A Royal Fortune
Judy Duarte
MY KINGDOM FOR A COWGIRLThey go together like…chutney and barbecue. High tea and hot sauce. You couldn’t come up with a more unlikely twosome than Jensen Fortune Chesterfield and Amber Rogers. So when the paparazzi catch the Fortune heir in a lip-lock with the free-spirited rodeo rider, Horseback Hollow goes wild. What is really going on here?Princes only fall for commoners in fairy tales, but who could blame Amber for crushing on Jensen? The sweet cowgirl can see the big-hearted man beneath that buttoned-up Brit. Could it be that the simple life of the Hollow is exactly what Jensen needs? If only she can find a way to get him to see how she truly feels . . . and rope this aristocrat in a Stetson for keeps!
MEET THE FORTUNES!
Fortune of the Month: Jensen Fortune Chesterfield
Age: 30
Vital Statistics: Tall, dark-haired, impeccably groomed—with a swoon-worthy British accent.
Claim to Fame: Sir Jensen is a prince of a man … literally.
Romantic prospects: Stellar, if only he was interested. Sir Jensen keeps his heart locked up as tight as the Crown Jewels.
“That kiss with Amber Rogers? People are making way too much of it. It was all Amber’s idea, to distract the paparazzi from my sister. She was just doing a favor for a friend. We are just friends. To think that a down-to-earth cowgirl would get together with a fellow like me is—well, it’s pure fiction. A lovely fiction, perhaps. Her long blond hair, those big brown eyes … oh, blimey! We’re. Just. Friends.”
* * *
The Fortunes of Texas: Cowboy Country: Lassoing hearts from across the pond!
A Royal Fortune
Judy Duarte
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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Since 2002, USA TODAY bestselling author JUDY DUARTE has written forty books for Mills & Boon
Cherish™, earned two RITA
Award finals, won two Maggies and received a National Reader’s Choice Award. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she enjoys traveling with her husband and spending quality time with her grandchildren. You can learn more about Judy and her books at her website, www.JudyDuarte.com (http://www.JudyDuarte.com), or at Facebook.com/JudyDuarteNovelist (http://Facebook.com/JudyDuarteNovelist).
To Cindy Kirk, Marie Ferrarella, Michelle Major, Nancy Robards Thompson and Allison Leigh—the amazing authors who took part in The Fortunes of Texas: Cowboy Country.
It was a joy working with each of you. I’d take a trip back to Horseback Hollow with you anytime!
Contents
Cover (#uc9fcf1f0-cefd-5bb9-a322-a8b1122020c8)
Introduction (#u5054b0a5-bbda-5dbd-837b-9336a3ff665e)
Title Page (#u27d15c36-eedc-50d4-b35d-b9184d020bb4)
About the Author (#ud0ca543b-a555-51a5-98f8-bef55211bb28)
Dedication (#ud74e9731-7489-51e8-98dd-57ac96a4cc8d)
Chapter One (#udd31cf8c-7439-5018-983a-90e7c370cf37)
Chapter Two (#u14bcebbb-018c-5489-afad-a965834d19d9)
Chapter Three (#ubea5d763-1ee9-5752-8b9c-562ccaae6303)
Chapter Four (#u64d92cb0-ff5e-5da2-8672-da6a7dcbf79e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_18f6cec0-b846-58b5-80f2-f3e5de562a45)
Jensen Fortune Chesterfield slipped out the back door of the small Texas ranch house in which he was staying, hoping to escape the chattering crowd and to find a little peace and quiet.
Inside, his family had gathered to celebrate Christmas on Boxing Day with their new Texas relatives. But he wasn’t in the mood for all the holiday gaiety—and hadn’t been since his father died nearly four years ago.
After Sir Simon Chesterfield suffered a fatal heart attack during a polo match, Jensen had been plagued by a bah-humbug mood that began in December and lasted through the better part of January.
In some ways, he wished he’d stayed in England, but his mother wanted him to join her in Horseback Hollow, where his sister Amelia now lived with her husband, Quinn Drummond.
His mother was staying with her sister, while his younger siblings had rooms at a local bed-and-breakfast. Jensen was staying with Amelia and Quinn. The space was a bit tight, but the arrangement suited him. As he stood in the yard, he took in a deep breath and surveyed the grounds. If you removed the vehicles in the drive, the Drummond ranch would’ve made the perfect Western setting for a cowboy movie. He actually found it quite appealing, but then, he’d always been a fan of classic American Westerns, even the old black-and-white ones he occasionally caught on late-night cable when he couldn’t sleep.
Despite his wealthy London upbringing, he liked being in the country. Plus, with him here and Amelia’s due date fast approaching, he’d be able to watch over her while Quinn was out working the ranch.
Fortunately, her pregnancy had been uneventful as far as medical concerns. But, emotionally, she’d had a time of it early on, when the paparazzi had pounced on her, making her life miserable. And they’d been especially annoying lately. He wouldn’t put it past them to try to infiltrate the family gathering today, which was one reason he was on guard.
He reached inside his pocket and withdrew his gold watch, a habit he’d picked up over the past four years. The treasured heirloom had once belonged to his father, and for some reason, he drew comfort from the weight and the feel of it in his hand.
As the back door squeaked open, Jensen glanced over his shoulder to see his mother stepping out and onto the porch. She was dressed impeccably in a simple forest-green dress and heels, her silver hair coiffed as though her personal stylist had accompanied her on the transatlantic trip to Dallas/Fort Worth and then the quick hop on a charter flight to Lubbock.
“Jensen,” she called. “What are you doing outside when the chill is so frightful?”
“I wanted some fresh air.” To prove the imaginary excuse, he took a deep breath, relishing the brisk winter breeze.
His mother, Lady Josephine, made her way toward him—no doubt concerned about him distancing himself from the others. But he was in Horseback Hollow, wasn’t he? And not out each evening at one of the many parties he’d attend if he was home in London.
Whether she believed it or not, he was actually trying his best to fit in with the numerous Horseback Hollow cousins who were gathered in the house, most of whom he’d only recently met.
His mother frowned—the first sign of distress he’d seen since her arrival in the provincial Western town.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, not at all.” Again he scanned the yard, taking in the barn, the new corral Quinn had built, the old-style windmill that creaked in the breeze. “On the contrary, I was just enjoying the scenery.”
“I see,” she said, yet her frown failed to lighten. “Are you disappointed about us celebrating together?”
His mother had always known she was adopted, but two years ago, she learned that she’d actually been a triplet. Her brother, James Marshall Fortune, had remained with his birth family. But the two baby girls, Josephine and Jeanne Marie, had been given up and raised in separate households.
“No, Mum. I’m not bothered. I was actually out here counting my blessings.”
And if truth be told, that’s exactly what he should be doing. He wasn’t a loner by nature, but he hated the melancholy that seemed to hover over him during the family get-togethers, especially those associated with the holidays. That’s why, at least in December, he preferred to stay in London, where the nightlife, parties and his many social obligations kept him busy and distracted.
She reached out and gave his arm an affectionate squeeze. “We truly have been blessed, haven’t we?” Her blue eyes twinkled, and a wistful smile chased away her frown. “I had a lovely childhood, although it was a bit lonely with no siblings. I still can’t believe I have a sister and brother—and so many nieces and nephews. Imagine, me—a Yank!”
