Mail-Order Groom (8 page)

Jolted by that shrill sound, Adam and Savannah jerked apart. An unfamiliar woman wearing a starched dress stood there, staring down at them both with an air of distinct disapproval.

“
I
am Mrs. Finney. My husband led me to believe you might require some assistance with your wounded traveler, here at the station.” Her gimlet gaze traveled from Adam's unclothed, bandaged chest to Savannah's face. “But
all
you
seem to require, miss, is a dose of commonsense morals!”

“No! Mrs. Finney, you don't understand. I have plenty of commonsense morals! I've worked very hard on acquiring them.” Wearing a look of panic-stricken apology, Savannah bolted to her feet. She gestured wildly, her eyes wide. “I'm so sorry. What you just saw was merely a—a—”

She faltered, glancing at Adam for support.

He opened his mouth to help, but Mrs. Finney cut him short. “I know
exactly
what I just saw.” The doctor's wife lifted her chin. Her aged neck appeared strangled by her stiff, lacy dress collar. “And it is nothing with which I wish to be associated! You should be ashamed, young lady.
Ashamed.
” She aimed a censorious sniff in Adam's direction, but didn't seem to expect the same high morals from him. She gathered her ramrod posture. “And
I
should be leaving. Good day to you both!”

Before Savannah or Adam could speak, the woman marched out of the station, headed in the direction of Morrow Creek—and traveling at twice the speed, Adam reckoned, that she needed to go in order to reach the place in time for a gossipy teatime.

W
ith her heart in her throat, Savannah picked up her skirts. She raced outside in pursuit of Mrs. Finney.

There was no time to lose. The woman's steely-eyed gaze had left little doubt of her opinion of Savannah's behavior. By noontime, every gossip in Morrow Creek would know that the local adjunct telegraph-station operator had been caught canoodling with a stranger—a stranger who was only half dressed! By sundown, Savannah expected, the sheriff would come calling with an all-too-familiar request for her to pack up and move on.

This is a good town. We don't need your kind around here.

That was what the Ledgerville sheriff had said, after word had spread about her scandalous past. Standing beneath his contemptuous gaze, Savannah had felt like the worst sort of person imaginable. None of her efforts to change had mattered at all. In the end, all that had mattered was her name.

Her unfairly sullied, notoriously recognizable name.

Blast
whoever had attacked poor Adam! Not only had they hurt him, but they'd delivered a cruel setback to her plans, too. If not for Adam's attacker, she and her fiancé would have already been wed—and Mrs. Finney would not have barged in on what must have appeared to be an utterly disreputable dalliance.

As a point in fact, Savannah realized dazedly, it
had
been a disreputable dalliance. But it had felt…
wonderful
.

Shoving aside the memory of Adam's kiss for now, Savannah kept moving. Partway across the yard, she glimpsed Mrs. Finney. To her relief, the doctor's wife hadn't yet left for town. She stood beside an elaborate rig with a single spirited horse at its head, staring at Mose—who held the traces—with a mulish expression. What could they possibly be discussing?

Savannah couldn't wait to find out. She charged in that direction, but Mose spotted her—and held up his hand in a clear sign to keep her distance. Perplexed, Savannah hesitated.

As she did, Adam arrived at her side. He'd pulled on a shirt. He buttoned it—crookedly—with impatient movements.

“This is my fault.” He nodded at Mrs. Finney, his jaw tight. “I'll talk to her. I know how to smooth things over.”

“No. Wait.” Savannah held him with a hand on his muscular, shirtsleeve-covered forearm. “Mose is handling it.”

“Your hired man? What could he do about it?”

“I don't know. But he signaled me to keep my distance, and that's what I'm going to do. I trust him.”

Adam squinted at her friend. Then at Mrs. Finney. “Are you sure? If Mose somehow makes things worse for you—”

“He won't.” Savannah bit her lip, waiting for that distant
conversation to come to its conclusion. “I can count on him.”

A few minutes later, her faith in Mose was rewarded. Her friend nodded at Mrs. Finney, then the two parted. The doctor's wife cast a speculative glance at Savannah and Adam. Behind the woman, Mose pantomimed a stage direction—a signal to take a bow.

Instantly understanding what he meant, Savannah grabbed Adam's hand. He tried to pull away—undoubtedly thinking that any physical intimacy would worsen their predicament—but Savannah held firm. She plastered a big smile on her face, then nudged Adam with her shoulder. “Just smile and wave,” she told him in a taut undertone. “Everything is going to be fine now.”

At her suggestion, Adam's tall body fairly vibrated with resistance. She felt a tremor pass between them. She didn't dare look at him for fear of ruining her—
their
—performance. All she could do now was pray he would trust her enough to go along.

