Falling For Fortune

Fortunately, his mum had met Sir Simon, the love of her life, soon after. Together they’d had Jensen, followed by Charles, Lucie and Amelia.

“I suppose a family of six siblings sounds pretty large to an only child,” he said.

“Large? I’d call it enormous. Do you get along?”

“Other than a few little tiffs now and again, yes. But I’d have to say we owe that to the parenting skills and the love of our mum and my father.”

They rode through a tree-lined summit that opened up to a pristine and scenic waterfall. The red rock cliffs surrounding the swimming hole provided a stunning backdrop to the calm blue water below.

“Here it is. Horseback Hollow’s hidden gem.”

“I can see why the residents would want to keep it private. It’s beautiful. Do you swim in it?” The thought of Amber Rogers in a two-piece swim costume stirred his blood in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Not this time of year.” She swung off her horse and tied the reins to a low-hanging branch of a nearby weeping willow tree. “But come summer, the place is hopping with kids and teenagers trying to beat the Texas heat. Personally, I like it best during the winter, when it’s quiet and empty and a person can just ride up here and be all alone with their horse and their thoughts.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the quiet and introspective type.” He regretted his word choice when she lifted a delicate brow at him.

“Do you picture me singing ‘Happy Trails’ around a campfire wearing fringes and a sequined hat like Dale Evans?”

“Maybe not singing, but I definitely can see you wearing fringes and sequins, riding faster than lightning through a cheering arena.” He’d actually seen photographs of her when he’d looked her up on the internet.

Her shoulders slumped, and she gazed at the waterfall in the distance.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“No, it’s not that. I guess I really do miss the rodeo life more than I expected. The glitz and the crowds are just a small part of my job. The practices and the injuries and hauling my horses and my gear all across the country was the hardest and biggest part, but all that work was worth it when the horn would sound, and I’d take off racing for that first barrel. I guess I should be lucky that I still get to work with horses and ride whenever I feel like it.”

“But you still miss the excitement?”

“I really do. But I’m glad to be helping Gram, which, trust me, comes with its own share of excitement—as well as its confusion. I can’t believe she’d even consider entering a dance contest. She never did anything like that with Pop. I didn’t even know she liked to dance.”

“Maybe she didn’t know that until she met Mr. Murdock. My mother didn’t know she’d come to love Texas barbecue until she came to Horseback Hollow for her first visit. Now, every time she flies back to England, she stuffs her luggage with jars of homemade rubs and sauces. A few months ago, she brought home a cooler filled with brisket and had our cook commission a company to install a smoker on the back lawn at our Chesterfield Estate.”

Amber laughed, causing him to feel ten feet tall for bringing her out of her funk. “You’re right. I’m sure you didn’t realize how much you would love riding in that Western saddle.”

“Oh no. You’re wrong. As much as I like cowboy movies, and as hard as I’ve tried to adjust, I just can’t seem to get used to this ghastly thing. I’m going into Lubbock later this week to custom order a proper English saddle. The pommel, the stirrups, everything just sits wrong on these American rigs.”

“Really?” A mischievous glint flickered in her eyes. “Is that why you ride so slowly? Are you afraid you might lose your seating, fall out of that sturdy saddle and dirty those fancy white breeches?”

The corner of her mouth tilted. She was a cocky little thing—and in need of a lesson.

As Jensen strode to his horse, he wished he had one of his thoroughbreds back home for the challenge he was about to issue. “I’ll wager I can ride faster than you, despite this inferior equestrian equipment my brother-in-law provided me.”

“What do I get if I win?” she asked, already mounting up.

He thought for a moment, then grinned. “If I win, you fix me a proper English tea, complete with crumpets and clotted cream. If you win, I’ll take you to a real-life authentic Texas barbecue joint.” He adjusted the reins in his hands, knowing that the outcome of the bet was a win-win situation for him. Either way, he would get to spend more time with the lively and fun Amber Rogers.

“Well, Sir Jensen, I hope you like ribs, because next Monday night they have an all-you-can-eat special at my favorite spot in Vicker’s Corners.” With that parting comment, she took off.

