The Cowboy and the Princess (7 page)

“Buttercup, you’re in Texas. We all speak a little Spanish. Almost half my customer base speaks Spanish.”

“May I see it sometime?”

“What’s that? My customer base.”

“These horses being cut.”

“No, no, the horses aren’t cut. They’re the ones doing the cutting.”

“What do they cut?”

“Cattle from the herd.”

Annie had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded fascinating. In Monesta they didn’t have cattle. Not enough land. They raised sheep and goats instead.

“But you should really see a rodeo before you go back home.”

She knew what rodeos were. She had seen them on television. “Will you take me to a rodeo?”

“We’ll have to see about that. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

That was a good thing. He was a man of his word.

“So tell me more about Jubilee. What are the people like?”

“It’s about as perfect as a town can get. The people are friendly, they help each other, but they’re very focused on their horses.”

“That is good for your business.”

“It is,” he said. “We’re almost to Jubilee. Tomorrow you can find out about it for yourself. We should be there a little after midnight. The rain has slowed down our time.”

“This will be fine.”

“You got arrangements? A place to stay? Friends you can call?”

“No,” she admitted, feeling stupid. She should have made better plans. But she was so afraid that too much planning would lead to her immediate capture.

“Where are you going after this?” he asked.

“I do not know.”

That answer didn’t seem to bother him, as if he understood not having plans. “You can spend the night in my trailer.”

“Thank you for your generous offer, but I do not know if that is a wise idea.”

“Where else are you going to stay?” he asked.

She didn’t answer because she didn’t have one.

“I know the trailer is small and there’s only one bed, but you’re welcome to share it.”

Annie swallowed the gasp that rose to her throat. “You are asking me to sleep with you?”

Although she felt scandalized, she had to admit that she held a secret desire to make love to a cowboy before she was bound to Teddy forever. She was supposed to stay a virgin until her wedding day. It was the way things were done. She had always done what was expected of her, but part of her yearned for just one out-of-the-box experience before she committed to a lifetime of a loveless marriage.

Just once she wanted to feel something real. She wanted great sex like the kind she saw in movies and read about in books. She wanted to spread her wings and fly just a little bit. She wanted to know what great sex felt like, and instinctively, she understood that Brady could provide such an experience for her. She wanted her own version of
Roman Holiday.

But she barely knew him. Had not expected to find the opportunity for sex with a good-looking cowboy so soon in her adventure. And as much as she might want it, she wasn’t ready for it.

“I’m saying you can sleep in my bed and I promise I won’t touch you. No hanky-panky. Just sleep.”

“What if—” She stopped, cleared her throat.

“What if?”

“I wanted to do more than sleep?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea for either of us.”

“I thought men always wanted sex.”

“I might want sex, Buttercup, but I don’t have to have it. Especially with a woman who’s keeping some mighty tall secrets.”

“Not even if
I
want to?” She reached over and touched his thigh, shocking herself.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said. “Watch out or you just might get burned.”

Chapter Four

You might be a princess if . . . you can’t sleep when there’s something hard in your bed.

B
rady took Highway 51 to Tin Top Road and traveled ten more miles to Green Ridge Ranch. At this hour of the morning, the ranch lay in darkness. He bumped over the cattle guard, the trailer rattling as they went. He parked in the graveled driveway a quarter of a mile from the ranch house.

Joe Daniels, the owner of Green Ridge, was a good friend. Recently, Joe had married Dutch Callahan’s daughter, Mariah, and they had a baby boy named Jonah. The same Dutch Callahan who’d picked Brady up on the side of the road when he was fifteen, running away from his childhood as fast as he could. Dutch had brought him here to Jubilee. Given him a job and a place to live. Back then Joe’s father had owned Green Ridge, before he’d retired, sold the ranch to Joe, and moved to the neighboring town of Twilight. That was fourteen years ago. Every time Brady came to Green Ridge, he thought of Dutch, who’d worked there as a trainer. Everywhere he looked he saw his mentor. In the buildings, the fences, the vast stretch of land.

