‘You’re a fine nursemaid,’ Adam told her.

‘It’s the least I could do. Particularly after you travelled 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 travelled all this way just to be with me.

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

AUTHOR NOTE

Thank you for reading MAIL-ORDER GROOM!

I’m so happy to share Savannah’s and Adam’s story with you. It was great fun for me to write, and I truly hope you enjoy it. If you spot a few familiar faces, that’s because this is my fifth visit to Morrow Creek! I hope you’ll look for the other stories in my Morrow Creek series, including THE MATCHMAKER, THE SCOUNDREL and THE RASCAL.

In the meantime, you’re invited to drop by my website, www.lisaplumley.com, where you can sign up for new book alerts or my reader newsletter, read sneak previews of upcoming books, request special reader freebies, and more. I hope you’ll visit today.

As always, I’d love to hear from you! You can visit me online at community.eharlequin.com/users/lisaplumley, send e-mail to lisa@lisaplumley.com, ‘friend’ me on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, or write to me c/o PO Box 7105, Chandler, AZ 85246-7105, USA.

About the Author

When she found herself living in modern-day Arizona Territory, LISA PLUMLEY decided to take advantage of it—by immersing herself in the state’s fascinating history, visiting ghost towns and historical sites, and finding inspiration in the desert and mountains surrounding her. It didn’t take long before she got busy creating light-hearted romances like this one, featuring strong-willed women, ruggedly intelligent men, and the unexpected situations that bring them together.

When she’s not writing, Lisa loves to spend time with her husband and two children, travelling, hiking, watching classic movies, reading, and defending her trivia-game championship. She enjoys hearing from readers, and invites you to contact her via e-mail at lisa@lisaplumley.com, or visit her website at www.lisaplumley.com

Previous novels by the same author:

THE DRIFTER THE MATCHMAKER*

THE SCOUNDREL*

THE RASCAL*

MARRIAGE AT MORROW CREEK*

(part of Halloween Temptations anthology)

*Morrow Creek mini-series

and in Mills & Boon Historical Undone eBooks:

WANTON IN THE WEST

MAIL-ORDER

GROOM

Lisa Plumley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my husband, John, with all my love.

Chapter One

June 1884

Northern Arizona Territory

“For a fella who always gets his man, you sure are spending a lot of time moonin’ over that woman of yours.”

At the sound of his longtime partner’s voice, Adam Corwin jerked his gaze from the blurry photograph he’d been studying.

“She’s not mine.” Stone-faced, he shoved the photograph in his coat pocket, next to his heart. “She’s bait. Nothing more.”

“She’s the gold nugget in this ol’ mining scheme, that’s for sure.” Mariana Sayles crawled to match his position on the ridge, dirtying her skirts with an aplomb unmatched by any detective—female or otherwise. “But there’s no sense looking at her night and day. It’s Bedell we’re supposed to pin, remember?”

“I wish I could forget.” Adam reached for his rucksack. Without taking his gaze from his target, he pushed aside his maps and jerky, then withdrew his spyglass. He aimed the instrument at the campsite he and Mariana had identified after days of tracking. He frowned. “Still no sign of movement.”

“From you or the mark?”

“Funny.” His self-discipline might be legendary, but Adam didn’t like to be reminded of it. “You should join up with one of those traveling circuses. Pay’s probably better.”

“And give up all this?” Mariana gestured at the scrub oak, fallen pinecones, and overall desolation surrounding them at the edge of the mountainside. “Now you’re talkin’ crazy, Corwin.”

“Days of waiting will do that to a man.”

“So will days without a bath. I itch something fierce.”

“Nobody said detective work would be pretty.”

“Nobody said you’d be so handsome, but I put up with it.”

Mariana gave him a teasing smile—the same smile that helped her charm outlaws and clients with equal ease—but Adam didn’t reply. Intent on catching sight of the confidence man they’d tracked across three states and two territories, he scanned the blackened fire pit, the four horses, the empty bottles of mescal, and the trio of canvas military-issue tents—doubtless recently stolen—in the valley below him.

Although the sun had just come up, wisps of smoke still issued from the charred logs—evidence of how late the fire had burned. The bony horses—most likely as pilfered as the tents were—shifted at their iron posts. Otherwise all was silent.

Frustratingly silent.

If Bedell didn’t catch up with his four no-good brothers soon, Adam would know that he and Mariana had struck the wrong path. It wouldn’t be the first time Bedell had slipped away from them. The man was ruthless, whip-smart and as elusive as a warm bed to the man who’d been trailing him.

“You want me to end all this real quick?” Mariana asked. “I could put on a clean dress, go shake my bustle a little, see if those boys want to come in peaceful for a change.”

Adam quirked his mouth. “The day Roy Bedell or his brothers do anything peacefully is the day I sprout wings.” He flattened his belly against the gravelly ground. “You stay here.”

“Why, Mr. Corwin! Are you still trying to protect me?”

“Keep your voice down, too.”

“Always the chivalrous one, even after all these years. They warned me about you at the agency, but would I listen?” Her tone as playful as ever, Mariana nudged him. “How do you know I merit defending anyhow? Some people ain’t worth saving.”

“Some people are bound and determined to give up our position.” Frowning, Adam tucked away his spyglass. He crawled back from the ridge’s edge, then straightened. Deftly he shouldered his rucksack. It contained everything he owned, save his horse and saddle. He couldn’t recall the last night he’d spent without it tucked beneath his head. “Saddle up. Let’s go.”

“Already?” Mariana glanced over her shoulder. “I was just getting comfortable. You’re a right spoilsport sometimes.”

“Bedell might’ve changed his plans. He might’ve decided to meet his mark without his brothers around to complicate things.” Adam had hoped to nab the man before it came to that—before the woman Bedell had targeted became even more involved. But just in case …

“We should head to her telegraph station.”

“Got a special message for your secret lady friend? Hmm?”

“I want to make sure he’s not already there.”

Mariana sighed. “I wish Bedell would get off these phony marriage schemes. Makes me feel sorry for the ladies. Don’t they know no better than to believe a man who promises the moon?”

“Mostly, no.” All the same, Adam wished the woman in his photograph had. “Bedell’s been specially clever about this one, though. Six months laying groundwork, romancing all pretty-like over the wires, sending all those letters—that probably adds up to a compelling case for marriage in most women’s minds.”

“Humph. You’ll never catch me being such a saphead.”

“Good thing.” Safely out of sight of the camp now, Adam tied his rucksack beside his bedroll and saddlebags. He steadied his horse, then swung up in the saddle. “I’d hate to break in a new partner just because you got all swoony over a man.”

“Ha! Not while there’s breath in my body.” Mariana mounted adeptly, her chestnut mare snorting. “Unlike some women, I know how to keep my head. Imagine writing down all that claptrap—”

“She didn’t think the likes of us would be reading it.”

Uncomfortably Adam considered the packet of filched letters in his rucksack. Like all the other missives written by Bedell’s lady loves, they started out cautious … then gradually turned more revealing. Intercepting them hadn’t been his favorite piece of detective work, but it had been necessary. So had Mariana’s part of the job—making copies of the letters in her ladylike handwriting and sending the duplicates to Bedell.

“All I can say is, your lady friend must be sitting on one whale of a cash pile for Bedell to come all this way west.”

Adam frowned. “You’re forgetting Kansas City.”

Instantly his partner sobered. She scanned the ridgeline, her freckled face pensive. “Say … how ‘bout we split up? I’ll keep watch over the campsite and signal you if Bedell shows—” “

We already talked about this—”

“—and I’ll come after you lickety-split if one of his boys takes up in your direction. They’re already days late for their meetin’, and I’m thinking something’s not right. Bedell’s done busted up all their plans. I think maybe it’s a trap.”

“No.” Shaking his head, Adam fisted his pommel. Beneath him, his horse shifted eagerly. “If something happens to you—”

“Don’t worry.” Grinning, Mariana patted the pistol at her hip. When they weren’t in town, she didn’t bother with trick holsters or short-barreled derringers, preferring to strap an ordinary gun belt over her calico skirts. “I can take care of myself.”

Grudgingly Adam studied her. He had the utmost respect for Mariana’s detective abilities. With a rough mouth and a plucky demeanor, she’d made her way in a man’s world—but was still soft enough to spoil their horses with extra oats. As much as he wanted to shield her, it wasn’t his place to hold her back.

“You remember where the station is? Across the valley—”

“And up the mountainside near Morrow Creek. I remember.”

At her beleaguered tone, Adam couldn’t help grinning. Of all the reasons he liked having Mariana as his partner, her grit stood chief among them—even if it did collide with his own stubbornness from time to time. Mariana was brash, outspoken, and unstoppable. She was the closest he came to family.

She glanced at him. “Oh, no. Don’t you give me that grim face of yours, neither. You look as somber as an overworked undertaker.” She waved at him. “Git on now. Shoo. I’ll be fine.”

“You make sure of that.” Gruffly Adam cleared his throat. “Let’s bring down that double-crossing cuss once and for all.”

He touched his hat brim. Mariana offered him an answering salute. Without further sentimentality, he rode away at a clip, leaving his partner a defiant dot on the ridgeline behind him.

Splitting up didn’t sit well with him. Despite that, Adam knew it was the smartest thing to do. Every instinct told him Bedell was ahead of him on the trail—not behind, like Mariana thought. She might be a fast and fearless draw, but he wanted her out of the way when the inevitable showdown came.

The moment he met Roy Bedell face-to-face, Adam knew, one of them was going down—and he was deadly determined it would not be him.

For the fifth time in as many days, Savannah Reed stood on the platform at the Morrow Creek train depot, biting her lip while she stared east. Right on time, the 10:12 train appeared on the horizon, trailing sparks as it chugged nearer.

Jet-black smoke poured from its stacks, smudging the clear and sunny Arizona Territory sky. The sound of the train’s wheels grew louder, seeming to grind out the words he’s almost here, he’s almost here in a rhythm to match her heartbeat.

Around her, expectant travelers surged forward, tickets in hand. The portly man to her left bade his wife goodbye, leaving the poor woman sniffling into her handkerchief. A curly-haired youth Savannah recognized from the mercantile ignored the train’s arrival, preferring to blush and stammer beneath the attention of a young lady who’d stopped to ask him the time.

