Mail-Order Groom (3 page)

“No, but… I still don't like this.” Mose shook his head, his forehead creased with concern. “We should have gone on to San Francisco. We should have found places with a theater company. We should have started over with something we know.”

“You know why I don't want to do that, Mose.”

He fell silent. Then said, “I know, but there are other ways—”

“You're free to go if you want to.” Gently Savannah squeezed his arm. “I wouldn't like it, but I would understand.”

“No.” Her friend's frown deepened. “Not while
he's
here.”

“I already told you, you don't have to protect me.” At Mose's dubious look, she smiled. “It's all well and good that you told Dr. Finney you'd stay here, and I do appreciate your help. But I'm fully prepared to handle this myself.”

To prove it, Savannah put away her cloth. Then, with careful but businesslike gestures, she set to work making her patient feel more comfortable. She pulled out the heavy quilted flannel she'd put on to protect the mattress, then straightened the bedding. As she did, she couldn't help studying her fiancé.

Not only was he bigger and stronger than she'd expected, but he was also much better looking. His face, topped by a tousled pile of dark hair, was downright handsome. He didn't show much evidence of eating too many tinned beans, either. Maybe he'd wanted to seem humble in his letters? He'd been too poor, he'd said, to afford to send a photograph, the way she had.

Savannah hadn't minded parting with one of her stage photographs—one of the final mementos of her previous life.

“He looks awfully uncomfortable.” Decisively she caught hold of his leg. Using his trousers as a makeshift handle, she moved his leg sideways a few inches. She reached for the other leg, just above his ankle, then moved it, too. “That's better.”

Something clattered to the floor.

“If you're intending on manhandling him like that,” Mose complained, “I'd better make sure to stay here to supervise.”

“Pish posh. I'm nursing him.” Savannah bent to pick up the item that had fallen. Her fingers scraped the station's polished floorboards. An instant later, she straightened with a long, wicked blade in her grasp. Wide-eyed, she glanced
from the knife to Mose. “And I'm
definitely
finding out more about him, too.”

“I think that would be wise,” Mose told her.

 

A search of the man's trousers and their…environs proved unproductive, much to Savannah's disappointment. She suspected that failure owed itself to Mose's lackadaisical search efforts.

“Honestly, Mose. Search harder! He might have a concealed pocket somewhere on him. Who knows what you're missing?”

“He's not a magician,” Mose grumbled. Making a face, he looked up from their still-inert patient, his hands hovering in place. “I'm unlikely to pull a rabbit from his britches.”

“Well, that's probably true,” she agreed with reluctance. Growing up in a family of itinerant performers may have skewed her perceptions of things. Frustrated, Savannah sighed.

Finding that second hidden knife had spooked her, but good. She wanted answers about this man, and she wanted them now.

Impatiently she grabbed her supposed fiancé's shirt from the ladder-back chair Dr. Finney had flung it to. The garment possessed no pockets, secret or otherwise. Next she snatched up his suit coat, wrought of ordinary lightweight wool.

“Eureka.” She felt something clump beneath her searching fingers. Trembling, she pulled out a bundle of letters.
Her letters
. She recognized the handwriting, the postmark…the sappy sentiments she'd imprudently confessed to her fiancé.

Peering over her shoulder, Mose read aloud. “‘My Dearest, Kindest, Most Longed-For Mr.—'”

Flushed, Savannah folded the single letter she'd perused.

“Why, Savannah. That's very…impassioned of you.”

“Hush. I'm a romantic at heart, that's all.”

“So.” Mose arched his brow. “Did you mean any of it?”

Hurt by his question, she gazed up at him. Her fingers tightened on the letters. She brought them to her heart, then raised the bundle to her nose. The papers and ink now smelled of fresh air and leather and damp wool. They smelled of
him
.

“I refuse to pretend for my whole life,” Savannah said. “That's why we're here. To have a life that's
real
.”

“And yet you're starting it with a lie.”

“Finding myself a mail-order groom isn't a lie. We're both here willingly. We're both lonely, and we don't want to be.”

Mose made a gruff, tentative gesture. “You're…lonely?”

