Mail-Order Groom. Lisa Plumley
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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