He did. He laced his fingers in hers, then raised his arm in a salute to Mrs. Finney. At his friendly gesture, that gray-haired lady visibly eased her posture. She smiled, then waved to them. With Mose at hand to help her, she alighted her fancy carriage. Then she took up the reins and clucked to her horse.

The rig's wheels creaked. To Savannah's relief, Mrs. Finney headed away from the station, traveling at a cautious pace down the bumpy, mountainous road. The moment the doctor's wife passed out of sight, Mose crossed the station yard with hasty steps.

“You can thank me later,” he said. “Right now, you two better get going. I'll keep watch over things around here.”

Savannah nodded. “Thank you, Mose.” She squeezed him close in a hug. Her grateful gaze met his. “I've decided
Avalanche would be best for the ceremony. That means we're going to need the horse and wagon. Will you be all right without them?”

“I'll make do.” He frowned. “Go on now. No time to waste.”

She picked up her skirts again, preparing to go inside and pack a few things. She'd need a picnic lunch for the journey, her best dress, the licensing paperwork she'd arranged for—

“Get going where?” Adam turned to Mose, his face set in a doubtful scowl. “What did you tell Mrs. Finney? She ran out of the station like a wildcat, but she left like a kitten.”

“That's a very colorful turn of phrase,” Savannah assured him. “But we don't have time to discuss it right now.”

She turned away again. Adam grabbed her arm to stop her.

His determined gaze met hers. His rigid stance brooked no further misdirection. “I reckon you'd better make time.”

Uh-oh. She hadn't anticipated this hard-edged aspect of his. For lack of a better strategy, Savannah batted her eyelashes at him. It was a maneuver that typically never failed. “Why, Mr. Corwin! Not even a please or thank you to go with that request? I'm awfully surprised at you. Usually you're so—”

“I guess Mrs. Finney might be more obliging about answering my questions.” Adam turned, his manner purposeful as he made ready to cross the yard in pursuit. “I can still catch up with her, if I hurry.”

“Don't be silly.” Running after him, Savannah gave a panicky laugh. Adam could
not
confront Mrs. Finney himself. He would ruin everything! She grabbed him again to make him stop. “A man in your situation shouldn't overexert himself.”

“A woman in your situation shouldn't hide things from her fiancé.”

He was right—even if he hadn't appeared to want to remind her of it. Adam really was too kind. She didn't want to deceive him. Fretfully Savannah glanced at Mose. He gave her a nod.

Then he spoke up. Rubbing the top of his head in obvious discomfort, Mose said, “When I met Mrs. Finney in the station yard, I told her you two were already married.”

His words were nothing less than Savannah had expected to hear. During those long days of waiting for her mail-order groom to arrive, she and Mose had discussed this eventuality at length. Adam had not been privy to their plans, however. Upon hearing them now, he seemed plainly disbelieving.

“I told her you hadn't seen each other for a while,” Mose elaborated, doubtless reading the incredulity on Adam's face. “I told her that, owing to the trauma of the moment, Savannah didn't recognize you right away when she found you outside the station. I told her that's why she didn't tell Doc Finney straightaway that her husband had finally joined her out west.”

“So Mrs. Finney believes we're already married,” Savannah clarified—partly for Adam's sake and partly for her own. Mose nodded in confirmation. Marveling at him, she shook her head. “That was
very
fast thinking, Mose! I'll admit, I hadn't considered Doc Finney's part in all this. It was a good thing you caught all the angles—and so quickly, too. I should have expected as much from you, though.”

In his heyday, Mose had been one of the most imposing and well-known stagehands working in some of the most disorderly parts of New York City's theater district. He owed his survival to staying two steps ahead of everyone else.

Modestly her friend shrugged. “You two did help sell
the notion of being hitched, what with your hand-holding, and all.”

“Yes, that's true.” Savannah glanced at Adam, who gave her a newly enlightened frown—clearly just then understanding their playacting. “I imagine we presented quite the picture of connubial bliss. It's a good thing you signaled me, Mose.”

The two of them exchanged coconspirators' glances. Sometimes their long-term friendship came in quite handy.

Adam stared. “And you think Mrs. Finney
believed
all that?”

“Well…” Mose put his hands to his suspenders, giving a humble shrug. “I can be powerfully convincing when I want to be. And like I said, the two of you make a pretty picture together.”

Savannah smiled. “Thank you, Mose. That's very kind.”

Adam only squinted at them both. His half-buttoned shirt flapped its tails in the breeze, lending him a rakish air. He seemed at a loss for words. That was probably just as well, given the situation they were in. She needed his cooperation. She didn't need his understanding. Not just yet, anyway.

