The Cowboy's Runaway Bride. Nancy Robards Thompson

clattered as she dropped it onto the porch floor.

      Now it was time for the most challenging feat of the evening: stuffing herself through the small opening. The window looked into a small bathroom and was positioned just above the bathtub. A double swag shower curtain framed the tub. Beyond that she could make out a commode and a pedestal sink. The door to the room seemed to open into a hallway, but that was all she could see in the dim light.

      With one deep breath, Chelsea used all the arm strength she could muster to pull herself up. As she labored, she managed to get a foothold on the house’s cold, gray stones and used them to walk herself up the wall.

      She just might pull this off.

      With one last grunt and upward push, she managed to tip herself inside the window...sort of... During the effort, her foot caught on the chair—how the bloody hell had that happened? If she’d tried to do that on purpose she wouldn’t have been able to. Nonetheless, the chair seemed to be attached to her foot. With a swift kick and a smart shake, she managed to free her lower limb. The chair crashed to the ground, echoing in the otherwise silent night, and leaving her precariously half in, half out of the window, faltering like a teeter-totter trying to find its balance.

      With her arse hanging out in the most undignified manner, she was sure there was a life metaphor hidden somewhere in this situation. But this was no time to ponder it. She was going to fall one way or the other, and after all the work it had taken to get this far, she wasn’t about to start over.

      With one last forward thrust, Chelsea tumbled inside. As she twisted to break her fall, the bathroom light flicked on. Chelsea screamed as she registered the huge man hulking in the threshold.

      * * *

      Based on the racket he’d heard, Ethan Campbell thought he might have cornered a couple of raccoons that had fallen down the chimney or gotten into Juliette Lowell’s house through an open window. The last thing he’d expected was to catch a tall, gorgeous blonde breaking and entering.

      But there she was looking guilty as hell, standing in the bathtub, tugging up on the neckline of her blouse and smoothing her bright pink skirt into place. The open window was a yawning black hole behind her.

      With her wide eyes and tousled long hair, the Beatles’ song, “She Came in Through The Bathroom Window,” suddenly took on a whole new meaning. Ethan tried to ignore how pretty she was and stepped forward to show the woman he meant business.

      There had been some burglaries in Celebration over the past few weeks. Was this woman part of a ring?

      “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

      He didn’t wait for her to answer and he didn’t take his eyes off her as he reached into his jeans’ pocket for his phone to call the sheriff. She was barefoot, he noticed. He also registered her long, lean, tanned legs and the barely there hint of cleavage that winked at him as she crossed her arms.

      He forced his gaze back to her face. She stared at him, big-eyed and mute. She looked scared, like a cornered cub. He had a hard time believing Goldilocks was here to ransack the place. Nonetheless, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

      No one was.

      So what was she doing?

      When he’d noticed the strange car parked in the Juliette Lowell’s driveway as he’d headed home from the stables, Ethan decided to investigate.

      Juliette was in San Antonio facilitating one of those fancy weddings people paid her good money to plan. That was why Ethan had decided to stop and investigate.

      His neighbor kept him apprised of her travel schedule and that’s why he knew damn good and well no one was supposed to be in this house tonight.

      “I’ll ask you again,” he said, waiting to hear what she said before he dialed the sheriff. “You want to tell me what you’re doing in here, sis?”

      The woman stared back at him silently. Those huge eyes of hers—were they blue or green?—still locked with his.

      “No?” he asked. “Okay. Maybe you’d rather talk to the cops?”

      That broke her silence. “No, don’t call the police. Please.”

      Did she have an accent? He couldn’t tell. Might just be nerves.

      She held up her hands surrender-style.

      “Well, then you’d better start talking—and fast. Are you alone?”

      Aw, hell. He was such an idiot. She could have accomplices. They might already be in the house. She could’ve been the lookout. Albeit, a noisy one. But still...

      Ethan glanced in the mirror, which provided a side view into the dim hallway, and listened hard, trying to detect sound or movement, anything that indicated they weren’t alone.

      He didn’t hear a thing.

      Yeah, wouldn’t it be just like him to meet his maker after being distracted by a pretty face. It wouldn’t be the first time. Well, figuratively, anyway.

      As a safeguard, he placed the call to 911.

      “No! Please don’t. My name is Chelsea—Chelsea Allen. I’m here to visit my friend, Juliette Lowell. Please don’t call the police. I can assure you that’s not necessary. Just call Juliette. She’ll tell you I’m welcome here. Please. Hang up. We don’t need to involve the officials.”

      This time there was no trace of an accent in her voice. He must’ve imagined it before. Because now her words were crisp and enunciated. And panicked.

      And she was so pretty.

      Oh, for the love of God almighty...

      She did know Juliette’s name. Which didn’t automatically guarantee that she was a friend. She might have known the house would be empty tonight and the place would be a good target.

      Juliette’s business was just starting to take off. She was even getting some press about it. Who knew what kind of riffraff news of her success might attract? Though Chelsea Allen didn’t look like riffraff.

      “Please hang up,” she pleaded again.

      Ethan shook his head and gestured to the window behind her. “When you visit friends, do you always enter through the bathroom?”

      Her eyes flashed before she glanced over her shoulder in the direction he pointed. “Of course not. It’s just that...”

      A frustrated little growl gobbled up the rest of her words. Ethan half expected her to stamp her foot or to turn around and scale the wall in an attempt to leave the way she came in.

      But instead, she put her hands on her hips and apparently tried to turn the tables on him. “If Juliette is not at home, what business do you have in her house? Who are you?”

      He frowned at her tone. “I’m the one who’s asking the questions here, and as soon as the sheriff arrives, he will take over for me.”

      “No! I’m sorry. Please hang up. I mean, you do realize that calling emergency services could keep them from responding to a true emergency, don’t you? Just call Juliette from your cell. If you’re in her house you should have her number. Right? She will tell you that we’re friends and that I’m absolutely welcome here.”

      Ethan hesitated. She had a point. But before he could disconnect, the operator picked up.

      “This is 911. What is your emergency?”

       Chapter Two

      “Hey, Joyce, it’s Ethan Campbell,” he said. “False alarm on that 911.”

      Chelsea finally drew in a breath after she heard him retract the police call. Ethan Campbell. So that was his name. Chelsea racked her brain trying to recall if she’d ever heard Juliette mention him. Campbell... Sounded familiar.