Frustration nearly choked Mac. She didn't believe him! He'd never considered that she might not believe him when he finally told her. For a few moments, he sat fuming in silence. He'd never met such a stubborn, wilful, mistrustful woman in his life! Selfish motives aside, he had to make her understand the import of what they'd done—what he'd done—in telling Preacher Owens they were married.
Soon everyone in Angel Creek would know. Mattie Owens and the preacher would spread the news—not as malicious gossip, Mac knew—but in joyful celebration. George Carrington's battle to find a suitable husband for his wealthy daughter was no secret.
News traveled fast in a small community like Angel Creek, and with the use of telegraphy, Mac wouldn't be surprised if George didn't find out before they could tell him. And while the prospect of marrying Savannah at last made his heart beat faster, Mac didn't want an unwilling bride on his hands. An angry unwilling bride. He'd spoiled her plans for the future—
The reminder of her plans gave Mac an idea. He didn't like it, but he loved Savannah enough to want her to be happy, with or without him.
"Savannah, what if we go ahead with the wedding? Then, after a while ... a month or two, maybe, we could move to Jamestown. You could open your shop, and I could go about my own business. Take up bounty hunting again. You said yourself you weren't certain you ever wanted to marry, and I, well, I don't have any plans to marry, either.” If I can't have you, he added silently. “We could be married, but live apart.” The words pained him to the depths of his soul, but he was desperate to make her see the potential disaster that could arise if she refused to marry him when they reached Angel Creek.
The preacher and his daughter had witnessed their exit from a hotel room. If they didn't marry, there would be whispers and speculation. Savannah's reputation would be quietly and thoroughly ripped to shreds.
Savannah spoke, so softly that Mac had to lean close to hear her.
"What do I care what the people of Angel Creek say about me if I'm not going to be living there?"
Mac felt like shaking her. “And your father? Do you not care that he'll be left behind to suffer the whispers and gossip? That every time you return to visit people will be talking about you, pointing at you, whispering behind your back?” Mac had never cared what people thought about him, but he knew women were different. Even Savannah, as strong-willed and brash as she was, would be affected.
"Will you at least think about my suggestion? I swear to you I won't stand in your way when you decide to leave Angel Creek. I'll leave at the same time and no one will be the wiser.” It would give him an opportunity to continue his pursuit of Barlow, he thought.
"In the meantime,” she whispered. “We live as husband and wife?"
"I don't see any other way, do you?"
She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face for something Mac couldn't fathom. “You would do this for me, Mac? Why?"
It was on the tip of Mac's tongue to repeat that he loved her, that living with her could never be a hardship, but her penetrating gaze lodged the declaration in his throat. She'd said she didn't believe him, and right now, in the emotional state she was in, he realized the futility of trying to convince her.
"Because you're my friend, Sav. I care a lot about you, and I don't want what's happened between us to ruin the rest of your life."
Her gaze softened as she reminded him, “No regrets, Mac. We agreed there would be no regrets."
"Then let's make certain, shall we?” he coaxed. “Let's get married.” He held his breath as she continued to study him for a long, tense moment.
Finally, she nodded.
Mac gripped the seat to keep from jumping to his feet and shouting for joy. No need to get ahead of himself, he cautioned. Savannah might marry him ... but that didn't mean she would love him. Still, he would have more time, more opportunities to make an impact on her soul. Then, if she still insisted on leaving when the time came, perhaps she'd soon realize how much she missed him and come back to him.
It was his only hope.
Savannah grabbed his arm, startling him out of his thoughts and nearly out of his skin. Her voice was urgent as she pointed along the aisle. “Mac, look! Roy's in trouble."
At the end of the isle, Mac saw Roy standing near the entrance to the door leading to the observation desk. Towering over him was a huge bear of a man, red-faced and obviously angry. Even from this distance Mac could see the fear in Roy's expression.
