The Princess And The Cowboy
Martha Shields
A Royal Married…Virgin?To avoid an arranged marriage, disguised princess Josephene Francoeur had to say 'I do' when rugged rodeo star Buck Buchanan swaggered into her life. And though Josie kept her royal pedigree secret, she needed a real wedding night to be legally wed. But suddenly the groom had a hands-off honeymoon in mind–just when Josie became officially lovestruck! Buck Buchanan had a secret, too, and vowed to leave his virgin wife alone. But with each passing moment, it became harder to resist claiming her–all of her–for his own.
Dear Reader,
Compelling, emotionally charged stories featuring honorable heroes, strong heroines and the deeply rooted conflicts they must overcome to arrive at a happily-ever-after are what make a Silhouette Romance novel come alive. Look no further than this month’s offerings for stories to sweep you away.…
In Johnny’s Pregnant Bride, the engaging continuation of Carolyn Zane’s THE BRUBAKER BRIDES, an about-to-be-married cattle rancher honorabl claims another woman—and another man’s baby—as his own. This month’s VIRGIN BRIDES title by Martha Shields shows that when The Princess and the Cowboy agree to a marriage of convenience, neither suspects the other’s real identity…or how difficult not falling in love will be! In Truly, Madly, Deeply, Elizabeth August delivers a powerful transformation tale, in which a vulnerable woman finds her inner strength and outward beauty through the love of a tough-yet-tender single dad and his passel of kids.
And Then He Kissed Me by Teresa Southwick shows the romantic aftermath of a surprising kiss between best friends who’d been determined to stay that way. A runaway bride at a crossroads finds that Weddings Do Come True when the right man comes along in this uplifting novel by Cara Colter. And rounding out the month is Karen Rose Smith with a charming story whose title says it all: Wishes, Waltzes and a Storybook Wedding.
Enjoy this month’s titles—and keep coming back to Romance, a series guaranteed to touch every woman’s heart.
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
The Princess and the Cowboy
Martha Shields
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Debra Dixon, my friend and mentor.
Special thanks to Dr. Stephen W. Pruitt, Professor of Finance at the University of Memphis, for help with financial information.
MARTHA SHIELDS
grew up telling stories to her sister to pass time on the long drives to their grandparents’ house. Since she’s never been able to stop dreaming up characters, she’s thrilled to share her stories with a wider audience. Martha lives in Memphis, Tennessee, with her husband, teenage daughter and a cairn “terror” who keeps trying to live up to his Toto ancestry. Martha has a master’s degree in journalism and works at a local university.
You can keep up with Martha’s new releases via her web site, which can be reached via the Harlequin/Silhouette author page at www.romance.net.
Dear Reader,
VIRGIN BRIDE. Such a notion may seem archaic in today’s world, and virginity irrelevant. Virgins older than eighteen are regarded as rare at best and bizarre at worst.
Yet…think of the strength of character it takes to remain a virgin. Graphic sex is depicted blatantly on television, in movies—even in commercials. On top of this, the peer pressure urging a young woman to lose her innocence is enormous.
Even so, VIRGIN BRIDES do still exist. There are young women who believe in themselves so strongly, who are so committed to the family they one day will have, that they resist all the pressures today’s world exerts. It’s this kind of strength, this kind of courage that makes women heroines.
To all of the women who are or will be or once were VIRGIN BRIDES, I salute you!
Love to all,
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
“You’ve got to help me find a husband!”
Princess Josåphene Eugånie Båatrix Marguerite Isabeau Francoeur didn’t try to hide the desperation in her voice as she locked the bedroom door of her American friend, Melissa Porter, behind them. She didn’t want to chance Madame Savoie—the dragon lady who doubled as her maid—walking in on them.
The princess had visited Melissa often enough here at the prosperous Porter ranch outside Auburn, California to feel at home in any room in the two-story house, but Melissa’s room was where they’d been solving their problems for over ten years. She was counting on that now.
When she turned, however, her redheaded friend’s green eyes were wide with shock. “Husband? I’m the one who’ll have a husband, Josie. You’re here for my wedding, remember? Maid of honor. That ring a bell?”
Josie. Though she’d thought of herself by the nickname ever since Melissa first used it when they became roommates at an exclusive British boarding school, her friend was the only one who called her that. The sound felt good in her ears—like she’d come home.
But home was half a world away. Slightly larger than Martha’s Vineyard, her tiny island country—officially called the Principality of Montclaire—lay in the Mediterranean, a hundred and thirty-eight kilometers off the southern coast of France.
“No, my mind is still where it always was.” Josie sat on the king-size bed and tucked a leg underneath her. “What’s more, he has to be rich—I’m talking in the Forbes top five hundred—and we have to find him before your wedding. I can’t go home until I’m married.”
“Find a filthy-rich husband? In five days? For a princess? Are you nuts?” Melissa plopped onto her bed. “All right, spill it. What’s Bonifay done this time?”
Gilbert Bonifay was the chief minister of Montclaire. Richelieu in modern clothing.
“He’s found an ancient law, made by Louis Francoeur himself. It seems my ancestor’s son was fonder of men than women, if you understand my meaning. Prince Louis passed the law to force him to marry, to secure heirs to the throne.”
“What is this law?” Melissa asked.
“Heirs to the throne have to marry by their twenty-fifth birthday.”
Melissa’s jaw dropped. “That’s only three weeks away. Why hasn’t Bonifay brought this up before now?”
“He says it’s because Montclaire’s economy is in such shambles—which it is. But I think it’s mostly so he can exercise his control over me.”
“I bet he already has a husband picked out for you, doesn’t he?”
Josie swallowed hard, but it didn’t rid her of the bitter taste in her mouth when she thought of her fiancå. “His name is Alphonse Picquet. He’s the fifth richest man in France. He prides himself on having worked his way up in Marseille from an arrimeur… What is the word in English?”
Melissa wrinkled her nose. “Stevedore.”
Josie grabbed her friend’s hand. “He’s older than my father, Melissa. He’s big and fat and bald and ugly—and he’s going to ruin Montclaire.”
“Ruin it? How?”
“One of the shepherds overheard his men talking at the north end of the island. They’ve found a rich supply of marble. When Monsieur Picquet becomes prince, he’s going to quarry it. His surveys discovered that nearly the entire island is made of top-grade stone. In twenty years, Montclaire will be one huge pit.”
“And I’m sure he’ll make Bonifay rich in the process. What a sneaky, rat-faced…” Melissa peered at her closely. “You did check this out, right? There really is such a law?”
Josie nodded miserably. “It was in the historical archives, in a dusty book of law dated 1437.”
“Tell me one thing. If the Princess of Montclaire is getting married, why isn’t the story all over the television and newspapers?”
“I convinced my father to keep Bonifay from making the announcement until after I returned. I told him how impolite it would be to upstage your wedding. Appearances, you know.” Josie smiled sadly. Appearances were all her father cared about. “It was the only concession I could get.”
“Dang.” Melissa shook her head in disgust. “You do need a husband, don’t you?”
