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The Rancher's Runaway Princess
DONNA ALWARD


By royal decree – she’ll exchange her tiara for a rancher’s ring!Brooding ranch owner Brody Hamilton keeps his heart out of reach. But there’s something about vivacious stable manager Lucy that brings joy to his hardened soul. Only he must put his past behind him before he can put a ring on her finger…Lucy Farnsworth has just discovered she’s of royal blood. She should be glad, but it’s blown her world apart and she just finds herself wanting to be the old Lucy again. At Prairie Rose Ranch Lucy’s found the man who makes her feel she belongs. Only she hasn’t told him she’s a princess…







Brody leaned forward, the gleam in his eyes intense. “My grandparents used to come here. They’d build a fire and…

“You can guess,” he said. His voice was a sexy rumble that came from the center of his chest. His fingers plucked her hat from her head, dropping it onto the dry grass.

As his hands sank into her hair, her heart trembled. She could well imagine what his grandparents had done around a blazing campfire, with the wide open prairie spread out beneath them. Had he brought his wife here too? The thought slid away into oblivion as his dark gaze centered on her lips, clung there.

She took off his hat too, dropping it beside hers and running her fingers through the short black strands of his hair. His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened they stared right into her core. There was no point in denying the attraction now, or making excuses. It was all too clear to both of them: it was bigger than any of the secrets they’d been hiding.


Donna Alward can’t remember a time when she didn’t love books. When her mother would take her to town, her ‘treat’ was not clothes or candy but a trip to the bookstore. This followed through university, as she studied English Literature, writing short stories and poetry, but never attempting full-length fiction.

In 2001 her sister told her to just get out there and do it, and after completing her first manuscript she was hooked. She lives in Alberta, Canada, with her husband and children, and when not writing is involved in music and volunteering at her children’s school.

To find out more about Donna, visit her web-page at www.donnaalward.com, or her blog at www.donnaalward.blogspot.com, and sign up for her newsletter!

Recent titles by this author:

FALLING FOR MR DARK & DANGEROUS

THE SOLDIER’S HOMECOMING

MARRIAGE AT CIRCLE M

HIRED BY THE COWBOY



Dear Reader

As an author, I’m often asked, Where do you get your ideas? And the answer is as varied as a field full of wildflowers.

But I can tell you that with this book I got the idea from real life. But wait, you say. This is a book about a cowboy and a princess, isn’t it? That can’t be right.

But it is. For a few blissful days in the summer of 2007 this was absolutely correct. Our family went camping in southern Alberta, at a family-run place called the Great Canadian Barn Dance. The kids had a marvellous time, and my husband had a crash course in cowboy—namely learning to play an instrument called the ‘gutbucket’ and also learning to two-step. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world. The children were tuckered out and crashed in their sleeping bags, and we could still hear the music from the dance as we sat beneath the stars. We danced the last dance beneath them.

It was one of those perfect moments that happens so rarely it needs to be cherished.

There’s a part of me in every book I write. In this one, it’s that moment of pure and simple romance.

Love

Donna




THE RANCHER’S RUNAWAY PRINCESS


BY

DONNA ALWARD




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Suzanne, who let me go first.


CHAPTER ONE

“IN TWO hundred meters, turn left.”

Lucy grinned lopsidedly in the direction of her GPS sitting on the dash. “Thank you, Bob,” she replied with mock seriousness, looking up the long stretch of road for the intersection her “companion” kept insisting was approaching. The freedom—this wide-open space—was a revelation compared to how claustrophobic she’d felt lately.

“In one hundred meters, turn left.”

She obeyed the monotone instruction and put on her turn signal. A small sign announced a numbered road. Thank goodness she’d been able to program in a waypoint for the Prairie Rose Ranch. Otherwise she would have kept driving the rented SUV through this fairly empty landscape for God knew how long. Not that she’d have minded; there was something comforting in the rolling green hills, their undulating curves broken only by random fences and trees.

She turned onto the road, only to discover after the first few seconds it had gravel instead of pavement. She rolled up the window against the dust curling up from her tires.

Prairie Rose Ranch was out in the middle of nowhere, just as Mr. Hamilton had said in his e-mail. All that isolation and space had sounded wonderful to her ears after the scrutiny she’d experienced the past few months. She couldn’t wait to get there, away from all the prying eyes and whispers from behind hands. In Canada there would be no expectations, even for a short time. At Prairie Rose she would just be Lucy Farnsworth.

Whoever that was.

She frowned as Bob announced he’d lost the satellite signal, grateful he’d got her this far. She was here to buy horses, to look into Hamilton’s breeding program and negotiate stud fees. It was her first real responsibility and one she was more than equipped for. Granted, she couldn’t shake the feeling that King Alexander was placating her, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in a long time she felt in control of something. No one to tell her who she was or how to act.

And no one at the ranch need know who she really was. The last thing she needed—or wanted for that matter—was for everyone to look at her as if she had some invisible tiara perched on her head.

No, this was her chance to get away from all of the curiosity and assessments and do what she knew how to do. Nothing made sense to her anymore, but at least this trip, short as it was, might offer her a bit of a reprieve. Might offer her a chance to shake off the pervading sadness. She’d been thrown from one unimaginable situation into another without time to catch her breath. When Alexander had suggested this trip, she’d left a vapor trail that rivaled the one from the 777 she’d flown in.

On the left up ahead she caught sight of a group of buildings…big buildings. With a rumble of tires, the SUV ran over a Texas gate, leading her up to a graveled drive. A wood and iron arch embraced the entrance, and she knew she was in the right place when she looked up and saw a uniquely shaped iron rose in the centre. Bob came back to life and announced she was arriving at her destination, but she reached over blindly and shut the unit off.

Her eyes assessed the ranch as she drove slowly up the long, straight lane. It was neat, well kept, with a rambling two-story farmhouse hidden behind a long barn and corral. The immediate fences were in good repair and freshly painted; nothing seemed out of place. So far so good.

The land here was different from where she’d grown up, yet somewhat the same, and very different from the sun-baked countryside in Marazur. The sky here was broad and robin’s-egg blue, in contrast to the piercing blue of the Mediterranean sky. Horses dotted the landscape, up a hill and beyond, grazing on rich grass, reminding her of her childhood home in Virginia. It was comforting and unsettling at the same time. It was what she knew. Yet everything she thought she knew about herself had been a lie, and she wanted to run away even as the ranch beckoned to her. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Nothing made sense, and that was the only consistent thing these days.

She pulled in next to a white truck with the same Prairie Rose brand painted on the side, got out and shut the door. The polite thing to do would be to introduce herself at the house, she supposed. But then what? The west wind buffeted her curls about her face and she pushed them aside. The wind carried with it the sound of voices, coming from the open sliding door of the barn. Thankful she’d changed clothing before the drive, she straightened her T-shirt. At least someone in the barn could point her in the right direction.

Lucy heard the man before she saw him, his voice a low, warm rumble as he spoke. Her sneakers made soft padding noises on the concrete floor; for a moment she stopped and closed her eyes, drinking in the mellow smell of hay and straw and the warm pungency of horse, the one true thing that she associated with home. Perhaps that was what kept her going during all the dark days and uncertainty. The one constant she’d always had. The one place where she’d always belonged, no matter where she was. In a barn with the horses.

She knew it, and resented it. Resented that it was the only thing she seemed to have left. The male voice said something else, punctuated like a question. He was answered by a distinctly female voice, who laughed a little, though Lucy couldn’t make out what they were saying. She paused, wondering again if she should have made herself known at the house first. She didn’t want to intrude. But she turned a corner and suddenly two pairs of legs were before her and she couldn’t pretend now that she hadn’t come in.

