by Karen Kirst
Second-Chance Bride
Though she came west in her wedding dress, Deborah Frazier isn’t looking for a groom. She fled St. Louis to escape marrying a man she didn’t love. In Cowboy Creek, she’s found shelter, friends and a job. All that’s now in jeopardy, thanks to a handsome newcomer.
Undercover Pinkerton agent Adam Halloway is hunting for his family’s greatest enemy. The pretty baker at the boardinghouse is certainly hiding something—but is she an accomplice to a criminal? As evidence against Deborah piles up, can Adam trust his heart and make Deborah a bride at last?
“You arrived in your wedding clothes,” he said softly.
“You have the uncanny ability to question me as if I’m on trial. Were you ever a lawyer, Mr. Draper?”
“I apologize for pressing you. It’s none of my business. Although, I will say I understand the locals’ frustration. You’re beautiful, intelligent and talented. Any man with a scrap of sense would make a bid for your attention.”
His praise emboldened her. “You haven’t.”
Adam’s lips parted. His eyes thrummed with emotion quickly squelched. After clearing his throat, he said,
“I’m not yet in that stage of my life. There are matters that take precedence over any desire to wed and produce heirs.”
“What sort of matters? Your ranches?”
“My ranches...” His brows drew together. “Oh, yes. My business obligations are many.”
“So you’ve never come close to falling in love?”
He fell silent. Deborah felt as though she were swimming in that endless brown gaze as the air between them thinned. Why had she asked such a foolish question?
* * *
Return to Cowboy Creek: A bride train delivers the promise of new love and family to a Kansas boomtown
The Rancher Inherits a Family—
Cheryl St.John, April 2018
His Substitute Mail-Order Bride—
Sherri Shackelford, May 2018
Romancing the Runaway Bride—
Karen Kirst, June 2018
Karen Kirst was born and raised in east Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. She’s a lifelong lover of books, but it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.
Books by Karen Kirst
Love Inspired Historical
Return to Cowboy Creek
Romancing the Runaway Bride
Cowboy Creek
Bride by Arrangement
Smoky Mountain Matches
The Reluctant Outlaw
The Bridal Swap
The Gift of Family
“Smoky Mountain Christmas”
His Mountain Miss
The Husband Hunt
Married by Christmas
From Boss to Bridegroom
The Bachelor’s Homecoming
Reclaiming His Past
The Sheriff’s Christmas Twins
Wed by Necessity
The Engagement Charade
A Lawman for Christmas
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KAREN KIRST
Romancing the Runaway Bride
A man’s heart deviseth his way:
but the Lord directeth his steps.
—Proverbs 16:9
To my mom, Dorothy Kirst, and my sister, Shelly Benson. I’m blessed to have you both! Thanks for making my first writing conference an experience I never want to forget. Thanks for the laughs and fun memories.
Acknowledgments
A huge thank-you to editor Elizabeth Mazer. I’ve enjoyed working with you on this project. And to the other Return to Cowboy Creek authors, Cheryl St.John and Sherri Shackelford. It’s been a pleasure.
Contents
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from A Cowboy of Convenience by Stacy Henrie
Chapter One
Cowboy Creek, Kansas
June 1869
There was a blindfolded woman in the boardinghouse kitchen.
Adam Halloway’s training kicked in. He reached for his gun out of habit, only to come up empty. His gun belt and Pinkerton detective badge were tucked away in his saddlebags, where they’d stay for the duration of this investigation.
He scanned the spacious room. It looked like an average kitchen with the usual equipment. Sunlight streamed through filmy lace curtains, painting the bulky working table and floorboards in innocent light. No evil villains lurked in the corners.
His narrowed gaze returned to the woman and made a quick assessment of her appearance. Short of stature, brunette, young. How young was impossible to say with part of her face hidden by a swath of black material. Her posture didn’t scream distress.
He finally noticed the twin saucers of unfrosted cake on the table in front of her. Bowls of assorted sizes littered the far end, and baking tins crowded the hulking stove behind her. With one foot in the kitchen and one in the hallway, he watched as she lifted a bite to her mouth and chewed. A pleat furrowed her brow. She cocked her head to the right. Chewed some more.
What on earth was she doing?
The sense of urgency passed, and he did a more thorough inventory. Her hair was clean and shiny, parted in the middle and arranged in neat rolls. A perky purple and yellow flower was nestled above her left ear. The white apron she wore contrasted with her lavender cotton dress. Below the blousy sleeves, her arms were slender and pale, her hands fine-boned and smooth. Those hands spoke of a life of leisure. The delicate gold chain draped around her wrist and the tasteful diamond earrings winking at him couldn’t be acquired on a cook’s salary. Perhaps she had a wealthy husband who indulged his wife’s desire to work? But there was no gold band to indicate she was married.
