Mail-Order Groom. Lisa Plumley

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      She’d first attempted to start over in Ledgerville. It hadn’t worked out, to say the least. But the lessons she’d learned in Missouri had made Savannah much savvier about her next attempt to forge a new life. She longed to live in town, in homey Morrow Creek just down the mountainside, but she didn’t dare approach the people there until everything was arranged just so. Until she was properly wed and respectably behaved.

      Biting her lip, Savannah glanced at the Guide to Correct Etiquette and Proper Behavior handbook beside her telegraph. She’d studied it until the pages were nearly worn through. Now she could only hope her improvised education proved sufficient.

      “Besides,” she said, “all I want is a home. A real home. Is that so awful? For a woman to want to build a cozy home life?”

      “No, but … I still don’t like this.” Mose shook his head, his forehead creased with concern. “We should have gone on to San Francisco. We should have found places with a theater company. We should have started over with something we know.”

      “You know why I don’t want to do that, Mose.”

      He fell silent. Then said, “I know, but there are other ways—”

      “You’re free to go if you want to.” Gently Savannah squeezed his arm. “I wouldn’t like it, but I would understand.”

      “No.” Her friend’s frown deepened. “Not while he’s here.”

      “I already told you, you don’t have to protect me.” At Mose’s dubious look, she smiled. “It’s all well and good that you told Dr. Finney you’d stay here, and I do appreciate your help. But I’m fully prepared to handle this myself.”

      To prove it, Savannah put away her cloth. Then, with careful but businesslike gestures, she set to work making her patient feel more comfortable. She pulled out the heavy quilted flannel she’d put on to protect the mattress, then straightened the bedding. As she did, she couldn’t help studying her fiancé.

      Not only was he bigger and stronger than she’d expected, but he was also much better looking. His face, topped by a tousled pile of dark hair, was downright handsome. He didn’t show much evidence of eating too many tinned beans, either. Maybe he’d wanted to seem humble in his letters? He’d been too poor, he’d said, to afford to send a photograph, the way she had.

      Savannah hadn’t minded parting with one of her stage photographs—one of the final mementos of her previous life.

      “He looks awfully uncomfortable.” Decisively she caught hold of his leg. Using his trousers as a makeshift handle, she moved his leg sideways a few inches. She reached for the other leg, just above his ankle, then moved it, too. “That’s better.”

      Something clattered to the floor.

      “If you’re intending on manhandling him like that,” Mose complained, “I’d better make sure to stay here to supervise.”

      “Pish posh. I’m nursing him.” Savannah bent to pick up the item that had fallen. Her fingers scraped the station’s polished floorboards. An instant later, she straightened with a long, wicked blade in her grasp. Wide-eyed, she glanced from the knife to Mose. “And I’m definitely finding out more about him, too.”

      “I think that would be wise,” Mose told her.

      A search of the man’s trousers and their … environs proved unproductive, much to Savannah’s disappointment. She suspected that failure owed itself to Mose’s lackadaisical search efforts.

      “Honestly, Mose. Search harder! He might have a concealed pocket somewhere on him. Who knows what you’re missing?”

      “He’s not a magician,” Mose grumbled. Making a face, he looked up from their still-inert patient, his hands hovering in place. “I’m unlikely to pull a rabbit from his britches.”

      “Well, that’s probably true,” she agreed with reluctance. Growing up in a family of itinerant performers may have skewed her perceptions of things. Frustrated, Savannah sighed.

      Finding that second hidden knife had spooked her, but good. She wanted answers about this man, and she wanted them now.

      Impatiently she grabbed her supposed fiancé’s shirt from the ladder-back chair Dr. Finney had flung it to.The garment possessed no pockets, secret or otherwise.

      Next she snatched up his suit coat, wrought of ordinary lightweight wool.

      “Eureka.” She felt something clump beneath her searching fingers. Trembling, she pulled out a bundle of letters. Her letters. She recognized the handwriting, the postmark … the sappy sentiments she’d imprudently confessed to her fiancé.

      Peering over her shoulder, Mose read aloud. “’My Dearest, Kindest, Most Longed-For Mr.—’”

      Flushed, Savannah folded the single letter she’d perused.

      “Why, Savannah. That’s very … impassioned of you.”

      “Hush. I’m a romantic at heart, that’s all.”

      “So.” Mose arched his brow. “Did you mean any of it?”

      Hurt by his question, she gazed up at him. Her fingers tightened on the letters. She brought them to her heart, then raised the bundle to her nose. The papers and ink now smelled of fresh air and leather and damp wool. They smelled of him.

      “I refuse to pretend for my whole life,” Savannah said. “That’s why we’re here. To have a life that’s real.”

      “And yet you’re starting it with a lie.”

      “Finding myself a mail-order groom isn’t a lie. We’re both here willingly. We’re both lonely, and we don’t want to be.”

      Mose made a gruff, tentative gesture. “You’re … lonely?”

      His tone of sadness wrenched her. Savannah wanted to save him from it … but she couldn’t. She couldn’t lie about this. She swallowed past a lump in her throat. Wordlessly she nodded.

      “But if all goes well, I won’t be lonely for much longer. And neither will he.” In dawning wonder, she and Mose stared at the man in the bed. “It’s him, Mose!” She breathed in. “It’s really him. My new life is finally beginning.”

       Chapter Three

      Adam dreamed of baby-faced killers and swinging tree branches and a dark swirling pain that centered on his skull. Hot and restless, he thrashed on the fallen pine needles.

      “Shh,” a woman said. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” But he wasn’t. “Mariana!” he tried to say. “Mariana!” His voice emerged in a croak, hurting his throat. The forest moved around him, dark and light, always changing. He needed to find his partner. He needed to find out what Bedell and his brothers had done to her. Soon it would be too late.

      Something touched his head. At the contact, Adam flinched. A shameful groan burst from his chest, making the pain worse.

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