Annie had fallen asleep, her head lolled on the headrest, Lady Astor curled up in her lap. He cut the engine and glanced over at her. Her flawless skin glowed pale and ethereal in the darkness. Her breathing was deep, untroubled. She looked so damn naive.

As quietly as he could, Brady opened the door and got out. He chalked the tires, but left the trailer hooked to the truck. He’d leave the unhitching details for tomorrow. He let Trampas out of the trailer to go to the bathroom, stretched, yawned, and stared up at the stars.

For the most part, the rain had passed. Sprinkles dampened his skin and water stood in puddles. Bullfrogs shrieked. The wind whipped his shirt and a lock of hair fluttered across his forehead. He ran a hand over his jaw, rough with beard. He was one of those guys who started sprouting a five o’clock shadow fifteen minutes after he shaved. His fingers gingerly explored the fresh cut clotted with dried blood. Not deep. He would live and the scar would enhance his cachet with the ladies.

He felt peaceful here, more than in most places, although Brady adapted quickly to new environments. He knew how to make himself at home wherever he went. But Jubilee was special and even though he knew he would never really settle down, if he ever did, this would be the place.

But right now, an uneasy feeling rippled the surface of his peace. The woman sleeping inside his pickup truck spooked him. He wanted her with a hard, insistent craving, and that was dodgy stuff. She was a hundred and ten pounds of trouble and he’d gone and offered to let her sleep in his bed.

Biscuits and gravy, Talmadge. What the hell were you thinking? You haven’t been thinking straight since you picked her up.

Guilty.

He was guilty as charged. Addled. Empty-headed. No excuse for it.

The moon had come out, glowing ghostly against the black shadows. In the distance, he heard a horse nicker. Trampas’s ears pricked up. The dog loved horses almost as much as Brady did. Unfortunately, horses weren’t always fond of the dog. And Brady always did what was best for the horses. Unlike many cowboys, he never wore spurs, or used a crop. He believed slow and gentle was the best way to approach a horse. No exceptions.

Brady remembered his first glimpse of this ranch. It had been from the bed of Dutch’s pickup truck. How he immediately felt at home here and everyone had made him feel welcome. He wasn’t new to the ins and outs of hard labor. He was a country boy after all. What was new to him were cutting horses, cutting horse cowboys, and the cutter way of life.

Dutch had led him to the barn, showed him the cutting horses in the stable. Told him to muck out stalls. Brady had been happy to do it. He loved the smell of hay and leather and horses. His only problem was that he got so caught up in grooming and riding and tending the horses that he forgot all about his other ranch hand responsibilities.

“You remind me of me when I was your age.” Dutch laughed. “Except you’re better-looking.”

Then one day one of Mr. Daniels’s pregnant mares got hung in a downed barbwire fence and cut herself up pretty badly. They called the vet, but the high-strung horse was hysterical and wouldn’t let the vet anywhere near her. She reared up on her hind legs and pawed the air, lips frothing, nostrils flaring. Even Dutch, who was a wizard at taming horses, couldn’t calm her. Everyone stood around scratching his head, watching blood stream down her damaged flank, afraid to approach her in case she did herself more harm or the stress caused her to go into early labor.

Brady could literally feel her pain. A visceral pummel straight to his gut. The sensation burrowed under his skin like a sickness. A candle flame of terror burned in the mare’s eyes. She tossed her head, mane flailing. The pulse beat hard in her long neck nicked with barbwire wounds.

He took a deep breath, dived to the bottom of the calm, serene pool inside himself. The place he dived whenever his old man went on a rampage and beat the living shit out of him just because he was feeling ornery. It was a cool, deep, unruffled place. Every muscle in his body relaxed, while at the same time he straightened his shoulder, raised his chin, and moved slow, easy, and unflinchingly toward the mare.

“Careful boy,” Mr. Daniels said, but Dutch put a hand on the rancher’s arm and drew him to the far side of the barn. The vet followed.

