The Cowboy and the Princess (24 page)

She took two plates from the cupboard and pretended she had not heard that.

She sat down opposite him, suddenly aware of how she must look with mussed hair and dirty clothes.

Brady didn’t seem to mind. He slid a slice of pizza onto her plate and his smile lit her up inside. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Toasted pecans. They were the color of toasted pecans. Dumbfounded by how happy he looked, how peaceful, she shifted her attention to her plate, concentrated on discovering the joys of pepperoni, all the while listening to the sound of her pulse pounding through her eardrums.

They finished their pizza and got down to work, painting the walls the soft dusty rose of a Texas sunset. It was the perfect color for a cowboy’s baby daughter. Just as she’d never eaten pizza, Annie had also never painted a wall. She was familiar with canvas—all well-bred princesses took art lessons—but not textured sheetrock. Brady showed her how to prep the wall. How to put spackle in the cracks and holes. How to prime first.

The paint smelled of hope. Of the future. A future Annie had no place in. That made her sad, so she shifted gears, working vigorously to roll on the pink, watching the shabby storage room transform before her eyes. She understood this task was special. She understood it now
.
One day, this would all be but a faint memory. Maybe when she saw this color again, smelled paint, she’d close her eyes and be back here.

She glanced over at Brady. He had stopped working and his hot eyes watched her. That’s when she realized they had prepped, primed, and painted the walls in a little over two hours.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” She smiled.

“Anyone ever tell you that you look absolutely beautiful with your hair spotted pink?”

“What?” Her hand went to her hair, but he moved across the floor to encircle her wrist with his fingers.

“No,” he said, “leave it. I love you in pink.”

Then he was kissing her as he’d never kissed her before. Full of gratitude, hope and . . .
love
?

No, no, you can’t think like that. He can’t love you. You can’t love him. This isn’t real. It’s all a fantasy. A game.

Except it was not.

He picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his neck. He kissed and kissed and kissed her.

They forgot about the paint. Left the brushes to dry in the paint trays. He was unbuttoning her blouse and she grabbed the back of his T-shirt.

“Arms up.” She laughed, and he raised his hands to the ceiling.

She stripped the T-shirt from his body, tossed it in the corner, and then when he clasped her again, she ran her hands down his back, feeling the raised edges of his faded scars.

He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth and carried her to the bedroom, his fingers yanking the shirt free from the waistband of her jeans. She was quite mad for him. Insane for his touch, his taste, the expression in his eyes when he looked at her.

Annie was ready to fully and completely make love to the man of her dreams, to this handsome cowboy who had captured her heart. The time was right and she wanted it for the right reasons. Not merely because she wanted an adventure, but because she cared about him deeply. Wanted to please him. Wanted him to please her.

Brady made her feel safe and cherished and ready to explore.

Serenity started deep inside her, spread out, bathing her in a calm, soothing glow of love. She loved him. Would always love him. She couldn’t tell him, but she felt it through every cell in her body, through every breath she took.

He laid her out on the bed, then stepped back to stare down at her. He was trembling and his trembling made her tremble. The moonlight shining through the open curtains glinted off his smooth, muscled chest and she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

“Annie,” he whispered, leaned over, and unsnapped her jeans.

She responded in kind, unsnapping his.

Down went her zipper.

Down came his.

He grabbed the hem of her jeans. She arched her hips to help him tug them off her. He stripped off his pants and fell onto the bed beside her. It had been more than four weeks since that first night they had almost made love in his trailer. Four weeks of waiting.

“No more waiting,” she said.

“No more waiting.”

She felt the shape of his love mold her and she took him in. Embraced him with everything she had in her.

The room was silent now, except for the sound of their breathing. Brady poured kisses on her face, her arms, her belly. Her bra disappeared. Then her panties. His underwear evaporated and there were no more barriers between their skin. Annie was entranced with the preciousness of it all. She breathed in his scent, her scent, the smell of the world. This world. Paint and hay and horses and home.