He…the owner of the voice…stood upright, his weight planted squarely over his booted feet. One hand was resting on the withers of a splendid-looking chestnut mare. Lucy was first aware of his considerable height. Which made her realize how long his legs were in his faded jeans. Which led to his T-shirt. And how the worn cotton emphasized an impressively broad chest.

Color flooded her cheeks. Her assessment had taken all of two seconds, but it was complete, right down to the hot rush of appreciation.

“Can I help you?”

Lucy swallowed against the spit pooling in her mouth. She shot out her hand. “Lucy Farnsworth.” Please, please let him not be Brody Hamilton, she prayed silently, with her hand suspended in midair. It wasn’t possible that the man she’d just been caught blatantly staring at was the man she’d been sent here to broker deals with.

At her revelation he removed his hat, revealing a dark head and even darker eyes that crinkled at the corners with good humor. Her heart thumped at the courtesy…it was natural, not a put-on gesture, she was sure. He smiled as he stepped forward and took her small hand in his large one. “I beg your pardon, Miss Farnsworth. I’m Brody Hamilton. You made good time.”

So this was Hamilton. So much for answered prayer. His fingers wrapped around hers and her tummy turned over.

Prairie Rose was a reputable operation. She’d expected the owner to be older. Certainly more plain looking, like most of the ranchers she’d grown up knowing. She hadn’t expected him to be tall and sexy and all of what, thirty? Thirty-five? She kept the polite smile glued to her face, but inside she was growling to herself. Acting like a blushing schoolgirl. She was beyond that, wasn’t she? And she was here to do a job, for Pete’s sake!

“My flight was a little early.”

She withdrew her hand, giving it a small tug. His fingers were warm and callused and had covered hers completely. She’d enjoyed the sensation, too much. Knowing it made her uncomfortable. There was no reason on earth why a single handshake should cause all this commotion within her.

It’s just a physical reaction, she told herself. He was a fine-looking man, there was no sense denying it. She’d always admired that rugged, large, capable type, and he certainly fit that category. Any woman would have reacted the same way.

“This is my farrier, Martha,” he introduced the woman holding the halter of the mare. Martha was taller than Lucy, sturdy, with slightly graying hair and was at least forty-five.

“You’re from Marazur,” Martha announced, releasing the halter and shaking Lucy’s hand. “The Navarro family is renowned for their royal stables. It’s a pleasure.”

Why Lucy felt a tiny shaft of pride at that statement she had no idea. She’d been in Marazur all of two months and certainly couldn’t take any credit for the stock owned by His Highness. It wasn’t as if she belonged there or anything. Alexander had merely indulged her by letting her potter around; she’d heard him telling his eldest son that very thing. He’d let her come on this trip just for appearances. He hadn’t known what to do with her and this was easy. But that didn’t matter. She was here now, and she would surprise them all by making the visit a success. Hamilton didn’t know who she was. He wouldn’t suspect her credibility, and she’d make sure it stayed that way.

“Brody’s been telling me about you coming,” Martha continued.

“It’s not every day we get to do business with a royal family,” Brody admitted, smiling down at her. It was slightly crooked, and her heart gave another traitorous thump.

Brody Hamilton was a charmer. With the realization of it, Lucy immediately felt better. Charm she could deal with. Charm only went so far, like good looks. It was blood that would tell. And unlike her mother, she wasn’t going to fall for a wink and a smile. His would be wiped off his face soon enough, when he realized she actually knew what she was doing.

“Yes, well, I’m far more interested in the stock.” She moved ahead and rubbed her hand on the hide just above the mare’s nose. She closed her eyes briefly, smiling at the way the mare rubbed into her hand, enjoying the attention. “What’s up with you, lovely? Hmm?”

“A bruise, nothing more. She stumbled during a trail ride yesterday.”

“Trail ride?”

“We do give them now and then, a couple of hours and most people have had their fill of horseback. It keeps some of the older stock exercised. Besides…it’s fun. Martha assures me a day or so in her box and this girl’ll be right as rain.” He rubbed the mare’s neck as he said it.

There was that crooked grin again, accompanied by the crinkled corners of his eyes that seemed to be teasing. She turned away from him.

“And this beautiful girl is what—” she made a cursory examination “—sixteen? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen.” Brody’s smile had faded slightly.

Lucy ran her hand down the gleaming neck, her gaze taking in the shape of the ears, the forehead, the wide-set eyes. There was no doubt about it. She’d know that head anywhere. A smile flirted with her lips. What a pleasant surprise.

“Which would make her…one of Pretty Colleen’s,” she announced triumphantly. His flirtatious grin wouldn’t get far with her, and she would make sure he knew it. She knew her business, and he needed to know that. She wasn’t just an emissary sent to broker a deal.

Brody’s smile disappeared completely. He stared at Miss Farnsworth, trying to puzzle her out. How on earth could she tell that? He’d bought Pretty Piece from a farm in Tennessee when she was eight…one of his first purchases on his own. This little moppet with the red curls, Lucy, she would have been a child when Pretty foaled. And she was from Marazur. The Mediterranean was a long way from backroads Alberta. Yet her accent didn’t bear it out. She wasn’t native to Marazur. He was as certain of that as he was that Pretty Piece was indeed of Pretty Colleen. A fact she couldn’t have known before today, not unless she’d had a look at his records.

Who was Lucy Farnsworth? His brows snapped together. There was more to her than first appeared. He wondered how much more.

“How did you know?”

“It’s her head. Looks just like her mum.”

Brody shook his head while Martha laughed. “Congratulations, Miss Farnsworth. I think you’ve rendered him speechless. Quite a feat, because most of the time he has something to say.”

“Martha!” Brody frowned. Never mind that at one point, Martha had been his babysitter and had changed his diapers.

Martha reached down for her bag. “Oh, pipe down, Junior. The girl knows her stuff, that’s all. I’ll be back in a few days to check on the mare.”

She blustered out leaving Brody and Lucy in the gap, each with a hand on Pretty.

Somewhere outside a soft whicker echoed.

“I’ll admit, Miss Farnsworth, you surprised me just now.” He put his hat back on his head.

“I have that effect on people.”

“Maybe sometime you’d care to explain that.” He let a little humor sneak into his voice; she piqued his curiosity plain and simple. She’d clearly been around the industry a long time. Despite her youth, she seemed knowledgeable. And her accent was State-side. Southeast somewhere, he gathered. “Where are you from, anyway?”

For a moment their eyes clashed and he sensed she was deciding how to answer what should have been a simple question. He tried a smile, inviting her to speak. To his surprise her eyes immediately cooled and her lips thinned.

“You must have work to do,” she offered stiffly.

“There’s always work, but I expect you know that.” She didn’t want to answer. He wondered why, but there’d be time to get that information. She was supposed to stay several days.

“I’ll just—” She swallowed, let the sentence hang.

“You’ve had a long flight and drive. You probably want to rest. I’ll take you up to the house.”

“You said you had work.”

He angled his head slightly. He couldn’t quite figure out Lucy Farnsworth. She was younger than he’d expected, especially to be so involved with such a renowned stable. It was clear she’d been sent because she could do the job. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected someone taller, with dark hair and a remote manner.

The only thing that bore out his expectations was the manner. There could be no mistaking the coolness, the only warmth she’d shown was in the caresses she’d spared Pretty. But tall and elegant she was not. She was barely up to his shoulder, and her hair was a tangle of gingery ringlets that flirted with her cheekbones until she tucked them behind her ears.

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get you settled in the house first.”

Lucy looked away from him, as if what she was going to say next was so uncomfortable she couldn’t meet his eyes. She instead looked Pretty in the eyes and scratched between the mare’s ears. “I assumed I’d be in a guest house.”