His tone of sadness wrenched her. Savannah wanted to save him from it…but she couldn't. She couldn't lie about this. She swallowed past a lump in her throat. Wordlessly she nodded.

“But if all goes well, I won't be lonely for much longer. And neither will he.” In dawning wonder, she and Mose stared at the man in the bed. “It's him, Mose!” She breathed in. “It's really him. My new life is finally beginning.”

A
dam dreamed of baby-faced killers and swinging tree branches and a dark swirling pain that centered on his skull. Hot and restless, he thrashed on the fallen pine needles.

“Shh,” a woman said. “It's all right. You're safe now.”

But he wasn't. “Mariana!” he tried to say. “Mariana!”

His voice emerged in a croak, hurting his throat. The forest moved around him, dark and light, always changing. He needed to find his partner. He needed to find out what Bedell and his brothers had done to her. Soon it would be too late.

Something touched his head. At the contact, Adam flinched. A shameful groan burst from his chest, making the pain worse.

“Just raise your head a little,” the woman urged. “Please.”

Wetness touched his lips. It tasted bitter. Adam screwed up his face. If Bedell wanted to poison him, he'd have to do it without his cooperation. Swearing, he smacked away the liquid.

Something clattered to the ground. It rolled and smashed.

“He's still fitful,” the woman said. “All night he's been—”

He didn't catch whatever else she said. Her voice, low and cautious, wavered in and out of his hearing. Several of her words made no sense. Adam thought he heard his gelding nearby. The horse shook its traces with equine impatience—or maybe with prescient concern. Once he'd been rifle-shot in an ambush, and his horse had carried his limp body all the way to Mariana.

Mariana
. He had to rescue her. He was running out of time.

He tried to call her name again. All that emerged was another groan. Soft hands touched his face, then moved lower.

The hands patted his chest. With effort, Adam opened his eyes. The world wavered, showing him a lopsided view of a blond-haired woman. He knew her. But he didn't. He couldn't remember.

Weakly he grabbed her wrist. “Mariana?” he mumbled.

“Yes, it's me. Savannah.” She slipped from his hold, then set aside his hand with a soothing pat. “Just rest now.”

Adam frowned. She was treating him like a child. Annoyed and still hurting, he clenched his fingers. They encountered soft quilted fabric, a cushy mattress… Where the hell was he?

“You gave me quite a scare,” she said. “But you made it here, and you're going to be fine. That's all that matters.” Savannah.
Savannah
… Drowsily Adam pondered the name.

His eyes drifted shut. Damnation. He forced them open.

Savannah's concerned face swam above him. She smiled
as she tucked a blanket snugly around him. “I'm so happy you're here.”

He
couldn't be happy. There was something wrong with Mariana. Something awful… But he couldn't remember what.

A heartbeat later, Adam crashed into the blackness again.

 

The next time Adam awakened, he opened his eyes on a cozy, dimly lit room. Frowning with concentration, he took stock of his surroundings. They were small and modest, framed by split-log walls and crammed with furnishings. A medicinal tang hung in the air, along with a flowery fragrance he couldn't place.

Beneath him was an unfamiliar bed. Nearby, an old bureau hunkered with a lighted oil lamp atop it. To his left sat an empty ladder-back chair. Rhythmic tapping came from the next room. Adam recognized the sound as a telegraph machine in use.

He was inside the telegraph station. Hazily he remembered confronting Bedell. He remembered going down, remembered hitting the man, remembered his last words:
You do have a weakness.

They made less sense to him now than they had then, but Adam didn't have time to consider the matter further. He had to get to Mariana. He threw off the coverlet, then wrenched upward.

The motion sent searing pain through him. Gasping with it, he clutched his middle. Gingerly he spread his fingers apart.

Two bandages met his unsteady gaze. He blinked at them, then sucked in another breath. Next, he twisted to touch his back. More bandages had been wrapped near his shoulder
blade. Tentatively he patted them. He was hurt. That didn't mean he could stop moving. He had to find Mariana and save her.

Another agonizing movement brought him to his feet. Adam teetered, clenching his jaw. Pain throbbed through his head, making him dizzy. His ribs hurt; so did his shoulder. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him. He grabbed the chair. A few more raspy, painful breaths fortified him enough to go on.