As if on cue, little Kylie Fortune Jones, Toby and Angie’s youngest, popped her head out the door. “It’s time to open presents. Are you coming to watch, Aunt Joseph...iiine...I mean, Aunt Lady?”
His mother laughed. “Aunt Josephine will do just fine, love. And we’ll be right there.”
The title of lady had been honorific, but many of the local Texans were excited to have “royalty” in their midst and tended to make more out of it than Jensen or the rest of the family liked. The press and paparazzi did too, often referring to him and his siblings as sirs, lords or ladies, when neither of their parents’ titles had been inherited.
“Isn’t Kylie precious?” Josephine said. “I love having young children around again, especially at Christmas.”
His mother had always begun her holiday preparations—the shopping, as well as overseeing the decorating and baking—on the first of December. In fact, she’d gone above and beyond to make the holidays happy for all of them.
“I’m glad you can spend this time with your sister,” he said.
“So am I.”
Still, he found it impossible to explain to an outsider. His mum, who’d grown up on a country estate in England with all the things money could buy, was staying with her newfound sister Jeanne Marie and her husband in a modest ranch house—and clearly delighted with the arrangement. You’d think she was in a five-star hotel with a full staff to cater to her every need.
To be honest, Jensen was a bit surprised by her swift acclimation—culturally speaking. But she was clearly happy. And for that reason, he was happy for her, too.
“Amelia was asking about you,” she said.
At that, Jensen’s brotherly instincts kicked into full throttle. “Is everything okay?”
“She’s fine—other than the usual discomforts to be expected during the ninth month. She asked me to find you because it’s nearly time to open the gifts.”
Relieved, he nodded. “I’ll be right in.”
He expected his mum to re-enter the small, two-story house that was busting at the seams with family, leaving him a moment or two longer to relish the quiet.
Instead, she lingered and said, “I wish your father were here.”
Jensen’s grip on the pocket watch tightened. Sir Simon had been a loving husband and father, and they all missed him terribly.
She sighed, then added, “He would have been a wonderful grandfather.”
Jensen slipped his arm around her and pulled her close to give them both comfort. “You’ll be a smashing grandmum, too.”
Her eyes glistened. For a moment he feared she would cry and dampen his spirits even worse, but when a smile stretched across her face, he realized grief hadn’t made her teary.
“I can hardly wait to hold that baby,” she said.
“I’ll just be happy when it gets here—and happier if we can keep the bloody photo hounds at bay. They’ve been sniffing around for a story—or rather, hoping to make up one.” Fortunately, Jensen had become adept at avoiding them.
“I do wish you’d come into the house, son. This is the best Christmas I’ve had since... Well, in years. And I want you to share it with me.”
She’d been devastated when his father died and she’d lost her soul mate and the love of her life.
Jensen slipped the gold watch back into his pocket and took her by the arm. “Then let’s go inside.”
They entered the house through the service porch and headed into the kitchen, where they found his sister making another batch of eggnog. With her long, dark brown hair and doe-like brown eyes, Amelia had always seemed a bit lithe and fragile to him—but more so now that she was due to give birth within the next month or so.
She turned and, upon seeing them, smiled. “Oh, good. Now we’re all here.”
Well, not all of them. Her once slender waist was as big as the globe in the library back home, reminding Jensen that soon there’d be one more Fortune to add to the world—albeit with the Drummond surname.
“Can I help you with that?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll tell everyone they can begin passing out their presents now.”
Jensen took the bowl and made his way to the living room, which was filled to the brim with relatives, every chair taken, others forced to stand or to find room to sit on the faded rag rug. But apparently, he was the only one who’d found himself on edge.
Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones, who resembled his mother in looks, but not in style, was just as bright eyed and happy as his mum to have the family together. Her husband, Deke, stood by her side, somewhat stoic but with the hint of a grin tugging at his lips.
Their children were all here. Stacey Fortune Jones, along with her fiancé, Colton Foster, kept a close eye on her daughter Piper, who was toddling around the Christmas tree and trying to keep up with her older cousins.
Liam and his fiancée Julia Tierney were posed next to Quinn’s upright piano. Jensen suspected someone would suggest they sing a round of Christmas carols before the day was over.
Jude, with his fiancée Gabi Mendoza, stood near the children, all of whom appeared to be on sugar highs. Yet the happy couple held hands and looked on at the festivities as if they couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but here.
Even Christopher, who’d been absent from several Horseback Hollow social gatherings last year, was here, along with his fiancée Kinsley Aaron. Apparently, he was back in the family saddle after his rejection of ranch life created discord with his father earlier in the year.
Jensen blew out a sigh. So many engaged couples. Would they all be this happy next year, after their vows were spoken? He hoped so, but he tended to be skeptical about things like that.
Of course, Toby and his wife, Angie, who watched their newly adopted children tear into their gifts, certainly appeared to be as happy as ever.
Rounding out the family gathering were Jensen’s brother Charles and his sister Lucie, who were staying in nearby Vicker’s Corners at the closest B and B they could find. The two were smiling, but they looked a little uncomfortable among the exuberant American relatives. Jensen wasn’t uncomfortable, though. He, better than any of the British Fortunes, probably understood the Texas way of life. He was merely awed by it all.
About that time, his mother approached the serving bowl for a refill of eggnog, which was unusual for a woman who watched her calorie intake. But apparently she was celebrating and throwing caution to the wind.
“It’s so good to see you happy, son.”
What was she talking about? Had he been smiling?
She slipped an affectionate arm around him. “Have I told you how delighted I am to have so many of my family together?”
The smile, which he must have been wearing, deepened. “Several times in the past hour.”
She lifted her free hand and fluttered her fingers in a little wave at her sister, Jeanne Marie, who wore a new pair of her signature stretch-denim jeans and an oversize Christmas-themed jumper.
Again, Jensen was reminded of the sisters’ differences. They’d grown up worlds apart—one on an English estate and the other on a small working cattle ranch—something that could be seen easily in their style of dress. Still, they shared many similarities, including a love that knew no bounds.
“This is what it’s all about,” his mum said. “Family.”
Jensen suspected she was talking about more than just a holiday reunion. She’d made no secret of her wish to see him and his siblings settle down. Hopefully, Amelia’s baby would take her mind off matchmaking.
But then again, it seemed that everyone else in the room had marriage on their mind. His four engaged cousins had planned a huge wedding for Valentine’s Day.
Jensen looked across the room, where Quinn stood next to Amelia, his arm wrapped around her. When she grimaced, Quinn immediately picked up on her discomfort, his expression growing as serious as a first-year pupil meeting his housemaster at Eton.
Amelia smiled, whispered something to her husband and placed his hand over her baby bump. His eyes grew wide and then he smiled, too.
Hopefully Amelia would breeze through labor with no snags or problems. But what if something went wrong during birth? What if...?
Jensen tried to shake his troublesome thoughts. What he really ought to worry about was the press infiltrating the couple’s privacy. They’d resorted to all kinds of trickery to learn whether the baby was a girl or boy. But Amelia and Quinn had chosen to be surprised at birth, which none of the reporters believed.
A rap sounded at the door just as laughter burst out at something Toby’s precocious daughter had said to her red-haired brother.
Jensen heard another noise, although no one else seemed to take note of it. Had someone knocked?
