And the bride wore...running shoes?

Publicly shamed by her former fiancé, Lady Chelsea Ashford Alden has fallen from grace and her intimate life has become fodder for the British tabloids. On the run from the paparazzi, there’s only one place for the errant aristocrat to wait out the scandal: her best friend’s cottage in Celebration, Texas...

Instead of foiling a burglar, rancher Ethan Campbell startles a gorgeous blonde in the bathtub! Chelsea covers up...her true identity. But not her sizzling attraction to the tall, dark and hunky cowboy. Ethan has loved and lost, and until Chelsea, he never thought he’d love again. But he doesn’t know her secret, and if she reveals the truth, he might be the one to run this time around.

“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 a planter. 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.

“Just give me your cell phone.”

“I don’t have it on my person.”

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 in the car.” 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.

Celebration, TX: Love is just a celebration away...

The Cowboy’s Runaway Bride

Nancy Robards Thompson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

National bestselling author NANCY ROBARDS THOMPSON holds a degree in journalism. She worked as a newspaper reporter until she realized reporting “just the facts” bored her silly. Now that she has much more content to report to her muse, Nancy loves writing women’s fiction and romance full-time. Critics have deemed her work “funny, smart and observant.” She resides in Florida with her husband and daughter. You can reach her at www.nancyrobardsthompson.com and Facebook.com/nancyrobardsthompsonbooks.

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

This book is dedicated to Katherine Garbera

for helping me dream up the heroine of

The Cowboy’s Runaway Bride

and for your unwavering friendship.

Kathy, you’re the sister of my heart.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Lady Chelsea Ashford Alden cast a wary glance over her shoulder as she approached the front door of the gray stone cottage.

The place looked dark and formidable—cold and utterly unwelcoming—like it didn’t want to be friends. It was so contrary to her university roommate Juliette Lowell’s vibrant personality. Hard to believe Juliette lived here. However, in the dark, Chelsea could see the numbers on the house matched the address her friend had given her.

The fingernail of moon hanging high in the inky Texas sky wasn’t her friend, either. It did nothing to light the porch. Then again, maybe the darkness was her best ally, cloaking her in shadows, hiding her from the monster that had sent her running to Juliette for refuge in the first place.

Life as the Earl of Downing’s daughter didn’t offer much latitude or forgiveness. In fact, sometimes it seemed as if people were standing back and waiting for her to fall. When she didn’t, others were looking for opportunities to pull the rug out from under her or stick out a leg to trip her up.

Which was why she was in Texas.

She was tired of the limelight; tired of the pomp and pretense; tired of people using her; tired of watching her life play out on the covers of the British tabloids. Because God knew what the paparazzi couldn’t confirm, they invented or they paid off acquaintances to create stories for them. She had experienced that compliments of a reporter named Bertie Veal, who had stalked her since university.

Most recently, he’d colluded with her ex to ruin her life. There was no worse betrayal than when someone you trusted in the most intimate way sold your most vulnerable moment to the press.

Chelsea tried to blink away the image, but it was burned into her brain. Intimate footage she didn’t know existed until it had appeared on the tabloid’s website.

She shuddered at the thought as she lifted the welcome mat in search of the key Juliette had left for her. The video had set off a humiliating chain reaction, the worst of which was her father’s embarrassment and disappointment.

The look on his face had been devastating. It had cut her to the quick when he and her mother had told her she was on her own to solve the problem, that it was best for all if she distanced herself from the family until she’d cleaned up her mess—as if by virtue of simply leaving the country, London’s upper crust would forget she was their daughter.

At least they would pretend to forget. In the meantime, it was very clear that Chelsea was cordially invited to stay away until she’d gotten her life together.

The first step in Plan Damage Control was to make freelance trash reporter Bertie Veal leave her alone. The only way she would accomplish that was to disappear. Celebration, Texas, was the perfect place to hide because it was the last place in the world anyone would think to look for her.

No one would recognize her here. Most Americans seemed interested in the Buckingham Palace royals. They didn’t care about the antics of the two-bit daughter of an obscure earl. American tabloids were all about Charles and Camilla, Wills and Kate, or movie stars spotted without makeup and rap singers caught cheating.

Chelsea switched on her phone’s flashlight app and shone it on the wooden floorboards, but found nothing.

