Mail-Order Groom (7 page)

“Yes. Our wedding.” Adam's face fell. He looked away. “About that—there's something you should know. Something—”

“But I just changed my mind,” Savannah blurted.

Then she raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth eagerly to his.

 

Adam had known he was in trouble the moment Savannah's gaze turned wistful. When her mouth softened, turning twice as luscious as usual, he'd realized the situation was even more dire than he'd thought. By the time her bosom expanded on a hasty indrawn breath, momentarily diverting his attention, he'd understood that he was in over his head for certain.

He'd known full well he should put a stop to what was
happening between them. But a heartbeat later, Savannah had lurched upward, sparking his sense of anticipation and desire to a fever pitch. Then his whole mind had gone blank…with pain.

Damnation. Giving a strangled cry, Adam stepped backward. He put his arms on Savannah's shoulders to wrench her away.

“What's wrong?” Worriedly she fluttered her hands in an effort to help him. “Did I hurt you?”

“My ribs. You pushed—” he panted “—right on my broken ribs.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I got…carried away.”

“It's all right.” He'd gotten carried away, too. Adam clenched his teeth in an approximation of a smile, not wanting Savannah to feel bad—especially for a rascally act of his own. He never should have confessed his desire to kiss her. “I've been needing to toughen up anyway. Getting out of bed to shave today was only the first step. Tomorrow I plan to start in on breaking wild horses, as usual. The day after that, I'll lay a railroad line from your front door all the way south to Tucson.”

He grinned to show he was joking. But Savannah greeted his jest with pure earnestness. Wearing a concerned frown, she put her hands on her hips. Her lush, calico-covered, womanly—

“I told you, you don't have to impress me with Wild West heroics. When I invited you here, I knew what I was getting: a plain, commonsense man. If you hadn't been attacked and robbed and left for dead outside the station, we'd already be married by now. That was our plan when we agreed to this, remember?”

Adam did remember. He remembered that detail from her letters to Roy Bedell. He had to tell her the truth. Soon.
But the way she looked at him—as though he really
were
capable of Wild West heroics and fearlessness in general—somehow took all his good intentions and popped them like soap bubbles.

Mutely Adam nodded. In response, Savannah smiled broadly at him. It pleased him to see her smile. He felt like a damned hero all over again, just for agreeing with her views.

Most of the time, Savannah appeared happy, he'd noticed. Yet she had a face that looked as though it had seen its share of tears, too. The past few days, he'd wondered about that. He didn't like the thought of her being unhappy. Not ever. If he could have, Adam would have shouldered all her burdens himself.

Maybe he still could, if she would let him. Starting with the problem of Roy Bedell…and ending with whatever had made her so all-fired eager to get herself hitched to man she didn't know. Maybe if Adam could figure out that much, he could devise the best way to tell her the truth without hurting her.

“Just as soon as you're feeling up to it, I think we ought to get on with planning our wedding.” Savannah fussed with the tray of breakfast victuals she'd brought him. “A private ceremony in Avalanche would be awfully nice. That would be my suggestion, but of course I'd love to hear whatever you think about the issue. Here. Go ahead and have a seat now, won't you?”

She gestured for him to sit at the small round table near the window. With his mind spinning from her sudden chatter, Adam obliged her. Savannah followed him with her tray. She exhaled, then set the food before him. Without meeting his gaze, she arranged his breakfast just so, then hurriedly went on talking.

“Avalanche is about a half-day's trip from here, partway
up the mountain. There's no rail line there, so we'll have to take the wagon. I'll drive us, since you're still recovering—”

“I'll drive,” Adam objected. “I'm strong enough for that.”

Savannah looked at him askance.

And no wonder, Adam realized as his own hasty words sank in. He wouldn't be driving them anywhere. He had to stop this.