“It’s my fault. After I graduated, I should’ve insisted on taking the reins of government. I should’ve wrested them away from Bonifay. But you know how much I hate being a princess. I was content to spend the days with my horses. I told myself I didn’t know the first thing about ruling. I’ve never been taught the most rudimentary procedures. Bonifay saw to that. It wasn’t hard for him to convince Papa I’d be more valuable as Montclaire’s window dressing. That’s all I’ve been—a well-dressed objet d’art, trotted out on special occasions to represent my country.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Josie. You couldn’t have known. It’s your father’s fault, not yours. He’s the prince.”
Tears burned Josie’s eyes as she thought of her father. Poor befuddled man. He’d spent the last twenty years in a fog of grief, staring at the deep blue depths of the sea that had claimed the life of her mother. His black hair had turned to silver that very night, some said. She had to admit it heightened his royal appearance.
Appearance was all there was to her father, though. He would rouse himself from his grief long enough to talk to visiting dignitaries—because that was for appearances. But that’s all he’d do. Ruling the country held no interest for him. She held no interest for him. His only child.
So Bonifay was the de facto Prince of Montclaire.
“If only I hadn’t been such a coward, I would’ve done something before now. I would’ve found a rich husband who would help my people, not make their home a rock pit.”
Melissa grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Josie. We’ll find you a rich husband. Dad’s invited some of his business friends to the wedding. He’s not just a rancher, you know. You have to invest in more than cows these days, just to keep the cows in feed. Anyway, if one of them won’t do, surely they’ll know someone who will.”
Josie hugged Melissa close and felt a weight lift from her heart. Ever since Bonifay informed her three days ago of the marriage he’d planned, she’d been counting the minutes until she arrived in California. She knew the only true friend she’d ever had would help her.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Josie tugged at the outrageous blond wig Melissa had yanked down over her black hair.
“No,” her friend said. “But do you have any other choice?”
Josie sighed. “You were just married. I’m supposed to be helping you change. Not the other way around.”
“You did. It took exactly nine minutes for me to step out of my wedding gown and into this dress.” Melissa waved her concerns away. “I’m ready to go. Now we have to make sure you are.”
Her heart beating dully with dread at what she had to do, Josie studied her reflection in her best friend’s dresser mirror. A stranger stared back at her. “I look like…like…”
“Like trailer-park trash? This is perfect. You look enough like my cousin Betty Jo to pass right by your bodyguards.”
Melissa scrutinized Josie’s image in the mirror. “The Versace gown detracts from the trailer trash image, I know, but that doesn’t matter, since it’s what all eleven of the bridesmaids were wearing. It being a different color from yours will help fool them. Just remember—don’t let them get a good look at your face, and giggle all the way to the stables. Like you’re going there to have hot sex with a man.”
Josie had long ago stopped blushing when Melissa mentioned hot sex with a man. Sex was one subject her friend never tired of. And to tell the truth, Josie liked hearing her talk. After all, sex once-removed was better than no sex at all.
Josie met her friend’s eyes in the mirror. “Are you sure I’m doing the right thing?”
Melissa stopped fussing with the wig, pushed Josie’s excess skirts out of the way, and sat down next to her on the dresser bench, facing her. “We’ve talked and talked and talked, and haven’t been able to come up with a better plan. If only Dad knew more bachelors—but I guess most of the people his age are married. And the younger ones are all living on their parents’ money or have jobs, so they won’t do. If only we’d had more time, I could’ve—”
“You couldn’t help it.” Josie hugged her friend. “The wedding parties were already planned. You couldn’t miss one given in your honor.”
Melissa smiled wryly. “You don’t think they were in my honor, do you? Most of them were an excuse for Sacramento society to get a princess into their homes.”
“I’m sure that’s not the—”
“That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you find a husband so you don’t have to marry that awful man Bonifay picked out for you. Since we couldn’t find you a decent husband in the past week, you have to find an indecent one.” Melissa grinned at her own wordplay. “A cowboy will be perfect.”
Josie shook her head. “I have to ask some cowboy to marry me? Who came up with this plan?”
“I did, and you know it.” Melissa arched a brow. “Don’t go soft on me now. It’s perfect. There’s a rodeo starting in a little over an hour on the south border of our property. I showed you where yesterday, when we went riding. A cowboy will be the least likely person to know who you are, plus he’d be the least likely person anyone would suspect you of marrying.”
“I don’t know if I have the nerve to walk up to a stranger and ask him to marry me. What if I can’t find a man who will?”
“Well, don’t just walk up to one and blurt it out. Ease into it. And don’t worry. These are rodeo cowboys. They don’t like to be tied down, but they do like money. Since you can offer the right candidate several thousand dollars in exchange for a few months’ use of his name, you’ll have more takers than you can throw a lasso at. Especially since this is not going to be a platonic relationship.”
Josie ignored her friend’s playful nudging. She wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having sex with a perfect stranger, even if he would be her husband. But she knew if the marriage wasn’t consummated and Bonifay’s men found her, it would be quickly annulled and the wedding with Picquet would proceed.
“If only I could go with you and go on my honeymoon.” Melissa sighed. “I could help you pick out a real cute cowboy.”
Josie shook her head. “I need to do this on my own. I’m going to have to disappear for a few weeks, and I don’t want even you to know where I am.” Steeling herself for what she had to do, Josie took one last look in the mirror. She straightened the bodice of the gown and stood. “I’m sure Peter’s getting anxious for you to go downstairs so you two can leave. You put the bundle of clothes and money in the tack room, right?”
“Behind the second row of saddles on the left.” Melissa stood and faced her, tears shining in her green eyes. “Well, who’d a’ thought? I’m married, and you’re about to be.”
Josie smiled wryly. “With any luck.”
Melissa gathered her into her arms. “Take care of yourself, okay? You’ve never been on your own. I’ll be worried.”
“Don’t be.” Josie returned the hug. “I’ll be fine. Go on downstairs. I’ll slip out during the excitement of you and Peter going away.”
With one last hug and a lingering glance from the door, Melissa left. A few minutes later, Josie heard the commotion of the wedding guests wishing the new couple well. She took a deep breath and slipped into the empty hall.
She grabbed a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses as she passed the kitchen. Accessories to complete her disguise. With another deep breath, she opened the door and stepped boldly through.
What was probably less than a minute seemed like an hour, but she made it into the stable without raising an alarm. She paused to catch her breath as she entered the cool shade, but didn’t linger.
Placing the champagne on a bale of hay, she picked up her voluminous skirts and ran down the wide corridor between the stalls that housed dozens of blooded thoroughbreds and quarter horses. The familiar smells and sounds of the stable comforted her, but she didn’t pause to enjoy the rare solitude. She ran straight for the tack room.
Kicking her skirts aside, she reached behind the second row of saddles on the left. No bundle.
Concerned, she began pulling saddles from their racks to look behind them. No bundle. Anywhere. One of the hands must have found it, and either returned it to the house or stolen it.
Alarm blared through her. What was she going to do now? She didn’t have any money or any clothes except the gown.
She forced herself to breathe, to fight the panic making her heart race. What should she do? Give up? Go back to Montclaire and marry Alphonse Picquet? Watch the bedrock ripped from her island, slab by slab?
No, that’s the one thing she couldn’t do.
Josie glanced down at her clothes. The skirt was full. She could ride in it. And she was wearing diamond earrings and a necklace she could exchange for American dollars.
She had to go through with her plan. Though it was ripping apart at the seams, it was the only option she had.
