Noelle Marchand - The Runaway Bride

Sean stared at her in amazement. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I’ve just heard that story somewhere before.” The woman transferred her gaze to Lorelei. “Dear, I think you’d at least use a little originality.”

Lorelei leaned forward earnestly. “Oh, but it’s true this time, too.”

“So the parcels in your hand just suddenly appeared?”

“My father wired us money.”

“I see.” The woman crossed her arms. “What did he have to say about your predicament?”

“I didn’t tell him.” Lorelei admitted quietly.

Her eyebrows rose. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

Sean felt it was time for him to step in. “Now, hold on. We aren’t making this up. The Brightlys saw her leave with us.”

She nodded. “Yet, she isn’t here now. Do you remember where you left the Brightlys in case I write to them?”

He named the settlement.

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a five-day journey. How long did you actually have this supposed chaperone?”

He cleared his throat. “Really, Mrs. Drake, I appreciate your concern but I think this line of questioning is unnecessary. Chaperone or no chaperone, Miss Wilkins is under protective custody as per her father’s request. Now, are you going to rent us two rooms or should we take our business elsewhere?”

The widow surveyed Sean skeptically for a moment. “Miss Wilkins, I’ll place you on the second floor. Sheriff, your room will be on the first floor. No gentlemen are allowed upstairs after dinner.”

“Thank you,” Lorelei said.

Mrs. Drake gave a tight nod, then sent Sean a warning look. “If either of you need anything tonight, remember that my room is directly across from the stairs.”

He barely refrained from rolling his eyes but noticed Lorelei gave Mrs. Drake a reassuring smile. He took his key, picked up Lorelei’s packages and helped her find her room. As they walked up the stairs, he saw Lorelei bite her lip to keep from laughing. “You think this is funny, do you?”

She allowed her smile to grow. “Actually, yes, it is rather amusing. You made it sound like I was your prisoner. And you really ought to stop acting as though I’m a runaway. I’m much too old to be considered anything but an adult taking a trip, despite what my father or anyone else might say.”

He frowned as he followed her around the corner. “When I say ‘runaway’ I am not describing your legal status.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Then what are you describing?”

“Your recent pattern of behavior,” he said, then paused as she found her room and tried to unlock the door. “I still think you’re just waiting for the first possible moment to get away from me.”

“I am, but my efforts aren’t doing any good. This door won’t open.” She turned the knob and banged her hip on the door, then winced. He planted his shoulder into the door and shoved. It groaned as it sprang open. She took her packages from him. “It was my decision to come back with you, remember? I’ve already told my father that I’m coming home. I won’t run away. I give you my word on that.”

He leaned against the threshold. “I think we all know what that’s worth, don’t we?”

It took her a moment to realize he was referring to her engagement with Lawson. When she did, pain flashed across her face. “How dare you? If you want to be mad at me because I left your best friend at the altar, then fine. Be mad, but you should really thank me for doing it.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Why would I thank you? You broke his heart.”

She lifted a brow imperviously. “He didn’t tell you that.”

“He didn’t have to. I saw the look on his face. He was stricken.”

“He didn’t love me, Sean. I know. I asked him. To be honest, I didn’t love him the way I should have, either. That’s why I didn’t marry him.” She lifted her gaze to his. “He deserved better than a wife who isn’t in love with him. He deserved better than me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Yes, but it didn’t sound as wonderful as he thought it would. Not with that thread of pain running through the words and the self-deprecating tone in her voice. He met her gaze contritely. “I’m—”

“Save it,” she bit out, then slammed the door in his face.

Thankfully the hinge made it close slowly enough that he could jump out of the way. He stared at the thick barrier between them. It always seemed to be there, whether visible or not. If it broke down, he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it. It might not change anything, or it might change everything. He allowed his forehead to rest on the cool door for a moment. He couldn’t lie to himself. Sometimes he wondered what might have happened if he’d fought for her even a little instead of just surrendering to someone else’s claim. He’d never know. Maybe it was best that he didn’t.

* * *

Sean helped Lorelei down from the train and onto the platform. She was immediately hailed by her parents who pulled her into a long hug. When her father stepped away, Sean handed him Lorelei’s new traveling bag. The man gave a nod of appreciation but said nothing more. He seemed too moved at seeing his daughter to speak.

Sean returned his nod. He hesitated for a moment, then went to see about his horse. Once Jericho was secured, he looked for the Wilkinses again. He spotted them walking away. He watched them go, wondering if Lorelei would turn to look at him or make any attempt to say goodbye. She didn’t.

They’d both agreed not to lie if asked about the lack of a chaperone, but they weren’t going to shout Elmira’s deception from the rooftops, either. Lorelei had already told her parents they’d been robbed but hadn’t mentioned when or by whom. Sean hoped that by not telling anyone, the subject would become a nonissue. And if that was the case, then this whole convoluted adventure of chasing Lorelei across Texas, bringing her home in spite of all the obstacles, spending every hour in her maddening, exhilarating company would be over. Relegated to the past and forgotten—like it never happened at all.

“What do you mean he hasn’t responded?” a man’s frustrated voice bellowed, snapping Sean out of his thoughts as he passed the telegraph office that was next door to the railroad station.

Sean stopped to watch the rough-looking older man who stood outside the door. The telegrapher shrugged casually. “I mean what I said. The message was picked up, but no response was given. That’s all I know. Now, you can check again tomorrow if you like. Until then, I suggest you stop causing trouble and leave.”

The man muttered a few unholy words, kicked the dust and walked away. Sean watched him carefully, then went inside to speak to the telegrapher. “Hello, Peter. What can you tell me about that man?”

“He says his name is Alfred Calhoun. He’s been coming by every day for the last week. He sends telegraphs to a Frank Bentley down in Houston. They seem to be trying to coordinate a meeting of some kind. Near as I can tell, that Bentley fellow is coming here.”

“I don’t guess there’s anything wrong with that.”

“No. He’s an odd one, though. I don’t think he has a job. He seems to spend most of his time in the Red Canteen.”

Sean nodded thoughtfully. “If you find out anything that concerns you or if you want me to help you handle him, just let me know.”

“I will. I’ve been talking to Jeff about it and I’d planned to tell you when you got back in town. I’m glad you got to see the man in person.” Peter finally smiled. “You find that Wilkins girl all right?”

“Yes, she’s back with her family now.”

“Wish I’d been asked to rescue her.” Peter gave him a knowing smile.

“I wish you had been, too,” he said with a parting grin. Peter was still laughing when the door closed behind Sean. He let out a sigh. All right, so that wasn’t entirely the truth, but it was better to discourage any implication like that before it had a chance to take the form of a rumor. He only hoped that would be enough. The last thing he needed was for people to start asking questions. He planned to let this little episode in his life fade into the obscurity of nothing more than a faint memory. That was for the best. Wasn’t it?