Lisa Plumley - Morrow Creek Runaway

“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 couldn’t hesitate to wonder why his supposed abandonment of his search was affecting Rosamond so strongly. He pushed onward, knowing that he had to brazen out this encounter if he was to have any hope of succeeding. “That’s why I came here today,” he said. “To say goodbye.”

Her mouth dropped open. Her brows knit. “Goodbye?”

“Yes. The puppy—Riley—was a goodbye gift.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want to leave you unprotected in my absence.”

“Of course.”

“Also, you seemed as though you could use some uncomplicated affection in your life.”

That revived her. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He remembered everything they’d shared and knew she was lying. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

Their gazes met. Rosamond broke that contact first. In the game of cat and mouse they were playing, she wanted to win.

“You’re suggesting something that’s preposterous. You don’t know the woman I am. It’s better for you if you never do.” Rosamond squared her shoulders, then inhaled. “I asked you here to my parlor to tell you, privately, that you have to leave.”

Her confident tone would have fooled another man.

Miles was different. He took a step closer. “Go ahead, then.” He gestured with his hat. “Tell me I have to leave.”

Rosamond wavered. He’d known she would. “I—”

“Tell me you want me gone, and I’ll leave forever.”

That appeared to stymie her. “If you’re leaving anyway, why did you bother to tell me the truth about who you are?”

Because I wanted you to trust me. But Miles couldn’t say that, so instead he shrugged. “I had to tell you. Just to see what you’d do. It’s a bad habit of mine, being curious.” For so long, he’d been curious about her. “I reckoned that any woman who’s contrary enough to refuse a puppy would have an interesting reaction to a revelation like my name.”

“I see. And have I satisfied your expectations?”

Not in the least. He still wanted to see her smile again, to hear her laugh, to know that she wanted him there simply because she wanted him, not because he’d maneuvered her into doing it. But since beggars couldn’t be choosers...

“Partly. My expectations are partly satisfied,” Miles conceded. “I guess we’ll never know what could have been.”

She was audacious enough to agree. “I guess we won’t.”

Against all reason, he admired Rosamond for her spirit. It turned out that she possessed even more resilience than anyone had credited her with. Given the conditions they’d put up with at the Bouchard household, that was saying a great deal.

“Take care, Mrs. Dancy.” He put on his hat, then headed for the door. “I’m sorry I can’t stay. I would have liked to have joined your society—to have courted one very special woman.”

He meant her, of course. Rosamond divined as much and appeared flummoxed by it. Typically, she recovered quickly.

“If you mean me, I’m not a part of my mutual society,” she informed him, turning toward the mantel. “I don’t participate. And you’re in no position to evaluate such a thing anyway.”

“Too late. I believe I just did.”

“And I’ll be the one to say when you should leave.”

He laughed. “Now, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m no woman’s patsy, Mrs. Dancy. Not even yours.”

She frowned. “I wish you’d quit calling me that.”

“Mrs. Dancy? It’s your name.” Now.

“I thought you wanted to apply for membership in my mutual society.” She gave him a clear-sighted look. “You said so.”

“At this point, I might need convincing.”

“No one needs convincing to join my mutual society.”

He waited, clearly indicating otherwise.

He won. Rosamond rushed in to fill the space between them.

“It’s a very reputable organization, where like-minded men and women can meet and converse under sociable circumstances. We engage in poetry readings, nonwagering card games, and dances and fetes of all kinds. All the members are properly vetted, ultimately by me, but also by my staff. My members possess good characters and fine hearts. They’re capable of providing a reasonable living and a secure home for each other.”

“Do the men in Morrow Creek know your ‘girls’ are former prostitutes?” Miles inquired. “Because it would be only fair.”

Rosamond seemed surprised he’d guessed the truth. But only for an instant. “My friends’ pasts are their own concerns,” she told him, rallying to their defense without hesitation. “As far as anyone needs to know, they are upstanding women.”

“Some with fatherless children to raise. Is that a bonus for your members? I’d imagine some might not see it that way.”

Her eyes flashed at him. “There are many fatherless children in the West. I was a fatherless child after my parents’ passing. If you are concerned about being saddled with an urchin that’s not your own, then you should definitely not—”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” he broke in, delivering her an assessing look. When had his Rosamond become so cynical? “I like children. I think you saw that yourself this morning.”

In fact, he’d loved those little rapscallions. Being around them had reminded Miles of being in his own rollicking household in the tenements, with his beleaguered but loving mother trying to hang laundry, cook corned beef and change the diapers of his younger siblings all in quick succession. Mary Callaway had managed admirably.