Some of these people were setting off on new adventures—most outfitted far more elaborately than Savannah had been on her own journey westward months ago. Others were here to meet someone on the 10:12. None of them had been present on the platform every day for nearly a week. None, that is, except her.

From the depot window, the ruddy-faced station telegraph clerk caught her eye. He crossed his fingers, then held them up to her. He’d been here every morning during her vigil, too.

Most likely, he wondered why she kept returning. Or maybe he’d guessed the reason and now felt sorry for her. Savannah didn’t know which. With her belly in knots and perspiration dampening her best dress, she couldn’t bring herself to contemplate the matter much further, either. All that counted now was that train—currently squealing to a stop in a cloud of smoke and cinders—and the people about to disembark from it. After all, it wasn’t every day that a woman waited to meet her husband-to-be. Especially for the first time ever.

The porter stepped out, setting his movable wooden steps in place and making way for the passengers. Eagerly Savannah raised herself on tiptoes to see. As usual, most of the passengers surged out in small groups, then headed for one of the nearby hotels for a hurried meal. Only a few travelers carried full baggage. Those were the ones who meant to stay.

Her fiancé would be one of them.

Holding her breath, Savannah examined each male passenger in turn. One sported enormously fashionable whiskers. Another held the hand of a shy-looking lady. A third moved with the aid of a cane, his chest thrust outward with an old soldier’s pride.

Feeling suddenly uncertain, she sneaked a glance at the written description—unfortunately rain-splattered, thanks to one of her earlier vigils—that she’d carried with her for weeks. A familiar sense of disappointment struck her. He was not here.

None of these men bore the homespun features, sensible suit, and tentative smile described in the letter she held. None of them was the earnest Baltimore telegraph operator with whom she’d struck up a long-distance friendship so many months ago.

Giddy with the freedom and intimacy of the wires, she and her soon-to-be husband had shared their hopes and dreams … and, eventually, a promise to meet here in Morrow Creek. But their rendezvous date had come and gone five times now. Even a neophyte romantic like Savannah had the sense to realize something had gone wrong.

Well, she’d simply head back to her station and man the wires, Savannah decided as she squared her shoulders. It was possible her fiancé had already sent her an explanation for his tardiness. Her helper, Mose, might be receiving her fiancé’s romantic, apology-filled message at the station even now.

At the notion, Savannah felt somewhat cheered. She breathed in deeply, then took a final look at the train—just in case, for she was nothing if not meticulous. When her pen pal did not miraculously alight from the car, she turned away … only to find the station clerk’s sympathetic gaze pinned on her.

“Too bad,” he said kindly. “Disappointed again?”

Mutely Savannah stared at him. For the first time it occurred to her how foolish she’d been. She never should have allowed her hopes to draw her into town day after day.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk said. “If you’re looking for someone particular on the 10:12, maybe I can help you, Miss …?”

Reed. Savannah Reed. He wanted to know her name, she knew, but Savannah had all the reasons in the world not to share it.

At least not until she could change it in marriage.

Thanks to her position at the isolated telegraph station—where few people had cause to visit, much less to wonder about its new operator—Savannah had kept her identity a secret in Morrow Creek … at least so far. She wanted to keep it that way.

Reed was a common enough name, she reminded herself. For now, its ordinariness would likely protect her. Especially in the absence of any other potentially damning information.

“I’m Joseph Abernathy.” He gave her a smile—a speculative, curious-looking smile. “I don’t think we’ve met. Why don’t you come on over? Maybe I can help track down your tardy traveler.”

“Thank you, but I—I’m in a terrible rush.” Why had she let herself be drawn in this way? The station clerk seemed friendly, but word traveled fast in a small Western town like Morrow Creek. The more people she spoke with, the more difficult it would be to keep her secret. “I’m sorry. Please excuse me!”

Wearing her most harried expression, Savannah bustled away. She heard Joseph Abernathy calling after her, but she didn’t dare stop. She wasn’t ready to befriend anyone. Not yet.

Her high-buttoned shoes clopped across the platform as she pushed her way between the few lingering travelers. Once she’d reached a safe distance from Mr. Abernathy, Savannah relaxed. She allowed the anxious look to leave her face. Methodically she let her shoulders fall in their usual position. She eased her steps to a normal pace, then permitted her breathing to slow.

Almost home free. If she were smart, she’d still hurry, despite being clear of Mr. Abernathy’s inquisitive gaze. Mose was not as skilled at recognizing the various telegraph operators’ signatures as she was. Her beau’s distinctive manner of tapping out a message might go by unnoticed if she weren’t there to hear it. Raising her skirts, Savannah headed for the street.

She almost tripped over the little girl in her path.

“Oh, pardon me!” Savannah said. “I’m so sorry.”

The child gaped up. She stood alone, her blond hair in pigtails and her face wet with tears. She clutched a satchel.

“Have you seen my mama? She was right there—” she pointed with a shaky, chubby finger “—but now she’s gone.”

“I—no, I’m sorry.” Feeling rushed, Savannah cast a hasty glance around the platform. She saw no likely looking adults nearby. Knowing it was probably unwise to call further attention to herself, she nonetheless crouched beside the girl. She offered an encouraging smile. “Perhaps you could describe her to me?”

A sniffle. “Well …” The girl sucked in a breath and attempted a description. Her halting words were interrupted by choking sobs and another mighty sniffle. “M-M-Mama is—”

“All right.” Frowning in commiseration, Savannah raised her hand toward the child’s face. She flipped her wrist—a move borne of long practice—then brightly withdrew a handkerchief. “Use this, then try again.”

The little girl’s sobs abruptly stopped. Wide-eyed, she pointed. “You pulled that out of my ear!“

Savannah shrugged. “I thought you could use it.”

“Do it again! Do it again!”

Savannah smiled. When she’d been a girl, she’d been amazed by that trick, too. “Maybe after we find your mother. Let’s—”

“Wait, there she is! And Papa, too!” the girl shouted.

She raced across the platform at full tilt, then threw her arms around a relieved-looking woman carrying a lace-edged parasol. Beside the woman, a gentleman in a fine suit smiled at his daughter. He lowered his hand to caress her pigtails.

At the gesture, Savannah nearly sighed. She wished her mail-order groom were as dashing and caring as that little girl’s father. Her fiancé was on the decidedly plain side—at least if his modest descriptions of himself were to be believed—and his avowed affection for tinned beans was hardly awe-inspiring. But he was solid and good, Savannah reminded herself sternly. She didn’t care what his outsides looked like, as long as his insides came outfitted with a loving heart.

And as long as he arrived soon.

It wasn’t as though she were marrying for love. Not yet, at least. She could afford to skimp on a few of the luxuries.

“. and that lady helped me! She can do magic tricks!”

At the sound of the girl’s voice, Savannah brightened. She smiled at the reunited family … only to be greeted by frowns.

They could see. They’d guessed the truth about her.

Savannah’s alarm was immediate and unthinking. She stared down at herself, trying to figure out the problem. Was her dress too bright, too new, too showy? Was her manner too forward?

Before she could reason out the trouble, the girl’s father disentangled himself from his daughter’s grasp. He strode toward Savannah. For one cowardly moment, she considered running away.

But then she lifted her chin instead.

She hadn’t come all the way west just to be frightened off by a good-looking man with an expensive hat and an authoritative demeanor. Even if he did remind her of Warren, that dastardly—

“Miss, thank you for watching over my daughter.”

He pressed something in her gloved palm. Reflexively Savannah tried to give it back, but the man wouldn’t allow her to. With a warmhearted smile, he closed her fingers around the object. He tipped his hat, then rejoined his happy family.

For a moment, Savannah could only watch them as they walked away from the platform together. In the warm glow of the summer sunshine, they seemed to embody everything she’d ever wanted—a family, a sense of belonging … a reason to smile that felt true.

Well, soon enough she’d have all that.

She’d have all that and more, Savannah assured herself. If only she stayed faithful to her plan, she could achieve every dream she’d ever had, right here in a sun-splashed territory where no one knew her family or her past—and no one ever would.

Determinedly she shifted her gaze. She uncurled her fingers. In the center of her palm, a silver coin winked up.

Hmm. Evidently she’d erred too far on the dowdy side.

That was interesting. She’d tried to appear a simple Morrow Creek woman … and had only succeeded in appearing impoverished.

Before she returned to town, she’d have to remedy that. It was fortunate her costume trunk was deep—and had survived the trip from New York City mostly unharmed, thanks to Mose’s help.

Drawing up her skirts, Savannah aimed one final glance at the disappointing train, then headed in the direction of the mountainside. If she were lucky, when she arrived home a telegraph message would already be waiting for her.

A quarter mile from the Morrow Creek adjunct telegraph station, Adam dismounted. With all his senses alert, he staked his horse near a patch of fresh grass, then gave the gelding a pat on the neck. “Behave yourself. I won’t be gone long.”

The beast nickered. Damnation. He’d done it again.

Talking to the horses was Mariana’s province. Feeling beyond foolish, Adam ducked his head, then headed out on foot with only his rucksack for company.Riding straight up to the station was a risk he couldn’t take. It was possible Bedell was already there, ensconced in his new “home” with yet another woman who fancied herself fortunate in love at last.

As far as Adam was concerned, the confidence man deserved a special place in hell for taking advantage of lonely women. He deserved much worse than that for what he’d done in Kansas City.

A few minutes’ hike brought Adam within sight and earshot of the station. Stealthily he circled its boundaries. He’d scouted the place days earlier with Mariana, learning the lay of the land and the locations likeliest for an ambush. Today, everything appeared unchanged. All the same, Adam felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Frowning, he kept on moving.

Birds chirped, unconcerned by Adam’s arrival. A squirrel stopped, stared at him, then dashed up a tree. A few yards away, the station hunkered on sloped ground, surrounded by ponderosa pines and the occasional scrub oak; the mountain loomed behind it. Gaining a foothold amid the fallen pinecones and crunchy dried needles was tricky; so was imagining a woman lonesome enough to accept an offer of marriage from a hard-nosed killer.

