savannah asked. “How so?”

“They make men fall head over heels in love,” Sarah said with a twinkle in her eye. She smiled in the direction of her husband, who'd been joined in conversation by several other well-dressed men. Sarah nodded at Adam. “Not that you'll need any help with
that,
with such a devoted husband at your side.”

“That's true,” Molly mused, looking in the same direction. “Have you noticed the way Mr. Corwin keeps glancing over here? It's almost as though he can't bear to be apart from you for an instant, Savannah! That's
so
romantic.”

All the women sighed, even starchy Mrs. Finney.

And even, Savannah noticed, the suffragist Grace Murphy.

“Yes. You're very lucky,” Grace said. She aimed a warmhearted, private glance at her own husband, the saloon-keeper Jack Murphy, then returned her attention to the women. “Now then. On to practical matters.” With a confiding air, Grace leaned nearer. “Savannah, I simply
must
tell you about my female archery group. I think you'll be a perfect fit for our club.”

“And my sewing circle!” Molly put in. “You must join us.”

“And my book group,” Sarah added with a quelling glance at her chattier sisters. “The two of you can't monopolize the most interesting new resident of Morrow Creek all to yourselves.”

“Us?” Molly protested. “You just wait until Mama gets over here. I overheard her telling Papa how interested she was in having Savannah over for a nice Grahamite meal.”

“That's right,” Grace agreed. “And I heard the editor of the
Pioneer Press
wants to do a piece on Savannah's work at the adjunct telegraph station. Mr. Walsh is very choosy in his subject matter, so that is quite an honor, Savannah.”

Overcome and flattered to be the subject of so much positive attention, Savannah fanned herself. It appeared that her new life
would
be possible here, she realized. If the reactions of the people she'd met tonight were indicative of Morrow Creek residents' opinions in general, she might truly be safe from revelations of her scandalous past.

Happily she glanced sideways as the chatter continued. Adam stood across the room, just as much a focus for attention as she was, laughing heartily with a group of men. He noticed her looking, smiled, then offered her a naughty wink.

She blushed and was forced to fan herself with more vigor.

“Now now now! Let's not get carried away with making all these plans, ladies!” Mrs. Finney was saying in a loud voice when Savannah looked her way again, hoping to rejoin the conversation. “Remember, we hardly know Mrs. Corwin.”

Savannah went instantly still. With a sense of unreality,
she realized that this could be the moment when Mrs. Finney—who was older, wiser and undoubtedly more suspicious than everyone else—revealed some proof of Savannah's scurrilous past.

Such a turn of events suddenly felt inevitable. Bracing herself for the worst, Savannah tried to think of a possible escape. She could feign illness. She could run for the door with no explanation whatsoever. She could change the subject.

But then it was too late to do anything at all. Mrs. Finney continued stridently onward, raising her glass of spirits for emphasis. “It is entirely possible,” she said, “that Mrs. Corwin would prefer
my
sociable little group of knitters for company!”

All the women laughed. Savannah felt positively faint.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I—I must get some air.”

She lifted her skirts and dashed through the party, intent on reaching the Finneys' gaily decorated porch before she burst into tears from the strain of it all—or worse, blabbed a confession that she'd unfairly succeeded in deceiving them all.

For the first time, it occurred to Savannah to wonder, as she slipped safely into the coolness of the night outside: was it truly an improvement to have escaped one secret past…only to pile up more secrets in the wonderful new life she'd found?

Or was there—could there be—another way?

S
triding purposefully down a Morrow Creek back alley, Adam stripped off his necktie. Shrouded in darkness, he stuffed it in his suit coat pocket. He checked his gun belt. He hoped he wouldn't need any of his weapons tonight, but he liked knowing his firearms were holstered and his knives were at the ready.

Just in case.

The sounds of tinkling piano music and husky male laughter followed him down the alleyway, coming from the nearby saloon. Most likely, Mose was in that saloon—Mose, who would not approve of Adam leaving Savannah behind at the party while he pursued his agency mission. Bothered by that reminder of his own divided loyalties, Adam frowned. But the only way to be sure Savannah was safe was to find the Bedells—and to do that, he needed either to locate Mariana or contact the agency.

Familiar with the town from his earlier scouting forays there, Adam skirted the jail and Sheriff Caffey's office, then headed first for the telegraph station. If he were lucky,
there would be a note there from his former partner. Their protocol was to use local telegraph stations—which were plentiful all over the country—to relay messages to one another. Within a few minutes, Adam would know if Mariana was safe, if she'd been reassigned and if she'd uncovered any additional information about the Bedell gang.

Adam pulled down his hat, then entered the station. The lone operator was busy at the telegraph apparatus. Listening to the sound of a message being relayed, Adam took in the place's long counter, cubbyholes of papers, twin desks and single uncurtained window. Although the station was an essential part of town life, it appeared surprisingly humble.

“Yes, sir?” The operator looked up. “What can I do for you?”

“Messages for A. Sayles, please.”

“I'm not sure we have any unrelayed messages.”