It was bad enough that Savannah's long-distance beau was really a lying, thieving, no-good killer. But Adam had added to that problem by deceiving her about himself. At first that had been an accident; he'd been too insensible to assert his true identity or explain why he was at the station. But now, three days later, he knew damn well he wasn't Savannah's genuine mail-order groom. As soon as he told her the truth about that, she would boot him out the door lickety-split. Deservedly so.

Maybe that was why Adam decided not to confess everything. Not just then. Instead he nodded and smiled at her.

It was a cowardly move, but he couldn't help it. All he wanted was a little more time with Savannah—a little more time to let her feel happy. If that meant he waited an extra day or two to explain about Roy Bedell…well, that would ensure he could keep on protecting her, Adam reasoned. If Savannah tossed him out, he would not be able to keep sufficient watch over her.

“Well… I'm not entirely sure you're ready to
drive
us on the journey, but you do appear almost well enough to travel. I certainly thought you were well enough to go on foot to Morrow Creek this morning!” Wearing a faint frown, Savannah gazed at him. Whatever she saw appeared to satisfy her. “I'd hate to push you overmuch, but time
is
of the essence with our wedding.”

Automatically Adam nodded. The rich aromas of fried eggs and fresh toasted bread wafted up to him. Belatedly realizing he was ravenous, he tucked into the breakfast she'd prepared.

Apparently gratified by his appetite, Savannah moved around him, making sure he had sugar for his coffee, butter for his bread, and a proper view of the flower she'd put on his tray.

Humbled by her generous efforts to please him, Adam felt a fresh pang of regret. He wished Savannah really
were
his. She was kind and gentle and determined. She was
good
. She deserved good things. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that.

He'd never met a woman so determined to make a man happy at home. Savannah's efforts to nurse him, care for him and just plain
welcome
him had been remarkable. As a traveling man at heart, Adam had never experienced anything like the hominess he felt when he was with Savannah. He knew that gave him all the more reason to be honest with her. But he hated the thought of disappointing her—and so far, she'd been powerfully tickled about having her long-awaited “fiancé” under her roof.

“‘Time is of the essence'?” Remembering her words, Adam hesitated with a forkful of eggs. “What's the hurry?”

Savannah stilled. Then she snatched up a linen napkin and shook it out with a businesslike snap. “Oh, you know. I simply don't want to wait any longer than necessary to get married, that's all. We've both waited so long already, haven't we?”

She was hiding something.
He could tell. After his many years as a detective, Adam hadn't acquired much faith in his fellow man—but he
had
acquired the ability to detect
deception. And Savannah, he realized, was trying to deceive him right now.

Not that he could reason out why. Surprised and newly alert, Adam watched Savannah. With her gaze downcast, she spread the napkin over his lap. With her cheeks pink, she patted it thoroughly into place. Her actions were clearly an attempt to distract him from discussing their hasty upcoming wedding.

They worked. Adam shifted in his seat, his body reacting to her touch. Obliviously Savannah went on patting the napkin, seeming not to notice exactly how aggressively she did so.

Swallowing hard, Adam closed his hand over hers. “If you guard me any more diligently against crumbs,” he said in a rough voice, “I might find it difficult to remain gentlemanly.”

Her startled gaze flew to his. She glanced at his lap.

He could tell the exact moment Savannah realized what she'd done—and what's more, how brazenly she'd done it. She clenched her fingers beneath his hand. Then, with a maneuver he'd learned was typically paradoxical of her, she inclined her head in a stiff little bow.

“I'm terribly sorry. That was awfully rude of me, wasn't it?” She gave an awkward titter. “I promise, I'll never,
ever
touch you that way again. No matter what else happens between—”

“No.” Briefly he closed his eyes. “
Don't
promise that.”

At the thought of her touching him again—without the barrier of clothing and an unknown deception between them—Adam nearly lost control. With Savannah so near, and seemingly so willing, his ability to resist her felt downright paltry.

But then he'd known that from the start, hadn't he?