* * *
Amber Rogers stood on the Drummonds’ front porch and rapped on the door again. She’d driven to the Rocking U Ranch to deliver a gift for Amelia, Quinn’s new wife. It was a handmade baby blanket, although the sections Amber had quilted weren’t as neatly stitched as Gram’s.
But it was the thought that counted, right?
There were a whole slew of cars parked outside and a god-awful commotion going on inside the house, but apparently no one had heard her knock. So she rang the bell.
Moments later, a tall and sophisticated stranger swung open the door. He was wearing a well-tailored suit and tie—something so out of place and unexpected on a small Texas ranch that it caught her off guard and made her think about the back-to-back episodes of Downton Abbey she’d been watching with Gram.
Surely Lady Josephine hadn’t brought along her butler and the entire Chesterfield Estate staff.
But then she realized exactly where she’d seen the drop-dead gorgeous guy before—on the front page of a tabloid down at the Superette—and she swallowed. Hard.
Before she could think better of it, she blurted out, “Oh, it’s you.”
“I beg your pardon?” he said in a rich British accent.
Amber cringed inwardly. Obviously they’d never met, and she’d just implied that they had. Why did she always have to stick her foot in her mouth?
She opened her lips to apologize, but she merely stammered instead, her cheeks warming.
Dang. She could be such a goof at times.
“What do you want?” he asked—and not very nicely.
This wasn’t going at all well.
She lifted the wrapped gift. “I’m sorry. I brought this for Amelia...um...Mrs. Drummond...or should I call her Lady Amelia?”
Amber hadn’t meant to sound so uncertain, but Sir Jensen’s good looks, royal appearance and hoity-toity attitude had nearly knocked her out of her cowboy boots.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you know Mrs. Drummond?”
“Not really. I just—” Before she could explain that she’d only recently moved back home to Horseback Hollow, and that she was Quinn Drummond’s neighbor, the stuffy Brit snatched her package right out of her hands.
“I’ll see that she gets it,” he said. Then he shut the door right in her face.
Of all the nerve. He’d just dismissed her! She had half a notion to lean on the bell until someone else came to the door, someone who knew her. But she merely stood there, gaping, dumbfounded by the man’s rudeness.
Three seconds later—and yes, seconds because she’d counted them off as an attempt to hold her temper—the door swung open again. This time, Jeanne Marie peered out and broke into a smile. “Hi, sweetie. Come on in.”
Amber hesitated. “I’m not so sure I should.” Nor did she want to. Her mother had been longtime friends with Jeanne Marie, but even the woman’s warm welcome couldn’t lessen the insult of the snobby man’s bad manners. What a jerk.
“Don’t pay any mind to Jensen. He’s just an overprotective big brother.”
This was Horseback Hollow—not a Revolutionary War battlefield. What possible threat could Amber be? She was just trying to be neighborly. But she held her tongue before she popped off with something rude herself. Instead, she would graciously drop off the gift and make a proper excuse to leave. Once she’d shut the door, she could turn on her booted heel and stomp off. She’d never have to step foot on the Drummond place until the entire British side of the family—all except Amelia, of course—went back to their side of the pond.
Jeanne Marie took her hand and pulled her into the midst of the bustling holiday revelers. “Look who’s here, everybody!”
Amber never had been what you’d call shy. In fact, as a former rodeo queen and barrel racer, she was used to riding into an arena full speed with her flag flying. But she hadn’t expected to walk into a big ol’ family Christmas celebration.
Heck fire. Yesterday was the twenty-fifth. She’d known better than to show up then.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hadn’t meant to horn in on your family celebration. I thought by waiting until the twenty-sixth, I’d miss it.”
“With everyone having so many family gatherings to attend, this seemed to be the easiest way to get together.”
Amber glanced at Jensen, who’d answered the door like a jerk and now appeared rather sheepish. Well, bully for that. It served him right for being such a snob.
Amber knew how some of the wealthy British behaved, thanks to Gram’s recent addiction to the Downton Abbey series. And Jensen reminded her of the snooty upper crust.
Jensen approached Amber and reached out his hand in greeting, his sheepish expression morphing into one that was almost...dashing. “I’m sorry for being rude when I answered the door. We’ve been bombarded by some rather innovative members of the press, as well as the paparazzi lately, and I was merely trying to ward them off at the pass. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I’m Jensen, Amelia’s older brother.”
If Amelia’s handsome big brother thought that she’d acted like a fool at the royal sight of him, at least he was gentlemanly enough not to mention it.
And while Amber had always had a stubborn streak, she’d never been one to hold a grudge. Besides, it was the Christmas season—God rest ye merry gentlemen and all of that.
So she took his hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Apology accepted. We own a spread down the road a piece.”
“Do you raise cattle—like Quinn?” he asked.
“No. We breed and train cutting horses.”
“Really?” He seemed to perk up and ease closer. And he held her hand a moment longer. “I’d be interested in seeing your operation sometime.”
No kidding? Where did that come from? Not that she’d object. It’s just that...well, he’d gone from stuffy to friendly in zero to sixty, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Nor was she sure what to make of the warmth of his touch.
“Sure,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his. “You can come out for a visit. I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
“Would tomorrow be convenient?”
So soon?
She shook off her momentary surprise. “That’s fine. The Broken R is about four miles down the road. There’s a big green John Deere mailbox in front of a white wrought-iron gate. You can’t miss it.”
“Would there be a more suitable time for my visit?”
My, the man was certainly formal. And persistent. But then again, he was probably used to getting his way. With the ladies, too, no doubt. She smiled. “This is Texas. Our ranches are always open and ready to receive company. How about nine? Or is that too early for you?”
“I’m up bright and early. So that’s not a problem.”
A smile stole across her face. She wondered what time the royals considered early. She and every rancher she knew usually woke before dawn.
“So,” she said, “the press has been pestering y’all?”
“Like hounds on a fox. We’ve grown up with it, so we usually take it in stride. But they’ve taken great pleasure in the fact that Amelia has fallen in love with a cowboy. And now that she’s settled in Horseback Hollow and is expecting a baby, they’ve been making it extremely difficult on her.”
No wonder he’d thought Amber was up to something when she’d rang the bell.
“In fact,” Jensen said, “now that the birth is so close at hand, they’ve been especially wily and persistent.”
“Just so they can take photographs?” she asked.
“Yes, and to be the first to report whether the new little one is a boy or a girl.”
Amber, who’d always been as curious as she’d been stubborn couldn’t help but turn to the handsome British royal and ask, “Which is it going to be?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t breathe a word of the secret. But Amelia and Quinn have decided to be surprised.” Jensen crossed his arms and tossed her a cocky smile, reminding her of a Cheshire cat and making her heart scamper.
Fortunately, before she had to decide what to do about it, Jeanne Marie approached. “Can I get either of you a cup of coffee? Or maybe you’d rather have Jensen pour you some of Amelia’s eggnog? You can have it with rum or without.”
“You might fancy a cup with rum,” Jensen said. “It’s quite good. And a holiday tradition in our family. I’ll pour you a spot.”
Amber thanked him.
“It’s been fun blending our holiday traditions,” Jeanne Marie added.
“I guess change isn’t always a bad thing.” Amber wished she would eventually come to believe that herself.
Jeanne Marie sighed. “I don’t know about that. When it comes to family, it’s been fun. But not when it comes to our town and community.”