“Yes, ma’am.” Buck Buchanan rolled his eyes toward the gray metal ceiling of the camper on the front end of his horse trailer. Why couldn’t his mother just forget he existed?
“Now, Hardin, I’m counting on you coming home tomorrow night. It’s your father’s birthday, after all, and you know how I hate an uneven table. Besides, Susan needs an escort.”
He didn’t know which he hated worse—his mother calling him by the name she’d given him at birth, or the fact that she’d set him up again with some California debutante she wanted him to marry.
“Tomorrow night? Sorry. No can do. I’ll be heading for—”
“You have to, Hardin. You’re giving the party.”
“I’m what?”
“I’m at the ranch right now.” There was a definite shudder in her voice. “How do you think I got your number this time? I found the cell phone bill in your file drawer.”
Buck ground his teeth so hard he could hear the enamel scraping against itself. His parents—his mother especially—hated the Double Star Ranch. To them, it represented their ranching roots, which they’d worked as hard as any ditchdigger to “rise above.” That his mother was giving his father’s party at the ranch Buck had inherited from his grandfather, instead of their three-million-dollar mansion in Sacramento, meant she was stepping up her campaign to get him married.
He knew why. It wasn’t because she wanted grandkids to pamper. Oh, no. His thirtieth birthday was just around the corner, and it galled her that he hadn’t cemented the Buchanans’ place among the California elite by marrying some rich American princess.
Like Susan. He knew her and dozens like her. Spoiled, selfish, with hair, skin and nails as perfect as the best salons could make them. They’d never done a lick of work in their lives, and would be horrified at the suggestion they ought to.
“Hardin. I’m counting on you.”
That’s all his mother had to say—those four little words, in that half-hurt, half-disbelieving tone of voice. She was his mother, after all. Even though she vehemently disapproved of the cowboy life he lived, he loved her.
He sighed heavily, not caring whether she heard it or not. “I’ll be there.”
She sighed happily, as if she’d doubted the outcome of her call. Like he’d ever been able to refuse her. His mother was a master at applying guilt. It was amazing how much she could heap on him with a dainty silver teaspoon.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Goodbye, son.”
Buck didn’t reply. He pushed the End button on his cell phone and hurled it onto the camper bed set high on the gooseneck portion of the trailer.
Why had he answered the damn phone? He should’ve known it wouldn’t be his lawyer this late. But he’d been distracted after checking the Internet for the day’s stock prices. He’d picked it up without thinking.
Now he was stuck—not only with a damn dinner party, but with his parents’ presence at his ranch. No telling how long his mother would stay if she was determined to get him married by the time he turned thirty.
He shoved open the flimsy camper door so hard it banged against the side of the trailer. He dropped to the ground in one step, bypassing the fold-down step leading up to the tiny cramped quarters he called home most of the year. The two-inch slanted heel of his cowboy boot dug into the dirt and spewed a shower of earth as he spun toward his horse.
Agamemnon waited patiently, tied to the back of the trailer. The blood bay gelding didn’t shy at Buck’s display of pique, just gave him a cool look as if to say, “Mother got the best of you again, huh?”
“I don’t want to hear it, Aggie.” Buck placed a hand on the gelding’s rump as he stepped around him and into the trailer. He grabbed the padded horse blanket made especially for steer wrestlers and threw it on the bay’s back. “She cornered me. There was nothing I could do about it.”
Get yourself hitched. That’ll shake the loop out of her lasso.
Buck paused with his hands on the saddle as his grandfather’s words drifted back to him. Buck’s mother had been after him to marry some rich society girl ever since he’d come home with a master’s degree in finance from the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business.
He’d escaped the same way he’d escaped his socialite parents’ clutches since he was a boy—by going to the ranch his mother and father eschewed as beneath them. His grandfather, Bowen Buchanan, had been alive then and welcomed him, protected him.
Buck had earned his nickname on the Double Star by riding anything that couldn’t stand a saddle. He’d lived in relative peace until five years after he graduated—when his grandfather died.
Since then, his mother’s unrelenting pursuit of a “suitable” daughter-in-law had driven him from the ranch his grandfather left him. He’d gone rodeoing to escape. Most of the time she didn’t know where he was or the unlisted number of his cell phone, so he had weeks of precious solitude.
Then, when he least expected it, she’d find him.
Get hitched. He rolled the idea around in his mind as he picked up his bulldogging saddle and settled it on Aggie’s back.
Getting married would certainly foil any plans his mother had about foisting some debutante off on him. But hell, he’d been looking for a woman to love ever since he graduated. He sure didn’t want a spoiled, rich, American princess whose only thoughts were of which parties she was invited to or the designer gowns she’d wear to them.
He wanted a woman who was as comfortable in a doublewide as she was on the back of a horse. A woman who didn’t mind mucking out stalls.
A trailer-park queen. That’s what he wanted. He’d always preferred women a little on the trashy side. But he wanted one with a brain, so she wouldn’t bore him to death for the rest of his life.
He snorted. As if a woman like that existed.
Still, he considered the problem as he led Aggie toward Auburn, California’s McCann Arena, which lay just beyond the lot where his trailer was parked among thirty-odd others.
Maybe he was going about this all wrong. He didn’t necessarily need to be married forever—just long enough to convince his mother to lay off. Hell, he could pay some woman to marry him. Have her sign an ironclad prenuptial. A trailer-park queen would be grateful to earn as much money as he could afford to give her.
They’d get divorced after five or six months, and he’d have years to “recover” from his wife leaving him. Surely by then, he’d find a woman who’d make him happy.
Buck grinned. This sounded like a plan.
Now all he had to do was find himself a bride. The trashier, the better.
“Oooouuuuweeee! Will you look at that long, tall drink of sweet water?”
Buck tightened the cinch on Aggie, then turned to see what had his fellow steer wrestler so excited.
The sight of a young woman walking around the corner of one of the campers kicked him in the gut like his horse’s hind leg. Leading a dun mare, she moved as if on the runway of the Miss America Pageant, though she was dressed in the gaudy starred-and-striped sequined weskit of the rodeo “court” and white jeans so tight he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been painted on.
As he watched, she paused and glanced around, then twisted to tug at the seam riding up her rear end. The action was so sexy, Buck reacted as if she’d stripped right in front of him.
“Damn.” He shifted his stance to ease the sudden tightness of his own jeans.
The other cowboy whistled. “I ain’t never seen her around here before. Have you?”
“She must be that princess the rodeo director’s been looking for.” Buck stared at her through the chaos of horses, cowboys and cowgirls—a hunter whose crosshair was squarely on his quarry. “And maybe the one I’ve been looking for.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.” Buck quickly wrapped off the cinch. “I’ll go tell her they’re waiting on her.”
“Hey, I saw her first,” the cowboy complained as Buck walked toward the young woman.
“Too bad.” Buck threw a grin over his shoulder. “This little filly could be the answer to my prayers.”
“Howdy, Princess.”
The sound of her title made Josie’s heart slam against her ribs even before she could untwist from her awkward position. She straightened to find a tall, broad, incredibly handsome cowboy smiling down at her. The sight as much as the panic at being found so quickly made her stammer. “What… How…”
With a smile that could melt the rock cliffs of Montclaire, he drawled, “They’re looking for you.”
