Romancing The Runaway Bride. Karen Kirst

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      “Truly?”

      His eyes softened. “Truly.”

      His fingers cradled her wrist with incredible gentleness. The sensation his touch wrought was both comforting and unsettling. With his handsome face so close to hers, she allowed herself to explore the jutting cheekbones and hard, square jaw, the smooth eyebrows, sensitive crescents beneath his liquid brown eyes and oh, that mouth, generous and well-shaped, able to drive rational thought from a girl’s head.

      Desperate for a distraction, Deborah snatched a strawberry from the basket and pressed it to his lips. “Have you ever tasted a strawberry straight from the garden? Nothing beats that burst of sun-heated flavor,” she rambled. “Try it.”

      Adam’s eyes went wide. Lips parting, he bit off a huge portion, leaving the green top suspended in her hold. He took his time chewing.

      “You’re right,” he croaked, disconcerted. “It’s delicious.”

      Face flaming, she snatched on to something, anything to cover her foolish reaction to his touch. “There’s a fund-raiser tomorrow to benefit Will Canfield’s congressional run, and I’ve been hired to provide the desserts. I’m making individual towers of pastry, which I’ll fill with strawberries in a mint and vinegar glaze—”

      “Vinegar?”

      “I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m hopeful it will add a little zing to the mixture. Sour mingled with sweet.”

      “Hmm.”

      “You should go. The other town founders, Noah Burgess and Daniel Gardner, will be there, as well as many other prominent citizens.”

      He slowly nodded. “Good idea. I have a proposition for you.” He gestured to the basket. “I’ll help you transport and set up the desserts if you’ll agree to introduce me around.”

      Her jaw sagged. “Me? I’m the last person you’d want for that job.”

      “Why would you think that?”

      “I’m not like Lucy. My sister has an uncanny knack for remembering every name associated with every face. She recalls key details of people’s lives. Once, during a dinner party my father was hosting, I put Mr. Rosenbaum next to Mr. Thatcher.”

      “And that was a problem because...”

      “Because Mr. Rosenbaum’s wife left him and later married Mr. Thatcher’s son.” She shuddered, not fond of that particular memory. “Lucy never would’ve done something so thoughtless.”

      Though his fingers made rapid work of the picking, he was careful not to bruise the fragile fruit. “Is Lucy able to create desserts that melt in your mouth?”

      “No, but what does that matter?”

      He raised one shoulder. “It may not matter in St. Louis, but it matters here.”

      Deborah fell silent, mulling his words as they worked. At least a quarter of an hour passed before he broke her concentration.

      “See that gray cloud? There’s a storm brewing. We’d better work fast if we don’t wish to get caught in the middle of a downpour.”

      When they’d gotten the ripe berries into the basket and reached the welcome shelter of the veranda, she thanked him for his help. She said nothing more because Hildie emerged from the house, her lips thinning at the sight of them together.

      “Adam, there you are! How inconsiderate of you to deprive us of your company the entire day.” She slipped her arm through his. “Say you’ll play that game of checkers with me.”

      His gaze sought out Deborah. “I wouldn’t mind a game or two, unless you need help washing those?”

      Deborah fought a swift rise of jealousy. She enjoyed his company and would’ve liked to have him to herself for a while longer, but she had to be practical. His time would be better spent with Hildie, not her.

      “Thank you, Adam. I’ll be able to better concentrate on my recipe if I’m alone.”

      He frowned a little. “If you’re sure.”

      “I’m sure.”

      The pair went inside, Hildie’s voice carrying through the house like a bird’s trilling song. Deborah sank onto a chair and contemplated the clouds marching across the Kansas sky, soon to mask the sun. Once she’d fulfilled her part of their deal, she’d have to distance herself from the charming cattleman. No more informal tours and no playing liaison. She had a disgruntled groom and irate father searching for her. Soon, she’d have to make a decision. Stay in Cowboy Creek and increase her risk of being found, or purchase a ticket to the next stop on the rail line.

       Chapter Four

      “You’re a genius.”

      Adam licked the glaze from his fingers and, unable to resist, plucked another portion of pastry from the overturned dessert and popped it in his mouth. He’d helped Deborah carry her fancy concoctions into Daniel and Leah Gardner’s grand parlor. Around them, the Gardners’ hired staff bustled about the high-ceilinged room arranging savory snacks and cold drinks. Guests had already begun to arrive.

      “I’m hardly that,” Deborah denied. “A genius is someone who invents machines or makes new discoveries.” Her anxious gaze swept the platters. “Did you topple that one on purpose?”

      “I find it hurtful that you’d accuse me of purposefully sabotaging your display.”

      Grooves marred her forehead. Her mouth went slack. The brewing apology in her brilliant golden eyes strengthened his opinion that she wasn’t accustomed to the back-and-forth between a man and woman.

      Reaching over, he quickly righted the shell-pink bloom above her ear. “Never mind me. I was only teasing.”

      “Oh.” She skimmed her hands over her pristine white apron.

      A warning pounded at his temples. Since when did he flirt with potential suspects?

      Adam hadn’t encountered a woman like Deborah Frazier before. She was the epitome of earnest innocence. He couldn’t decide if it was her countenance, her demeanor or a combination of both that made him want to be her protector. Was it all a clever act?

      She studied him more closely. “I’m beginning to believe you’re not the ideal person for this task. Kind of like having a fox in the henhouse.”

      He smiled. “I do have a sweet tooth.”

      He’d mulled over the scant personal information she’d revealed. The fact that she was from St. Louis bothered him. She could’ve easily met Ogden there. He could’ve preyed on her feelings of incompetence in order to woo her into working with him. He needed to remember the reason he was here, and find out more about her. “Who taught you to bake?”

      “That credit goes to my father’s trained kitchen staff. Frederica, the head cook, imparted her knowledge of СКАЧАТЬ