She tried the door, but it was locked. Juliette was a wedding planner and she was in San Antonio on business this weekend. She’d made it clear that Chelsea was welcome and apologized for not being there when she arrived, but duty called.

After a wedding reception Jules had dreamed up had been featured in Southern Living, her business had skyrocketed.

Chelsea was happy for her friend and glad that at least one of them had her life together. She assured Juliette she could manage, and they’d bid their temporary goodbyes with promises of a long catch-up as soon as Juliette got home.

The only logical hiding places for a key on the front porch were the doormat and a rocking chair. Again, she used the flashlight feature on her phone to search around the chair, but she came away empty-handed.

Perhaps Jules had left it on the back porch. They’d been in such a hurry when they’d talked that only now did it dawn on Chelsea that Jules hadn’t mentioned a specific location for the key—only that she would leave it on the porch. Or maybe Chelsea had misunderstood. How hard could it be to find a hidden key?

The flash of headlights warned of an approaching car. Chelsea sank back into the shadows, deciding she was grateful for the cloak of darkness that concealed her. As the vehicle continued to move down the road she breathed a sigh of relief.

After the car was gone, she made her way to the back of the house away from the street to see if she could locate another hiding spot for the key.

When Chelsea and Juliette had roomed together at university, the two had weathered stronger forces than Bertie Veal. Well, nothing worse than discovering Hadden Hastings, her ex-boyfriend, had sold a video he’d secretly recorded of Chelsea and him having sex, but she and Jules had gotten into their share of trouble over the years. If they hadn’t been knee-deep in it together, they’d gone to great lengths to cover for each other. That was what made them such good friends.

When Chelsea had phoned Juliette and told her she was in trouble and had given her the bare-bones rundown of Hadden’s betrayal, she’d insisted Chelsea seek refuge with her in Celebration.

Chelsea and Juliette had both known Hadden Hastings at university. He’d been part of their group of friends. But Chelsea hadn’t dated him until the year after they’d graduated.

When she ran into him after she got home from a year of doing relief aid work in Africa, she’d seen him with different eyes. He’d suddenly become datable. He’d been fun and funny and romantic and sympathetic to her post-university quandary—after all, he couldn’t seem to find his place in the world, either.

He’d charmed her and she’d fallen for him.

He was the last person she’d ever thought would secretly record their lovemaking, much less sell the footage to Bertie Veal. The betrayal hurt as much as the humiliation of having a “sex tape” published for the entire world to view. The press ate it up because there was nothing quite as titillating as a noble scandal.

Chelsea lifted up the mat at the back door and ran her hand over the rough surface of the wooden floorboard.

Nothing. No key there, either.

Then she lifted up the various flowerpots and tipped the planters, all to no avail. As a last resort, she called Juliette, but the call went straight to voice mail.

“Hello, Jules. It’s Chelsea. I’m so sorry to bother you because you’re probably knee-deep in first dances and cake cuttings right now. But I made it to your house and I can’t locate the key. Please give me a quick ring when you have a moment. It’s probably in some painfully obvious place that I’m not seeing. You know me.” She forced a laugh. “Anyhow, I hope the wedding is going well. I can’t wait to see you. Toodles, love.”

She disconnected the call and was just about ready to give up and return to the car when she noticed that a small window near the back door was open a few inches.

It wasn’t optimal, but it was a way inside.

The window was small—tiny, in fact—and a bit high off the ground. And why had she chosen to wear a skirt today? Well, it didn’t matter now. It wasn’t as if anyone was lurking about, hoping to catch a glimpse of her knickers.

Chelsea stared up at the window and sighed.

It appeared to be her last recourse. She could either make it work or wait in the car until Juliette called her back. It was getting chilly out here. She’d much rather wait snug and safe inside.

She dragged over a patio chair made out of fat plastic pipe with a woven nylon seat base and positioned it under the window. Kicking off her wedge sandals, she tucked her phone and rental car key into one shoe and climbed up onto the chair. It wobbled a bit and she grabbed the window ledge to steady herself.

Chelsea was a solid five foot nine inches in bare feet. Hoisting herself up and inside that tiny window would be a challenge, but this was no time to fret. She couldn’t overthink it. The sooner she got inside the house, the sooner she could relax.