Not that any of them knew that’s what Roy Bedell was, Adam reminded himself as he crouched to survey the shingled log cabin station and its peeled-log porch. All of Bedell’s “brides” had considered Bedell a kindred spirit—at least until he cleaned out their prized belongings, absconded with their savings and broke their hearts. Adam wanted a better fate for the woman in the photograph, but Mariana was right—something was off-kilter here.

Muscles tightening, Adam withdrew his spyglass. He aimed it toward the station’s twin windows. Several minutes’ patient watching rewarded him with a view of Mose Hawthorne, the man who hauled firewood, repaired equipment and sometimes manned the telegraph. He arrived every day on a sporadic schedule and spent his nights in a cabin closer to the town of Morrow Creek.

Most people did. Those who came out west wanted to be near a town site, where they could find friends and necessities and convivial conversation. Adam didn’t know why the station’s proprietress had accepted her isolated assignment. The detective in him reasoned that she probably had something to hide. The man in him hoped she liked to be alone … the same way he did.

But that was outlandish. It didn’t matter whether he felt a kinship with the woman—whether he thought he understood her. She was a mark. He’d vowed to protect her. Nothing else mattered.

A thorough check revealed that she wasn’t at the station. Adam searched harder. He’d glimpsed her once, but only from a distance. Now, as odd as it sounded, he wanted more … and was denied. As though sharing Adam’s disappointment, the place’s big calico cat slunk into view, stared at him through baleful eyes, then vanished. A rhythmic tapping issued from inside the cabin.

Silence fell. Mose Hawthorne moved from the desk to the cast-iron stove, fiddling with something. A few minutes later, the scent of coffee filled the air. Lulled by the peaceful tableau, Adam released a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding.

Everything was fine. She was fine. Bedell wasn’t here.

Adam tucked away his spyglass. He slung his rucksack over his shoulder, then turned. At the same instant, something came at him. Something big. Something long and rough. A tree branch.

In confusion, Adam ducked too late. The branch walloped him on the side of the head. He went down with an involuntary grunt.

The damp tang of moss and dirt filled his nostrils. Again the branch came down. It whacked the ground, collapsing his fallen hat like a squash under a cleaver. Adam shoved. His palms skidded on twigs and leaves. He forced himself upright again.

The branch caught him in the side. His breath left him.

“For the last time, stay out of my business.”

Bedell. Even woozy and gasping, Adam recognized that pitiless voice. It had haunted his dreams for well over a year.

Mariana. If Bedell or his brothers had gotten to her first, she wouldn’t have survived. Roughly, Adam sighted Bedell. He honed in on his bland face with its underachieving whiskers. His fist followed his gaze. With a surprised shout, Bedell fell.

Adam seized the man’s coat and hauled him upward. Without his customary hat, Bedell looked young. Too young.

Disoriented by Bedell’s baby-faced appearance, Adam hesitated. It didn’t feel right to hit a skinny, callow youth.

“Ah.” Unmistakable cunning filled Bedell’s voice, erasing all impressions of innocence. He sighted something over his shoulder, then nodded at it. “You do have a weakness.”

Reflexively Adam twisted to look at whatever Bedell had seen. He drew his firearm, then turned back to Bedell. He fired.

At the same time, another shot rang out.

The birds fled the trees. Both men fell.

Savannah nearly walked right past the curiously squashed-up flat-brimmed hat lying on the ground outside her station.

She was so intent on retrieving her repentant fiancé’s telegraph message that she glanced at the hat, did not think much of it and kept on striding toward home. Her encounter with the family at the depot platform had reinforced the dreams that had driven her west, and Savannah knew she wouldn’t accomplish those dreams by dawdling. Besides, her nose fairly twitched with the seductive fragrance of coffee brewing. She wanted to get home, grab a restorative cup and check the wires with Mose.

Then she glimpsed a man’s fallen body. He lay with one arm out flung, his face hidden. His knees gouged the dirt as though he’d been dropped cold while crawling toward her station. He looked like one of the lifeless “prizes” that her calico mouser, Esmeralda, sometimes left on the station’s front porch.

Chilled by the realization, Savannah sank to the ground beside him. Too late, she saw that the leaves nearby were speckled with blood. Now so were her hands and her dress.

This could only be one man. One man—late but determined.

“Mose!” Savannah yelled. “Come quick!”

Her husband-to-be had arrived at last and if he died before she could marry him, they were both in big trouble.

Chapter Two

Several hours later, Morrow Creek’s sole physician, Dr. Finney, stood in Savannah’s private quarters at the station.

Near him on her rope-sprung bed, the man she and Mose had carried inside now lay insensible in the summertime heat. His clothes were mucked with sweat and dirt and blood, but Savannah had instructed Mose to give him her bed anyway. The man’s face was filmed with perspiration, defying her attempts to cool him.

Lowering her improvised fan, Savannah gazed in concern at the man. Naked from the waist up—a necessity for Dr. Finney’s treatment—he now lay atop the bedding, silent and pale, arms akimbo.

“It’s not decent to leave him exposed this way,” she said.

“It’s not decent for you to be here at all.” Dr. Finney tugged uncomfortably at his necktie. Crossly he shoved medical instruments in his bag. They clinked in place beside a tattered book on animal husbandry, two tins of curative powder and a bundle of bandages. “As soon as you’re able to round up some help, I’d suggest you and Mr. Hawthorne move this man to town.”

“And where shall we move him to?” Savannah asked. “The Lorndorff Hotel? The saloon? Miss Adelaide’s boardinghouse?”

“Your flippancy is uncalled for.” The doctor frowned, still preparing to leave. “A decent woman would not even be aware of the existence of Miss Adelaide’s … establishment.”

“Well, I am.” Given her background, Savannah had discerned the most disreputable of Morrow Creek’s businesses right away. Then she’d vowed to avoid them. “As far as we know, there’s no one except me who can take care of this poor man. I can’t possibly move him.” Especially if he’s my secret mail-order fiancé. “Especially while he’s in this dire condition. If you would please tell me how to care for him, I’ll simply—”

Dr. Finney interrupted. “I realize you are not from around these parts, so I’ve made certain … allowances for you.” His disapproving gaze swept over her homespun gown and tightly wound blond hair. He sighed. “I know you have an unconventional occupation, working out here at the station. I understand you prefer to keep to yourself, as is your right. But none of those factors excuse you from the expectations of polite society.”

“No one in polite society needs to know he’s here.”

“Are you asking me to lie? Because I assure you, I will—”

“I’ll be here.” Mose stepped forward, his expression amiable. His shoulders were wide, his manner no-nonsense, his tone gentle—as gentle as it had been when he and Savannah had first met backstage at the Orpheum Theatre almost twenty years earlier. Mose nodded at the tight-lipped doctor. “I’ll serve as the lady’s chaperone. I’ll safeguard her reputation.”

Savannah guffawed, gesturing to the bed. “The man is cataleptic! I doubt he’ll threaten my virtue anytime soon.”

Mose shot her a warning look. “What she means to say,” he assured the doctor, “is that her character is above reproach. As a good, respectable woman, she only wants to do her Christian duty and care for an injured traveler. Nothing more.”

“Hmm.” Dr. Finney frowned. “This is very irregular.”

His censorious gaze swung around to her. Pinned by his severe demeanor, Savannah sobered. Mose was right. She needed to be more careful. She and her longtime friend had traveled west to start new lives—not to repeat the mistakes of their old ones.

As a good, respectable woman …

Reminded of her goals, Savannah realized that, with a few moments’ unguarded frankness, she’d nearly undone almost a year’s worth of careful behavior. Since coming to live near Morrow Creek, she’d striven to present herself as the woman she wanted to be … not the woman she’d been back in New York City.

She shot a glance at her wounded visitor. For his sake and her own, she needed to make Dr. Finney accept her plan. She needed to care for her husband-to-be here, away from prying eyes. The faster he healed, the faster they could marry.

And the longer this took, the less likely the doctor would be to relent in his stance. If there was one thing Savannah had learned to understand in her former life, it was human nature.

“I know it’s unusual for me to ask this of you, Dr.

Finney. I do appreciate your help with everything. You’ve been positively invaluable this afternoon.” Beaming, Savannah took the doctor’s arm. “I’m afraid the shock of this event simply has me a little undone. I’m just not myself at the moment. I am sorry for any misunderstanding I’ve caused.”

At her apology, the doctor brightened. “There there.” Paternally he patted her hand, nestling it near his elbow. “You’ve been very brave through everything. I’ve known more than a few battlefield nurses in my time, and not one of them would—”

“Oh!” Giving a theatrical groan, Savannah swayed. “I’m sorry. I seem to be getting a bit woozy.” Weakly she grappled for the bedpost. She missed. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mose, his arms crossed, shaking his head. Ignoring him, she turned to Dr. Finney. “My! It’s a good thing you had such a firm hold on me, Doctor. I might have fallen just now!”

“Well then. You’d better sit down.” Dr. Finney helped her to a chair—obligingly kicked into place by an on-cue Mose. The doctor gave her an assessing look. “You appear quite pale.”

“I feel quite pale.” Savannah fanned her face. Making every effort to suppress her natural vigor, she swanned into the chair. “Yes, that’s much better. Thank you so much, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome. I had no idea you were this delicate.”

He sounded thrilled by her fragility … exactly as she’d hoped he would. Savannah hated to playact this way, but she was in a right pickle. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. She had to manage with the skills she possessed … such as they were.

“Well …” Feebly Savannah fluttered her fingers. “I guess I am. And to have my moral fiber questioned in such terms … I suppose it simply took the last of my strength to withstand it.”

“Oh I do apologize.” Dr. Finney took her limp hand in his. “Truly, I didn’t mean to impugn your honor. I think it would be fine for you to care for this wounded gentleman—with Mr. Hawthorne’s supervision and my expert oversight, of course.”

“Of course! I couldn’t possibly manage alone.”

Behind the doctor, Mose stifled a guffaw. Perhaps she was overplaying her role, Savannah realized. But it was working.

“Shall I stay a bit longer, until you’re feeling restored?” Dr. Finney consulted his small, leather-bound journal. “Mrs. Marshall is expecting the arrival of a new baby today, but I—”

“Oh, no! I’ll be fine. Please go help Mrs. Marshall.”

