Lisa Plumley - Mail-Order Groom

That didn’t help. Her face was alight with warmth, her cheeks pink and her features filled with a caring he’d scarcely seen—much less been the recipient of. He’d been a foundling child, shunted from one distant relation to another. Growing up, Adam had convinced himself he didn’t need to be cared for. He didn’t need anything. He’d always been tough, and proud of it.

But now, upon seeing Savannah gazing at him with such evident care and concern, Adam felt plumb walloped with how much he liked being looked at that way. Especially by her.

His heart opened a fraction. Sappily he smiled.

“Oh, good. You must be feeling better.” Savannah beamed. “Now hold still while I give you more of Doc Finney’s tincture.”

Obligingly Adam opened his mouth for a spoonful of the medicine she offered. Too late, he realized he was never this trusting. But by then he’d already swallowed the foul stuff.

“That’s perfect.” Savannah smoothed the quilts over him. Her hands patted innocently over his chest and legs. Her face showed no signs that she realized what effect her actions might have on a man—even an injured one. “There. Is that better?”

Bedeviled by yearning, Adam pointed at his knee.

“I think you missed a spot,” he said in a raspy voice. “Right there.”

To his mingled pleasure and chagrin, Savannah patted his knee. Her gentle touch put all manner of unchivalrous thoughts in his head. Artlessly and agreeably, she tucked in the quilts all around him. Adam fought a powerful urge to kick them loose again, just to experience the tender way she had of touching him. He felt cosseted, cared for … downright beloved.

But that was nonsensical, he told himself with a scowl. Savannah Reed didn’t love him. She didn’t even know him. As soon as he revealed everything about Roy Bedell, he doubted she would look at him with the same openhearted charm and forthrightness she was displaying right now. He resented having to disappoint her, especially while she seemed so out-and-out contented.

“You’re a fine nursemaid,” he told her, delaying that inevitable moment. “Thank you. I’m most obliged.”

“It’s the least I could do. Particularly after you traveled all this way just to be with me.” With sudden shyness, Savannah lowered her gaze. “I’m so sorry about what … happened to you. I promise, we don’t usually find such ruffians around these parts. You’ll be absolutely safe here with me. I’ll make sure of it.”

It was preposterous—but kind—of her to suggest she could protect him. Adam didn’t understand why she thought he’d come to the Territory to be with her, though. Unless she’d found his saddlebags and his journals? Unless she knew about his work for the agency? He glanced sideways. All he saw was his rucksack, full of essentials like his shaving razor and soap and extra clothes.

After you traveled all this way just to be with me.

A few seconds too late, the truth struck him. Savannah Reed, Adam realized, thought he was her mail-order groom!

He should have guessed as much. After all, he had arrived at the station just when she’d been expecting Bedell. He had possessed her letters and her picture amongst his things. He had told Mose he was looking for a woman last night. Although Mose hadn’t realized he’d been asking about Mariana, the station’s helper had undoubtedly told Savannah about their conversation.

You have no idea what kind of hopes that woman’s got pinned on you, Mose had said. Regrettably Adam did. Before too much longer, those hopes and dreams of hers were going to be crushed.

“Oh dear! I’m forgetting myself, aren’t I?” Blushing prettily, Savannah interrupted his musings. She straightened into a formal posture, then … curtsied? Holding herself stiffly in that pose, she inclined her head. “This is a very great pleasure for me. I’m indelibly charmed to meet you, Mr. Corwin.”

She sounded as though she were arriving at a highfalutin ball—one presided over by kings and queens. Her stilted manner was so at odds with her casual way of touching him that Adam almost laughed. Instead he gazed at Savannah’s downcast lashes, proud nose and full lips … and something inside him gave way.

If she wanted to appear sophisticated and proper to him, he would not prevent her from it. Except in this one instance.

“Please,” he said gruffly. “Call me Adam.”

“Informal address already? After only one meeting? I sincerely doubt that would be—” She broke off. She gave him a tentative peek, then closed her mouth. Her chest expanded on a giddy breath. She gazed downward again. “Very well … Adam.”

The breathy way she said his name made tingles race up his spine. Against all reason, he wanted to hear it again.

“Adam,” she said experimentally, not knowing how handily she obliged him. Along with her tone, Savannah’s posture eased. Relaxed now, she nodded. “Yes, I think Adam will be fine.”

But all at once, Adam wasn’t fine. Frowning with an unwanted sense of revelation, he remembered the other odious strategy Bedell had used when setting up his latest mark. When corresponding with Savannah, Bedell had used Adam’s name.

It was an audacious tactic—and a taunting one, too. After all the months Adam had spent tracking Bedell, the confidence man had gotten cocky. He’d deliberately used Adam’s name in his newest double-cross scheme, and that detail had truly rankled.

It had bothered him so much, Adam guessed, that he’d shoved it clean out of his mind. Mariana had given him no end of grief about Bedell’s ploy, though. Every time she’d copied down one of Savannah’s letters, she’d teased Adam about “his” woman, reading aloud Savannah’s usual greeting in mocking, overgirlish tones.

My Dearest, Kindest, Most Longed-For Mr. Corwin….

Foolishly Adam had set aside that detail. Bedell’s theft of his good name had galled him, but since he’d never expected to meet Savannah in person, he hadn’t counted on its potential consequences. Now those consequences batted their eyelashes at him, creating an unexpected thrill in the pit of his belly.

Damnation. This was troublesome. His initial fascination with Savannah, kindled by her letters and her picture, was fast becoming something more. Adam didn’t understand it. In all his days, he’d met saloon girls, pert prairie homesteaders, dance-hall ladies, society belles, soiled doves and down-home women who could make a man propose with a single, cinnamony forkful of their prizewinning apple pies. None of those women, however appealing, had ignited his curiosity the way Savannah Reed did.

He already knew a handful of her hopes and dreams. Now he wanted to know her. He wanted to call her Savannah; wanted to have a right to do so. He wanted to make her smile at him again.

Telling her about Bedell wouldn’t accomplish any of those things. But now that Adam had met Savannah, the thought of Bedell hurting her—stealing from her—troubled him all the more. He couldn’t let that happen. But suddenly, he felt too woozy to reason out how he could stop Bedell from getting to her.

Doubtless that was because of the tincture she’d given him. Cursing the medicine’s sedating effects, Adam nonetheless knew he needed it. His shoulder blade throbbed, his ribs ached and his head … Wincing at a fresh wave of pain, he raised his hand.

“Oh!” Savannah grew instantly alert. “Does it still hurt?”

Hazily Adam noted that her formality had dropped away. Apparently she wore her fancy comportment the way Bedell did his various—and fraudulent—accents and manner isms. and names. Savannah’s curtsies and timidity and cordiality seemed to sit outside her, somehow. They weren’t nearly as much a part of her as were her golden hair and capable hands and intelligent gaze.