Hero For Hire

by Sheridon Smythe

  The boy's chest expanded. He hooked his thumbs in his pants and rocked back on his heels. “Do bears shit in the woods?” he drawled with exaggerated arrogance.

  Mac stifled a chuckle. “When we pull into the train station, I'm going to ask you to fetch a carriage for Savannah's trunks. I want you to refuse."

  "You ... you want me to refuse?" Roy squeaked.

  "Yes. I need to talk to Savannah's father alone, so if you refuse to fetch the carriage, I'll have to."

  After a baffled moment, Roy shrugged. “Sure thing, Mac.” He looked suddenly anxious. “Everything okay between you and Mrs. Cord? I mean, you two seem like a happy couple ... an’ all."

  "We're fine.” Mac hesitated, not certain just how much he should tell Roy. “Her father and I have a little business to discuss in private."

  "Oh. And I guess this business is something you don't want Mrs. Cord knowing?"

  "You're a shrewd boy, Roy."

  "And you're a sly man, Mac."

  "So it's a deal?"

  "Sure thing.” Roy rubbed his hands together with relish. “I guess bounty hunters have to be good at acting, don't they?"

  "They do indeed,” Mac murmured absently. He felt someone watching him ... an itch right between the shoulder blades that always warned him in advance. It was this very instinct that had saved his life on more than one occasion.

  Casually, Mac turned around. He caught a flashing image of a man's face peering through the glass pane, but it was enough.

  He recognized the deputy from Jamestown, the one Savannah said had followed him from the Empress hotel in Paradise.

  What did he hope to accomplish by following them clear to Angel Creek? Mac wondered. Did he believe they would still lead him to Barlow, or did the deputy have a more sinister motive for tailing them? Did he work for Sheriff Porter—or Ned Barlow?

  The train began a series of long whistles announcing their final approach to Angel Creek. Mac considered going after the deputy and getting some answers, but he didn't have time to waste; he had to get to Carrington before Savannah did. His instincts told him the man wasn't a danger, just a nuisance.

  Time enough to deal with him later, after he talked to Carrington, and Savannah and Roy were settled in his house.

  His house. Savannah would be going to his house as his wife—at least in everyone else's eyes. Mac's heart filled with a strange ache at the knowledge.

  As the engineer engaged the brakes and the train began to lose speed, Mac returned to Savannah with Roy in tow. She had gathered her satchel full of drawings and her parasol, looking tense and unhappy.

  Mac's heart continued to ache for her, knowing she was dreading the confrontation with her father.

  When the train came to a full stop at the train station, they disembarked and moved to the baggage car to unload Savannah's trunks. Mac kept an eye on the few passengers that disembarked with them, but there was no sign of the deputy. If the man was good at his job, he would ride the train to the next town, hire a horse, and come back to Angel Creek in a less conspicuous way.

  It was time to initiate the plan.

  "Roy, go fetch a wagon for Savannah's trunks,” Mac instructed, glancing at his pocket watch to see that it was an hour or so before dusk. He deposited the last hat box on the pile of trunks and wiped his brow. It was unseasonably warm today, and when he cast a glance to the sky, he saw why; rain clouds had began to gather.

  To Mac's consternation, Roy groaned, but flounced off in the direction of town. He stomped several yards away before he halted and spun on his heel. Mac recognized the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. The brat!

  Thrusting out a belligerent chin, he shouted, “You know what? I think it's your turn to fetch the damned wagon. I'm not your slave.” He stomped back and sat on one of Savannah's trunks, folded his arms, and clamped his mouth shut.

  Mac bit back a smile at Savannah's astounded expression. Roy was a very convincing actor. “Roy,” Mac said, injecting a weary note in his voice for Savannah's benefit. “Just fetch the wagon. It's not only going to be dark, it looks like rain."

  Roy gave a careless shrug and raised his pointed chin another notch. “Then I suggest you hurry. You wouldn't want your wife to get soaked."

  "Roy!” Savannah protested, sounding injured. “This isn't the time or place to assert your manhood. Just do as Mac says."

  "Nope. I'm staying right here. It's his turn."

