Westin's Wyoming. Alice Sharpe
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tried to remember the details of the last woman he’d been serious about. Okay, maybe serious about wasn’t the right criteria. Maybe he needed to de-escalate to hot for.
A noise stopped him midway across the pasture that passed for a yard and he looked up in time to see Pauline, the Open Sky housekeeper, entering the house through the kitchen door, a yellow dish towel draped over her arm, the Lab underfoot.
In the next instant, a long forgotten memory hit Pierce with such force it stopped him midstep.
His mother on that porch. Back before the fancy rockwork, back before the big A-frame addition. Standing there with a black fry pan and a metal spoon, banging them together, wearing a yellow checked shirt so vibrant it was like a flag on a drag strip.
And just like that, another memory. His father, walking beside him, looking up at the noise and grinning, laughing at the clatter, slapping Pierce on the back in the process.
The memory was so real that for a moment the house before him seemed to shrink and so did he, flying back through the years into the body of his five-year-old self, the feel of his father’s good-natured thump thundering across his shoulders.
Pierce’s foot hitting the ground jarred the images clear out of his head. They’d been so real it took him a second to figure out what had happened.
And then he plucked the hat off his head and threw it to the ground. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in Italy, not riding around on horses and babysitting royalty. And now he was having memories of his mother who had abandoned the whole damn family?
Who said, “You can’t go home again”? Thomas Wolfe? Well, the man was a genius, it was true.
He snagged his hat off the ground. The black felt was covered with snowflakes and that startled him; he hadn’t even noticed it coming down that hard. Glancing at the small one-story cabin where his father had exiled himself while his leg healed from a busted kneecap, he shoved the hat back on, grimacing as the cold brim settled on his forehead. If his old man got whiff there was a woman here with possible news of his long lost wife, he’d blow a gasket.
Crap.
Pierce put his head down and continued walking. Time to reassure General Kaare security was under control. Then he’d find out what the princess knew about his mother so he could take the past and put it where it belonged—behind him.
Way behind him.
ANALISE LIKED THE room she’d been given. The green-and-yellow color scheme complemented the honey-gold of the log walls, evoking spring even in the midst of foul weather. It was big, too. Maybe too big. In her present state of mind she would have preferred a windowless, one-door closet, but at least there wasn’t a balcony.
There was only one photo displayed and it was a wedding picture of a man and a woman on horseback, her in a billowing white gown, him sitting tall in the saddle. It was hard to see the particulars of their faces. All Analise could really tell was that the man looked a lot like Pierce, only darker, and the woman had very long blond hair. Oh, and that they were smiling.
Was this Pierce’s sister-in-law’s room? Was this his brother? It had to be. They looked so happy! What could have happened to ruin it for them?
The concept of leaving someone to whom you were obligated and with whom you had exchanged vows was so foreign to Analise that she couldn’t puzzle it out even though she knew half the world did it all the time.
While Bierta, her maid, opened suitcases and shook out clothes—way too many of them in Analise’s opinion; honestly, a ball gown? Two tiaras? Here?—Analise leaned against the log walls and peered through the large window. Though she stood at a distance from the glass she could see the snow had picked up and as she watched, a man walked out of a distant building, a pale dog rushing ahead toward the house.
Even from this distance she could tell it was Pierce and her lips curved. He stopped midway across the yard and stood there a long second, then threw his hat on the ground, swept it from the snow and pulled it back on his head.
She turned away.
“Tea, ma’am?” Bierta asked, standing close by and holding a tray on which sat a steaming cup of herb tea she’d brewed from the hot water she brought along in a thermos.
“Thank you,” Analise said as she perched on the edge of an upholstered chair.
Bierta, who couldn’t have been a day over forty, was a dowdy woman with brown hair and small, dark eyes that swam behind thick lenses. Her uniform was dark blue, her sensible shoes brown, and she moved with deliberate steps.
“Wouldn’t you like some tea, as well?”
“Oh, no, Princess,” Bierta said, looking downright scandalized by the suggestion she join the princess for a beverage. “I’m not the one who requires relaxation, ma’am. You’re the one whose very life is in danger. When I think of what could have happened to you in that alley if poor Claude hadn’t sacrificed himself for you, it makes me—” She stopped herself short and shuddered.
Analise put the cup down on the neighboring table so abruptly tea spilled over the lip onto the saucer.
“I heard the general talking to Mr. Vaughn,” Bierta continued, lowering her voice. “He said you were the target, that someone was trying to steal you away, that if they’d succeeded they would have had to kill you to remain safe themselves because your father wouldn’t rest until—”
“Please, Bierta,” Analise said firmly. “I don’t want to hear any more of this. We’re all a little unnerved after, well, everything. I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Bierta said, managing to give the impression that murderers were lurking behind the cheery curtains. “We’re in the middle of nowhere here, if you’ll pardon me saying, Princess. The wilds. There could be a gunman on the prowl—”
“You’re going to have to fill in as Toby’s nanny,” Analise interrupted. “His things undoubtedly need unpacking.”
It took a few minutes, but Bierta finally closed the door behind her. Sighing, Analise got up from the chair and moved to the mirror. She picked up her hairbrush and ran it through the gentle waves, gathering it back in a silver clip. As she replaced the brush on the vanity, she heard a door close in the hall, and then another open in the other direction. Her attention caught, she stood very still and listened as footsteps approached her door. She took a step forward, waiting for whomever was out there to knock, but the footsteps stopped.
For well over a minute, she watched the knob, her heart in her throat, but it didn’t turn. Was someone still out there? If so, why didn’t they knock?
Swallowing hard, Analise grabbed the doorknob and pulled.
The hall was empty. A sound from the stairs had her spinning that direction in time to find Pierce stepping onto the landing.
“There you are,” he said.
“Did you pass anyone on the stairs?” she asked anxiously.
“No.” He narrowed his eyes. “Where’s your bodyguard, Princess? Shouldn’t he be standing out here, protecting you?”
Where was her bodyguard?
Pierce grabbed her arms suddenly and she blinked up at him.
“It looked like you were about to keel over,” he said, his grip pressing into her sleeves and the tender flesh beneath.
She stared into his eyes for a few seconds, then shook her head. “I don’t know where Harley is. Outside, I guess.”
“When did you have something to eat?”
“Breakfast.”
“Come on,” he said, his right hand sliding down her arm to grip her hand. The motion made her quiver as she allowed herself to be pulled from the room.
Chapter