Before Mac could reach them, the man grabbed Roy by the collar of his coat and lifted him high. He shook him as if he weighed nothing more than a pesky pup. “Teach you to try and pick my pockets!” the man roared. He turned with Roy dangling from his ham-sized fist and strode through the door to the open deck.
A red haze formed before Mac's eyes as he went after them. Sure, the kid irritated him sometimes, but he'd be damned if he'd let anyone mistreat him!
Mac's heart nearly stopped at the scene that met his eyes when he burst through the door. The man was dangling Roy over the side of the rail by the collar of his coat. Roy's face was bleached white; his legs flayed helplessly in the air. Mac had never seen such terror in a kid's eyes before.
And he never wanted to again.
"Take it easy, mister,” Mac warned the man in a low voice so as not to startle him. “You drop him and he could die."
The man looked at Mac, then dismissed him with a snarl. The shoulder seams of his coat strained beneath the man's massive muscles. “He's a thief! He tried to pick my pockets, but I caught him red-handed!"
"The boy's with me. Put him down."
"Did you hear what I said? He tried to pick my—"
"If he needs to be punished, then I'll do the punishing."
"Looks like your brand of punishment doesn't work,” the man shouted, lowering Roy so that his heels bumped against the cross ties between the tracks.
"Do something, Mac!” Roy squeaked.
With a disgruntled sigh, Mac pulled out his gun and jammed it into the man's back. He'd tried to do it the nice way. Now it was time to get serious. “If you drop him, I'm going to shoot you. Is he worth dying over?"
The man's eyes widened. He looked at the gun, then back at Mac. “I'm unarmed, he sneered. “You would shoot a man in the back? What kind of man are you?"
Mac's eyes narrowed at the brute's unspoken challenge. With a careless shrug, he threw the gun from the train. “How about we just settle this man to man? After you put the boy down, of course."
"Mac!” Roy shrieked, trying to twist around to see him. “I don't think throwing your gun away was a good idea! Did you get a good look at those—"
"Be quiet, Roy,” Mac ordered. To the man, he deliberately taunted, “Or are you afraid?"
For an astounded moment, the man just stared at Mac. Then he threw back his head and laughed. When his laughter finally died away, he pulled Roy in and pitched him onto the deck. Roy scrambled to his feet and plastered himself against the coach wall, his terrified gaze darting between the two men.
The man was big. Mac came to his burly shoulders, and was half as wide—and he was no small man. They eyed each other warily, waiting to see who would make the first move.
Mac remained relaxed, his arms hanging loosely at his side. He waited, his gaze intent on the man's face. On his eyes. They flickered once. Twice.
One beefy fist rose in the air, and Mac took a casual step forward, chopping the side of his hand into the man's windpipe.
The surprised brute clutched his throat and gagged, his face turning purple. While he was occupied with trying to breathe again, Mac sank his fist into the man's stomach, doubling him over. And while he was on his knees, Mac landed a hard blow to the back of his neck. He collapsed to the deck in a heap, unconscious.
Mac ran a hand through his hair, straightened his vest, and reached for Roy. He hauled him across the threshold and into the passenger coach, passed an open-mouthed Savannah—who'd been watching through the door—and to their seats.
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Once there, he pushed Roy down and stood over him, tempering his silent fury. “You just cost me a good gun, brat."
Roy's mouth opened and closed. He regarded Mac with eyes brimming with admiration and awe. “You were wonderful, Mac! Where did you learn to—"
"Never mind where I learned to fight,” Mac snapped, driving his fingers through his hair again. “You nearly got yourself killed! What if you had been alone?"
The boy's face fell into a scowl. “He accused me of trying to pick his pockets, Mac! I wasn't, I swear!"
"Then what were you doing to make the man think it?"
Savannah came up silently behind Mac, then promptly sat down on the seat opposite Roy's. Mac spared her a quick glance, noting that she looked pale and stunned. She had probably thought the man would drop Roy, he mused, growing mad all over again.