He nudged Trail Blazer with his heels and leaned down over the gelding’s neck, pretending he was racing for the polo ball with his mallet. Not only had he been team captain the last two years at university, but after graduation, he’d gone on to play competitively for England at the international level, so he had no doubt he could give her a good run. But after all the casseroles he’d been politely tolerating the past couple of weeks, he had a strong craving for some lighter fare—like some English cucumber sandwiches.

Still, in all honesty, some good ol’ Texas barbecue wouldn’t be bad, either. Especially in the company of a beautiful blonde cowgirl...

“How far are we going?” Amber called behind her, her hair whipping about her graceful neck.

“To that fork in the road where we met,” he yelled back, trying to watch the trail and not her hips moving fluidly in the saddle.

When they finally reached the finish line, Amber was at least two lengths ahead of him. She pulled up first and slowed her horse to a walk as he did the same.

He hadn’t enjoyed losing a race so much in his life.

They were both out of breath, but her shirt was the only one that had come unbuttoned at the top. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way her breasts were heaving under the fitted plaid material.

He lifted his gaze long enough to see her smile. Maybe making the wager was a bad idea. Now he owed her dinner, yet he didn’t know how he could sit across from her at a restaurant table and keep his thoughts strictly on the food.

“So when is dinner?” she asked.

“How about next Friday night? That way, we can avoid the New Year’s holiday, as well as the all-you-can-eat crowd.”

“That works for me.”

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Sounds like a date,” she said. “But under the circumstances, maybe it would be best if I met you there.”

He pondered her suggestion for a moment longer than he probably should have because she added, “Don’t you agree?”

And in truth? Probably so. No need to set the paparazzi to thinking there was another British royal enamored with a Horseback Hollow local. “You’re right. Knowing the tabloids the way I do, they’d love to make something out of nothing.”

“Well, they can’t blame you for eating dinner with a neighbor.”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, and please let Quinn know I’ll be bringing Amelia’s cutting horse over Friday.” Then she turned in the direction of her ranch.

Jensen felt a bit like a heel when he and Trail Blazer headed in the opposite direction. He’d become adept at dealing with the tabloids. They printed blaring exaggerations about him all the time.

But the truth of the matter was, he didn’t want Amber to get the wrong idea about them. He might be attracted to her, but that’s as far as it would go.

So as they each headed home, the symbolism of them going their own ways at the fork in the road was both sad and true.

* * *

Bright and early Friday morning, on the second of January, Amber handpicked a filly she thought Amelia would like and brushed her until her coat shone. Then she loaded her in the trailer and drove her to the Drummond ranch.

Along the way, she spotted two cars parked on the side of the road, neither of which she recognized. She slowed up, mostly because she was going to turn, but also because curiosity niggled at her.

There seemed to be some whispering going on—a camera snatched out of one car and taken to another?

Uh-oh. Jensen had mentioned the media had tried all kinds of tricks, wanting to snap photos of a pregnant Amelia. She turned into the drive, yet continued to check her rearview mirror.

No cars...

Wait. A light blue sedan was parked in the shade of an oak tree. A man climbed out of the rear passenger seat. He was wearing black slacks and a white shirt. And he carried a camera with a huge telephoto lens.

The driver remained behind the wheel, but a second man got out, as well. And they proceeded to walk down the drive toward Quinn’s house.

Nosy reporters.

Amber pulled up close to the barn and parked, but she left her purse in the truck. Then she marched up to the front door and knocked, prepared to tell Quinn or Amelia or whoever answered that there was possibly a cameraman and a reporter nearby.

Dang. Where was everyone? She knocked again.

Maybe they weren’t home. Something told her they wouldn’t like those reporters trespassing. Jensen had implied as much last Friday. But what should she do? Run the paparazzi off? Did she have a legal right to do that?

About the time she was going to walk away, the door swung open, and she looked up to see Jensen standing in the entryway.