She got to work on removing the screen. It took more effort than she thought it would. In the process, she broke her right index fingernail into the quick, which smarted like bloody hell. The pain had her performing a little jig, which caused the chair to rock unsteadily. But a moment later Chelsea persevered and popped the window screen out of its track. It clattered as she dropped it onto the porch floor.

Now it was time for the most challenging feat of the evening: stuffing herself through the small opening. The window looked into a small bathroom and was positioned just above the bathtub. A double swag shower curtain framed the tub. Beyond that she could make out a commode and a pedestal sink. The door to the room seemed to open into a hallway, but that was all she could see in the dim light.

With one deep breath, Chelsea used all the arm strength she could muster to pull herself up. As she labored, she managed to get a foothold on the house’s cold, gray stones and used them to walk herself up the wall.

She just might pull this off.

With one last grunt and upward push, she managed to tip herself inside the window...sort of... During the effort, her foot caught on the chair—how the bloody hell had that happened? If she’d tried to do that on purpose she wouldn’t have been able to. Nonetheless, the chair seemed to be attached to her foot. With a swift kick and a smart shake, she managed to free her lower limb. The chair crashed to the ground, echoing in the otherwise silent night, and leaving her precariously half in, half out of the window, faltering like a teeter-totter trying to find its balance.

With her arse hanging out in the most undignified manner, she was sure there was a life metaphor hidden somewhere in this situation. But this was no time to ponder it. She was going to fall one way or the other, and after all the work it had taken to get this far, she wasn’t about to start over.

With one last forward thrust, Chelsea tumbled inside. As she twisted to break her fall, the bathroom light flicked on. Chelsea screamed as she registered the huge man hulking in the threshold.

* * *

Based on the racket he’d heard, Ethan Campbell thought he might have cornered a couple of raccoons that had fallen down the chimney or gotten into Juliette Lowell’s house through an open window. The last thing he’d expected was to catch a tall, gorgeous blonde breaking and entering.

But there she was looking guilty as hell, standing in the bathtub, tugging up on the neckline of her blouse and smoothing her bright pink skirt into place. The open window was a yawning black hole behind her.

With her wide eyes and tousled long hair, the Beatles’ song, “She Came in Through The Bathroom Window,” suddenly took on a whole new meaning. Ethan tried to ignore how pretty she was and stepped forward to show the woman he meant business.

There had been some burglaries in Celebration over the past few weeks. Was this woman part of a ring?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

He didn’t wait for her to answer and he didn’t take his eyes off her as he reached into his jeans’ pocket for his phone to call the sheriff. She was barefoot, he noticed. He also registered her long, lean, tanned legs and the barely there hint of cleavage that winked at him as she crossed her arms.

He forced his gaze back to her face. She stared at him, big-eyed and mute. She looked scared, like a cornered cub. He had a hard time believing Goldilocks was here to ransack the place. Nonetheless, she wasn’t supposed to be here.

No one was.

So what was she doing?

When he’d noticed the strange car parked in the Juliette Lowell’s driveway as he’d headed home from the stables, Ethan decided to investigate.

Juliette was in San Antonio facilitating one of those fancy weddings people paid her good money to plan. That was why Ethan had decided to stop and investigate.

His neighbor kept him apprised of her travel schedule and that’s why he knew damn good and well no one was supposed to be in this house tonight.

“I’ll ask you again,” he said, waiting to hear what she said before he dialed the sheriff. “You want to tell me what you’re doing in here, sis?”

The woman stared back at him silently. Those huge eyes of hers—were they blue or green?—still locked with his.

“No?” he asked. “Okay. Maybe you’d rather talk to the cops?”

That broke her silence. “No, don’t call the police. Please.”

Did she have an accent? He couldn’t tell. Might just be nerves.

She held up her hands surrender-style.

“Well, then you’d better start talking—and fast. Are you alone?”

Aw, hell. He was such an idiot. She could have accomplices. They might already be in the house. She could’ve been the lookout. Albeit, a noisy one. But still...

Ethan glanced in the mirror, which provided a side view into the dim hallway, and listened hard, trying to detect sound or movement, anything that indicated they weren’t alone.

He didn’t hear a thing.

Yeah, wouldn’t it be just like him to meet his maker after being distracted by a pretty face. It wouldn’t be the first time. Well, figuratively, anyway.

As a safeguard, he placed the call to 911.

