Mail-Order Groom (4 page)

Of course, so had she. But that was all behind her now. And if she was overstating Mose's toughness in order to spare his feelings… Well, at least it was for kindness's sake.

“I reckon…” Mose pursed his mouth. “That's likely true.”

“See? Have pity on the poor man. He's liable to be in way over his head with Western life. Now he's got a passel of healing to do, to boot. We'll have to be very patient with him.”

“I guess.” Grudgingly but carefully, Mose lifted the man.

As her friend slung her wounded groom over his shoulder, a pitiful groan came from their patient. Heartsick at the pain-filled sound, Savannah rushed to his side. She stroked his hand.

As though he sensed her touch, his eyelids fluttered. But he didn't awaken. That worried Savannah all the more. “
Please
let us help you,” she whispered to him as they moved toward the station. “Please. And don't you run away again, either. You are my best chance at starting over—that means I'm counting on you. You can't let me down. You just
can't
. Not now.” She inhaled deeply, then ladled as much fierceness as she could into her tone. “Not when I'm so close. You hear?”

He moaned but didn't speak. Savannah didn't say any more. All during the jostling trek back to the station, she watched her mail-order groom…and she thought about him, too. She might be eager, but she wasn't naive. The undeniable truth was, her injured groom's flight into the woods—like his guns and his knives—had unsettled her. Something didn't feel right here.

She might be counting on her mail-order groom but she didn't plan on trusting him. Not yet. They had a long way
to go before that happened—if it happened at all. Suddenly Savannah had as many doubts as she did questions, and she needed answers.

V
ivid sunshine pushed open Adam's eyes at a time he judged long past sunrise. Disoriented and aching, he tried to sit up.

Raw throbbing pain cut short his motions. Gasping, he sank back again. He was in a bed. In a room. In the tiny Morrow Creek adjunct telegraph station, far from his partner and his mission.

Mariana
. Last night, he'd tried to find her. He'd trudged through the wooded hillside in the dark, bleeding and hurting. After what had felt like hours, he'd found his earlier trail.

He'd located the iron post he'd used to stake out his horse. But his progress had ended there. The rope attached to the post had been hacked off, its frayed ends still in place. His horse had been gone. Stolen, if he didn't miss his mark.

Bedell and his boys had been thorough. With no horse, no sense of where the confidence man had gone or how long ago he'd left—and with a gunshot wound and other injuries
to slow him down—Adam had little hope of tracking them. At least for a while.

What's more, he still had a job to do here at the station. Bedell's mark still needed him.
Savannah Reed still needed him
. If that sharper were still loitering around, waiting to make his move on an innocent woman, Adam had to be there to stop him.

Bedell didn't yet have the windfall he'd planned to steal from Savannah, Adam reminded himself. If he waited at the station, he figured Bedell would return. Doubtless, he'd do it sooner rather than later, too. Roy Bedell and his brothers had never shown any signs of being less than greedy and impatient.

And Savannah Reed had never shown any signs of being less than trusting and gullible.
You are my best chance at starting over,
he remembered her telling him last night.
That means I'm counting on you. You can't let me down. You just can't
.

Her words had been truer than she'd known. She
was
counting on him. She had to. And he, in turn, had to protect her.

Last night, all Adam had been able to think about was helping Mariana. But in the clear light of day, with a lucid mind and the force of all his hard-won experience to guide him, he thought about Savannah, too. There were so many things she didn't know about the mail-order groom she'd been waiting for.

Roy Bedell had lied to her from the start. He was a thief and a coldhearted killer. Adam had hoped to nab the knuck before it became necessary to make such revelations to Bedell's latest target. Now that plan seemed nigh impossible. But, he wondered unhappily, how did a man begin to tell a woman that she'd made arrangements to share her life with a ruthless sharper?

Adam didn't know. He'd figure out something later. Because as things stood now, he didn't have much choice. He was hurt and weak, gunshot and dizzy. Bedell and his boys were out of reach. Mariana was missing. For now, all he could do was trust that his partner had done the right thing and stayed far away, like he'd told her to do. If he were lucky, Mariana had already ridden on to Morrow Creek to wire the agency for new instructions.

And maybe for a new partner, too.

Grudgingly Adam felt heartened by the thought. Mariana was experienced. She was strong and smart and resourceful. She might not even need him to ride to her rescue, like he'd planned.

Why, Mr. Corwin! Are you still trying to protect me?

Remembering Mariana's brash, flippant words, Adam felt his heart give a sentimental squeeze. He devoutly hoped she was safe. If she wasn't, he didn't know how he'd forgive himself.