Her heart fluttered heavily in the still air as more and more sensations peppered her. Brady looked into her and she looked into him and she was ill with happiness. Too much pleasure. She lost her way because of it. Princess Annabella Farrington of Monesta had completely vanished, shed from the skin of Annie Coste.

She could not bear the joy any longer. It was too much. Like stolen cotton candy. Far too sweet to be acceptable. She felt elation or anticipation or something she didn’t even know how to describe, but it was all through her, dominant as blood and bones. She was ready to laugh and shriek, sounds that came staggering out of her like drunken magic. A virgin intoxicated.

He took care of everything. Heating her to the right temperature, preparing the condom. He was part of her and she was a virgin no more. She burned brilliant, bright, fragile; an ordinary princess, a royal goddess of love.

She was ready to reign, but Brady held her back.

There were more sensations. Wavy spirals of pressure and heat. Crumbly prickles of textures and shapes. Crescent moons and saw-edged lace. Her body burst with unbelievable stimulation.

Annie could not bear it, Brady was so potent, and she was, in that moment, wrapped in the sweetness of unity.

All at once it was there.

A vortex of everything she had ever felt converged in a spurt of laughter that took her breath, took her heart, took all of her. Busted. Blinded. Bankrupt. And along with her, she took Brady, falling, tumbling, stumbling into the most perfect landscape of shattering release.

And that was how it happened, the unplanned seduction. The breaking of her heart as Annie surrendered both her virginity and her undying love to Brady Talmadge for now and forever.

B
rady woke the following morning to find himself spooned around Annie. He buried his face in her paint-spattered hair, inhaled her talcum-powder scent, and smiled so wide it hurt his mouth. It was the first time he’d ever woken up beside a woman and not experienced at least a slight urge to run.

It’s just because the sex was so damn great
, he tried to tell himself. The best he’d ever had. But why was it the best he’d ever had? He’d been with far more experienced women. Done wilder, crazier things in bed. But none of it touched what had happened to him last night.

Was it because of her virginity? Could it simply be his chuffed-up pride, because she’d chosen him for her first time?

Annie shifted beside him, opened her eyes. “Good morning,” she said, and shyly lowered her lashes, stretched, yawned.

“Mornin’, Buttercup.”

He leaned down to kiss her, but she put a palm over her mouth to block him. “Morning breath.”

“Like I give a damn about that.”

She giggled.

He kissed her and the minute his lips touched her, his body heated up hot as a blowtorch.

“Will you—” she started, stopped, peered up into his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Will you make love to me again?”

“Buttercup, all you have to do is ask.”

Their dawn joining was different from the heated rush of the night before. Softer. Slower. More bittersweet. Last night they’d been addled by hormones. This morning, they were fully aware of what they were doing.

An hour later they were still in bed, relaxing in the afterglow, lazily caressing each other, marveling in the sensations they stirred in each other. They might have stayed in bed longer if Brady’s cell phone hadn’t rung.

“You get that,” Annie said. “I’ll go take a shower.”

“You do that.” He grinned. “And I’ll make us breakfast after I take this call.”

Modestly, Annie wrapped the sheet around her and padded for the bathroom, but the sheet didn’t quite close all the way and he got a tantalizing glimpse of her sweet fanny. He cocked his head, watching her sway away.

The phone rang for the fourth time. Sighing with pleasure, he snatched it up off the bedside table, checked the caller ID, and saw that it said the State of Texas. Instantly, the smile faded from his face and his gut tensed.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Talmadge?”

“Uh-huh.” He swallowed the bowling ball-sized lump in his throat.

“Mary Jameson here.”

He tightened his grip on the cell phone. “Yes?”

“I’m pleased to tell you that you passed our background check. We started running it before the paternity test, just in case.”

Relief shot through him like excess adrenaline, leaving him feeling a little shaky. He had no doubt he would pass, but just knowing he was under investigation put him on edge. He sank down on the mattress. “Thanks,” he said.

“Would you like to see your daughter?”

“I . . . I can see her?”

“Under supervised visitation for now.”

Brady blew out his breath. “Yes, sure, when?”

