Several coaches later, the conductor stood aside and indicated for Mac to go first. When Savannah followed fast on Mac's heels, the conductor looked startled, but wisely didn't comment.
"Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” Mac asked again, glancing casually around. They were in the baggage car. Other than a mountain of luggage stacked haphazardly from floor to ceiling the car looked empty.
A muffled sound snagged his attention. Mac peered into shadowed corner of the compartment. It didn't take him long—or Savannah, judging by her gasp—to recognize Roy struggling to speak around the gag in his mouth.
"Found this stowaway in the mail coach. He says he knows you,” the conductor informed them in an aggrieved tone.
"And if I don't?” Mac asked softly. He didn't know whether to be exasperated or impressed by the boy's persistence.
"Then I'll do what I always do with stowaways; I'll throw his carcass from the train."
"You most certainly will not!" Savannah cried, waving an admonishing finger beneath the conductor's nose. “How dare you even think such a thing? He could be killed!"
The conductor remained firm. “If he don't pay, then he don't ride. Same as everyone else."
Savannah's gaze narrowed on Mac. “You will give the conductor money for Roy's ticket."
Not will you? But you will, Mac noted. He suspected that if she had any money of her own, she would have gladly presented it by now. Still ... he didn't much care for her commanding tone. He settled his hands on his hips. “I might, if you say please nicely—"
"Please,” she hissed ungraciously before he could finish.
Mac continued as if she hadn't spoken, aware of the conductor watching them with growing amusement. “And I believe I'll take a back rub to go with the please—at your convenience, of course."
"A—” Savannah choked on the words and began again. “A back rub?"
From the corner of his eye, Mac saw that the conductor was now grinning. “Yes, a back rub. I think I might have pulled something while loading your trunks onto the train.” He rolled his shoulders and grimaced. “Yes, I'm sure of it."
"Mackenzy Cord,” Savannah began in a low, furious voice. “You'll buy Roy a ticket, or I'll—I'll give you more than a back rub!"
The conductor burst out laughing. Mac chuckled and gave his eyebrows a suggestive wiggle.
Savannah, belatedly realizing what she'd said and how it was taken by the conductor, flushed a deep red. Mac had to admire her spirit, though. While most women might have fled the room in haste, Savannah tossed her head and pushed by them to reach the struggling boy. On bended knee, she untied Roy's hands and removed his gag.
Still chuckling, the conductor told Roy, “You're lucky, boy, that Mrs. Cord decided to stick up for you."
Simultaneously, Mac and Savannah began, “Oh, but we're not—"
They stopped, staring at each other in consternation. Mac was remembering his scandalous request in front of the conductor, and her equally scandalous response. He suspected that she was as well.
"Not newlyweds?” the conductor guessed inaccurately when they remained silent. He beamed at them. “Well, I never would have guessed you'd been married long the way you two carry on. It does my heart good to see a couple still so much in love. Me and my missus are the same way."
Roy snickered and opened his mouth to speak. Mac saw Savannah step casually near him and bring the heel of her shoe down on the boy's foot. Roy let out a howl and began hoping around the compartment.
Savannah grabbed his skinny arm and dragged him, half-hopping half-walking, to the door. “Roy, I think you should stick close to us until we get to Virginia so that you don't get into any more trouble.” She flashed Mac a brilliant smile over her shoulder. “Don't you agree ... darling?"
Mac didn't have to feign a happy smile. He had only to think of all the delicious possibilities that could arise—and would if he had anything to do with it—in posing as her husband between now and Virginia. “I certainly do agree, darling."
He especially liked the Mrs. Cord part.
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Chapter Eight
Two days later, after countless stops, little sleep, and bad food, Mac, Savannah, and Roy arrived in the rugged little town of Cornwall, West Virginia. Mac wasn't in the best of moods, considering he'd spent the better part of the journey fighting Roy for a seat next to Savannah.
