The Bartered Bride (The Brides Book 3) (33 page)

FORTY-FOUR

O
n the day of the escape—as they’d come to call it—Annie woke well before dawn. Jem had gotten up even earlier, evidently. His side of the bed was empty. His pillow still bore the impression of his head.

Annie leapt up and quickly lit the lamp on her bedside table. Last night, she’d laid out her traveling suit. Everything else she needed was ready, within easy reach. She’d just finished dressing when she heard the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. She froze in place, then blinked as a dark-haired stranger strode in.

“Don’t you look pretty?” Jem’s voice said.  He came to a halt a few paces away from her and gave her an appreciative glance that made her cheeks grow warm.

He was dressed as she’d never seen him. Her first impression was that of a professional businessman off for the city in a dove gray tailored suit, pressed white shirt, black silk tie, and polished black leather shoes.

His hair, as midnight black as ever, neatly trimmed to the top of his collar.

Cleanly shaved, bespectacled, with a dashing black bowler hat dangling from one finger.

He dropped a shiny black physician’s bag to the floor. The brown leather handles fell to one side.

He was a complete picture.

The doctor.

He pushed up the bridge of his glasses.

“I don’t really need these,” he said, by way of explanation. “And I’ve got another bag just like this one for the money, whatever we might need. I don’t know how long we’ll need to be gone.”

Annie’s shock faded quickly. Part of her had known it was him almost immediately, as if she’d seen him this way once, long ago. Now that her eyes had adjusted better, he wasn’t a stranger at all. But he wasn’t quite Jem either.

“So, what do you think? Will Creed recognize me?”

She shook her head once and stepped closer, not wanting to sign anything.

His face. How had she not known this was what he looked like?

So handsome.

Only...she didn’t much care for the way the gray-tinted lenses hid his eyes. He’d said he didn’t need the glasses. They were meant as a disguise, so Creed wouldn’t recognize him. And there was no chance Creed would recognize this man as Jem. None. She hoped. His transformation was more than simply a pair of glasses, after all.

“What are you do—” Jem began, as she lifted the springy gold stems that looped over his ears and removed them, “—ing?”

There. There were his eyes, as smoky blue and amazing as always. The eyes she’d fallen in love with. The eyes that had told her what kind of man she was truly dealing with, especially in those early days.

And his face.

“Annie?” He raised his brows.

She shook her head in wonder. His was such a handsome face. His skin bare, with just a shadow of darkness where his full thick beard had been before. His skin was paler there, inviting the touch. After setting his glasses on the bedside table, she trailed her fingers over the smooth planes of his cheeks. She slowed over the slight roughness of his jaw, a manly texture that stirred up a rather intimate awareness of him. One she hadn’t known she would like.

How different a man was from a woman.

Her fingers glanced over the hint of stubble again.

She wanted to lean her cheek up against his, feel the sensation of roughness there too.

She wanted to touch his face: his chin, his cheekbones, his brows. Everywhere. She wanted to know him, store the feeling of his skin in her mind. In her fingertips, which were now gladly skimming over every little surface that she wanted to touch. When his eyes closed, she skimmed there too, lightly touching the more delicate skin of his eyelids.

He didn’t wince. In fact, it seemed he liked her touch quite a lot, if his expression was anything to go by. Like he was savoring something that tasted good. Like his favorite blackberry pie.

She smiled at the fanciful thought.

He’d also leaned down to grant her access, as if she were a blind woman and not just one who couldn’t speak. She tugged downward on his neck and brought him closer so she could place her cheek against his. For a moment, she could think of nothing else. Who could have guessed how lovely a man’s cheek could be? She kissed him there. Boldly moving her lips across his jaw, tasting his lips, marveling at her own actions. He let out an appreciative sound and eagerly kissed her back, almost an instinctive response.

She liked that.

But she’d probably been too forward.

Annie pulled back reluctantly. She needed to see him again. How had she not known this was Jem? This wasn’t the face of a man who needed to hide behind some beard. This was the face of a man who
knew
he was handsome.

He had to have known.

She’d never sensed any shyness in him, ever. Didn’t sense any shyness in him now.

He knew he looked good to her. He would have known as he came up the stairs. He would’ve been anticipating her reaction.

What had he thought she’d do?

“I like this face,” she said, signing the words in the most practical of ways. She tried to school her own features. It wouldn’t do to appear overly enthusiastic. That would only feed his pride, and she wanted him just like he was. He already knew he was handsome. And her actions had already revealed her opinion. He didn’t need her waving wild hand signals over him. “It’s a good face.”

“It’s just me.” He anchored his hands to her waist. Was it her imagination, or was there the slightest trace of hesitation in him? Perhaps he wasn’t as vain a man as someone who looked like him should’ve been.

“It’s you.” She nodded primly, blushing at how she’d practically devoured him with her curious touch. Blushing at his secure hold. It seemed he didn’t want to let go, though it hampered her movements and made signing a challenge.

“
Jem
.” She added emphasis in the slowness of her gesture. His name. The letter
J
touched to her brow. Her acceptance of him. She knew him. Recognized him.

“So you don’t mind the beard being gone,” he joked, fishing.