The doctor peered at her. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“She’s certain,” Mose said. Loudly and indisputably.

It took a few more moments’ performance, but eventually Dr. Finney agreed. Leaving her with medical instructions, a tincture for neuralgia and a fatherly admonishment not to “strain” herself, the doctor took himself back to Morrow Creek.

The moment the door shut, Mose turned to her, laughing. “Bravo. Your best performance yet. And the most shameless.”

“The most expedient, you mean.” Not the least discomfited by her own audacity, Savannah bustled to her patient’s bedside. “Nothing convinces a man of a woman’s fine character more than her apparent weakness.

Why men expect a woman to be capable of hauling firewood, handling thirty-pound cast-iron pots, carrying babies, and hoeing knee-high weeds—all while appearing frail and helpless—is beyond me. Honestly. You’re all contrarians.”

“Maybe.” Her longtime friend gave her a searching look—one that had nothing to do with her theories on femininity. “But at least we men take life straight out, the way it comes to us. We don’t uproot ourselves, learn a new trade, finagle a wedding—”

“Stop it. We’ve already discussed this.” Savannah knew what Mose was suggesting—that she was being foolish to force her new life into fruition. Although Mose had been loyal enough to come out west with her, he’d always been skeptical about her plan.

On the other hand, Mose hadn’t been the one whose sordid personal story had been splashed across every tabloid newspaper in the States and beyond. Mose hadn’t been the one who’d turned to Warren Scarne for help and comfort … only to wind up unemployed and heartbroken. Savannah had been. She’d vowed to never land herself in such a pitiable position ever again.

“Admit it. You enjoyed your show for Dr. Finney just now.” Mose followed her, his expression concerned. “You haven’t seemed so chirpy in months. Are you sure you’re ready to leave your old life behind you? The stage, the lights, the applause—”

“Shh!” Worried that her patient might overhear their conversation, Savannah aimed a cautious glance at the man. Then she turned to Mose. “Of course I’m ready,” she assured him. She picked up a cloth from the basin, wrung it out, then dabbed it across her patient’s forehead, being careful to avoid his new bandages. She nodded at him. “He’s the proof of it, isn’t he?”

“He was shot in the back and left for dead.”

Well, that was a troubling detail. Shootings weren’t common in Morrow Creek. It had been all they could do to prevent Dr. Finney from calling for Sheriff Caffey and rounding up a posse. Mose—knowing that the last thing Savannah wanted was a lawman hanging about—had claimed he’d accidentally wounded the man when he’d spotted him in the trees … and that had been that. For now.

All Savannah could do now was hope that the danger was past—for all of them—and carry on with her plans as they were.

“Shot in the back,” Mose reiterated. “And left for dead.”

“I heard you the first time.” Considering that problem, Savannah gently cleansed the man’s sturdy chest and shoulders. She dipped her cloth in the basin again, turning the water pink with blood. She set back to work, washing near the bandages that crisscrossed the man’s midsection. Dr. Finney had stitched up her tardy fiancé, but he still bore a gunshot wound, a couple of broken ribs, several nascent bruises and a lump on his head.

“He’s a city man—a telegraph operator from Baltimore,” she reminded Mose. “A pair of thieves probably followed him from the train station and robbed him. Likely he didn’t know better—”

“He never arrived at the station, remember?”

“He might have taken another train. An earlier train.” Disconcerted, Savannah eyed her patient. She so longed for him to be the answer to her dreams—the key to her future. She didn’t want to admit the possibility that she might be wrong about him. “He might have arrived sometime when I wasn’t at the depot.”

“You’ve been at the depot every day. And he’s armored up like a common ruffian, too.” In demonstration, Mose pointed to the bedside table. On it lay the fearsome pistol they’d found on one side of the man’s belt. And the gun they’d salvaged from the other side of his belt. And the knife they’d slipped from his boot. “What do you make of that miniature armory of his?”

“Like I said, he was a simple city man. He was probably worried about coming out west and armed himself for protection. You know how the penny papers like to exaggerate the dangers of life outside the States. It’s a wonder anyone emigrates at all.”

“Humph.” Mose crossed his arms. “He looks like he could handle himself, even without all that firepower.”

Speculatively Savannah bit her lip. Her fiancé did appear more robust than she’d expected. Even in his current condition, his torso and arms were corded over with muscle. His trouser-covered legs appeared powerful, too, right down to his big bare toes peeping out from his pants hems. Both his hands bore the scars of rough living, but they also looked elegant. She could easily imagine his fingers working the sensitive telegraphy equipment that had brought them together over the wires.

“Well, you can’t reckon much by appearances. He probably has a very gentle heart, just like he told me in his letters.” Savannah ignored Mose’s skeptical snort. “And I’m the last person who would judge someone by what they look like—or—by what they might have done in the past. He and I are here to make a new beginning for ourselves. Together. And that’s that.”

“So if he’s an armed and dangerous outlaw on the run, you’re fine with marrying him? You’re hunky-dory with that?”

At Mose’s incredulous tone, Savannah smiled. She gave her friend a pat. “Of course I’m not. I have thought about this.”

“Good.” Mose appeared relieved. “I thought you had, but—”

“If he were an outlaw, he’d hardly have a respectable name to lend me, now would he?” With all reasonableness, Savannah skipped straight to the heart of the matter. She didn’t have to pussyfoot around with Mose. “You know I can’t go on much longer with my own name. What happened back in Missouri proved that.”

She’d first attempted to start over in Ledgerville. It hadn’t worked out, to say the least. But the lessons she’d learned in Missouri had made Savannah much savvier about her next attempt to forge a new life. She longed to live in town, in homey Morrow Creek just down the mountainside, but she didn’t dare approach the people there until everything was arranged just so. Until she was properly wed and respectably behaved.

Biting her lip, Savannah glanced at the Guide to Correct Etiquette and Proper Behavior handbook beside her telegraph. She’d studied it until the pages were nearly worn through. Now she could only hope her improvised education proved sufficient.

“Besides,” she said, “all I want is a home. A real home. Is that so awful? For a woman to want to build a cozy home life?”

“No, but … I still don’t like this.” Mose shook his head, his forehead creased with concern. “We should have gone on to San Francisco. We should have found places with a theater company. We should have started over with something we know.”

“You know why I don’t want to do that, Mose.”

He fell silent. Then said, “I know, but there are other ways—”

“You’re free to go if you want to.” Gently Savannah squeezed his arm. “I wouldn’t like it, but I would understand.”

“No.” Her friend’s frown deepened. “Not while he’s here.”

“I already told you, you don’t have to protect me.” At Mose’s dubious look, she smiled. “It’s all well and good that you told Dr. Finney you’d stay here, and I do appreciate your help. But I’m fully prepared to handle this myself.”

To prove it, Savannah put away her cloth. Then, with careful but businesslike gestures, she set to work making her patient feel more comfortable. She pulled out the heavy quilted flannel she’d put on to protect the mattress, then straightened the bedding. As she did, she couldn’t help studying her fiancé.

Not only was he bigger and stronger than she’d expected, but he was also much better looking. His face, topped by a tousled pile of dark hair, was downright handsome. He didn’t show much evidence of eating too many tinned beans, either. Maybe he’d wanted to seem humble in his letters? He’d been too poor, he’d said, to afford to send a photograph, the way she had.

Savannah hadn’t minded parting with one of her stage photographs—one of the final mementos of her previous life.

“He looks awfully uncomfortable.” Decisively she caught hold of his leg. Using his trousers as a makeshift handle, she moved his leg sideways a few inches. She reached for the other leg, just above his ankle, then moved it, too. “That’s better.”

Something clattered to the floor.

“If you’re intending on manhandling him like that,” Mose complained, “I’d better make sure to stay here to supervise.”

“Pish posh. I’m nursing him.” Savannah bent to pick up the item that had fallen. Her fingers scraped the station’s polished floorboards. An instant later, she straightened with a long, wicked blade in her grasp. Wide-eyed, she glanced from the knife to Mose. “And I’m definitely finding out more about him, too.”

“I think that would be wise,” Mose told her.

A search of the man’s trousers and their … environs proved unproductive, much to Savannah’s disappointment. She suspected that failure owed itself to Mose’s lackadaisical search efforts.

“Honestly, Mose. Search harder! He might have a concealed pocket somewhere on him. Who knows what you’re missing?”

“He’s not a magician,” Mose grumbled. Making a face, he looked up from their still-inert patient, his hands hovering in place. “I’m unlikely to pull a rabbit from his britches.”

“Well, that’s probably true,” she agreed with reluctance. Growing up in a family of itinerant performers may have skewed her perceptions of things. Frustrated, Savannah sighed.

Finding that second hidden knife had spooked her, but good. She wanted answers about this man, and she wanted them now.

Impatiently she grabbed her supposed fiancé’s shirt from the ladder-back chair Dr. Finney had flung it to.The garment possessed no pockets, secret or otherwise.

Next she snatched up his suit coat, wrought of ordinary lightweight wool.

“Eureka.” She felt something clump beneath her searching fingers. Trembling, she pulled out a bundle of letters. Her letters. She recognized the handwriting, the postmark … the sappy sentiments she’d imprudently confessed to her fiancé.

Peering over her shoulder, Mose read aloud. “’My Dearest, Kindest, Most Longed-For Mr.—’”

Flushed, Savannah folded the single letter she’d perused.

“Why, Savannah. That’s very … impassioned of you.”

“Hush. I’m a romantic at heart, that’s all.”

“So.” Mose arched his brow. “Did you mean any of it?”

Hurt by his question, she gazed up at him. Her fingers tightened on the letters. She brought them to her heart, then raised the bundle to her nose. The papers and ink now smelled of fresh air and leather and damp wool. They smelled of him.

“I refuse to pretend for my whole life,” Savannah said. “That’s why we’re here. To have a life that’s real.”

“And yet you’re starting it with a lie.”

“Finding myself a mail-order groom isn’t a lie. We’re both here willingly. We’re both lonely, and we don’t want to be.”

Mose made a gruff, tentative gesture. “You’re … lonely?”

