The Texan's Engagement Agreement. Noelle Marchand

livid about Adelaide’s choice of beau and possible groom...so much so that having a daughter settled down to the quiet life of a spinster writer would seem far more palatable in comparison.

      Doing her best to hide the smile playing at her lips, Adelaide lifted her chin. She allowed the tears she’d held at bay all morning to well in her eyes. That gave her a tragic air as she said, “I’m sorry you found out this way, Bertrand. But, I suppose it’s only right that you know the truth. Just please...don’t tell my mother.”

       Chapter Four

      Chris narrowed his eyes and turned to stare at Adelaide in disbelief. Her beautiful green eyes glistened with unshed tears. A cool wind tugged at her copper curls and teased the lace swags of her skirt. She was vulnerability mixed with defiance. It was a downright distracting sight to behold. However, the hint of a smile on her rosy lips told Chris his ears hadn’t deceived him. He knew exactly what she was doing, and he’d have no part in it. “Adelaide—”

      She turned and cut off his warning with one of her own. “Hush, darling. It’s all right. I’m sure Bertrand will keep our secret, especially once he knows there’s no way my mother will ever approve of a courtship between you and me.”

      Catching her elbow, Chris tugged her closer to level her with his gaze. He lowered his voice so that she had to listen to him closely. “Listen here—”

      “You will return the favor I paid you by playing along,” she whispered before sending a pointed gaze down to his lips. “Don’t make me kiss you, because I am not afraid to do it if you mess this up for me.”

      He tamped down the laughter rising within him, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it. “You are horrible at making threats. I hope you realize that. Besides, there’s no need to waste your kisses on me. Your friend is gone.”

      “What?” She whirled away from him to stare at the empty spot where Bertrand had been. “We can’t stay here.”

      “Of course we can’t. My pa is waiting at the front door.”

      “No. What I meant is that Bertrand is probably on his way to tell my mother. If she finds us here... Well, let’s just say it’s better if she catches up to us in a more public place. There’ll be less of a scene.”

      Chris shook his head in confusion, but let her grab his arm and lead him forward. “I thought you said Bertrand wouldn’t say anything to her.”

      “I only said that because I knew he would.”

      “So you’re trying to fool your mother. Why?”

      “I’ll explain in a minute.” She slid her hand into the crook of his arm as they stepped from the shadows of the greenhouse into the party. “Oh, good. People are dancing now. I’ll ask the band to play a slow waltz. That way we’ll have plenty of time to talk on the dance floor.”

      Chris straightened the collar of his traveling suit. He’d dressed nicely in preparation for seeing Adelaide and her family again, but he still felt out of place among what seemed to be Houston’s high society. The curious stares he garnered for having Adelaide on his arm didn’t help. “Adelaide, my father is waiting. Why don’t we find him? He’ll apologize. Then he and I will leave before your mother finds us.”

      “Coward.” She caught the attention of one of the servers, then instructed the man to find Olan and bring him to Everett.

      “I’m not afraid of your mother,” he said, but she ignored him and left his side to speak with the band. When she returned, he took her hand and tried to guide her toward the house, saying, “I just think my idea would be a more peaceful solution all around.”

      She tugged her hand free, escaping to the large wooden platform of a dance floor where she waited with her arms in a closed hold with the air. Chris couldn’t let her stand there looking that ridiculous—even if she deserved it for attempting to manipulate him. He slid into position and pressed his hand against the back of her waist to ease her closer as they waltzed. “I thought you were trying not to cause a scene.”

      “No, I was trying to keep my mother from causing a scene.” Her gaze scanned the garden. “I see her, and she looks purely ticked. She’s spotted us.”

      He felt his shoulders tense and willed himself to relax. He truly wasn’t afraid of her mother, but this whole situation was making him jumpy. “Where is she?”

      “Near the house. No, don’t look. We have to pretend we don’t see her. That way she won’t be able to motion us over to talk to us. She’s approaching the dance floor with Bertrand. She’s stopping.” Adelaide’s met his gaze and smiled. “I told you this would work. We’re safe for now.”

      “Speak for yourself. I might as well be dancing with dynamite.”

      She laughed. “Why, thank you.”

      He shook his head. “How about you tell me why you think all of this is necessary.”

      “It’s quite simple, really. I’m tired of fending off my mother’s matchmaking attempts. I’m ready to focus on my work.”

      “Your work?”

      “Yes. You see—” Her voice faded to a whisper as a blush swept across her cheeks. “I’m a writer. I’ve had several books published.”

      He squeezed her hand. “Adelaide, that’s amazing. Congratulations! I’m actually not that surprised. You were always the best writer in our class at school.”

      She ducked her head. “Thank you, Chris.”

      “What kind of books do you write?”

      She shrugged. “They’re just dime novels.”

      “Really? That’s pretty much how I learned English after coming to America.”

      “I know. You told me dime novels were exciting enough to keep your attention and made you want to learn how to read a new language.”

      “Exactly. I always have a stack of them on my nightstand. I even brought one or two along in my suitcase. Hey, I’m in charge of ordering the books for the store. I’d be happy to stock some of yours. Do you write under your real name?”

      She gave a short laugh. “Absolutely not. My mother would never have put up with that. Actually, Ellie said Johansen’s already stocks my books. I write under the pseudonym Joe Flanders.”

      Chris missed a step, causing Adelaide to stumble into him. “You’re Joe Flanders?”

      “Yes.” She tilted her head. “Are you familiar with my books? I mean, have you read any of them?”

      Every single one of them. What’s more, his copies were dog-eared and worn out. Joe Flanders was one of his favorite authors. Those Wild West stories were filled with outlaws, gunfights, stampedes and stagecoach robberies. In essence, everything Chris had been disappointed not to experience when he’d moved to Texas from Norway as a child.

      And there was one other part of Joe Flanders’s fictionalized worlds that Chris had yet to experience. The hero always got the girl. That had always been Chris’s favorite aspect of the books, even if it was completely unrealistic. He ought to know. He’d been rejected by three women within the last six months. Maybe the fault lay with him. After all, he was no hero. Especially not to “Joe Flanders” if her rejection four years ago was any indication. But she sure seemed to need him now. Perhaps he could be a hero yet, though he knew better than to think he could get—or rather, keep—this girl.

      He shot a covert glance toward her mother. How much trouble could it be to pretend to be Adelaide’s beau until he went back to Peppin? Judging by the past few days, a whole lot. Nevertheless, she’d done the same for him once, and he’d used her as an excuse for years, so surely he owed her something in return. He’d actually be doing himself a favor, as well. Olan was expecting