She was sampling the second cake when he spoke.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the proprietress, Aunt Mae. Can you tell me where to find her?”
A garbled yelp escaped her. Fumbling to remove the blindfold, she got it off with an impatient tug, slightly mussing the neat strands of her hair. Wide, heavily lashed eyes the hue of polished golden topaz settled on him.
“You’re new.”
“I’m looking for the owner to ask about a
room.”
“I meant you’re new to Cowboy Creek.”
He eased farther into the kitchen. “How do you figure? A cattle town such as this one must see its fair share of folks passing through.” A fact that made it easy for a criminal like the one he sought to blend in.
“A man as picture-perfect as you wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.” The second the words were out, she blushed to the roots of her hair. “I shouldn’t have said that. Lucy wouldn’t have given in to the urge.”
“Lucy?”
“My younger sister. She is the definition of proper.”
“Ah.” Adam couldn’t help but be charmed. “I apologize for interrupting your...” He flicked his fingers in the direction of the cake. “Um, what exactly did I interrupt?”
Her hands fluttered, the limp blindfold flapping against her waist. “I was trying to decide whether or not to include ground cayenne pepper in my chocolate cake.”
“Cayenne pepper? In a cake?”
She shrugged. “I like to experiment with different flavors.”
“I’m Adam Draper, by the way.” The false surname left his lips in smooth sincerity. Working for the National Pinkerton Detective Agency since the war’s end four years ago, he’d assumed dozens of personas in his pursuit of criminals. This time, he wasn’t doing it for the Pinkertons. He was here for personal reasons.
She placed her hand in his outstretched one and offered a bright smile. “I’m Deborah, a boarder here. Aunt Mae hired me to bake desserts. I do it in exchange for room and board.”
For long moments, Adam became ensnared by her beauty. Her eyes, almond-shaped and almost too large for her face, sparkled with optimism not readily found in his line of work. She had sleek, dark brown eyebrows that punctuated the lightness of her irises. Her nose was straight, her mouth small and dainty, her teeth white and even. The slight cleft in her rounded chin called for his thumb to rest there.
Her name is Deborah. With a D. The scrap of a note he’d discovered in the last known residence of Zane Ogden, the very note that had led him to Kansas, had been written by someone whose signature began with a D. The rolling script belonged to a woman, he was certain. And this one had failed to offer her last name, an unusual omission.
He ended the handshake more abruptly than he’d intended. “Do you have a last name, Deborah?”
Her smile faltered. “Frazier.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Frazier. Or is it Mrs.?”
She blanched. “I’m not married.”
Why would an innocuous question net that reaction?
Clamping down on his rising apprehension, he smoothed his expression. “I’ve come to Cowboy Creek in search of land. I read about the three men who founded the town and how it’s grown by leaps and bounds. Have you been here since the beginning?”
Her gaze slid away. “Not quite. I arrived a couple of months ago.” Picking up the saucers, she held them close to his nose. “Do you like cake? I could use an objective opinion.”
Adam allowed the attempt at diversion. “Which one has the pepper in it?”
“I can’t tell you. That would alter the outcome.”
“This all sounds suspiciously scientific.”
She laughed. “It’s just cake.”
He moved closer and bent to sniff the first slice. Pinching off a corner, he popped it in his mouth. “It’s good.”
Deborah’s brows lifted in a silent bid for more. He took a second, larger bite. “Very good. The chocolate flavor is there. Not too sweet.” What else did she expect him to say?
“Try the other one.”
Since he didn’t detect even a hint of heat in the first sample, he reluctantly did as she instructed. Cayenne pepper in dessert. Who would’ve thought to put—
“Oh.” The combination of rich chocolate melded with a layer of subtle spice to tease his taste buds. “That’s interesting.”
“Do you like it? Is it too much?” She put the plates down with a clink. “I was aiming for the perfect balance. This is my third attempt. Be glad you weren’t around to try the first.” Her nose scrunched. “I must’ve drunk four glasses of milk that night, trying to cool my tongue.”
Adam was glad, too. “I like it. It’s unexpected.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she looked pleased. “The unexpected can be fun.”
“Or painful.”
“True, but success is rarely achieved on the first attempt.”
