Kitabı oku: «The Prince's Cowboy Double»

Chapter One

Lady Gwendolyn Reed straightened her plum wool suit jacket, squared her shoulders in the best tradition of the British nobility, and watched the so-called cowboy approach the screen door from inside the darkened house. Backlit by a window at the end of the hallway, he appeared tall and broad shouldered. Instead of hurrying, as would be proper in this situation, he sauntered with a rolling gait she’d only seen previously in Western films.

A tiny bead of perspiration traveled down her back, keeping time with the cowboy’s slow, steady pace. Who would have imagined early May would be so dashedly hot, even in Texas?

Gwendolyn resisted the urge to tap her foot on the wide wooden planks. She didn’t want to be here. Looking back briefly to the black Land Rover parked in the gravel drive, she was at least assured she wasn’t alone. A very nervous valet watched her from behind tinted glass. The driver—an Austin resident who had grown up driving on the wrong side of the motor-ways—appeared stoic and unaffected, as usual.

One must have nerves of steel to negotiate the frightening dual carriageways and twisting rural roads of Texas, where everyone drove large vehicles—from huge lorries to caravans on holiday—at an alarming rate of speed.

“Mr. Hank McCauley?” she asked as the man stopped before her.

“That’s me, darlin’,” he drawled, running a hand through his too-long hair. He opened the thin barrier of the screen door and stepped outside. Dressed in low-slung jeans, a white towel draped around his shoulders, he appeared as though he’d recently stepped out of the shower. His long bare feet told her she’d interrupted his morning—his very late morning—grooming. His stubble indicated he hadn’t shaved yet today. He ran a hand through sun-streaked, tousled brown hair.

He looked just like a James Dean-ish, Hollywood-style version of Prince Alexi Ladislas of Belegovia.

Oh, my. Gwendolyn looked up into his sleepy, hooded blue eyes, telling herself that she should be evaluating this Texan for his suitability, not comparing his masculine attributes to the prince. Still, any woman would appreciate his tall, broad-shouldered form, his smooth, tanned skin, and the intangible air about him that screamed—no, make that whispered in a bedroom voice—I am one-hundred-percent male.

Odd that Prince Alexi, who appeared the mirror image—albeit a more polished one—of Hank McCauley had never affected her this way.

She blinked away the notion of cool sheets and warm showers, clutching her combination purse and briefcase tighter until she was sure she’d left imprints in the leather. “Mr. McCauley, my name is Lady Gwendolyn Reed and I have a proposition for you.”

He grinned. “Well, that’s a real surprise, darlin’, especially this early in the day. Most of those come at night out at Schultze’s Roadhouse.”

She assumed this roadhouse was some type of pub, one this man frequented with some regularity. “A business proposition,” Gwendolyn clarified, fighting the urge to lose her composure completely on the porch of this ranch house in the Texas Hill Country. She wondered what King Wilheim would say if she pulled her hair loose, threw down her briefcase and ran screaming across the blue-and-red flower-dotted countryside.

She’d had a very bad morning.

“I represent the royal family of Belegovia on this trip to the United States. Unfortunately, Prince Alexi—you may have read or heard of his trip to Texas—has disappeared.”

“Oh, yeah. I saw that prince guy on the television. Looks like he could be my twin,” Mr. McCauley said with a heart-stopping grin.

“Yes, well I’m sure the two of you are unrelated, although the resemblance is remarkable. Prince Alexi, of course, grew up in England while the royal family was in exile.”

“You don’t say. What did they do wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“To get exiled.”

Gwendolyn gritted her teeth. “Their only crime was to be taken over by the Soviet Union after World War II. The monarchy was restored to Belegovia after the breakup of the communist government.”

“Ah, one of those political things.”

“Quite. Now, as I was saying, I need your assistance.”

He leaned against the door frame, close enough that Gwendolyn smelled his spicy cologne and envisioned a diamond-bright sparkle coming from his sexy grin. “What can I do for you, darlin’?”

“May I come inside so we may talk?”

He straightened, using one arm to push the screen door wider. “Come right on in, Wendy.”

“That’s Lady Gwendolyn.”

“We’re not much on titles in the U.S. of A.”

“So I’ve heard. In that case, you may call me—”

“Darlin’, you look just like a Wendy to me.”

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Be nice to the man. He’s probably the only person in this barbaric land who looks exactly like Prince Alexi. Thankfully, she’d overheard the rather vivacious waitress—the very reason Alexi was now missing—mention Hank McCauley’s name and hometown.

