The burly sheriff stared after Savannah through narrowed, assessing eyes. He shuffled his boots on the board walk. “Looks like you got a real hell-cat on your hands,” he agreed. “What'd you do this time?"
"I called her a daddy's girl,” Mac lied smoothly. “She's been after me to take her home."
"Don't reckon there's any need in you two hanging around, although I still think she knows more than she's lettin’ on about Barlow."
Mac ignored the sheriff's comment and forced himself to look like a besotted fool. Wasn't as difficult as he thought, since he was besotted with Savannah. “Mighty obliged, sheriff. I wasn't looking forward to spending another night on the sofa."
"Maybe you should have kept your room,” the sheriff said pointedly. “And I guess you got a perfectly reasonable explanation for registering as Mackenzy Cord."
The sheriff was smart, but he'd alerted Mac with his earlier comments and Mac was ready. “As a matter of fact, I do. It's called pride. I was hoping that by registering under a different name that people wouldn't know my own wife kicked me out of her room."
Sheriff Porter fell silent, and Mac took it as a good sign. “Well, you two see if you can't leave quietly, you hear?"
Swallowing another bit of his pride, Mac simply nodded. When the sheriff left, Mac made his way back to the hotel. Right now would be the perfect opportunity to slip away from Savannah and go after Barlow, but for some baffling reason, Mac found he couldn't do it.
So his father was right; a good woman could soften a man.
Mac wasn't certain he liked the change.
* * * *
"Come on, Savannah. Open the door and let me in. I need to talk to you. I said that I was sorry."
Through the door, Mac heard her muffled, furious, “You said you were sorry right before you made a fool out of me! You'll have to come up with a better excuse this time."
Mac contemplated the door. For a reckless moment, he considered breaking it down. Finally he sighed and resorted to pleading again. “Please open the door? I've talked to Sheriff Porter and he said—"
The door opened abruptly, nearly spilling him into the room. Savannah stood ram-rod straight in the doorway, eyes narrowed and glittering.
"If you're lying to me, I'm going to rip your heart out. And another thing; if you plan on kissing me again, you'd better make damned certain I know why you're doing it!"
"I'm not lying.” Mac stepped into the room and shut the door, but wisely kept his distance. It wasn't easy, because her anger made her more beautiful than ever.
"Mac ... I don't remember you tormenting me this way in the past."
"And I don't remember your tantrums,” Mac said. It was true, not that he was complaining. Since he'd found her in the jail cell, he'd discovered many surprising faucets of Savannah's personality he hadn't been aware of—most of which he admired. And he had to admit he'd deliberately provoked most of her tantrums.
"Why is it that when a woman voices her opinion, she's throwing a tantrum?” Savannah folded her arms. “Yet when a man voices his opinion, it's quite a different matter. He's showing intelligence."
Belatedly, Mac realized he'd stepped into yet another pile of horse manure. The space between them seemed to be populated with the stinky mounds lately. He was mighty relieved when her voice softened, hinting that her anger was cooling.
"Mac, what's changed between us? Do you think—could it be all this kissing we've been forced to do that's causing the problems?"
"Problems?” Mac growled. He didn't like the direction of this conversation any more than he'd liked the other. “What's wrong with kissing?” And please don't make me stop!
"But we're friends, and since all this kissing began, you've been acting strange, and I've, well, I haven't been myself either."
Hard to deny, Mac mused, speculating on the reason for her blush. She was right on both counts, but he didn't think it was a good idea to explain his reason for the change. If her agonized expression was any indication, he wasn't ready to hear her explanation either. He suspected it might hurt too much.
He needed more time. Maybe the best thing to do would be to ease back into their earlier relationship for a while, at least until she could relax.
Friends again.
Mac wasn't fond of the idea, and expressed his dislike with a muttered oath. To her credit, Savannah-with-the-back-bone did nothing more than lift a questioning eye brow at his language. It was just the boon Mac needed to muster a convincing grin. So his smile felt a little stiff, and his heart felt heavy. He hadn't given up, and that's what counted, right? A week looking for Barlow, and another week to get home. Two whole weeks to woo, court—or seduce her if he had to. Sometimes, he was fast discovering, a man had to be ruthless in his quest for love.