  With an aggrieved sigh, Mac muttered, “I'll go. There isn't time to argue with the brat."

  "For once I agree with you—he is being a brat.” Savannah found a trunk and flounced down, turning her back to Roy. “You go ahead, Mac.” She sniffed loudly. “I'll be waiting right here with the brat—in silence."

  Her meaning was clear. Mac and Roy exchanged rueful, yet satisfied glances. Later, Roy would have some making up do, but Mac was confident the boy could weasel his way back into her good graces with the minimum of effort.

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  Chapter Twenty Six

  George Carrington looked more haggard than ever, Mac noted as he thanked the butler and closed the study door behind him.

  The older man rose slowly from his position behind the desk, removed his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes. His voice was thick with weariness as he indicated that Mac have a seat in the leather chair by the window. “Since Savannah isn't with you, I presume you failed to convince her to return."

  "She's waiting at the train station now,” Mac was pleased to inform him. “I'm supposed to be fetching a wagon for her trunks."

  The man's face underwent a drastic change. His blue eyes flickered with a blatant mixture of hope and relief. “Thank God! I'll send Milton around to get her—"

  "Not just yet, Mr. Carrington."

  George frowned. “What's this about, Mac? Is she—does she not want to see me? Is that it?” He sat down heavily in his seat again.

  "Nothing like that,” Mac hastened to reassure him. “You see, I wanted to be the one to tell you the news."

  "News? What news?” George stared at Mac for a full moment before realization dawned. A flush drifted into his cheeks, deepening his florid color. “By God, you succeeded, didn't you? You convinced Savannah to marry you!"

  Mac hated to lie to the man, but he knew that he couldn't tell him the truth. In this instance, he believed a lie would be kinder. “Yes, I did. We were married in Jamestown.” He hesitated, then plunged on. “I'd rather Savannah not know about our previous conversation that took place before I left, sir. She might not understand."

  Bemused, George finally nodded. “Yes, yes. I can see why you're worried. Savannah has a suspicious mind.” He rose and circled the desk, thrusting out his hand. “Well, congratulations, Mac. I'm mighty proud to have you for a son-in-law. I know that you'll take good care of my baby girl."

  Mac swallowed a lump in his throat, accepting George's handshake. The disappointment Mac expected to find was lacking, and he was glad. “I will take good care of her, sir. You can count on it.” For as long as he had her, anyway.

  George dropped his hand, clearing his throat. “Yes, well, I'm anxious to see her. You bring her around to supper, you hear? Around seven?"

  "Certainly.” Mac rose, relieved the hard part was over. George Carrington would not betray him. “That will give us time to settle in. By the way, Savannah and I encountered a young friend along the way. He's determined to become a bounty hunter."

  "Bring him along, too,” George insisted with a careless wave of his hand. “The more the merrier."

  "Thanks, Mr. Carrington."

  "George. Call me George. You're family now."

  Guilt swamped Mac as he left George and went to find a carriage.

  * * * *

  Mac's childhood home was small, but Savannah found it utterly charming. There was a parlor, a kitchen, a living room, two bedrooms—and an attic room that Roy immediately declared for his own. The entire house was decorated tastefully, but simply, a far cry from her own la
vish home with its heavy, dark furniture and rich tapestry.

  It was evident this house had once known the loving hands of a wife and mother—Mac's mother—and Savannah loved it. She could almost feel the other woman's loving presence...

  As she moved from room to room, exclaiming over an exquisitely embroidered pillowcase on the bed, fingering the soft, worn red and white checkered curtains hanging in the kitchen window, she sensed Mac watching her anxiously. Roy was busy lugging furniture from one of the bedrooms up the narrow stairs leading into the attic, leaving them alone as they returned to the small parlor.

  Savannah turned to Mac. “It's lovely,” she said simply and sincerely. “I don't know how you stay away so long."

  "If I had someone like you waiting for me, I wouldn't."

  She shivered at his low, rumbling admission, despite the fact that she knew he didn't mean it. “Mac, you don't have to pretend. We're alone.” Roy couldn't possibly hear them over the sound of his own cursing as he struggled with the furniture. She held her breath as Mac slowly approached her. His eyes deepened to jade.

