The Cowboy's Runaway Bride

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  He pulled open the door and stepped inside and through the throngs of people, the first person he saw was Chelsea.

  * * *

  When Chelsea caught sight of Ethan, her knees almost buckled. She had been nervous about making the trip, but she had wanted to be there for Lucy. The two of them had kept in touch since she’d left Celebration. She’d been giving Lucy final design advice. The Campbell Wedding Barn still had a long way to go before the place would be finished, but it was presentable enough to serve as a rustic venue. They’d work out the kinks in this trial run grand opening party so that they’d be as prepared as possible to give Connor Bryce and his bride the wedding reception of their dreams. But that was Juliette’s and Lucy’s territory. She would make sure the place looked as fabulous as possible.

  Lucy had all but begged her to come back for the party. The tipping point happened when she’d learned that her brother’s old university pal, who was now a high-powered barrister, was able to help cleanse the internet of the offending video and teach Bertie Veal and Hadden Hastings a lesson. Not only did Thomas’s mate scare the bejabbers out of both men by threatening an invasion of privacy lawsuit—referencing the civil suit against Gawker Media was enough to keep Hadden in check—but Thomas’s chum had also implied that if Mr. Veal persisted in stalking Chelsea, he just might find it difficult to gain reentry to the United Kingdom if he left again. It seemed old Bertie had some past indiscretions that had as of yet remained unflagged, but that could easily be changed with a couple of phone calls.

  Thomas’s friend assured Bertie and Hadden they were welcome to challenge him, but they would certainly end up wishing they’d left well enough alone. It was their choice: mess with Chelsea and suffer consequences, or refrain from harassing the Ashford Alden family and have a happy life. The choice was entirely theirs.

  The gauntlet was leveled a couple of weeks ago, and neither Bertie nor Hadden had so much as glanced in Chelsea’s direction.

  It was almost like starting over. She’d realized that the place she wanted to make her fresh start was Celebration, Texas.

  Of course, she had no guarantee that Ethan would welcome her with open arms. The text he’d sent had been the first communication they’d exchanged since the horrible night when everything crashed and burned.

  Just because his text had been warm, it didn’t mean he wanted anything beyond friendship—not after her confession that she had lied to him.

  As she watched him walk toward her, the butterflies that he always seemed to induce had come to life again, proving that she still had it bad for him. No, not just bad—oh, who was she kidding? She was in love with the guy and in this moment, she wanted nothing more than to win him back. She had no idea how he felt about her, but she was going to exhaust every avenue before she gave up on Ethan Campbell.

  As he closed the distance between them, she was so giddy-nervous she thought she might jump out of her skin. She clutched her cranberry and soda so tightly she had to make a conscious effort to loosen her grip so that the glass didn’t burst in her hand. She raised the other hand in a shy greeting as he approached.

  She couldn’t read his expression. His eyes were intense but his face was otherwise neutral. She couldn’t figure out if it was a shocked-but-happy-to-see-her neutral or if he was coming over to ask her to leave.

  She found her words in the nick of time. “Great party, huh?”

  “You’re here. You came back.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  He opened his mouth to say something but shut it again, his brow furrowing as if he was trying to process everything. Finally, he said, “It seemed so final when you left.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “That was before I knew that Celebration was a safe place—my safe place.”

  The side of his mouth quirked up into that half smile that she missed as much as a drowning woman missed air. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it—how desperately she’d missed him—until now. She’d been pining for him, but the magnitude of it hadn’t hit until this very moment.

  The pull of attraction was strong, but attraction alone wasn’t what Chelsea needed. She needed to know that Ethan could forgive her. That maybe, just maybe, he could love her for who she was, despite her stupid mistakes and everything that made her who she was. Because she loved him.

  “You never answered my question about going riding.”

  “I figured we have plenty of time for that since I’m moving back.”

  She hoped he’d meant it. That it wasn’t just a rhetorical conversation starter.

  “Did you really mean it, Ethan?” Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. But she did and there was no taking it back now. “Because I hope you did. I mean, I hope you meant you want to go riding with me. Because after I left I was afraid that you never wanted to speak to me again, much less see me again. I never meant to lie to you. I don’t make a habit of lying to people I care about. But I realize you might feel like you don’t even know me. I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.”

  “You’re wrong about that—on both accounts. I know who you are now and I understand why you did what you thought you had to do. I couldn’t care less about the video. I didn’t watch it.”

  “It’s gone now,” she said. “Thomas worked his magic and took care of it and Bertie Veal. He won’t be bothering me—us—anymore. That’s the thing about big brothers—”

  “I love you, Chelsea. Why would I never want to see you again?”