She inhaled, then charged onward. “I will certainly
do my best to respect your personhood and privacy, Mr. Corwin. I—”

“Adam. You promised to call me
Adam.
” Despite his best intentions, Adam found it difficult to remain suspicious of her—partly because her hand felt so good held in his. He'd never touched her so boldly before. He should not have done so now. But Savannah had nearly made herself an
intimate
acquaintance of his just a second ago. He'd had to intervene. He
hadn't
had to continue to cradle her hand beneath his. That, he simply liked.

“Adam. I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm so sorry.”

Against all reason, he found Savannah's elaborate civility endearing. It stood at odds with her natural warmth and charm, but, strangely enough, it emphasized both those qualities, too.

“No more apologies. I forgive you.”
But I still wonder what you're hiding.
Setting aside that question for now, Adam stroked his thumb over her hand. “Mmm. Your skin feels nice.”

“Oh. Thank you! I use a special soap.”

“Very soft and smooth. Not like my rugged hands.”

“On the contrary,” Savannah said courteously. “Your hands are actually quite—” she sneaked a peek, then frowned “—they
are
very rugged looking, as a matter of fact. How can that be, when you spend most of your days working the telegraph apparatus?”

Caught, Adam went still. Then, truthfully, he said, “I've had several occupations over my lifetime. I guess they've all left their marks on me, one way or the other.”

He hated himself for the prevarication—and Savannah seemed to notice it, too. She gazed closely at him, frowning again.

“If you don't mind my asking,” she said in a quiet, careful tone, “exactly what occupations were those?”

Blast.
“They're not important now.” With a dismissive wave, Adam went back to his breakfast. “Mmm. These eggs are delicious. I don't know why Mose is always badmouthing your cooking.”

“Feel free to enumerate those occupations. In order,” Savannah urged, not the least deterred by his attempt at misdirection. “You can't possibly give me too much detail.”

He glanced up. “In your letters, you always said a person's plans for the future mattered more than their past.”

She shrugged. “I guess my philosophy is changing. I want to know
all
about you. I couldn't be more curious.” With an unexpectedly alert expression, she dragged a chair in place right beside him. She sat in it, then put her chin in her hands. “So tell me: what have you done
besides
telegraphing?”

That one, at least, was easy. He could answer honestly.

“I've worked as a ranch hand and as a drummer. I've helped out on a printing press. I used to be a United States Marshall—”

“A Marshall? That sounds fascinating.” She looked at him with new admiration. “How long did you work for the government?”

Just long enough to realize that working for the detective agency would bring more bad men like Roy Bedell to justice
.

No. He could not tell her that. His disillusionment with the Marshall's office wasn't at issue here. Uncomfortable with the necessity of another lie, Adam pushed aside his breakfast.

Savannah noticed. “What's the matter? Don't you like it?”

“I like it very much. But I find myself distracted.”

“Oh?” She looked around as though expecting to find a tap-dancing mouse under his chair. “By what?”

“By you,” Adam said. “You're
powerfully
distracting.”

No longer able to resist her, he put his hand under her chin. Gently he urged her closer, his heart pounding with eagerness. He'd kissed a few women in his time. That was true. But none of those women had ever made him feel as needful as he did right now. He could scarcely remember them. His fingers shook as he drew Savannah nearer, then lowered his head.

The first touch of her lips was pure bliss. At the feel of her mouth beneath his, Adam felt nearly as swoony as he had under the influence of Doc Finney's tincture. He moaned and held on to her, daring to deepen his kiss…and Savannah welcomed him. Her hands came to his shoulders as she clung to him, sweet and soft. Their mouths met again. It was good.
So good…

A short distance away, something banged. Loudly.

It was probably his heart, Adam reasoned as he tightened his grasp on Savannah's hand. He kissed her again, gladly. His heart was unschooled in these romantic matters. It likely didn't know what to make of the giddy pleasure he felt right now.

“Good gracious!” came a shrieking female voice from behind him. “
What
in heaven's name is going on here?”