“We don’t have a guest house, but then there’s no need. There’s more than enough room.” He had a fleeting thought of running into her in the hall at sunrise, her curls in disarray and her cheeks still pink from the warmth of her bed….

Where the hell had that come from?

“I don’t mean to impose on you, Mr. Hamilton. I can stay at the hotel in the town I drove through. What was it called… Larch something or other?”

“Larch Valley, and it’s a twenty-minute drive.” Perhaps not a bad idea, come to think of it, but the agreement had been made that he’d provide accommodation. He didn’t want it said that he didn’t provide proper hospitality. This was an important deal. And part of that was providing all that the ranch had to offer.

“That’s a short commute in most places.” Her voice interrupted him again.

Brody walked to a nearby hook and grabbed a lead, snapping it on to the mare’s halter. “If you’re more comfortable there, I understand. I’m sorry the arrangements weren’t made clear. But why drive it if you don’t have to?”

“I don’t know…”

He sensed her hesitation and pressed on. “At least stay for dinner. If Mrs. Polcyk can’t convince you with her roast chicken…”

He let the thought trail off. Why was he insisting, anyway? The hotel back in town wasn’t that bad. It had its good points—it was clean.

But he’d given his word to King Alexander. That his representative would be shown every hospitality. That whoever was sent would be received as an honored guest. He just hadn’t expected it to be a sharp-tongued slip of a girl.

Brody didn’t do well with girls. At least not beyond sharing a dance on a Saturday night. Especially one he tried to charm with a smile and who saw clear through it.

“I don’t want to be in your way.”

“The day starts early here, and sometimes finishes late. It’s much more convenient, but of course, it’s whatever makes you most comfortable. You are our guest, Miss Farnsworth. I’ll leave it up to you.”

Brody tried very hard not to wrinkle his brow. He’d seen her eyes when she’d first stepped into the corridor. He and Martha had taken her by surprise, and for a tiny moment Miss Farnsworth had looked small and vulnerable. Her eyes had gone a little wide and then darkened with a whole lot of assessment. She probably didn’t even realize it but she’d bitten down on her lip and he’d been tempted to laugh. A cute little thing, he’d thought. A little out of her element, pretty and fresh, and he’d wanted to make her blush.

But then he’d realized who she was. A representative sent to assess his stock. A woman who knew horses, supposedly better than most men he knew. His Highness had said so when he called. Brody couldn’t dispute that fact…it took a keen eye to identify an offspring by its parent, and the way she touched Pretty was confident and kind. For some reason Lucy Farnsworth was willing to sacrifice comfort for isolation. Why?

Lucy stepped away from the horse and backed up a few steps. Hamilton was right. She’d known the agreement included accommodation, and to drive to and from town when she didn’t have to didn’t make sense. The only reason not to stay here—the only one—was that she already felt awkward around Brody. Which was foolish.

Here she was representing the royal family of Marazur and she was astute enough to know that staying in town would be a deliberate snub against her host. And in the days ahead she might want Brody in good humor during negotiations.

“Of course the house will be lovely. I just don’t want to be an inconvenience to you.”

“You won’t be, I assure you. The house was built for a large family and is a little lonely with only two in it.

“Two?” She had a fleeting thought of a wife and, for one ridiculous moment, felt more awkward than ever.

“Me, and Mrs. Polcyk. She’s the housekeeper and cook. She’s been looking forward to having someone else to do for, other than grumpy old me.”

She looked up into his eyes—dark like the warm molasses her mother used to put on her bread. Right now he didn’t look grumpy or old. The tummy-turning deliciousness was back, helped along by a breathlessness so foreign to her she didn’t recognize it at first.

Brody Hamilton was sex on a stick, from his delicious eyes to his long legs to his manner that somehow managed to convey energy and a lazy ease. There was no escaping the facts; the only thing she could control was her reaction.

She took a deep breath and pasted on her polite-yet-distant royal smile…the one and only aspect of her new life she’d mastered. She remembered how big the house was and nodded. She probably wouldn’t even run into Brody most of the time. “I appreciate it.”

“Let me finish up with Pretty and I’ll take you up. You can have a look around if you want.”

“I’ll do that.”

He led the horse away, and Lucy watched them depart down the corridor, boots and hooves echoing through the quiet space. His faded jeans fit him as if they were made for him, the dark T-shirt emphasizing his broad shoulders. The black brim of his cowboy hat shaded his neck.

She squared her shoulders and set her jaw. Life had been full of enough complications lately. And she’d be damned if she’d let Brody Hamilton be another one.


CHAPTER TWO

LUCY perched on a wooden stool, sipped on a cup of strong, rich coffee and came to two important conclusions.

Number one, Brody Hamilton ran a good ship. Everything was kept in tip-top shape, and from what she’d seen, that extended to his horses. This was a good thing. You could tell a lot about a man’s stock by the state of the rest of the farm. Prairie Rose was neat, tidy and organized. Brody Hamilton paid attention.

And number two, Mrs. Polcyk ran the house. Full stop.

Lucy smiled into her mug, remembering how the housekeeper had put Brody firmly into his place. Brody had introduced her to the round, apple-cheeked woman who had instantly bustled her inside. Mrs. Polcyk had then ordered Brody to bring up Lucy’s things, and he’d obeyed without batting a single one of his obscenely long eyelashes. He’d done it without a grimace or an eye roll but with an innate respect and acceptance of her, and Lucy liked that about him as well.

Lucy, on the other hand, was ushered through to the kitchen where she was now watching Mrs. Polcyk take some sort of pastry out of the oven. The room smelled of coffee grounds and cinnamon and fruit.

All of it filled her with such a sense of homesickness she thought she might cry. She missed afternoons like this. Tea in the drawing room was not quite the same as hot coffee and cookies in the kitchen.

“Your bags are in your room.”

Brody’s rich voice came from behind her, and she swallowed coffee and the tears that had gathered in her throat. She hadn’t realized that coming here would hurt her so much. Hadn’t realized that it would remind her of a place where she no longer belonged. And it was clear Brody took all that for granted. She wondered if he realized how lucky he was.

But she couldn’t say any of that, of course. She put the smile back in its place and spun on the stool to face him. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

He took a few long steps until he was at the stool next to her. He hardly had to move at all to perch on its seat and Lucy was reminded again how very tall he was. His voice was deep and full of teasing as he leaned forward, egging on Mrs. Polcyk. “If you tell me that’s cherry strudel, I’m yours forever, Mrs. P.”

She flapped a hand in his direction, but pulled a thick white mug out of a cupboard and poured him a cup of coffee.

Lucy felt his eyes on her and she refused to meet them again. If she did he’d see the tears that still glimmered there, and the last thing she needed was for him to see her vulnerable. And with him watching her so intently, there wasn’t an opportunity for her to wipe them away. She opened her eyes as wide as she could, willing the moisture to evaporate. She’d thought of this trip as a chance to escape. Instead, the grief she’d tamped down for the last months rose up, leaving her raw and breathless.

For a few minutes they sipped in silence. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak, and she couldn’t come up with anything to talk about. Her personal life was strictly off-limits. For one, she would fall apart, and for another, he would treat her differently, and that was the last thing she wanted. Maybe it was jet lag, because she knew she should ask him about Prairie Rose and his breeding program and hundreds of other relevant questions. Instead her brain was riddled with personal questions. Why was he the only one here? Did he run this place completely on his own? How was Mrs. Polcyk related to him? But for her to ask him those questions would be opening herself up to ones of a similar nature, and she couldn’t have that.