“Are you talking about Cowboy Country USA?” Amber knew where Jeanne Marie was going with that. The town had seemed to split in its support of the new Western theme park that was being built near Vicker’s Corners. Some thought it would draw tourists and business to Horseback Hollow and others were staunchly against its construction because they feared it would make a mockery of the Western life they held dear.
“Now, I’m not one to get political,” Jeanne Marie said. “And I’m not about to make a fuss down at city hall or give speeches in Town Square on Founder’s Day. But I like Horseback Hollow just the way it is.”
Amber understood her concern—and that of the others, too. But she was excited to have an amusement park so close to home. She loved roller coasters and thought it would be cool to show the tourists from the rest of America how their country counterparts lived.
She’d also been approached by the casting department of Moore Entertainment about starring in their Wild West Show. And she was going to accept the offer because it would provide her with an opportunity to rope and ride again in an arena, while not having to leave Gram to run the ranch alone. She hadn’t told anyone, though. No need to risk getting run out of town on a rail.
Besides, she wouldn’t hurt Jeanne Marie for the world. The woman had become a second mother to her after her own mama had passed.
When Jensen returned, Jeanne Marie and Lady Josephine excused themselves and went to find seats closer to all the holiday activity.
“Here you go, Miss...” Jensen paused as he handed Amber a glass of eggnog, along with a holiday napkin. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your last name.”
“It’s Rogers,” she said, as she took the drink and thanked him.
Jensen—Lordy, the man was handsome—tossed her an earth-tilting grin. “Are you any relation to Roy?”
“You mean Rod, who owns the R and J Auto Body in Vicker’s Corners? No, I’m afraid not.”
“Actually,” he said, “I was referring to Roy Rogers, the old-time movie star.”
Amber stole a glance at the Brit. Who in America, especially the state of Texas, wouldn’t know who Roy Rogers was? She just hadn’t expected Jensen to. But rather than point out their obvious cultural differences, she said, “I’m afraid that was a bit before my time.”
“It’s before mine, as well. But since I’m an American Western film buff, I’m familiar with all the old movie stars, such as Tom Mix, Randolph Scott, John Wayne...”
She crossed her arms and shot him a playful grin. “So you assumed that, just because I’m a cowgirl, that I should be familiar with all things Western, even from sixty and seventy years ago?” He probably also thought she sang on her horse as she cantered along in her fringed pink vest à la Dale Evans.
“I’m sorry. It appears that I’m making all kinds of false assumptions today.”
“Apparently so. But you don’t have to be so formal. You can call me Amber.”
“Well, Miss Amber Rogers, if you’ll excuse me, it looks like that eggnog needs to be replenished again.”
That seemed an odd job for a man—especially a fancy-pants one like him, who was just a guest in the house anyway. Was he trying to get away from her?
As much as she’d wanted to avoid him in the past, she was a bit sorry to see him go. He was actually charming—when he wanted to be.
As he made his way to the punch bowl, which was indeed nearly empty, he was stopped several times along the way—first by one of his cousins, then by one of the children. He would smile and comment, yet he appeared to hold back, to remain somewhat aloof.
He’d seemed to lower his guard with her, though, but just for a moment. And only when they’d talked about old movies and horses.
She couldn’t help watching as he moved through the house, chatting with his family, yet milling about looking as neat and formal as his professionally pressed suit.
Jensen was a looker—if you liked the fancy and stylish kind of man who could grace the cover of a men’s fashion magazine.
Of course, she’d always favored the rugged outdoorsman, like cowboys and ranchers. Real men, not city boys.
Still, Jensen Fortune Chesterfield was a sight to behold—and to study, to admire, as long as he wasn’t aware of her interest.
Funny thing, though. For a man who seemed to have it all together—amazing good looks, a boatload of money, a royal family and position—he seemed to distance himself from the others.
But then again, she could see why someone as stuffy as him would be a loner. And she couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.
There was something about Jensen that gave her a feeling of...well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. But it was a feeling she just couldn’t quite name or shake.
It was as if she knew him—or was destined to know him.
Hmm. Now that was weird. Because it made zero sense. He was British royalty and wool suits. And she was one hundred percent Texas cowgirl and worn jeans. They were as ill-suited as a cutting horse at the Grand National.
You’d think that would be the end of it. But oh, no. He’d gone and invited himself out to the Broken R tomorrow. And like the goof that she was, she’d agreed to a tour. So she was stuck seeing him again.
But after that, she’d cut herself out of the herd and make a quick getaway. Because what possible good could come of a friendship between a down-home country girl and the lord of the manor?
Chapter Two (#ulink_dcb3d121-68e3-5825-8671-c818d418f1dd)
Amber had expected to see Jensen show up at the Broken R the next morning since he’d asked if he could see her breeding operation. But she’d thought he’d probably take his jolly good time, as the aristocracy was prone to do, and arrive late, driving a borrowed ranch truck, kicking up dust and trying to get used to having the steering wheel on the correct side of the vehicle.
What she hadn’t expected to see was him all decked out in English riding clothes and mounted on Trail Blazer, the gelding Quinn Drummond had recently purchased from her.
Still, here he was. And she’d promised to give him a tour. So she walked down the porch steps, carrying a mug of fresh-brewed coffee, and waved as he rode up.
When he dismounted in a swift, fluid motion, she sucked in her breath at the way his jodhpurs hugged his muscular legs.
Yet she stifled a grin, too. Who the heck wore fancy English riding britches in Horseback Hollow?
“Hi,” she said, which was about all she could muster, as she watched him stride toward her in a pair of swanky brown equestrian boots.
Did he think she’d invited him over to play polo? If so, he was as out of place on the Broken R as she would have been sipping tea in Buckingham Palace.
And speaking of being out of place, so was that little flutter that was racing up and down her spine.
He held the horse’s reins in one hand and reached out the other to her in greeting. “Good morning.”
Well, dang. The gent was certainly formal. She shifted the steaming mug to her left hand and accepted his handshake. But the moment his fingers wrapped around hers, her pulse rate spiked.
Then, upon his release, which was slow and drawn out, that little flutter took off like a flock of turtledoves, and she nearly dropped her coffee on the ground.
“I hope I’m not too early,” he said.
He was too everything. Too early, too formal, too good-looking. But her grandmother had raised her to be a gracious hostess, and she didn’t give voice to her racing thoughts. “Of course not. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Or tea? You guys probably prefer tea, right?”
“We guys?”
“You Brits.”
He smiled and gave her a slight nod of his head. “Actually, I was hoping for a nice pot of chicory cooked over a campfire. That’s what you country-and-western ‘guys’ drink, correct?”
The glint of amusement in his eyes sent her already soaring pulse rate into a loop de loop, but she reined it back down to earth the best she could and tossed him a smile of her own. “Fair enough. I guess we probably shouldn’t make assumptions about each other. So...? Coffee or tea?”
“Neither, thank you. Amelia cooked a huge breakfast this morning. I believe she’s going through what the maternity experts call ‘the nesting period.’ She can’t stop cleaning and organizing and freezing big pans of food Quinn refers to as casseroles.”
Amber laughed at the animated confusion in Jensen’s eyes. “I’ve heard about nesting. I would imagine the responsibility of bringing another life into the world would be a little overwhelming. She probably just wants to get everything in order.”
“I take it you don’t have children?” Jensen glanced down at her left hand.
She moved the mug handle around, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that her ring finger was very much unadorned.