Thrusting out his hand, he said, “Friends again?"
Her smile was a little uncertain, and there was a lingering confusion in her eyes Mac would have given his eye-teeth to decipher. But her grip was strong and sure as she softly repeated, “Friends again."
* * * *
Whew! Savannah thought as Mac disappeared into the sitting room to pack his things. She was very glad they'd gotten that uncomfortable matter settled. One more kiss and she suspected she would have blurted out the appalling truth! Or worse—she might have humiliated herself and ruined their friendship by throwing herself into his arms and begging him to make love to her.
How did Mac manage it? How could he kiss her as if he meant it with his whole heart, yet continue to think of her as just a friend? Savannah folded her nightgown and placed it in the trunk on the bed. There had been a few times when she'd felt a part of him—a very hard part—against her that had seemed a little more than friendly, but she couldn't be certain. She wasn't as unknowledgeable as most unmarried woman about the act of love, but she wasn't physically experienced, either.
Savannah began to fold the dozen or so dresses she'd brought with her and place them in the second trunk. Perhaps that particular part of a man's anatomy became rigid with any type of friction, in which case she wasn't necessarily the cause.
This theory disappointed her, which in turn made her giggle at her brazen thoughts. If Mac knew....
Mac would run. And right now she needed him. In fact, she rather enjoyed their spirited exchanges these past few days. With a sigh, she closed the second trunk and opened the third. She began haphazardly pitching items into the bottomless pit; hair brushes, combs, pins, chemises, drawers, and countless pairs of stockings. Instinctively, she sensed that with the end of their ‘pretend marriage', there would be little sparring between them. A pity, because she'd lied when she indicated to Mac that she was disturbed by the wicked side of his personality. She was disturbed, all right, but in a unmentionable, naughty way.
But she'd lied out of necessity to preserve their friendship and to rescue herself from probable humiliation. She slammed the lid shut and snapped the buckles closed. If only she'd noticed how she felt about Mac years ago, before she became so distrustful of men, and before they'd had years and years as friends.
She'd nearly blown it with that last kiss. Unaware of Sheriff Porter's approach, she'd allowed herself to believe for a sizzling moment that Mac meant the bold things he whispered in her ear. How close she'd come to telling him she felt the same way!
The rat had known all along that the sheriff was approaching. Now that Savannah was over her anger, she smiled at the memory, then winced when she recalled the wallop she'd given him. She supposed she should apologize.
But on the other hand, it had been a dirty trick. She didn't recall seeing this mischievous side of Mac, so her instinctive reaction had been—understandably—outrage. Now, thinking back, she realized he'd been teasing her. He didn't know her pretense of kissing him had stopped being a pretense on her part after their first scalding kiss.
A kiss, no less, that had left her aching and trembling from head to toe and thinking thoughts about Mac that made her blush through and through!
What a mess. Savannah felt tears sting her eyes at the irony of her situation. Out of all the men that had vied for her hand over the years, she wanted the one man she could never have.
Mackenzy Cord.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
Maybe, just maybe, he needed to rethink his desire to wed Savannah—or any woman—Mac thought, surveying the mountain of trunks and hat boxes crowding the train station platform. They all belonged to Savannah, and he'd had to hire two carriages to bring them to the station.
"Ah, Savannah?"
Dressed in a fetching rose-colored traveling suit trimmed in gray, and wearing a perky gray hat that highlighted her mass of golden curls, Savannah whirled around to face him. She nearly poked him in the eye with the sharp tip of her frilly parasol, and didn't seem to notice.
"Yes, Mac?"
"I've got a question."
"Yes, Mac?"
With a bewildered sweep of his hand, he indicated the mountain of luggage. “How did you manage to sneak away from Angel Creek?"