“Can you make it this afternoon?”

He was supposed to go to East Texas today and pick up a horse for Joe, but he could swing by Fort Worth on his way. “Absolutely. You tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

Mary Jameson gave him the details and hung up. Brady switched off the phone and he was still sitting there staring at the phone when Annie came out of the bathroom, toweling her damp hair.

“Brady?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Truth was, he was scared to death.

She sat beside him, placed her hand on his arm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I get to see my daughter this afternoon, but hell, Annie, I’m terrified.”

Her smile warmed him from the inside out. “Brady, you will be fine.”

“Really?” A second wave of relief washed over him. He’d never been so anxious for help in his life. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. “Tell the caseworker you’ve got support. You’ve got a girlfriend and she’ll be here to help you when you bring Orchid home.”

Yeah
, he thought.
Sounds good now. But what happens once you’re gone?

“Y
ou made the paper. Good work. Free publicity for The Bride Wore Cowboy Boots,” Prissy said when Annie and Mariah walked into the office later that same morning. Since Brady was going to East Texas with Trampas and he might have to stay overnight because of his detour to Fort Worth to meet his daughter, Annie had brought Lady Astor to work with her. She hated for the little dog to be cooped up in the cabin all day by herself.

“What?” Annie startled, letting Lady Astor out of the satchel.

“Yes.” Mariah grinned. “They ran the story.”

Prissy folded the paper to the lifestyles section, passed it across the counter to her. There was Annie with Melinda Messing. The headline read,
Local Woman Dead Ringer for Princess Annabella.

This was news? This shouldn’t be news. A sick feeling washed over her. The last thing she needed was to get her picture in the paper. She had no doubt that Chandler and Strawn had not stopped looking for her. She’d already seen them in Jubilee and at the carnival, although they hadn’t been around in the last few weeks. If they got their hands on this paper, it was all over. Quickly she scanned the article.

Prominent Dallas socialite Melinda Messing has chosen Jubilee’s own Mariah Daniels to host the wedding of the year as her daughter, Peyton, marries famed cutter Drew Kincaid.

“The Bride Wore Cowboy Boots was on our short list,” Messing said. “But when I learned Mariah Daniels had a Princess Annabella look-alike working for her, I knew they were the wedding planning business for us. I want my daughter to have the fairy-tale wedding she deserves.”

Messing is referring to Jubilee newcomer Annie Coste, who does bear a striking resemblance to Princess Annabella Farrington of Monesta. The princess, who attended Echo Glover’s wedding last month, is currently recuperating from mononucleosis at the former president’s compound in Dallas.

The article went on to give details of the upcoming wedding, including the tea Annie was slated to host.

“Why is this news?” Annie cried, then realized how over-the-top she must have sounded to Mariah and Prissy.

“Melinda Messing is a big cheese in Texas politics,” Prissy said. “She combs her hair and it shows up in print.”

“We were lucky to catch the
Jubilee Journal
on a slow news day,” Mariah said. “If it had been the height of cutting season we wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Annie blinked. “We?”

“Melinda’s photographer e-mailed me a copy of the picture and I saw it as a great opportunity for free advertising. I wrote up the piece and sent it in. Isn’t it great?” Mariah beamed.

No, no, it was not great. She had two weeks left in Jubilee and so much left to do. She had to help Brady get Orchid, and now that they’d made love, she realized just how much time they’d wasted. She had to cram as many kisses, caresses, and long, slow lovemaking sessions into the next two weeks as she could fit.

But now? If Chandler and Strawn saw this article, they would be in Jubilee before she could catch her breath, and this time, they would know exactly where to find her.

Chapter Sixteen

You might be a princess if . . . when you run away from home they send the Secret Service after you.

B
rady was meeting Mary Jameson and Orchid’s foster mother on neutral ground at Forest Park in Fort Worth. He arrived at the designated rendezvous area and parked his horse trailer beside a new Prius and a battered old Jeep Wagoneer.