“Nope,” she said. “No kids. But maybe someday.”
“My aunt Jeanne Marie said you live here with your grandmother?”
“Yes, it’s just me and Gram.” She dumped the rest of her coffee into a shrub near the barn, then set the mug on the fence post. “Actually, I only moved back to Horseback Hollow a few months ago.”
“Where were you living before that?”
My, he was certainly full of questions for a man who’d closed the door in her face when he’d thought she’d been a nosy reporter. She wondered how he’d like a taste of his own medicine. But she didn’t have anything to hide. Well, other than her possible job with Cowboy Country USA. But if that came to be, and it certainly looked promising, it would soon be out in the open as front-page news for the Cross Town Crier,the county weekly paper. And boy, was she dreading that day...
“I traveled around,” she admitted. “I was on the professional rodeo circuit for a couple of years and spent most of the time living out of a trailer.”
She waited for him to lift his snooty British nose at that revelation, but he just nodded his head as if he’d expected her response.
“Like a caravan?” he asked.
“A what?”
“A caravan. Isn’t that what you Americans call a recreational vehicle?”
“I guess—if it’s a whole bunch of them. Sometimes we stayed in motels or would bunk at a friend’s ranch. It’s a far cry from the glamorous world you’re probably used to living in. But I loved the rodeo life—the traveling and the camaraderie.” In fact, after only a few months away, she was already missing it.
“It sounds quite exciting, actually. Like Dale Evans, Queen of the West.”
Was he comparing her to a movie star from the fifties? Seriously?
“Dale Evans?” she asked.
He nodded, and his dark brows lifted as if he was...well, if not intrigued, then definitely interested.
She shrugged. “I guess it was kind of like that, but with faster riding and less singing.”
He smiled. “I actually have a film library and collect all the classic American Westerns and some documentaries. I’ve even watched some of the rodeos on television. But besides an appreciation for thoroughbred racing—especially the Kentucky Derby—I’m afraid my knowledge of other American horsing sports is somewhat limited.”
The tension in Amber’s shoulders eased. So that’s why he was here. He really was a greenhorn, interested in the Wild West. And if he was still going to be in town this summer, when Cowboy Country USA opened for business, he’d probably be the first in line to buy a front-row seat.
Well, she could deal with that kind of fan. And while his style of dress was better suited to a polite game of polo than to bronc busting, she’d give him a tour, just as she’d promised.
She rubbed the bay gelding’s nose. “So what do you think of Trail Blazer? Though I realize you’re more into the English style of riding.”
“He’s a fine horse. Quinn said your grandfather trained him.”
“That’s right. Trail Blazer is one of the last colts out of Moonshine, my pop’s pride and joy. The other is Lady Sybil. She’s one of our more spirited fillies.”
“Lady Sybil? As in the character from Downton Abbey?” He arched his brow.
Amber’s cheeks warmed at the connection. The last thing she wanted was for Jensen to think she was some sort of British noble wannabe like a few of the other Horseback Hollow residents. But since he was such a Western movie buff, maybe he wouldn’t judge her too harshly. “Gram is a big fan of the show. Anyway, come on into the stable and you can meet her.”
“Lady Sybil or your grandmother?”
Amber laughed as Jensen followed, the bay gelding trailing behind him. “No, Gram went to Vicker’s Corners this morning to meet with her quilting club. And the rest of the hands are still off for the holidays. It’s just me, you and the horses.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. “What I meant was that nobody else is here to bother...I mean, we’re alone...Oh, heck. What I’m trying to say is that there’s no reason to keep me from showing you around. Why don’t we start in the barn?”
She kept walking, not wanting to turn and face him since the blush in her cheeks had probably deepened to the exact shade of red in her plaid shirt. Fortunately, the cool confines of the stable and its familiar smell of straw and horses brought her back to her senses and provided a better state of mind.
For the next thirty minutes, Amber showed him the broodmares and several new foals. “Almost all of the mares were bred and trained on our ranch. We ride and work with them, so we know their strengths and weaknesses. We’re also honest and fair. If we don’t have what a buyer is looking for, we can usually refer them to another breeder or trainer.”
“I know horses and can see that you have some good quality stock here.”
She thanked him, then led him out of the barn. While he waited near the outside corral, Amber saddled Lady Sybil, the spunky bay filly she was still training—and not planning to sell, although there’d been several substantial offers already.
“I appreciate you taking the time to give me a tour,” Jensen said. “You must be especially busy with your staff on holiday.”
“It’s not too bad. We planned ahead and took care of all the major chores before they left.”
“If there’s something I can do to help,” he said, “just let me know. Quinn is staying close to the house this weekend, so I have some free time.”
Jensen might be an accomplished rider, but she couldn’t see him helping out on the Broken R.
“Thanks for the offer,” she said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He remounted Trail Blazer and together they set off to see the rest of the ranch.
Throughout their morning ride, he asked polite but inquisitive questions about their operation. It was easy to see that he had an avid interest in the ranch, although several times, she’d caught him watching her in a way that had her zinging and pinging all over.
She’d stolen a few glances his way, too. But that was to be expected. After all, the Brit was so foreign to her, it was no wonder she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
Right? That’s all it was. Jensen could have been from another planet—or even another century, like the one in which Jane Austen had lived. The early 1800s, if Amber remembered what she’d learned in her English Lit class.
“You have a lovely piece of land,” he said. “And an impressive operation.”
“Thank you. It’s been in the family for generations.”
As they made their way back to the stables after their tour, it was just about noon. She wondered if she ought to ask him if he’d like a sandwich—or if she ought to send him on his way.
Seemingly he was in no hurry to leave because he dismounted first and tied up his horse while she rode Lady Sybil into the paddock.
So, now what?
She bit down on her bottom lip as she slowed her mount, giving a lunch invitation some thought, when a rumble grew in the distance.
Lady Sybil whinnied.
“Easy, girl.” Amber tightened her grip on the reins and stroked the filly’s neck, but with the approaching engine’s roar, the horse grew more apprehensive.
A loud green car churned up a cloud of dust as it tore down the long driveway toward the ranch house, fishtailing its way toward them.
Lady Sybil whinnied again, tossing her head back and forth. Amber leaned low over the agitated animal’s neck to avoid getting thrown.
Jensen jumped over the railing and ran to her side. Obviously, he didn’t realize that Amber was perfectly capable of handling the horse—or used to picking herself up after a fall—because he grabbed the horse’s bridle and murmured to Sybil in his soft English accent.
The horse stilled, and Amber began to dismount. But the darned vehicle backfired and the mare bolted to the right, which threw Amber off balance.
She stumbled toward Jensen, and he slipped an arm around her, steadying her just as effectively as he’d steadied the filly.
Yet as his fingertips dug into her waist, sending a bolt of heat to her core, he unraveled just about everything else holding her together, and she darn near dropped the reins.
Thank goodness he had a hold of them, too. And her.
When he looked at her, assessing her with eyes the color of fine Texas bourbon, their faces just inches apart, her breath caught and her lips parted. But before Amber could either think or blink, Lady Sybil tossed her head once more, and she came to her senses, pulled away and took control of the horse, just as the roaring muscle car parked in front of the house.
A dust cloud swirled around the windows, making it difficult to see who was inside, but there were two of them—a man and a woman. When the engine shut off, the driver’s door opened, releasing the big band sounds of the Glenn Miller Orchestra.