Her eyes widened further. “For me? They are?”
Oh, no. How could they have found her already? Though it had taken an hour to ride across the fields toward the rodeo, she didn’t think they’d even miss her by now. It was barely dark.
“Can’t open a rodeo without all the princesses leading the procession.”
She blinked hard. “All the princesses?”
“There are six of you, I think, not counting the queen.” He pushed his hat back on his head. “Didn’t you practice with the others?”
“Practice? No, I…” Josie dragged her gaze away from the cowboy’s sexy blue eyes so she could think.
There weren’t any queens or other princesses in California at the moment, that she knew of. These must be the beauty queens America was so fond of crowning. Melissa had said rodeos held a contest for a “queen” and her “court,” but why would this cowboy think she was one of them?
A quick glance around the area told her. In the limited light, she could see three other young women wearing a sequined blouse identical to the one Josie had “borrowed.”
Mon Dieu, I can’t even steal properly.
After she’d cleared the fence that separated the Porter ranch from the rodeo property, she’d quickly realized her ball gown would stick out like a black sheep in a flock of white merinos.
Luckily—or so she’d thought at the time—these tortuous pants and the red-white-and-blue sequined blouse had been hanging on a trailer door at the edge of the lot. There’d even been a hat and boots to complete the outfit. She’d been desperate enough that it didn’t take long to overcome her scruples about taking them. As she’d changed behind the trailer—one end of which bounced and squeaked rhythmically—she could hear loud moans coming from inside. She’d felt better then, thinking if the woman was sick she wouldn’t need the clothes.
To help assuage her guilt, Josie left her own gown as payment. The Versace was worth at least ten outfits like the one she had on.
“You must be a substitute princess,” the cowboy offered.
This was getting worse by the minute. If she claimed to be a substitute, she’d have to ride in the procession this man mentioned. She didn’t think anyone would recognize her in this disguise, but she didn’t want to waste any time. Soon either Madame Savoie or the bodyguards would realize she was missing. She wanted to have found a prospective husband and be long gone by the time they thought about searching the rodeo grounds.
But if she claimed she wasn’t this rodeo princess, she’d have to admit stealing the clothes, which could put her in jail. Then Bonifay’s men would locate her for sure.
Why couldn’t she have found a plainer outfit to steal? One that would let her blend into the crowd?
“Are you okay, miss?”
She’d have to take her chances in the procession. Surely it couldn’t take that long. The only problem was… “I don’t know what to do.”
He shrugged. “From what I can tell, it’s not hard. Just ride around the arena with one of the sponsor flags. C’mon. I’ll walk you to the gate.”
Her eyes traveled uncertainly across the wide expanse of his shoulders. “But…who are you?”
His smile broadened, folding two deep dimples into his hard cheeks and stealing air from her lungs. He tipped his black hat. “Name’s Buck Buchanan. Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”
“Josie Fr—” She clamped her mouth shut to keep from uttering her French name. After a bare second’s pause, she supplied the rough translation. “Freeheart. Josie Freeheart.”
His dark brows moved together. “Freeheart? That some kind of hippie name or something?”
Not knowing how to answer, she lifted a shoulder. Free-heart sounded like a perfectly good American name to her.
To take his mind off her possible faux pas, she asked, “Are you a rider of…” What did Melissa call those wild horses? “…broncs?”
“A bronc rider? Not anymore. But hey, we’d best get you to the gate. C’mon.” He grabbed her hand and started walking toward the arena. “I’m a bulldogger these days. I used to ride broncs, but when you’re six-two and two hundred twenty pounds, there’s too much of you to be jerked around.”
Josie barely heard his explanation. Her mind was so consumed with the sensation of her hand in his, she barely remembered to keep hold of her horse’s reins.
Never in her life had a man held her hand. Not like this, palm against palm, fingers laced. The most she’d ever experienced was a man’s hand wrapped around her gloved fingers as they danced. She’d never felt the heat that not only engulfed her hand, but shot up her arm to spread all over her body. Her heart began to race like it had when she escaped across the—
“Josie?”
“Hmm?” As she tried to shake off the curious sensation, she took one more step than he did, which landed her smack up against his side. The mare’s nose shoved into her back, pinning her there.
Startled, she glanced up into eyes the deep blue color of the Mediterranean water surrounding her island home.
His smile made her heart beat even faster. “Meet me here after I ride, okay? I’ll buy you a dog and a beer.”
“A dog?”
He gave her an odd look. “Yeah. A hot dog.”
“A hot dog. Oh.”
What should she say? What should she do? None of the etiquette rules drilled into her at boarding school covered an invitation for dogs and beer.
Then she smiled. Of course they didn’t. There weren’t any rules covering such a situation for a princess, because princesses didn’t get into situations like this.
She was blazing new ground for princesses everywhere. She was on her own, free to do anything she wanted.
“A hot dog and beer sound wonderful.”
Suddenly he dipped his head and pressed his lips against hers.
Shocked, Josie stiffened, her gasp cut off by virtue of no air. Only a second passed, however, before the lack of oxygen didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that the contact go on forever.
She whimpered and pressed closer.
After a long, delightful moment, he drew away. “Damn.”
She opened her eyes. His were so close she could barely focus on them. “You kissed me.”
“Yep. I’m about to do it again.”
“You are? Why?”
He chuckled. “For luck…among other things.”
“Luck?”
“To help me catch my steer. The way I feel right now, though, I can’t imagine not setting a record, just so I can get back to you.”
The heart that had begun to slow began racing again. “All right. You may kiss me again.”
The blue of his eyes darkened a shade, but he closed them a second before his mouth covered hers. His lips were warm and pliant, soft and—
Suddenly the point of physical contact lost focus as heat forged a bond that melded them together. Warmth flowed from him into her, then surged back again. The effervescence of it made Josie dizzy. To keep from falling, she grabbed his thick, hard biceps as his arms encircled her waist.
“There she is! About time. Tear yourself away from lover boy, Candy, or we’ll start without you.”
The rodeo director’s words penetrated the sensual fog clouding Buck’s mind, and he reluctantly drew away from the lips that had instantly sent him into a tailspin. He didn’t want to stop kissing the trailer-park queen he’d just found. Not now. Not ever.
Slowly, she opened her fathomless amber eyes. He was gratified to note the trouble she had focusing, though the evidence of her desire made it hard not to bend and taste her again.
“Josie?”
“Hmmmm?” she asked dreamily.
This could be the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but he had a strong feeling it was fate slapping him up the side of the head. Why else would she appear so quickly, right after he’d made his plan?
“To hell with the hot dog. Will you marry me?”
Chapter Two
Josie’s eyes widened and she pulled away, but only slightly. Then she gave him a nervous smile. “Yes.”
“Candy, will you come on?”
She glanced at the rodeo director, who stood in a wide two-point stance several feet away.
“Hey, you’re not Candy.”
Buck ignored the man as he studied Josie’s lovely face. Her black eyebrows and dark complexion told him she wasn’t a real blonde, but that didn’t bother him. Few trailer-park queens were. What made him hesitate was that she’d agreed to marry him so quickly, without asking a single question about his health or background.
Was it possible she knew he was Hardin Winford Buchanan II, son of the third richest man in Sacramento and multimillionaire in his own right?