The tapping of the telegraphy equipment ceased. He sent a cautious glance toward the other end of the station, straining to hear. All he sensed was the occasional rustle of papers. A distant chair scraped across the floor; a shadow moved across the wall. He wasn't alone here. Propelled into motion by the realization, Adam sighted the latched door. He surged toward it.

An involuntary moan escaped him. Tightening his jaw, he made himself keep moving. His fingers scrabbled clumsily on the latch. Frustrated, he tried again. The door finally swung free, revealing the darkened woods surrounding the telegraph station.

Adam staggered outside, leaving his shirt and suit coat behind him. Warm nighttime air swirled over his exposed skin. Sweating and breathing heavily, he lurched across the station's yard, looking for his horse. He hardly felt the stones and grass beneath his bare feet. All that mattered was finding Mariana.

“Whoa there, stranger!” someone called. “Hold up.”

At the sound of that deep male voice, Adam whipped his hand to his belt. His
empty
belt. His usual firepower wasn't there.

Hell. In his muzzy-headed haste to leave, he'd forgotten to arm himself, he realized. Too late. Instinctively Adam
flexed his knee, but his backup knife was gone, too. He was forced to stand on weakened legs, defenseless and light-headed, as a big, dark-skinned man tromped toward him with a handheld lantern.

“Let me help you.” The man put his free arm around Adam's shoulders. He looked older than he'd first appeared, but genial—and clearly determined. “I guess you're looking for the privy.”

Warily Adam nodded. Deprived of his weapons, there wasn't much else he could do. Besides, he recognized Mose Hawthorne. He doubted the station's part-time helper posed a threat to him.

Together they crossed the yard, moving slowly toward the outhouse. Adam scanned the tree line as they went. If Bedell or his brothers were still out there, he needed to be aware of it.

He cleared his throat. “I'm looking for a woman. She ought to be around here someplace. Have you seen her? She's—”

“Right in there, friend.” Mose nodded toward the station, interrupting before Adam could describe Mariana. He opened the outhouse door. “Savannah's been waiting on you awhile now. You have no idea what kind of hopes that woman's got pinned on you.”

Having read her letters to Bedell, Adam had a fairly thorough notion of what the confidence man's mark might expect of her new beau. But that wasn't what concerned him now.

“I meant another woman. Dark hair, about this high—” Adam held his hand to chest height “—foul mouth, dirty skirts most likely, probably packing a pistol or two? She might be hurt.”

“That don't sound like any woman I ever heard of.” Mose frowned. “You hurt your head, though. I'm guessing
you're still a little confused.” He gestured. “You need help in there?”

Adam gave the outhouse a dismissive glance. “No. If you haven't seen her, then I'll have to go looking.” He wavered on his unsteady legs. Mose held him up. “Did you find my horse?”

“Your horse?” This time, the station's helper cast him an even more fretful look. “You didn't have a horse. I found your rucksack over there in the bushes, but that's all. If you had yourself a horse back in Baltimore, it'll be no help to you here in the Territory. Although Savannah will be relieved to know you had that much scratch. Between you and me, I think she thought you were near destitute. She's just softhearted enough not to care.” Mose nodded at the outhouse. “Go on and do your business now. I'll wait here and help you back inside when you're done.”

At the man's expectant look, Adam swore. He was too dazed to follow everything Mose had said, especially all that prattle about Baltimore and Savannah Reed's softhearted-ness. He didn't like knowing that Bedell's mark was even more gullible than he'd thought…and so, by all accounts, was her only helper and friend. But further talking was a delay Adam couldn't afford.

His work for the agency was important; Mariana's safety was paramount. His partner mattered more to him than any mission.

He eyed Mose, wondering how to dodge the big man. If the station's helper couldn't give him answers about Mariana, he'd have to leave him behind. An upright man like Mose would expect a reason for his leaving—especially while injured. But Adam didn't have time to explain. He couldn't tell the station's helper why he'd been trailing Bedell—or why he'd been lingering outside the station. That would only lead to more questions—questions he didn't
have answers for yet. He couldn't tell Mose or Savannah the truth. Not if he wanted to nab Bedell.