Adam showed his old Marshall's badge. “Check again.”

“All right.” A skittish glance. “A. Sayles, you say?”

Adam nodded. The name followed the format he and his fellow detectives used—the first initial of the intended recipient, followed by the last name of the sender. To his relief, the operator located a pair of messages stuffed into a corner desk.

He passed them over the counter, scratching his head. “This is beyond odd. We don't usually keep unsent messages around.”

“I'm obliged to you.” Adam dropped a few coins on the counter, then pocketed his messages. “Thank you for your help.”

The operator watched him leave. “Don't you want to answer them messages? I can take down a reply for you, if you want.”

To be honest, Adam didn't even want to open the missives in his pocket. The news might not be good. But he knew he had to.

He shook his head. “That won't be necessary. Neither will your mentioning you saw me here tonight.” He tipped his hat, then gave the operator a stern look. “Understand?”

The operator nodded. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Typically folks felt cooperative once they got a look at Adam's old badge. Adam didn't like using it that way, but right now he couldn't afford to waste time. His badge was expedient.

“You're a credit to your community, son,” he told the telegraph operator. Then he gave a nod and headed back into the night, ready to read Mariana's messages and formulate a plan.

 

Standing in the Finneys' small yard, Savannah inhaled deeply of the blooming creosote that flourished in Morrow Creek. Its tangy scent went a long way toward clearing her head.

With her heart still pounding, she glanced back at the house. The party continued in full frolic, with laughter and conversation and music spilling into the outdoors. Idly Savannah hoped that all the neighbors had been invited as well. Otherwise, they were liable to be quite annoyed at hearing so much fuss over a simple married couple come newly to town.

Here in the secluded corner she'd found, though, things were more quiet—and that was exactly what she needed to recover her equilibrium. Being accepted by everyone in local society meant a great deal to her. She could scarcely believe it had finally happened. The thought that Mrs. Finney might have wrecked it all, just as Savannah had begun to relish it,
had simply been too much for her overwrought nerves to stand, she supposed.

Feeling better now, Savannah savored another deep breath. She fussed with her dress, then recalled the rascally way Adam had winked at her from across the party. Her heart warmed at the memory. He really was everything she'd ever dreamed of in a man.

Footsteps approached. In the shadows cast where the house's lights couldn't reach the yard, two male figures loomed. Savannah didn't recognize them—but then again, most of Morrow Creek had been invited to the party tonight. Almost everyone in attendance was new to her.

“Miss Reed?” one of the men asked.

“Yes?” she replied, quite automatically. “I am Miss Reed.” Then she remembered and gave a small laugh. “I mean, I am Mrs. Corwin, these days, but—” She broke off, gazing curiously at the two men as they came nearer. “Do I know you? Have we met?”

“Not officially, ma'am.” The man who'd already addressed her held his hat in his jittery hands. “We haven't met, but—”

“Aw, shut up, Linus. We can't take all night!” the other man complained. He strode to Savannah and examined her. He frowned. “You don't
look
like no ‘Seductive Sensation' to me.”

“Don't be mean, Curtis! That ain't right.”

Confused and suddenly afraid, Savannah glanced at the first man—the one who had, however awkwardly, defended her. “I'm afraid you both have the wrong person. Please excuse me.”

Blindly she headed for the house. She could not think about who these men were—could not fathom how they knew of her onstage persona as The Seductive Sensation.
All she knew was that she had to get away. She had to get away and get to Adam.

Behind her, the ruder of the two men swore. There was a minor scuffle. Something hard smacked Savannah in the skull.

With a surprised cry, she stumbled. The ground rushed up to meet her. She was falling.
Just like Adam
, she thought disjointedly…then she struck hard-packed earth, and everything around her went black.

 

“I'm telling you, sheriff,” Adam said, “you're going to want a posse. If the Bedell brothers are here in Morrow Creek, they're up to no good. I can't stop them alone.”

“Seems to me
you
can't stop them at all.” Sheriff Caffey looked up from his desk. The lawman had remained comfortably ensconced with his feet up ever since his deputy had admitted Adam into the place. He folded his hands over his belly. “Not if you've been here all this time and haven't caught up with them.”

“I told you, I was injured.” He'd explained the details when he'd first come into the sheriff's office, hoping for help.

He didn't have much longer before Savannah realized he had left the party, Adam knew. When he'd slipped away, the men had been in the midst of decamping to Doc Finney's billiards room for cigars, and Savannah had been securely chatting with the women. But as the night wore on, Adam could not be assured of her safety. Even now, he worried she would set off for Mose on her own or wander imprudently outside while looking for him.

The sheriff gave him a sweeping gaze. “You look all right to me. These Bedell fellas must not be as tough as you think.”

“They're worse,” Adam said. “You must have heard
of them. They're wanted killers, Roy Bedell and Edward Bedell alike. I've tracked them across three states and two territories so far.”

