Romancing The Runaway Bride. Karen Kirst

alone. That was something she never would’ve been allowed to do in St. Louis. Deborah savored the sense of independence.

      As they passed the saddle shop, she pointed out the Longhorn Feed and Grain. “You’ll do a lot of trading there if you decide to settle here.” Her curiosity got the better of her. “What’s wrong with your current place?”

      Her blunt query sparked amusement in his rich brown eyes. “Nothing’s wrong with it.”

      “Why then would you leave your home and start afresh?”

      “I’ve a soul prone to wander, I’m afraid. I like to tackle new challenges simply to ascertain whether or not I can succeed.” His teeth gleamed white in the darkness. “I have several operations across the state of Missouri, but none in Kansas.”

      Alarm skittered along her spine. “Missouri, huh? What part?”

      “Big Bend.”

      Not terribly close to St. Louis. “Do you consider any of those places home?”

      “There is one that’s special to me.” His smile struck her as sad. “Over two hundred acres of prime land. Fertile fields dotted with cattle stretching into the distance, with occasional tree groves to block the wind. Near the house, there’s this section of the stream that’s wide and shallow, and my brothers and I used to fish and swim there every summer.”

      “How many brothers do you have?”

      His face shadowed. “Two. Both older.”

      Sensing his reticence, she squelched her questions. “It sounds like a wonderful place to live.”

      They passed the livery, which was usually humming with activity.

      “Have you ever been to Missouri, Deborah?”

      There was no lying about the fact. The other brides knew she’d boarded the train there. “I was born and raised in St. Louis.” Before he could probe further, she directed his attention to the bakery on the next corner. “Can you believe Cowboy Creek has two bakeries? Impressive for a town this size, don’t you think?” She darted over to the main window. Bare, boring tables and chairs occupied the dining area. “I’ve wondered why the owner, Mr. Lowell, doesn’t take more pride in the shop’s appearance. A shame, really. The other one is much better.”

      His shoulder brushed hers, his woodsy scent pleasant to her senses. His presence wasn’t entirely unwelcome, she acknowledged. It was nice to have someone to talk to, for a change, as long the subject matter didn’t wander into dangerous waters. Perhaps she’d confide in him about her little quest to solve the mystery of the Cowboy Creek thefts. Ever since the bride train had arrived two months ago, odd items had gone missing from various shops and residences, including a porcelain doll. There were rumors that two children had stowed away on the train, but those hadn’t been substantiated.

      “I meant to tell you how much I enjoyed your rhubarb tarts tonight. You could’ve chosen to bake a standard pie and everyone would’ve been equally pleased. Do you always pour so much of your energy into your baking?”

      “It’s the thing I most enjoy doing in life. It’s my version of a challenge. Instead of building a cattle empire, I create desserts.”

      He tapped the window of the bakery. “Your tarts would sell out in minutes here. Does Mr. Lowell offer anything similar?”

      “I haven’t seen anything beyond basic breads, cakes and pies.” The quality of his products was questionable. In her opinion, the only reason he remained in business was because the cowboys who passed through town didn’t have high standards.

      “Your talent is being underutilized at the boardinghouse. Have you considered opening your own bakery?”

      Wistfulness gripped her, only to be replaced by cold reality. Her sojourn in Cowboy Creek was supposed to be temporary. Staying in one place would make it easier for Gerard and Tobias to find her. But she hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to leave.

      She turned to face him. “This town doesn’t need a third bakery.”

      His eyes were molten and unreadable in the shadows, but his unwavering focus still twisted her into knots. No other man had affected her this way. None of her acquaintances in St. Louis, and none of the locals who’d approached her in hopes of courting her. Most assuredly not her older groom.

      She shuddered.

      “Perhaps Mr. Lowell would be interested in retiring.”

      A nervous huff escaped her lips. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about operating a business.”

      “You strike me as an enterprising woman. If you truly wished to, you’d find a way to make it happen.”

      Dumbfounded by this stranger’s evaluation of her, she reached for the comforting reminder of home. He noticed and commented.

      “That’s an interesting piece of jewelry.” His fingers gently nudged hers aside to trace the brooch’s edges. “What is it?”

      Deborah’s heart thudded inside her chest. Adam was standing very close, his head lowered to get a better look. Light from a nearby lamp shone on his dark brown hair and, for a second, she entertained the thought of skimming her hand over the shiny locks.

       As if that wouldn’t be inappropriate.

      “I, ah...” She forced herself to stand stock-still as his knuckles skimmed her collarbone. “It’s a rolling pin. A gift from Lucy.”

      Lucy, the example of propriety, who’d commiserated with Deborah over the years and helped smooth their father’s ire whenever she displeased him.

      He released the brooch and lifted his head. His face was so close she could feel the soft puff of his breath on her skin.

      “Lucy again. Why isn’t she here with you? Did she not share your yearning for adventure?”

      Deborah struggled to order her thoughts. Why must a random cattleman rattle her so? “Adventure?”

      “You’re a single woman who has left family and friends behind to start afresh in a new, unfamiliar place. You may not want to admit it, but you, Deborah Frazier, possess an adventurous streak.”

      She couldn’t help it. She laughed in his face. Thirst for adventure had been the very last thing on her mind that final day in Missouri.

      An argument between two cowboys rose in volume outside the laundry, a few paces farther down the side street. Adam grasped her elbow and guided her farther along the main street.

      “You haven’t run into any trouble alone out here, have you?” he said.

      “Not once. Sometimes they whistle or toss out invitations, but I’ve never felt threatened.”

      “Let’s hope you never do.”

      Touched by his chivalrous attitude, she didn’t at first notice he’d stopped short and was staring at the law office window. Belatedly, she angled back, only to catch sight of a curious expression on his rugged features.

      “Is something the matter?”

      He looked stricken, as if someone had delivered the worst news of his life. His throat worked. “Do you know this man?”

      “Russell Halloway? Sure, I’ve spoken with him on occasion. He’s a good sort, for a lawyer. I’ve heard of his extensive work with war veterans, a commendable service if you ask me.”

      His gaze glued to the gold lettering, he said, “I used to know a man by that name. Is he young? Old?” A vein ticked in his temple. “Can you describe him?”

      “He’s young, in his twenties. Short, dark hair. I’m not sure what color his eyes are, though. He’s distinguished looking, like you.” His gaze jerked to her. There was no amusement this time. He didn’t seem to recognize her or their surroundings. It was as if he were lost in another time and