Mail-Order Groom. Lisa Plumley

the most disreputable of Morrow Creek’s businesses right away. Then she’d vowed to avoid them. “As far as we know, there’s no one except me who can take care of this poor man. I can’t possibly move him.” Especially if he’s my secret mail-order fiancé. “Especially while he’s in this dire condition. If you would please tell me how to care for him, I’ll simply—”

      Dr. Finney interrupted. “I realize you are not from around these parts, so I’ve made certain … allowances for you.” His disapproving gaze swept over her homespun gown and tightly wound blond hair. He sighed. “I know you have an unconventional occupation, working out here at the station. I understand you prefer to keep to yourself, as is your right. But none of those factors excuse you from the expectations of polite society.”

      “No one in polite society needs to know he’s here.”

      “Are you asking me to lie? Because I assure you, I will—”

      “I’ll be here.” Mose stepped forward, his expression amiable. His shoulders were wide, his manner no-nonsense, his tone gentle—as gentle as it had been when he and Savannah had first met backstage at the Orpheum Theatre almost twenty years earlier. Mose nodded at the tight-lipped doctor. “I’ll serve as the lady’s chaperone. I’ll safeguard her reputation.”

      Savannah guffawed, gesturing to the bed. “The man is cataleptic! I doubt he’ll threaten my virtue anytime soon.”

      Mose shot her a warning look. “What she means to say,” he assured the doctor, “is that her character is above reproach. As a good, respectable woman, she only wants to do her Christian duty and care for an injured traveler. Nothing more.”

      “Hmm.” Dr. Finney frowned. “This is very irregular.”

      His censorious gaze swung around to her. Pinned by his severe demeanor, Savannah sobered. Mose was right. She needed to be more careful. She and her longtime friend had traveled west to start new lives—not to repeat the mistakes of their old ones.

       As a good, respectable woman …

      Reminded of her goals, Savannah realized that, with a few moments’ unguarded frankness, she’d nearly undone almost a year’s worth of careful behavior. Since coming to live near Morrow Creek, she’d striven to present herself as the woman she wanted to be … not the woman she’d been back in New York City.

      She shot a glance at her wounded visitor. For his sake and her own, she needed to make Dr. Finney accept her plan. She needed to care for her husband-to-be here, away from prying eyes. The faster he healed, the faster they could marry.

      And the longer this took, the less likely the doctor would be to relent in his stance. If there was one thing Savannah had learned to understand in her former life, it was human nature.

      “I know it’s unusual for me to ask this of you, Dr.

      Finney. I do appreciate your help with everything. You’ve been positively invaluable this afternoon.” Beaming, Savannah took the doctor’s arm. “I’m afraid the shock of this event simply has me a little undone. I’m just not myself at the moment. I am sorry for any misunderstanding I’ve caused.”

      At her apology, the doctor brightened. “There there.” Paternally he patted her hand, nestling it near his elbow. “You’ve been very brave through everything. I’ve known more than a few battlefield nurses in my time, and not one of them would—”

      “Oh!” Giving a theatrical groan, Savannah swayed. “I’m sorry. I seem to be getting a bit woozy.” Weakly she grappled for the bedpost. She missed. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mose, his arms crossed, shaking his head. Ignoring him, she turned to Dr. Finney. “My! It’s a good thing you had such a firm hold on me, Doctor. I might have fallen just now!”

      “Well then. You’d better sit down.” Dr. Finney helped her to a chair—obligingly kicked into place by an on-cue Mose. The doctor gave her an assessing look. “You appear quite pale.”

      “I feel quite pale.” Savannah fanned her face. Making every effort to suppress her natural vigor, she swanned into the chair. “Yes, that’s much better. Thank you so much, Doctor.”

      “You’re welcome. I had no idea you were this delicate.”

      He sounded thrilled by her fragility … exactly as she’d hoped he would. Savannah hated to playact this way, but she was in a right pickle. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. She had to manage with the skills she possessed … such as they were.

      “Well …” Feebly Savannah fluttered her fingers. “I guess I am. And to have my moral fiber questioned in such terms … I suppose it simply took the last of my strength to withstand it.”

      “Oh I do apologize.” Dr. Finney took her limp hand in his. “Truly, I didn’t mean to impugn your honor. I think it would be fine for you to care for this wounded gentleman—with Mr. Hawthorne’s supervision and my expert oversight, of course.”

      “Of course! I couldn’t possibly manage alone.”

      Behind the doctor, Mose stifled a guffaw. Perhaps she was overplaying her role, Savannah realized. But it was working.

      “Shall I stay a bit longer, until you’re feeling restored?” Dr. Finney consulted his small, leather-bound journal. “Mrs. Marshall is expecting the arrival of a new baby today, but I—”

      “Oh, no! I’ll be fine. Please go help Mrs. Marshall.”

      The doctor peered at her. “Are you absolutely certain?”

      “She’s certain,” Mose said. Loudly and indisputably.

      It took a few more moments’ performance, but eventually Dr. Finney agreed. Leaving her with medical instructions, a tincture for neuralgia and a fatherly admonishment not to “strain” herself, the doctor took himself back to Morrow Creek.

      The moment the door shut, Mose turned to her, laughing. “Bravo. Your best performance yet. And the most shameless.”

      “The most expedient, you mean.” Not the least discomfited by her own audacity, Savannah bustled to her patient’s bedside. “Nothing convinces a man of a woman’s fine character more than her apparent weakness.

      Why men expect a woman to be capable of hauling firewood, handling thirty-pound cast-iron pots, carrying babies, and hoeing knee-high weeds—all while appearing frail and helpless—is beyond me. Honestly. You’re all contrarians.”

      “Maybe.” Her longtime friend gave her a searching look—one that had nothing to do with her theories on femininity. “But at least we men take life straight out, the way it comes to us. We don’t uproot ourselves, learn a new trade, finagle a wedding—”

      “Stop it. We’ve already discussed this.” Savannah knew what Mose was suggesting—that she was being foolish to force her new life into fruition. Although Mose had been loyal enough to come out west with her, he’d always been skeptical about her plan.

      On the other hand, Mose hadn’t been the one whose sordid personal story had been splashed across every tabloid newspaper in the States and beyond. Mose hadn’t been the one who’d turned to Warren Scarne for help and comfort … only to wind up unemployed and heartbroken. Savannah had been. She’d vowed to never land herself in such a pitiable position ever again.

      “Admit it. You enjoyed your show for Dr. Finney just now.” Mose followed her, his expression concerned. “You haven’t seemed so chirpy in months. Are you sure you’re ready to leave your old life behind you? The stage, the lights, the applause—”

      “Shh!” Worried that her patient might overhear their conversation, Savannah aimed a cautious glance at the man. Then she turned to Mose. “Of course I’m ready,” she assured him. She picked up a cloth from the basin, wrung it out, then dabbed it across her patient’s forehead, being careful to avoid his new bandages. She nodded at him. “He’s the proof of it, isn’t he?”