His tone of sadness wrenched her. Savannah wanted to save him from it … but she couldn’t. She couldn’t lie about this. She swallowed past a lump in her throat. Wordlessly she nodded.

“But if all goes well, I won’t be lonely for much longer. And neither will he.” In dawning wonder, she and Mose stared at the man in the bed. “It’s him, Mose!” She breathed in. “It’s really him. My new life is finally beginning.”

Chapter Three

Adam dreamed of baby-faced killers and swinging tree branches and a dark swirling pain that centered on his skull. Hot and restless, he thrashed on the fallen pine needles.

“Shh,” a woman said. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.” But he wasn’t. “Mariana!” he tried to say. “Mariana!” His voice emerged in a croak, hurting his throat. The forest moved around him, dark and light, always changing. He needed to find his partner. He needed to find out what Bedell and his brothers had done to her. Soon it would be too late.

Something touched his head. At the contact, Adam flinched. A shameful groan burst from his chest, making the pain worse.

“Just raise your head a little,” the woman urged. “Please.”

Wetness touched his lips. It tasted bitter. Adam screwed up his face. If Bedell wanted to poison him, he’d have to do it without his cooperation. Swearing, he smacked away the liquid.

Something clattered to the ground. It rolled and smashed.

“He’s still fitful,” the woman said. “All night he’s been—”

He didn’t catch whatever else she said. Her voice, low and cautious, wavered in and out of his hearing. Several of her words made no sense. Adam thought he heard his gelding nearby. The horse shook its traces with equine impatience—or maybe with prescient concern. Once he’d been rifle-shot in an ambush, and his horse had carried his limp body all the way to Mariana.

Mariana. He had to rescue her. He was running out of time.

He tried to call her name again. All that emerged was another groan. Soft hands touched his face, then moved lower.

The hands patted his chest. With effort, Adam opened his eyes. The world wavered, showing him a lopsided view of a blond-haired woman. He knew her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t remember.

Weakly he grabbed her wrist. “Mariana?” he mumbled.

“Yes, it’s me. Savannah.” She slipped from his hold, then set aside his hand with a soothing pat. “Just rest now.”

Adam frowned. She was treating him like a child. Annoyed and still hurting, he clenched his fingers. They encountered soft quilted fabric, a cushy mattress. Where the hell was he?

“You gave me quite a scare,” she said. “But you made it here, and you’re going to be fine. That’s all that matters.”

Savannah. Savannah. Drowsily Adam pondered the name.

His eyes drifted shut. Damnation. He forced them open.

Savannah’s concerned face swam above him. She smiled as she tucked a blanket snugly around him. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

He couldn’t be happy. There was something wrong with Mariana. Something awful … But he couldn’t remember what.

A heartbeat later, Adam crashed into the blackness again.

The next time Adam awakened, he opened his eyes on a cozy, dimly lit room. Frowning with concentration, he took stock of his surroundings. They were small and modest, framed by split-log walls and crammed with furnishings. A medicinal tang hung in the air, along with a flowery fragrance he couldn’t place.

Beneath him was an unfamiliar bed. Nearby, an old bureau hunkered with a lighted oil lamp atop it. To his left sat an empty ladder-back chair. Rhythmic tapping came from the next room. Adam recognized the sound as a telegraph machine in use.

He was inside the telegraph station. Hazily he remembered confronting Bedell. He remembered going down, remembered hitting the man, remembered his last words: You do have a weakness.

They made less sense to him now than they had then, but Adam didn’t have time to consider the matter further. He had to get to Mariana. He threw off the coverlet, then wrenched upward.

The motion sent searing pain through him. Gasping with it, he clutched his middle. Gingerly he spread his fingers apart.

Two bandages met his unsteady gaze. He blinked at them, then sucked in another breath. Next, he twisted to touch his back. More bandages had been wrapped near his shoulder blade. Tentatively he patted them. He was hurt. That didn’t mean he could stop moving. He had to find Mariana and save her.

Another agonizing movement brought him to his feet. Adam teetered, clenching his jaw. Pain throbbed through his head, making him dizzy. His ribs hurt; so did his shoulder. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him. He grabbed the chair. A few more raspy, painful breaths fortified him enough to go on.

The tapping of the telegraphy equipment ceased. He sent a cautious glance toward the other end of the station, straining to hear. All he sensed was the occasional rustle of papers. A distant chair scraped across the floor; a shadow moved across the wall. He wasn’t alone here. Propelled into motion by the realization, Adam sighted the latched door. He surged toward it.

An involuntary moan escaped him. Tightening his jaw, he made himself keep moving. His fingers scrabbled clumsily on the latch. Frustrated, he tried again. The door finally swung free, revealing the darkened woods surrounding the telegraph station.

Adam staggered outside, leaving his shirt and suit coat behind him. Warm nighttime air swirled over his exposed skin. Sweating and breathing heavily, he lurched across the station’s yard, looking for his horse. He hardly felt the stones and grass beneath his bare feet. All that mattered was finding Mariana.

“Whoa there, stranger!” someone called. “Hold up.”

At the sound of that deep male voice, Adam whipped his hand to his belt. His empty belt. His usual firepower wasn’t there.

Hell. In his muzzy-headed haste to leave, he’d forgotten to arm himself, he realized. Too late. Instinctively Adam flexed his knee, but his backup knife was gone, too. He was forced to stand on weakened legs, defenseless and light-headed, as a big, dark-skinned man tromped toward him with a handheld lantern.

“Let me help you.” The man put his free arm around Adam’s shoulders. He looked older than he’d first appeared, but genial—and clearly determined. “I guess you’re looking for the privy.”

Warily Adam nodded. Deprived of his weapons, there wasn’t much else he could do. Besides, he recognized Mose Hawthorne. He doubted the station’s part-time helper posed a threat to him.

Together they crossed the yard, moving slowly toward the outhouse. Adam scanned the tree line as they went. If Bedell or his brothers were still out there, he needed to be aware of it.

He cleared his throat. “I’m looking for a woman. She ought to be around here someplace. Have you seen her? She’s—”

“Right in there, friend.” Mose nodded toward the station, interrupting before Adam could describe Mariana. He opened the outhouse door. “Savannah’s been waiting on you awhile now. You have no idea what kind of hopes that woman’s got pinned on you.”

Having read her letters to Bedell, Adam had a fairly thorough notion of what the confidence man’s mark might expect of her new beau. But that wasn’t what concerned him now.

“I meant another woman. Dark hair, about this high—” Adam held his hand to chest height “—foul mouth, dirty skirts most likely, probably packing a pistol or two? She might be hurt.”

“That don’t sound like any woman I ever heard of.” Mose frowned. “You hurt your head, though. I’m guessing you’re still a little confused.” He gestured. “You need help in there?”

Adam gave the outhouse a dismissive glance. “No. If you haven’t seen her, then I’ll have to go looking.” He wavered on his unsteady legs. Mose held him up. “Did you find my horse?”

“Your horse?” This time, the station’s helper cast him an even more fretful look. “You didn’t have a horse. I found your rucksack over there in the bushes, but that’s all. If you had yourself a horse back in Baltimore, it’ll be no help to you here in the Territory. Although Savannah will be relieved to know you had that much scratch. Between you and me, I think she thought you were near destitute. She’s just softhearted enough not to care.” Mose nodded at the outhouse. “Go on and do your business now. I’ll wait here and help you back inside when you’re done.”

At the man’s expectant look, Adam swore. He was too dazed to follow everything Mose had said, especially all that prattle about Baltimore and Savannah Reed’s softheartedness. He didn’t like knowing that Bedell’s mark was even more gullible than he’d thought … and so, by all accounts, was her only helper and friend. But further talking was a delay Adam couldn’t afford.

His work for the agency was important; Mariana’s safety was paramount. His partner mattered more to him than any mission.

He eyed Mose, wondering how to dodge the big man. If the station’s helper couldn’t give him answers about Mariana, he’d have to leave him behind. An upright man like Mose would expect a reason for his leaving—especially while injured. But Adam didn’t have time to explain. He couldn’t tell the station’s helper why he’d been trailing Bedell—or why he’d been lingering outside the station. That would only lead to more questions—questions he didn’t have answers for yet. He couldn’t tell Mose or Savannah the truth. Not if he wanted to nab Bedell.

He did. He wanted to nab Bedell like he wanted to breathe. That meant Adam couldn’t let Mose delay him any longer. He didn’t know how much time had passed. Mariana needed him.

Trying to reason out what to do, Adam hesitated. His mind still felt foggy. His head throbbed. His ribs ached. His back burned with a ragged pain that experience told him was a fresh gunshot wound. Even now, a telltale wetness trickled down his shoulder blade, warning him he was bleeding.

A short ways away, the station’s door banged open. Savannah Reed ran into the moonlight, a slight figure in a fancy dress.

“Mose! He’s gone!” she yelled. “He’s not in bed anymore.”

Providentially Savannah’s arrival made the decision for Adam. The station’s helper turned to look at her. Seizing his best and only opportunity to get a jump on the man, Adam shoved the outhouse door at Mose. Then he took off at a hobbling run.

Dizzily he surveyed the dark hillside, trying to get his bearings. If he remembered correctly, he’d pegged his horse a half mile away. Doubtless his gelding was still waiting there for him, unnoticed by Mose in the aftermath of the shooting.

“Mose!” Savannah cried out behind him. “Look! Stop him!”

Adam heard a grunt. He glanced back. Mose stood beside the outhouse, shaking his head as though to clear it. Savannah reached him, then pointed at Adam. “Hurry up! He’s injured!”

With grim resolve, Adam forced himself into the cover of the pine boughs and scrub oak. A few seconds later, the sounds of the station helper’s pursuit faded. So did Savannah’s voice.

He missed it, Adam realized. Stupidly and sappily, he missed Savannah Reed’s voice and her gentle touch, too. He’d scarcely gotten to know either, and yet he wanted both. Dragging in another painful breath, he put the realization behind him, then went to track down his partner—whatever it took to do it.

Struggling through the underbrush in her highbutton shoes and bustle-laden calico dress, Savannah burst into a clearing at last. Mose crouched a few feet away, his back to her. He’d gotten ahead of her as they’d chased their runaway patient, but now she’d finally caught up. Breathing heavily, she stopped.