“You came just in time for all the excitement,” he said. “Just before dawn, my sister went into lab—”

“Jensen!” Amber had to shut him up. And there was only one way she could think of that would do so quickly. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into a close embrace, whispering, “There are a couple of reporters skulking around right behind me. Play along.” Then she rose up on tiptoe and kissed him.

Chapter Four

Play along?

The moment Amber wrapped her arms around Jensen’s neck and pressed her lips to his, it was easy to fall into the little scheme she’d concocted. His mouth was much too busy to speak, so he couldn’t possibly blurt out that his sister had gone into labor. Nor could he tip off the reporter that Quinn had taken her to the hospital just a couple of hours ago, leaving Jensen the only one home on the ranch.

In fact, as Amber’s peaches-and-cream scent enveloped him, as her lips parted and he tasted—brown sugar and...spice?—she leaned into him. He couldn’t help but draw her close and caress the curve of her waist, the slope of her hips.

Who would have guessed such a feminine creature hid beneath all that denim and flannel?

And who would have known that the pretty cowgirl could kiss like this?

When the camera flashed behind them—not once, but a second time—Jensen came to his senses, ending the little sideshow they’d put on for the paparazzi. Amber may have saved his sister from being headline news, but she’d inadvertently given the tabloids another gossip-worthy story to publish. But he’d have to deal with that fallout later.

In the meantime, he took her by the hand and pulled her into the house—and out of the camera’s view. Then he quickly shut the door behind them and turned to face her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I spotted a couple of men outside who had to be reporters. And I was afraid you were going to say something about Amelia being in labor, and I figured you wouldn’t want them to hear that. So I did the only thing I could think of to shut you up.”

She was quite flushed—not just her cheeks, which would explain a bit of embarrassment, but her throat and neck, too.

Had that kiss aroused more than gallantry on her part? It would seem so, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“What’s so funny?” she asked. “You were saying that Amelia was in something or other. And I jumped to the conclusion that she might be in labor.”

“You’re right. That’s what I was going to say. And no, I didn’t want the reporters to hear.”

Amber brightened. “So Amelia really is in labor?”

“Yes, since early this morning. Quinn took her to the hospital in Lubbock right before dawn.”

“So what are you doing? Waiting for a phone call?”

“That’s exactly what I was doing. She wasn’t due until the first of next month, although her obstetrician didn’t seem overly concerned. Still, I can’t help worrying about it, though.”

“I can understand that.”

“She was under a great deal of stress early on, and those reporters made her life miserable. I can’t help thinking that might have brought on early labor.

“But now they’re outside again, ready to steal her joy and happiness again. They probably plan to camp out at the ranch until the baby’s birth. Fortunately, she and Quinn managed to slip away while it was still dark, but now I’m undoubtedly stuck. I’m not sure how I’ll go about leaving without them following me.”

“Do you have the keys to that ranch pickup that’s parked behind the barn?”

“Yes, the key should be hanging on the hook near the back door.”

“Then maybe I can help. The reason I came was to bring that filly Quinn asked me to deliver. Why don’t I go outside and make a big show of getting her out of the trailer? I can saddle her and do a little trick riding in the corral that’s on the other side of the house. If the reporters are watching me, maybe you can slip out the back without them noticing you.”

“How very Annie Oakley of you.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“On the contrary. I actually think it’s quite a clever plan that just might work. And I do hope it does. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait here and try to sneak out under the cloak of darkness.”

“How very Sherlock Holmes of you.”

He laughed. “What a team we make.”

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “That’s true. But just wait and see. We’ll git ’er done, ol’ chap.”

“Apparently, we will. And those reporters won’t know we’ve been having a go at their expense. Thanks for being my partner in crime.”

“Anytime. That’s the cowboy way.” She glanced down at her scuffed boots, then back at him. “Hey. About that kiss...”

“Don’t give it another thought, Amber.”

She smiled, and the concern that had once troubled her brow eased. “Okay, then I won’t.”

He was glad that she seemed to shake it off as though it had never happened—the kiss and the reporters who’d recorded it all.