Uh-oh. That explained it all. Gram had come home with that man again.
But this time, there was an upside. At least, Amber had an excuse to put some distance between her wacky hormones and the fancy British nobleman who’d aroused them.
* * *
For the briefest of moments, while Jensen had rushed to Amber’s assistance, something had passed between them—an intimacy that had shocked the living daylights out of him.
The minute his hand slid around her waist, he couldn’t help pulling her closer—and not just in an attempt to save life and limb. Then, when her lips parted, there’d been a moment—a single heartbeat, actually—when he’d been sorely tempted to kiss her.
Amber must have felt it, too, because she’d had such a lovely expression of bewilderment—that is, until Lady Sybil and the big green machine had put a stop to it all and reality had set in.
The driver of the green Dodge Charger, a squat older gent in his early eighties, climbed out of the car and yelled over the sound of swing music, “I can’t figure out how to turn this dadgummed i-radio off.”
Then he reached back into the car, took the hand of the lady who’d accompanied him and helped her to slide across the bench seat and exit through the driver’s door.
But rather than calling it a day, the older gent spun the woman in his arms and lowered her into a graceful dip that should have only been attempted by the most agile of professional dancers.
Jensen found it all rather amusing.
Apparently Amber didn’t because she handed him Lady Sybil’s reins, then strode across the yard, reached inside the vehicle and disconnected a cord, ending the song, as well as the impromptu dance. “What are you doing?”
“Practicing our moves for the upcoming dance contest at the Moose Lodge,” the elderly gent said. “I’m trying to talk Helen into competing with me, instead of with Harold Witherspoon, who don’t stand a chance of winning, even with a woman as pretty as Helen in his arms.”
Amber shifted her weight to one booted foot. “Gram, I thought you and Mary Trimble went to have breakfast with your quilting group.”
The older lady, who wore a green floral dress and a cream-colored sweater, turned to her granddaughter with flushed cheeks and a pleasant smile. “We did have breakfast, honey. But on the way, we learned that Martha Bradshaw’s relatives are all still staying at her house, which is where we usually go. So the group had a change of plans, and we decided to move over to the VFW instead. I ran into Elmer Murdock there, and he offered to give me a ride home so Mary wouldn’t have to.”
Amber’s grandmother, whose steel-gray hair had been woven into a French twist, fingered the side of her head and tucked a loose strand behind her ear before addressing Jensen. “I’m Helen Rogers. I recognize the horse you’re riding, but I don’t believe you and I have met.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Jensen Fortune Chesterfield.” Then he turned to her companion.
The short, elderly man with a gray buzz cut reached out a weathered hand and gave Jensen a firm handshake. “Elmer Murdock, United States Marine Corps, retired.”
Jensen glanced at Amber, who didn’t look too pleased with the newcomer’s arrival.
“You Jeanne Marie and Deke’s nephew?” Mr. Murdock asked him.
“Yes. I’m in town staying with my sister, Amelia.”
The man’s clear blue eyes traveled up and down, studying Jensen hard, but not in a threatening manner. “Those are some pretty fancy riding breeches.”
“Thank you.”
“Where’d you find them? Might get me a pair like that.”
“Actually, I purchased them at a shop in Windsor.”
“Humph. That figures. You being one of them Fortunes from England and all.” Mr. Murdock crossed his arms, gave a little nod, then rocked back and forth. “You got any relatives that fought in the RAF?”
“Yes, sir. My father was a pilot in the RAF.”
“You don’t say.” Mr. Murdock stroked his chin. “He see any action in the war?”
“Which war?”
“Any of ’em. Personally, I was too young to fight the Germans. I had to earn my stripes over in Korea. But my older brother Chester went over early and helped get you boys out of that pickle in dubya dubya two.”
Clearly, Elmer Murdock was quite the spitfire, but Jensen was used to the bravado of elderly soldiers when it came to World War II and their role in it. “Then I thank both you and your brother for your service.”
“You’re welcome. The US of A has no match on the battlefield, which some of your kin found out for themselves back during the Revolutionary War.”
“Jensen,” Mrs. Rogers said, before the men lapsed into a patriotic rivalry, “I was just about to fix lunch. I hope you’ll join us.”
Jensen glanced at Amber, who still held Mr. Murdock’s music device in her hand. A frown marred her pretty face, but he didn’t think it was because he’d been invited to stay. Instead, he had a feeling it was because her grandmother had included Mr. Murdock.
And while Jensen probably ought to gracefully decline, he remembered hearing the ingredients of the franks and tots casserole Amelia planned to make for lunch, doubling the recipe so she could freeze the leftovers. Suspecting his odds for a tasty meal would be much better here on the Broken R, he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Rogers. I’d like that.”
Besides, he’d enjoyed his tour of the ranch and had found Amber even more intriguing. The cowgirl had been so animated when she’d explained their operation, and when she’d talked about animal husbandry, it had sounded as if she had an advanced degree. He couldn’t help wanting to spend more time with her.
“I’m so happy you’ll be joining us.” Mrs. Rogers flashed a smile at her friend, then hurried into the house.
Amber walked around the front of the early model Dodge Charger, assessing the vehicle that had delivered her grandmother home from Vicker’s Corners. “Is this your car, Mr. Murdock?”
“Sure is. I’m getting this beauty ready for the classic car show me and some of the boys down at the VFW are planning to put on next fall. We’re calling it Cruisin’ Vicker’s. All the cars have to be built in 1975 or earlier.”
While Jensen didn’t think this old heap would win any competitions, he kept his opinion to himself.
“The cars don’t have to be American made,” Murdock added with a sly nod at Jensen. “So if you want to ship one of your fancy MGs or Jaguars this way, you can.”
“That’s kind of you to invite me,” Jensen said, “but I’ll be in town only for a short duration.”
“Well, hopefully you’ll stick around for a few more weeks.” The old man patted the hood of the car. “I should have the new paint job done by then, and Rod down at R and J Auto Body promised he’d order a passenger-side door, too, since I can’t get the fool thing to open.”
“Rod Rogers?” Jensen asked, letting the old man know that he was picking up on a few names and business owners in the area.
“Yup. That’s him.”
“I don’t suppose he’s any relation to Roy Rogers,” Jensen said, more to tease Amber than anything.
“Shoot, no,” Murdock said. “But he might be related to Amber and Helen.”
Jensen turned back to the cowgirl he’d likened to Dale Evans, the one who’d told him she wasn’t related to either man, and winked.
“No,” she said. “I’m not related to Rod Rogers, the car mechanic, or to the singing cowboy.”
“Well, I’d rather be related to Rod any day over that mansy pansy Roy Rogers,” Mr. Murdock said.
“Really?” Jensen asked, “What’s wrong with Roy? I like the Western films he made.”
“Westerns?” Murdock humphed. “If you wanna watch an authentic Western, you go see something by John Wayne. Now there’s a real actor. ’Course, I like him in The Green Berets on account of that’s a good war movie, and I’m a military man myself.”
Amber rolled her eyes just as her grandmother stepped onto the porch. “Elmer, can you come help me with the sweet tea?”
“’Scuse me, you two. I gotta go help sweeten Helen up.” He raised his weathered hands in a sign of surrender. “What can I say? The woman sure does love my sweet tea.”
Mr. Murdock lumbered toward the house and Amber shook her head.