Then she realized that Mose was hunkered down in front of a fallen-down, bare-chested, dark-haired man. His prone body was just recognizable in the lantern light. They’d found him.

With a cry, she rushed forward. “Is he all right?”

“I guess so. Looks like he plumb keeled over.” Mose glanced up at her, his face unusually pensive. In the darkened forest all around them, small creatures skittered at the edge of the circle. “He’s breathing. But he’s bleeding again, pretty hard.”

Concerned, Savannah dropped to her knees atop the fallen pine needles. She reached out to touch her mail-order groom’s heaving chest. “I’ll bet he’s fevered.” She gazed at his face. Even in sleep, his features appeared hard edged. “For a man who looks so formidable, he sure does behave foolishly. His head injury must be worse than Dr. Finney thought.” Worriedly she glanced at Mose. “Whatever would make him run like that, Mose?”

Her friend stared at the man, at first appearing not to have heard. Lost in thought, Mose frowned. Just when Savannah was on the verge of repeating her question, Mose shrugged.

“I reckon some men get antsy at the prospect of marriage.”

She gave him a chastening look. “That’s not funny. He wants to marry me, remember? He came out west specifically for me.”

“Are you sure you still want him? He’s a peculiar one.”

“You’re only saying that because he got the better of you with that outhouse door. That must have been an accident.”

“This goose egg on my head doesn’t feel like an accident.”

“I’ll fix up a poultice for you when we get back.” Savannah stood, gesturing at her fallen groom. “Come on, let’s get him back to the station and safely to bed. It’s been a long night.”

When Mose didn’t move, she glanced at him. Her longtime friend glowered at her, his arms crossed. There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her. “I say we leave him,” he said.

“Leave him? Of course we’re not leaving him.” Savannah trod around the man, trying to figure out if she could possibly drag him back to the station herself. She doubted it. He was as big as Mose and even more muscular. “If you’re planning on carrying a grudge just because he hit you with that door—accidentally, if I might remind you—then you’d better just stop it. He’s injured! He’s confused and fevered and not himself. And he’s a city man, too—a telegraph clerk. I doubt he’s clever enough to get the jump on a hard-as-nails, worldly stagehand like yourself. You’ve been around all the most dangerous people and survived.”

Of course, so had she. But that was all behind her now. And if she was overstating Mose’s toughness in order to spare his feelings. Well, at least it was for kindness’s sake.

“I reckon …” Mose pursed his mouth. “That’s likely true.”

“See? Have pity on the poor man. He’s liable to be in way over his head with Western life. Now he’s got a passel of healing to do, to boot. We’ll have to be very patient with him.”

“I guess.” Grudgingly but carefully, Mose lifted the man.

As her friend slung her wounded groom over his shoulder, a pitiful groan came from their patient. Heartsick at the pain-filled sound, Savannah rushed to his side. She stroked his hand.

As though he sensed her touch, his eyelids fluttered. But he didn’t awaken. That worried Savannah all the more.

“Please let us help you,” she whispered to him as they moved toward the station. “Please. And don’t you run away again, either. You are my best chance at starting over—that means I’m counting on you. You can’t let me down. You just can’t. Not now.” She inhaled deeply, then ladled as much fierceness as she could into her tone. “Not when I’m so close. You hear?”

He moaned but didn’t speak. Savannah didn’t say any more. All during the jostling trek back to the station, she watched her mail-order groom. and she thought about him, too. She might be eager, but she wasn’t naive. The undeniable truth was, her injured groom’s flight into the woods—like his guns and his knives—had unsettled her. Something didn’t feel right here.

She might be counting on her mail-order groom but she didn’t plan on trusting him. Not yet. They had a long way to go before that happened—if it happened at all. Suddenly Savannah had as many doubts as she did questions, and she needed answers.

Chapter Four

Vivid sunshine pushed open Adam’s eyes at a time he judged long past sunrise. Disoriented and aching, he tried to sit up.

Raw throbbing pain cut short his motions. Gasping, he sank back again. He was in a bed. In a room. In the tiny Morrow Creek adjunct telegraph station, far from his partner and his mission.

Mariana. Last night, he’d tried to find her. He’d trudged through the wooded hillside in the dark, bleeding and hurting. After what had felt like hours, he’d found his earlier trail.

He’d located the iron post he’d used to stake out his horse. But his progress had ended there. The rope attached to the post had been hacked off, its frayed ends still in place. His horse had been gone. Stolen, if he didn’t miss his mark.

Bedell and his boys had been thorough. With no horse, no sense of where the confidence man had gone or how long ago he’d left—and with a gunshot wound and other injuries to slow him down—Adam had little hope of tracking them. At least for a while.

What’s more, he still had a job to do here at the station. Bedell’s mark still needed him. Savannah Reed still needed him. If that sharper were still loitering around, waiting to make his move on an innocent woman, Adam had to be there to stop him.

Bedell didn’t yet have the windfall he’d planned to steal from Savannah, Adam reminded himself. If he waited at the station, he figured Bedell would return. Doubtless, he’d do it sooner rather than later, too. Roy Bedell and his brothers had never shown any signs of being less than greedy and impatient.

And Savannah Reed had never shown any signs of being less than trusting and gullible. You are my best chance at starting over, he remembered her telling him last night. That means I’m counting on you. You can’t let me down. You just can’t.

Her words had been truer than she’d known. She was counting on him. She had to. And he, in turn, had to protect her.

Last night, all Adam had been able to think about was helping Mariana. But in the clear light of day, with a lucid mind and the force of all his hard-won experience to guide him, he thought about Savannah, too. There were so many things she didn’t know about the mail-order groom she’d been waiting for.

Roy Bedell had lied to her from the start. He was a thief and a coldhearted killer. Adam had hoped to nab the knuck before it became necessary to make such revelations to Bedell’s latest target. Now that plan seemed nigh impossible. But, he wondered unhappily, how did a man begin to tell a woman that she’d made arrangements to share her life with a ruthless sharper?

Adam didn’t know. He’d figure out something later. Because as things stood now, he didn’t have much choice. He was hurt and weak, gunshot and dizzy. Bedell and his boys were out of reach. Mariana was missing. For now, all he could do was trust that his partner had done the right thing and stayed far away, like he’d told her to do. If he were lucky, Mariana had already ridden on to Morrow Creek to wire the agency for new instructions.

And maybe for a new partner, too.

Grudgingly Adam felt heartened by the thought. Mariana was experienced. She was strong and smart and resourceful. She might not even need him to ride to her rescue, like he’d planned.

Why, Mr. Corwin! Are you still trying to protect me?

Remembering Mariana’s brash, flippant words, Adam felt his heart give a sentimental squeeze. He devoutly hoped she was safe. If she wasn’t, he didn’t know how he’d forgive himself.

At least here at the station, though, he might still be helpful to someone else. He might still be able to warn Savannah about Bedell—to prepare her for a possible confrontation with the confidence man she’d unwittingly lured west with all her sweetly worded letters … and that pretty picture of hers, too.

Adam had spent far too much time gazing at the picture he’d pilfered. But he couldn’t regret that. Not after everything that had happened. Looking at Savannah’s picture had been the best part of this mission so far, he reckoned. Not that he intended to reveal as much in his mandatory report to the agency.

Reminded of that report, Adam grew newly alert.

Where was his agency journal? He usually kept it in his saddlebags, but …

But they were lost, he remembered, along with his horse.

His journal was gone right along with them, then. So was all the proof he’d gathered over the past year of Roy Bedell’s criminal nature. The official wanted poster. The newspaper clippings. The tattered correspondence from the family of the woman Bedell had murdered in Kansas City. They’d been the ones to contact the agency. They’d been the ones who’d specially requested Adam, counting on his past as a former U.S. Marshall to bring in the confidence man when others had lost his trail.

Looking into their grieving faces, Adam had sworn to bring their daughter’s killer to justice. He refused to fail them now.

Maybe he could convince Savannah to let him stay at the station awhile—to lay a trap for Bedell. With her cooperation, Adam could double his chances of catching the man, and he could protect her at the same time. It was the only way to proceed.

With that decided, Adam tried moving again. Helpless against the pain in his shoulder, head and ribs, he groaned.

Instantly Savannah Reed rushed into the room. Her rustling skirts warned him of her arrival—but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of her. In the light streaming from the room’s single curtained window, she appeared downright angelic. Her face was scrubbed clean, her golden hair was wound high, and her eyes were the same shade of guileless blue as the sky outside.

“You’re awake! Glory be. Now don’t strain yourself.”

She hurried to his side. She fluttered her hands in a moment’s indecision, then placed them on his arms to help him get upright. Next, she leaned to arrange the pillows behind him. The flowery smell of her skin caught Adam unawares. So did the hasty glimpse he caught of her bosom. He cursed himself for noticing it, even dazedly. Sternly he jerked his gaze upward.

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.

“It doesn’t hurt so much that I’ve forgotten all my manners altogether,” Adam gritted out. With strict determination, he lowered his hand. He smiled, the better to ease Savannah’s worries about his condition. “It’s my honor to finally meet you, Miss Reed. Until now, I’d only dreamed about this day coming.”

That much was true. Fruitlessly but unstoppably, Adam had whiled away the long hours on Bedell’s dusty trail by fancying himself as the one who’d come west to be with Savannah. He’d have sooner curried his horse with his teeth than admit it.

“And I’m the one who should protect you.” Fighting against the drowsy effects of the tincture, Adam fisted his hand in the soft bed linens. Roughly he said, “I will protect you, Miss Reed. I promise you right now—I swear I’ll keep you safe.”

He gazed straight at her, willing her to understand exactly how much he meant it. In that moment, he would have let Bedell bash him in the head with a branch twice over, just to save her.

“Oh, that is sweet of you, Adam. Thank you ever so much.”

Clearly Savannah didn’t know what he was talking about, but she smiled at him all the same. That was good. She did not, he noticed dispiritedly, suggest that he call her Savannah. That was bad. Her omission made him yearn for that privilege with an intensity Adam would have found laughable a day ago.