At least here at the station, though, he might still be helpful to someone else. He might still be able to warn Savannah about Bedell—to prepare her for a possible confrontation with the confidence man she'd unwittingly lured west with all her sweetly worded letters…and that pretty picture of hers, too.

Adam had spent far too much time gazing at the picture he'd pilfered. But he couldn't regret that. Not after everything that had happened. Looking at Savannah's picture had been the best part of this mission so far, he reckoned. Not that he intended to reveal as much in his mandatory report to the agency.

Reminded of that report, Adam grew newly alert.
Where was his agency journal?
He usually kept it in his saddlebags, but…

But they were lost, he remembered, along with his horse.

His journal was gone right along with them, then. So was all the proof he'd gathered over the past year of Roy Bedell's criminal nature. The official wanted poster. The newspaper clippings. The tattered correspondence from the family of the woman Bedell had murdered in Kansas City. They'd been the ones to contact the agency. They'd been the ones who'd specially requested Adam, counting on his past as a former U.S. Marshall to bring in the confidence man when others had lost his trail.

Looking into their grieving faces, Adam had sworn to bring their daughter's killer to justice. He refused to fail them now.

Maybe he could convince Savannah to let him stay at the station awhile—to lay a trap for Bedell. With her cooperation, Adam could double his chances of catching the man, and he could protect her at the same time. It was the only way to proceed.

With that decided, Adam tried moving again. Helpless against the pain in his shoulder, head and ribs, he groaned.

Instantly Savannah Reed rushed into the room. Her rustling skirts warned him of her arrival—but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her. In the light streaming from the room's single curtained window, she appeared downright angelic. Her face was scrubbed clean, her golden hair was wound high, and her eyes were the same shade of guileless blue as the sky outside.

“You're awake! Glory be. Now don't strain yourself.”

She hurried to his side. She fluttered her hands in a moment's indecision, then placed them on his arms to help him get upright. Next, she leaned to arrange the pillows behind him. The flowery smell of her skin caught Adam
unawares. So did the hasty glimpse he caught of her bosom. He cursed himself for noticing it, even dazedly. Sternly he jerked his gaze upward.

That didn't help. Her face was alight with warmth, her cheeks pink and her features filled with a caring he'd scarcely seen—much less been the recipient of. He'd been a foundling child, shunted from one distant relation to another. Growing up, Adam had convinced himself he didn't
need
to be cared for. He didn't need anything. He'd always been tough, and proud of it.

But now, upon seeing Savannah gazing at him with such evident care and concern, Adam felt plumb walloped with how much he liked being looked at that way. Especially by her.

His heart opened a fraction. Sappily he smiled.

“Oh, good. You must be feeling better.” Savannah beamed. “Now hold still while I give you more of Doc Finney's tincture.”

Obligingly Adam opened his mouth for a spoonful of the medicine she offered. Too late, he realized he was never this trusting. But by then he'd already swallowed the foul stuff.

“That's perfect.” Savannah smoothed the quilts over him. Her hands patted innocently over his chest and legs. Her face showed no signs that she realized what effect her actions might have on a man—even an injured one. “There. Is that better?”

Bedeviled by yearning, Adam pointed at his knee. “I think you missed a spot,” he said in a raspy voice. “Right there.”

To his mingled pleasure and chagrin, Savannah patted his knee. Her gentle touch put all manner of unchivalrous thoughts in his head. Artlessly and agreeably, she tucked in the quilts all around him. Adam fought a powerful urge to
kick them loose again, just to experience the tender way she had of touching him. He felt cosseted, cared for…downright beloved.

But that was nonsensical, he told himself with a scowl. Savannah Reed didn't love him. She didn't even know him. As soon as he revealed everything about Roy Bedell, he doubted she would look at him with the same openhearted charm and forthrightness she was displaying right now. He resented having to disappoint her, especially while she seemed so out-and-out contented.

“You're a fine nursemaid,” he told her, delaying that inevitable moment. “Thank you. I'm most obliged.”

“It's the least I could do. Particularly after you traveled all this way just to be with me.” With sudden shyness, Savannah lowered her gaze. “I'm so sorry about what…happened to you. I promise, we don't usually find such ruffians around these parts. You'll be absolutely safe here with me. I'll make sure of it.”

It was preposterous—but kind—of her to suggest she could protect him. Adam didn't understand why she thought he'd come to the Territory to be with her, though. Unless she'd found his saddlebags and his journals? Unless she knew about his work for the agency? He glanced sideways. All he saw was his rucksack, full of essentials like his shaving razor and soap and extra clothes.