When he was out of earshot, Jensen said, “I take it you’re not a fan of Mr. Murdock.”
“I like him just fine. I’ve known him all my life. He’s a funny old codger, and I usually get a kick out of being around him. But now that he’s been spending more time with Gram, it just doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not that I don’t want my grandmother to be happy. I do. But it’s going to take a special man to take my pop’s place. And I just don’t think there’s one out there who won’t disappoint her.”
Or perhaps disappoint Amber?
In all honesty, Jensen knew just how she felt. His mother had lost her true love and soul mate when his father passed away, and he doubted she’d ever find another man to take his place.
“Besides,” Amber said, “those two are so different from each other. They have nothing in common and are complete opposites. It would never work out.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jensen asked. “I know Mr. Murdock seems a little...”
“Rough around the edges?” Amber said.
“Perhaps a bit. He’s certainly colorful.”
“Yes, and Gram is a quiet sort. She likes to stay home and bake and sew. Her idea of excitement is going to church or to an occasional movie in Vicker’s Corners. But then in walks Elmer Murdock—or should I say, ‘in charges Elmer.’ And now she’s doing all kinds of wild and crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“Going on hikes with backpacks—and just because he’d made a bet with some buddy that he could get Helen Rogers to agree to go with them.”
“And Mr. Murdock was able to talk her into it?” If that was so, then maybe the old girl had more feelings for him than Amber realized.
“Elmer told her that it was a charity event with all the proceeds going to the Wounded Warrior Project.”
“He lied to her?”
“Elmer Murdock may be a lot of things,” Amber said. “Eccentric and even annoying at times. But you’ll never meet a man more patriotic and more supportive of our troops and military. He’d never make light of something like that. The event was sponsored by the Moose Lodge. He won the bet and even turned over the five dollars to the charity, as well.”
“I’m not sure I—”
Amber slapped her hands on her hips. “My gram is seventy-five years old, Jensen. She shouldn’t be carrying backpacks and going on hikes with a bunch of military veterans as if they were picnics in the park.”
It sounded as though Mrs. Rogers might have enjoyed the outing, but Jensen didn’t mention it. Not when Amber was so clearly miffed.
And miffed indeed. A fire—sparked by fierce loyalty and compassion, no doubt—lit her eyes and revealed her true spirit.
A smile tugged at his lips. He’d never much liked to see a woman annoyed, but this one was actually quite lovely—perhaps because her annoyance wasn’t directed at him.
“And now this.” Amber swept her hand across the length of the muscle car. “What in the world was Gram doing, blowing around town in that green death machine?”
Poor Mr. Murdock. Amber wasn’t going to make this courtship easy for him.
“Perhaps she’s just having a bit of fun and it will all blow over soon.”
Amber let out a sigh. “I hope you’re right.”
When she looked up at him with soulful brown eyes, Jensen was taken aback—transported, actually—to that moment when Murdock arrived and Lady Sybil had acted up. When Jensen had stepped in to help Amber dismount and briefly thought of kissing her.
But that wouldn’t do.
It wouldn’t do at all.
“Well, we’d better put the horses away,” Amber said. “Then I’ll help Gram get lunch on the table.”
It would seem that Mrs. Rogers already had help with that task, but Jensen kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he watched the sexy cowgirl walk toward the barn, enjoying the way her denim jeans curved on her derriere.
He had to admit that Mrs. Rogers and Mr. Murdock didn’t seem any more suited for each other than he and Amber were.
Maybe Amber had realized his interest in her and this was her way of letting him know that she didn’t believe in the old adage that opposites attract.
If so, that was too bad.
Physically, Jensen was captivated by the cowgirl, but he was a rational man who understood that duty came first. And right now, his duty was to his family.
Besides, in a few weeks, six at the most, he’d be back in London, which was in an entirely different universe than Horseback Hollow. And he wouldn’t think of the beautiful Amber Rogers again.
Unfortunately, for the time being, he feared that he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.
Chapter Three (#ulink_350c6c12-fbb3-5fee-8007-0b5b457f8e37)
Lunch went much better than Amber had expected—thanks in large part to Jensen’s presence. The Brit had a dry wit and a way of making everyone feel comfortable, a skill he must have perfected as an aristocrat attending various charity events and rubbing elbows with the lower classes. Not that she knew anything about the life he actually led, but she did glance at the headlines of the tabloids whenever she stood in the checkout line of the Superette, and so his social activities were no big secret, even if he didn’t have an official royal title.
Amber had expected the meal to be awkward, but unlike yesterday, Jensen hadn’t seemed the least bit snobbish today.
“Thank you for a lovely meal,” he said, as he rose from the table. “You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Rogers. I enjoyed that chicken salad. And your chocolate cake was one of the best I’ve ever had.”
“Why, thank you,” Gram said. “I’m glad you liked it. But please, call me Helen.”
“All right, I will.” He then reached across the table and shook Elmer’s hand. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Murdock. Good luck refurbishing that car. I hope you win the competition.”
Elmer stood as tall as his five-foot-four-inch frame would allow. “And just so you know, there’s been some talk about you English taking over Horseback Hollow. Some are downright pleased and giddy about it, while others are fretting about a British invasion. But I’ll have you know, you’re A-OK in my book.”
Jensen chuckled. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
“Come on,” Amber said. “I’ll walk you outside.”
Once they left the house and were out of earshot, she blew out a sigh. “I hope that wasn’t too trying for you.”
“Actually, I enjoyed myself. And I wasn’t just being polite. Your grandmother is a good cook.”
“I think so, too. But a man like you has eaten meals from the best chefs all over the world. So I have a feeling you’ve just gotten your fill of casseroles lately.”
He laughed—a hearty, resonant sound that lifted her spirits, making her forget all about the green Charger parked near the house or the man inside who’d insisted upon helping Gram with the dishes.
“You have a point,” Jensen said. “But that chicken salad was excellent. And so was the chocolate cake, which could rival any I’ve ever had the pleasure to eat.”
As they made their way to the barn, where they’d stabled Trail Blazer, he added, “I hope you didn’t take offense when I laughed at some of the things Mr. Murdock said. I know how you feel about him and your grandmother, so I hope you don’t think I was having fun at your expense. And I’m sorry if having me here made you uncomfortable.”
“Actually, having you here made it easier. And to be honest, Elmer can be a real hoot at times.” Amber shook her head, then blew out a sigh. “It’s just that...well, besides the fact that I think they’re so unsuited—and that Gram deserves someone better than him...”
“Someone more like your grandfather?”
Amber glanced up at Jensen, caught the look of compassion in his eyes, the understanding. “Yes, there’s that, too. My grandfather was an amazing man, and I’m not ready for her to find a replacement. In fact, I doubt that I’ll ever be ready for that.”
Jensen slipped his hands into his pockets. “I know what you mean. I lost my father four years ago. He and my mother were soul mates, and I can’t imagine her ever finding another man to take his place.”
They stood like that for a moment, caught up in a shared moment—probably the only thing they really had in common. Then Jensen withdrew his pocket watch—a beautiful gold-embossed piece. She expected him to open it and check the time, yet he merely turned it over a time or two, then slipped it back into his pocket.
“Perhaps your grandmother is just enjoying a little camaraderie with Mr. Murdock and they’ve merely struck up a friendship of sorts.”
