The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (35 page)

Redness seeped in at the edges of Sam’s vision. Willie had been to the inn? And accosted Sally?

“Good for your papa,” he said.

“Aye!” Johnny laughed, caught up in his tale. “Well, not two hours later, the justice and the sheriff came. The justice swears Sally is guilty of slander and demands the sheriff clap her in irons. Papa, however, said it was no slander when he’d witnessed Willie treating Sally roughly, in her own house.”

Sam braced one hand on Brutus’s broad back and stared across at Jed. His cousin looked every bit as stricken as he felt.

“What I want to know”—Johnny scratched his head—“is why all this talk of the Highwayman got mixed up in it. How could Sally know him?”

“Did you hear what Willie said to her this morning?” Sam asked.

“No, just he was shouting something about the Highwayman. Like he blames Sally for the trouble he’s in now. Papa sent us upstairs when Sally said she needed to talk to him and Mama alone. We tried to listen, but they went to the other side of the house so we couldn’t.”

He gave a halfhearted grin, which Sam could not bring himself to answer.

“La, Sam. You ain’t angry, are you?”

He unclenched his hand from the brush and forced a stiff smile. “Not at you, lad. Not at you.”

This was his own fault, exposing her to retaliation from that cur.

He exchanged a long look with his cousin then turned back to the boys. “Thank you for your help. Run along back to your papa, before he has cause to worry.”

They nodded, looking confused, but did as they were told. Sam waited until the door shut. “This happened because of me.”

“Nonsense, Sam—”

“It did, and you know it.” He turned, and with rare temper, slung the brush across the barn. Catching a little of his ire, Brutus sidestepped, and Sam shoved him back then left the stall and latched it after himself. “I want to kill him, Jed. I won’t, but—” He let out a hard breath. “If he thinks somehow that she’s responsible for my visit to his father last night, he won’t let it lie. I know the type, and so do you.”

Jed nodded slowly.

Sam raked both hands through his hair and turned a circle, staring around the barn without seeing. “I can’t leave her to this. I can’t.”

“I know.”

He swung back toward his cousin. “You do?”

Jed gave a short laugh. “You have it so bad, cousin. But aye.” He stepped closer. “We’re here until day after tomorrow. We’ll figure something out between now and then.”

Sabbaths were naturally grave, austere days. Sally understood that. Yet she’d never endured one so unrelentingly awful.

First, of all the folk that lingered at the inn because of the Sabbath and attended meeting with them, it was Sam she had to wind up sitting next to. As if there were an attachment between them, truly. And Papa and Mama encouraged it because, as they said, it might discourage Willie Brown if he thought Sam was courting her.

Sam was a strapping boy, to be sure, but… so very quiet.

And she could feel him watching her, all day, except possibly when they were sitting in meeting together. Even then she was aware of him in a way every bit as unnerving as when those blue eyes were actually on her.

After a simple lunch, some went back to meeting, but she and Papa stayed home to tend things that simply couldn’t be left undone even on the Sabbath. But the quiet, and the waiting, pressed in on her, and she found herself walking out to the stable yard, where Sam was busy at some task involving a wheel fitting on his wagon. His company was better than none, and at least she might be reasonably safe if Willie came to call again.

He looked up from beneath his flat-brimmed hat. His hands stilled for a moment before he nodded and went back to his task.

“What are you doing?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say.

He was quiet so long, she nearly gave up and went back to the house. “Axle’s cracking. Just trying to reinforce it.”

His voice sounded strange, pinched. Was it because of her? Did she somehow make him afraid to speak?

“You didn’t have to stay this afternoon.”

Another glance upward. “Your father said there’d been trouble.”

“Aye.” The admission was out before she could stop it. What was wrong with her lately? Maybe it was just that she’d known Sam for so long, he was comfortable to talk to.

She found a seat on a nearby barrel.

He’d stopped to watch her again. “Must you do that?” she said.

“Do what?”

“Look at me.”

His head went down, his hands busied themselves again, but… was that a blush creeping up his neck, beneath the blond queue?

“You are very nice to look at,” he said at last.

Sally felt her mouth fall open, and she could not breathe—could not speak. Her heartbeat was suddenly painful.

She snapped her eyes shut then her mouth.
Oh, Highwayman! Where are you?

Oh, Lord, help me.

It seemed to be all she could pray of late.

“Have I said aught to upset you?”

“I—nay—”

Sam straightened. “Is there someone who already claims your affections?”

Oh, she could not breathe—

“Aye. There is.” She slid down from the barrel. “Forgive me.”

Still gazing at her, he gave her a slow, sweet smile.

It was too much. Clutching her skirts in both hands, she fled for the house.

Chapter 11

T
he close of another fine day in the lower valley. Orange and pink dusted the western mountains, above the inn and orchard. Sam chewed the end of a grass blade and could not rid himself of the sense of foreboding.

“I don’t like it, by half,” he said to Jed. “I expect Willie stayed hid for the Sabbath, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try something tonight. Or tomorrow, once he knows another bunch of travelers have moved on.”