He took a deep, steadying breath and got out of the pickup, spied Mary Jameson and another woman pushing a baby carriage along the walking trail. He felt drained suddenly and didn’t know how he possessed the strength to stand. It was all too much too soon. To hear of Kelly’s suicide, learn he had a daughter, start a sexual relationship with Annie, lose Jake Moncrief to enemy hands, all within the span of a few short days.

He felt both vaguely nauseated and ravenous. Part of him wanted to walk toward them, another part wanted to pivot on his heel and run away from everyone, from it all. He wanted to get in his trailer and drive away. Find a horse that needed him and heal it. That he knew how to do. This being a daddy stuff . . . this forming a relationship to last a lifetime . . . well hell, what did he know about that?

It is all right.
He heard Annie’s sweet voice in his head.
You can do this.

His back itched and he could feel the old scars cut into his flesh. Scars flayed deeper than flesh. Scars that marred his soul. He wasn’t good enough for them. Neither Annie nor Orchid.

“Mr. Talmadge,” Mary Jameson called out, raised a hand. The two women came closer. Almost here.

He had no choice but to put one foot in front of the other and move forward. Go to meet them. No running away now.

The women stopped. The foster mom pushed back the top of the carriage and lifted up a small, wriggling bundle.

Brady’s heart shifted, stumbled.

The woman turned to Brady. “Good morning, Daddy. I’m Byronny Rawlston. I’ve been taking good care of your girl.”

Involuntarily, Brady held out his hands.

The second Byronny Rawlston put Orchid in his arms, everything transformed.

Just like that. In a whisper of a breath. Brady looked down into navy blue eyes and his world, the world he had once been so sure of, collapsed.

Here was the ultimate damsel in distress, peering up at him like he was her white knight. Her savior.

The wrecking ball hit and all at once he knew the answer to the secret of the universe. He knew why he was here. He’d been put on the face of this earth to take care of this little girl.

“Hey there, Sunshine,” he murmured, surprised by the wrung-out sensation in his gut.

The old gut, which was supposed to guide him in every situation, quivered, wobbled, and had no idea what to do. He reached out a trembling finger and traced it lightly over her cheek.

This was his daughter. He was her father.

Orchid gurgled and smiled big.

Smiled at him.

Brady pooled into a puddle of pure love. Emotion choked him. He raised his head, glanced up to meet Byronny Rawlston’s gaze. “I . . . I . . .” There were no words. He had no idea what to say. “I . . . I . . .”

“This is what it feels like to be a parent,” the woman murmured. “Astonishing, isn’t it?”

Brady looked back at Orchid. His little girl reached up to wrap her little fist around his index finger that looked big and fat in her tiny grip. “I want to take her home. Tell me what I have to do to take her home.”

Mary’s lips flattened into a stern line. “You must be sure. It’s easy to fall in love, not so easy to make a lifetime commitment. Orchid is in a good foster home. This can’t be a whim for you, Mr. Talmadge. You must provide love and care for this baby until she is eighteen years old. You must cherish her and educate her. There will be three
A.M.
feedings and trips to the doctor’s office. This little girl will turn your world upside down in ways you’ve never dreamed.”

Brady hardened his jaw. “I don’t care.”

“She’s cute and cuddly now and you’re feeling the rush of endorphins. You want to protect her, provide for her.”

That was all true. He could not deny it.

“But how will you react when she starts walking and messes with your things? Because she will. She’ll break your prized possessions. She’ll—”

“Seriously, lady, you are the worst salesperson in the world,” he growled.

“I’m not trying to sell you on your own daughter.”

“You’re trying to sour me on parenthood.”

“No. No, I’m not,” Mary Jameson said. “I’m trying to be honest and make you aware of what’s in store. I’ve seen men come into my office and profess they want their children and then when they get in the thick of it, they can’t fight their nature. They want a drink or they ache to gamble. They want to go out with their friends and have fun. They never expected a child to be so much work. They never expected to have the last of their carefree youth stripped away. They never—”

“Lady,” he growled, “I’m not those other guys.”

