Lone Star Prince. Cindy Gerard
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Yet in spite of all that, a soft smile tilted her lips as she thought of something Gregory had said to her on that midnight flight. Something that had seemed ominous then, amusing now.
“Don’t worry, Anna. No one in town will know who you are, much less recognize you. We’ve seen to that.”
At the time, she hadn’t understood what he’d meant. Two days later he’d shown up at her door with a pink polyester uniform and instructed her to report for work as a waitress at the Royal Diner as part of her cover to keep her identity concealed. She’d understood perfectly then.
As unthinkable as it had seemed at the time, his intent had been as clear as Waterford crystal: Anna von Oberland—whose royal blood lines could be traced back over seven centuries, who had been tutored by the most prestigious private instructors in Europe, then Swiss educated at the collegiate level, who owned advanced degrees m business and economics, who was successor to the throne of kings—was to be transformed from Her Most Serene Royal Highness, the Esteemed Princess of Obersbourg, to a waitress, in the form of down-home girl, Annie Grace.
The unthinkable hadn’t ended there. Neither had the surprises. In the past months since she’d been hiding out in Royal as Annie Grace, she’d not only played the part of Annie Grace, she’d been having the time of her life.
One of the reasons for all that fun grinned at her from behind the grill as she elbowed up to the cook’s counter to place an order.
A pair of coal-black eyes met hers, sparkling flirtatiously. “You have a need, Annie-mine?”
“I have a need for a short stack, two eggs over easy, a side of bacon, wheat-no-butter, please, Manny.”
“Sure thing, Annie sweetheart, darlin’ dear. Anything else I can do for you while my fire’s hot?”
Anna tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. Even if she hadn’t caught the meaningful waggle of Manny Reno’s dark brows, she’d have known he wasn’t referring to the fire under his grill. Manny, a beautiful Chicano bodybuilder and part-time cook, was an incorrigible and accomplished flirt. And like most of the hardy Texans she’d met since Gregory had eased her quietly into Royal four months ago, he was also about as dangerous as a slice of his coconut cream pie.
Grinning, she clipped the order to the revolving wheel above the counter and reached for the coffeepot. “Give me a break, Manny. It’s 6:00 a.m. It’s Monday. I haven’t built up the strength yet to spar with you.”
“Well, you see now, beautiful girl...” Manny’s black eyes danced from the rich caramel backdrop of his face. “...that’s all part of my strategy. Get’cha while you’re not awake enough to fight this intense attraction you feel for me.”
“Well...there is that.” She shot him a coy smile then sobered abruptly. “Oh, wait.” Bracing a hand to her forehead, she closed her eyes. “I feel something—yes. Here it is now. My better judgment just arrived to save the day. Whew. That was close. For a minute there, I almost lost my head. Sorry, Manny—and we were going to have such a good time, too.”
“Oh, maaan.” Manny groaned, heavy on the theatrics, as he poured batter onto the griddle, then expertly flipped an omelette. “You are breaking my heart here.”
Sheila Foster sidled up to the counter just then, hooked an order on the clip. She sliced Anna a quick, conspiratorial wink before firing her own shot at Manny. “You gotta have a heart to get one broken.”
Sheila was currently single, twice divorced and fighting a size twelve for all she was worth. The fact that she had a hard and heavy case on Manny wasn’t lost on Anna. Neither was it lost on Manny, who, after almost two months of drooling over Sheila, hadn’t worked up the courage to do something about it.
“Who’s callin’ the kettle black, little Sheba?” Manny accused with a grin so sweet Anna could almost taste the honey.
“It’s Sheila, you big ape, and I’ve got a heart. I just don’t see any point wasting any extra beats over you.”
“You know you’re nuts about me, my little chili pepper.”
“The only one nuts around here is you. Now is my number five up yet or did you have to run down a chicken and squeeze the eggs out of her?”
Laughing at their good-natured sniping, Anna headed for the booth where Homer Gaffney sat. Homer smiled when she approached, causing deep creases to dig even deeper grooves into the wizened old face that looked up at her from beneath the dusty brim of a stained and dented straw cowboy hat.
“Here’s your juice, Homer. And you’re drinking regular, not decaf this morning, right?”
“Gotta have the high octane this mornin’, Annie. Full day ahead a’ me. Movin’ the herd. From the sound of things we’ll be bucking stout sou’west winds and a boatload of dust. I’m gonna need all the caffeine I can get.”
As she filled Homer’s cup, she felt that little prickle of unease that sometimes crept up on her when someone looked at her in that I’ve-seen-you-before-kind-of-way. The way Homer was looking at her now.
“I just can’t get over how much you look like that fancy princess woman. Oh, what is her name, anyway?”
“Fergie?” she suggested and worked hard at manufacturing a teasing smile.
“Naw. That other one—the one from some foreign sounding place. You sure you ain’t some long lost twin got switched at birth?”
“Homer, Homer.” She forced a playful, chiding tone. “Last week you said you thought I looked like a movie star. I’ll tell you what, though—if you can figure out some way to make me into a princess, I’ll figure out a way to make you my prince.”
Homer laughed, blushed and tugged on his hat brim. “I’d be more frog than prince—and I don’t allow my Martha would much go for me running off with you. It’s a nice thought, though, huh?”
“You bet, Homer.” She laid a hand on his shoulder then walked away. “It’s a very nice thought.”
It was also a thought that, thankfully, didn’t occur too often. When it did, she generally handled it the same way as she had with Homer just now. She’d laugh, joke and walk away. So far it had worked. Yet the possibility always loomed that the day might come when her luck on that count would run out and someone would recognize her.
Refusing to think about that now, she answered Manny’s ding—he signaled with a little silver bell when an order was up—and delivered an omelette and a sweet roll. Then she quickly bussed two tables and raked in two dollars and some odd change in tips. As she headed back for Homer’s short stack and eggs, she was completely oblivious of the diner’s shortcomings when compared to the grandeur that had once been her life at Obersbourg Palace.
The Royal Diner was your basic greasy spoon café, nonalcoholic watering hole, town meeting place and coffee klatch all wrapped up in one. Just as unlikely as Anna becoming adept as a waitress was the fact that the diner had also become her refuge. She loved every inch of the place—from the worn and cracked dull-gray linoleum floor tiles to the faded red plastic on the booth seats to the scratched chrome strips edging the tabletops and the counter with its dozen stools.
She loved the steamy warmth of it. The smell of it. The sinfully juicy hamburgers that Manny cooked on his grill, the decadently thick chocolate malts that she had learned to make on the ancient malt machine. She even loved the thin film of smoke and grease coating the plate glass windows that Hazel, the owner, had tried to pretty up with muslin curtains.
She knew it wasn’t supposed to work like this. She knew that Gregory had set her up with this waitress ruse because he thought she would consider it menial and beneath her. A princess wasn’t supposed to mingle with, let alone wait on, the common folk. It was his subtle way, she supposed, of paying her back for what she’d done to him years ago.
She understood his motives. She even forgave him. Just like she forgave him for making himself as scarce as a snowstorm in West Texas.