“No! Please don’t. My name is Chelsea—Chelsea Allen. I’m here to visit my friend, Juliette Lowell. Please don’t call the police. I can assure you that’s not necessary. Just call Juliette. She’ll tell you I’m welcome here. Please. Hang up. We don’t need to involve the officials.”

This time there was no trace of an accent in her voice. He must’ve imagined it before. Because now her words were crisp and enunciated. And panicked.

And she was so pretty.

Oh, for the love of God almighty...

She did know Juliette’s name. Which didn’t automatically guarantee that she was a friend. She might have known the house would be empty tonight and the place would be a good target.

Juliette’s business was just starting to take off. She was even getting some press about it. Who knew what kind of riffraff news of her success might attract? Though Chelsea Allen didn’t look like riffraff.

“Please hang up,” she pleaded again.

Ethan shook his head and gestured to the window behind her. “When you visit friends, do you always enter through the bathroom?”

Her eyes flashed before she glanced over her shoulder in the direction he pointed. “Of course not. It’s just that...”

A frustrated little growl gobbled up the rest of her words. Ethan half expected her to stamp her foot or to turn around and scale the wall in an attempt to leave the way she came in.

But instead, she put her hands on her hips and apparently tried to turn the tables on him. “If Juliette is not at home, what business do you have in her house? Who are you?”

He frowned at her tone. “I’m the one who’s asking the questions here, and as soon as the sheriff arrives, he will take over for me.”

“No! I’m sorry. Please hang up. I mean, you do realize that calling emergency services could keep them from responding to a true emergency, don’t you? Just call Juliette from your cell. If you’re in her house you should have her number. Right? She will tell you that we’re friends and that I’m absolutely welcome here.”

Ethan hesitated. She had a point. But before he could disconnect, the operator picked up.

“This is 911. What is your emergency?”

Chapter Two

“Hey, Joyce, it’s Ethan Campbell,” he said. “False alarm on that 911.”

Chelsea finally drew in a breath after she heard him retract the police call. Ethan Campbell. So that was his name. Chelsea racked her brain trying to recall if she’d ever heard Juliette mention him. Campbell... Sounded familiar. But the way he was glaring at her as he talked to the sheriff’s dispatcher addled her mind and made it difficult to remember her own name, much less her college friend’s list of boyfriends past.

“Nope. Everything’s under control, but hang tight. I’ll call you back if the situation changes.”

Pinned by his midnight blue gaze, she stood frozen, weighing her options. At least she had enough sense to realize most of the choices sponsored by the fight-or-flight adrenaline rush weren’t very practical...or smart—like grabbing the phone out of the guy’s hand and tossing it into the toilet or scaling the wall and going out the way she’d come in.

Both plans spelled disaster.

If she did the grab and flush, Ethan Campbell would probably lock her in the bathroom and call the sheriff from Juliette’s landline. The last thing she needed was for the police to show up. Because where the police went, media usually followed.

Of course, if he locked her in the bath, she could climb back out the window. But she wasn’t a gymnast or a contortionist. So she wouldn’t be very fast. She wasn’t even remotely athletic. It had taken forever and every ounce of strength she’d possessed to hoist herself up and climb in the window. Her muscles were still shaky after being taxed the first time. She’d be deluding herself if she thought 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 to bother you—”

He nodded, opened his mouth to say something and closed it again.

Juliette always had been a talker. It was amusing to watch this tall, gruff, take-charge cowboy be silenced by her. How long would it take before he could get a word in?

If anyone else had been there she’d have wagered with them.

Alas, she was alone and had to enjoy the private audience to this amusing show. When Juliette got back into town, Chelsea fully intended to hug her friend just for being her—and, well, okay, for making Ethan Campbell stammer as he tried to get a voice-hold in the conversation.

“Juliette—” he said. “Juliette—Juliette. Juliette—”

He held the phone away from his ear for a moment and looked up at the ceiling. Chelsea could hear her friend babbling on even though she couldn’t tell exactly what she was saying.

Finally, Chelsea did the only thing she could. “Juliette, it’s Chelsea!” she called in the loudest voice she could muster. “It’s Chelsea Allen. Please tell this man you know me and I’m welcome in your home.”

