The Cowboy's Runaway Bride. Nancy Thompson Robards

to see her as Chelsea was to reconnect with her.

      But she was getting ahead of herself. First, tea. Before that could happen, she must get up and put the kettle on. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood and pulled on her fuchsia yoga pants.

      After Ethan had grudgingly growled off and left her alone last night, Chelsea had made a mad dash outside to get her handbag and suitcase out of the car. She’d managed to make it back inside without drawing any more attention to herself. Or, who knows, maybe Ethan had informed the town that Jules was cool with her being there. She hoped he hadn’t told too many people. Juliette had lamented before that people in her hometown could be rather nosy. Some considered it close-knit and neighborly. But Jules had confessed that sometimes, despite good intentions, having the entire town in your business felt a little stifling. As Chelsea drew water and set the kettle on the stove, she hoped they wouldn’t be in her business—or, more aptly, in Chelsea Allen’s.

      As she waited for the water to boil, she had a nose around Juliette’s cottage. It was cozy and neat as a pin. A mix of old-world charm with modern accents, it was as posh and unique as Juliette herself.

      The overstuffed sofa was piled with throw pillows in luscious jewel tones and rich floral patterns. The rough-hewn parquet floor was laid in a herringbone pattern that looked as if it had been lifted from a Belle Époque Paris apartment. The walls were painted a warm, welcoming shade of pale blue, which set off the white crown molding that hugged the tiptops of the home’s tall walls. An antique Persian rug anchored the room and presented an interesting contrast to the modern wood-and-glass coffee table.

      Chelsea had studied interior design at university and had even done a short stint at a high-end London firm. She loved what Juliette had done with the place. It was as spot-on as any project Chelsea might’ve planned.

      She picked up a small obsidian elephant from an end table and traced a finger over its smooth, curved surface. She’d brought it back from Africa for Juliette.

      A year out of university, she’d landed a great job with a design firm, but then she’d learned about the international aid organization Voluntary Service Overseas and its world aid efforts.

      She’d grown up so privileged it seemed the perfect way to give back. Everyone thought she was crazy when she made the decision to leave her design job, which her sister, Victoria, had helped her land, in favor of shipping off to Africa.

      Despite the rolled eyes and reproach she’d received from her family and their accusations that she refused to grow up—and this sojourn was just an excuse to put off true responsibility—she maxed out her time in Africa helping to further the organization’s poverty-ending efforts.

      She’d been changed by her experience.

      When the cost of a frivolous designer throw pillow could feed a starving family for a month, decorating the homes of the überwealthy seemed wrong on so many levels. After she aged out of VSO, Chelsea couldn’t bring herself to go back into the design business. Instead, she took a job with the non-profit End Hunger London, which garnered more familial huffs and eye rolls because it wasn’t one of their chosen charities. However, because of her family’s connections, she was able to draw a respectable amount of recognition and support to the organization.

      Even though she never sought personal attention, for a short while, the press deemed her an angel. Until they grew bored with that and they decided to turn her into the devil.

      The minor tabloid attention had actually worked in her favor for a while. After she’d helped get End Hunger London up and rolling, she was ready for a change. The prestigious London firm Hargraves Designs had courted her and hired her as a designer. It was the time for a change. She’d worked for the greater good—and would continue to volunteer and use her high-profile status to raise awareness. It just seemed like the right move. But everything fell apart after Hadden’s revenge.

      Hargraves wanted edgy, not skanky. They’d let her go, without even giving her a chance to defend herself.

      Determined not to turn loose of her good mood, Chelsea returned the elephant to its place and pushed the memories from her mind. She spied several other things that Juliette had purchased when the two of them had traveled together during school—a hand-blown vase from Murano, a beautiful mirror made from vintage plates by Austrian designer Christine Hechinger. The memories made her smile.

      But the thing Chelsea found the most endearing, and the most interesting by far, was the plethora of pictures her dear friend had scattered about the place in frames on the walls and on easels as centerpieces of shelf and tabletop arrangements.

      Chelsea didn’t have to look hard to find several pictures of herself with Juliette. But she couldn’t locate a single photograph of Jules with Ethan Campbell. Not that she was looking—or at least she hadn’t realized she was looking until it registered that she found his photographic absence strangely satisfying.

      On the phone, Jules had denied anything but a platonic, neighborly friendship with Ethan, but they’d only spoken about him for a moment. Then again, Juliette certainly wouldn’t have used that opportunity to regale Chelsea with details of a friends-with-benefits arrangement with her hunky neighbor. Not with Ethan standing right there.

      Actually, it might’ve been better if she knew that Juliette had hooked up with Ethan, even casually—especially casually—because according to the friendship code that would make Ethan off-limits.

      And how ridiculous was that thought? But wait...wasn’t that guy, that professional bull rider that Juliette had a thing for, named Campbell, too? John... No... Was it Jude? Jude Campbell. Yes. That was it. She hadn’t heard Jules mention him in ages. She made a mental note to ask about the connection when Juliette got home.

      In the meantime, Chelsea didn’t dwell on either of the Campbell men as she soaked in the rest of her best friend’s home, focusing on what a treat it was to be there at last.

      Though Juliette was born and bred in Celebration, the United Kingdom had always held a special place in her heart. Chelsea used to tease her about being an anglophile because she had loved everything British. Jules had, of course, returned to Celebration, and that was where she had started her business, but her friend had infused enough of England into her Texas home that she had taken the culture with her. The best of both worlds, Chelsea mused as she lifted a frame containing a photo of a corgi puppy. Ahh, this must be Franklin. Juliette had been so excited when she’d texted with the news that she was adopting a puppy from a litter of a corgi that belonged to a local friend.

      She was eager to meet the little guy. Since Jules was away, someone must’ve been watching him. Too bad she couldn’t go pick him up and have him here when Jules got home. She’d do just that if she knew where he was, but she didn’t. And she didn’t want to call Juliette and risk interrupting her at work. But she could text her, and Jules could answer at her convenience. After a momentary hesitation about whether or not it was smart to venture out, she made up her mind that while she would mostly keep a low profile, she had no intentions of sequestering herself while she was here. Nothing said sketchy like a guest who holed up in the house. Plus, she wanted to see where her friend lived.

      When they were at university together, Chelsea had wanted to visit Juliette’s hometown—she used to joke that she wanted to meet a real cowboy—but Juliette had always steered away from spending their holidays here and they had opted for more exotic locales such as Paris, Milan and Ibiza. After they graduated, though they’d taken care to keep in touch, they both had gotten so bogged down with life after university—Chelsea going to Africa and Jules putting all her time and resources behind her wedding planning business—that they hadn’t seen each other in person in three years. If there was one upside to this scandal pushing her away from London, it was this chance to reunite with her best friend.

      She sent the text and the kettle whistled. Chelsea returned to the kitchen, turning off the burner. She opted for the Taylors of Harrogate Yorkshire Gold from the selection of fine loose tea in Juliette’s cabinet and spooned two teaspoons of the leaves into the mesh strainer, set it in the cup and poured steaming water over the top.

      Her