He leaned close enough that she saw a tiny crescent-moon scar to the right of his upper lip. “Lady Wendy, you shouldn’t ever leave an offer like that on the table to a real Texan.”

HANK WASN’T SURE WHAT the pretty English lady’s game was, but he was curious enough to listen. He hadn’t planned to do much except take a nap after his shower, anyway. All-night colic sessions took a lot out of him. Fortunately, the mare he’d walked and dosed until long past dawn had finally settled down.

“Pardon the mess,” he said, grabbing a denim work shirt off the arm of the couch with one hand and a cold mug of coffee with the other. “I’d tell you it was the maid’s day off, but that would be a lie. She’s been gone a good three months that I can recall.”

He saw indulgent sympathy in her eyes. “That’s quite all right, Mr. McCauley. Perhaps my offer will lead to the hiring of new housekeeper.”

He needed another ten hours in his day, not money for a housekeeper. But he wasn’t about to admit that to the lady until he learned why she was here. “Have a seat, Lady Wendy, while I put this stuff in the kitchen. I’d offer you some coffee, but I don’t have a fresh pot made.”

She perched on the edge of his momma’s old colonial American sofa. He sure did love that couch. Had a few happy memories…but maybe he shouldn’t think about those right now.

“Actually, I prefer tea,” the English lady said, “but please don’t prepare any. I’d rather we got right down to business.”

“I like a lady who knows what she wants,” Hank said from around the corner of the kitchen as he tossed the shirt onto a chair and put the mug on the counter. The smell of the hours-old coffee, which had nearly burned in the pot before the coffeemaker turned itself off, filled the air. He briefly considered putting on a shirt, but he kind of liked the way Lady Wendy tried not to stare at his chest. When he didn’t have busted ribs or some big old bruise, he considered his chest and a fairly respectable six-pack of abs two of his best features.

“So what business brings you to Ranger Springs?” he said, taking a seat in a leather recliner with heat and massage features. That chair had sure felt good on his aching joints when he was still on the circuit. At the moment, the cool leather gave him a little jolt against his bare back.

Lady Wendy was perched on the edge of the couch, that funny-looking purse lying flat on her lap. She had a death grip on the fine-grained leather. Instead of long talons or work-shortened stubs, she had natural-looking, clear-polished nails that looked real classy. “I’m employed by the royal family of Belegovia. I’m charged with coordinating the prince’s tour of Texas for the purpose of expanding economic opportunities and tourism.”

“I saw something about the prince on the news yesterday. He’s been up in Dallas, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. We had several engagements there before traveling to San Antonio.”

“Is that where you’re headed? ’Cause I have to tell you that you made a little detour.”

Maybe he should have made her that hot tea so she’d have something to do with her hands besides holding that purse in a death grip. “I’m aware of where I am and why, Mr. McCauley.”

“Why don’t you call me Hank, Lady Wendy? We Texans don’t stand on formality.”

“Since my proposition is a business one, I’d prefer to keep our discussions less personal.”

He shrugged. “Whatever you like. So, what’s this proposition?”

“First, I must insist this conversation remain confidential between the two of us.”

He nodded. “I’m a man of my word.” As much as he’d like to brag he’d been propositioned by a classy English lady, he’d listen to her story and keep their discussion to himself.

She took a deep breath, giving him a pretty good view of her breasts. Not buckle-bunny, pop-the-snaps quantity, but nice nonetheless. “It appears the prince has decided to take his own holiday.”

Hank pulled his attention away from Lady Wendy’s quality, not quantity, attributes. “What?”

“Prince Alexi has taken a short deviation from our planned itinerary. I’m not sure when he’ll return.”

“Is this a problem?”

“It may be. You see, we have two events in San Antonio, a dinner in Austin, then we hoped to meet with the president if he is going to be at his ranch for the weekend.”

“I guess you don’t want to stand up the president.”

“I don’t want to cancel any of these events. Prince Alexi can be…difficult, but I certainly didn’t expect him to leave me in the lurch.”

“So, are you and this prince an item?”

“I beg your pardon!” If possible, her spine got even straighter. He could probably bounce a quarter off her deltoids.

“You know what I mean. This sounds a bit personal. Are you and the prince…involved?”

“Absolutely not! I’ve known Prince Alexi Ladislas since we were both public-school mates in England, and I’ve never considered him anything more than a friend.”

“Ah, so it is personal.”

“Not in that manner.”

“But he’s your friend, meaning he let you down.”

Lady Wendy seemed to deflate just a bit. “I should have anticipated something like this. There was an unfortunate incident with an actress in Monaco last fall…” She seemed to shake herself away from her memories. “He’s been restless lately, more so since we’d planned this trip to the States.”

