Morrow Creek Runaway

“Humph.” Her other protector, Judah, gave a disgruntled sound. With crossed arms, he regarded Miles. “That’s what all the low-down bastards say,” he blurted, “right before they—”

“Language, please, Judah.”

“—cheat you and leave you busted,” Judah went on doggedly. “I should know. My brother is a cardsharp, meanest in the territory. Leastwise, Cade was a cardsharp, up until he got married to a prissy preacher’s daughter. She’s nice, but—”

“This really isn’t the time, Mr. Foster,” Miss Yates interrupted. She turned her attention to Rosamond. “Shall I bring in more tea, Mrs. Dancy?” She inclined her head toward Miles. “I may have underestimated his impressive size and strength. It appears the earlier dose is wearing off quickly.”

“Yes.” Miles brightened. “Come to think of it, I do feel more like myself.” With vigor, he stretched. His big-booted feet came all the way beneath Rosamond’s dainty table and out the other side. “I feel like a new man, ready to take on anything.”

“What are your plans for the future, Mr...?” Rosamond broke off, wearing another wily look. “Oh, I’m sorry. It seems that in all my haste to learn about the intriguing Mr. Callaway, I neglected to ask you your name. I do apologize.”

Her confident tone almost made Miles doubt himself. Was this his Rosamond McGrath? Or was this her more cultured double, living in a faraway town the likes of which Rosamond McGrath would not have had the resources or the know-how to reach?

He believed it was Rosamond. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have persisted. But he dearly wished he knew why she was still pretending not to know him. The warier she was, the warier he felt he had to be. “I plan to stay in Morrow Creek.”

Her pleasant expression didn’t waver. “For how long?”

“For however long it takes.”

Rosamond blinked. “I see. And your name...?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Yes. He felt markedly better. “Unless that’s a requirement for admission into your marriage bureau?”

She frowned, clearly taken aback by his mention of it. “It’s called the Morrow Creek Mutual Society. As far as admission goes, I should warn you, it’s extremely rigorous.”

“If it will help me woo the woman of my dreams, you can call it anything you want.” Miles rose. He took his black coat from the coatrack, put it on, then grabbed his hat. “I’ve learned all I need to for now. I’ll be back later to apply.”

Rosamond seemed perturbed. “You might as well not bother. After all, you’re off to a very poor start. You’ve already appeared here intoxicated, discussing your underdrawers! That’s not behavior that’s indicative of my approved members.”

He couldn’t help grinning. He turned to confront Miss Yates. “Miss Yates, do you agree with that assessment?”

That saucy woman whipped her abstracted gaze from the vicinity of his trousers. Caught, she grumpily shoved his open valise at him. Clothing and train tickets bulged from it.

“I agree that you’re suspiciously eager to find a wife,” Miss Yates told him. “You don’t look like the marrying kind.”

“I didn’t feel like the marrying kind until I got here.” Until I found Rose. He offered them both a raise of his eyebrow. “I guess I should thank the little something ‘extra’ in that tea you dosed me with. It’s made me into a whole new man.”

Rosamond’s concerned gaze shifted to Miss Yates. Aha. Then her assistant was the one who knew how to drug a man and search his belongings, all while keeping him curiously complacent.

He’d already suspected what kind of women Rosamond had found herself keeping company with, given the line of business he’d learned Elijah Dancy had been in. Miss Yates’s next words confirmed it. Because only a soiled dove would have known...

“A little laudanum never hurt a man,” she grumbled in her own justification. Accusingly, she pointed at Miles. “I mean, yes, it can render a fella mostly harmless in a hurry. But it sure never made any man I used it on want to start proposing!”

“All right. That’s enough, Miss Yates.” Rosamond smiled at her assistant. Unrepentantly, she regarded Miles. “If you’d like to report our misdeeds, Sheriff Caffey’s jailhouse is right down the street. I think you’ll find yourself an ally in suspecting us of some rather serious wrongdoing in this household.”

Holding his hat, unwilling to leave but knowing he had to, Miles angled his head. “Does that include the children?”

Rosamond lost a fraction of her self-assurance. Clearly, she’d believed he hadn’t noticed the children who’d been playing in the house’s yard. He’d heard them when he observed the place.

Arvid Bouchard would have been very interested in the children—in the possibility of Rosamond having had a child.

Miles was curious about that possibility, too. But not for Bouchard’s sake. For his own sake. For his own future. For hers.

Just like Rosamond, Miles had left their former employer behind. All that bound them now was the sum of money Miles owed.

“It sounds as though they range in age. How old are they?”

“That, sir, is none of your business. I think it’s time you left us.” Briskly, Rosamond stood. “The door is this way.”

Her manner was brusque as she passed him. Her rosy perfume haunted him, though. Again, he felt desperate to touch her.

In the past, he’d touched her, Miles remembered. Casually and only infrequently, but he’d touched her. She’d touched him. Their hands had brushed while exchanging apples for the horses or trading the burden of the coal bin. Once, memorably, Rosamond had brushed a hayseed from his cheek. When she’d done that, Miles had felt something. Something good. He believed Rosamond had, too. That was part of what had driven him here.

Two thousand miles was a long way to go not to touch a woman.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he told her.

“You haven’t upset me.” The new color in her cheeks told him otherwise. So did the firm line of her mouth. “I’m fine.”

“In that case, you won’t mind my calling again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“To collect all the details of admission to your society.”

“You were serious?”

“About this?” Miles gazed directly at her, putting every ounce of longing he felt into his voice. “I’ve never been more determined to accomplish anything in all my life.”

Their gazes met. For a moment, she seemed as affected by their unacknowledged reunion as he was. She seemed to remember their shared conversations, their shared laughter, their past and their friendship and all the rest. Then, “I think you’ll find this is a more daunting task than you’ve counted on.”

“I live for daunting tasks. And for conquering them.”

“You sound entirely too confident.”

“You must have forgotten exactly how intent a man can be when he’s fixed on getting something he wants.”

“No. I haven’t forgotten that.” Crisply, Rosamond nodded at him. She stepped resolutely away. “Judah will see you out.”

As her guard approached, Miles felt bereft.

“And tomorrow?” he persisted.

“You won’t be back tomorrow.” Rosamond didn’t so much as turn to face him again. Instead, she busied herself collecting the teapot and saucers on a tray. “You’ll decide this is all too much trouble, and you won’t come back. Most people cannot be relied upon, but their base selfishness can be. I know that much for sure.”

“Then you don’t know me.”

At that, Rosamond did scrutinize him. Briefly. “Maybe I don’t. Now that you’re here...maybe I don’t know anyone as well as I thought I did.” She appeared on the verge of elaborating, then did not. Instead, she said, “Good luck to you.”