Orchid startled at his gruff voice. Her eyes widened and her bottom lip quivered.

“Oh, no, no, Sunshine, Daddy’s not mad at you.”

Orchid whimpered.

Brady felt his heart rip into two pieces at the thought he’d upset the baby. Helplessness and guilt circled his neck like a noose. It was okay. Let him be hanged. He was not going to leave this baby. He was not going to run away from her. He was going to take care of her, protect her the way a father should. He was a father now. Nothing else mattered. He lifted the baby to his shoulder. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d seen Mariah comfort Jonah this way. He patted Orchid on the back and the baby immediately quieted. He stared triumphantly at Mary Jameson.

“I can’t simply take your word for it, Mr. Talmadge. I’ll need proof that you’re prepared to take on the daunting task of raising a child.”

“I’ve already got a place to live and a new job. I’m in the process of making a nursery and Annie and I . . .” He swallowed. This was the part that made him hesitate. He didn’t want to lie. Technically, he supposed it wasn’t a lie. Annie was his girlfriend. At least for now.

“Annie?” Mary Jameson’s frown deepened.

“My . . . my girlfriend. You told me I needed a support system. I’ve got a support system. I have a girlfriend willing to help me.”

“I’ll take all this under consideration,” Mary Jameson said.

“What do you mean you’ll take it under consideration?” Panic pushed at him. “You said if I found a job, got a home, established a support system that I could get custody. I passed the background check. What more do you want?”

Orchid whimpered again.

He forced the tension from his body, patted her gently on the back, and lowered his voice. “She’s
my
child.”

“And right now, she’s my responsibility.”

He fought to keep his emotions reined in. Getting upset with the caseworker would not win him any brownie points, plus he didn’t want to upset Orchid.

“All right,” he said. “You are in charge, Mrs. Jameson. What happens now?”

“Go finish the nursery, then next week, you give me a call. I’ll come check things out. If all meets with my approval, we’ll see where we go from there.”

“A week? I have to go a whole week without seeing her again?”

“We need to run a background check on your girlfriend, and I’ll be out of the office on vacation.”

“Background check. On Annie?”

“If she’s going to be one of the child’s caregivers, then yes, she needs to have a background check as well.” She took a form from her notebook. “Get her to fill this out. We’re going to need both driver’s license and social security numbers. You can fax it to me.”

Fear iced his veins. “So hypothetically, if the background check on Annie were to turn up something—”

“You don’t know her all that well, do you? This is a relatively new relationship?”

“If the background check were to turn up something less than favorable,” he continued, ignoring her questions. “What would it mean in regard to getting custody of Orchid?”

“If your girlfriend turns out to have a criminal record, Mr. Talmadge, and you chose to stay with her, then in all good conscience, I could not turn the child over to you.”

P
anic quickened the pulse in Brady’s throat. He forgot all about East Texas and Joe’s horse. All he could think about was Annie. Would she give him permission to have Mary Jameson run a background check on her? Or was her secret too dark that she simply could not do that?

Things had come to a head. He had to know her secret. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. As long as they were just playing and having a good time, it had been fine. But now he had a child. He had to think of Orchid. He couldn’t have Annie in his life if it jeopardized his chances of getting his little girl.

You don’t have Annie in your life. Not long-term. She’ll be leaving anyway.

Yes, that was true. But having a woman who was willing to help him with Orchid. A support system, as Mary Jameson called it, would assure he would get his daughter sooner rather than later.

But not if she had a criminal record.

It was a miserable situation, but Orchid had to come first. She was a baby and he was all she had.

Dammit! How had he allowed this to happen? Brady slammed the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. He’d broken all his rules for leading an uncomplicated life. That’s what had happened. “Stupid. Stupid.”

Trampas slunk down in the backseat, covered his eyes with his paws. Lady Astor had been teaching him her tricks.

“Not you, buddy,” he told the dog. “Me. I’m the dumbass.”

Brady was so busy castigating himself that it took a minute for him to see what he was seeing when he turned down John Wayne Boulevard headed for the town square. Two men in black suits, sunglasses, and fedoras getting out of a limo.

