Lisa Plumley - Morrow Creek Runaway

A heavy silence descended. More than likely, all the other ordinary sounds were drowned out by the furor of Rosamond’s heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, gradually, the laughter of the children playing outside returned. It was followed by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock to Rosamond’s left.

She drew in another fortifying breath, not quite daring to look the stranger in the face. She both did and did not want to confirm that he wasn’t the stableman she remembered, wasn’t the man she’d thought of so often since leaving Boston, could not be Miles Callaway, come thousands of miles to arrive at her door.

“Please don’t make me repeat myself,” she warned.

Gus tipped his hat. “Thanks kindly, Mrs. Dancy.” He had the audacity to wink. “You sure know how to throw a lively bit o’ entertainment here at the marriage bureau, that’s for sure.”

Gus saluted, then left with a grin. Seth, for his part, retreated the merest quantity of steps, then mulishly stopped.

“Since when have I not meant what I said?” Rosamond asked.

Improbably, the stranger laughed at that remark.

Seth, looking more embarrassed than she wanted, stomped all the way back to his usual post in the entryway. From there, he surveyed their latest visitor through distrustful eyes.

So did Rosamond, albeit from beside him. Clearly, in the end, shielding her household of women and children was up to her. Her protectors, Seth and Judah, could only do so much—especially if she were the one causing all the trouble.

Reminded of her earlier overreaction to Gus’s bear hug, Rosamond winced. The poor man hadn’t deserved that. She’d physically retaliated against him! She’d berated him. She was so sorry for that. It wasn’t at all normal to dislike being hugged.

It also wasn’t normal for anyone to get the better of Seth. Yet her latest visitor had easily gotten past Seth and avoided his blow, too. Who in the world was he? And why was he there?

Miles Callaway, she remembered the stranger saying. All I want to know is if Miles Callaway has been here to see Mrs. Dancy.

This man was looking for Miles. He’d unwittingly roused Rosamond’s bottled-up memories at the same time, but that wasn’t his fault. If Miles was in any trouble, Rosamond wanted to know.

She’d liked Miles. She’d more than liked Miles.

He’d been her staunchest ally in the Bouchard household. He’d been a friend, and, yes, the subject of her girlish daydreams about love and romance, too. She hadn’t ever 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.”