And just to spite him, Savannah had chosen the brat over him. As a result, Mac had lost countless opportunities to kiss her, or touch her as a husband was expected to kiss and touch. How much easier it would have been if Savannah hadn't followed him when the conductor came to fetch him, Mac mused with a frown. Roy Hunter might be dusting his backside along the tracks somewhere while he got down to the serious business of wooing Savannah.
"I need three rooms,” Mac growled to the desk clerk in Cornwall's only hotel.
"I'm sorry, sir. We only have two rooms available.
Mac cursed loud and without remorse. He refused to share a room with Roy. “Fine. Do you have a place in the stables for the boy?"
"Mac!"
At the sound of Savannah's protest, Mac groaned inwardly. He would not share a room with that—he sucked in a sharp breath as an idea came to him. It would probably put him in hot water with Savannah, but the probability did have its advantages.
If Savannah didn't want Roy to sleep in the stables, then she shouldn't object to sharing a room with him. All he had to do was make up for his first mistake. Thinking quickly, Mac said, “All right. My wife's not been feeling well, but under the circumstances I'm sure she can make an exception and share her room with me.” He leaned close before he added, aware that Savannah and Roy had also leaned close, “She's going to have a baby, and doesn't like to be ... disturbed, if you know what I mean."
The clerk's head bobbed knowingly. “My own missus was like that with our third baby,” he confided. “Best not to aggravate the situation more than you have to, sir."
"I'll keep your advice in mind,” Mac murmured. He could almost feel the heat of Savannah's glare burning through his back. Speaking of backs ... he reckoned that back rub she owed him was out of the question tonight.
She wasted no time lighting into him when they reached their room. “First I'm Mrs. Carrington, then Mrs. Cord. Now I'm Mrs. Cord and going to have a baby? Is there anything you haven't lied about?"
Mac winced. It was an unfair question, but he had to admit he could understand why she'd asked it. Since he'd arrived in Jamestown, he'd had no choice but to tell lies on top of lies.
But there was one tiny little point she seemed to have forgotten.
"If I hadn't lied to Sheriff Porter, you'd still be sitting in jail in Jamestown.” Now it was her turn to wince. “I also seemed to recall that on the train, it was by mutual agreement that we continue the pretense as husband and wife."
Savannah's eyes widened with incredulity. “And why is that? I seem to recall you placed me in a very embarrassing situation with your outrageous conversation, Mackenzy Cord. My reputation was at stake."
He knew when she started using his full name that he was in trouble. “Maybe so, but you have to admit that sharing a room makes sense. It's not only cheaper, it's keeping your precious protégée out of the stables."
"He's not my protégée, he's yours."
Mac gave his head a vigorous shake. “I never agreed to train him, Sav, and you know it. He's just a kid, and bounty hunting is dangerous work. He'd wind up dead."
"You didn't,” Savannah pointed out.
Her eyes began to sparkle with something other than anger. Mac braced himself as she sauntered close to him. She fiddled with the collar of his shirt, her voice turning soft and persuasive.
It was a new side of Savannah—a seductive side Mac wasn't sure how to handle.
"Mac, why don't you show him a few things?” she pleaded.
He'd like to show her a few things. Mac held his breath as she leaned closer. A
peculiar weakness flooded his groin.
"If I were a man, I'd want to be a bounty hunter just like you,” she continued, walking her fingers along his chest. “It sounds like an exciting adventure."
Mac caught her wrist and held her still. The only thing that stopped him from jerking her against him and kissing her like he ached to do was the suspicion that she had absolutely no idea what she did to him. “I can't do it, Savannah. The fact is, I'm taking over Sheriff Cannon's job next Spring. I'm giving up bounty hunting."
Her eyebrows climbed at the news. “Oh. I didn't know. Roy's going to be disappointed."
"He'll get over it,” Mac said huskily. He could feel her pulse beat where he held her wrist. What would she do if he brought it to his lips and traced a tender path along the soft, delicate skin? He wondered.
Savannah tugged her hand free. “I'm going to have a bath sent up, then get something to eat. I'm starving."