His gut took a nosedive. The Blues Brothers were back.

And this time they weren’t alone. Pulling into parking spaces on the cloverleaf in front of the courthouse were half a dozen black Cadillac Escalades. More guys in black suits and sunglasses, minus the fedoras. These guys
were
Feds.

Shit, just what the hell kind of trouble was Annie in?

Brady fumbled for his phone, dialed the number to the bridal shop. Annie answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”

The men were getting out of the vehicles, converging on the shop.

Brady whipped the truck around, changed direction. The back of the trailer bounced up on the curb in his crazy turn-around. “Go out the back exit immediately. I’ll meet you there. I’m pulling the horse trailer.”

“What is it?” She sounded alarmed.

“The Blues Brothers are back.”

She hung up the phone.

Thirty seconds later Brady was in the alley behind The Bride Wore Cowboy Boots. Annie was running, face pale, her satchel clutched to her side, Lady Astor’s perky little head poking out of the side corner.

Annie charged around the truck, jumped into the seat beside him, Brady peeling off down the alley before she’d gotten the door closed tight. When they bounced from the alley out onto Main Street, Brady glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see the Blues Brothers and a cadre of Secret Service agents march into Mariah’s shop.

“S
tart talking now,” Brady said. “No more bullshit. Who are those guys? Why are they after you? What have you done, Annie? Is your name even Annie?”

Annie was sick. It was here. The moment she’d feared for weeks. She gripped the dashboard as Brady rocketed down the main road out of Jubilee.

“Answer me!” he commanded.

She’d never seen him looking so angry. “Yes, no, sort of.”

“Yes, no, sort of what?”

“My name
is
Annie. Sort of. It is a nickname.”

“What’s your real name?”

“Annabella.”

“What about Coste,” he said through gritted teeth. “Is that your last name?”

“No.”

“What is your last name?”

She gulped. “Farrington.”

“And what is so damn special about you that the Blues Brothers have called in the Feds? Did you rob a bank? Are you an international terrorist? Some super-rich man’s daughter?”

“The latter. Sort of.”

“Just tell me or I swear to God, I’m going to pull this truck over and kick you out on the side of the road.”

“You would not do that.”

“Once upon a time, I would not have, but I’m a dad now and I could lose custody of my daughter over your antics and your lies, so yeah, go ahead and try me, Annabella Farrington. Just who the hell are you?”

Annie understood his anger. She did not blame him. She had brought this all on herself. She had led him on. She was ashamed of herself. She regretted how she had hurt him. It had been wrong, this deception. All of it. From the very beginning. Her escape from President Glover’s compound, hitchhiking, coming to Jubilee, moving in with Brady. Falling in love with him. Her reckless, selfish drive for an adventure would hurt a lot of people. The citizens of Jubilee would feel duped. She had never wanted to hurt people. And the last thing she wanted was to come between Brady and his daughter.

“My full title is Princess Annabella Madeleine Irene Osbourne Farrington of Monesta.”

Dead silence followed her announcement. She peeked over at Brady. He had the steering wheel in a death grip and his jaw was clenched. The wound he’d gotten defending her honor had healed to a faint pinkish scar. “Could you repeat that?”

She took a deep breath. “I am Princess Annabella Madeleine Irene Osbourne Farrington of Monesta, destined in a prearranged marriage that will merge the bloodlines of our countries to wed Prince Theodore George Jameson Forsythe of Dubinstein.”

Another long silence.

“Biscuits and gravy, that’s one helluva mouthful,” Brady finally said, then added in a sarcastic tone, “
Princess.
”

“You don’t believe me?”

“It’s the most farfetched thing I’ve ever heard and I wouldn’t believe you except for two things. The Blues Brothers and their posse back there and the fact that Princess Annabella arrived in the U.S. over four weeks ago for the wedding of former president Glover’s daughter and I happened to pick you up just a few miles from the presidential compound. So, yeah, as unfathomable as it seems, I do believe you.”