She smiled at his dumbfounded expression. “It was easy. I bribed the housekeeper, the cook, and the gardener. I then sent the luggage ahead in a separate carriage to the train station, and told daddy I was going shopping.” She frowned, tapping the tip of her parasol against her chin. “I also had to bribe Milton, which wasn't so easy."
"Milton?"
"Our driver. He's been with Daddy for ages."
Mac shook his head, deciding he'd never understand the rich. “Obviously not so long that he couldn't be bribed,” Mac said dryly. “You'd better keep an eye on your trunks while I get the tickets.” He started to turn away, then hesitated, eyeing the flouncy folds of her dress. “If anyone bothers you—"
"I'll handle it, Mac.” Patting her dress, she indicated the small derringer hidden God-knew-where, then pointed the sharp edge of the parasol at him. “Don't worry, I can take care of myself."
Reluctantly, Mac went to buy their tickets.
When he returned scarcely fifteen minutes later, Savannah wasn't alone. Two young boys tugged a trunk back and forth between them. Mac could hear them arguing as he approached.
"The lady asked me first!” the smaller of the two growled, yanking at the trunk.
The taller one stabbed his chest with his free hand and snarled back, “She didn't! She said we could both help.” He gave a mighty yank and tumbled backward, knocking his hat to the ground.
Mac helped him to his feet and handed him his hat. He fished a few coins out of his pocket and gave them to the smaller boy, who looked to be twelve or thirteen and in need of nourishment.
"Thanks for your help."
"But, I didn't—"
"We can handle it from here,” Mac added. “Now run along."
The kid's mouth worked for a moment. Finally, he threw the coins on the ground and spat, “I don't take charity, mister!” Holding his thin shoulders stiffly, he turned and walked away.
Savannah started to go after him, but Mac restrained with a gentle hand on her arm. “Leave him. He'll come back for the money after we're gone."
Her gaze held a hint of censor. “Why didn't you let him help?"
Mac glanced at the boy standing next to the trunks. His gaze strayed to the silver band around his hat. “Because it's this one that interests me,” he said.
"But, why—” Savannah's eyes widened in recognition. “You mean, he's the one that's been following us?” she whispered. When Mac nodded, she stepped closer. “But, Mac, he's just a child!"
"If he's old enough to follow us, then he's old enough to tell me why."
Without giving Savannah time to protest, Mac approached the unsuspecting boy and took his arm, pulling him out of ear shot—just in case the conversation turned ugly. “I'll give you three minutes to tell me why you've been following me before I turn you over to the sheriff,” Mac ordered. The young boy's eyes flared in surprise, confirming Mac's suspicion that the boy wasn't aware he'd been seen.
But his surprise didn't last long. He jerked free of Mac's hold and brushed at his sleeve. “I don't think you'll be turning me over to the sheriff, Mr. Cord."
"And why wouldn't I?” Mac asked softly. He didn't like the smug gleam in the boy's eyes...
"Because I know who you are, and I know that you're not her husband—” he jerked his head at Savannah, who watched them as if she were attempting to read their lips “—or anyone's husband."
"Is that a fact."
Boldly, the boy grabbed the lapels of his long coat and looked Mac in the eye as he said, “That's a fact."
The train whistle blew, reminding Mac he didn't have time to waste. “What do you want?"
"I want to be a bounty hunter."
Mac yawned. “Have you got a name?"
"Yes, sir. It's Roy, sir."
"No last name?” Roy flushed at that, but Mac hadn't forgotten the boy's threat, and he never did like to be threatened. “People with no last name usually have something to hide."
"So do people with a fake last name,” Roy said. When Mac started to walk away, he added quickly, “Okay, okay. The last name's Hunter. Roy Hunter."
Mac sighed and reached for the handle of the trunk closest to him. Obviously God had been short on imagination by the time He got to this kid. “Okay, Roy Hunter. Give me a hand with this trunk.” When Savannah's pile of luggage was safely loaded, he urged her to go ahead so that she could find a window seat. Mac handed Roy a few coins.
With a scowl Roy handed them right back. “I told you! I don't want money—I want to learn how to be a bounty hunter!"