“I don’t know what I can do for you, Lady Wendy. That prince is sure not hiding out on my ranch.”

“No, but for all intents and purposes, he could be here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She took another deep breath, then bent forward just enough to pull that silky material tight against her breasts. “You really are the very image of Prince Alexi, Mr. McCauley. With just a proper—I mean a similar—haircut and his wardrobe, I know that we’d be well on our way to—”

“Whoa! You want me to pretend to be this prince until he shows up?”

“Exactly,” she answered with more enthusiasm than he could have imagined. “With any luck, we’ll be able to contact Prince Alexi within twenty-four hours. I’m sure he’ll see reason and return to his entourage. Unfortunately, canceling the events until his return would appear suspicious, even if I were to come up with a good excuse.”

“Why? Is he involved in something shady?”

“Shady?”

“You know…illegal, immoral or just a little crooked.”

“Absolutely not! He’s a fine, upstanding man from one of Europe’s oldest royal families. He’s educated, intelligent and heir to a kingdom.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “You sure you aren’t sweet on this guy?”

“No! And besides, even if I were, that’s beside the point.”

“Which is…?”

“I need your assistance, Mr. McCauley, and I’m prepared to make it worth your while.”

“How’s that?”

“While the treasury of Belegovia does not rival those of Great Britain or the Arab world, I can offer you a substantial fee for only a few days of your time.”

Hank shook his head. “I’ve got chores to do, horses to tend. Twenty-five bags of sweet feed are bein’ unloaded this afternoon. This ranch doesn’t run by itself, Lady Wendy.”

“Surely you can hire someone to fill in for a few days. If we get started immediately, I can have any alterations made to the wardrobe, brief you on the itinerary and give you some lessons on protocol.”

“Protocol, hmm? In other words, you’d tell me what to do and say. Tell me, Lady Wendy, how are you gonna explain my Texas accent?”

“I would, of course, give you elocution lessons.”

“You’d teach me to speak like some foreign prince in less than a day? I don’t think so.”

“Prince Alexi speaks English flawlessly. He grew up in England while his family was in exile. He even lived in the States for five years before returning to Belegovia.”

“Did he live in Texas?”

“No, Boston.”

“Then he might as well talk like you, Lady Wendy, because Texans can barely understand those fast-talking Yankees.”

“Surely with a little practice…”

Hank shook his head. “No offense, Lady Wendy, but I don’t think you’ve thought this plan through. Maybe it would be best to just tell everyone he’s sick. Food poisoning, or a summer cold. Those can be pretty nasty.”

“I’ve always found the ‘sudden illness’ reason generates rabid speculation by the press. The tabloids might fabricate ridiculous stories that would make Prince Alexi’s character seem in question. He’s never taken drugs, nor does he drink to excess, but that is the first thing they would write. No, I simply cannot suddenly state that he is ill. Besides, any sickness serious enough to warrant canceling the trip would worry his family needlessly.”

“You could always tell them the truth, that he’s run off for a couple of days,” Hank suggested gently.

“I can’t do that to the king. Although I didn’t grow up in Belegovia, I’ve grown quite fond of the country and the royal family.”

“I’m just not sure I can help you. I’ve never really tried, but I don’t think I’m much of an actor.” He’d talked to one of those Hollywood types about a role in a film once while a movie company had been in Austin, but Hank just didn’t see himself as a either a “pretty boy” or a thug, and he sure didn’t want to play some stereotypical Texas cowboy. He sure wasn’t a prince. Nope, he was a horse trainer now.

She seemed to deflate, slumping back against the sofa. The fire went out of her pretty whiskey-colored eyes. “I’d so counted on a successful trip…the triumph that would bring needed revenues into Belegovia. The country has come so far in so few years, but King Wilheim has such plans…plans Prince Alexi shares. But as of this morning, he’s off with a petite blond waitress from that truck stop on the interstate, and I—”

“Kerry Lynn? He’s gone and run off with Kerry Lynn Jacks?”

“I believe that is her name. As a matter of fact, she gave me the idea of asking you to fill in for the prince—indirectly, of course, since she had no idea she would be running off with the prince at the time—when she mentioned you and she were once involved.”

“Not serious. But that’s beside the point. What in the world was Kerry Lynn thinkin’, runnin’ off with some foreign prince?”

“I believe he was being noble at the time. Something about her unreliable car and a trip to see some relatives…Besides, he can be most compelling when he applies himself.”