He did. He wanted to nab Bedell like he wanted to breathe. That meant Adam couldn't let Mose delay him any longer. He didn't know how much time had passed. Mariana needed him.

Trying to reason out what to do, Adam hesitated. His mind still felt foggy. His head throbbed. His ribs ached. His back burned with a ragged pain that experience told him was a fresh gunshot wound. Even now, a telltale wetness trickled down his shoulder blade, warning him he was bleeding.

A short ways away, the station's door banged open. Savannah Reed ran into the moonlight, a slight figure in a fancy dress.

“Mose! He's gone!” she yelled. “He's not in bed anymore.”

Providentially Savannah's arrival made the decision for Adam. The station's helper turned to look at her. Seizing his best and only opportunity to get a jump on the man, Adam shoved the outhouse door at Mose. Then he took off at a hobbling run.

Dizzily he surveyed the dark hillside, trying to get his bearings. If he remembered correctly, he'd pegged his horse a half mile away. Doubtless his gelding was still waiting there for him, unnoticed by Mose in the aftermath of the shooting.

“Mose!” Savannah cried out behind him. “Look! Stop him!”

Adam heard a grunt. He glanced back. Mose stood beside the outhouse, shaking his head as though to clear it. Savannah reached him, then pointed at Adam. “Hurry up! He's injured!”

With grim resolve, Adam forced himself into the cover
of the pine boughs and scrub oak. A few seconds later, the sounds of the station helper's pursuit faded. So did Savannah's voice.

He missed it, Adam realized. Stupidly and sappily, he missed Savannah Reed's voice and her gentle touch, too. He'd scarcely gotten to know either, and yet he wanted both. Dragging in another painful breath, he put the realization behind him, then went to track down his partner—whatever it took to do it.

 

Struggling through the underbrush in her high-button shoes and bustle-laden calico dress, Savannah burst into a clearing at last. Mose crouched a few feet away, his back to her. He'd gotten ahead of her as they'd chased their runaway patient, but now she'd finally caught up. Breathing heavily, she stopped.

Then she realized that Mose was hunkered down in front of a fallen-down, bare-chested, dark-haired man. His prone body was just recognizable in the lantern light.
They'd found him.

With a cry, she rushed forward. “Is he all right?”

“I guess so. Looks like he plumb keeled over.” Mose glanced up at her, his face unusually pensive. In the darkened forest all around them, small creatures skittered at the edge of the circle. “He's breathing. But he's bleeding again, pretty hard.”

Concerned, Savannah dropped to her knees atop the fallen pine needles. She reached out to touch her mail-order groom's heaving chest. “I'll bet he's fevered.” She gazed at his face. Even in sleep, his features appeared hard edged. “For a man who looks so formidable, he sure does behave foolishly. His head injury must be worse than Dr. Finney thought.” Worriedly she glanced at Mose. “Whatever would make him run like that, Mose?”

Her friend stared at the man, at first appearing not to have heard. Lost in thought, Mose frowned. Just when Savannah was on the verge of repeating her question, Mose shrugged.

“I reckon some men get antsy at the prospect of marriage.”

She gave him a chastening look. “That's not funny. He
wants
to marry me, remember? He came out west specifically for me.”

“Are you sure you still want him? He's a peculiar one.”

“You're only saying that because he got the better of you with that outhouse door. That
must
have been an accident.”

“This goose egg on my head doesn't feel like an accident.”

“I'll fix up a poultice for you when we get back.” Savannah stood, gesturing at her fallen groom. “Come on, let's get him back to the station and safely to bed. It's been a long night.”

When Mose didn't move, she glanced at him. Her longtime friend glowered at her, his arms crossed. There was definitely something he wasn't telling her. “I say we leave him,” he said.

“
Leave him?
Of course we're not leaving him.” Savannah trod around the man, trying to figure out if she could possibly drag him back to the station herself. She doubted it. He was as big as Mose and even more muscular. “If you're planning on carrying a grudge just because he hit you with that door—accidentally, if I might remind you—then you'd better just stop it. He's injured! He's confused and fevered and not himself. And he's a city man, too—a telegraph clerk. I doubt he's clever enough to get the jump on a hard-as-nails, worldly stagehand like yourself. You've been around all the most dangerous people and survived.”