Instead she stared into her coffee cup, fighting off memories and twisting her lips. It had to be fatigue, nothing else made sense. Certainly the feeling of resentment that was bubbling underneath all the other emotions didn’t add up. He was teasing and comfortable. And she knew he had no idea how he was taking his situation for granted. No one ever did until they’d lost and then they were left with regrets. She’d bet any money that Brody didn’t have regrets.

At least that made it easier for her to dislike him. Disliking him was vastly easier than liking. If she didn’t like him, she wouldn’t be tempted to reveal more than she should.

“Miss Farnsworth?”

She chanced a look up. He was looking at her over the rim of his cup, his eyes serious. “We’ve got plenty of time to talk business. If you’re tired, you don’t need to put up a good front. The jet lag alone has got to be killing you.”

He was giving her an excuse; being kind to a guest. And it would be a good opportunity for her to create more distance between them. She should take it. Yet the thought of facing an empty, unfamiliar room wasn’t that attractive. She’d spent enough time alone lately.

“You can start by calling me Lucy.” The staff in Marazur reluctantly called her Miss Farnsworth after she’d dressed them down for using her official title. She couldn’t abide the “ma’am” they’d come out with on her first day, either. Even “Miss Farnsworth” made her feel like a stranger; she was used to her stable mates calling, “Hey, Luce” down the corridor. But she hadn’t been able to convince the staff to call her Lucy. She didn’t want to be Miss anything or Princess anyone. She wanted to be Lucy. Maybe if Brody would call her by her name she wouldn’t feel like such a fraud.

“I like your house,” she offered, an attempt at civility. “It’s very…homey.”

Something dark flitted through his eyes even though his tone was teasing as he responded, “As the head of King Alexander’s stables, I expect you’re used to finer accommodations.”

“Not at all. It’s not like I grew up in the palace.” That much was true. She hadn’t laid eyes on Marazur until a few short months ago. And arriving at the palace had been a shock. She’d grown up in a very modest middle-class neighborhood. She was used to worn furniture and chipped dishes, not antique settees and fine china. She was torn jeans and T-shirts; Marazur was linen and lace. “I had a typical middle-class upbringing, you might say. I’m just…ordinary,” she conceded.

“How did you get the job, anyway? You’re awfully young.”

“Too young?” She bristled, familiar with the refrain. It was easier to do battle on the age front than admit she was there because of Daddy.

“Obviously not. I get the feeling you know exactly what you’re doing.”

He didn’t make it sound like a compliment, but it was wrapped in politeness so it was hard to tell.

“I grew up around quarter horses, and I…” She paused, considered. She didn’t want him to know. He couldn’t know. There would be no more coffee breaks in the kitchen, and she’d missed them desperately. Even if southern Alberta was vastly different from Virginia, this kitchen held the same feel as the one she remembered, and she was hungry for those feelings again, no matter how bittersweet. Mrs. Polcyk refilled her cup, and the scent of the brew drew her back to the smell of strong coffee in the office at Trembling Oak; to the tin of cookies that had always seemed to make its way to the scarred wooden table. These were the feelings of home.

She didn’t want to be treated any differently. As long as he thought of her as Lucy, she could pretend she’d escaped, even for a little while. If he knew who she was, he wouldn’t take her seriously. And the truth was she needed him to believe in her competence. Needed him to know she was fully capable of doing this job.

“It was a case of knowing someone who knew someone, that was all.”

Brody’s jaw tightened. First she’d called his house “homey” as if she couldn’t come up with a better word. Then she’d all but admitted she’d got her job by knowing someone. Nepotism. He despised the word. It reminded him of someone else. Someone who’d once considered Prairie Rose Ranch a little too rustic for her taste. His fingers tightened around the handle of his cup.

Mrs. Polcyk put plates of warm strudel in front of them and bustled away to the refrigerator. Brody examined the square and told himself to forget it. It didn’t matter who or what Lucy Farnsworth was. She was not Lisa, and all that mattered was concluding their business. Being allied to the House of Navarro and King Alexander was what was important. It would mean great things for the ranch and the breeding program he’d worked so hard to improve since taking over.

Brody cut a corner off with his fork and popped the buttery pastry into his mouth. “Cherry. God bless her.” He sighed with appreciation.

Lucy smiled thinly, almost as if she were unaccustomed to it. What he really wanted to know was more about King Alexander and his plans. Allying himself to one of the greatest stables in Europe would be a huge coup. He’d be able to grow his breeding program the way he wanted, really put Prairie Rose on the map. He owed that to his father. He owed it to himself, and to Mrs. Polcyk.

“What’s it like? Working for someone so high profile?”

Lucy picked up her own fork to hide her surprise. Briefly she’d sensed Hamilton’s withdrawal and got the uneasy feeling he was somehow mad at her. Now he was asking questions. Prying veiled in small talk. If he really wanted to know about her, all he’d have to do was a bit of navigating online and he’d get the whole story. She would have to give him enough to keep him from doing that, and not enough to let the cat out of the bag.

She was in such a quandary that she took a second bite of strudel before answering, pressing the buttery layers with her tongue, letting them melt. She’d been around a lot of livestock men in her life, and conversation was usually not one of their finer points. She had to acknowledge that he was making an effort, and for the sake of amicability, she considered how to answer.

Working for King Alexander was stifling at times, knowing why she was there in the first place. Being told she belonged there, when she knew she didn’t. Yet it was glorious at others, like when she got to go riding through the fields without asking permission. Being able to hand pick her own mount, with no restrictions. That little slice of freedom was all that had kept her sane.

She couldn’t reveal any of that to Hamilton, not if she wanted him to respect her capabilities. Not if she wanted him to see her as more than Daddy’s girl flirting around with the horsies. She knew ranchers. Knew that was exactly what he’d think.

She squared her shoulders and forced a smile.

“His Highness has fine stables and the best in facilities and equipment. His tack room alone is half the size of your barn, all of it gleaming and smelling of rich leather. Navarro horses are in demand all over Europe, from riding horses for the privileged to show jumpers to racing stock. His staff is dedicated and knowledgeable. It’s a manager’s dream come true.”

“But?”

She put down her fork slowly, met his eyes while pursing her lips in puzzlement. “What do you mean, ‘but’?”

“But what are you leaving out?”

“Nothing. It’s a great operation.”

“Then why aren’t you meeting my eyes when you tell me about it?”

“I beg your pardon?” She felt color rise in her cheeks and took a deliberate sip of her cooling coffee. She’d been deliberately vague, and now he was calling her on it. She never had been good at hiding her feelings. Her mother always said Lucy had no face for poker and that Lucy had come by it honestly, as she hadn’t had one, either. It had been years before Lucy understood what she’d really meant.

“You’re avoiding looking at me. My mother always said that was a sign of a liar.”

She bristled. An hour. She’d known him barely an hour and he was calling her a liar! The mug came down smartly on the countertop. He couldn’t know who she really was. And if he did, pretending he didn’t was downright rude. Mrs. Polcyk looked over, then calmly went back to cutting vegetables.

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Of course not. I’m just wondering what you’re not saying. This is my operation and my stock you’re looking at. I don’t get to travel to Marazur to check things out first. And when I get a sense that there’s more to a story, I want to know before I sign anything on a dotted line.”

She stood up from her stool. Dammit, even sitting he was slightly taller than she was. “You’re insinuating that I’m withholding something about the Navarro stables. I don’t appreciate that. The hotel is looking better and better. Navarro stables doesn’t need Prairie Rose Ranch, not as much as…” She looked around her and then back into his face, lifting her chin. “Not as much as you need Navarro. You aren’t the only stud operation in the world.”

The anger felt good, releasing. Even if she knew provoking him would be a tactical mistake.