"First of all,” Mac told him, folding his arms and leaning his back against the train. The vibration rumbled through him, reminding him the train would be leaving soon. “I don't need an apprentice. What are you, fourteen? Fifteen? Where are your folks?"
"None of your business!"
"That's the second thing. I don't trust people who don't trust me. Your last name's not Hunter, is it?” When Roy remained stubbornly silent, Mac shook his head. “In fact, I doubt your first name is Roy."
"It is!"
"Thirdly, I don't like to be threatened by a snot-nosed little kid with more balls than sense."
The train began to move. Mac flung himself away and hopped aboard, looking down into Roy's frustrated, angry face as he raced alongside the train to keep up with him. “Go find yourself a real job, kid. There are a lot of better paying, easier jobs than bounty hunting."
"Go to hell, Cord!” Roy shouted after him, lifting his fist and shaking it. “You just hide and watch! I'll be a bounty hunter some day, and I'll be better than you ever were!"
Mac chuckled at the kid's enthusiasm as went to join Savannah. Too bad he planned to change his profession; training a brassy kid like Roy might be interesting.
When he spotted Savannah, he realized she'd been watching the scene from her window. She was still watching Roy as he ran alongside the train, red-faced and shouting obscenities.
"What did he want?” she asked when he settled onto the padded leather seat beside her.
"Apparently he has aspirations to become a bounty hunter.” Carefully, Mac placed his arm along the seat just inches from her neck. He relaxed his thigh so it touched hers. When she didn't seem to notice, he relaxed further.
"He's persistent."
"Yes, he is.” Mac leaned a little closer and inhaled the flowery fragrance of her hair, dreaming of a time when he could remove the multitude of pins and let it fall free around her bare shoulders...
"Mac."
"Hm?"
Finally she turned from the window to look at him, catching his nose in her hair. He jerked back and cleared his throat.
"Did you forget? We're not in Jamestown any longer. We don't have to pretend to be husband and wife now."
Hell. Not only had he forgotten, he wished she'd forget! Running a restless hand through his hair, Mac shrugged. “You're right, I did forget. Habit, I guess.” Habit he wished. They'd only
been on the train a few moments and he was already missing the touches, the kisses, and the heated looks they'd made a habit of exchanging.
"Why won't you help him?"
Mac blinked. “Help who?” His mind lingered on the memory of those heated looks. There had been a couple of times when he could have sworn she wasn't act—
"Mac!"
"Sorry, honey. I mean, Savannah.” He grinned sheepishly. “See? I told you it was a habit."
Her lips twitched in response. “I was referring to the boy."
"Roy Hunter, who wants to learn to be a bounty hunter.” Just like I want to learn to be a good husband, Mac thought.
"What's wrong with wanting to be a bounty hunter?"
Again Mac had trouble focusing on her question, because he was too intent on watching her beautiful mouth move. She had ripe, curvy lips ... just made for kissing. He liked kissing her. Loved kissing her...
"Mac!"
"Hm?"
"Do I have something on my mouth? You keep staring at it. If something's there, then please tell me. I insist.” She began to wipe frantically at her mouth with her gloved fingers, deepening the cherry-red glow.
If something had been there—a bit of jelly left from their breakfast, a crumb of toast—Mac would much prefer removing it himself. With tiny, lingering little nibbles of his lips. “No, no. Your mouth's fine.” More than fine. Beautiful. Luscious. Kissable.
She shot him a quelling, suspicious look and continued wiping. “You're lying, otherwise you wouldn't still be staring at my mouth."
That's what you think, my dear.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Mac turned to find a bearded, stern-faced man bending close to his ear.
"Mr. Cord, I wondered if you would mind coming with me."
"What's this about?"
Looking harassed, the conductor shot Savannah a meaningful glance and said, “I'd rather show you, if you don't mind, sir."
Savannah grabbed Mac's arm as he started to rise. “I want to come with you,” she whispered.
"Stay here."
He should have known she wouldn't listen, Mac mused, hearing the rustling of her skirts behind him as he followed the conductor along the narrow aisle.
Hero For Hire Page 5