Mail-Order Groom. Lisa Plumley

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      They could see. They’d guessed the truth about her.

      Savannah’s alarm was immediate and unthinking. She stared down at herself, trying to figure out the problem. Was her dress too bright, too new, too showy? Was her manner too forward?

      Before she could reason out the trouble, the girl’s father disentangled himself from his daughter’s grasp. He strode toward Savannah. For one cowardly moment, she considered running away.

      But then she lifted her chin instead.

      She hadn’t come all the way west just to be frightened off by a good-looking man with an expensive hat and an authoritative demeanor. Even if he did remind her of Warren, that dastardly—

      “Miss, thank you for watching over my daughter.”

      He pressed something in her gloved palm. Reflexively Savannah tried to give it back, but the man wouldn’t allow her to. With a warmhearted smile, he closed her fingers around the object. He tipped his hat, then rejoined his happy family.

      For a moment, Savannah could only watch them as they walked away from the platform together. In the warm glow of the summer sunshine, they seemed to embody everything she’d ever wanted—a family, a sense of belonging … a reason to smile that felt true.

      Well, soon enough she’d have all that.

      She’d have all that and more, Savannah assured herself. If only she stayed faithful to her plan, she could achieve every dream she’d ever had, right here in a sun-splashed territory where no one knew her family or her past—and no one ever would.

      Determinedly she shifted her gaze. She uncurled her fingers. In the center of her palm, a silver coin winked up.

      Hmm. Evidently she’d erred too far on the dowdy side.

      That was interesting. She’d tried to appear a simple Morrow Creek woman … and had only succeeded in appearing impoverished.

      Before she returned to town, she’d have to remedy that. It was fortunate her costume trunk was deep—and had survived the trip from New York City mostly unharmed, thanks to Mose’s help.

      Drawing up her skirts, Savannah aimed one final glance at the disappointing train, then headed in the direction of the mountainside. If she were lucky, when she arrived home a telegraph message would already be waiting for her.

      A quarter mile from the Morrow Creek adjunct telegraph station, Adam dismounted. With all his senses alert, he staked his horse near a patch of fresh grass, then gave the gelding a pat on the neck. “Behave yourself. I won’t be gone long.”

      The beast nickered. Damnation. He’d done it again.

      Talking to the horses was Mariana’s province. Feeling beyond foolish, Adam ducked his head, then headed out on foot with only his rucksack for company.Riding straight up to the station was a risk he couldn’t take. It was possible Bedell was already there, ensconced in his new “home” with yet another woman who fancied herself fortunate in love at last.

      As far as Adam was concerned, the confidence man deserved a special place in hell for taking advantage of lonely women. He deserved much worse than that for what he’d done in Kansas City.

      A few minutes’ hike brought Adam within sight and earshot of the station. Stealthily he circled its boundaries. He’d scouted the place days earlier with Mariana, learning the lay of the land and the locations likeliest for an ambush. Today, everything appeared unchanged. All the same, Adam felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Frowning, he kept on moving.

      Birds chirped, unconcerned by Adam’s arrival. A squirrel stopped, stared at him, then dashed up a tree. A few yards away, the station hunkered on sloped ground, surrounded by ponderosa pines and the occasional scrub oak; the mountain loomed behind it. Gaining a foothold amid the fallen pinecones and crunchy dried needles was tricky; so was imagining a woman lonesome enough to accept an offer of marriage from a hard-nosed killer.

      Not that any of them knew that’s what Roy Bedell was, Adam reminded himself as he crouched to survey the shingled log cabin station and its peeled-log porch. All of Bedell’s “brides” had considered Bedell a kindred spirit—at least until he cleaned out their prized belongings, absconded with their savings and broke their hearts. Adam wanted a better fate for the woman in the photograph, but Mariana was right—something was off-kilter here.

      Muscles tightening, Adam withdrew his spyglass. He aimed it toward the station’s twin windows. Several minutes’ patient watching rewarded him with a view of Mose Hawthorne, the man who hauled firewood, repaired equipment and sometimes manned the telegraph. He arrived every day on a sporadic schedule and spent his nights in a cabin closer to the town of Morrow Creek.

      Most people did. Those who came out west wanted to be near a town site, where they could find friends and necessities and convivial conversation. Adam didn’t know why the station’s proprietress had accepted her isolated assignment. The detective in him reasoned that she probably had something to hide. The man in him hoped she liked to be alone … the same way he did.

      But that was outlandish. It didn’t matter whether he felt a kinship with the woman—whether he thought he understood her. She was a mark. He’d vowed to protect her. Nothing else mattered.

      A thorough check revealed that she wasn’t at the station. Adam searched harder. He’d glimpsed her once, but only from a distance. Now, as odd as it sounded, he wanted more … and was denied. As though sharing Adam’s disappointment, the place’s big calico cat slunk into view, stared at him through baleful eyes, then vanished. A rhythmic tapping issued from inside the cabin.

      Silence fell. Mose Hawthorne moved from the desk to the cast-iron stove, fiddling with something. A few minutes later, the scent of coffee filled the air. Lulled by the peaceful tableau, Adam released a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.

      Everything was fine. She was fine. Bedell wasn’t here.

      Adam tucked away his spyglass. He slung his rucksack over his shoulder, then turned. At the same instant, something came at him. Something big. Something long and rough. A tree branch.

      In confusion, Adam ducked too late. The branch walloped him on the side of the head. He went down with an involuntary grunt.

      The damp tang of moss and dirt filled his nostrils. Again the branch came down. It whacked the ground, collapsing his fallen hat like a squash under a cleaver. Adam shoved. His palms skidded on twigs and leaves. He forced himself upright again.

      The branch caught him in the side. His breath left him.

      “For the last time, stay out of my business.”

      Bedell. Even woozy and gasping, Adam recognized that pitiless voice. It had haunted his dreams for well over a year.

      Mariana. If Bedell or his brothers had gotten to her first, she wouldn’t have survived. Roughly, Adam sighted Bedell. He honed in on his bland face with its underachieving whiskers. His fist followed his gaze. With a surprised shout, Bedell fell.

      Adam seized the man’s coat and hauled him upward. Without his customary hat, Bedell looked young. Too young.

      Disoriented by Bedell’s baby-faced appearance, Adam hesitated. It didn’t СКАЧАТЬ