His eyes glinted like dark shards. “Perhaps not. But I was under the impression King Alexander wanted the best.”

She met his gaze, admiring his confidence despite how annoying it was.

“And you’re the best, I suppose.”

“You wouldn’t have come all this way if I weren’t.”

Her lips thinned. He had her to rights there. She had come a long way, and it was all to do with Hamilton’s Ahab. That horse was the main reason she was here, as well as having the discretion to negotiate further stud fees and even add to Navarro with Prairie Rose stock.

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Don’t get all in a dander over it. You described the stables like a brochure would, that’s all. I’m just curious to know more. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

His implacable calm fueled her temper. Who was he to question the integrity of Navarro? She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from fidgeting. She knew she shouldn’t rise to the bait but with the exhaustion and surprising emotionalism, she seemed incapable of ignoring it. “All you need to know is that I’m here to do a job. A job I’m more than qualified to do. Nothing else is up for discussion.”

She spun to walk away, but his voice stopped her.

“Run away, then.”

Everything inside her froze.

Run away? Her breath caught at his casual tone. If only she could. If only she could run away from what her life had become. She was so sick of everyone telling her how wonderfully things had turned out in the end. It didn’t feel that way at all. Everything, everything she thought she’d known had been taken away with one conversation. Life had changed irrevocably, and right now all she could see was what she’d lost along the way.

Her job. Her home. Her mother.

Yes, she wished she could run away. But instead she was back to trying to prove herself and find something to anchor her again so she wouldn’t feel as if she were drifting in this endless sea of loss and grief. And that something was her job at the stables, and her task was clear: the breeding program here at Prairie Rose.

And that meant that in the present she had to somehow deal with Brody Hamilton.

She turned and looked at him, sitting there, his black eyes watching her keenly, waiting for a response. Waiting as if he could see through every wall she’d built around herself and knew what she was hiding on the inside.

And for one brief, irrational moment she did want to run. Not away, but into the circle of his arms. They looked like strong arms, arms a woman could get lost in and forget the rest of the world existed. For months now she’d been standing on her own and she was tired. Tired of feeling she had to apologize for not being happy. Tired of pretending, when all she wanted was life back the way she’d had it. Tired of knowing even the past she’d thought secure had been based on a lie. For a few moments she wondered what it would be like to rest her head on his strong shoulder and just be. To let someone carry the weight for a while.

She swallowed. This was ridiculous. She hardly knew him and what she did know she resented. It had to be exhaustion, it was the only reason that made sense to her. There was no other reason for her to feel drawn to Brody Hamilton. None at all.

Looking at him…he just knew where he belonged. He was solid and steady, and he fit in a way she never had.

That was reason enough to resist the urge to step into his arms. Reason enough to resent him for all he had and the fact that he probably didn’t even know it. The thought of stepping into his embrace was laughable.

This was a man who’d just questioned her integrity. She should be taking him down a peg. Instead she was bone tired of all of it. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and something intimate curled through her core. She mentally took a step backward.

“It’s hardly productive for us to argue,” she said, as icily as she could muster. “I believe you were right about the jet lag. I’m not myself. If you’ll excuse me…I’m sure by tomorrow I’ll be squared away and ready to get to work.”

His eyes revealed nothing.

“Of course.” The words were cold with empty manners.

“I’ll take you up, dear.” Mrs. Polcyk came around the corner with a gentle smile. Lucy turned her back on Brody again, forcing yet another smile for the kindly housekeeper. She could still sense his dark eyes on her, and they made her feel naked.

“You’ll be wanting a nice hot bath, and a good meal—dinner’s not far off.”

What Lucy wanted was to disappear for the rest of the night, but she couldn’t help but be comforted by the motherly insistence that somehow food would make everything right.

“That sounds wonderful.”

She followed Mrs. Polcyk to the stairs but turned back at the last moment, displaying some sense of good manners her mum had instilled in her.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Yes’m.”

The housekeeper led her to the last room along the hall; a large bedroom with a window facing due west. “The bathroom is next door,” Lucy heard, though her gaze was caught by the view of the mountains hovering in the distance. She’d seen them on the highway coming south from Calgary, but since turning east at Larch Valley, they’d slid from view. Now from the second floor window they jutted, gray, dark teeth, up to the hazy blue sky.

“Can you always see the mountains from here?” Lucy spun toward Mrs. Polcyk, who was standing with her hand on the doorknob.

“Most clear days. Wait’ll you see the view from Wade’s Butte.”

“Wade’s Butte?” Lucy couldn’t recall seeing that on her map.

“Get Brody to take you out. It’s probably a couple of hours ride, just on the edge of the ranch land.”

“The name’s not familiar.”

“’Course not. You won’t find it on any map, though most from around here know it right enough. It just sort of got named that, after Brody’s granddad.”

Mrs. Polcyk aimed a bright smile. “You just go relax now, and put on your eatin’ legs. I made roast chicken tonight and there’s peach cobbler for dessert. Cally brought back two cases from BC last week.”

Lucy had no idea who Cally was and wasn’t quite sure what “BC” was, but peach cobbler sounded heavenly. “I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, with as much warmth as she could muster.

Mrs. Polcyk shut the door and left Lucy alone.

She looked around the room. It was different from any place she’d ever stayed. The floor looked like original hardwood, polished within an inch of its life, and the furniture gleamed from a fresh cleaning. The spread on the bed was homemade, a brilliant cacophony of bright colors and fabrics that made a patchwork pattern of flowers. Fresh flowers sat in a vase on the side table. Lucy went over and dipped her nose to sniff at a nasturtium. These weren’t purchased at any store. These had been cut from a garden, today. For her.

The deliberate welcome touched her, despite Brody’s gruff manner. He’d all but accused her of lying, but he’d been right. Perhaps that was what had annoyed her so much. It would be a cold day in hell before she would admit it.

She took out fresh clothing and wandered next door to the bathroom, delighted to find a small basket of little toiletries on the vanity next to a pile of fluffy towels. She put the plug in the tub and added some salts, breathing in the fragrant steam. Summertime or not, after a full day’s travel added in with the time difference, a hot bath sounded like luxury itself.

An hour later, refreshed and dressed with her damp curls framing her face, she made her way back downstairs to dinner.

Brody was in the kitchen. And he was mashing potatoes.

Lucy stopped at the bottom of the stairs, watching the scene without being noticed. His hat was off, his dark hair lying in fine whorls around his skull, his dark T-shirt clinging to his wide shoulders with each push of the masher. Behind him Mrs. Polcyk wielded a set of electric beaters, whipping cream in a clear, cold bowl. Lucy’s mouth went dry at the sight of his muscles flexing as he lifted the huge jug of milk and dumped some into the pot, scooped up some butter on a spoon and stirred it all together with a sure hand.

She really had been without a date too long. Because the sight of big Brody Hamilton whipping potatoes was doing things to her insides that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. He was tempting. So physically powerful that her body betrayed her, and when he smiled at Mrs. Polcyk, a dimple popped in his left cheek.

Oh, my.

He reached over Mrs. Polcyk’s head for a serving bowl and muttered something; Lucy nearly laughed out loud as he then skillfully dodged an errant female elbow that came flying his way.

She’d had time to think while in the bath and she knew that Brody had been right. She had been deliberately hiding something and it was natural he’d be suspicious. There was no way for him to know that she’d rather have her old life back than be ensconced at some cold stone palace in Europe. She’d also realized she needed to volunteer information about the stables and not herself. It was all a matter of slanting the focus to put him at ease.

She’d made a promise, and she wouldn’t go back on it. Even if it was the last thing she’d wanted.