“Once I saw Mrs. Finney charging out of the station with her hair afire, I knew the trouble could only be one thing.” Looking at them, Mose compressed his lips with evident disapproval. “I would have expected you to behave with more decorum.”

“I was trying to!” Savannah felt her cheeks heat. “I simply got carried away. You know how difficult it is for me to—”

“He means me,” Adam interrupted. He straightened to meet Mose's censure, then looked toward the station.
“You're right. I took advantage of an unguarded moment. I'm sorry.”

Stiffly Mose nodded. “I accept.”

Adam scowled. “
You
weren't the one I was apologizing to.”

“Or,” Savannah piped up, “the one he was kissing!”

They both ignored her, stuck in their mulish poses.

“I reckon he oughtn't be kissing anybody just yet.” Mose fisted his hands at his sides. “Which reminds me. I've been meaning to warn you about taking unwanted liberties with—”

“With whom?” Adam demanded, not the least intimidated by Mose's size and strength. “Go ahead. Say it. I dare you.”

Savannah couldn't stand it. Feeling like a referee at a dogfight, she stepped between both men with her arms outstretched. “Who said they were
unwanted
liberties?” she demanded.

Mose and Adam stared at her, openmouthed.

“They…weren't?” they asked in unison.

Mose appeared disgruntled by the notion.

Adam appeared jubilant. His happiness pleased her.

“I want you two to get along,” Savannah told them. “Please try. For my sake. Won't you? It would mean a lot to me.”

At first, her request seemed unlikely to be met. Like chastened little boys, Adam and Mose stared at their feet. Adam's were clad in dusty boots that made him seem like the Wild West adventurer he wanted to be. Mose's were outfitted with sensible brogues that spoke to his penchant for order and tradition. Between them, not much was similar—except her.

“I'll take your lack of argument as a ‘yes,'” Savannah
said. “I'll expect to see a corresponding level of friendship arise between you boys before much longer, too.”

Mose grunted. Adam squinted at the ponderosa pines.

Satisfied, Savannah nodded. She picked up her skirts again. “Now I'm off to pack up a few things. We'll leave in an hour.”

 

Wearing a contemplative frown, Adam watched as Savannah sashayed off toward the station building. It was a good thing he was no longer taking Doc Finney's tincture. He had the feeling he would need all his wits to keep up with his supposed bride.

At the thought of the wedding she expected from him today, Adam blanched. He couldn't possibly go through with marrying her. Doing so would be the worst kind of lie…wouldn't it?

Although he'd known people who'd wed under similarly unusual circumstances, a part of him whispered. Trappers who married native women. Settlers who married reformed dance-hall girls. Miners and railroad workers who wrote away for genuine mail-order brides, then married them the first chance they got.

Sometimes those arrangements prospered. Sometimes all that was needed was a beginning, then the rest took care of itself.

Could he be as lucky? Adam wondered. Or was he only deceiving himself…as much as he was deceiving Savannah?

He truly did care about her. He had when he'd arrived, and he did twice as much now. But would that be enough? Still frowning, Adam watched as she disappeared inside the station.

Then, with a sigh, he transferred his gaze to…Mose.

The station's part-time helper glowered at him. Keeping
his arms crossed over his chest in a belligerent pose, he jerked his chin at Adam. “If you so much as disappoint her,” Mose warned, “I swear I'll make you regret it. What happened when you were attacked will seem like a minor kerfuffle compared with what I'll do to you if you upset Savannah. I promise you that.”

“I'm not here to upset her,” Adam assured him, holding up his palms. “I don't intend to do anything except—”

Watch over her. Protect her. Make sure Bedell doesn't hurt her,
he meant to say. But Mose was having none of it. The hired man cut him off, scrutinizing him through suspicious eyes.

“I don't care what your intentions are. All I care about is what you
do,
same as Savannah. And I'm here to tell you, the last thing she needs is more trouble. So don't you dare—”

“‘More trouble'?” Adam repeated, growing instantly alert. “What kind of trouble has Savannah had already?”

Mose's mouth tightened. “Nothing you need to know about.”

“I need to know about everything.” His body tense, Adam stepped closer. “Has someone been coming around here?”
Bedell. His brothers.
“Have you seen someone? Did someone threaten her?”

“It's none of your business. All I'm saying is—”

“It damn well is my business. I'm about to marry her.”
No he wasn't!
the sensible part of him shouted. But Adam ignored it. Prodded by concern—and outraged at the thought that Savannah might already have been endangered in ways he hadn't known about—he stood toe-to-toe with Mose. “I'm about to give Savannah my name. I'd say that makes her troubles my own.”