Montana Royalty

“Your Royal Highness,” Lord Charles said with a bow. He looked scared out of his wits. She considered that a very good sign as she ushered him into the room, closed the door and demanded to see what he’d brought her.

Holding her breath, she watched him reach into his briefcase and draw out a large manila envelope. What Charles carried was of such high security that if caught with the papers, he would have been put to death.

Her fingers shook as she took the envelope and drew out the papers, noting not only the royal seal, but the thick, pale green paper used only for important government documents in her country.

“These are the originals?” she asked.

Charles nodded.

“So it is true,” she said, feeling sick to her stomach. There would be no turning back now. She put the documents back into the manila envelope, willing her fingers not to tremble at even the thought of what she’d done.

Finally, she looked to the family barrister. She feigned surprise, then anger. “Where is this bastard?”

“In your employ, your Royal Highness. He’s one of your grooms.”

JULES RODE TO THE SPOT where he’d encountered Devlin Barrow that morning. The day was cold and clear, the sun slicing through the tall, dense pines. Plenty of light to track Devlin’s footprints in the still-wet ground.

Determined to find out where the groom had spent the night, he followed the trail, glad for last night’s rain, which made tracking easier.

A hawk squawked as it circled over the treetops. Closer, a squirrel chattered at him as he worked his way through the pines.

Jules lost the tracks at one point in the thick, dried pine needles but picked them up again as he led his horse up the mountainside, surprised the groom had ridden this far from the ranch. He could make out the old county road—all that stood between the princess’s property and the one ranch that was still privately owned.

The owner had refused to sell. He’d heard Evangeline discussing the problem with her husband, Prince Broderick. The Buchanan Ranch was now all that stood between the prince’s holdings and the river.

The owner would have to sell. It was only a matter of time since the princess wanted it—and Broderick was responsible for acquiring the property for her.

Jules turned his attention back to the mountainside and the boot tracks he’d been following. As he walked through a stand of aspens, the leaves golden, he saw the small log structure ahead.

The groom’s boot tracks led right up to the front door. Was it possible this was where Devlin Barrow had spent the night?

Ground-tying his horse, Jules walked toward the shack, noting the shed roof off to one side. A horse had been kept under the overhang recently. He could still smell it.

Not the groom’s horse since it had returned to the stables without him. Had Devlin been thrown? That would explain his odd behavior that morning as well as the wound on his temple.

Except that Devlin Barrow was extolled as being an extraordinary horseman.

To Jules’s surprise, the door to the structure wasn’t locked. Cautiously he peered inside, not sure what he expected to find.

That was just it. He hadn’t expected to find anything. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness—and see the horse blanket lying on the shack’s worn wood floor.

Frowning, he stepped in for a closer look. The horse blanket wasn’t one of Stanwood’s, which were monogrammed with the royal crest.

He caught a scent in the stale air of the small room and smiled knowingly. A man who knew about the baser desires, Jules was familiar with the aroma of sex.

He stared down at the blanket, wondering who had shared that blanket with the groom last night and how he could use that knowledge to his advantage.

Obviously, the woman wasn’t from the Stanwood house-hold or she would have been riding one of the royal horses with the monogrammed blanket and tack.

So who was she?

He started to turn to leave when he saw something that stopped him. Crouching down, he lifted the edge of the horse blanket. It had appeared to be nothing more than cheap material like most blankets used under a Western saddle in this part of the world.

But this blanket had leather trim. It was what had been stamped into the leather that caught his eye. Whitehorse Days.

Jules frowned as he read the date and the words: All-around Best Cowgirl.

He dropped the blanket back to where he’d found it and rose. All-around Best Cowgirl. She shouldn’t be that hard to find given that he now had the event date.

If Devlin Barrow—or even the princess—thought either of them could keep secrets from him, they were both mistaken.

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