“I liked the beard,” she signed, “but I like this too.”

“Better?”

She shrugged.
Maybe yes, maybe no
. As if she didn’t care. Teasing him.

“So you don’t care?” he asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He tugged her closer. In one excruciatingly slow motion, he leaned his cheek against hers.

“You don’t care if I do this?”

She shook her head against his. She was practically trembling. He must have realized that by now,

“Or this?” He kissed her softly.

Her breath caught in her throat. Was he playing with her? He seemed so...accomplished to her now. Worldly. And she was as backwards as they came.

He regarded her, waiting.

She brushed his hands away, blushing even more furiously.

“Annie,” he said, and he was Jem again.

“It’s a beautiful face,” she told him haltingly, her hands moving through the air. “You know that.”

“Beautiful, eh?” He dragged a hand down his smooth jaw as if only now discovering he’d shaved. “You don’t mean...handsome?”

This was
Jem
. Her Jem. Same as always. A man who’d never play with her in any mean-spirited way. The realization calmed Annie. Of course he wouldn’t.

“I said what I meant.” The teasing light filled her again, mixed with a sense of relief.

How this man loved attention. She hadn’t known that about him. Had never seen it in him before. It was somewhat adorable.

“And I meant what I said,” she added.

He straightened and broadened his already broad shoulders. He flattened his lapels and tugged down on the hem of his suit coat. It fit perfectly.

“And the suit?” he asked.

“It’s a beautiful suit.”

“Beautiful?”

She touched one finger to her lips, holding back a smile.
Yes
.

“The shoes too,” she signed.

“You like the shoes?”

“I like everything, Jem.”

He stopped at that and looked searchingly at her. “And me?”

Especially you.

She simply nodded, keeping that thought to herself. It should have been obvious anyway.

He inclined his head. Perhaps he understood all she didn’t want to say. For some reason he patted his coat, about level to where his inside pocket would’ve been. Then it appeared he reconsidered. Whatever it was he’d been considering.

Annie wondered what. What had he wanted to say? What had she missed?

Her curiosity was piqued, but it was too late now. The moment was over.

In a businesslike fashion, Jem bent and picked up the medical bag. He opened it on the foot of the bed. “I have everything here we should need for Gabe. I hope.”

She looked around his arm at the neatly arranged white coils of bandages and rows of tiny jars lined up in what appeared to be a wooden cage of sorts with shelves built in. The rest of the contents were a mystery, just a glimmer of metal here and there that she didn’t recognize. Scissors, clippers, tweezers, and scalpels, perhaps. They were all secured with leather bands so they wouldn’t be jostled about in travel. It was really quite clever.

But none of it would pass for horse supplies by the look of it.

“I thought you weren’t that kind of doctor,” she signed, confused.

He shrugged, “Ray knows a physician in town. He set me up with this”—he paused, glancing at her—“once Ray told him about the injuries.”

“He told a doctor in town about Gabe?” she signed, alarmed. “What if he tells Creed?”

“We never mentioned Gabe by name,” Jem assured her quickly, “but it seems this physician is already familiar with him. He guessed right off. Wanted to help. Said Gabe’s mother has brought him there in secret a number of times. He urged us to get Gabe as far away from Colorado Springs as we could. As quick as we could.”

His meaning hit Annie.

Gabe had needed treatment many times in the past. He’d needed to be treated secretly, so his father—his
father
—wouldn’t know. He’d probably been hurt many other times and hadn’t received proper care. How often had he hidden minor injuries from his mother? Or more serious ones, like now?

He probably would have wanted to spare her.

How alone he must have felt.

Annie bit her lip. Her heart burned with a fierce sadness for Gabe and an equally fierce desire to hurt Creed, his father. How could he?

How could he?

* * *

They arrived at the train depot in Colorado Springs much later than Jem would have liked. He drummed his fingers on the ticket window ledge, impatient for the ticket agent to turn and face him.

The man turned, a half frown already in place. His expression cleared as he ran his eyes over Jem, taking in his fancy wool frock coat, the suit, and the medical bag.

“May I help you, sir?” The clerk actually smiled beneath his smart mustache. He smoothed a hand down the front of his crisp white shirt, deferential-like.

Funny how a suit and a good bowler hat could improve a man’s standing just like that.

Jem straightened to his full height and pushed his useless gold-rimmed spectacles up on the bridge of his nose, hopefully exuding an air of importance. Hoping the gray-tinted lenses didn’t look too strange.

“I need tickets to Denver on the sleeping car—three adults and one child,” he said briskly.

“Sleeping car’s full up. Sorry about that.”

“Full up?” Though it was a cool day, a trickle of sweat ran down Jem’s neck into his collar.

“Folks coming up north on the overnight. So it’s full up,” the clerk repeated apologetically, perhaps because Jem was having a difficult time accepting his words. Perhaps wondering why they needed the sleeping car for a trip that would have them there well before nightfall. “I have seats in first class,” the clerk offered.

For an instant, Jem considered telling the man he had a patient who needed to lie down—but his thoughts spun forward, picturing Creed coming to the train station, asking after a sick young man. Able to describe Gabe exactly: hair, height, eye color, if not his new clothes.