Romancing The Runaway Bride. Karen Kirst

with the platters. “Your goal was to mingle with the locals and town leaders, anyway. Would you consider the night a success?”

      Walking to the house side by side, he nodded. “I enjoyed myself, thanks to you.”

      The words sounded forced, his customary charm worn thin.

      “I’m happy to hear it.”

      At the door, he turned to regard the area from which they’d come. His gaze became hooded, and there was a grim set to his mouth.

      For a man in town with a straightforward purpose, he seemed awfully troubled.

      * * *

      An innocent woman didn’t hide fried chicken legs in her reticule and slink off into the night. Adam trailed her along the side street past the school and onto Lincoln Boulevard. For someone with a hidden agenda, she didn’t bother to check whether or not anyone was aware of her movements. The thought that she could be taking food to Zane Ogden made his stomach churn. Not Deborah, his mind protested. She’s too sweet, too earnest.

      Hesitating on the corner across from the Gardners’, where lights blazed in the multitude of windows, she continued at a brisk pace and took a right on Fourth Street. This direction boasted deserted woods that emptied out at the stockyards.

       Use your head, Halloway. Don’t be duped by her innocent act.

      His training had prepared him to consider a problem’s every angle, from the obvious to the far-fetched. He’d learned not to rule out a suspect based on appearance or behavior. Not all villains wore black and twirled evil mustaches. Some were accommodating and downright likable.

      He might not want Deborah to be guilty of aiding a criminal, but in this line of work, disappointments were inevitable.

      She stopped short. Adam used overgrown bushes on the street’s edge as a barrier. Glancing around, she entered the copse abutting Daniel’s property. He unsheathed his weapon and entered at a substantial distance behind. His quarry could be closer than he realized.

      Moonlight gilded the trees in silvery essence and afforded him a view of her silhouette. The occasional hoot owl shattered the stillness. He avoided the twigs her boots crushed.

      “Hello?”

      The sudden sound of Deborah’s voice jolted him. Slipping sideways to hunker behind a massive oak, he peered at her through a V in the branches. She removed the bundle of chicken and held it aloft.

      “I’ve brought some tasty fried chicken,” she said, turning in a circle. “You can have it, free of charge. I’d hate to leave it for the scavengers to find. Won’t you come out and talk to me?”

      Adam’s grip on his weapon went slack. He observed her in mounting confusion. Was this some sort of code? A way for Ogden to know it was safe to emerge from his hideout?

      This wasn’t the best place to take refuge from authorities. The Gardners’ mansion was visible from this vantage point, and the nearby street saw a lot of traffic from cowboys traveling between the stockyards and the center of town. Deborah had been studying this area after the fund-raiser and had acted nervous when questioned.

      But no one emerged from the shadows to greet her. Her sigh was punctuated by the slump of her shoulders.

      “I’d really like to help you.” She left the bundle on a tree stump and retraced her steps.

      Adam edged around the trunk, barely breathing, careful to remain out of sight. He expected her to go straight to Aunt Mae’s. Instead, she ventured into the Gardners’ yard, her head bent as she scraped her boot through the grass. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she hurried along her way.

      He let her go, murmuring to himself, “What are you up to, Deborah Frazier?”

      * * *

      Deborah regarded the town gossips with mounting irritation. She’d approached the two old men the next day in hopes they’d shed light on the stowaway mystery, but their claims contradicted each other.

      Gus stroked his full white beard with a gnarled hand. “You’re wrong. Flat out wrong, I tell ya. Those kids weren’t anywhere near the livery. They were sneakin’ around the telegraph office.”

      Slouched beside him on the bench outside Booker & Son’s general store, Old Horace puffed on his cheroot and narrowed his rheumy eyes. “You’re losin’ your faculties, man. I remember as plain as day the boy hiding behind the water barrels.”

      Deborah clutched her reticule to her chest and shifted to make room for a passing cowboy. “Can you tell me what they looked like? Are they boys? Girls? One of each?”

      “Well, now, it was awful dark,” Gus mused. His gaze never ceased moving. The elderly pair made an occupation of surveying the comings and goings of Cowboy Creek’s residents. It was a wonder their names weren’t engraved on the bench where they sat seemingly all day and night.

      “Hmm.” Old Horace nodded. “The shadows were long.”

      She stifled a sigh. The sights and sounds of afternoon activity enveloped her. Wagons creaked along Eden Street. Horses whinnied. A dog’s bark was thrown into the mix, as were children’s laughter and mothers’ stern warnings to mind their steps. The bell above Booker & Son’s entrance chimed incessantly. Old Horace and Gus must be immune to it.

      This had been a fool’s errand, as had last evening’s foray into the woods behind Daniel Gardner’s home. No doubt that chicken had made a tasty meal for the ants.

       But the doll was gone, remember? Someone removed it in the hours between the fund-raiser and her late-night visit.

      At the sight of the lanky blond man heading straight for her, Deborah was reminded she had other matters to worry about. Real ones, not possibly-made-up sightings of stowaways.

      “Thank you for your time, gentlemen.” Squaring her shoulders, she left the boardwalk and met Preston Wells in the shade of The Cattleman. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wells.”

      “Surely you agree it’s time to dispense with the formalities, Deborah.” His eyes bore into her, pleading and needy. “You are the epitome of summertime’s best offerings in that dress.”

      She pressed a hand to her stomach and strove for a pleasant expression. Inside, she experienced a strange frisson of unease. A telegraph operator, Preston had become fixated on her shortly after her arrival. She’d been kind but firm in her numerous refusals of his overtures. He’d proven persistent, however. He’d even taken to badgering poor Sadie, who had to work with him, about her.

      She had no objections to his appearance. In his midtwenties, Preston wore his light hair cut very short, which emphasized his broad forehead—her great-aunt would call it intelligent—and a rather thin nose. His eyes were an interesting shade of gray, however, and he had a nicely shaped mouth. He took pride in his appearance. It was the hint of desperation in his exchanges with her that put her on guard.

      “Er, thank you.” She smoothed the ivory skirt printed with green and yellow flowers.

      “It flatters your complexion greatly,” he enthused, moving closer than was comfortable. “And your hair...” He was reaching to cup her cheek when Adam entered her peripheral vision.

      “I don’t believe we’ve met.” Adam struck out his hand for Preston to shake.

      Thankful for the interruption, Deborah edged out of the way. Preston regarded Adam with a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance.

      “Preston Wells. And you are?”

      “Adam Draper. I’m staying at the same boardinghouse as Deborah.”

      “Pleasure.” His expression said it was anything but. His gaze returned to her. “Would you agree to accompany me for a short stroll? I’m contemplating hosting a small dinner party and perhaps engaging your services.”

      “Maybe