Even though Chelsea hadn’t been able to understand exactly what Juliette had been talking about a moment ago, she could hear the dramatic silence on the line now and knew Juliette had heard her. She could only pray that Chelsea remembered the code.

Chelsea Allen was the name she’d used back in their university days when she wanted to lay low. Rather than unloading her full name, Lady Chelsea Ashford Alden, which always made people change. They treated humble, unassuming Chelsea Allen like a regular person. Not like the sister of a famous fashion designer or someone whose brother was likely to be the next prime minister. Chelsea Allen was a nobody, and nobody wanted anything from her. Sometimes it was just so much easier to keep things simple. It had been several years since she and Juliette had been out together and she’d played the Chelsea Allen card, but surely Juliette would remember. Of course she would.

Frowning even more pronounced than when he’d first cornered her, Ethan put the phone back to his ear. “Juliette, do you know a woman named Chelsea Allen?”

Juliette was still talking. Ethan’s gaze flicked to Chelsea. As he listened his frown faded to a scowl.

“Yes. She’s right here. Standing in your hall bathroom. Yep...Sure...Yeah. Right here in your bathtub, to be exact...No, she’s not taking a bath...I caught her coming in through the shower window...It’s a long story...No, she’s fully clothed...Juliette, listen to me. All I need to know is whether or not she’s a friend of yours.”

Chelsea couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud.

Buggers, she was still in the bathtub. She steadied herself with one hand on the wall and stepped out of the tub onto the black-and-white-tile floor.

A moment later Ethan held out the phone to Chelsea. “Juliette wants to talk to you.”

She couldn’t resist a smug smile as she took the phone from him.

“Jules? Hi!”

The sound of Juliette’s warm laughter emanated across the line. “Chelsea, oh, no! Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. I was supposed to leave a key for you. I completely forgot to set it out before I left. Obviously, I forgot to close the bathroom window, too.”

“Jules, it’s okay. Will you tell Deputy Dawg to stand down, please?”

“You always did know how to make an entrance.”

“I know, right? But for future reference, I’d rather use the front door than an open window. Scaling walls isn’t my best sport. Please tell Ethan it’s okay for me to be here. He’s about ready to have me hauled off to jail.”

With the phone pressed up to her ear, she brushed past him because she was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic in the bathroom. As she made her exit, her shoulder grazed Ethan’s very solid chest. If she hadn’t found the guy so annoying, she might’ve found the sheer masculine bulk of him quite sexy.

“Oh, Ethan’s bark is definitely worse than his bite. He’s a warm and cuddly teddy bear once you get to know him.”

Warm and cuddly? More like ripped and solid as steel.

“And you’re speaking from experience, I presume?”

Juliette snorted. “Um, no. I’ll tell you all about him later. For now, give him the phone and I’ll tell him you’re welcome to be there. Make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything. There’s tea in the cupboard by the stove and I just froze the rest of a homemade lasagna. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. We certainly have a lot to talk about.”

Chelsea glanced at Ethan, who was not even trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. There was no way she could tell Juliette that escaping from the mess that had become her life was going to be a lot harder than she thought. She’d already been forced into hiding, and on day one of hiding in Celebration, Texas, she’d nearly had a run-in with the authorities.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line and Chelsea could virtually hear Juliette’s wheels turning with unasked questions.

“We certainly do have a lot to talk about. I’ll tell you when you get home.” She locked gazes with Ethan. “In the meantime, will you please tell the teddy bear I’m welcome to stay?”

Ethan snorted. “Teddy bear?” But she ignored him.

“Thanks, Jules. I appreciate this so much.”

* * *

Chelsea Allen was hiding something. That much was certain. Ethan didn’t know what, but Chelsea had seemed jumpier than a box of bullfrogs on a trampoline.

It went beyond being startled after unexpectedly confronting someone inside a house she’d assumed was empty. His gut was telling him that the woman was hiding something, and his gut was rarely wrong.

But after Chelsea had finished talking to Juliette, she’d handed the phone back to Ethan, and Jules had told him in no uncertain terms that Chelsea was not only welcome at her place, but if she wanted to come and go through the bathroom window, too, that was her prerogative. That was the thing about Juliette Lowell; she was sweet and naive and tended to only see the best in people. That was exactly why Ethan intended to keep an eye on this Chelsea Allen.