  "What would it take to convince you I'm not pretending?” Mac queried softly.

  He stroked the hair from her brow, then moved his hand to cup her neck, drawing her close. She inhaled the scent of wood smoke and soap, scents she had come to anticipate and love, as he drew her closer and closer to his mouth.

  "I hunger for your kiss, Sav. It's been too long."

  She forced a chuckle to hide the yearning his remark evoked. “What, a whole day and night?” she teased. His mouth brushed hers, then moved away. She whimpered and reached up, pulling him back. Perhaps it was wrong and selfish of her to want to make the most of her time with Mac, but she couldn't find the willpower necessary to resist him. Later, when it came time to leave him, she suspected she would pay the price for her weakness now.

  "Would you care to test the bed?” Mac murmured seductively against her mouth. He slipped his hands around her waist and with his mouth locked on hers, began to walk backward toward the door.

  "What about Roy?” Savannah managed to gasp out before his mouth silenced her again. His big hands moved up, cupping the shameless thrust of her breasts. Savannah leaned into him with a moan. She could feel the hard length of him pressing against her.

  In the end, it was the enraged, muffled sound of Roy's screams that broke the sensuous spell.

  "Daggumit! Somebody help! Get this thing off me!"

  They found Roy on the stairs, buried beneath a thick, heavy goose-feather mattress. Laughing, they dragged the mattress from a red-faced Roy, who didn't think it was the slightest bit amusing.

  "What are you laughing at?” he growled to Mac. “I could have used some help, you know."

  "I was otherwise occupied, brat."

  Roy looked from Savannah's flushed face to Mac's smug one. He shook his head and sighed. “I guess that means you want me to disappear?"

  Savannah laughed at his resigned expression, feeling her face heat even more. “No, Roy. Don't go. We're supposed to be at daddy's house in half an hour. No time to ... talk."

  "Talk. Yeah, right. If you two were talking, then I'm picking cotton,” he grumbled, kicking at the errant mattress. “Will someone please help me? I'd like to finish before midnight!"

  Chuckling, Mac grabbed one end of the mattress and instructed Roy to grab the other. Savannah watched them for a moment as they struggled, tugged, and pulled on the bulky mattress, her heart swelling with tenderness. To anyone watching, they appeared to be a happy little family.

  Her smile faded. If only it were true.

  * * * *

  A half hour later in the Carrington's formal drawing room, Mac stood by as George drew his daughter to him. He alternated between hugging and scolding her until Savannah laughingly protested.

  "Daddy! I've only been gone a week."

  "It's felt like a lifetime, child,” George said, his voice noticeably shaky.

  And then came the moment Mac dreaded. George grasped Savannah's chin and forced her to look straight into his eyes as he asked, “Are you truly happy now, Savannah?"

  Mac was impressed by the beautiful, spontaneous smile that spread across Savannah's face. If he didn't know better, he would be convinced by her sincerity.

  "Yes, Daddy. I'm truly happy.” She flashed Mac a loving smile that brought a peculiar weakness to his knees. “I only wish I had realized it sooner."

  Roy cleared his throat, reminding them he hadn't been introduced. In honor of the occasion, he'd left his treasured hat at home and wore his hair slicked back. His face was scrubbed clean, too, Mac noted, and he'd handed his long coat to the butler with a casualness that suggested it wasn't the first time the boy had faced a butler.

  "George, this is our young friend, Roy Hunter.” Mac nudged Roy forward. “He's determined to become a bounty hunter."

  "A bounty hunter, eh?” George took the boy's hand and gave it a hearty squeeze, smiling benevolently. “That's a mighty brave yearning, son."

  Roy nodded and stammered, “Y—yes sir, Mr. Carrington."

  The housekeeper, a reed-thin woman who'd been with the Carrington household for as long as Mac could remember, choose that moment to announce that dinner was ready.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Kosher. We'll be in shortly."

  Dinner consisted of baked chicken, ham, quail, and a variety of vegetables served with hot, yeasty rolls and cornbread. Mac noticed that while Roy couldn't seem to get enough, he minded his manners. He and Savannah exchanged a mystified glance.

