Romancing the Runaway Bride

by Karen Kirst

  “I didn’t introduce myself, if that’s what you mean. I thought it best not to arouse their suspicions.”

  “You spied on them, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “I didn’t have time to do a thorough examination. Even so, what I saw leads me to believe that the kids were right to leave. The place is a ramshackle mess. Jeremiah takes no pride in his property or his animals. Several of his horses looked in need of medical attention. The stalls hadn’t been cleaned for weeks, gauging by the awful stench.”

  “Probably because he didn’t have Liam to do it for him,” she muttered. Finding a place at the railing, she splayed her palms atop the ledge. A stray splinter poked at her.

  “He has a hired hand. I would’ve liked to ask the young man a couple of questions, but there was never a good opportunity.”

  “Did you see her? Laura?”

  His lips thinned. “Didn’t strike me as the browbeaten type.”

  “You’re trying to say she’s just plain mean, same as her no-good husband.”

  She peeked at the sky. “Thank you, Lord, for rescuing them from a life of torment.”

  “Amen.”

  Her eyes met Adam’s as she said with conviction and without hesitation, “I want to petition for temporary guardianship.”

  Surprise tugging his brows together, he replaced the glass on the side table and rose to his feet. “You’re already their guardian.”

  “Not officially. I want a legal document stating my rights. If the Jacksons were to discover their whereabouts, I wouldn’t be able to prevent them from taking Liam and Lily.”

  “We’ll speak to Russ about it at once.” He joined her at the railing. “What about your father? And the man you pledged to marry?”

  Her skin flushed hot. The words, uttered so soon after their intimate embrace, stung like a hundred bee stings. “I broke that pledge the day I left St. Louis. Besides, what do Gerard and Tobias have to do with the kids?”

  “I got the impression you were hiding here.”

  Deborah shifted her focus to the garden and trees beyond, humiliation making her nauseous. He was insightful and observant—two valuable qualities for an undercover agent. What must he think of her? That she was a scared little girl inside a grown woman’s body, too cowardly to stand up to her own father?

  “In order for a judge to grant you guardianship,” he said, “you’ll need a permanent place of residence. He’ll want to ensure the kids have stability.” Crossing his arms, he openly assessed her. “Deborah, do you plan on staying in Cowboy Creek? Or returning to St. Louis? Or somewhere in between?”

  She wished he was asking for himself. “When I arrived in April with the other brides, I had every intention of moving on down the rail line. To what town or city, I had no idea. But the longer I stayed, the harder it was to think of leaving. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t the tycoon’s graceless daughter. I wasn’t Lucy Frazier’s inept sister.” She tried to blink away the gathering tears. Adam’s hand covered hers, a sweet gesture of comfort. “I didn’t have to hide in the estate kitchens anymore. In Cowboy Creek, people love my desserts. They admire my talents. I have something valuable to contribute here.”

  Tipping her chin up, he gazed deeply into her eyes. “Don’t allow your father or anyone else to make you doubt your worth, Deborah. God made you special, with your own unique strengths and gifts.”

  Joy took root in her heart. This was it. She was falling in love with Adam Halloway, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  “I want to stay in Cowboy Creek.”

  “You’re certain?” he said. “What about Lucy? Your friends?”

  Deborah missed her sister, and there were certain things she missed about her home. The magnificent library where she’d passed countless winter afternoons curled up with a book, and the manicured garden with its man-made pond. The kitchens that were either too hot or too cold but always cheered by the staff who treated her as a part of their group.

  The estate house had been built by her great-grandfather, utilizing the finest materials shipped from all over the world. The furnishings were grand and expensive. It was stunning and breathtaking. It was also a constant reminder of her inadequacy, her inability to meet Frazier standards, her grief over the loss of her mother and futile wondering if things might have been different if she’d lived.

  But the place couldn’t hold a candle to the cowtown she lived in now. She knew that for certain.

  “I’m content here,” she told him. “This is my community.”

  He slowly nodded. “Okay.”

  Deborah wasn’t staying for Adam. She wasn’t even staying for Liam and Lily. She was staying for herself.

  * * *

  Part of Adam’s job involved sitting around observing people and eavesdropping on conversations. He’d hated it in the beginning. A waste of time, he’d told his superior, when he could be out in the middle of the action, doing something. The other man had been patient with him and taught him the value of collecting data, from the seemingly inane tidbit to the obvious. Over the years, he’d honed his skills and accepted that this part of being a Pinkerton might not be glamorous, but it formed a foundation on which he could build his theories.

  He’d come to The Lariat earlier that morning in hopes of spotting the elusive Maroni brothers, or as he figured it—Zane Ogden and yet another cohort pretending to be brothers. The hotel’s reception area had been bustling until an hour ago, so he moved to the restaurant and nursed an endless cup of coffee while pretending to read the newspaper.

  So far, he’d observed a scruffy cowboy failing spectacularly to charm a pair of young ladies, an elderly couple meeting their grandchildren for the first time and hotel staff gossiping instead of dusting the fixtures as their manager instructed.

