A Royal Fortune. Judy Duarte
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I say? The woman sure does love my sweet tea.”
Mr. Murdock lumbered toward the house and Amber shook her head.
When he was out of earshot, Jensen said, “I take it you’re not a fan of Mr. Murdock.”
“I like him just fine. I’ve known him all my life. He’s a funny old codger, and I usually get a kick out of being around him. But now that he’s been spending more time with Gram, it just doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not that I don’t want my grandmother to be happy. I do. But it’s going to take a special man to take my pop’s place. And I just don’t think there’s one out there who won’t disappoint her.”
Or perhaps disappoint Amber?
In all honesty, Jensen knew just how she felt. His mother had lost her true love and soul mate when his father passed away, and he doubted she’d ever find another man to take his place.
“Besides,” Amber said, “those two are so different from each other. They have nothing in common and are complete opposites. It would never work out.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jensen asked. “I know Mr. Murdock seems a little...”
“Rough around the edges?” Amber said.
“Perhaps a bit. He’s certainly colorful.”
“Yes, and Gram is a quiet sort. She likes to stay home and bake and sew. Her idea of excitement is going to church or to an occasional movie in Vicker’s Corners. But then in walks Elmer Murdock—or should I say, ‘in charges Elmer.’ And now she’s doing all kinds of wild and crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“Going on hikes with backpacks—and just because he’d made a bet with some buddy that he could get Helen Rogers to agree to go with them.”
“And Mr. Murdock was able to talk her into it?” If that was so, then maybe the old girl had more feelings for him than Amber realized.
“Elmer told her that it was a charity event with all the proceeds going to the Wounded Warrior Project.”
“He lied to her?”
“Elmer Murdock may be a lot of things,” Amber said. “Eccentric and even annoying at times. But you’ll never meet a man more patriotic and more supportive of our troops and military. He’d never make light of something like that. The event was sponsored by the Moose Lodge. He won the bet and even turned over the five dollars to the charity, as well.”
“I’m not sure I—”
Amber slapped her hands on her hips. “My gram is seventy-five years old, Jensen. She shouldn’t be carrying backpacks and going on hikes with a bunch of military veterans as if they were picnics in the park.”
It sounded as though Mrs. Rogers might have enjoyed the outing, but Jensen didn’t mention it. Not when Amber was so clearly miffed.
And miffed indeed. A fire—sparked by fierce loyalty and compassion, no doubt—lit her eyes and revealed her true spirit.
A smile tugged at his lips. He’d never much liked to see a woman annoyed, but this one was actually quite lovely—perhaps because her annoyance wasn’t directed at him.
“And now this.” Amber swept her hand across the length of the muscle car. “What in the world was Gram doing, blowing around town in that green death machine?”
Poor Mr. Murdock. Amber wasn’t going to make this courtship easy for him.
“Perhaps she’s just having a bit of fun and it will all blow over soon.”
Amber let out a sigh. “I hope you’re right.”
When she looked up at him with soulful brown eyes, Jensen was taken aback—transported, actually—to that moment when Murdock arrived and Lady Sybil had acted up. When Jensen had stepped in to help Amber dismount and briefly thought of kissing her.
But that wouldn’t do.
It wouldn’t do at all.
“Well, we’d better put the horses away,” Amber said. “Then I’ll help Gram get lunch on the table.”
It would seem that Mrs. Rogers already had help with that task, but Jensen kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he watched the sexy cowgirl walk toward the barn, enjoying the way her denim jeans curved on her derriere.
He had to admit that Mrs. Rogers and Mr. Murdock didn’t seem any more suited for each other than he and Amber were.
Maybe Amber had realized his interest in her and this was her way of letting him know that she didn’t believe in the old adage that opposites attract.
If so, that was too bad.
Physically, Jensen was captivated by the cowgirl, but he was a rational man who understood that duty came first. And right now, his duty was to his family.
Besides, in a few weeks, six at the most, he’d be back in London, which was in an entirely different universe than Horseback Hollow. And he wouldn’t think of the beautiful Amber Rogers again.
Unfortunately, for the time being, he feared that he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.
Lunch went much better than Amber had expected—thanks in large part to Jensen’s presence. The Brit had a dry wit and a way of making everyone feel comfortable, a skill he must have perfected as an aristocrat attending various charity events and rubbing elbows with the lower classes. Not that she knew anything about the life he actually led, but she did glance at the headlines of the tabloids whenever she stood in the checkout line of the Superette, and so his social activities were no big secret, even if he didn’t have an official royal title.
Amber had expected the meal to be awkward, but unlike yesterday, Jensen hadn’t seemed the least bit snobbish today.
“Thank you for a lovely meal,” he said, as he rose from the table. “You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Rogers. I enjoyed that chicken salad. And your chocolate cake was one of the best I’ve ever had.”
“Why, thank you,” Gram said. “I’m glad you liked it. But please, call me Helen.”
“All right, I will.” He then reached across the table and shook Elmer’s hand. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Murdock. Good luck refurbishing that car. I hope you win the competition.”
Elmer stood as tall as his five-foot-four-inch frame would allow. “And just so you know, there’s been some talk about you English taking over Horseback Hollow. Some are downright pleased and giddy about it, while others are fretting about a British invasion. But I’ll have you know, you’re A-OK in my book.”
Jensen chuckled. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
“Come on,” Amber said. “I’ll walk you outside.”
Once they left the house and were out of earshot, she blew out a sigh. “I hope that wasn’t too trying for you.”
“Actually, I enjoyed myself. And I wasn’t just being polite. Your grandmother is a good cook.”
“I think so, too. But a man like you has eaten meals from the best chefs all over the world. So I have a feeling you’ve just gotten your fill of casseroles lately.”
He laughed—a hearty, resonant sound that lifted her spirits, making her forget all about the green Charger parked near the house or the man inside who’d insisted upon helping Gram with the dishes.
“You have a point,” Jensen said. “But that chicken salad was excellent. And so was the chocolate cake, which could rival any I’ve ever had the pleasure