“But don’t be silly! You don’t have to protect me.” Savannah curled her fingers trustingly around his. She laughed. “It seems everyone always wants to protect me! First Mose, now you. But all you have to do is marry me, just as we agreed.”

Marry me. At those words, Adam stilled. He had to tell her about Bedell. Right now. But all at once, he felt even wearier than he had just a moment before. He cursed the medicine he’d taken. His tongue felt thick. His eyelids felt heavy. His head drooped. Dumbly he repeated her words. “Marry me?”

“Yes. I’ll have some questions for you first, of course.” As though she were considering quizzing him then and there, Savannah gazed directly at his face. She seemed to lose herself in his medicine-hazed eyes. Then she shook herself. “We’ll get to that when you’re feeling better, I reckon. And naturally we’ll want to spend some more time together first, to ensure a successful partnership. You do know how I feel about compatibility, don’t you?”

Adam did. He’d read her views at length in her letters to Bedell. Prompted by an absurd and inescapable desire to please her, he said, “You believe husbands and wives should be as close-knit as friends are, able to talk and laugh equally.”

His reward was a beatific smile. In response, his heart skipped a beat. All his life, Adam had felt gruff, tough, ready to take on bad men of every variety and bring them to heel. But now, suddenly, all he wanted was another of Savannah’s smiles.

“Why, Mr. Corwin! You did pay attention to my letters.”

“I treasured every last one of them.” Even though those words were accurate, Adam felt a fraud saying them. Further wearied by his recitation from those letters, he thumped his chest. “I carried them next to my heart the whole way here.”

“Hmm. You’re getting a bit tired now, aren’t you?”

“Tired?” He realized he’d closed his eyes. He wrenched them open to see Savannah’s amused expression. “No. Not tired. I’m never tired. I can ride for days, track a man for miles, shoot from the saddle and never miss. You can count on me, Miss Reed.”

His assurance sailed right on past her. She laughed and patted his hand. “I think someone’s been reading too many dime novels on the train. Don’t fret, though. When it comes to our marriage arrangement, I know exactly what I’m getting.”

“No, you don’t.” Urgently, Adam caught her wrist. Bedell might be near, he remembered. He should warn Savannah. “Your groom is not who you thought he was! He’s … he’s …”

He blinked, trying to summon the appropriate words. His tongue roved around his mouth in search of them. While he struggled, Savannah slipped from his feeble grasp. She fussed over him, fixing his bandages and checking for fever.

At last, Adam found the words he wanted.

“Your groom,” he announced gravely, “is a bad man.”

She gazed at him. “Well. He’s certainly not able to hold his medicinal tinctures for neuralgia, I can say that much for certain.” A new smile quirked her mouth. “Sleep now. That’s the best thing for you. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

Drowsiness flooded him. Adam bit the inside of his cheek, deliberately rousing himself. “Wait. You don’t understand—”

“I understand all I need to.” In a dreamy blur of feminine fabrics and floral fragrance, Savannah made him lie back. She stroked his arm and tucked in the quilts again, her face open and kindly. “I’d wondered how you would take to me, when we met, too. After all, we shared a great deal with each other over the wires, didn’t we?”

“No. You have to listen to me now,” Adam insisted, trying again to broach the topic of Roy Bedell and his scheme. “It’s important. Your groom is not who you thought he was! He’s—”

“He’s everything I could have asked for.” Savannah smiled. She brought her mouth next to his ear, letting her breath tickle his skin in a sinfully pleasurable way. “He’s even better than I imagined. You’re even better, Adam. I’m very, very pleased.”

She liked him. At the realization, Adam groaned. Under the influence of that damnable tincture, he felt as clumsy as a youth, as green as a new field agent, as needful of sleep as an express rider on the last leg of a weeklong journey. But he couldn’t help grinning as Savannah’s approval washed over him.

“And since you likely won’t remember this when you wake up.” Still hovering above him, Savannah touched his cheek. She rested her palm against his skin, then gazed unabashedly at him. “I guess I can be forthright. I think you’re beyond handsome, too. So far, it’s been all I could do not to swoon over you.”

Adam turned his head on the pillow, bringing his gaze to hers. Plainly startled to find herself the subject of his attention—however bleary—Savannah blinked. Her cheeks pinkened.

“Now sleep,” she blurted. “You’re clearly hallucinating.”

Then she bustled from the room and returned to her desk.

Chapter Five

Flustered and a bit overheated, Savannah headed blindly for her telegraphy equipment. On the way there, she almost collided with Mose. He stood inside the doorway as she passed through, a few steps from the desk they shared. He wore a knowing look.

She knew what that look was for. She’d gone in to check on Adam Corwin not only because it was her duty as his fiancée and provisional nurse, but also because she’d promised herself that she’d get to the bottom of the mysteries surrounding him. His well-laden gun belt. His habit of carrying contraband knives. His tendency to whack Mose and disappear into the woods for long stretches.

Instead she’d mooned over her mail-order groom like the most quixotic of heroines from an oft-told fairy tale. Bothered by the way she’d abandoned her stated goals upon her first up-close view of Adam Corwin’s handsome blue eyes, rugged features, and sneak-up-on-you smile, Savannah released a pent-up sigh.

“Don’t tell me, Mose. I already know.” She held up her hand to ward off her good friend’s inevitable lecture. “I’ll do better next time, I swear. I was unprepared, that’s all.”

That much was true. She’d been unprepared for the jolt of Adam’s deep, masculine voice as he spoke to her. Unprepared for the impact of his protective nature. Unprepared for the way caring and honor and goodness had flowed from him to her in a perceptible wave, just like sunshine across a shadowy field.

Savannah had been truthful when she’d confessed that she’d wondered how her husband-to-be would react to her. Of course she’d been anxious. But if his forthright looks and bedazzled grins were anything to judge by, she needn’t have worried.

Adam truly liked her. The proof was all over him.

And she liked him, too. Perhaps foolishly. There were so many things she didn’t know about him. But she’d taken to Adam Corwin in an innate, gut-level way she couldn’t deny. She didn’t trust him—not yet—but she did trust her instincts about him.

Everything else she needed to know she would learn quickly, Savannah assured herself. Perhaps by tossing a burlap sack over Adam’s head when they were together, so she could question him without being distracted by his wonderful brawny muscles and his manner of watching her with captivating, enthralled attention.

It was a good thing Doc Finney’s tincture had made him so loopy, she decided. If Adam had been the least bit sensible—if there’d been any chance he would remember her hasty admission—she never would have found the courage to be so bold. As it was, she could scarcely believe she’d whispered the truth to him.

It’s been all I could do not to swoon over you.

The remembrance should have been mortifying.

Instead, for a lifelong romantic like Savannah, it was … thrilling. She’d thought she’d settled for a practical, arranged union. Now she almost dared to hope she and Adam might find something more.

“I don’t often lapse in my etiquette. Not these days, at least.” Savannah edged past Mose, then sat at her telegraphy desk. The wires were silent, so she hugged herself, remembering. “But there’s something about Adam! I plumb forgot about showing him how ladylike I could be. And when I remembered to put my good manners on display—well, I could tell he appreciated it.”

He’d greeted her curtsy with something very much like hushed reverence. Savannah had savored that. And although she’d wobbled a bit while performing the maneuver, she felt proud of herself for having carried it off—just like her book instructed.

It was important to her that she erase all traces of her unconventional upbringing. She didn’t want Adam to know that she’d grown up backstage at dozens of grimy theaters like the Orpheum. She didn’t want him to discover that she’d learned to read by perusing playbills or to know that her mother and father had tossed her onstage like a living prop when she was scarcely more than an infant—and had gone right on doing so when her babyish antics had earned them bigger laughs and more pay.

With a significant—if stagey—cough, Mose interrupted her reminiscences … or maybe that was too grand a word to use for them, Savannah reasoned sadly. Most of her memories were disreputable, after all. Not that she’d had a choice in that. At least not until she’d grown to adulthood.

Even after that—even after she’d struck upon the notion of forming a new life for herself—she’d stayed mired in her old one for a time, Savannah recalled. It had taken her several hardworking years to save a nest egg large enough to allow her to escape the stage and prosper after she’d done so.

“I heard what he said.” Mose crossed his arms, giving her one of his most fearsome looks. That same expression and pose had, over the years, driven away dozens of no-good backstage Jonnies. “He just told you he’s a bad man, Savannah!”

She scoffed. “He didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s obvious he’s gotten some wrongheaded notions about life out here in the Wild West—probably from those dime novels people read. He’s worried that I want some sort of gun-slinging hero for a husband. I find his attempts to fit that mold quite endearing. He’s doing it to impress me. Adam is clearly a—”

“That’s another thing.” Appearing further disgruntled, Mose frowned. “Adam. Do you really think it’s smart to get so familiar with the man so soon? I thought you were all het up about behaving properly and so forth. That’s what that etiquette book of yours is for, isn’t it? So why in the devil would you—”

“He asked me to call him Adam. It’s only polite to comply.”

Mose gave her a chary look. Stubbornly he lifted his chin. “I notice you didn’t tell him to call you Savannah.”

“Well.” Savannah intended to save until she trusted Adam fully. But she didn’t want to admit as much, especially to an already skeptical Mose. She shook her head. “Honestly. Were you eavesdropping on us the entire time?”

Her friend had the good grace to appear embarrassed.

“This is a mighty small station. A man can’t help but overhear.”

“Well, try a little harder not to, would you, please?”

“Humph. Not while you’re busy making eyes at that man, I won’t. I practically raised you. I won’t shirk my duties now.”

“I know. You never would.” Overcome with fondness for him, Savannah smiled. She squeezed Mose’s shoulder, remembering all the times he’d told her funny stories, found her places to sleep backstage, brought her hot meals when her parents forgot….

If not for Mose, she would have had a sorely neglectful childhood. Gruff as a bear and just as strong, he had made her feel protected and cherished. He’d had no patience for Ruby and Jim Reed’s ambitions—or their shared fondness for liquor. These days, Mose was older and a little frailer than he’d been as a stagehand for hire, but he was still beyond lovable to her.

