The Cowboy's Runaway Bride. Nancy Thompson Robards

she was capable of using that route for a speedy and successful getaway.

      Bloody hell, if she did escape, where would she go?

      A chase would ensue; the cops would be on her heels.

      Maybe she could simply push past Ethan and make a run out the front door. That seemed like the least shady option. But there was no getting around him. He was a big guy. Being tackled and held by those rugby-player arms and pinned by those shoulders might have been quite nice under other circumstances. But right now his considerable bulk filled the doorway, blocking the only other viable exit, eliminating that option.

      “Yeah, I thought I’d caught the burglar at the Lowell place,” he drawled into the phone.

      Burglar? Did she really look like someone who sneaked into homes and robbed people?

      “Turns out it’s a woman claiming to be a friend of Juliette’s. Sit tight. I’m going to call her to confirm...No. I don’t need backup. I got this.”

      Finally, they were getting somewhere.

      He seemed to be quite familiar with her friend. Against her better judgment, Chelsea wondered why Juliette hadn’t talked about this Ethan Campbell. He was tall and rugged and handsome—if you liked big, brooding, broad-shouldered men with Texas drawls.

      And who in her right mind wouldn’t find a guy like him attractive?

      He’d be even better if he wasn’t holding her hostage.

      She reminded herself of that, and the fact that he seemed to be pretty well connected to the local authorities, which could be a problem. A big problem if he pressed her for personal information. That would mean she’d need to leave again because she couldn’t take the chance of word getting out and Bertie tracking her here. Celebration was too small of a town to hide from a bloodhound like him. She was running out of options of where to go. Unless she wanted to hole up someplace alone. If she blew it here, it meant she’d have to go home.

      That wasn’t an option. At least not right now.

      “If her story doesn’t check out, I’ll call you back and have you send the sheriff out.”

      Ethan was nodding at something the dispatcher was saying on the other end of the line.

      “Joyce...” More talking. More nodding. “No. Joyce...It’s fine...”

      “Yes, I’m sure...No, I don’t see anyone else with her. She’s alone.” He turned his gaze back on Chelsea. “Are you alone?”

      Chelsea nodded and instantly regretted it. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. But if she hadn’t they surely would’ve dispatched the authorities.

      “Her car’s out in the driveway...No. I didn’t get the license number. It was dark when I got here. I wanted to make sure the perimeter was secured first.”

      Was the guy a wannabe cop or something?

      More listening. More nodding. Chelsea strained to see if she could hear what the person on the other end of the line was saying, but all she could discern was a low hum of an indistinct feminine voice.

      Ethan backed into the hallway and flicked on the overhead light. Now Chelsea could see a collage of black-and-white photographs housed in a multipaned black frame hanging on the wall behind him. One of the pictures was from Juliette’s days at St. Andrew’s, and as if by some miracle, there was a shot of her and Juliette and a group of their schoolmates huddled together at a Sussex rugby match.

      “Good idea,” he snarled into the phone. He turned to Chelsea and held out his hand. “Give me your cell.”

      “Why do you want my cell phone?” she asked.

      Still pressing his phone to one ear, Ethan gestured with his free hand. “Phone.”

      Chelsea pointed to the photo behind him. Ethan squinted at her and shook his head.

      “Look at the photograph behind you,” she said, nodding in that direction.

      When Ethan didn’t immediately turn around, Chelsea said, “There’s a photograph of Juliette and me on the wall over your right shoulder. If you’ll simply turn around, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

      With one last wary glance at Chelsea, Ethan cast a quick look behind him. He did a double take. “Hold on a sec, Joyce. Actually, I’ll call you back if I need you.”

      After he disconnected the call, he said, “If you know Juliette so well, why did you break in?”

      “She was supposed to leave me a key, but I couldn’t find it.”

      He squinted at her. “Where was she supposed to leave it?”

      “Under the doormat or someplace. She wasn’t specific, and, as I said, I couldn’t find it. That’s when I saw the open window—”

      Ethan held up his hand, silencing her.

      “Give me your cell phone.”

      “I don’t have it on my person at the moment.”

      His mouth twisted in a dubious expression and he grunted. “On your person? I’ve been giving you the benefit of the doubt. If you don’t want to cooperate, I can call Joyce back and we can sort out what’s what down at the station.”

      He held out his hand again, this time moving his fingers in a give-it-to-me gesture.

      “It’s outside on the back porch in one of my sandals.” Now he was starting to irritate her. “I’m certainly not hiding it.” She ran her hands down the silhouette of her body to emphasize that she was wearing a T-shirt and a rather snug skirt that didn’t leave room for secret pockets.

      When she realized that Ethan Campbell’s gaze was meandering the same path her own hands had traced, she regretted issuing the invitation.

      She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over the front of her body. “I tried to call Juliette, but she didn’t answer. I left a message and then I saw the open window. I took off my sandals and set down my phone and car key before I came in through the window. If you’ll check outside, you’ll find everything.”

      She shrugged a jerky little motion to indicate her annoyance.

      “Wouldn’t it be better to just call Juliette’s number from your own phone, anyway? I’m surprised you’re not afraid that I might call one of my henchmen to come and break me out of here.”

      His brow shot up and she realized she’d probably said the wrong thing.

      “You have henchmen?”

      “That was supposed to be a joke.”

      “How about some identification?” he said, obviously not amused.

      Great. Just great. If he saw the name on her ID, the cat could very possibly be out of the bag. Especially if he called the police back and gave her name to the sheriff. If they ran her ID through one of those fancy contraptions that compiled reports on people’s backgrounds, she might as well leave right now.

      “It’s in my purse, which is in the car. I’m happy to go get it.”

      “Nice try,” he said. “If I march you outside to get it, there’s a chance you’ll run. If I leave you alone to go look for it myself, you’ll leave.”

      He lifted his phone and started pressing numbers.

      “No, don’t. Please don’t—”

      “I’m calling Juliette.”

      She let out her breath on a sigh. “I thought you were calling 911 again.”

      He didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed the phone to his ear. She must’ve answered on the first couple of rings.

      “Juliette, Ethan Campbell—”

      He listened for a moment.

      “Sorry