He shook off the notion. He’d done his damnedest to keep his background secret from the rodeo world. More likely she figured he asked every girl he met to kiss him and marry him for luck. Cowboys did have a reputation for being superstitious.
“You don’t think I’m serious,” he said.
“Are you?” she returned.
“What the hell’s going on here, Buck?” the rodeo director demanded. “What’s happened to Candy?”
“One second, Hal.” Buck’s gaze never left Josie’s intense amber eyes. “I have a few conditions.”
She smiled wryly. “So do I.”
“We’ll talk about it on the way to Reno. It’s just a couple of hours away, and we can get married tonight, if we haven’t changed our minds by the time we get there.”
She nodded. “All right. I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
Buck nodded, then turned to face the rodeo director, who watched them with a disgusted expression. “Sorry, Hal. This here’s Josie. She’s Candy’s substitute.”
“What? Where’s Candy?” The tall, gaunt man held his palms toward them. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. As long as I got someone to carry the Dodge flag, I don’t care. Mount up, Josie. It’s show time.”
Buck glanced down at Josie, who stood in the circle of his arm. “You ready?”
She took a deep breath. “I guess so.”
She guided the reins over the mare’s neck as she moved down its side to mount.
Unable to resist the opportunity, Buck set his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the saddle. She was tall and though slender, she was no featherweight. Not that lifting her was any effort for him. Like most steer wrestlers, he was a big man, and he liked the solid feel of her.
With one hand on her knee, he grabbed her hands with his other as she gathered the reins. “Meet me here after I ride, okay?”
She sat ramrod straight in the saddle and looked down at him like a princess from her throne. Her golden-brown eyes searched his face as if he were an animal she’d never seen before. “Will you kiss me again…for luck?”
The contrast of her haughty posture and provocative words made desire stab deep into his gut. “Better not, sweetheart. I might not be able to stop. But I’ll definitely take you up on that offer later. Hell, if we’re getting married, we’re going to be doing a lot more than kissing.”
Crimson brushed across her cheeks, but the smile she gave him was as brilliant as the arena lights. “I’ll meet you here.”
He released her, and with a gentle kick, she sent the mare toward the gate where Hal was waving her on frantically.
Buck pushed back his hat and watched her pause to lift the Dodge Truck flag, then maneuver into place beside another princess, who watched her curiously.
Will you kiss me again?
Was it possible he’d finally found a woman who didn’t feel the need to play games? One who was unafraid to match his libido kiss for kiss, caress for caress, thrust for thrust?
And to top it off, she was beautiful, sexy and a trashy trailer-park queen to boot.
Okay, not a queen, just a princess, but that would do.
He hoped like hell his instincts were right. If they were, he couldn’t wait to take her home tomorrow night to meet the folks.
With a smug smile, Buck turned back toward his horse.
His mother was going to have a heifer.
“Four-point-six seconds!” the announcer bellowed over the loudspeaker. The sound carried easily to where Josie hid among the trucks and trailers. “The best bulldogging time of the evening, folks. Buck Buchanan rode like a man possessed! Let’s give him a great big hand. He’s in the money tonight.”
Dieu merci, he was fin—
No. Thank God he was finished. If her charade was going to be successful, she had to weed the French words from her vocabulary. Thank God her English was unaccented and full of American slang and idioms, courtesy of all the years she’d known Melissa.
Josie peered around the cab of a truck, but couldn’t see Buck approaching. She hoped he hadn’t changed his mind.
She needed to get away, fast.
After sending the mare she’d borrowed back over the fence toward the Porter stables, she’d spotted a young woman carrying the Versace gown. Despite a red flush on her cheeks and neck, the woman didn’t look sick at all. In fact, she was obviously angry and looking for her stolen clothes.
Then a local sheriff’s car pulled up at the edge of the parking lot. When two deputies began showing the people milling around a picture, Josie had to assume they were looking for her.
So far she’d avoided being found by either Candy or the cops. But what would she do if Buck Buchanan didn’t show up? What if he’d changed his—
Her attention was snagged by the swaggering gait of a tall, muscular man leading a horse from the arena. Though he was silhouetted by the bright lights, she knew it was Buck.
More than relief flowed through her. As she remembered how his big, hard body had felt against hers, how his lips had nearly caused her to spontaneously combust, her heart began pounding like the drums that had welcomed her on her state visit to Kenya. The sensation distracted her so much she didn’t realize he was looking for her until he called her name.
“Sssshhhh!”
Buck peered into the shadows on the parking lot and saw a piquant face surrounded by enormous blond hair peeking around the cab of a truck. Relief flooded through him. “What are you—”
“Come here.” She waved him over. “Hurry, please.”
Her impatience made him recall the desire biting at him ever since they’d parted. He grinned as he joined her behind the truck. “Want another kiss, sweetheart? Well, here I come—ready, willing and more than able.”
She grabbed his arm and hauled him into her hiding place, glancing nervously behind him as she did. “Can we leave now, please?”
A little miffed that she hadn’t wanted the embrace he’d been craving for over an hour, he pushed his hat back. “I reckon. What did you do with your mare?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh. I had to give her back. She wasn’t mine.”
He nodded. Borrowing mounts at rodeos was as common as muddy jeans from dirt landings. Still, he had the feeling something wasn’t altogether what it should be. Josie didn’t act like a woman excited about getting hitched. She didn’t seem excited at all. She seemed distracted, worried…almost scared.
He cussed as the most likely possibility hit him. “You running away from something, sweetheart?”
Her only answer was to look away guiltily.
Damn. He knew his trailer-park queen was too good to be true. “What is it? The law? Or am I going to have a jealous husband breathing down my neck any minute?”
She was clearly horrified. “Would I be marrying you if I was already married?”
He shrugged. “It’s not legal, but it’s been done.”
She shook her head vehemently, which made her blond hair slip a bit to the side, enough to release a dark lock of hair.
Buck smiled. A wig. Who wore wigs but old women and trailer-park queens?
She really was the kind of woman he was looking for.
“Nothing like that, I promise,” she insisted. “It’s…my father. He wants me to marry a man I don’t want to marry. I have to get away from here as soon as possible. Please help me.”
Her obvious anxiety and the fact that she didn’t evade the question made Buck believe her. Or maybe it was because his own parents were trying to do the same thing to him.
He drew a finger across the satin smoothness of her jaw. “I bet the guy’s rich, isn’t he?”
She nodded solemnly. “Will you help me? Please? I don’t have any money at the moment, but I do have a couple of pieces of jewelry I can sell that should bring enough money to pay you.”
“Pay me?” Buck chuckled at the ridiculous notion. At least it proved she didn’t know who he was. Relieved she wasn’t a gold digger planning to alimony him out of his money, he slipped his free hand around her back and bent to kiss her temple. “That’s cute, sweetheart. Of course I’ll help you, but you don’t have to pay me.”
She craned her neck so she could see him. “Yes, I do. You’ll understand more when I tell you what my conditions are. But please, can we talk about them on the way to Reno?”
“I just have one question. How old are you?”
She looked puzzled, but answered, “I’ll be twenty-five in three weeks. Why?”
“You’re legal. Good. Just checking.” He gathered his gelding’s reins closer. “You have any suitcases?”
She shook her head.
Hell, she really was running away. “Let me load Agamemnon and pick up my check, then we’ll head on out.”
