Morrow Creek Runaway. Lisa Plumley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Rosamond looked away. She’d forgotten that Miles was every bit as Irish as she was. He knew the same folktales and Gaelic wisdom that she did. He’d grown up with them.

      “I like the sound of it, that’s all,” she told him.

      He didn’t believe an inch of it. “Yes. And I’m here because I like the fragrance of honeysuckle on fence posts.”

      Miles’s wry tone almost made her accept that. She’d missed this. She’d missed sharing jokes with him...smiling with him.

      She gestured at those aforementioned flowered vines on her fence. “You’ll have to thank Mrs. Jorgensen, Agatha’s mother, then. She’s the one with the green thumb in the household.”

      “Mama will love meeting you!” Agatha chimed. “She’s always sayin’ she’s got a soft spot for handsome fellas, and you’re—”

      “He’s sadly not staying for long,” Rosamond interrupted. She gave Miles a straightforward look. “Please follow me.”

      “Anywhere. Anytime.”

      “To my parlor. Right now.”

      “Yes, ma’am.” Obligingly, Miles crouched again. He deftly transferred the puppy to Agatha’s waiting arms. Then, while all the children gathered around to take turns petting the tiny tuckered-out critter, he straightened again. “I’m all yours.”

      If only. Rosamond nodded. “Right this way.”

      Compliantly, Miles headed for the gate she indicated.

      Alertly, Dylan stepped up. “I’ll come with you.”

      “There’s no need for that, Dylan. You stay here. Judah will fill you in on the way things run around here.”

      “The way things run isn’t the same since he showed up,” her other protector pointed out, jutting his chin at Miles.

      “Yes, well...I’m about to take care of that,” Rosamond told him crisply. Then she gathered her skirts and went to do precisely that—to take care of Miles Callaway and rid herself of him and all the dangers he presented, once and for all.

      * * *

      When Rosamond finally swept into her parlor, following in Miles’s wake, and ushered him toward the settee, Miles knew he was in for trouble. All he needed was one look at her lively, determined face to know that Rosamond was in fighting spirits.

      He needed a counterattack. Something more effective than a cuddly puppy. With unswerving deliberation, Miles found one.

      “I have a confession to make.” Still standing with his hat in his hands, he looked up. “I am Miles Callaway.”

      Rosamond’s self-assured expression flickered. Only for a moment, but it did. The same as it had outside with Riley.

      He’d known she’d love that puppy. He’d also known she believed he’d forgotten all the girlish dreams and hopes for the future she’d confided in him. But Miles hadn’t forgotten a thing. Not when it came to Rosamond. His memories of her had driven him here. They’d kept him going on trains and on foot.

      “I know that probably doesn’t mean a thing to you,” he went on, more disingenuously this time, “since you say you aren’t the Rose he knew, and you didn’t know him—I mean, me—yourself. But I heard how hard it was to get in to see you, so—”

      “So you thought you’d lie to me?”

      “No. I never lied to you.” Miles thumbed his hat brim, buying thinking time. “Maybe some of what I said was misleading, and for that, I apologize. But this was important to me—”

      “Infiltrating my household was ‘important’? Sidestepping my guards and stealing the loyalty of my children was ‘important’?”

      “Interesting that you’d say they’re your children.”

      Was, Miles wondered, one of them really her child?

      It could have happened. Arvid Bouchard believed it had.

      For the first time, Rosamond appeared flustered. She flashed Miles an impatient look, then paced across the parlor’s wide pine floorboards. “They’re as much mine as any I would ever have. I love them just the same. And it’s none of your business, besides. My household is my own, to run as I see fit.”

      “Of course. You’ve done an admirable job of it, too.”

      She stopped, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the armchair’s support. She seemed...moved. “Yes. I have!”

      Miles grinned. The sprightly housemaid he knew would have sounded exactly that proud of herself for her accomplishments.

      “Most people don’t say so, though,” Rosamond went on. “In fact, you’re the only one who has. No one here knows exactly where I started, how far I’ve come—” Her gaze met his, full of tremulous pride, then whisked away as she took up pacing again. Deliberately, she changed the subject. “If you’re Miles Callaway, why didn’t you say so yesterday?”

      He’d already explained the difficulty in getting an appointment with her. Now, Miles added, “I can only blame the discombobulating effects of whatever you dosed me with.”

      “Hmm.” Undeterred by his teasing, Rosamond surveyed him. She was indomitable, he’d give her that. “If you’re that susceptible to intoxicants, I hope you’ll stay away from the high-stakes faro games in town. You won’t stand a chance against the cardsharps who arrive for the occasional tournaments we host here. Even Jack Murphy’s saloon is full of men who’d as likely pick your pocket as share an ale with you.”

      “Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

      As though evaluating that claim, Rosamond moved her attention southward. Her gaze encompassed his chest and his arms...and the region where another man would have worn a gun belt, too. The innocent housemaid he’d known would not have done that. Miles couldn’t help wondering if she approved of what she glimpsed. Her friend, Miss Yates, certainly had. But before he could discern the same of Rosamond, she turned hastily away.

      “You look it. Hale and hearty and strong. Probably this ‘Rose’ of yours would be glad to see you looking so well.”

      He hoped she was. He hoped she dreamed of him, the same way he dreamed of her. Last night had been...fitful, to say the least.

      “Maybe. I’ve decided to give up on looking for her.”

      Rosamond wheeled to face him, her brows arched. “Really?”

      Miles shrugged. “Sometimes folks don’t want to be found.”

      A nod. “Sometimes they shouldn’t be found.”

      “Sometimes a man’s got to know when he’s licked.”

      Another nod. She lifted her face to his. “That’s true.”

      Had her chin just wobbled? Were those tears in her eyes?

      Miles СКАЧАТЬ