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cleaner and richer and perhaps
better-mannered. Tears and trouble, every last one of them! And she'd
happily die a spinster before she'd let even one of them breach the
defensive wall she kept around her emotions—which was going to make
living with her mother exceedingly difficult.
    She grimaced. It wasn't surprising that, considering the
disaster of her own life, Elizabeth was firmly convinced that Savanna's
happiness could only be attained by marriage. Of course, even Elizabeth
would admit that not just
any
man would do for
her daughter, but one of the reasons, once she'd gotten over her grief
over his death, that Elizabeth had been so delighted with the contents
of Davalos's will had been because it allowed them to live, as she had
said, "with a much better class of people, dear. Respectable people,
honest
people!" Smiling mistily at a highly indifferent Savanna, Elizabeth had
trilled on, "I know that because of our unfortunate circumstances you
won't have the marriage opportunities that should have been your right,
but, darling, there are all sorts of very nice men—shopkeepers and even
some hardworking farmers—who would deem themselves
very
lucky to have a wife like you!" It had been shortly after this
conversation that Savanna had left home.
    Fidgeting restlessly under the light covers, Savanna twisted
and turned, wishing violently for sleep. She was not looking forward to
returning to Campo de Verde—not that she didn't love her mother. It was
just that the thought of Elizabeth's gentle scheming to find her a
respectable husband made Savanna squirm with dread. That, and all the
boring, dull, ladylike occupations that Elizabeth seemed to feel were
required of women. Incredible as it seemed, Savanna much preferred the
desperate struggle to keep the tavern going and the occasional facing
down of dangerous rogues like Micajah to the stultifying domesticity
that her mother embraced with such unbridled enthusiasm. It was only
the growing fear of
not
being able to win against
men like Murdering Micajah that was driving her back to Campo de Verde
and a fate she viewed with deep misgivings and despair.
    It was odd, Savanna mused wearily, that her mother, who had
lived such an unconventional life, should now yearn so hungrily for all
the trappings of respectability. Imagining the dull, stupefying
sameness
of the days that stretched before her, for just a second she considered
telling Bodene in the morning that she had changed her mind, that she
couldn't possibly return to Campo de Verde. Suddenly, though, Sam's
pain-filled face flashed before her eyes and she sighed. No. She'd have
to go; it was the only way to make certain that Sam came to no harm,
and that was the most important thing—that and keeping out of the
clutches of Murdering Micajah! She grinned slightly as she recalled
Micajah's chagrined expression when Bodene had shoved the rifle into
his back. After today, it was highly unlikely that Yates would continue
his unwanted pursuit of her, and, certain she had seen the last of him
for a very long time, Savanna didn't waste any more time speculating on
the outlaw. Which was most unfortunate!
     
    Smarting from having been humiliatingly bested by
Savanna twice in less than a month, Micajah put several hasty miles
between himself and O'Rourke's Tavern before he deemed it safe to stop.
The notion of doubling back and trying his luck again did cross his
mind, but the memory of Savanna's deadly expression above that long
black rifle made him think better of it—that and the knowledge that
Sullivan was also there. If it hadn't been for Sullivan… A vicious look
crossed his face. One of these days he was going to have to teach that
interfering bastard a lesson, and when he was done, he'd teach Savanna
what a
real
man was like!
    Thoughts of vengeance, along with an unpleasant spell of bad
weather, kept him company during the three-day journey up to Natchez,
and by the time he had sighted the majestic bluffs overlooking