"Me too. Want to save time and take a bath together?"
She threw back her head and laughed at his outrageous suggestion, revealing a tempting length of her smooth white throat. Mac chuckled only because he knew she expected it. She'd never guessed how heartfelt his suggestion had been, or how he ached to slide his mouth along her exposed throat.
"Oh, Mac! You'd be in big trouble, my friend, if I ever start taking your seriously! I never knew you had such a wicked sense of humor, but I'm getting used to it."
Mac managed a smile. Inside his gut was churning with frustration. He was beginning to think he'd never get Savannah to take him seriously. “Yeah, well, there's a lot you don't know about me."
"I'm looking forward to finding out."
And he was looking forward to showing her.
"Mac ... have you noticed anything different about our room?” Savannah questioned, all humor suddenly gone from her voice.
Alerted by her tone, Mac surveyed the small room, his gaze lingering on the bed. There was a wash table, a chest of drawers, a dresser and a mirror. The furnishings weren't as lavish as the Jamestown hotel, but fairly standard. He frowned. “No, I don't.” When he turned back to Savannah, she was clutching her throat, her expression solemn.
"There's no sitting room. There's no sofa. Just one bed."
So, Mac mused, holding back a delighted smile, here was proof that God truly was a man.
* * * *
Savannah couldn't stop staring at the bed. Her bath water was rapidly cooling—which meant that Mac would have to take a cold bath—but she couldn't seem to take her eyes from the double bed in the middle of the room.
Of course Mac had been teasing when he suggested they share the bed, just as he'd been teasing when he suggested they bathe together.
But both suggestions had prompted naughty images that quickly joined the others that had yet to fade from her mind. If he'd only stop teasing her with his outrageous suggestions, she might be able to revert to her earlier way of thinking about Mac as a friend.
Savannah sighed and slapped at the water. She knew that hope was a crock of rancid butter! Once she became aware of Mac as a man, her mind—and her shameless body—refused to let it go. She ached to know him as a woman, to feel him touch her and kiss her, and not in a pretend way. The pretend way was arousing enough; Savannah could just begin to imagine how Mac could effect her if he truly wanted her.
The possibility that she might never know Mac The Man made her heart ache fiercely. If she had an ounce of sense, she'd take advantage of every opportunity to get close to him ... in the guise of pretend wife and in the guise of friendship. Savannah rose and grabbed a towel, drying herself as her mind continued to plot ways to get the most out of her time with Mac.
Believing she thought of him only as a friend, he would never suspect as long as she was careful. Of course, there were limits to how far she could go without arousing suspicion....
As she slipped a fresh chemise over her head, Savannah smiled. She'd just thought of the perfect start—a perfectly innocent suggestion and one he could hardly object to, since it was his idea in the first place.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nine
The hard floor was torture, but knowing Savannah rolled restlessly on the bed above him was the worst kind of agony. Well, Mac thought, attempting to find humor in the impossible situation, at least it couldn't get any worse.
"Mac, are you awake?"
Or maybe it could, because the last thing he needed was her soft, sexy voice to go with the arousing image in his mind. Gruffly, he said, “I am now.” As if he had been thinking about sleep at all—ha! Instead he'd been staring at the darkened ceiling above his head for what felt like hours.
"I was just thinking,” she whispered.
Uh-oh. The covers rustled, and the shadowy image of her face peered at him over the bed.
"About that back rub I owe you,” she added.
"Forget it.” Mac clenched teeth, his hands, and his thighs to keep from leaping up and joining her on the soft mattress. The bed springs squeaked. He jumped as her hand landed on his bare chest. Every nerve in his body froze.
"But I can't sleep, Mac, and from the sound of your voice, you can't sleep, either. Maybe a back rub will help."
It might help you, but it won't help me! Mac growled silently. If only her offer didn't sound so—so friendly. Out loud, he said, “Count sheep or something if you can't go to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
To his relief, she moved her hand from his chest. He had just begun to relax when she popped into view again. If he knew it wouldn't be so painful, Mac could have turned onto his stomach to get away from the tempting sight. But something was in the way. Something that made turning over impossible.