Their gazes locked across the expanse of cooking utensils. A breeze wafted through the open windows on their right, scented with the blossoms crowding the painted wooden boxes affixed to the outside sills. In her pretty pastel dress, the bloom tucked against her hair, Deborah Frazier was like a nostalgic summer dream. Adam’s thoughts started to drift from his task.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d met a woman who made him think about moonlit strolls and picnics by the water. At eighteen, he’d escaped his family’s Missouri ranch—and the devastation wrought by Zane Ogden—to join the Union army. There’d been no chance to think about romance during those long, cruel years. And once he’d hung up his uniform, he’d accepted an offer to join Allan Pinkerton’s detective agency. Rooting out criminals and dispensing justice had consumed him, mind, body and soul. He couldn’t rest until he put the man who’d destroyed his family behind bars. That meant no distractions.
Deborah Frazier wasn’t comfortable with his questions. Nor did she offer the slightest bit of extra information about herself. His instincts insisted she had secrets to hide. If she turned out to be the person aiding and abetting his quarry, Adam would personally see she got the punishment she deserved.
He scraped his hand along his jaw, startled when skin met skin. He’d decided to shave his substantial beard for this case. He’d also traded his usual attire for a formal three-piece suit, complete with bolo tie and a pair of bona fide cowboy boots. Adam Draper, Missouri cattleman, had pockets that were well-lined. And he wouldn’t allow an opportunity to flirt with a beautiful woman pass him by.
He affixed a teasing smile on his face and, reaching across the table, brushed a stray crumb from the corner of her mouth. “If I were able to secure a room here, would I be required to sample more desserts?”
Surprise lit her eyes. She pressed trembling fingers to her cheek. “Well, I suppose I could use someone to assist me in that manner. If you wouldn’t mind...”
Adam straightened. She wasn’t accustomed to flirtation, then. Why the notion should please him, he couldn’t say. Steady, old boy. Remember, the best criminals are sometimes the most accomplished actors.
The door in the far corner that led to the rear stoop opened and closed. A woman he guessed to be in her sixties bustled in. She took one glance at the pair of them and, plopping her sacks on the counter, jammed one fist against her ample hip.
“And who might you be?”
* * *
Deborah watched as the handsome stranger softened Aunt Mae’s bristling attitude with a dazzling smile and earnest manner. He indicated that he was in town to scout out potential locations for his expansive ranching operation and would need a room indefinitely. The promise of steady income pleased the businesswoman, of course.
As the pair made to exit the kitchen, the look Adam Draper shot over his shoulder at Deborah remained seared in her mind the rest of the afternoon. There’d been a flicker of something so dark and forbidding, it struck fear in her heart and sent her thoughts scattering to St. Louis and the arranged marriage she’d escaped with hours to spare. Her father was still furious, according to her sister’s telegrams, and still scouring the state for her. But Cowboy Creek was so new it wasn’t on the map. Surely, he wouldn’t think to look in Kansas.
By the time the evening meal had been placed on the table, she was convinced she’d misinterpreted things. Mr. Draper was the first of the guests to arrive. He
entered the wide, airy dining room and greeted her with an easy grin. His deep brown eyes hadn’t lost their intensity or intelligence, but they weren’t locked on her in suspicion, either.
Her stomach dipped. Yep, still devastating. Her mind hadn’t mistaken that fact. He was tall, tanned and in excellent physical condition. The pressed navy suit he wore fit his rip-cord-lean frame to perfection. His straight, nearly black hair was brushed off his face, the better to savor his sculpted features. He had an aristocratic nose, defined cheekbones and unyielding jaw. That stubborn set to his jaw made her question if his charm was just an act.
“Good evening, Miss Frazier.” He strolled around the square-shaped room taking its measure, peering through the window glass at the street traffic, running his fingers along the fireplace mantel, admiring the landscape paintings on three of the four walls.
“Good evening, Mr. Draper.” She shifted the salt and pepper containers closer to the ceramic candleholders and fiddled with the folded napkins. “Did you find your room agreeable?”
He took up position behind a nearby chair, his hands curled around the topmost wooden slat. There was no gold ring, nor a line to evidence he’d ever worn one.
“I did, indeed. Aunt Mae put me on the second floor. I’ve a corner room overlooking the main thoroughfare, which means I’ll have a bird’s-eye view of events.” He winked.
He was in the room opposite hers, then. While Aunt Mae preferred to keep the men and women in separate areas, the house wasn’t large enough to do so. Deborah wasn’t sure how she felt about his continued presence in what had become more than a temporary hideout. The memory of his thumb sweeping over the edges of her lips caused her skin to prickle with awareness. He’d already caught her in an unusual situation...how long he’d observed her unawares was anyone’s guess. She didn’t wish to imagine all the different ways she could embarrass herself in front of him.
He indicated the various platters boasting roasted beef and potatoes, sautéed cabbage and other assorted vegetables. “This looks tempting. Are there any unusual ingredients I need to be concerned about?”