Brody put the bowl on the table and turned, spying her standing by the stairway. His happy, unguarded look faded as he saw her, and she wondered why it was he disliked her so much already. “Dinner’s on,” he said blandly.

Mrs. Polcyk took a platter of chicken to the table, followed by vegetables and a boat of golden gravy. “Please sit down, Lucy,” she invited.

Lucy took the chair at the end; for some reason it seemed like the vacant spot. Brody took the other end while the housekeeper perched herself in the middle.

Mrs. Polcyk dipped her grayed head and to Lucy’s surprise began a prayer in a language she didn’t understand.

When it was over Lucy lifted her head and met Brody’s eyes. Something warm passed between them, something that spoke of a unity and recognition even though they were strangers from different lives.

And Lucy knew she had to back away from it as fast as she could. Nothing good could come of it. She couldn’t get close to Brody Hamilton.

She couldn’t allow herself to get close to anyone.


CHAPTER THREE

BRODY woke to moonlight tracing a pale line along his bedroom wall. He rolled to his back, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his face.

He’d been dreaming of her. Dreaming of her corkscrew hair falling over his hands the moment before he pressed his mouth to her defiant lips.

He raised up on to his elbows, shaking his head a bit in the dark. He wasn’t a man prone to dreams, especially about women he’d just met. But something about Lucy pushed his buttons. She was stubborn and abrasive, and damned smart if he were any judge at all. Carrying a chip on her shoulder the size of Marazur.

Yet there was something behind it. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was in the way she’d looked at him just before dinner tonight; the way their eyes had met after Mrs. P.’s saying of grace. She could be as icy as she pleased, but there was something about her that called to him.

And he would ignore that call. Her life was vastly different from his, and there was no way he’d forget it. Once burned…Well, that had been enough for him.

It was crazy, thinking about her this way. It was ridiculous to even admit to himself that he felt a physical attraction to her. It’d come plain out of nowhere and had hit him square in the gut. He’d disputed it to himself earlier but there was no arguing with the dream.

He rose from the bed and moved to the open window. Cool, crisp air fluttered over his skin. The hot, dry breezes of July nights were gone; in their place were the cold, clear nights of August, chill and full of stars. The air rushed in through the screen and he let it clear his head.

Then he saw the light.

The windows at the front end of the barn gleamed in the inky blackness. And he was positive he’d turned everything out before going to bed.

He pulled on his jeans in brisk, quiet movements. He carried his boots in his hands and crept down the stairs, checking his watch as he went. The luminescent hands gleamed at the two and the four—two-twenty. When he got to the door he saw Mrs. P.’ s jacket hung precisely beside his denim one. He snagged the latter, shoved his arms in the sleeves and slid out the door into the brisk night air.

He crept toward the barn door, which was opened a few feet, letting out a rhombus-shaped slice of yellow light. A quiet shuffle sounded; someone was definitely inside. He turned back toward the house for a moment, suspicion forming in his mind. Lucy’s room was dark, no light from the bedroom windows at the west end of the house. As another shuffle sounded, he turned again to the barn.

She’d arrived today and now someone was in his barns in the middle of the night. Coincidence? He didn’t think so.

What was she up to? What could she possibly be looking for? Brody exhaled slowly. All important records were locked in the office up at the house. And she likely knew that. Which meant…

Which meant she was sneaking around his horses. Tampering, sabotage—whatever she was doing he was going to put a stop to it right now.

He squeezed through the opening between door and wall and slowly made his way through the shadows, toward the office. A light was on inside, but another shuffle told him that whoever had turned it on was no longer inside. Instead the sound came from a stall on the right. He held his breath…there was the sound again, followed by the hollow echo of shifting hooves. Pretty’s box. The horse she’d met earlier. His heart gave a heavy thump.

Brody squared his shoulders, took four silent, long strides that took him to the stall door.

It, too, was open.

He slid it open wider, bracing himself for who or what he’d find, inhaling and filling the doorway so whoever was inside would have to go through him first.

A woman’s voice stopped him. “It’s not fair” he heard over the sound of shaky breaths. “You’re the princess, Pretty. Not me.”

Not fair. The words seemed to bounce around in his head as his heart clubbed. If she was in there to hurt Pretty…

He leaped into the stall. And stopped at the sight of wide brown eyes staring up at him in shock and fear, still clinging to Pretty’s mane and standing close to her withers.

Brody’s mouth opened but he had nothing to say for the first few seconds. The lashes above her eyes were wet with tears, and as he watched in fascinated horror, one slid down over her pale cheek and dropped off her jaw into the straw by her feet. Her lips were puffy, the way he’d imagined them being after he’d kissed them in his dream, soft and fragile. And her fingers were twined in Pretty’s mane as the chestnut stood quietly at her side.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“I…I, uh, it was…” Lucy stammered, a guilty flush adding to her already red and chapped cheeks.

“Eloquent.” He blocked the doorway, determined to get answers and equally determined not to let her tears influence the conversation. Pretty was a valuable mare and more than that, she was his. Nope, Miss Farnsworth had some explaining to do. And fast.

“I came to be alone.” She shot the words out all in one go, attempting a defiance that fell completely flat.

“So you’re sneaking around in the middle of the night? What are you really after? If you’re here to harm my horses…” He took a menacing step. “No king will protect you here, Miss Farnsworth.”

She gawped at him with what looked like disbelief. Good, he thought. Calling her out might just get him some answers. She blinked back the remaining tears, and his shoulders relaxed a little. Relief. He didn’t deal well with tears and histrionics.

“After? You think I’m after something?”

“Are you kidding? You arrive today and your first night here I find you snooping around my stock while you’re supposed to be asleep? What would you think?”

He watched, utterly entranced as she swallowed, casting her eyes on her feet. She was caught. Guilt was written all over her pink cheeks.

“I’m sorry. Of course you would think that. I…please believe me, Mr. Hamilton. I had no…untoward intentions by coming here tonight.”

“Then, why are you here?”

Stoically she looked away, focused on Pretty’s neck, smoothing her hand over the gleaming hide.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not exactly. Beyond that you’re upset.” He stepped another foot forward, shortening the distance between them. He would look in her eyes. Then he’d know for sure if she was telling the truth. “That’s a given.”

Her lower lip trembled until she bit it, worrying it with her teeth. Brody stopped, shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I came here to be alone. To…to have a cry out, okay? I never meant to disturb you.”

A stranger was in his barn in the middle of the night bawling all over one of his horses. This was a first. His brows knit together. Granted, he’d been short with her a few times today. But she’d gone toe-to-toe with him and he’d respected that. He hadn’t gotten the impression she was the weepy sort.

But she was definitely weepy now, and he had to admit her story rang true. Those tears hadn’t been manufactured when he’d burst through the stall door. And he remembered doing handkerchief duty for Lisa and stepped backward. He’d done his time with crying females and didn’t care to again.

“Mornin’ comes early. Why don’t we go back up to the house now.”

Her eyes slid to his, and he felt the impact straight through his gut to his spine. A few strands from her curls stuck to the dampness of her cheek.

“I’ll be up in a bit.”

Brody stared at her. She obviously didn’t get the hint that he didn’t want to leave her in the barn. Granted, he’d told her to make herself at home earlier, but this was stretching it just a little. More than a little. He didn’t like her snooping about, no matter who her boss was. His first care was for his horses. He’d learned that a long time ago. And it had cost him.

“I insist. I insist you leave with me now. There will be time for you to look around tomorrow. With me.”

He had nothing to hide, but he did have Prairie Rose to protect.

“Please…I just want some time to pull myself together.”

“I’ll just keep you company, then.” He folded his arms.

