Romancing The Runaway Bride. Karen Kirst

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Romancing The Runaway Bride - Karen  Kirst


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      Many blessings,

       Karen Kirst

      A man’s heart deviseth his way:

      but the Lord directeth his steps.

      —Proverbs 16:9

      To my mom, Dorothy Kirst, and my sister, Shelly Benson. I’m blessed to have you both! Thanks for making my first writing conference an experience I never want to forget. Thanks for the laughs and fun memories.

       Acknowledgments

      A huge thank-you to editor Elizabeth Mazer. I’ve enjoyed working with you on this project. And to the other Return to Cowboy Creek authors, Cheryl St.John and Sherri Shackelford. It’s been a pleasure.

      Contents

       Cover

       Back Cover Text

       About the Author

       Booklist

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Introduction

       Dear Reader

       Bible Verse

       Dedication

       Acknowledgments

       Chapter One

       Chapter Two

       Chapter Three

       Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Epilogue

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       Chapter One

       Cowboy Creek, Kansas June 1869

      There was a blindfolded woman in the boardinghouse kitchen.

      Adam Halloway’s training kicked in. He reached for his gun out of habit, only to come up empty. His gun belt and Pinkerton detective badge were tucked away in his saddlebags, where they’d stay for the duration of this investigation.

      He scanned the spacious room. It looked like an average kitchen with the usual equipment. Sunlight streamed through filmy lace curtains, painting the bulky working table and floorboards in innocent light. No evil villains lurked in the corners.

      His narrowed gaze returned to the woman and made a quick assessment of her appearance. Short of stature, brunette, young. How young was impossible to say with part of her face hidden by a swath of black material. Her posture didn’t scream distress.

      He finally noticed the twin saucers of unfrosted cake on the table in front of her. Bowls of assorted sizes littered the far end, and baking tins crowded the hulking stove behind her. With one foot in the kitchen and one in the hallway, he watched as she lifted a bite to her mouth and chewed. A pleat furrowed her brow. She cocked her head to the right. Chewed some more.

      What on earth was she doing?

      The sense of urgency


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