Unfortunately, he’d be thinking about it for the both of them—and not just the camera flash and the rippling effects of what that might mean. Because the memory of her taste, the feel of her in his arms, the flush on her cheeks and throat, would linger in his mind for a long, long time.

She’d jumped in to save the day, and it had worked in a surprising, blood-stirring way.

What an odd, mismatched team they made. The polo enthusiast and the cowgirl. The Brit and the Texan.

The tabloids were going to have a field day with that one.

* * *

Amber hadn’t heard a word from Jensen or anyone remotely related to the Drummonds or the Fortunes since she’d run interference for them two days ago. And while she’d hoped someone would call to give her news about Amelia, she really hadn’t expected them to. She just hoped that everything went okay—and that the baby was healthy.

Other than her scattered thoughts, it had been business as usual on the Broken R. After breakfast, she’d lined up the foreman and ranch hands on the chores that needed to be done. Then she’d checked on the broodmares and worked with Lucky Charm, a gelding who was showing a lot of promise.

It had been a productive morning. That afternoon, Gram drove into town to run some errands and to pick up groceries at the Superette, while Amber went into the office and spent the next two hours paying bills, reconciling the checkbook and catching up on some year-end bookkeeping.

She’d no more than printed off a report for the accountant when the sound of an approaching vehicle caught her attention. She glanced out the window just in time to see Gram’s Ford Taurus speed into the yard and skid to stop, a swirl of dust settling around the black sedan.

The mild-mannered woman never drove over the speed limit, and to come racing home...? Why, that bordered on recklessness.

See? Elmer Murdock was a bad influence on her.

Determined to ignore the behavior and not make any more fuss about Gram’s dating habits, hoping that the excitement would run its course and fizzle out, Amber glanced down at the printout. That was, until Gram’s shrill voice called out from the kitchen.

“Amber Sue Rogers! Get on out here as fast as your little legs will carry you. What in blue blazes is this all about?”

It had been ten or more years since Gram had lit into Amber, although even then, she’d been fairly soft-spoken and mellow about it. So she was clearly worked up about something, and the angry shriek kicked Amber’s pulse rate up a notch.

So after pushing back the desk chair, Amber hurried to the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about.

She found Gram standing beside the scarred oak table, holding a newspaper—or rather a tabloid— clucking her tongue and shaking her gray head.

“What’s wrong?” Amber asked.

Gram turned the paper around and flashed a front page photo of a couple kissing. Well, not just any couple. It was Amber and Jensen standing smack-dab on Quinn Drummond’s front porch.

Her heart thudded and rumbled like flat tire on a wheel that was falling off its axle.

How the heck did a national tabloid get a photo printed so quickly? Those dang reporters must have emailed it to the home office as soon as they took it, along with some cock-and-bull story to explain what they imagined they saw. Because other than the pictures they took of her riding the mare, there was nothing to report because she hadn’t said a single word to them.

“Girl,” Gram said, “you’re front-page news. It doesn’t list your name, but I know it’s you. And so will everyone else in town.”

Sure as shootin’, it was Amber, all right. And there was no mistaking the headline, either. Sir Jensen and Texas Cowgirl Caught in Royal Liplock!

“What’s this all about?” Gram asked.

“It wasn’t a real kiss, if that’s what you mean. And there’s no romance going on between us. It was just an act, a ploy to distract a tabloid reporter who was hanging around the Drummond ranch.”

“Distract him from what?”

“From learning that Amelia was in labor and that she’d been taken to the hospital.”

Amber snatched the paper and scanned the article, which didn’t appear to mention the Drummonds at all, other than to say that the Fortune Chesterfields seemed to be fixated on the “bucolic commoners in quaint Horseback Hollow.”

What a crock of bull. They made normal, down-home country folk sound like a novelty that the rich and famous would soon grow tired of.

“Did the ploy work?” Gram asked.

Amber glanced up from her reading. “In terms of taking the heat off Amelia? Yes, it appears that way.”

But now, it seemed that heat had been transferred on to Amber, who’d gotten her fifteen minutes of unwarranted and unwanted fame.