She looked past his shoulder, out the door of the stall as if trying to figure out how to get away. Annoyed that she’d stopped giving her attention, Pretty dipped her head and nudged Lucy’s hand.

“She likes you.”

“I like her.” Lucy pressed her face into the mane again. It was obvious she wasn’t ready to leave yet, and he’d be damned if he’d leave her down here alone. Brody stepped a little to the side, leaning back against the fragrant wood of the box.

“Why?”

Lucy looked up. “Why what?”

“Why are you so interested in Pretty Piece? She’s got years left, granted, but she’s not what you came for.”

Lucy rubbed her hand down the velvety nose. “No, she’s not. She’s a delightful surprise. I knew…I knew her mother.”

To his chagrin her voice broke on the last word. Lord, not more tears.

“Let’s get out of here,” he demanded, stepping forward and gripping her arm. It was warm through the fleece she was wearing. “Before you upset the horses as well as yourself.”

He led her out of the stall, and when she paused he tugged on her elbow.

“Stop.” Her voice was sharp as she pulled out of his grasp.

“You want to talk about why you’re crying, then? Because I want answers. Satisfying ones.”

“I’m not crying for any specific reason.” Her chin jutted out. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

He snorted something unintelligible.

She looked up at him then. “I did travel halfway across the world, you know.”

Brody watched her keenly. This had nothing to do with jet lag, he knew it. And even though they’d argued earlier, he knew it wasn’t about that, either. There was something else at the heart of it. What had she meant earlier when she’d muttered it wasn’t fair?

He’d never been able to watch a woman cry, and he’d done his share in years past. That had been one of his biggest mistakes, and even knowing it he couldn’t help the need to help that rose up in him. He wanted to believe her. To believe her motives were true even though her actions were suspect.

He took another step closer, close enough that if he extended his arm he’d be able to touch the tender skin of her bruised eyelids. Only inches away.

“What is it, Lucy? What is it about being here that upsets you so much?”

Lucy’s fingers tightened, wrapping around each other in the absence of Pretty’s coarse mane. She had to keep it together, because if she let go she’d realize exactly how close Brody was right now. The barn was so quiet she could hear the hum of the lights overhead. And still he watched her, waiting. Waiting for a reasonable explanation.

Brody was a deliberate man. She could tell that earlier. He did things a certain way and had definite opinions, and his initial one of her hadn’t been favorable. And yet…he was waiting patiently for her. And she had no idea what to tell him. The truth was out of the question.

The sting of it was, when he looked at her this way, she wanted to tell him all manner of things, and she was sure he wouldn’t understand.

No one understood.

Once again the feeling of total isolation. There was nothing familiar anymore, and the closest she’d gotten to it lately was here, tonight, surrounded by the scent of hay and horse and leather.

“Lucy?”

She couldn’t help it. At the quiet verbalization of her name, the tears started afresh. Lucy. Who was that now? No one she knew.

“I hardly know you.” It sounded pitiful to her ears but needed to be said.

He didn’t answer, just absorbed everything through those black, damnably keen eyes of his. She was losing control and there was nothing she could do about it. But she would die rather than have him witness it.

“Please let me go,” she tried, willing the words to come out strong and failing utterly. “I’ve embarrassed myself enough already. I shouldn’t have come.”

He stepped to one side.

She straightened her back, trying valiantly to gather what little bit of dignity she had left. Lucy blinked, sending teardrops over her lashes and down her cheeks as the homesickness overwhelmed her. She looked at the door. If she moved quickly she could get out and away from him. She’d been foolish to think she could belong here. She took one step, then another, her eyes blurring with tears.

And stumbled on a crack.

His arm was there to steady her in half a second, but her breath hitched in her chest and she sniffed. Brody turned her gently and pulled her into his arms.

The shock only lasted a millisecond. All the surprise of finding herself being held against him was swept away in the warm shelter of his arms, the rough feeling of his jean jacket against her cheek. She inhaled; the scent was somehow familiar. He was strong and steady and as his hand cradled her head, stroking her hair, she let go of all her grief in one sweeping wave.

He was a stranger. She was there on business. He’d questioned her and her integrity all in less than twenty-four hours. None of it mattered. He was a good man. He was there. That was what was important right now.

“Shhh.” The sound rippled the hair above her ear, warming it with his breath. “It’s okay.”

Not in three long months had someone put their arms around her. No one had held her. No one had told her it would be okay.

Grief hit her, jolting the breath from her abdomen. She felt for a moment like she had the first time she’d been thrown and had hit the loam of the paddock. It had been a harder landing than she’d expected, and it had been difficult to get up.

Her arms slid around his waist, her fingers reaching up and biting into the denim covering his shoulder blades.

He tightened his grip around her, and one large hand massaged the back of her neck.

And all of the desolation Lucy had been holding inside came out in a grand rush of weeping, one that crashed on to the shore like a huge breaker and ebbed away on the tide, leaving her fragile, but feeling as though a burden had been taken from her shoulders.

She sniffed, sighed. And heard Brody’s voice, rough and quiet.

“Lucy.”

Her heart skipped around crazily. Not Miss Farnsworth, but Lucy. Tonight, in the intimacy of the barn, she’d become Lucy.

She stepped out of his arms. This was madness. She was tired and this was the middle of the night. He was a stranger. A very handsome one. It all jumbled together.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, horrified at the splotches of moisture on his jean jacket. She couldn’t meet his eyes. He already saw far too much. She didn’t want him to see any more. She didn’t want to see parts of him, either. There was a danger that she just might, and she took a step backward.

“Don’t be.”

“Forget this ever happened.”

“Why don’t you tell me what caused you to cry first?

Oh, where would she begin?

Pretty stamped behind them. Their presence there was disturbing the horses.

“There are actual chairs in the office,” he said gently. “A kettle and a can of cookies. We can get to the bottom of this.”

Lucy shook her head. “I’ve already made things uncomfortable. This won’t happen again.” She was pleased that her voice was coming out stronger with each word. She almost sounded convincing! “I’ll just go back to the house.”

But Brody persisted. “You’re going to be staying here a while. You might as well tell me, because if you don’t I’m going to wonder and you’re going to hold it inside and it’s just going to create friction. Hardly conducive to a profitable business trip.”

He held out a hand. “Let me buy you an instant decaf.”

She straightened her pullover. “Mr. Hamilton, I…”

But he interrupted. “You’ve just cried in my arms for a good ten minutes. You might as well put away the Mr. Hamilton. And if we go to the house now, Mrs. Polcyk will undoubtedly hear and you’ll have to explain your puffy eyes to her.”

He held out his hand. She refused to take it, instead feeling her cheeks burn with humiliation that she’d allowed herself to get caught up in what it was like to be held. She swept past him as best she could and heard him follow, ensuring the stall door was latched behind him. He passed her and led the way down the corridor, his boots echoing dully in the quiet of the night.

Once inside she took a quick inventory. There was a battered old sofa, a chair that looked as if its springs had given out a long time ago and a wooden contraption on casters behind a scarred desk. She took her chances on the springs; the sofa meant he’d sit beside her and she couldn’t take that.

He filled the kettle at the tap outside and came back, plugged it in and pulled two mugs off a shelf. When the water boiled, he stirred each cup and handed her one before perching against the front edge of the desk.

She sipped; the brew was hot, strong and with the cardboardy bitter taste of instant crystals.

“So,” Brody began, sounding very conversational indeed. “Quite a day. First your arrival, and now, not even a day later, here we are.”

“I am sorry. I don’t usually fall apart like that.”

“I didn’t peg you as the type to crumble, either. So imagine my surprise to find you lurking around my barn in the middle of the night.

“You don’t trust me.”

