The Texan's Engagement Agreement. Noelle Marchand
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did it matter to her whom he wooed or courted or proposed to after their engagement was over? She’d given up her claim on him long ago and obviously hadn’t changed her mind about that. And he was glad of that. The last thing he wanted was for either of them to start softening toward the other romantically. He’d been down that path once before and had no intention of venturing there again.
Of course, he’d also had no intention of accepting her mother’s invitation for him and his father to stay at the Holdens’ house while they were in Houston, either. Now here he was lugging suitcases up to the rooms she’d assigned to them. Chris paused at the top of the stairs to glance down at Olan, who was only a few steps behind him. Keeping his voice to a low whisper, Chris asked, “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that Mrs. Holden is being so nice about all of this?”
“Who can understand the workings of a woman’s mind?” Olan passed him to open the door to the first bedroom. “She seemed so insulted by my initial refusal to stay here that I thought it prudent to agree. It probably worked out for the best, since this will give you plenty of time to spend with Adelaide and a chance to get to know her again.”
Chris gave a reluctant nod, not altogether sure that spending more time with Adelaide was such a good idea. They seemed to have a talent for getting each other into trouble whenever they were together. As far as getting to know her better...there was already so much about her he hadn’t forgotten that he wasn’t entirely sure that was necessary or wise.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, he deposited his father’s suitcase on the bed, then turned a concerned gaze to Olan, noticing that the man seemed a bit out of breath. “How are you feeling, Pa?”
Olan waved aside Chris’s concern and sat on the bed to open his suitcase. “I’m a little tired from our travels, but I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“All right. If you start feeling poorly or need anything at all during the night, I’ll be in the room across the hall. Don’t be afraid to wake me.”
“Fine. Fine. Now, off you go. Have a good night.”
Chris wished his father the same, but soon found himself tossing and turning in a comfortable yet unfamiliar bed. He turned the gas-lit sconce beside the bed on low and reached for one of the books he’d placed on the nightstand. Of course it turned out to be one written by Joe Flanders—hardly the distraction he was looking for. His stomach provided that with a rumble that reminded him of how little he’d eaten at the Holden’s party earlier. He’d been too busy being introduced to all of Adelaide’s lady friends, then joining them all in what had seemed to be a never-ending game of croquet. The Holdens had encouraged them to feel right at home so Chris tossed aside his covers, grabbed a robe and went in search of the kitchen. Once he found it, he hesitated at the sight of Everett standing at the counter near the ice box. The man glanced up from the plate of food he was making. “Hungry?”
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