“If you’ll show me where your trailer is, I’ll load your gelding while you pick up the check. It’ll be faster.”
His gaze swept her worried face. “Someone’s here right now, looking for you, aren’t they?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Hell, my check’s not that big. We’ll just go ahead and—”
“No.” She placed a hand on his arm. “You need your check. Melis—Um, I know how rodeo cowboys live.”
He wasn’t going to tell her that he always signed his rodeo checks over to the next charity he came across. His only stipulation was that the donation remain anonymous. He didn’t want to let his rodeo buddies know he needed these checks about as much as the Double Star needed hills.
“All right.” He pointed out his red Chevrolet truck attached to a two-horse trailer with a built-in camper. Both were battered, with chipped paint. He’d spent several days making them look that way. Inside they weren’t fancy, but both held all the basic comforts a man or horse could want. “There’s my rig. It’s not locked.”
She nodded and moved her hands to Aggie’s reins. She stroked the horse’s nose as she let him nuzzle her hand to smell her scent, then she moved to each side of the gelding so he could see her out of both eyes. “Sounds like you performed well tonight. You deserve a good rubdown.”
The evidence that she knew and respected horses made Buck’s admiration rise even more. He brushed his mouth against hers. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Even if he had to hound the rodeo secretary to sign his check.
“Isn’t that wig uncomfortable?”
Startled by Buck’s question, Josie turned from the side mirror where she’d been watching for vehicles that might be following them. They’d left Auburn twenty minutes ago, heading into the mountains toward the Nevada state line. Up to now, Buck had been quiet, intent on guiding his rig onto the 180.
“Wig?” She had a moment of panic, having been convinced she’d had everyone fooled.
For an answer, he reached across and tugged at a strand of dark hair lying on her cheek. He pulled until the long tress was free from beneath the wig. “You’re not a blonde.”
Her stomach fluttered at the way he was caressing the black strand, and she drew it from the masculine fingers. “Does that matter?”
“Not at all.” He sent a glance down her form. “It just makes me wonder what else isn’t real.”
Since he was eyeing her overly generous bust, she sighed. He might as well know the worst now. First she eased the wig off her head. She couldn’t suppress a moan of relief when the pressure of the tight band holding it in place was gone.
Strands of hair escaped her once-perfect chignon, but she couldn’t make any repairs at the moment other than pushing them off her face. Then, casting an uneasy glance at Buck, she reached inside the sequined weskit and began pulling tissues from the bodice.
When he saw what she was doing, Buck smiled, then chuckled. The next time he glanced over, he started laughing out loud. The more tissues she took out, the harder he laughed.
When she was finally finished, she glared at him.
He looked at her, and kept laughing.
A smile tugged at Josie’s lips, and when she glanced down at the mountain of tissues on her lap, she let her lips curve.
“Is there anything left of you in there?” he asked, wiping at tears of mirth.
Josie held the weskit against her bust. “Not all that much, I’m afraid. I guess it was false advertising, but I needed a disguise. If you want to back out of the deal, I’ll understand.”
“No, I definitely want in.”
His voice had such a husky quality, she glanced at him. The hot looks he was sending her between glances at the highway surprised her. She’d caught looks of unbridled lust on men before, but never directed at her. No man had been so lacking in manners as to openly desire Princess Josåphene of Montclaire. It just wasn’t done.
Until now.
A wave of heat washed through her, but not from embarrassment. For the first time in her life, she felt like a woman—a sexy woman. She’d had no idea that being the object of a man’s desire would feel so wonderful, so liberating, so wanton.
“You—” She had to clear her throat before she could speak properly. “You still want to get married?”
His gaze rested on hers, then shifted back to the highway. “Do you?”
“I…” She turned her own gaze to the line of headlights coming at them. “As I said, I have some very specific conditions.”
“Such as?”
“Well—please don’t take this personally—I only need a husband for a few months. But at least you won’t be stuck with me for long.”
Buck glanced at her sharply. “A few months? Why?”
“I…I’d rather not go into the specifics. Suffice it to say that I need to prevent my…father from marrying me to someone else.”
Buck was amazed at how her situation was like his own. “How many months are we talking about?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. At least two. Perhaps as many as six or seven. It depends on how long it takes me to—”
She cut herself off so quickly, he had to probe. “To what?”
“To…make other arrangements.”
“What other arrangements?”
“Does it matter?”
“If I’m going to be involved in this, yes, it does.”
She cleared her throat. “All right, then. I have to find a husband. A real husband, I mean. One who…meets certain qualifications.”
“Which I lack.”
“Please don’t take this personally.”
Buck frowned when he realized that he wasn’t particularly insulted. What he didn’t like was the thought of Josie marrying someone else. He didn’t like it one bit. He felt almost…possessive, which didn’t make any sense. He’d only known her a few hours.
Then a possibility he liked even less occurred to him. “So you’re wanting a marriage in name only.”
“No,” she said quickly. “I…it needs to be consummated. That is, if you don’t mind.”
Mind? Hell, if no sex had been one of her conditions, he’d have put her out at the next town. She’d had him so aroused from the instant he laid eyes on her, he was having trouble convincing himself not to pull the truck off at the next exit and down the first dark road so he could have her right now. He’d never be able to keep his hands off her for a couple of months.
“No.” He shifted in the seat. “I don’t mind.”
She sighed, as if she’d been worried about it. “Good.”
“Any more conditions?” he asked.
“Just one.”
“And that would be?”
“We need to have a prenuptial agreement. Not that I don’t trust you, but—”
“You don’t know me.”
“Exactly. You don’t mind?”
“A prenuptial saying that what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is yours, and we don’t get a nickel of each other’s money or assets, such as they are.” He smiled. “Sweetheart, the only assets I can see that you have are what God gave you.”
“I have enough to pay you five thousand dollars for your help.” She sounded a bit offended.
Buck chuckled. Five thousand dollars. He’d been prepared to offer her fifty times that to marry him for a few months. Should he tell her? No. Let her think he was doing her a favor. However… “I’m not taking a dime of your money, Josie. So put that thought right out of your pretty head.”
“But—”
“I don’t need it. I don’t want it. I’m not taking it.”
“If you’re certain…”
“Absolutely. Any more conditions?”
“No.” She sighed. “I guess that’s that, then, isn’t it?”
“I guess so.”
“We’re getting married?”
“I’m game if you are.”
“Didn’t you have some conditions?”
“Not anymore, sweetheart.”
The purr of the engine as the car ran the dark highway was the only sound for several seconds. Then Josie said, “I like it when you call me that.”
“Sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
Her soft confession touched him. He reached across the cab to capture her hand. “No one’s ever called you sweetheart before?”
“No.”
“Good.” He laced his fingers through hers. “C’mon over here.”
He dragged her across the bench seat, against his side.
He was on the way to Reno to marry a beautiful, sexy trailer-park princess. He couldn’t wait to see his mother’s face when he walked into his house tomorrow.
Yep. The next few months were going to be very interesting.
He felt as if his whole body was smiling.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Josie froze, staring at the bald justice of the peace through the filmy veil, the only part of the bridal costume she wore.
Wife.
Mon Dieu. What have I done?
She’d married a total stranger for the sake of Montclaire. A man she’d known only a few hours.