  He was about to leave when the blacksmith, Colton Werner, and the newspaperman, Sam Woods Mason, chose a table nearby. They nodded in greeting before ordering the lunch special. The waitress, by this time annoyed by Adam’s presence, asked if he wished to order something to eat. He surprised her by saying yes.

  While awaiting his roast quail and vegetables, he noticed Noah Burgess entering the restaurant. The rancher scanned the room’s occupants and headed straight for Colton and Sam. He delivered news that suffocated Adam’s appetite.

  Pushing to his feet, Adam approached the trio. “I apologize for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Did you say another rancher has met with an accident?”

  Noah assessed him with steel blue eyes. “That’s right. You’re the cattleman from Missouri?”

  “Yes, sir. Adam Draper.” They shook hands. “Is he going to make it?”

  “It’s not good.” Sam and Colton looked somber as Noah outlined what happened. “Floyd had climbed onto his windmill last evening when it collapsed. He fell from a height of about twenty feet, and part of the structure landed on his legs.”

  “Was it tampered with?” Colton asked.

  Noah’s scar bunched as his jaw hardened. “Looks that way.”

  “How long is this going to continue? Until someone dies?” Sam threw down his napkin. “I need to get out there and gather information. This will need to go in the paper tomorrow. I’ll have to skip lunch.”

  The blacksmith gestured toward the entrance. “I understand. We’ll meet another time.”

  Adam tossed coins on his table to cover his meal, bid a hasty farewell to the pair and caught up with Sam. “Mind if I tag along with you?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “My horse is at the livery.”

  “Mine, too.” The man fell silent as they walked, obviously processing this new development. When a stray dog bounded toward them and pushed between them, Sam collected himself and shot Adam a sideways glance. “I suppose you’re rethinking your decision to stake
a claim here.”

  “I’ve been informed the town hasn’t always seen troubles like these. If the sheriff finds his culprit, there won’t be anything holding me back.”

  Sam made a noise that cast doubt on the possibility.

  “I gather you don’t have much faith in his abilities?” Adam probed.

  “That’s yet to be determined.”

  “Do you have any idea who might be behind all this?”

  “Surely you don’t expect me to answer that.” Winding through the knot of men outside the livery, Sam entered the welcome shaded interior.

  “You’ve got a broader view of Cowboy Creek and its happenings than most folks. I know you’ve got an opinion,” Adam coaxed.

  At the stall containing his horse, Sam turned. Humor hovered about his mouth. “One I can’t share with anyone other than my wife.”

  “Of course.” Adam knew when he’d hit a wall. The newspaperman was too much of a professional to let crucial information slip.

  They rode out to the Rocking J beneath the searing June sun. Waves of heat were visible at ground level. By the time they reached the house, Adam’s hair was wet beneath his Stetson and his shirt stuck to his skin. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky to offer a reprieve.

  Sam dismounted and mopped his face with his handkerchief. “Floyd’s wife is shy, even in the company of people she knows.” He gestured toward the house. “I suggest you hang around out here until I’ve had a chance to speak with her privately.”

  Adam agreed, inwardly grateful for the chance to explore on his own. He waited until Sam was inside to head for the outbuildings. The barn and surrounding paddocks were deserted. No one was around to challenge him, so he continued on his way, taking mental notes to record on paper later. Unlike the Jacksons, this couple took pride in their home. The structures were old but sound. The fences were sturdy. Troughs clean.

  As he passed yet another storage shed, the remnants of Floyd Gains’s windmill came into view. Two men stood outlined by the vivid blue sky—one beanpole thin and with wiry silver hair, the other young and doughy—surveying the damage. They both turned and scowled at him.

  The thin one settled his hand on his pistol. “State your business here, mister.”

  “I’m Adam Draper. Rode over with Sam Woods Mason.” He gestured behind him. “He’s at the house speaking with Mrs. Gains.”

  “We don’t appreciate gawkers.”

  “I’m not here to gawk, I assure you. I’m in town looking to purchase property for my own ranch. Guess I chose the wrong time to visit Cowboy Creek.”

  The doughy one spat a stream of tobacco in the dust. “Guess you did.”

  Adam met the silver-haired man’s gaze. “How is Mr. Gains doing?”

  His hand lowered to his side, away from the pistol. “Only God knows if he’ll survive.”

  “I’ll be praying for his recovery.” That was the truth, too, not an insincere bid to gain this ranch worker’s trust.

  “Appreciate it.” His gaze lost its hostility. “You from Kansas?”

  “Big Bend, Missouri.”

  The doughy one shifted his bulk. “I got kinfolk from there. You know the Whitfields?”

  He didn’t bother hiding his surprise. “Went to church with a Nora and Lincoln Whitfield.”

  “Nora’s my cousin.” He grinned and extended his hand. “I’m Bob Polanski.”

  “Have you been to Big Bend in recent years?”

  “Nah, not since before the war.”

  They conversed for another ten minutes before Adam felt comfortable introducing the topic of Floyd’s accident again. Tension reignited in the air. He sensed they had more on their minds than they were willing to admit. Sam eventually joined them.

  While he didn’t look thrilled that Adam had gone exploring on his own, he didn’t call him out. To his relief, the other men returned to the house. Maybe now he’d get a chance to nose around.