He couldn't make out distinct features in the weak moonlight streaming through the window, but he knew that her hair was down; he'd watched her brush it until it shone. The night gown she wore was cotton, and thin, with delicate lace at the collar and sleeves.
He knew these things because he'd seen her before the lamp went out—seen right through the material to the shadowy outline of her sex, and the faint outline of her nipples.
Which was exactly why he couldn't sleep now.
Grim-faced, he gazed at the sweet face hanging above him and waited. What now? He wondered. And how much more could he take and still remain a gentleman ... a friend, as she so trustingly believed him to be?
"If you won't let me give you a back rub, will you give me one?"
Mac didn't bother to hide his exasperation. She had to be the single most persistent woman in the world.
In one smooth roll, he came to his feet. In keeping with what he'd told her at the Jamestown hotel, he had removed his boots and shirt, but he'd drawn the line at taking off his pants to enforce his lie. He would have had a difficult time explaining his state of arousal had he gone that far.
Savannah moved to the middle of the bed to make room, but Mac perched on the edge. “Turn onto your stomach,” he ordered, making a valiant attempt to sound impersonal.
She quickly did as he ask. Mac took a deep, fortifying breath and leaned over her, kneading her shoulders. Before a full moment had passed, Savannah shrugged his hands away and proceeded to draw the edges of her gown away from her shoulders, baring the smooth skin of her back to his hungry gaze.
Her voice was muffled against the pillow as she explained, “I think this will work much better, don't you? I like to feel the rough pads of your fingers against my skin."
Mac swallowed hard. So, she'd noticed.
"Mac?” Her voice was muffled, and husky with impending sleep. “You didn't fall asleep on me, did you?"
Hardly. In fact, the way his nerves were jumping beneath his skin, he couldn't imagine sleeping again—ever!
"Hm. It's nice of you to do this for me. You're the best friend a gal could have."
Gritting his teeth, Mac gingerly settled his hands onto her skin. It was silky to the touch, and warm. He moved his fingers lightly, tracing the delicate bones
of her shoulder blades, then back again to the feminine curve of her spine.
"Hm, that feels good, but could you do it a little harder, please?"
Hell. Mac smothered a growl in the nick of time. The woman would be the death of him yet! He felt as if he were going to explode. Desperately focusing his mind on anything but the sound of the soft, little mewling noises emerging from her throat, Mac dug his fingers into her muscles and began to knead with a vengeance.
"No, Mac. Here, let me show you."
Before he could protest, she rose and pushed him onto the bed. He fell forward into a new torture, for the pillow reeked of Savannah's pulse-pounding scent...
Thank God the pillow muffled his gasp as she straddled his hips and began to work her expert little hands over his tense back. But when he felt the heat against his buttocks and realized exactly where it was coming from, he moaned loudly and distinctly.
"There, doesn't that feel good?” Savannah purred with smug satisfaction. Obviously she'd misinterpreted the sound. “You know, if it were anyone but you, doing this would be out of the question."
Oh, yeah. Most definitely. Mac bit his tongue—hard.
"Which is why I'm glad we're friends."
If he heard that term one more time from her mouth, he was going to smother her with the pillow. Her friend was poking a hole in the mattress.
"Mac? You awake?"
He didn't trust his voice, so he grunted.
"Good. Because I was thinking..."
Again? And this time Mac's groan wasn't entirely due to his uncomfortable state.
"That it's silly for you to sleep on the floor when there's plenty of room in the bed for both of us."
"Huh?"
Fingers tip-toed along his spine, leaving a rash of goose bumps in their wake. “Oh, I know what I said earlier, but I am a woman, and everyone knows that women are entitled to change their minds."
Her hands got busy again, working their magic and driving him insane. Mac's mouth formed a very definite ‘no', but the sound refused to follow.
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