With the help of a penlight from his glove compartment, she’d scribbled a brief prenuptial, which they’d both signed, with the justice of the peace and his wife as witnesses. But a prenuptial wouldn’t protect her from any vice he might have a tendency toward. She didn’t know anything about this man.
Was her country worth such a personal sacrifice?
The justice cleared his throat. “You may kiss the bride.”
“Finally,” Buck murmured.
Josie allowed him to turn her in his arms.
He fought a moment with the veil. “Why the hell did I insist you wear this thing?”
Finally, he cleared a path to her face. His gaze searched hers for a long moment, probing, hunting—for what, she didn’t know. Then he smiled. “I told you I’d kiss you again.”
His lips touched hers, and all thoughts of Montclaire flew right out of her head.
Josie woke to the soft sounds of birds chirping and waves lapping gently at a shoreline. Accustomed to hearing the ocean only when a rough storm passed over the Mediterranean, she opened her eyes to find herself curled up in a narrow bed sandwiched between a metal wall and a cabinet with a tiny sink.
Sitting abruptly, she noticed how restrictive her clothes were and glanced down. The stars and stripes of the sequined top gleamed dully in the sunlight trying to break through the tiny blinds on the tiny windows. The sight of the stolen clothes brought everything back.
She swept her left hand in front of her face. A plain gold band purchased at the Reno wedding chapel circled her ring finger.
She was married. To a cowboy.
Panic and relief hit her simultaneously, so hard she couldn’t breathe. She was on her own, with no bodyguards, no royal trappings, nothing familiar to protect her.
On her own. Though it had called her like a siren song since she was a girl, the concept was foreign to Josie. She’d never, ever been truly on her own. Not one single moment of her life.
But she was now. Since she’d used the English version of her name on the wedding certificate, no one knew she was Princess Josåphene of Montclaire. She could do anything she wanted, act any way she wanted, be anyone she wanted.
Smiling with a euphoric sense of freedom, Josie fell back onto the pillow, only to discover that the tiny bed wasn’t quite long enough for her five-foot-nine-inch frame.
“Ow.”
She rubbed her head. This must be the camper built onto the front of Buck’s horse trailer. He must have carried her in here after she’d fallen asleep in the truck. She hadn’t meant to go to sleep, but she’d had an exhausting week.
Josie wondered vaguely where she was. Lake Tahoe? That’s where Buck said they were heading when they left the chapel. He knew of a campground on the shore of the lake that had special spaces for campers with horses.
Not that it mattered where she was. She was free. There was no way Bonifay could trace her on the road with Buck Buchanan.
No, not Buck. What was the name he’d put on the wedding certificate?
Hardin Winford Buchanan.
He’d given her a hard look when he gave the court clerk his name, as if he expected her to make fun of it. She’d squeezed his arm to reassure him. Who was she—Princess Josåphene Eugånie Båatrix Marguerite Isabeau Francoeur—to make fun of such a name?
Buck fit him better, just like Josie fit her.
She craned her neck to peer around the camper.
Speaking of Buck, where was he? Why weren’t they in the same bed? She’d always had the impression that middleclass American couples slept together.
She glanced at the floor, then a movement higher caught her eye. Two large, bare feet poked out from a sheet on the other side of the trailer.
He must have put her to bed, not wanting to disturb her sleep with husbandly demands.
A smile drifted across her face. He might be just a cowboy, but her husband had the manners of the finest gentlemen she’d ever met.
Not that she would have minded being disturbed. As a matter of fact, they needed to proceed with the consummation as soon as possible.
Heat stung her cheeks, and she sighed. She wished they’d accomplished it last night, so she wouldn’t have to worry about it. Now, how was she going to bring it up?
Perhaps she wouldn’t have to. Perhaps Buck would take matters in hand.
She giggled at the unintentional pun. His hands had seemed more than capable of taking care of matters last night.
But his caresses and kisses weren’t the only reason she liked him. They’d talked all the way into Reno. He seemed fascinated by everything she’d said, just as she’d been with the details he revealed about his life.
What felt so good, however, was knowing his fascination wasn’t because she was a princess. To him, she was an ordinary woman.
How often had she longed to be just an ordinary woman? To meet a man who would see beyond the brilliance of her crown to the woman beneath?
She frowned as she realized Buck didn’t know she had a crown. She wasn’t being honest with him, but she couldn’t risk it. Not yet. Not until she was certain what kind of man she was dealing with.
When she didn’t surface after a few days, her face would be splashed over every newspaper and television in America. Bonifay would offer a reward—a large one.
Melissa had told her that most rodeo contestants lived from paycheck to paycheck. From what she’d seen so far, she didn’t think Buck was the kind of man to be seduced by money. He’d refused her offer of payment, after all. But she’d only known him a few hours.
She still couldn’t believe she’d married a perfect stranger. Yet there was something about Buck that she’d trusted immediately. Though she couldn’t pinpoint a reason for her trust, somehow she was certain he wouldn’t harm her. When she first looked into his deep blue eyes, it was as if she’d known him all her life.
Was it because his eyes reminded her of the ocean surrounding Montclaire? Was it because his height and build reminded her of her father? Was it the way she felt when he’d kissed her after they’d said “I do”?
Remembering that moment, she closed her eyes to savor the things he made her feel—even hours after the contact. The scent of a hardworking man blending with the scent of a hardworking horse—she couldn’t imagine anything sexier. The caress of his warm breath on her cheek, the way his lips molded to hers.
She moaned softly as she traced her fingers over her lips.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Her eyes flew open to see Buck sitting up on the elevated bed.
Her breath caught.
Bent slightly because his head and long torso wouldn’t fit in the cramped space, he yawned and reached a muscular, naked arm up to scratch his shaggy, dark brown hair. But his arm wasn’t all that was naked. Every part of him that she could see was nude—from the wide, well-defined expanse of his chest to the strong legs ending in long, higharched feet.
Only his hips were covered. A sheet appeared to be all that lay between her gaze and his most private parts.
The warmth she’d been feeling at the memory of his kiss intensified, especially when she realized she wanted to snatch the sheet away so she could see all of him.
Never in her life had she experienced desire so sharp it felt like raw, aching need. Desire to see a naked man.
But not just any naked man. This one.
Her passion was so unfamiliar and acute, it alarmed her. Princesses didn’t have feelings like this.
Josie’s mind caught on her words.
Princesses might not have feelings like this, but ordinary women did—and that’s what she was until she returned to Montclaire. She knew she’d have to go home eventually, but until then she wasn’t going to have any more princess thoughts. She was going to enjoy every single, solitary minute of being an ordinary woman. The memory of these few weeks would have to last the rest of her life.
“You look kinda flushed, sweetheart. You too hot?” he asked.
Josie gave in to the need to giggle, something Josåphene would’ve suppressed. If only he knew how hot—and why. “I’m…fine.”
He gave her a puzzled look, then started to slide down to the narrow sliver of floor below him. As the sheet began to slide off his hips, however, he stopped. “Maybe you’d better use the bathroom first.”
She would much rather have enjoyed the show, but since he didn’t seem inclined to give her one, she realized she was in dire need of facilities. That there were any nearby surprised her. “There’s a bathroom in here?”