"He had this—this pocket watch,” Roy explained, thrusting his chin out in a defensive way Mac was beginning to recognize. “It was shaped like a wolf's head. I was looking at it, and he thought I was trying to steal it."
Green eyes clashed with brown. Mac stared at Roy long and hard, weighing the truth of his words with the honesty of his expression. Either he was a fool, or the boy was telling the truth, he decided. Expelling a exasperated sigh, Mac sat down beside Savannah. Delayed reaction set in, and he began to tremble. He couldn't seem to shake the image of Roy's terrified face from his mind. What if the bastard had accidentally dropped Roy? He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the horrible image of Roy tumbling head over heels along the tracks until he came to rest, broken, bleeding, perhaps dead.
"Mac, are you all right?"
It was Savannah's sweet voice that revived him and thankfully dispersed the horrid images. He opened his eyes to find her face close to his own, her eyes clouded with concern. He smiled faintly. “I'm fine. It's the brat you need to worry about. I'm surprised he's lived this long.” He hesitated, captivated by her tender gaze. “Do you still think he's bounty hunter material, darling?” The endearment had been intentional, and he was overjoyed to note that she didn't object.
"Hey, that's not fair—"
"I don't know, Mac,” Savannah said softly, ignoring Roy's protest as she continued to gaze into Mac's eyes. “Maybe you were right. Maybe he's not cut out for the dangerous job of hunting down criminals."
"Now, wait just a damned—” Roy sputtered, only to be interrupted again by Mac.
"He is a little rash,” Mac agreed.
"And hasty."
"Yes. Wouldn't hurt for him to mature, learn to stay out of trouble. Stop cursing."
"Hm,” Savannah agreed. “Curb his curiosity before it gets us all killed."
"Fine,” Roy snapped. He folded his arms and slumped against the seat, sulking. “Go ahead and talk about me like I'm not here. When you two finish rearranging my character, let me know. I just got one thing to say; I did not try to steal that bastard's watch!"
Mac and Savannah burst out laughing.
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Chapter Twenty-Five
Her eyes unfocused, Savannah watched the hypnotic sway of the telegraph lines rushing by outside her window.
In less than thirty minutes, the train would pull into Angel Creek, and Savannah would disembark as Mac's wife. They had lied to the preacher and Mattie Owens, and Roy and everyone else along the way.
There was no way out.
She would become Mac's wife, and while the idea thrilled to the very heart of her, in an odd way it also repulsed her. She knew Mac was doing it to save her reputation, and that's what repulsed her. To be married to a man she loved, but that didn't love her ... to live with a man who thought of her as a dear friend and nothing more.
Savannah shuddered, staring out the window to keep from looking at Mac again. Each time she looked at him, she got lost in the jade depths of his eyes. He was so tender, yet exciting. Considerate, yet demanding. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of finding in a man, and he'd been right beneath her nose most of her life!
How could she have been so blind?
He had brought her more pleasure than she could imagine, and yet he was nothing more than a friend to her. A lover, and a friend. Her father had hired him to bring her back to Angel Creek, but instead Mac was forced to bring her back as his bride.
A chill swept over Savannah. It was all her fault, and eventually Mac would realize it. He'd start to resent her. The resentment would turn into hate.
She couldn't bear it to happen!
But there was no other way. She'd thought and pondered and plotted, but to no avail. They had lied to Preacher Owens, and he believed them to be wed, had seen them emerge as lovers from the hotel room. Yes, she could run again, before her father could arrange a proper wedding, but she wasn't a coward, and she couldn't do such a thing to her father again. He would be humiliated, and very probably Mac would become the hunted instead of the hunter. George Carrington had always been fiercely protective of her; it wasn't likely that he had changed since she'd been away this past week.
Sending Mac after her ... offering him a large sum of money was proof that her daddy hadn't changed. He wanted her safely married, she knew, and in his heart he meant well. Savannah sighed, conscious of Mac watching her profile. George Carrington would finally get his wish, but at what cost to Mac?