“But still, she’s no fool. He must have fed her a line of bull.” Hank shook his finger at the British lady as he leaned forward. “If that prince so much as lays a finger on her, he’ll be answerin’ to me!”

“She kissed him!”

“What?” He slumped back into the recliner.

“Right there in the truck stop, she kissed him. She thought he was you, and she threw her arms about his neck quite enthusiastically and kissed him on the mouth.”

Hank smiled. “Kerry is a bit impulsive. I hadn’t been by to visit in quite a while and I suppose she was just glad to see me.” Hank rubbed his bristly chin. “Say, what date is this, anyway?”

“Wednesday, May 8.”

“Dang it! I’ll bet Kerry thought I was bringing her a graduation present. She’s getting her degree from Southwest Texas State University on Saturday.”

Lady Wendy looked a bit green. “How old is this young woman?”

“Well, she’s three years younger than me, so that would make her twenty-eight.”

The lady seemed to relax. “I thought for a moment that Prince Alexi had run off with someone…younger.”

He almost heard her unspoken words—much younger. Jailbait younger. Hank had to chuckle despite the serious situation of Kerry being off on her own with some foreign prince. “She’s been going to college part-time for as long as I can remember ’cause she helps her mother and sisters by working as a waitress.”

“If she’s graduating on Saturday, surely she won’t be gone long. Today’s Wednesday. If you’ll agree to stand in for the prince, I’m sure it would only be for a day or two. Miss Jacks will return with him, you and Prince Alexi can switch places, and we’ll continue the tour as planned.”

Hank shook his head again. “Haven’t you been listening? I’m a Texan, not some fancy foreigner. I can’t talk like I grew up in Europe and lived in god-awful Boston for five years.”

Lady Wendy brightened. “If that’s your only objection, then we’ll give you a sore throat. Laryngitis won’t cause any suspicion from the press.”

“Whoa, now! I didn’t say that was my only objection. I’d like to point out I don’t exactly act like a prince.”

“I can teach you.”

Hank settled back against the body-warmed leather and thought about the offer. A couple of days with Lady Wendy, learning to be a prince. No doubt eating with his pinkie sticking out. He almost grimaced at the image. For all he knew, this Prince Alexi was some dandified intellectual who knew all about Beethoven and nothing about George Strait. He probably thought Garth Brooks was some little ol’ stream in Wisconsin.

On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to learn some manners. Like how to eat those tiny snacks they always served at country clubs. How to order something besides a longneck if he wanted a drink. How to wear something besides new jeans and a clean shirt when he wanted to dress up.

Rich cutting-horse owners often asked him to join them in their boxes during competitions. He also had to go to cocktail parties and some fancy dinners in Houston and Dallas—sometimes even outside of Texas—to meet the kind of people who could afford a twenty- to fifty-thousand-dollar horse. He knew he needed some polish, but so far he’d gotten by with his grin and his championship bronc-riding buckle.

If anyone could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear in just a day or two, Hank had a real good idea Lady Wendy was the person. She’d at least give it a good British try, he thought with a grin.

“You know, I could probably call Kerry’s momma, Charlene Jacks, at the Four Square Café to find out where they all went,” Hank said.

“But you don’t quite understand, Mr. McCauley. If the prince doesn’t want to be found, if he doesn’t want to come back, nothing will convince him otherwise. I think our time will be best spent training you for tomorrow’s events, then we can find the prince. Or perhaps he will come back. He always does.”

Hank thought about this for a moment. He really didn’t want to end this opportunity so quickly, even if they could locate the prince and convince him to come back. Plus he was very intrigued by the formidable Lady Wendy.

She’d looked so forlorn at the prospect of failing. He wasn’t sure why this job was so important to her—she wasn’t from Belegovia, and she’d claimed she wasn’t sweet on the prince—but whatever the reason, all the starch had gone out of her when he’d questioned her plan. He wasn’t sure he could act like some European prince, but he couldn’t live with the idea that he’d failed her.

“Laryngitis, hmm?” he asked, still grinning. “I’ll cut my hair. I’ll even wear this prince’s fancy clothes. But don’t think I’m gonna stick out my pinkie when I drink out of one of those sissy china cups.”

GWENDOLYN SUPPRESSED A sigh of relief when Mr. McCauley acquiesced to her plan for him to impersonate the prince. At least he’d give it a good try, she was sure, because for some reason he’d decided to help her. It wasn’t the money; something else motivated Hank McCauley. Perhaps he wasn’t as broke or lazy as he appeared. She certainly wished she knew what did motivate him, since she would no doubt need that knowledge later, when instructions were going poorly and he threatened to walk out. Which he probably would.

Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely certain she could turn this casual, flirting, unrefined cowboy into Prince Alexi in less than twenty-four hours. However, the idea of reporting her failure to King Wilheim was unconscionable. She had to try. And Milos Anatole, Prince Alexi’s valet, would help tremendously.

The idea of telling her father she’d been dismissed from her first independent job, especially one with the royal house of Belegovia, was appalling.

“Very good, then, Mr. McCauley. If you’d like to pack a small bag with any personal toiletries, we’ll be off.”

“Whoa, now. I have to make arrangements for someone else to help Juan take care of my stock. I can’t just walk away from seventeen horses, four laying Rhode Island Reds, and the best mouser in the state of Texas.”

Gwendolyn wasn’t sure what he was talking about—probably some types of animals—but he sounded responsible for them. “Perhaps this Juan person can handle the task. Or surely you have a friend or a neighbor who can help.”

“Well now, I have somebody I can call, but I’ve got to see if he’s available. He’s got his own place to take care of.”

Gwendolyn glanced at her watch. If they got on the road within the hour, they could arrive in San Antonio before two o’clock that afternoon. That would give her nearly twenty hours—if they had to work through the night—to get Mr. McCauley ready for the children’s hospital and zoo appearances tomorrow.

“Let’s get on with it, then.” She rose from the couch and clutched her briefcase in front of her with both hands.

Mr. McCauley frowned, leaning back in his chair to look her in the eye. “Are you always this bossy?”

She swallowed a caustic reply. “I’m sorry, Mr. McCauley, but we are on a tight deadline. If there is anything I can do to convince your friend to arrive promptly, please let me know.”

“How much were you gonna pay?”

She suddenly realized they hadn’t discussed a fee. “How much do you require?”

“We’ll talk about me later, but why don’t you pay my friend five hundred to stay here and watch my spread? That’ll cover about two days of his time.”

From knowing Prince Alexi—who had the uncommon ability to compute pounds to yen to euros—for so many years, she’d learned to compute foreign currency. Five hundred dollars seemed fairly reasonable. About ten dollars an hour American, if one counted the entire day and night. “Very well. I’ll have a check prepared for him.”

“Now, Lady Wendy, I’m not sure the bank in Ranger Springs will let him cash a check from Europe.”

Gwendolyn felt her body go rigid. “I assure you—”

“Now, don’t get all bent out of shape. This is a small town. Hell, a lot of people won’t take a check from Oklahoma, much less Belegovia. Why don’t you run into town and see if you can get some cash? I’ll get dressed, pack a bag and be ready to go when you get back.”

“This is absurd! A check from the royal treasury of Belegovia is absolutely valid!”

Hank McCauley shook his head, making a lock of unruly hair fall into his hooded eyes. “No cash, no deal.”

Gwendolyn swallowed another reply and turned on her heel. “Very well, then, Mr. McCauley. Your friend will have his cash. I’ll be back shortly. Kindly be ready to leave when I return.”

“You’ve got it, Lady Wendy.”

She heard the recliner squeak as he rose, but his bare feet made no sound on the floor. She couldn’t keep herself from looking back to see where he was located.

He was right behind her. She turned and clutched her briefcase high against her chest, drawing in a deep breath, inhaling his clean fragrance and spicy cologne. Why didn’t the man at least don a shirt? He was absolutely improper.

Absolutely intoxicating, she had to admit as her head swam.

“You might want to stop by the Kash ’n’ Karry on your way back from the bank. I’ll need a couple of six packs of Dr. Pepper—the real kind, not that diet stuff—while we’re working on this prince thing.”

“Dr. Pepper.” She was relieved her voice still worked. “Anything else?”

“Throw in some Doritos, will you, darlin’? I’ve got a good idea all this training is gonna make me hungry as well as thirsty, and I doubt they have my kind of food on the menu at the hotel where we’ll be stayin’.”

Hotel. The two of them, working until the wee hours, alone in a suite. Maybe not alone, if she could keep Milos with them all night. “Whatever you wish, Mr. McCauley.”

He stepped even closer, so close she had to look up into his blue eyes and heart-stopping grin. Too dangerous. She dropped her gaze. She could see the sprinkling of hair on his fingers as he gripped the towel around his neck. His chest appeared warm, broad and firm underneath those fisted hands. She had the irrational and totally inappropriate urge to taste his skin.

Good heavens! What was wrong with her?

“Now, Lady Wendy, what did I tell you about not leavin’ an offer like that on the table?”

“What?”

He grinned. “Never mind. You run off to the bank, now, and don’t forget those Dr. Peppers.”