“That’s why I’m going to ask you again.” Mose leveled her with a serious expression. “Are you sure about this marriage scheme of yours? You’re not hitched yet, you know. It’s not too late to go on to San Francisco.”

“I’m not going to San Francisco!”

“All right, all right. You don’t have to get testy.”

“I’m sorry, Mose. It’s just that I’m done with performing. Beyond done with it. It was never right for me. I just didn’t know any better. Being on stage was all I ever had.”

“You were powerfully good at making a crowd happy.”

At his loyal declaration, Savannah smiled. She had earned her share of applause over the years. “What I want now is to make a husband happy. That’s all. I’ve been dreaming of having a regular, ordinary life for so long. I tried to grab hold of it in Ledgerville, but that didn’t pan out. Now I have a new plan, and I’m certain it will work, as long as I’m patient.”

Mose looked away, clearly longing to argue with her … but unwilling to do so. Savannah knew he was entertaining the same unhappy memories she was. They’d had this conversation before—before one enterprising gossip had tacked up that incriminating newspaper story for all to see. Before the rumors had flown around Ledgerville in a matter of days. Before the townspeople there had shunned her. Before the sheriff had confronted her.

Before her fair-weather friends had suggested she leave Ledgerville on the first train out and never come back.

Even Alistair Norwood, the young telegraphy operator who’d taught her all she knew about operating the equipment, had been unable to stick by her. Usually so willing to buck the system, Alistair had turned unexpectedly cold when faced with her past.

Until the scandal had turned up in Ledgerville, Savannah had actually believed that her family’s story—and the notoriety it had engendered—would not follow her west. She’d truly thought that the newspaper coverage had been confined to the New York City tabloids. Those dirty papers had found the news of a husband-and-wife theatrical team who’d swindled the city’s theater owners out of thousands of dollars in extortion money too outrageous not to print. Especially given the shocking detail that Ruby Reed had willingly seduced those theater owners herself in order to set them up for her husband’s extortion demands. The fact that their daughter, dancing sensation Savannah Reed, hadn’t been involved in their schemes hadn’t mattered one whit. To everyone who read the papers’ breathless daily reportage, Savannah was as good as guilty, too. She was a “Ruthless Reed,” as the papers had deemed the family after her parents’ arrest. That was all that seemed to matter to anyone.

That, and the fact that a glorified dance-hall girl couldn’t possibly be considered marriageable by any decent man.

“I know you’ve put a pile of faith in your marriage plan,” Mose said. “But do you honestly believe changing your name will be enough? You could have done that much without a husband.”

“Only by lying. And I refuse to do that any more than necessity demands.” Uncomfortably Savannah thought of the show of feminine frailty she’d carried out for Dr. Finney. If she were truly that delicate, she’d never have survived this long on her own. “Surely I’ll be forgiven the occasional fib, given the circumstances. Besides, it’s not as though I set out to find myself a mail-order groom on purpose, you know. The idea didn’t even occur to me until I met Mr. Corwin over the wires. When we struck up our friendship, I felt truly blessed to have found a kindred spirit.” She cast a wary glance at the other room, where Adam was sleeping. “The fact that our marriage will allow me to finally have a real home life is just an additional benefit. I promise I’ll make him happy, too. He won’t regret marrying me.”

Already she could picture the scene—the two of them, hand in hand, leaving the church as husband and wife. The wives and mothers and women of Morrow Creek welcoming her, as a happily married woman, into their quilting circles and sewing bees. The men in town tipping their hats respectfully at her … instead of offering her that hungry, unsettling leer she’d grown used to back in the city. Dreamily gazing past her telegraphy equipment, Savannah imagined herself raising children, fussing over her husband, celebrating Christmases and birthdays as a family.

That was all she truly wanted—all she’d ever wanted. But she couldn’t have any of that if she were still Savannah Reed, The Seductive Sensation of the New York theater circle. Yes, men had wanted The Seductive Sensation. But they hadn’t wanted to marry her. They hadn’t wanted to be seen with her in daylight.

Like Warren Scarne, they’d only wanted to use her.

“I have a lot of love to give!” she assured Mose. More than anything, she hungered to love and be loved. Her heart fairly pounded with the necessity to give to someone special. “I know I can be a good wife to Adam. And he can be a good husband to me.”

“Humph.” Her friend frowned. “He’d better be good to you, or I’ll know the reason why. That’s for certain.”

Smiling, Savannah patted his arm. “There you go protecting me again. I promise, Mose. I’m much stronger than I look.”

Dubiously he raised his eyebrow.

“I am! I’m very strong. Since we came out west, I’ve gotten quite good at swinging an ax to split firewood. I’ve learned to haul heavy buckets of water, drive a wagon, fix the shutters—”

“Baltimore’s not that far from New York. What if he finds out the truth about you—or knows the truth already?” Mose jabbed his chin toward the other end of the station, where Adam slept in peaceful unawareness. “What will you do then?”

“If Adam were going to recognize my name, he would have done so right away. He would have mentioned it in our correspondence. People hardly react with indifference to me, you know. The fact that Adam hasn’t so much as hinted about the scandal means I’m safe for now, I’d say. And he’s been nothing but respectful toward me. That bodes well, don’t you think so?”

Her friend gave a noncommittal sound.

“Besides,” Savannah went on, “by the time Adam gets well, gets settled in and finds out about what my parents did back in New York City, we’ll be long married. He’ll love me. He won’t care a whit about what happened. I’m counting on it.”

Even more skeptically, Mose raised his other eyebrow, too.

Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, Savannah shifted. “All right. If Adam finds out, it will break my heart. Is that what you’re so keen to hear? That I’m afraid he’ll leave me?”

At that, Mose’s expression softened. “I’m not keen to hear anything of the kind. All I want is for you to be happy. You know that. Trouble is, I’m not sure this is the best way to go about it.”

“It’s not as though I plan to keep my past a secret forever!” Defensively she lifted her chin. “I’m going to tell Adam the whole story … someday. When I’m sure he loves me enough not to be scared off by knowing I have two thieves for parents.”

Her friend gave a soft sound of commiseration. “It’s not your fault what they did. It was their decision to take that money from those theater owners. You didn’t even know about it.”

“Even so … I’m still The Seductive Sensation.” Savannah raised her worried gaze to Mose. “It doesn’t show anymore, does it?” She turned in a circle. “I’ve been trying to erase it.”

She’d traded all her spangled, satiny costume dresses for modest calico and wool. She’d restyled her hair and ditched her bosom-augmenting horsehair pads. She’d scrubbed her whole face clean and given away every ounce of powder and paint she’d ever owned. But on the inside, Savannah still felt imprinted by her life on the stage … and everything that had gone along with it.

“Well?” she pressed. “Does my stage background show?”

Wearing a smile, Mose shook his head. “All I see is a lovable lady. A lady who’s trying her best to love someone.”

“Good.” Relieved, Savannah sighed. “Because that’s exactly who I am these days—exactly who I’m going to be from now on.”

A clatter arose at the telegraph, alerting them to a new message coming in. Knowing it would need to be relayed down the wire, Savannah hastily reached for her notepad.

This was the part that she already loved about her new life here in the Arizona Territory—using her expertise with the telegraphy equipment to transmit messages. Not many women were telegraph operators; most of those with an interest in working the equipment were men. Deciphering messages required a keen ear and intense concentration, especially in a crowded station like the one she’d shared with her mentor, Alistair.

He’d taught her how to decode the signals and transmit them with rapid movements on the equipment’s keys. Ready to do just that, Savannah listened hard.

but not quite hard enough to block out Mose’s parting words as he headed outside.

“I’m just saying my prayers,” he said, “that you done picked the right someone to love this time, that’s all.”

Bothered by his doleful tone, Savannah shook her head. Then she turned to her telegraphic apparatus and got down to work.

As the station door banged open, Linus Bedell jerked in surprise. Still lurking in the shadows of the building’s narrow side, he flattened himself against the wall. He couldn’t risk being seen here—especially not now. Alert with one hand on his gun belt, he listened as the door swung shut. Its hinges whined.

Footsteps crunched across the gravelly ground.

But they weren’t coming in his direction. That meant he hadn’t been spotted. Feeling immeasurably relieved, Linus sank against the rough split-log wall behind him. From the other side of that wall, the familiar sounds of the telegraph machine could be heard. But Linus didn’t care about that. All he cared about was that big colored fella—the one who was always hanging around the station, keepin’ company with Roy’s new “fiancée.”

Releasing a pent-up breath, Linus shifted. He felt hot, tired and bored to tears with snooping on his brother’s latest mark. He felt a mite sorry for the ladies his brother romanced and stole from. But, as Roy had explained, those women were just dumb. They went for his scams willingly. He never forced them. That’s what made all the difference. At least that’s what Roy said, and Roy usually knew best. That’s why Linus stuck by him.

Well, that and the fact that they were brothers, of course. Brothers watched out for one another. Especially the Bedell brothers. If they’d had a motto, that surely would have been it.

Well, that, Linus considered, or else “shoot first, steal second, skedaddle third.” Feeling clever for having thought up that witticism, he chuckled. But he sobered quickly. Roy was laid up. He’d been hurt bad in his tussle with that do-gooder detective who’d been trailing them. They’d all been forced to hole up in a Morrow Creek boardinghouse until he got better.

Because of that, Roy had appointed Linus as his second-in-command on this operation. That meant Linus had to buckle down. He knew his brother was depending on him. He couldn’t let Roy down. Now, thanks to what he’d just overheard, he wouldn’t.

That big man’s footsteps grew fainter. That was a good sign. Shuffling sideways as silently as he could in his oversize stolen boots, Linus sneaked a glance around the corner of the station. The big man was all the way across the yard now, headed for the fenced corral and makeshift barn. Linus had already searched that whole area. He’d found no sign of the station lady’s nest egg. Now he smelled like cow patties, to boot. That just went to show—it wasn’t all wanted posters and high livin’, being part of the Bedell gang, no matter what anybody thought.

Linus wished folks would recognize that. He and his brothers were just tryin’ to get by as best they could. They didn’t want to hurt nobody. But so long as chowderheaded ladies kept on fallin’ for Roy’s sweet-talkin’ ways and signing up for his marriage schemes, those swindles were going to continue.

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