The Rancher's Runaway Princess

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.