Jed cracked open one eye from where he lay stretched in the grass, arms above his head. “I’ve been thinking, I could take the wagon, finish the run home. You could stay… except, how would you explain it to Mr. Brewster, let alone Sally, if you aren’t willing to tell her yet?”

Sam shook his head. “I want to. I just… don’t feel it’s time yet.”

She’d nearly rent his heart, the way she’d tried to be kind to him, as himself, but then avowed her affections to be with another, not knowing—it was him.

Lord, forgive me for deceiving her.

It would be so easy to tell her. Unpack the coat, take it to her…
Sally love, I am the Highwayman.

Too easy. And it would solve nothing, because he still had nothing to offer her.

“I could leave with you tomorrow morning,” he went on. “Hire a horse at the next ordinary, ride back. But…”

“But that would be leaving them alone for part of the day.” Jed sat up, his expression grave.

“Precisely.” Sam threw the stalk of grass away.

“Maybe it’s time to let someone else in on the secret.”

Sam stared at his cousin.

Jed laughed. “You want to really be in her father’s good graces? Take him into your confidence. Mr. Brewster is a sensible man, and he’d be a good ally. And… I believe he would appreciate knowing he has one as well.”

Sam pulled a fresh grass stalk and chewed the end. This, now, seemed… right.

“Aye. Let’s do that, then.”

Mr. Brewster lifted a brow to their request to speak with him but made no comment as he followed them outside the inn and to the barn. Gut churning, Sam likewise said nothing but went straight to the wagon, pulled the small chest from under the seat, and turned to the older man. “Where might we have privacy, sir?”

Mr. Brewster considered the chest, then Jed, then Sam. “Follow me.”

He led them to a storage shed at the rear of the inn. Inside, Sam set down the chest, crouched beside it, and laid both hands flat across the top. He blew out a breath, but it did not ease the iron band around his chest. “So you’ll know,” he said to Mr. Brewster, “that I do not willingly play false with anyone.”

Slowly, he swung open the lid then lifted out the hat and set it aside. The black silk handkerchief came next, then the coat, its buttons and embroidery glinting in the dying light. Lastly were the boots. Draping the black silk over his shoulder, Sam rose and faced Mr. Brewster, the coat in one hand, the boots in the other.

The older man gazed at the ensemble for a long moment, folded his arms, and rubbed one hand across his mouth before a grin broke across his features. “Well. Great glory above. You are the Highwayman.”

He began to chuckle, and the tightness around Sam’s chest loosened. He and Jed exchanged a wild grin.

“It is Sam, and not you, aye?” The older man asked, turning to Jed.

Jed laughed. “Aye. All him.”

“Not quite, you rascal,” Sam said. “You egged me on.”

“What of the whip?” Mr. Brewster asked.

Sam returned boots and coat to the chest before reaching down inside his shirt for the coiled whip. “I’ve been carrying it since last night.”

Mr. Brewster’s eyes gleamed. He glanced again at Jed. “Is he as good with that thing as they say?”

“Better,” Jed said, straightening.

“Well, well. Won’t Sally have the shock of her life?” He sobered, fastening Sam with a stern look. “What is your intention where she’s concerned?”

“To somehow become worthy of her, sir.”

A fine, misting rain blew across the mountains overnight, and Sally woke with a dull ache lingering in her breast. The inn’s morning routine was oddly comforting as she poured griddle cakes and cooked sausages for the travelers before they ventured out into the wet.

Though foolish of her to expect it, she’d risen during the night to sit at her window, listening and waiting in case the Highwayman came. Surely, if he cared, he’d hear of Willie Brown’s visit and call on her again. Unless he was already too far away.

Regardless, she’d not sit up night after night for him. No matter how sweet his kisses and his laughter, or how pretty his compliments. She’d work to do, after all, and if he intended to return, it would not be any sooner for her pining.

Her eyes burned, and she rubbed her forearm across them.

As she turned from the fire, a movement at the kitchen door caught her eye. It was Sam. Watching her, of course.

“Aye?” she choked.

“Jed and I be leaving. Just wanted to offer our thanks and bid you good day.”

Again, that strange pinch to his voice. Although he cut a neater figure than customary, with high boots tied over the knee—were those his usual ones?—and a black cloth around his neck, beneath the checked linen shirt and plain brown waistcoat.

Fine dress, for a drover headed out into the rain.

“And to you,” she managed.

With a nod, he turned and disappeared from sight.

She went back to work, but her throat ached. She’d been so unkind to him yesterday. She should at least offer an apology—

When she dashed to the hallway, he was gone.

Three days of waiting and watching, through drizzle and wind and hot sun. Sam had a beautiful view of the inn and orchard, not to mention spectacular sunrises and sunsets, but it was enough to stretch anyone’s patience. He could have made the drive home to Charlotte Towne and back before Willie would show again… but then, he’d no way of knowing that, for sure.