The only way she could redeem herself was to do everything in her power to make the situation as painless as possible for Mac. After the wedding—the real wedding—they would wait a few weeks, then announce their decision to move to Jamestown. She would then go her way and Mac would be free of this impossible trap.
In the meantime she would try to make it up to Mac in the only way she knew how; by loving him.
* * * *
In another ten minutes, Mac would realize his dream; that of introducing Savannah as his wife. Only she wasn't, not yet. But she would be very, very soon, if Mac knew George Carrington. Carrington was a business man through and through, and he would leave nothing to chance. Mac and Savannah would be married before the entire church congregation so there would be no question, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer.
Lawfully and legally.
Mac took a deep breath as the full impact of what he'd inadvertently done sank in.
Savannah didn't look too happy about it, Mac reflected as he eyed her ram-rod straight back and the way her chin angled forward and out. In profile, her eyes held a bright gleam of something he couldn't identify.
He thought it might be fear.
Hoping to ease her tension, Mac leaned forward to whisper teasingly in her ear, “If you don't find a smile before we get off this train, your daddy's going to think I've been mistreating his little girl."
She turned abruptly, her eyes so full of misery that Mac felt his heart leap in sympathy. He recognized the gleam now—it was tears.
"Oh, Mac, I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “This is all my fault!"
I'm so sorry. Mac struggled to hide the pain her words caused. He forced a tight smile as he drawled, “I believe there were two of us in that bed, making mad, passionate love."
She didn't look appeased, casting a quick glance at Roy before she whispered the delicious reminder, “But I came to bed naked."
"So did I."
"It was my fault!"
"It wasn't anybody's fault,” Mac argued patiently. If only she knew how her words wounded him. “We wanted each other, so we made love. You said yourself there should be no regrets. We never intentionally set out to hurt anyone—which is why we're going to get off this train as Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzy Cord.” Taking her cold hands in his, he gave them a gentle squeeze, but his eyes glinted with mischief as he added in a low, seductive voice, “Just think of all the fun we're going to have playing house."
"You're wicked, Mac.” But there was a ghost of a smile playing about her mouth and a heartening glint of anticipation in her eyes. “We don't have to tell anyone right away."
Mac lifted a chiding brow
. “Would you rather George hear it from someone else?"
She didn't hesitate. “No, I wouldn't."
"Then we'll tell him together.” Belatedly, Mac remembered that George wouldn't be as shocked as Savannah expected him to be. But he couldn't explain—couldn't tell her. If she knew that he'd declared his love for her she'd feel more trapped than ever. Best he make this as painless as possible for her. It was the least he could do for putting her in this undesirable situation in the first place.
Which meant that he had to get to George Carrington first, beseech him to keep their earlier conversation to himself. Mac's speculative gaze landed on Roy, who had been dozing off and on for the last few hours. Maybe it was time to test the brat's loyalty.
He nudged Roy's foot with his boot, jarring him awake. Roy opened his sleepy eyes and focused on Mac, frowning.
"What? Did you kick me?"
"I want to talk to you about your manners—before we arrive,” Mac said, nodding toward the door. “Outside."
Roy groaned, closed his eyes, and resumed his sleeping pose. “I don't need any lectures—"
"Outside,” Mac repeated more forcefully. He rose, and Roy reluctantly followed him. Once outside, Mac inhaled the fresh, cool air rushing past them. It was noisy, but the observation deck was blessedly empty. In the distance he could see the rooftops of houses and businesses; a church steeple reached skyward.
Angel Creek, a prosperous, peaceful town where Mac had spent the majority of his life—when he wasn't hunting dangerous criminals for bounty.
"You don't have to worry,” Roy grumbled as he came to stand beside Mac. “I'm not going to embarrass you or Mrs. Cord."
"I know. That was just an excuse to get you out here."
Roy did a double take. His eyes widened. “Huh?"
"I've an assignment for you. Think you're up to it?"
Hero For Hire Page 18