The Rancher's Runaway Princess. DONNA ALWARD
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And her accent was State-side. Southeast somewhere, he gathered. “Where are you from, anyway?”
For a moment their eyes clashed and he sensed she was deciding how to answer what should have been a simple question. He tried a smile, inviting her to speak. To his surprise her eyes immediately cooled and her lips thinned.
“You must have work to do,” she offered stiffly.
“There’s always work, but I expect you know that.” She didn’t want to answer. He wondered why, but there’d be time to get that information. She was supposed to stay several days.
“I’ll just—” She swallowed, let the sentence hang.
“You’ve had a long flight and drive. You probably want to rest. I’ll take you up to the house.”
“You said you had work.”
He angled his head slightly. He couldn’t quite figure out Lucy Farnsworth. She was younger than he’d expected, especially to be so involved with such a renowned stable. It was clear she’d been sent because she could do the job. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d expected someone taller, with dark hair and a remote manner.
The only thing that bore out his expectations was the manner. There could be no mistaking the coolness, the only warmth she’d shown was in the caresses she’d spared Pretty. But tall and elegant she was not. She was barely up to his shoulder, and her hair was a tangle of gingery ringlets that flirted with her cheekbones until she tucked them behind her ears.
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get you settled in the house first.”
Lucy looked away from him, as if what she was going to say next was so uncomfortable she couldn’t meet his eyes. She instead looked Pretty in the eyes and scratched between the mare’s ears. “I assumed I’d be in a guest house.”
“We don’t have a guest house, but then there’s no need. There’s more than enough room.” He had a fleeting thought of running into her in the hall at sunrise, her curls in disarray and her cheeks still pink from the warmth of her bed….
Where the hell had that come from?
“I don’t mean to impose on you, Mr. Hamilton. I can stay at the hotel in the town I drove through. What was it called… Larch something or other?”
“Larch Valley, and it’s a twenty-minute drive.” Perhaps not a bad idea, come to think of it, but the agreement had been made that he’d provide accommodation. He didn’t want it said that he didn’t provide proper hospitality. This was an important deal. And part of that was providing all that the ranch had to offer.
“That’s a short commute in most places.” Her voice interrupted him again.
Brody walked to a nearby hook and grabbed a lead, snapping it on to the mare’s halter. “If you’re more comfortable there, I understand. I’m sorry the arrangements weren’t made clear. But why drive it if you don’t have to?”
“I don’t know…”
He sensed her hesitation and pressed on. “At least stay for dinner. If Mrs. Polcyk can’t convince you with her roast chicken…”
He let the thought trail off. Why was he insisting, anyway? The hotel back in town wasn’t that bad. It had its good points—it was clean.
But he’d given his word to King Alexander. That his representative would be shown every hospitality. That whoever was sent would be received as an honored guest. He just hadn’t expected it to be a sharp-tongued slip of a girl.
Brody didn’t do well with girls. At least not beyond sharing a dance on a Saturday night. Especially one he tried to charm with a smile and who saw clear through it.
“I don’t want to be in your way.”
“The day starts early here, and sometimes finishes late. It’s much more convenient, but of course, it’s whatever makes you most comfortable. You are our guest, Miss Farnsworth. I’ll leave it up to you.”
Brody tried very hard not to wrinkle his brow. He’d seen her eyes when she’d first stepped into the corridor. He and Martha had taken her by surprise, and for a tiny moment Miss Farnsworth had looked small and vulnerable. Her eyes had gone a little wide and then darkened with a whole lot of assessment. She probably didn’t even realize it but she’d bitten down on her lip and he’d been tempted to laugh. A cute little thing, he’d thought. A little out of her element, pretty and fresh, and he’d wanted to make her blush.
But then he’d realized who she was. A representative sent to assess his stock. A woman who knew horses, supposedly better than most men he knew. His Highness had said so when he called. Brody couldn’t dispute that fact…it took a keen eye to identify an offspring by its parent, and the way she touched Pretty was confident and kind. For some reason Lucy Farnsworth was willing to sacrifice comfort for isolation. Why?
Lucy stepped away from the horse and backed up a few steps. Hamilton was right. She’d known the agreement included accommodation, and to drive to and from town when she didn’t have to didn’t make sense. The only reason not to stay here—the only one—was that she already felt awkward around Brody. Which was foolish.
Here she was representing the royal family of Marazur and she was astute enough to know that staying in town would be a deliberate snub against her host. And in the days ahead she might want Brody in good humor during negotiations.
“Of course the house will be lovely. I just don’t want to be an inconvenience to you.”
“You won’t be, I assure you. The house was built for a large family and is a little lonely with only two in it.
“Two?” She had a fleeting thought of a wife and, for one ridiculous moment, felt more awkward than ever.
“Me, and Mrs. Polcyk. She’s the housekeeper and cook. She’s been looking forward to having someone else to do for, other than grumpy old me.”
She looked up into his eyes—dark like the warm molasses her mother used to put on her bread. Right now he didn’t look grumpy or old. The tummy-turning deliciousness was back, helped along by a breathlessness so foreign to her she didn’t recognize it at first.
Brody Hamilton was sex on a stick, from his delicious eyes to his long legs to his manner that somehow managed to convey energy and a lazy ease. There was no escaping the facts; the only thing she could control was her reaction.
She took a deep breath and pasted on her polite-yet-distant royal smile…the one and only aspect of her new life she’d mastered. She remembered how big the house was and nodded. She probably wouldn’t even run into Brody most of the time. “I appreciate it.”
“Let me finish up with Pretty and I’ll take you up. You can have a look around if you want.”
“I’ll do that.”
He led the horse away, and Lucy watched them depart down the corridor, boots and hooves echoing through the quiet space. His faded jeans fit him as if they were made for him, the dark T-shirt emphasizing his broad shoulders. The black brim of his cowboy hat shaded his neck.
She squared her shoulders and set her jaw. Life had been full of enough complications lately. And she’d be damned if she’d let Brody Hamilton be another one.
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY perched on a wooden stool, sipped on a cup of strong, rich coffee and came to two important conclusions.
Number one, Brody Hamilton ran a good ship. Everything was kept in tip-top shape, and from what she’d seen, that extended to his horses. This was a good thing. You could tell a lot about a man’s stock by the state of the rest of the farm. Prairie Rose was neat, tidy and organized. Brody Hamilton paid attention.
And number two, Mrs. Polcyk ran the house. Full stop.
Lucy smiled into her mug, remembering how the housekeeper had put Brody firmly into