  George pointed at Roy with his knife, apparently pleased with his appetite. “I like to see someone enjoying their food—other than myself, that is.” He winked at Roy. Roy flushed and ducked his head. George then turned his attention to the apple of his eye just as Savannah popped a potato into her mouth. “So tell me all about your adventure, sweetheart. I want to hear every little detail."

  Savannah choked on her food. She swallowed hard, looking like a rabbit caught in a snare. Mac used his napkin to hide a smile. He doubted Savannah's pride would allow her to tell George everything.

  She proved him wrong.

  Carefully, she laid her fork onto her plate and placed her hands in her lap. “I'm not certain where to start, Daddy."

  "How about at the beginning?” George prompted, blissfully unaware that his heart was about to receive a shock.

  She began with meeting Ned Barlow and Raquel on the train. Mac watched the play of emotions on George's face as she spoke, wondering if he should interrupt. Savannah didn't know that her father wasn't in the best of health. Yet since their arrival, Mac had to admit that George didn't look ill at all now. Perhaps what he'd assumed was ill health had merely been grief and worry.

  By the time she finished, George Carrington had gone white as a sheet. His eyes bulged with disbelief and horror. Finally, he looked at Mac. His mouth moved, but it was a few taut seconds before sound emerged.

  "Now you know why I was so eager to see her wed,” he strangled out, then added with such heart-felt sincerity that Mac smiled, “Thank you, Mac!"

  "My pleasure.” Mac transferred his innocent smile to Savannah. She stared back at him, her beautiful blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. With an effort, Mac maintained his bland expression until her suspicion began to waver.

  "Well, now you can relax, Daddy. Mac takes very good care of me."

  Roy picked up on her sarcastic inflection and snickered. Mac shot him a quelling glance. He sobered and reached for another roll to go with his third helping of baked ham.

  "Now, hold on there, Savannah,” George said, brandishing his knife again. “You didn't really think you were going to cheat me out of walking you down that aisle, did you? You're my only daughter—and I aim to see a wedding."

  "It's really not necessary—"

  "I'll give you two weeks. That should give you plenty of time to prepare a wedding. I don't want folks around here to have any doubts that my little girl got hitched."

  Sav
annah, apparently having realized it would be useless to argue, finally nodded. “Okay, Daddy."

  Quick as lightning, George changed the subject, focusing on Roy. “Say, son, would you be interested in helping me at the bank tomorrow? You could stay right here with me tonight, give the newlyweds some privacy. What do you say?"

  Mac silently urged Roy to accept George's offer. Getting Savannah alone sounded like the best idea he'd heard in a long time.

  "I don't know, Mr. Carrington. Mac might need me."

  "I think I can do without you for a few days,” Mac said dryly. He caught the wicked gleam in Savannah's eyes, wondering if she was thinking what he was thinking. Just the possibility made him swell inside his trousers.

  "Well, in that case, I'd sure like to. Will you show me the vault?"

  George smiled at his boyish eagerness. “Of course."

  Slowly, Mac's gaze met Savannah's again. They exchanged a long, heated look that shimmered with promises and temptation.

  The dinner couldn't end soon enough for Mac.

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  Chapter Twenty Seven

  An hour later, Mac and Savannah faced each other in the bedroom of Mac's house, the tension taut as a bowstring between them. Mac was glad he'd left a lamp burning; this time he wanted to see Savannah when he made love to her.

  With their gazes locked, Savannah's hand reached for the top button of her blouse. “We probably shouldn't,” she murmured even as she began to unfasten the buttons.

  Mac quickly followed suit with his own shirt. “No, we probably shouldn't,” he agreed, but didn't stop.

  "It will make it harder for us when we go our separate ways."

  "I don't think it could get any harder.” The flaring of her eyes told Mac she hadn't missed his double-meaning. Her gaze dipped briefly to the prominent bulge in his trousers, then returned to his face. Her eyes took on a sultry, half-hooded look that heated his blood. Mesmerized by her slow, deliberate actions, he watched her as she removed her blouse, revealing a thin white chemise that barely covered her rigid nipples and left her creamy breasts bare.