He pointed to the wall behind her. “You’ll have to fold up your bunk so you can open the door. I don’t have the water hooked up for a shower yet. It was late when we pulled in. But there should be enough in the tanks to flush a few times.”
Josie placed her feet on the floor and took a moment to stretch. “Where are we? Lake Tahoe?”
He rubbed a hand over his morning beard. “Yep.”
With a nod acknowledging the information, she stood and turned to fold the bed. She stared at it for a moment, then pulled the top sheet back—he hadn’t bothered with a bottom one. Uncovered, the hinges were obvious. After a minute of bending and stretching, she’d reconfigured the bed into a small couch.
Satisfied with her job, she straightened and turned to smile at Buck. The look she caught on his face trapped the air in her lungs. His eyes were like the hot blue centers of twin flames, and they were burning into her bottom.
She suddenly realized the view she’d given him, bent over in the tight jeans. He would have been able to see every curve of her form.
A shiver ran through her—part excitement, part fear.
He wanted her.
A few men had told her they wanted her, but she hadn’t really believed them. Perhaps because none had looked at her like this. They couldn’t separate the woman from the princess. She could see it in their eyes.
Buck’s own eyes rose slowly to hers, losing none of their heat during the languorous journey.
Mesmerized, Josie stared straight into the face of desire. His need inflamed her own, which excited her and frightened her even more.
“Josie, sweetheart?” he asked in a deeper, huskier voice than she remembered him having.
“Yes?” The word was hesitant, breathless.
“Either go into the bathroom, or climb up here and let’s get on with what we’re both wanting to do.”
Josie didn’t follow either suggestion. The fire burning through her veins had welded her feet to the floor.
She wanted to climb up next to him more than she wanted to see Montclaire again—ever. She wanted to run her hands over the relief map of his chest, to dig her fingers into the thick mane of dark brown hair, to press her mouth to his well-defined lips.
Then she remembered. She could. In fact, she should.
She took one hesitant step toward him. “We are married.”
She didn’t think his gaze could heat up any more, but he proved her wrong. The closer she went, the hotter his gaze grew. Finally she stood at the base of the chest-high bed, feeling as if she were burning alive.
One strong hand gently pushed back a lock of the hair that she vaguely realized was falling in wisps around her face. He glanced somewhere over her shoulder, closed his eyes as if in pain, then cussed and drew back his hand.
“We can’t,” he groaned.
“Oh. I…” Her face flaming from her rejected brazenness, Josie spun away.
Buck grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
Too embarrassed even to face him, she waved somewhere in the direction of the bathroom.
“Look at me.”
She couldn’t.
“Sweetheart, look at me.”
She turned slowly until his fingers caught her chin and forced her to look at him. “If we make love now, I won’t want to stop. Probably for days. It’s already noon and—I’m extremely sorry to say—we’ve got to attend a party tonight. We’ve got to stop somewhere along the way and get you a dress to wear. As lovely as that outfit is, it isn’t appropriate for the party.”
Panic raced through her. “Party?”
“Yeah. My mother conned me into it.”
Josie relaxed, picturing a kindly older woman, as oblivious of Montclaire’s existence as her son. “But I don’t have money for a dress.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re my wife now. I’ll buy whatever you need.”
She shook her head and dug into her jeans pocket. “I can’t allow you to do that. We’re only going to be married a few months.” She held out a pair of earrings. “I have these to sell. They’re probably worth several thousand dollars.”
Certain they were fake, Buck barely glanced at the earrings she dropped into his hand. She was so cute, thinking her costume jewelry was worth thousands of dollars. He decided not to burst her bubble. He would tell her he pawned them, then give her the money she expected.
“Can we stop at a place where I can sell them?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Let me take care of it.”
She sighed. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve helped me so—”
“Hush now.” Bending, he slid a finger under her chin and lifted her mouth to his. “One kiss, sweetheart. Then go.”
Chapter Three
“A princess!”
Buck snatched the newspaper from the counter of the gas station where he was getting the truck filled.
No. This couldn’t be true.
But the woman in the photo, staring stony-eyed back at him, looked exactly like Josie. Her hair was twisted up in a much more elaborate do than the one she’d taken down before they drove into Carson City, and instead of a Resistol, she was wearing a tiara.
A damned tiara.
The caption beneath the photo claimed this was Princess Josåphene Francoeur of Montclaire.
Josåphene. Josie. Josephine, she’d spelled for the court clerk last night. No coincidence. His wife was a princess. A real, honest-to-God, crown-wearing, kiss-her-hand princess.
“Princess Josåphene Missing; Feared Kidnapped,” the headline screamed.
Buck scanned the article that told how she’d attended an American friend’s wedding at the Porter ranch outside Auburn, California. The horse she’d evidently slipped away on had returned to the stable, riderless. The article went on to speculate about rumors that had been flying through the press about her imminent wedding to Alphonse Picquet, one of the richest men in Europe. By press time no one had an explanation for her disappearance, but the police were not ruling out foul play.
Foul play. Buck barked out a mirthless laugh. The only foul play had been committed by the princess herself—by conning him into marrying her.
Princess.
He threw the paper down as if it had suddenly been smeared with an offensive substance.
What the hell did she think she was doing? And why the hell had she chosen him as her scapegoat?
His eyes narrowed. Did his mother have something to do with this?
He shook his head. As much as Alicia Buchanan wished she hobnobbed with royalty, he knew damned well she didn’t.
She wasn’t going to, either. There was no way he was taking Josie to his father’s party tonight. His mother would be drooling so much they’d have to bring in buckets just to catch it all.
A damn princess. Not of some major European country, but—
Wait a minute. Royalty married royalty, didn’t they?
His mouth twisted in derision. Obviously not.
Alphonse Picquet certainly wasn’t royalty. He was a shipping tycoon whose greedy fingers reached all over the world. Buck had felt the strength of those fingers in an investment he’d made a couple of years back. Picquet had tried to play dirty. Only Buck’s quick influx of cash had saved the deal.
The guy was Eurotrash. He was more than twice Josie’s age, with all the charm and attraction of a bull moose. And if the rumors were true, his sexual appetites tended toward the bizarre and sometimes violent. The little princess had evidently heard about the women Picquet had scarred—mentally and physically—so she’d conned Buck into marrying her instead. But that was understandable—smart of her, really. It was the other.…
Êîíåö îçíàêîìèòåëüíîãî ôðàãìåíòà.
Òåêñò ïðåäîñòàâëåí ÎÎÎ «ËèòÐåñ».
Ïðî÷èòàéòå ýòó êíèãó öåëèêîì, êóïèâ ïîëíóþ ëåãàëüíóþ âåðñèþ (https://www.litres.ru/martha-shields/the-princess-and-the-cowboy/) íà ËèòÐåñ.
Áåçîïàñíî îïëàòèòü êíèãó ìîæíî áàíêîâñêîé êàðòîé Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, ñî ñ÷åòà ìîáèëüíîãî òåëåôîíà, ñ ïëàòåæíîãî òåðìèíàëà, â ñàëîíå ÌÒÑ èëè Ñâÿçíîé, ÷åðåç PayPal, WebMoney, ßíäåêñ.Äåíüãè, QIWI Êîøåëåê, áîíóñíûìè êàðòàìè èëè äðóãèì óäîáíûì Âàì ñïîñîáîì.