  His words—those three words—made the room expand and contract and then tilt on its axis. When she finally regained her equilibrium, she said, “Well, that’s good to know because I love you, too, and I was really hoping that we could talk about what we were going to do about this love predicament we seem to have found ourselves in. If we’re in love, it seems a little counterproductive to not talk and not see each other. In fact, I’ll confess that I don’t think I’ve ever been as miserable as I’ve been these last weeks that I was in London. I had so many things I wanted to talk to you about and—”

  The next thing she knew her world actually was tipping on its axis because Ethan had gathered her in his arms and had smothered her rambling words as he covered her mouth with his.

  “That’s what we’re going to do about it,” he said after he righted her and set her back on her feet.

  Her head was spinning, but she had enough presence of mind to say, “So, you don’t think it’s a bad idea for me to move to Celebration and open a design business?”

  Ethan pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in ages. The only thing that would make me happier is if you’ll marry me. I nearly let you get away once, but I won’t let that happen again.”

  Her entire body zinged with elation. “Ethan Campbell, are you proposing to me?”

  “I don’t have a ring, because I hadn’t exactly planned this.” He fell to one knee. “Chelsea Ashford Alden, will you make me the happiest man alive and agree to be my wife?”

  Before she could answer, she realized the music had stopped playing and every eye in the house was watching them.

  “Yes!”

  The room erupted into a rousing round of applause and the band began the strains of a romantic country love song that Chelsea recognized but couldn’t recall the name of.

  “This is for the happy couple,” the singer said and everyone cleared a path so that Chelsea and Ethan could have the dance floor.

  As they swayed to the song, she gazed into his eyes. “Let the records show that not only was that the most romantic proposal ever,” she said, “but probably one of the most spontaneous, too. No one will ever call you unspontaneous again.”

  “I don’t care what anybody calls me as long as they call me your husband.”

  * *
* * *

  Don’t miss Lucy Campbell’s story, up next in the

  CELEBRATION, TX miniseries,

  coming soon!

  But first, look for Nancy Robards Thompson’s

  contribution to THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS:

  THE SECRET FORTUNES continuity,

  available soon, only from

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  Can’t get enough romance? Keep reading for a special preview of WILD HORSE SPRINGS, the latest engrossing novel in the RANSOM CANYON series by New York Times bestselling author Jodi Thomas, coming soon from HQN Books!

  Wild Horse Springs

  by Jodi Thomas

  CODY WINSLOW THUNDERED through the night on a half-wild horse that loved to run. The moon followed them, dancing along the edge of the canyon as they darted over winter buffalo grass that was stiff with frost.

  The former Texas Ranger watched the dark outline of the earth where the land cracked open wide enough for a river to run at its base.

  The canyon’s edge seemed to snake closer, as if it were moving, crawling over the flat plains, daring Cody to challenge death. One missed step might take him and the horse over the rim and into the black hole. They’d tumble maybe a hundred feet down, barreling over jagged rocks and frozen juniper branches as sharp as spears. No horse or man would survive.

  Only, tonight Cody wasn’t worried. He needed to ride, to run, to feel adrenaline pumping in his veins, to know he was alive. He rode hoping to outrun his dark mood. The demons that were always in his mind were chasing him tonight. Daring him. Betting him to take one more risk...the one that would finally kill him.

  “Run,” he shouted to the midnight mare. Nothing would catch him here. Not on his land. Not over land his ancestors had hunted on for thousands of years. Fought over. Died for and bled into. Apache blood, settler blood, Comanchero blood mixed in him as it did in this part of Texas. His family tree was a tumbleweed of every kind of tribe that ever crossed the plains.

  If the horse fell and they went to their deaths, no one would find them for weeks on this far corner of his ranch. Even the canyon that snaked off the great Palo Duro had no name here. It wasn’t beautiful like Ransom Canyon with layers of earth revealed in a rainbow of colors. Here the rocks were jagged, shooting out of the deep earthen walls from twenty feet in some places, almost like a thin shelf.

  The petrified-wood formations along the floor of the canyon reminded Cody of snipers waiting, unseen but deadly. Cody felt numb, already dead inside, as he raced across a place with no name on a horse he called Midnight.

  The horse’s hooves tapped suddenly over a low place where water ran off the flat land and into the canyon. Frozen now. Silent. Deadly black ice. For a moment the tapping matched Cody’s heartbeat, then both horse and rider seemed to realize the danger at once.

  Cody leaned back, pulling the reins, hoping to stop the animal in time, but the horse reared in panic. Dancing on his hind legs for a moment before twisting violently and bucking Cody off.

