Prince Incognito. Linda Goodnight
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the dour rancher.
She grimaced. “I’ll pass.”
Luc looked at her quizzically. “Have the two of you met?”
“A few moments ago. And I have to tell you, the birthday boy isn’t the friendliest host around.”
“Carson?” Luc’s blue gaze flickered to the rancher now sitting at a picnic table with the small boy. The incredibly ugly blue-eyed dog sat on the bench, too. “Carson is all right. A bit too private to run a bed-and-breakfast but a good man nonetheless.”
His answer surprised her. How would a guest make that kind of evaluation in two days’ time?
“Then why don’t you go say hello while I get us a couple glasses of iced tea.” She pointed to a table covered in red-checkered vinyl. “I’ll meet you under that tree over there.”
Like a king honoring his subjects, Luc inclined his golden head. “Excellent idea.”
As Luc strolled away, Carly headed for a shaded area where Macy, the ranch’s receptionist, manned a spigoted container of sweet tea. Behind Macy an angelic-looking toddler sat on a quilt, gnawing a banana.
“Who’s the cutie-pie?” Carly asked.
Mousy Macy, as Carly had secretly termed her, lit up like the night sky on the Fourth of July. “That’s Hanna, my little girl. She’s two.”
The child, all blue eyes and curly blond hair, waved a chubby hand at Carly. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” Carly said before glancing back to Macy. “She’s adorable.”
Macy filled a large plastic cup with tea and handed it to Carly. Her voice was soft and shy. “Thank you. I think so, too.”
Once upon a time when she had believed in fairy tales, Carly had thought about having kids. But that was before she’d grown up and discovered she was better at poking around in other people’s business than in forming lasting relationships.
After collecting the drinks, Carly headed for the shade tree and sat down. Sipping at the icy, sweet beverage, her attention drifted to Luc and the unfriendly rancher. Her curiosity hitched a notch. In Luc’s company, the grumpy Carson was laughing and relaxed. He clapped a hand on Luc’s shoulder as if they were old friends.
How would a remote Oklahoma rancher become acquainted with someone who oozed European class? Interesting question that Carly intended to answer.
“So,” Carly said a short time later as she sat across the table from Luc stabbing a fork into beef chunks loaded with spicy-hot barbecue sauce. “Are you and Mr. Benedict old friends?”
Nothing like going straight to the source with a direct question. She was much more adept at interviewing than conversation anyway. Concentrating on business would erase the discomfort of being thrust upon Luc like some wallflower at the junior prom.
Luc hesitated, lifting his napkin.
If possible, he looked even more fairy-tale handsome tonight in a chambray shirt that turned his eyes to a rhapsody in blue. And if that wasn’t enough to make her drool like a sick dog, he’d rolled back the sleeves to reveal muscled forearms that looked strong enough to take on anything. So interesting. Both muscles and manners in one stunning body.
To make matters worse—or better, depending on one’s outlook—he had removed the white cowboy hat. Carly had nearly choked on her barbecue. That wild bad-boy hair, like some sexy movie star or European racer, wreaked havoc with her imagination.
“Carson and I attended the same university for a short time,” he said. “So when I decided to vacation in the American West, I contacted him.”
Well, that explained it. Shoot.
Disappointed, she stabbed another beef chunk and poked it in her mouth. She’d hoped for a more exciting reason for a man like Luc to vacation at a remote dude ranch in Oklahoma instead of on the sunny shores of Spain.
She chewed and swallowed, savoring the tender beef. “Somebody around here has turned barbecue into an art form.”
“That would be Carson’s specialty. I remember when he invited me here years ago. He could hardly wait until I had tasted the family recipe. It is exquisite, no?”
There was that accent again, richer, warmer.
“You never did say where you are from.”
“No, I never did.” He smiled to soften the evasive reply, but Carly didn’t miss the diversion. Her antennae shot, happily, back up.
“Your accent is charming,” she said. “Is it French?”
She was prying but hoped Luc accepted the question as casual dinner conversation.
“You have a good ear,” he said. “Perhaps you speak français?”
“Oui.” She racked her brain to tell him that she had learned basic French in high school. “J’ai appris dans le lycée.”
His face, already too gorgeous for words, lit up in pleasant surprise. “Votre accent est tout à fait passable.”
Carly grinned at his compliment about her French accent and searched for the phrase to tell him not to tease her for sounding like a Texan.
“Ne taquinez pas. Je suis une Texan.”
Luc leaned back from the table and lay his fork aside to study her intently. “I am impressed, mademoiselle. ¿Usted habla español?”
Carly’s brain whirled to keep pace, but she was determined to be his mental equal. She might not be a beauty, but she had smarts.
She pointed her fork at him. “No fair jumping to Spanish without warning. But si, I do know some Spanish, though mine is mostly street language from living and working among the Hispanic folks in Dallas.”
“Quizás usted puede enseñarme.”
The pleasure of doing mental gymnastics with an intelligent man stirred Carly’s blood. Most men of her acquaintance were intimidated by her quick mind, but with Luc the situation was just the opposite. And tons of fun.
“I would be delighted to share the street language I know—if you think you can stand it.”
“I look forward to your expertise. Möglicherweise sprechen Sie auch Deutsches?”
Darn. She’d used up her repertoire of foreign languages.
She shook her head. One lock of hair came loose and flopped into her face. She blew it back. “You lost me there. What was that? German?”
“Ja.” He took up his fork and knife again, slicing his beef as if it was filet mignon.
“How many languages do you speak anyway?”
She watched him eat, noting that though he enjoyed his food with manly gusto, he ate with a finesse not found on most ranches. Muscles, manners and an amazing mind. Who was this guy?
“Six fluently. And you?”
“Six? Now it’s my turn to be impressed. Sadly you have heard my entire litany of languages. Where did you learn to speak so many?”
Luc’s expression remained friendly, but his smile tightened. Interesting. They had both enjoyed their game of intellectual table tennis, so why the sudden tension?
“School. Travel.” He gestured with his fork. “You know.”
No, she didn’t know, but as a detective—junior though she might be—she recognized the carefully chosen words that answered without answering.
“French, German, Spanish, English and what else?” she pressed with her most charming smile. Was he being intentionally obtuse or had a couple of years of prying information out of reluctant interviewees made her overly suspicious?
“Italian and Chinese.”