“There now,” Brady murmured, comforting her the way he’d comforted himself those dark lonely nights cowering in bed with bullwhip welts striped across his back. “There now. You’re safe. You’re above the pain. It’s okay. It’s all right.”

Immediately, the mare stopped thrashing. Her frightened eyes met his.

“Yes,” he cooed, “yes, yes. You’re a good, good girl.”

She half lowered her eyelashes. She was still breathing heavily, her flanks heaving in and out. The coppery smell of her blood scented the air.

“That’s right. You’re safe. Relax. Let go.” A tranquil energy flowed through him, languid and vibrant.

The mare moved restlessly, snorting in air, but she didn’t bolt or rear up. Acting purely on instinct, Brady kept speaking to her, low and controlled. When he got close enough, he touched her neck, firm yet gentle. He put two fingers on her pulse point. She quieted instantly and her breathing slowed.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dutch whispered. “Will ya look at that?”

A flush of pride beat through him. He’d never had a father figure who complimented him and he was ravenous for praise. He ran a hand down the mare’s back. She quivered, but then her muscles uncoiled as she soothed. After several minutes of touching, she allowed Brady to slip the halter on. He held her, cajoling and comforting as the vet came over and worked to sew up her wounds.

“You got the touch, boy,” Dutch told him after it was over. “A natural talent.”

Brady guessed that learning how to deal with the abuse his father had dished out to him, but spared his four brothers, had been worth something. His ability to find peace in the midst of pain had given him his career.

And now he was back where he’d begun, except this time with some unexpected baggage.

The passenger side door opened and Annie got out of the truck.

“Are we here?” she asked, blinking at him with those smart gray-blue eyes in the dusty light of the quarter moon. The wind billowed through her unzipped sweatshirt, ruffled her hair. She stood straight, graceful.

God, she had a way of looking sophisticated and genteel when anyone else under the circumstances would appear rumpled and wrung out. What made her so different? How did she manage to look so much like a high mountain buttercup, pristine and beautiful? Fascination moved through him. Tightened up in his chest.

“We are,” he confirmed.

She sank her hands on her hips, assessing their surroundings. “So this is Jubilee.”

“Actually we’re ten miles south of Jubilee. This is Green Ridge Ranch where I’ll be working.”

“Oh, okay.” Annie set Lady Astor on the ground. The tiny dog started sniffing around.

Trampas spied the Yorkie and, goofy doofus that he was, raced over to start the universal canine ritual of heinie sniffing. Lady Astor, however, had other plans. She spun her fanny away from him, tossed her fierce little head, and let out a sharp bark.
Back off, buster.

“Lady Astor,” Annie scolded. “Be nice.”

The Yorkie growled at Trampas.

Brady’s mutt lay down and then rolled over on his belly, paws pulled up close to his body in complete surrender.

“Seriously, Trampas? You’re giving up alpha dog status to a hiccup with hair?” he asked.

“Excuse me,” Annie protested. “That is my dog you are denigrating.”

“Sorry,” Brady mumbled. “But you gotta admit she barely qualifies as a dog.”

Annie sank her hands on her hips, angled him a haughty stare. “She has got
your
dog on his back.”

“She does at that. Trampas, have some self-respect. Get up.”

Instead of obeying, Trampas wriggled in the dirt, put out a paw to Lady Astor, and made begging noises.

The Yorkie’s nose went in the air and she trotted off to take care of business.

“Pathetic,” Brady scolded his dog. “Done in by an arrogant little female.”

Trampas didn’t look the least bit ashamed. In fact, he gazed at Lady Astor with adoring, love-struck eyes.

“Is there a place where I could . . .” Annie cleared her throat, moistened her lips.

Brady’s gaze hooked on her mesmerizing mouth. “Go to the bathroom?”

“Um . . . yes.” She looked uncertain now. There it was again. That paradox he found so maddeningly sexy. Prim yet brave.