  As Cody flew through the night air, he almost smiled. The battle he’d been fighting since he was shot and left for dead on the border three years ago was about to end here on his own land. The voices of all the ancestors who came before him whispered in the wind, as if calling him.

  When he hit the frozen ground so hard it knocked the air from his lungs, he knew death wouldn’t come easy tonight. Though he’d welcome the silence, Cody knew he’d fight to the end. He came from generations of fighters. He was the last of his line and here in the dark he’d make his stand. Too far away to call for help. And too stubborn to ask anyway.

  As he fought to breathe, his body slid over a tiny river of frozen rain and into the black canyon.

  He twisted, struggling to stop, but all he managed to do was tumble down. Branches whipped against him and rocks punched his ribs with the force of a prizefighter’s blow. And still he rolled. Over and over. Ice on his skin, warm blood dripping into his eyes. He tried bracing for the hits that came when he landed for a moment before his body rolled again. He grabbed for a rock or a branch to hold on to, but his leather gloves couldn’t get a grip on the ice.

  He wasn’t sure if he managed to relax or pass out, but when he landed on a flat rock near the bottom of the canyon, total blackness surrounded him and the few stars above offered no light. For a while he lay still, aware that he was breathing. A good sign. He hurt all over. More proof he was alive.

  He’d been near death before. He knew that sometimes the body turned off the pain. Slowly, he mentally took inventory. There were parts that hurt like hell. Others he couldn’t feel at all.

  Cody swore as loud as he could and smiled. At least he had his voice. Not that anyone would hear him in the canyon. Maybe his brain was mush; he obviously had a head wound. The blood kept dripping into his eyes. His left leg throbbed with each heartbeat and he couldn’t draw a deep breath. He swore again.

  He tried to move and pain skyrocketed, forcing him to concentrate to stop shaking. Fire shot up his leg and flowed straight to his heart. Cody took shallow breaths and tried to reason. He had to control his breathing. He had to stay awake or he’d freeze. He had to keep fighting. Survival was bone and blood to his nature.

  The memory of his night in the mud near the Rio Grande came back as if it had only been a day ago, not three years. He’d been bleeding then, hurt, alone. Four Rangers had stood on the bank at dusk. He’d seen the other three crumble when bullets fell like rain.

  Only it had been hot that night, so silent after all the gunfire. Cody had known that every Ranger in the area would be looking for him at first light; he had to make it to dawn first. Stay alive. They’d find him.

  But not this time.

  No one would look for him tonight or tomorrow. No one would even notice he was gone. He’d made sure of that. He’d left all his friends back in Austin after the shooting. He’d broken up with his girlfriend, who’d said she couldn’t deal with hospitals. When he came back to his family’s land, he didn’t bother to call any of his old friends. He’d grown accustomed to the solitude. He’d needed it to heal not just the wounds outside, but the ones deep inside.

  Cody swore again.

  The pain won out for
a moment and his mind drifted. At the corners of his consciousness, he knew he needed to move, stop the bleeding, try not to freeze, but he’d become an expert at drifting that night on the border. Even when a rifle had poked into his chest as one of the drug runners tested to see if he was alive, Cody hadn’t reacted.

  If he had, another bullet would have gone into his body, which was already riddled with lead.

  Cody recited the words he’d once had to scrub off the walls in grade school. Mrs. Presley had kept repeating as he worked, Cody Winslow, you’ll die cussing if you don’t learn better.

  Turned out she might be right. Even with his eyes almost closed, the stars grew brighter and circled around him like drunken fireflies. If this was death’s door, he planned to go through yelling.

  The stars drew closer. Their light bounced off the black canyon walls as if they were sparks of echoes.

  He stopped swearing as the lights began to talk.

  “He’s dead,” one high, bossy voice said. “Look how shiny the blood is.”

  Tiny beams of light found his face, blinding him to all else.

  A squeaky sound added, “I’m going to throw up. I can’t look at blood.”

  “No, he’s not dead,” another argued. “His hand is twitching and if you throw up, Marjorie Martin, I’ll tell Miss Adams.”

  All at once the lights were bouncing around him, high voices talking over each other.

  “Yes, he is dead.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “You stop saying anything.”

  “I’m going to throw up.”

  Cody opened his eyes. The lights were circling around him like a war party.

  “See, I told you so.”

  One beam of light came closer, blinding him for a moment, and he blinked.

  “He’s hurt. I can see blood bubbling out of him in several spots.” The bossy voice added, “Don’t touch it, Marjorie. People bleeding have germs.”