“Hmm. Is that right?” Unconcernedly Sheriff Caffey blinked up at him. He shared an amused glance with his deputy. “You carryin' any proof of these claims you're makin',
Detective?
”

Filled with frustration, Adam set his jaw. The lawman's derisive tone sounded all too familiar to him. Some peace-keepers cooperated happily with the Pinkertons and other agencies. Others felt threatened by their “competition” and got surly. Evidently Morrow Creek's sheriff belonged to the latter group.

Adam frowned. “My proof was stolen along with my horse.”

“You got a stolen horse?” The sheriff perked up. “That's serious business. I might be able to help you out with that.”

Fighting for patience, Adam considered the messages in his pocket. He hadn't been pleased to read either of them. First Mariana had left word that the Bedell boys had moved on to old Mexico, with her in hot pursuit of them. The second message had been more brief:
Bedells gave me the slip. Meet you in San Fran
.

At the bottom was scrawled:
Sleep tight. M.

The moment he'd glimpsed his partner's sloppy handwritten addition to the bottom of the paper, Adam had felt his tight chest ease. Most likely, that extra personal scribble—an aberration for his usually taciturn partner—was Mariana's way of letting him know she was safe and sound. She probably didn't want him to “fret over her,” the way she so often accused him of doing. As for the rest of the message, Adam was gratified to know that although Mariana had
lost the Bedells' trail someplace en route to Mexico, she'd headed for the closest agency office.

Adam had already reckoned that the Bedells could not be in Mexico—since he'd seen Curtis Bedell here in the Territory again with his own two eyes—but he was relieved to know that Mariana had made it out safely before the Bedell brothers had found her—foolhardily alone—on their trail. He hoped she'd already been assigned to a new partner or a new case…or both. But that didn't mean that Adam intended to give up. Not when he knew the Bedells were close by and in reach. They had to be.

“I don't want my horse back,” he said. “I want a posse. Or at least whatever men you can spare me. We've got to bring in those Bedell boys.” Frowning, knowing he had to get back to the Finneys' party before Savannah missed him, Adam withdrew Mariana's messages from his pocket. Seeing no other avenue, he handed them to the sheriff. “Maybe these will convince you.”

Dubiously Caffey took a look. “These messages say this gang of yours already headed off to Mexico and got away.”

Adam shook his head. “They're in town. I saw one of them.”

“Maybe you just thought you did.” The sheriff glanced at the messages again, then passed them to his deputy. “I know what it's like not to want to give up on a chase, Mr. Corwin. Believe me, I do. I hate to see a bad man escape. But the problem here—”

“I saw Curtis Bedell.”
Adam clenched his hands, saw the sheriff's gaze dip to his fists, then sighed. He had to rein in his temper. He turned his gaze loose on the office in an attempt to do so, taking in the empty, iron-barred holding cell, the dirt-smudged floor and darkened window, the wall papered with tattered wanted posters, and the deputy's desk
with its untidy scattering of bullet boxes, gloves, books and old newspapers.

Ruthless Reeds Strike Again In New York City!
one headline screamed.

Glancing idly at it, Adam realized that he remembered that case. He hadn't thought about it in a long time, but now he recalled the frenzy in the tabloid papers, the resulting gossip and scandal as the particulars of the audacious thieving had spread, and the unwholesome interest people had shown over the case—a few of his fellow detectives included.

To be fair though, it
had
been a scandalous crime. The Reeds, two married stage performers, had stolen thousands from New York City theater owners—gullible men who'd fallen for the duplicitous wife's charms, then found themselves the subject of extortion demands from her husband. It required a particular brand of cheek, Adam reflected wryly, to commit such daring crimes. Even the youngest Reed, a golden-haired stage performer of some renown, had been linked to her parents' schemes. For all anyone knew, deceitfulness ran in the family.

In that instance, too, Adam remembered as he scowled anew, the police had assumed control of the incipient case. Then they'd spilled details of the crimes to the city's newspapers, probably earning a handy profit for themselves in the process.

The deputy glanced up, Mariana's messages still held in his grasp. “When did you say you were attacked, Mr. Corwin?”

Adam told him. “But if you can't help me, I'll have to do what I can on my own.” He put his hand forward to have Mariana's messages returned to him. “I'll be back later.”

With the Bedell brothers in custody,
he vowed.
And with Savannah safe at last.

At the thought of her, something nudged at the back of his mind. Adam glanced at the newspaper again, then gave a mental shrug. He was tired and troubled and harassed. He wasn't thinking straight. After so many days of worrying about Mariana…

“Hold on just a minute.” The deputy waved the first message. “The reason I'm asking is because this here note is dated the day before that. It's dated
before
you were hurt.”

“That can't be.” Adam strode to the deputy. He looked.

Sure enough, the conscientious telegraph clerk had noted the date and time at the top of the transmittal form—the form that would have been discarded, had the message been relayed as usual. Had Mariana known something would happen? Was this some sort of signal?

Concerned and baffled, Adam stared at the messages.

Then he had a revelation. Hurriedly Adam snatched both papers. He put on his hat. “I know where the Bedells are,” he said. “And they'll never see me coming.”