At least she was easy on the eyes. It wouldn’t be too big of a hardship. But since Juliette had given her blessing for Chelsea to stay, he’d have to continue his neighborly duty from afar.

After he’d hung up the phone, he’d gotten in his truck, called Joyce back and reported that everything had checked out with Juliette. Then he’d headed to Murphy’s Pub. The place he’d been headed to before he’d been waylaid by the strange car in Juliette’s driveway. Tonight the Dallas Cowboys were duking it out with the Miami Dolphins and all he wanted to do was belly up to the bar and watch the game.

As he pulled open the pub’s front door, he was met by the sound of cheers and hollers. He glanced at the big-screen TV over the bar. The Cowboys had landed a first down, setting up a first and goal situation.

He muttered an oath under his breath because he’d missed the play.

He’d intended to get here in plenty of time to order his dinner—the cheeseburger platter with the works and a nonalcoholic beer—before kickoff, but thanks to Chelsea Allen he had missed nearly the entire first quarter.

Murphy’s was crowded tonight, but there were still a few open spaces at the bar. A lot of people had turned out to see the game. On football nights, Murphy’s ran specials on beer and their very own signature Cowboy burger. Ethan claimed the closest seat and settled in, raising a hand in a quick greeting to Jack Murphy, who was at the helm of the bar.

“Hey, bro,” Jack said. “I was wondering where you were tonight. Be right with ya.”

Murphy’s Pub was one of Celebration’s best-loved community gathering spots. It was a casual place and one of Ethan’s favorite haunts. It was the kind of place where he could get out and be among people yet not really feel obligated to interact or explain why he was drinking sweet tea or nonalcoholic beer at a bar on a Saturday night rather than imbibing like the rest of the drunken fools.

The long teak bar ran the length of the wall to the left of the entrance. Murphy’s bartenders prided themselves on their ability to mix any drink known to mankind, plus several originals that had been invented on the premises and named after local notables.

One quirk of the joint was they were proud of the fact that they only stocked a standard offering of American beers. None of those frou-frou microbrew abominations that seemed to be sprouting like mushrooms everywhere you looked these days. Ask Pop Murphy for something like that and he was likely to direct you to the local cantina Taco’s or to a trendy start-up in Dallas.

But it didn’t matter to Ethan since he had been sober for two years, three months and one week to the day. All he needed was his favorite brand of nonalcoholic beer, which the Murphys always kept in stock for him.

Even though he couldn’t say staying sober today was any easier than it had been the first day he’d made the decision to go cold turkey and turn his life around, each day he stayed out of the bottle and in control of himself was its own victory. He wasn’t about to break his winning streak now.

Some who knew of his struggles thought he was crazy to hang out at a place like Murphy’s. They thought he was making it extra hard on himself by surrounding himself with the poison.

No. He had a handle on the drinking. Everything was under control. He didn’t have to give up going out. He’d worked damn hard to get here and he had no intentions of sliding back into that dark hellhole he’d landed in after his divorce.

He was a recovered alcoholic. That didn’t mean he had to be a shut-in, too.

One day at a time. The AA slogan had been his mantra when he was going through the hardest times. Now that he was stronger, now that he was sober, he liked to test himself by sitting at Murphy’s bar, watching everyone else tip back a few too many. The smell of bourbon might tempt him, but it would never break him. Never.

Jack came back with an open bottle of fake brew and set it down on a napkin in front of him.

“Thanks, man,” Ethan said and ordered his dinner.

Jack Murphy wrote it down and walked the ticket over to the kitchen window at the far end of the bar.

“Order,” he called to the cook as he hung the green ticket on a clothespin strung at the ready in the order pass-through window between the bar and the kitchen.

Family owned and operated for more than a century, Murphy’s was an institution around here. It was one of the oldest businesses in downtown Celebration, and had occupied the same spot since the Murphy brothers had opened their doors in the early 1900s. Not only had it survived prohibition, it had also expanded into abutting spaces over the years and had grown into the place it was today.

As Ethan nursed his drink, he squinted at the television, trying to catch up on what he’d missed of the game. It was still scoreless, but the Cowboys were making good use of their turn and were inching closer to a touchdown. At the very least they should get out of this with a field goal.