“Would you, in my position?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she agreed quietly. “I’d be suspicious of anyone who felt the need to be around my livestock while she’s supposed to be sleeping. I can only say that my actions were completely innocent, and hope you believe me.”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

Her gaze met his. She thought briefly of the secrets she was keeping.

“No, there isn’t.”

Brody considered for a moment, took a sip of his coffee. “Out here, everyone pretty much knows everyone else. There are people I let in and people I don’t. And I haven’t known you that long. I haven’t decided if I’m letting you in yet or not. A little bit of truth would go a long way.”

Letting her in? That was the last thing she wanted.

“I’m here to do a job.”

He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Yes, you are. And now I have more questions about you than answers, and that doesn’t do much to inspire my trust.”

“You, trust me? My fa— King Alexander’s name should be enough.” She tried to hide the near slip.

“Like I said earlier, I know enough about Navarro to know that His Highness only wants the best.”

“Why do you need this alliance, anyway?” She jutted out her chin. What had seemed like a simple enough assignment on paper was rapidly getting complicated. She hadn’t counted on a stubborn rancher who didn’t know how to mind his own business!

“Are you kidding? Everyone knows about Navarro stables. An alliance with the royal family of Marazur could change everything.”

She pursed her lips, putting her cup down on the desk and folding her arms. “You clearly will gain more than we will, then. It’s not in your best interest to question.”

Brody raised an eyebrow. “And if you went back empty-handed?”

Her scowl faded. That was out of the question. This was all she had left. She had to prove herself to her father. And that meant proving herself to Brody now.

Brody persisted. “He’s sent you to me. Face it. We need each other.”

“What do you want from me?” She hid her face behind the rim of her mug. She was still feeling too raw, and their verbal sparring had only been a placebo against the pain; the reason why she’d sneaked down here in the middle of the night in the first place. She’d wanted to be away from prying eyes. To be somewhere that she felt even a little bit at home. She had wanted to have her cry—the one that had been building all day—in private. Get it over with, with no one the wiser. Now she was having to deal with that and an angry Brody.

“I want to know why you were in my barn in the middle of the night, crying.”

“It’s private.”

With an impatient huff, Brody stood and put his cup down on the desk. “Have it your way,” he said shortly, turning to the door.

Had she honestly thought he’d accept that answer? She supposed it would have been too much to ask for some understanding. Maybe he’d used up his quota holding her outside Pretty’s stall. But she could tell by the set of his jaw that the next days were going to be very difficult if they were working from different sides.

Her mouth opened and closed several times but no words would come out. Instead the only sound was Brody’s boots on the cement floor.

She couldn’t let him leave. If he refused to negotiate, she’d go back to Marazur a failure and that was the one thing she couldn’t do.

“Brody, wait!”

She ran to the door and braced her hands on the frame. “Wait.”

He stopped. Turned back around.

And her heart did that skip thing again.

It was supposed to be easy. An escape. Not a sexy cowboy who felt a need to pry into her personal business and was using her professional needs as blackmail.

“If you must know, I grew up in Virginia. Around horses. My mum…she was a bookkeeper for a farm there. That’s how I knew Pretty’s dam, Pretty Colleen. She was at Trembling Oak when I was a child, before she was sold. This place…it reminds me of there.”

“You’re homesick?” He didn’t sound as if he quite believed her. His voice echoed hollowly through the barn.

“Yes…but there’s more. My mum…” She paused, swallowing against the sudden lump that lodged in her throat. “My mum died a few months ago. There’ve been so many changes…” Her words drifted into ether. She blinked once, twice. Inhaled, gathering strength. “So many changes lately that I haven’t had time to grieve. Being here today seemed to set me off, that’s all. And I needed to be with…with someone who understood.”

“Pretty,” he replied, an indulgent smile in his voice.

“Don’t make fun of me.” Her eyes flashed at him. Was it so hard to understand that she’d found a link to her home in the horse, in Prairie Rose? Surely he wasn’t that blind.

He came closer. “I’m not making fun.” He stopped, the toes of his boots mere inches from her sneakers. “It’s the first thing you’ve said that made perfect sense.”

She lifted her gaze and met his. With the animosity and grief suddenly drained away, there was nothing standing between them, and Lucy felt the unadulterated pull of attraction.

“Was that so hard?” His question was a soft murmur.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

“I know,” he replied, those two words evoking so many questions she now wanted to ask.

He cupped her jaw, ran a rough thumb over her cheekbone. “Thank you for telling me. It explains a lot.”

She swallowed, tried to inhale, but the air seemed thin. Another inch and he would be in kissing distance. She shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him….

“Let’s go back up now. Tomorrow’s a long day.”

Lucy stepped back, offered what she hoped passed for a smile and followed him out of the barn.

She’d said more than she’d planned…how could she have mentioned Trembling Oak? And she’d been talking to the horse when he’d burst into the box. Had he overheard any of what she’d said?

He already knew too much. She’d have to be much more careful. No more midnight revelations. From now on it had to be strictly business!


CHAPTER FOUR

BRODY looked up from his breakfast when he heard her steps on the stairs.

And then looked down again, spearing another chunk of scrambled egg on his fork and ignoring the queer lifting in his chest. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing her. He couldn’t be. That was just plain ridiculous.

He’d been crazy last night. Finding her in Pretty’s stall had raised all sorts of alarm bells, but by the end of it…

He scowled. He’d been a fool. A soft touch. He should know better by now. Instead he’d listened to her story and he’d…hell, he’d even touched her at the end. His fork dropped to his plate. Touched her soft, white skin with its faint smattering of freckles.

And he’d thought about kissing her.

Yup. A fool. A fool to forget who she was, where she was from. A fool to be distracted by the sight of tears on her lashes, and a fool for wanting somehow to make it better. He picked up his fork again and defiantly shoved another piece of egg into his mouth. Oh, no. He’d fallen into that trap before.

“Good morning.”

He looked up, schooling his features into what he hoped was a general expression of disinterest. “Good morning.”

Her cheeks were pink and her lips were slightly puffy, as though she’d been chewing on them. “Breakfast was fifteen minutes ago.” He couldn’t resist adding the shot.

He was gratified to see her blush a little before he looked back down at his plate.

“I’m sorry. I…I overslept.”

Yeah. As if he didn’t know why. He stretched out his legs, glad that he wasn’t the only one who was running on short sleep. He raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“I didn’t sleep that well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” And then felt about two inches tall as he saw the confused, wounded look on her face. He was being a jerk and he knew it.

“It doesn’t matter, Lucy.” Mrs. Polcyk came from the kitchen with a plate in her hands and a smile on her face. “You just sit right up now. Brody’s out of sorts this morning.”

He scowled. There were disadvantages to having a housekeeper that had known him since he’d been a boy in boots too big for his feet. First Martha yesterday and now Mrs. P. Yet he knew the women around here well enough to know they always considered the men their “boys,” thinking that living with them excused lots of things. He looked up at Mrs. P. who merely angled an eyebrow at him. They’d been through hell together, and he had to admit it did excuse a lot. He wouldn’t dress her down for the world. He gritted his teeth but said nothing. He knew he was reacting unreasonably. But he’d be damned if he’d give an apology. It was probably better to keep Lucy at arm’s length anyway. He looked away and grabbed the carafe of coffee from the table, refilling his cup.

Lucy spread jam on her toast and looked up at him. “I thought this morning maybe I could have a look at your files.”

She was speaking directly to him and he was obligated to look at her. He did, noticing how her tongue ran out over her lip even though she tried to make her eyes look brave. So she was nervous. Good. She’d taken enough liberties last night. He folded his hands in front of him and faced her squarely.




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