her reticule to her chest and shifted to make room for a passing cowboy. “Can you tell me what they looked like? Are they boys? Girls? One of each?”
“Well, now, it was awful dark,” Gus mused. His gaze never ceased moving. The elderly pair made an occupation of surveying the comings and goings of Cowboy Creek’s residents. It was a wonder their names weren’t engraved on the bench where they sat seemingly all day and night.
“Hmm.” Old Horace nodded. “The shadows were long.”
She stifled a sigh. The sights and sounds of afternoon activity enveloped her. Wagons creaked along Eden Street. Horses whinnied. A dog’s bark was thrown into the mix, as were children’s laughter and mothers’ stern warnings to mind their steps. The bell above Booker & Son’s entrance chimed incessantly. Old Horace and Gus must be immune to it.
This had been a fool’s errand, as had last evening’s foray into the woods behind Daniel Gardner’s home. No doubt that chicken had made a tasty meal for the ants.
But the doll was gone, remember? Someone removed it in the hours between the fund-raiser and her late-night visit.
At the sight of the lanky blond man heading straight for her, Deborah was reminded she had other matters to worry about. Real ones, not possibly-made-up sightings of stowaways.
“Thank you for your time, gentlemen.” Squaring her shoulders, she left the boardwalk and met Preston Wells in the shade of The Cattleman. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wells.”
“Surely you agree it’s time to dispense with the formalities, Deborah.” His eyes bore into her, pleading and needy. “You are the epitome of summertime’s best offerings in that dress.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach and strove for a pleasant expression. Inside, she experienced a strange frisson of unease. A telegraph operator, Preston had become fixated on her shortly after her arrival. She’d been kind but firm in her numerous refusals of his overtures. He’d proven persistent, however. He’d even taken to badgering poor Sadie, who had to work with him, about her.
She had no objections to his appearance. In his midtwenties, Preston wore his light hair cut very short, which emphasized his broad forehead—her great-aunt would call it intelligent—and a rather thin nose. His eyes were an interesting shade of gray, however, and he had a nicely shaped mouth. He took pride in his appearance. It was the hint of desperation in his exchanges with her that put her on guard.
“Er, thank you.” She smoothed the ivory skirt printed with green and yellow flowers.
“It flatters your complexion greatly,” he enthused, moving closer than was comfortable. “And your hair...” He was reaching to cup her cheek when Adam entered her peripheral vision.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Adam struck out his hand for Preston to shake.
Thankful for the interruption, Deborah edged out of the way. Preston regarded Adam with a mixture of bewilderment and annoyance.
“Preston Wells. And you are?”
“Adam Draper. I’m staying at the same boardinghouse as Deborah.”
“Pleasure.” His expression said it was anything but. His gaze returned to her. “Would you agree to accompany me for a short stroll? I’m contemplating hosting a small dinner party and perhaps engaging your services.”
“Maybe another time. I have a long list of errands to complete, including picking up a few items for Aunt Mae.”
“Would you believe she asked me to do some shopping for her, as well?” Adam chuckled and produced a folded paper from his pocket. “If you’re going into Booker & Son’s, I’ll join you.”
Preston gave his suit lapels a sharp tug. “I see you’re preoccupied at the moment. I’ll come around the boardinghouse one evening this week.”
Unable to politely decline, she nodded and bid him goodbye. Adam’s light touch against her back was comforting as they entered the mercantile. Navigating the aisles, they found a secluded corner near a window display of gardening instruments.
“Is he one of the men who proposed marriage?” There was a hint of humor in his dark eyes.
“No.”
“But he’s one of the men whose overtures you’ve spurned.”
“Preston is nothing if not persistent.” She made a show of consulting her own list. “What exactly did Aunt Mae send you here for?”
He wiggled his finger. “Uh-uh. You’re not dodging this one. Tell me why you’ve refused to consider any of the interested parties. Were they too young? Too old? Not prone to bathing?”
“They are all decent men.” Deborah inched past him to study ribbons in a variety of colors. “A-and clean.”
“Are you one of those women who has a long list of qualifications a man must meet in order to be considered worthy of your hand?” His breath teased the flower at her ear. Goose bumps raced over her skin.
“What? Of course not.”
“Something is preventing you. What is it?”
Deborah angled her face toward his, startled to find him so close. His nearness didn’t affect her like Preston’s. Instead of wanting to bolt, she yearned to move closer. His shoulders were broad and sturdy, his arms strong and inviting. He’d be a good hugger, she could tell. Someone who would hold her tight and snug for as long as she needed, not pat her awkwardly on the back and shrug free after short moments. Strangely, she was starting to view Adam as someone she could depend on. He radiated honor and goodness. She sensed he was the type of man who’d lay down his life for a stranger’s.
Would it be so terrible to confide in him? Adam would entertain his own conclusions. She’d hate for him to think her snobbish, persnickety or, worse, on the hunt for a rich husband. She could’ve had one of those, if she’d gone through with the nuptials back in St. Louis.
In the end, she chose to tell him a partial truth. “The prospect of marriage is more daunting than I anticipated. To pledge oneself to another forever...it’s a grave undertaking. Not to be taken lightly.”
“You’re not taking it at all, though.” His smile had faded. “Despite having traveled here for the express purpose of landing a husband.”
“Am I not allowed to have a change of heart? O-or lose my nerve?”
“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?”
“You revert to formalities when you’re upset with me.” He kneaded the side of his neck. “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. Clearing