After you traveled all this way just to be with me
.

A few seconds too late, the truth struck him. Savannah Reed, Adam realized, thought
he
was her mail-order groom!

 

He should have guessed as much. After all,
he
had arrived at the station just when she'd been expecting Bedell.
He
had possessed her letters and her picture amongst his things.
He
had told Mose he was looking for a woman last night.
Although Mose hadn't realized he'd been asking about Mariana, the station's helper had undoubtedly told Savannah about their conversation.

You have no idea what kind of hopes that woman's got pinned on you,
Mose had said. Regrettably Adam did. Before too much longer, those hopes and dreams of hers were going to be crushed.

“Oh dear! I'm forgetting myself, aren't I?” Blushing prettily, Savannah interrupted his musings. She straightened into a formal posture, then…curtsied? Holding herself stiffly in that pose, she inclined her head. “This is a very great pleasure for me. I'm indelibly charmed to meet you, Mr. Corwin.”

She sounded as though she were arriving at a highfalutin ball—one presided over by kings and queens. Her stilted manner was so at odds with her casual way of touching him that Adam almost laughed. Instead he gazed at Savannah's downcast lashes, proud nose and full lips…and something inside him gave way.

If she wanted to appear sophisticated and proper to him, he would not prevent her from it. Except in this one instance.

“Please,” he said gruffly. “Call me Adam.”

“Informal address already? After only one meeting? I sincerely doubt that would be—” She broke off. She gave him a tentative peek, then closed her mouth. Her chest expanded on a giddy breath. She gazed downward again. “Very well…Adam.”

The breathy way she said his name made tingles race up his spine. Against all reason, he wanted to hear it again.

“Adam,” she said experimentally, not knowing how handily she obliged him. Along with her tone, Savannah's posture eased. Relaxed now, she nodded. “Yes, I think
Adam
will be fine.”

But all at once,
Adam
wasn't fine. Frowning with an unwanted sense of revelation, he remembered the other odious strategy Bedell had used when setting up his latest mark. When corresponding with Savannah, Bedell had used Adam's name.

It was an audacious tactic—and a taunting one, too. After all the months Adam had spent tracking Bedell, the confidence man had gotten cocky. He'd deliberately used Adam's name in his newest double-cross scheme, and that detail had truly rankled.

It had bothered him so much, Adam guessed, that he'd shoved it clean out of his mind. Mariana had given him no end of grief about Bedell's ploy, though. Every time she'd copied down one of Savannah's letters, she'd teased Adam about “his” woman, reading aloud Savannah's usual greeting in mocking, overgirlish tones.

My Dearest, Kindest, Most Longed-For Mr. Corwin….

Foolishly Adam had set aside that detail. Bedell's theft of his good name had galled him, but since he'd never expected to meet Savannah in person, he hadn't counted on its potential consequences. Now those consequences batted their eyelashes at him, creating an unexpected thrill in the pit of his belly.

Damnation. This was troublesome. His initial fascination with Savannah, kindled by her letters and her picture, was fast becoming something more. Adam didn't understand it. In all his days, he'd met saloon girls, pert prairie homesteaders, dance-hall ladies, society belles, soiled doves and down-home women who could make a man propose with a single, cinnamony forkful of their prizewinning apple pies. None of those women, however appealing, had ignited his curiosity the way Savannah Reed did.

He already knew a handful of her hopes and dreams. Now he wanted to know
her
. He wanted to call her Savannah;
wanted to have a right to do so. He wanted to make her smile at him again.

Telling her about Bedell wouldn't accomplish any of those things. But now that Adam had met Savannah, the thought of Bedell hurting her—stealing from her—troubled him all the more. He couldn't let that happen. But suddenly, he felt too woozy to reason out how he could stop Bedell from getting to her.

Doubtless that was because of the tincture she'd given him. Cursing the medicine's sedating effects, Adam nonetheless knew he needed it. His shoulder blade throbbed, his ribs ached and his head… Wincing at a fresh wave of pain, he raised his hand.

“Oh!” Savannah grew instantly alert. “Does it still hurt?”

Hazily Adam noted that her formality had dropped away. Apparently she wore her fancy comportment the way Bedell did his various—and fraudulent—accents and mannerisms…and names. Savannah's curtsies and timidity and cordiality seemed to sit outside her, somehow. They weren't nearly as much a part of her as were her golden hair and capable hands and intelligent gaze.