Morrow Creek Runaway. Lisa Plumley

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СКАЧАТЬ admitted as much to him. In fact, she hadn’t ever done anything much more audacious than smile at Miles. But Rosamond had entertained youthful fantasies about holding his hand, about dancing with him, about learning why he seemed so strong and yet so trapped in Boston, why he seemed so charming and yet often so alone.

      Those girlhood fantasies felt very far away to her now. They were part of another life—a life when she hadn’t had a hole in her heart and a soul-deep need to bar the door at all times.

      “Sorry to bother you, ma’am.” With the scarcest turn to acknowledge her, the stranger tipped his hat. “I’ll be going.”

      He took several strides toward the door.

      In a moment, he’d be gone. Just the way she’d demanded.

      But his voice still rang in the air, so reminiscent of...

      Well, so reminiscent of the one man Rosamond had never been able to forget. The one man she’d never truly wanted to forget.

      “Wait! Please.” In a trice, she’d caught up to him. She touched his sleeve, caught his questioning glance at her overly intrusive gloved hand, then regrouped. Hastily, Rosamond took away her hand—but not before she felt...something...pass between them. “I heard you talking earlier. I’d like to know everything you know about this...Mr. Callaway, was it?”

      He hesitated, his bearded face mostly cast in shadow by his hat and his collar-length hair. Then he unwisely accepted her sham uncertainty at face value, just as Rosamond had intended.

      This...Mr. Callaway, was it?

      As if she hadn’t dreamed of him.

      “Are you asking me to stay?” he asked. “All I wanted was to question your hired man. I heard you never entertain visitors.”

      “Today, for you, I’ll make an exception. Please.” Valiantly, Rosamond cast about for a proper inducement. Now that she almost had this man right where she wanted him—in a position to reveal whatever he knew about Miles—she didn’t intend to quit. “I have tea! You must be thirsty after your travels.”

      His posture sharpened. “My travels?”

      His wariness confounded her. “You’re carrying a valise.”

      “Ah. Yes, I am.” He lifted it in a rueful gesture, his tense shoulders easing with the motion. “It holds everything I own, some of what I’ve borrowed and none of what I need.” His gaze shifted to her household, then arrowed in on her parlor doorway with no effort at all. “Right now, I need tea.”

      That meant she’d won, Rosamond knew, and felt curiously buoyant. If she could not see Miles Callaway again, at least she could find out what had become of him. After all, she would likely not be the only one who’d left the Bouchards’ employ.

      Miles, as she remembered him, had loved an adventure. He’d also possessed a lightheartedness she’d envied on occasion.

      This man did not seem quite so sanguine.

      But then, he wasn’t her Miles, was he? He couldn’t be. She and Miles were thousands of miles apart. Neither of them had the means to cross that distance. Rosamond herself had only done it through extraordinary and trying circumstances. It was preposterous to think that an ordinary stableman could have followed her this far—or that he would have wanted to.

      All the same, he very much seemed to be Miles! Rosamond needed a closer and clearer look at him to know for sure. She intended to get herself that closer, clearer look at him, too.

      Just to be on the safe side. Just to indulge her silly, woebegone sentimentality at this mysterious stranger’s expense.

      “Excellent. Right this way.” Rosamond indicated the way forward, watching alertly as he preceded her.

      She had not come this far by trusting lightly, though. Nor by skipping any of the necessary precautions. So she signaled for Seth to fetch Bonita, added an extra bit of cautionary instruction to her request for tea service and then joined her new guest in the parlor.

       Chapter Three

      Miles had never felt more jubilant in his life.

      He’d found Rosamond. He’d found her. At long last, his Rose was seated directly across from him on her fancy upholstered armchair in her fancy Morrow Creek parlor, looking beautiful and pert and just a little bit thinner than he remembered her.

      Worriedly, Miles examined her more closely. The experience jarred him. He’d never seen Rosamond in anything but a tidily pressed housemaid’s uniform and her requisite cap. While she’d lent a definite sparkle to those stiff and unbecoming duds, it was still odd to see her wearing a high-necked dress with a tight bodice and a full bustled skirt. Her gingery hair was a little more tumbledown than she probably intended it to be.

      She seemed older. Wiser. Infinitely more cautious.

      Also, she seemed, just then, to be distinctly blurry.

      Confused, Miles blinked. He gestured at his teacup. Sitting on the polished tabletop before him, it was now empty of the sweetened hot liquid Rosamond had so adroitly served him earlier. He’d swilled it all in record time and then polished off a refill, too, unexpectedly dry-mouthed and in need of something to do to settle his big, restless hands.

      “Is there any more tea?” he asked.

      “There is. But I’m not sure you should have more. It seems to be affecting you quite strongly. More strongly than usual.”

      Her words made sense, given how peculiar he felt. It was as if his head were floating a few inches above the rest of him. He hadn’t had enough ale at the saloon to be drunk. What was this?

      The truth was, though, Miles felt too good to care.

      Because he’d found Rosamond. She was all right. She was safe. Everything he’d done till now—everything—had been worth it.

      “Looking at you, I feel like dancing a damn jig,” he told her. All three of her. “You’re well. I’m thankful.”

      Thankful scarcely described the depth of relief he felt. He wanted to bawl at the depth of relief he felt. But a man did not weep. So Miles only uttered another grateful swearword, shaking his head in wonderment as he went on studying Rosamond.

      If only she weren’t pretending not to know him...

      “Hmm. Yes, I am well,” she said. “Given our situation, I’ll forgive you your coarse language just now, too. I can see the jubilation on your face.” She peered wistfully at him. “For a variety of reasons, I believe what you’re saying is true. I believe you are glad about something.”

      Serenely, Rosamond folded her hands atop her skirts. Even while scrutinizing him as if he was her long-lost love, she seemed the very picture of ladylike decorum.

      Miles told her so.

      She smiled. “Thank you. You seem the very picture of someone I once knew. He was a stableman and driver in Boston.”

      There СКАЧАТЬ