Morrow Creek Runaway. Lisa Plumley

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       Chapter Four

      The following morning, after a fitful night spent haunted by memories of Miles Callaway—memories that had been hideously interspersed with confusing recollections of Arvid Bouchard in her nightmares—Rosamond made several decisions.

      The first was that she would conduct herself intelligently from here on out. The second was that she would protect the people in her household. The third was that she would stay put. No one else was chasing her from her home. Not again. Not ever.

      To that end, there could be no more swooning over Miles’s broad shoulders or raspy brogue, Rosamond chastised herself. There could be no more forgetting her own mission in favor of studying Miles’s chiseled cheekbones and assertive nose. There could be no more wishing that she could be different—could be as carefree as she’d been before Arvid Bouchard and his odious demands on her. No matter what it took, Rosamond swore, she would remain calm. Composed. In charge and in control.

      There was safety in control. She needed that dearly.

      To that end, Rosamond smiled up at her newest potential employee, a man named Dylan Coyle who’d come recommended to her.

      “Two years at the lumber mill, you say?” She craned her neck way up to examine his expression for truthfulness and integrity. “Before that, a year with the Pinkertons?” His nod assured her that her information was correct. Nonetheless, Rosamond pushed harder. “What made you leave the agency’s employ?”

      “I didn’t like the way they ran things.”

      “The way they ran things?”

      “With guns. They used guns.” Coyle’s steely gaze locked with hers. “I reckon if a man can’t disable a criminal with his own two hands, he doesn’t deserve to be called a man, does he?”

      His hard demeanor both alarmed and reassured her. “I see.”

      “Yep. Most folks do, when it comes to me.”

      Rather than hurry onward, Rosamond deliberately allowed a long silence to fall between them. When faced with a silence, most people rushed to fill it. All she had to do was wait.

      Eventually, Coyle rewarded her patience. The scarcest smile quirked his lips. “Also, about that same time, I met a lady.”

      “Hmm.” Pretending not to have seen that telling smile, Rosamond looked down at her clasped hands. She didn’t want to embarrass the man. As a private person herself, she respected others’ privacy, too. It was only right. “Then you’re married?”

      “No, ma’am. I’m not married.”

      “But you just said—” Rosamond broke off, belatedly catching the hint of heartache in his voice. “Never mind. I have a job, and you have the ability to do that job. Marcus Copeland has vouched for you, and so has Cade Foster. With varied references like those—from a reputable lumber mill owner and a former cardsharp—I’d say you must be an interesting man, Mr. Coyle.”

      He gave her a direct look. “With an observation like that in your pocket, you must be a sharp-eyed woman, Mrs. Dancy.”

      “Please call me Rosamond. I insist.” She didn’t want to talk about her deep-seated need to be watchful. If he was going to risk his own well-being in her service, he deserved to be on a first-name basis with her. “All my men call me Rosamond.”

      “All my friends call me Dylan.”

      “Then we’re settled.” Rosamond stood. She felt better already, even before placing Dylan at his post. “Seth and Judah will brief you on your duties. I’m pleased to welcome you.”

      Undoubtedly catching her signal that their interview had concluded, Dylan stood, as well. His gaze swerved to her hand.

      He plainly expected to find it outstretched for a welcoming handshake. Resolutely, Rosamond kept her position steady.

      Dylan’s brown furrowed. His astute gaze lifted.

      “I guess a woman who hires three bodyguards has her reasons.” He plucked his hat from the coatrack, then gave her a genial nod. “Thanks for the work, ma’am. You won’t regret it.”

      “I trust you’ll make sure I don’t.” Drawing in a breath, Rosamond smiled at him. “I’ll show you where to find Judah.”

      She led the way, purposely taking the more impersonal long way around to avoid the house’s living quarters. They passed through the front door, across the side yard, toward the gate.

      In her house’s small backyard, several of the children were already at play. Hearing the boys’ chuckles and the girls’ giggles made Rosamond feel more at peace immediately.

      She may have given up on having a family of her own, but that didn’t mean she didn’t adore being with “her” temporary children. Along with her friendly “girls” and her own security, they were all she had. She needed to protect and cherish them.

      At her side, Dylan went rigid. “Who’s that?” He pointed. “You said there were only two men in this household. We passed Seth at the door and I see Judah right there, so who is—”

      In the center of the crowd of children, a tall man rose from his formerly crouched position. He held something in his arms, but Rosamond couldn’t tell what it was. She was too distracted by the realization that not only had Miles Callaway slipped past Seth again—and apparently bewitched Judah, too—but he’d also made a mockery of her Morrow Creek household haven.

      This was why she’d needed to hire additional security.

      Miles had returned already, bearing...something.

      “He’s the thorn in my side,” Rosamond finished for Dylan, briskly unlatching the gate. She couldn’t look away from Miles...couldn’t stop herself from wishing he hadn’t come back. Because his coming back today meant that he couldn’t be trusted. It meant that he wanted something from her—and it probably wasn’t an introduction to a suitable candidate for a wife.

      That was what most men in Morrow Creek wanted from her. They’d learned, quickly, not to hope for anything more.

      “Do you want me to deal with him?” Dylan kept his voice low, for her ears only. “Ordinarily, I wouldn’t ask first, except—”

      “Except Mrs. Dancy looks dumbstruck, as if she’s found her long-lost love?” Miles strode toward them both with masculine bonhomie, obviously having overheard them. He didn’t appear the least bit threatened by Dylan Coyle. Behind him, the children moaned in exaggerated disappointment at Miles’s leave-taking. They tagged along in his wake like the devoted admirers they’d become. “Yes,” Miles finished. “I’ve noticed that look, too.”

      His gaze met hers, then held. In it, Rosamond glimpsed all the caring, all the remembrance, all the teasing she’d missed.

      Intentionally, she looked away. She knew she was guilty.

      She didn’t want him to know that. СКАЧАТЬ