  When Sam began inspecting the crippled windmill, Adam walked along the fence line, his gaze trained on the ground. The newspaperman met him on the far west side of the enclosure.

  “You looking for anthills?”

  Adam’s lips compressed. “I’m looking for items like this.” Halting, he showed him the handkerchief he’d found nestled against a fence post. “If this doesn’t belong to Mrs. Gains, it might belong to our suspect or an associate.”

  Sam took the square and studied the dainty purple flowers embroidered along the outer edge. He lifted his gaze. “Our suspect?”

  “As a rancher, I take attacks like this personally.” He pretended to be preoccupied by the jagged wooden stakes jutting from the ground. If Floyd died, the person who did this would be hanged for murder.

  Sam considered him for long moments before gesturing behind him. “Let’s ask her.”

  At the house, Adam waited on the porch, pacing the length of it and praying for a break in this case.

  Sam’s features were difficult to read. In his line of work, Adam had practice hiding his feelings. He could relate.

  “Well?” he asked when Sam stepped outside.

  “It’s not hers.”

  “Looks like you have a puzzle to solve. Will you involve the sheriff?”

  He examined the handkerchief. “Not yet. I’d appreciate your silence on this.”

  “You have my word.”

  Adam wasn’t going to tell anyone about the discovery. He was going to refocus his efforts, however. Instead of searching for Ogden, he would hunt for a beautiful brunette whose name started with a D. His heart and mind were in agreement on one thing—the woman he sought was not named Deborah.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Deborah, do you have a minute?”

  Sadie hovered in the hallway near the dining room, her hands tangled at her waist.

  “We were about to take care of important business. Can it wait until after supper?”

  “It’s an urgent matter.” Her gaze skittered to Adam, who was holding the door open for Deborah.

  Her friend had been acting strangely throughout the noon meal, so Deborah could not ignore her request.

  She looked at Adam, who gestured out to the porch swing, where Liam and Lily had gone once the table had been cleared and the floors swept. “Go ahead,” he said. “We’ll wait for you outside.”

  “All right.” When the door closed behind him, she extended her hand. “Will the parlor be suitable?”

  Sadie’s brow crinkled. “Not private enough. Let’s go to my room.”

  Deborah’s imagination churned as they ascended the stairs. Were Sadie and Walter having problems? The pair seemed closer than ever during the Sunday service a few days ago. Or was the other woman concerned by how much time Deborah was spending with Adam?

  “I have something I need to show you.” Sadie bustled to the desk beneath the window and presented her with a photograph. “Look at this.”

  A wartime photo, the scene depicted soldiers amid a sea of tents. It captured everyday activities...men playing cards, cooking in cast iron pots over small fires, cleaning weapons and laundry.

  “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

  Sadie drew closer and tapped the image of a gentleman who stood alone. His army uniform hugging his lean frame, he surveyed his world with a grimness that broke her heart.

  Lifting the paper, she studied his features, mostly hidden by a thick beard. “It’s Adam.”

  “Yes.”

  She met Sadie’s troubled gaze. “Where did you get this?”

  “Walter was certain he’d met Adam before, remember? He sent for his collection, and I’ve been helping him sort through them.” Gently turning the photograph, she said, “Deborah, his last name isn’t Draper. It’s Halloway.”

  “I know.”

  Sadie’s jaw sagged. “What? How?”
r />   Going to the bed, Deborah sank onto the edge. “He told me.”

  “Why aren’t you upset? I’ve been worried sick since the moment we discovered his deception. What explanation did he give you?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Pacing to the window, she glanced out at the porch but was unable to see Adam or the kids.

  “You’ve allowed your feelings for him to cloud your judgment.”

  The memories of their embrace encompassed her, calling forth the soul-deep ache that hovered near the surface. “I trust him.”

  Sadie laid her hand on Deborah’s arm. “You wouldn’t be the first to succumb to the wiles of a handsome charmer.”

  “He’s not a bad person, Sadie.”

  “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  Deborah turned to her friend. “I wish I could.”

  “Is he related to the Halloways of White Rock Ranch?”

  The expression on her face must’ve given her away, because Sadie’s eyes grew wide. “He is, isn’t he?”

  Taking her hands in hers, Deborah pleaded for her understanding. “You’re right. I’ve come to care a great deal for Adam. I may not have experience with suitors or men in general, and I admit I can be naive at times, but I’m not reckless when it comes to my affections. And I would never allow anyone to take advantage of two vulnerable children, no matter how handsome or charming.”

  “Deborah—”

  “Adam Halloway is the finest man I’ve ever known, Sadie.”

  “You’re in love with him.”

  Deborah couldn’t admit it to herself, much less to another human being.

  Sadie sighed. “I pray you know what you’re doing. I’d hate for you to be hurt.”

  “What are you going to tell Walter?”

  “I’ll ask him to keep this information to himself.”

  “Will he?”

  Sadie gave her a half-hearted smile. “For me, I believe he will.”

  Deborah hugged her. “You’re a wonderful friend.”

  “I try to be.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take training to figure out something had upset Deborah. As they navigated the busy boardwalk a short while later, he felt her arm tremble beneath his light hold.