“You may be right. And if that’s all it is, I guess I shouldn’t worry. But Elmer always has some fool wager going on. And I’m afraid she’ll get hurt—emotionally, physically or even financially. Like I said, no good can possibly come from it.”
Jensen stiffened. “If the man has a gambling problem, I can certainly see your concern.”
“Well, it’s not as though he’s mortgaged his house or ran his credit into the ground. I think it’s all penny-ante stuff. But he’d wager a nickel or a postage stamp or the button off his shirt, just to make things competitive. And Gram is so honest and straitlaced, she wouldn’t take a shortcut home.”
Jensen placed his index finger under Amber’s chin in a move so sweet, so tender, that it should have been comforting—and it was—yet it stirred something in her blood, too. Something warm and sparkly.
“You’re a good-hearted woman, Amber Rogers.”
And...
She waited for what seemed to be the longest time for him to complete the thought—or maybe the connection he’d just made. But he did neither.
Doggone it.
But why would he? She and Jensen Fortune Chesterfield weren’t any better suited than Helen Rogers and Elmer Murdock. And she was a fool to even let her thoughts drift in that direction. Because, like Gram and her silly crush, no good could come of it.
* * *
On the last day in December, while Quinn spent the afternoon at home with Amelia, Jensen took the opportunity to go for another ride on Trail Blazer.
He was still getting used to the stockier quarter horse breed and the Western tack. And while he was an exceptional horseman, he was adapting slowly.
As he cantered along on the spirited gelding, he pondered the possibility of purchasing a saddle of his own to keep in his brother-in-law’s stable. In spite of his affinity for cowboy movies, he still preferred the English equestrian style for his own use.
He hadn’t anticipated doing much riding at all when he’d flown to Texas for his sister’s due date. But given the frequency of weddings and births taking place in America, he’d come to the realization that he would be most likely spending more time here in Horseback Hollow than he’d ever expected, so he didn’t see it as a foolish investment.
After he rounded a large oak tree, he spotted a lone rider galloping toward him. He recognized the long blond hair flowing beneath the rim of the cowboy hat and watched as the cowgirl urged her mount forward.
Amber Rogers was quite the horsewoman, and Jensen pulled back on his reins, slowing so that he could fully enjoy the sight of her.
“Good morning,” she said, as she pulled her horse alongside his.
“Hello, there. I thought I was still on Drummond land, but I must have crossed over onto your property line.”
“Actually, this is neither. The county owns this area. It’s full of riding trails, and if you follow this path far enough, you’ll end up at the Hollow Springs Swimming Hole.”
“A real swimming hole? Like that old movie with Marcia Mae Jones?”
At her confused look, he wondered whether Americans ever watched their own classic Western films.
But his excitement at seeing a true testament to the Wild West frontier couldn’t be diminished.
“I would love to see it,” he said. “How much farther do I need to ride?”
“About two miles. Come on.” She turned her horse toward the narrow trail. “I’ll take you up there.”
He followed her slow pace and tried to keep his eyes on the trail and not her shapely bum. Thank goodness she wasn’t riding at a quicker speed, otherwise he’d be completely useless ogling her graceful movements in the saddle.
When the trail widened and he pulled up alongside her, she said, “I didn’t realize you were such an avid rider.”
“Did you already have set expectations of me?”
“I really didn’t know what to expect. The gossip magazines show you walking the red carpet and attending fabulous parties all over Europe. Of course, you’re rarely smiling in those pictures, so I didn’t know whether you disliked the photographers or if you’re just one of those stoic Brits who doesn’t know how to cut loose.”
Did he really come across as that stuffy? Sure, he didn’t always fancy the parties and the social commitments that came along with being a Fortune Chesterfield. But he smiled. Occasionally.
At least, he used to. Before his father’s death. Yet, he didn’t think mentioning this served any purpose. At the very least, it would put a damper on the present mood.
“Well, even the Brits know how to have fun,” he said.
“And what, Mr. Jensen Fortune Chesterfield, do you do for fun?”
“I play polo. I attend the symphony. And I’m thinking about taking flying lessons.” There he went with another reminder of his father. But instead of maintaining that painful topic, he changed the subject. “What do you do in your leisure time, Miss Amber Rogers—no relation to either Roy or to Rod?”
“I suppose you could say that I train and ride horses.”
“From what I read online, you were one of the best barrel racers last year on the pro circuit.”
“Oh, come now, you of all people know you shouldn’t believe every news story you read.” A flush of pink stole up her cheeks.
Was she embarrassed by her achievements? Or humbled by them? The tabloids had certainly exaggerated or downright lied about the things they often reported. But he assumed what he’d read about her was true.
“So then you haven’t won several national titles?” he asked, wanting to hear more about her rodeo life.
“Not national titles. Just a few state ones. I was on track to go to the nationals in Las Vegas, but midseason, Pop passed away, and I left rodeoing to come back to the ranch and help Gram run things.” Her eyes dimmed somewhat and took on a wistful gaze into the distance.
So he’d been right. She was being modest. From all accounts he’d read, she’d done very well in a short period of time and showed enough promise that the papers had expected her winning streak to continue. But she gave it all up rather quickly, and Jensen was learning the reason.
“Your grandparents raised you?” he asked.
“I was actually born in Lubbock, but my father died when I was five, and my mother and I moved in with his parents, Gram and Pop, after the funeral. Pop was a retired rodeo cowboy who bred and trained cutting horses. He was the one who trained me and encouraged me to follow my dream.”
It sounded similar to Jensen’s own father, who had encouraged him to play polo rather than follow family tradition and join the Royal Air Force. In fact, he and his father had been in the process of purchasing a polo farm and investing in a couple of prize mares from Argentina when Sir Simon died four years ago, taking some of Jensen’s dreams along with him.
“So you’ve put your future on hold to help run the family business,” he said.
“Pretty much. Besides the rodeo, I’ve never had much of a plan for my life. I mean, it’s not like Horseback Hollow is jumping with opportunities for barrel-racing rodeo queens. I always figured I’d end up back on the Broken R someday anyway, working with horses. I suppose you can say that I just started doing that a bit earlier than I expected.”
Jensen nodded. “When my father passed away, it forced me to step back and look at my life and what I ought to be doing with it. Someone had to take over the reins of the family investments and enterprises, as well as Chesterfield Ltd., and since I’d been educated and groomed to do so, I took the helm. Fortunately, I can handle a lot of it remotely—although, with the time difference, I’m working online and on Skype at some strange hours.”
“When do you sleep?” she asked.
“I find the time. I also take a nap now and then. The most important thing to me has always been my family, and now that my father’s gone, the responsibility of looking after them has passed along to me. Hence the reason I was so rude to you when you came to see Amelia the other day. I fear I’m terribly overprotective.”
Amber smiled. “I can understand that. I never had any siblings. You’re very lucky to have such a big family.”
“I try to remind myself of that, although it does take quite a bit of getting used to. As you may know, we only recently met all of our Fortune cousins, so I’m still coming to terms with such a large addition to the family.”
“But your British side of the family wasn’t all that small.”
No, it wasn’t. His mother had been married before—to Rhys Henry Hayes. It hadn’t been a happy union and had ended in divorce. The one good thing, though, was that it had produced Oliver and Brodie, Jensen’s older brothers.
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 (#ulink_bb03d522-250a-5747-9710-99fa84016223)
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
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