“Inside the trailer.” He walked over to lower the steps of the trailer. He unlocked the door, and then held out a hand to help her up.

“Will you keep an eye on Lady Astor?”

“Absolutely.”

She took his hand like it was her birthright to have men wait on her. She sniffed delicately. “It’s dark.”

He reached around to flip on the twelve-volt light switch.

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “It is rather nice in here.”

“You were expecting a hovel.”

“You
are
a bachelor.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m a slob. This trailer is my home. I take pride in it.”

She turned around in the entryway, scanning the space as Brady perched on the top step, holding the door open. The back end of the trailer housed three horse stalls. He used them mainly when a horse needed to be isolated. Sometimes, he rented himself out as a transport service for folks who bought and sold horses. For now, the back trailer was empty. The opposite end of the trailer housed Brady’s bed, which was located up over the head of the gooseneck trailer. To one side lay a small kitchen area, a stovetop, no oven, a refrigerator, and a postage stamp-sized table with two chairs. Across from that was a small sitting area. The shower was on one side of the unit, the toilet on the other.

Brady stepped into the trailer with Annie and opened the bathroom door. “Toilet,” he announced.

She tilted her head at him. “You are going to stay in here while I . . . ?”

“Where should I go?”

“I prefer to use the facilities in private.”

“There’s a door between us.”

“A very thin door.”

He lifted an eyebrow in amusement. Prissy along with the prim. “Fine. I’ll go back outside. I better make sure your dog isn’t kicking the stuffing out of my dog.”

Brady ventured back into the night, drawing the door closed behind him. Lady Astor was sniffing at water puddles, completely ignoring Trampas, who was crawling on his belly after her. “C’mon, show some dignity, will ya?”

Trampas looked shameless.

“Face it, buddy. She’s never going to give you the time of day.”

Trampas ignored him.

Brady sighed. He needed to schedule the dog for a neutering. He’d meant to do it, but kept putting it off because of his travel schedule. But the dog was over a year old. It was time.

He whistled. Reluctantly, Trampas got up and trotted over. “You are sleeping in the back tonight. You’re too muddy for the bed.” He pulled a leash from his pocket, clipped it to Trampas’s collar, and guided the dog to the back of the trailer. Trampas whimpered in protest, glanced back at Lady Astor, and let out a mournful howl.

“She’s so far out of your league it hurts. Just give it up.” He put Trampas inside, fed and watered him. “She’s a high-toned purebred and you’re nothing but a ragtag ruffian.”

While he was doing all this, Lady Astor came over to watch the proceedings, her little ears sticking straight up. He had to admit the Yorkie was cute as all get-out with those perky little ears and sassy attitude. “Gotta hand it to you, Trampas, she might be out of your league, but you got good taste. She’s pretty and got gumption to boot.”

He closed the back door of the trailer, scooped up Lady Astor, and carried her inside. The Yorkie cocked her head and stared up as if passing sentencing on him.

“Well?” He looked at her. “Do I pass the test?”

Her warm little tongue flicked out to lick his thumb.

“Looks like we’re gonna be good friends. Sorry I called you a hairy hiccup.”

Annie was still in the bathroom. There wasn’t much space to move around. Brady deposited the little dog on the half-sized sofa, and she immediately curled up into a little ball to watch him. He stripped the sheets off the bed, got out fresh ones, and proceeded to put them on the lone narrow mattress.

Ahem. Seriously, you’re going to do this? You’re going to sleep on this tiny little bed next to Annie and not touch her? How do you plan on accomplishing that?

The bathroom door opened and Annie emerged dressed in a long, silky underwear thing. The word “peignoir” popped into his mind. He didn’t know where the word came from. Probably one of the women he dated had told him that’s what it was called. Whatever it was named, Annie looked completely stunning in it—floaty and feminine, clothed in a sexy cloud of white.

Dammit.

Why couldn’t she have worn cotton footie pajamas? That he could have resisted. But in this sheer gown it was all he could do to keep from reaching over and pulling her into his arms.