At least Chelsea Allen hadn’t made him miss anything important. As he took a long draw from the amber bottle, he wondered what she was doing in that house all alone tonight. But before he could swallow, he reminded himself that it wasn’t his business. Juliette had said she was welcome. Chelsea and whatever she was hiding wasn’t his concern. If he knew what was good for him he’d put her out of his mind.

Juliette was due home tomorrow afternoon. Since Ethan was watching her dog, maybe he’d help her out and take Franklin home and make sure everything was still copacetic, that Chelsea Allen hadn’t worn out her welcome.

It was the least a good neighbor could do.

When the TV network took a commercial break, Ethan relaxed. Inhaling the scent of booze, stale beer and fried food, he let his gaze sweep the joint to see who’d come out tonight. As he suspected, it was the regular crowd. Most of them had come to Murphy’s to watch the game and grab some dinner like he had.

Some had no interest in sports and danced to the music that played from the jukebox in the adjoining room. Others were crowded around tables, laughing and talking. Another subset, like his friend Aiden Woods, had come out to shoot pool. Looked like Aiden was beating Miles Mercer. Aiden’s wife, Bia, the editor-in-chief of the Dallas Journal of Business and Development, sat at a nearby table with Miles’s wife, Sydney, sipping red wine and sharing animated conversation.

All the other pool tables, which took up a good portion of the front room, were occupied. They always seemed to be in demand. As usual, Murphy’s was rocking with a good cross section of people from the Celebration community who kept the place buzzing with good energy.

“Hey, Campbell, I hear you caught the burglar.” Zane Phillips slid onto the empty bar stool next to Ethan and ordered a shot of bourbon, neat.

Good news traveled fast around this town. Since Zane had heard, that meant Ethan was going to be the butt of a few good-natured jokes for a while, but he still wasn’t sorry for making sure Chelsea was on the up and up.

“Yep.” Ethan took another long pull from his drink. “And she was hot.”

Zane’s right brow shot up. “I guess being the self-appointed neighborhood watch captain has some perks, after all.”

These days, everyone in Celebration was a little jumpier since the break-ins had started three months ago. Now neighbors were extra vigilant and took even more care to look out for each other. It was the decent thing to do, even if it meant calling in the occasional false alarm. Better safe than sorry.

“Just being neighborly,” Ethan shot back. “I told Jules I’d keep an eye on her place while she’s out of town. I saw a strange car in the driveway. I let myself in with the key she gave me and checked it out. No big deal.”

“But she was hot, huh? Are you calling dibs?”

Ethan slanted a sideways glance at Zane. Dibs? What kind of lame-ass question was that? Besides, Zane had a girlfriend. Granted, the relationship was probably nearing its expiration date. Zane was a serial monogamist. He tended to date one woman at a time, but he never could make a permanent commitment.

When Jack set a platter heaped with a bacon-mushroom cheeseburger and onion rings down in front of Ethan, he trained his focus on his meal.

“So, who is this chick?” Zane asked as Ethan bit into his burger.

He took his time chewing and swallowing. “An old college pal of Juliette’s, apparently.” Ethan turned his attention to the game on the big screen. He’d come to Murphy’s tonight to watch the game, not talk about Juliette’s houseguest. “You want to meet her? Go knock on the door.”

Zane Phillips was one of his best friends. They’d grown up together and Zane had even stood up for him as best man when he married Molly. He wasn’t sure why the thought of the guy getting his grubby paws on Chelsea rubbed him the wrong way. He signaled Jack for another round and hoped Zane got the hint that he didn’t feel like talking.

“All kidding aside, it’s too bad you didn’t catch the bastard,” Zane said in a rare moment of sober good sense. “Whoever has been committing these break-ins is still out there. We have to make sure everyone is still on their guard.”

Ethan nodded. The Cowboys scored and the place erupted in a cacophony of shouts and cheers.

“On another note, Rachel over at Bistro Saint-Germain said Lucy says she’s finally going to open that party barn she’s been talking about.”

Lucy was his baby sister. Since she’d moved back home from California last year, she’d been threatening to turn the old barn down on the lower forty of their family’s farm into an events venue.

Since she seemed to approach life in fits and starts, going gung ho until she lost interest on the project du jour, this idea had become known as the party barn.

“Yeah?” Ethan said, taking another bite. He’d stopped expending too much energy on his little sister’s whims. It was hard to take her seriously after the fourth or fifth time that she’d jumped into something with both feet, only to move on to the next big thing.

