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 Etha
n 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 c
enter 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.
Chapter Three
The next morning when Chelsea’s eyes fluttered open, it took her a moment to remember that she was safe in the sanctuary of Juliette’s spare bedroom, where there was enough floral damask to rival Queen Mary’s gardens at the Regent’s Park. There were roses everywhere: on the duvet, the curtains, the wingback chair and tufted ottoman. It was so Juliette and it warmed Chelsea from the inside out.
She luxuriated in a long, slow, full-body stretch and then squinted at the clock on the nightstand to check the time. It was after nine o’clock. She should get up and get a wiggle on. Really, she should, she thought as she sank deeper into the warm bed.
Her body and mind had needed the rest. It dawned on her that this was the first time she’d slept through the night without waking since her life had blown up in the press last week, when she’d been humiliated and reduced to being the subject of lewd jokes and perverted voyeurism. Her ex-boyfriend had recorded them without her permission and released the footage, yet she was the villain. Her siblings couldn’t look her in the eyes. Her parents didn’t even want to see her face, much less help her solve the problem. They had made it perfectly clear that it was her problem. She needed to make it go away—or at least go away until it had passed.
Recently, it had been the last thing she’d thought about before she went to sleep and the first thing on her mind when she’d awoken. Until today.
This morning the first thought that had crossed her mind was flowers.
She felt safe here. Not that the press couldn’t find her in Celebration, Texas. But with neighbors looking out for neighbors and scaring away those who didn’t belong the way Ethan Campbell had last night, it would certainly make it more difficult for anyone to sneak up on her the way the reporters had in London.
The Cowboy's Runaway Bride Page 3