The Princess And The Cowboy. Martha Shields
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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 Joséphene 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 Joséphene Eugénie Béatrix 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.