“Sounds like she’s serious about this,” Zane said. “Maybe the twelfth time’s a charm. I told her to invite me to the grand opening party.”

Ethan harrumphed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

He wasn’t worried that the party barn might actually become a reality. In all fairness, Lucy wanted to make the place a venue for weddings and other swanky events. She’d latched on to the idea after Juliette’s wedding planning business had grown legs and had become a runaway success. Juliette had offhandedly mentioned that the closest wedding venue to Celebration was the Regency Cypress Plantation and Botanical Gardens, which was on the northern edge of Celebration. Lucy swore their grandparents’ old barn was an untapped gold mine. Ethan didn’t get it. The dilapidated pile of kindling needed to be burned down, not cobbled back together.

It wasn’t that he didn’t support Lucy. She and their brother, Jude, had inherited some money and equal interest in the family’s 900-acre ranch. Since Jude was living the high life on the Professional Bull Riders’ circuit, he and Lucy had left Ethan with the task of reviving Triple C’s once floundering horse-breeding business. Ethan had worked hard to turn it around and breathe new life into it. Since the breeding arm of Triple C was all his doing, the siblings had mutually decided to divvy up the land, each claiming a specific 300-acre area. Ethan got the land with the stables and the home where they’d grown up. Lucy had chosen the plot with their grandparents’ old house and the barn. Jude’s was untouched acreage.

Lucy could do whatever she wanted with her piece of land. She was perfectly within her rights to turn it into an events venue. Hell, she could turn it into a zoo if she wanted. It was her call. However, over the past three years she’d had the attention span of a fruit fly. She’d already blown through every cent of the money she’d inherited after their parents died and she’d maxed out her credit cards and was left with the debt.

Ethan had helped her out financially until she could find a job with a steady paycheck that allowed her to start paying off her cards. As far as Ethan knew, she was still paying. Now that she was supporting herself, he wasn’t going to enable another whim. When she’d asked Ethan to cosign for a loan so she could have some party barn start-up money, he’d declined.

If he was completely honest, his refusal wasn’t just tough love. Ethan had often worried that his siblings might have the same alcoholic gene that had almost gotten the best of him. It ran in their family. In fact, it had cost their father his life. Their dad had been sauced the night of the car crash that had killed him. For a while it had been touch and go for their mother, who had landed in the ICU.

She’d lived, but she’d come out of the accident a paraplegic because of damage to one of the lower thoracic nerves. She passed away about a year later.

The disease hadn’t hooked its claws into Jude, who seemed to have his act together—even if he never did come home. Ethan still worried about Lucy. She was only twenty-five. She had done some things in the past—like getting caught drunk skinny-dipping in the pond out back of old man Jenkins’s hunting lodge—that made him question whether or not she was immune to alcohol’s hereditary choke hold.

For some ridiculous reason completely out of left field, Ethan found himself wondering if Chelsea Allen, the woman who’d already proven herself capable of breaking into houses, had ever been skinny-dipping.

As he chased away the inappropriate image with a sip of his beer, for a split second he craved a shot of something a hell of a lot stronger than nonalcoholic beer.

After Ethan’s own hard-traversed path to sobriety, he worried that being in a party environment—even if it would be mostly wedding receptions—wouldn’t be good for Lucy.

Sure, she was a grown woman, but she would always be his little sister. She and Jude were all the family he had left. His stance against the party barn stemmed from simply wanting to protect her. Jude may have been the prodigal brother, but Ethan was the protector. As any good big brother would, he wanted to hold back the tide and keep it from drowning her.

Even if the jury was still out on whether or not she was susceptible to the alcoholic gene, her previous, half-baked business ventures indicated she might not possess entrepreneurial instincts, either.

Obviously, she’d been talking about the party barn enough that word was starting to get around town. She hadn’t mentioned any more about it to him. But really, was that so hard to believe? Sometimes he felt like he was the last to know anything. Such as how he’d had no idea that Juliette had such a beautiful friend. Whether or not that friend was hiding something or hiding from something, Ethan couldn’t deny that she’d been front and center in his brain all night. He hadn’t had this kind of reaction to a pretty woman in a very long time.

He’d definitely stop by Juliette’s tomorrow and see what Chelsea Allen was up to.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.