As she continued reading about how a brazen cowgirl had launched herself into Sir Jensen’s arms in an attempt to rope a British royal...well, heck. She wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

Better yet, maybe she ought to rope herself a couple of reporters and hog-tie them until they wanted to crawl into a hole and die. It’d serve the nosy snoops right. She did have to admit, though, the shots of her in the saddle were pretty good. She smiled, remembering the clicking of shutters and photographers’ gasps as she nailed several of her trademark riding tricks. When it came to showmanship, she definitely had the knack.

“Speaking of Amelia,” Gram said. “How is she? Did she have her baby?”

“I don’t know.” Amber set the tabloid on the table and tapped her finger at the photo that took up most of the front page. “After that silly kiss, I went outside and took the filly out of the trailer. Then I saddled her and proceeded to ride around the yard, doing a few tricks. If you turn the page, you’ll see a couple of shots where I’m showing off for the cameraman and the reporter, which is how Jensen was able to slip away and head to the hospital.”

Gram reached into the grocery bag, withdrew a tub of spreadable butter and placed it in the refrigerator. “I hope he appreciated your help because I’m afraid that article is going to make you look like a hussy.”

Amber lifted her hand and fingered her lips, recalling the kiss that had shocked the wits out of Jensen—and had nearly stolen the breath out of her.

He seemed to have appreciated the diversion, although now she wasn’t so sure. She might have just helped him exchange one sticky wicket for another.

The telephone rang, and Gram answered. “Hello? Yes, it is.”

Amber didn’t give the call much mind, thinking it was some kind of telemarketer or one of Gram’s quilting friends wanting to be the first to know whether it was truly little tomboy Amber Rogers plastered all over the racks above the grocery store checkout aisles.

“Goodness, it’s no bother at all. And yes, she’s right here.”

Her? As in Amber? Who could it possibly be? She didn’t give people of any importance, like friends or someone from the casting department of Cowboy Country USA, the telephone number to the house. They called her cell. And speaking of that casting director—Perry or Terry What’s-His-Name...

The guy had gotten it in his head that she could not only rope and ride, but that she’d look great dressed up as a saloon girl. So he’d been trying to talk her into auditioning for a part as a dance-hall girl in some indoor stage show they planned to have called Madame LaRue’s Lone Star Review.

Never mind that Amber had never been to France and couldn’t do the cancan. Apparently, they had dance instructors who could teach her all she needed to know.

“May I tell her who’s calling?” Gram asked.

Boy, that guy was sure persistent.

“Why, hello, Jensen. I’ll get her.” Gram covered the telephone receiver and whispered, “I knew it was him, but I didn’t want him to think I was all gaga over him like some folks in town—especially after that stupid tabloid hit the newsstand.”

She was right. Some of the locals saw dollar signs whenever they spotted one of the Fortunes because they considered them as rich as ol’ fury. And with the Fortune Chesterfields now in town, some people acted as though they were related to the queen of England.

Amber took the receiver, cleared her throat and willed her voice to sound as though kissing royalty and being on the front page of a tabloid were just as normal as...well as wearing a saloon-girl costume and dancing the cancan.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m glad you called, Jensen. How’s your sister? Did she have the baby?”

“She’s doing splendidly. She had a beautiful baby girl early this morning—about six o’clock.”

She was in labor for two days? “It sounds as though she had a rough time of it.”

“Actually, her labor would start, then stop. And because she wasn’t due until the first of February, her doctor was reluctant to induce her labor—or to send her home. She wasn’t overly uncomfortable until last night, when her water broke—and then they gave her an epidural.”

“How much did the baby weigh?”

“2.7 kilograms.”

Amber’s breath caught. “That sounds awfully small. Is everything okay?”

He paused. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that you Americans aren’t on the metric system. She weighs about six pounds—maybe a bit less.”

“Then she wasn’t too small. You Brits do things so differently.”

“I’m afraid it’s the other way around, my dear. But I’m much too happy to argue with you. Mother and daughter are doing very well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Amber blew out a sigh of relief. “I’d been wondering how things were going—and I’d planned to call Jeanne Marie and ask.”