The Cowboy and the Princess (4 page)

That was when she realized the jukebox was playing “Build Me Up Buttercup.” He had stolen the nickname from a 1960s-era song about a fickle girlfriend, but she did not mind. Annie smiled back. No matter where he’d gotten it, Buttercup was a term of endearment. Flattered, she pressed a hand to her chest. No one besides Rosalind had ever used a term of endearment for her and Rosalind called her Noodle. Buttercup was a step up. Perhaps it was the cowboy way. Giving out nicknames that made a woman feel special. She embraced the word.

Buttercup.

“I will be right with you,” she said, picking up her satchel. Lady Astor moved inside the carrier. She could feel the little dog against her rib cage. “I must first visit the . . .” She paused, unaccustomed to speaking about bodily functions in public.

“Oh, I’m not taking you with me,” he said.

“What?” She tried not to sound alarmed, but she heard it in her voice. “You are going to leave me here alone?”

“This is where I found you.”

“But you were going to give me a ride to Jubilee.”

“I never said that.”

“What am I going to do? Where am I going to go?” She was disappointed, but now she sounded needy. She did not wish to sound needy. Needy was unattractive. So was fear. But the shine was swiftly wearing off her adventure.

Not yet. Not so soon. She was just getting started.

“I’ll give you some money so you can get a room for the night,” he said.

“What have I done to displease you?” It was something she asked her father quite frequently. He was the kind of man who withheld his affection when she displeased him. Now she was sounding desperate to go along with the neediness. Unbecoming.

Stop whining. You are a princess. You do not need to beg or cling.

“You pleased me too much,” he said gruffly.

She frowned. “I do not understand.”

“That kiss . . .” He shook his head. “Well, it could get a man into a lot of trouble.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a fine-looking woman, probably real nice too. In fact, you’re too nice.”

“You are abandoning me because I am nice?” Perplexed, she stared at him.

“You’re a big complication and I’m an uncomplicated guy. With me what you see is what you get.”

She raised her chin. “I see a chicken.”

A grin crawled across his handsome face. “You’re going for the insults, huh? Does that normally work for you?”

“I just want a ride.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

“Sir, obviously you have mistaken me for a woman of loose moral character,” she said.

His grin widened. “Those are your words, not mine.”

Why was she holding on to him so tightly? She didn’t need Brady Talmadge to have an adventure. True, he was the most magnificent kisser she had ever come across.

He’s only the second man you’ve ever kissed. How would you know? Let him go.

But it was raining outside and he made her feel safe and . . . and . . . She wanted to go with him. To see this town called Jubilee, to watch him whisper to horses. It might not make much sense to anyone else, it did not really make much sense to her, but the impulse punched against her hard.

“All right,” she said, pulling the strap of the satchel up higher on her shoulder and flapping her hand dismissively. “Away with you.”

She didn’t need him.

Hmm, just as Audrey Hepburn had not needed Gregory Peck?

That was a movie. This was different. She learned from Audrey. She had Lady Astor for company, five hundred dollars in a secret compartment in the satchel. It had been all the money she could get her hands on. Her trust fun paid a monthly stipend to her bank account, but she wasn’t allowed to carry her own cash. Or as her mother had been fond of saying, filthy lucre should never sully royal hands. Cash was crass.

Chandler and Strawn provided her with money when she needed it and she had credit cards. But if she used the credit cards, she could be traced. She planned on getting a job to tide her over through the next six weeks. She wanted a job. Longed to have the pleasure of making her own money. Yearned to feel that surge of independence one presumably got from providing for oneself.

And she would have it. She was determined. She didn’t need Brady to make her dreams come true. There would be other cowboys. She would meet other people. There was nothing special about this man.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said. “It was a pleasure to have made your acquaintance. You have my permission to depart.”

The skin around his eyes crinkled as if he found her amusing. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission.”

“You do not.” She had to be careful. She could give herself away with comments like that. She was not in Monesta where everyone was at her beck and call.

“Please have a safe journey to your destination.” Annie held out her hand.

The minute their hands touched, she felt it again, that powerful surge of electricity that stole the air from her lungs.

He looked startled and quickly snatched his hand back, his eyes coded. “You have a safe journey too,” he mumbled, and ambled away.

Annie watched him go, a lump of sadness blocking her throat. She would have enjoyed kissing him again, but never mind. She had other problems. Like where to spend the night?

She found the ladies’ room, but when she stepped inside and caught her reflection in the mirror, she startled and for the briefest second wondered:
Who is that?

A foreigner looked back.

Inky black hair, which had once been the color of twenty-four-karat gold, curled in short, spiky wisps with impish bangs. Just a few short hours ago her tresses had trailed to the middle of her back. She wore the brand-new cowgirl clothes that she had borrowed from Echo—a white, Western-cut blouse that caused the blue in her gray eyes to pop, a big silver belt buckle with a Texas Star on it, stiff, sharply creased dark blue jeans, brown, round-toed cowboy boots with a slanted riding heel. Just looking at her, no one would believe she was a runaway princess. All she lacked to complete her attire was a cowboy hat.

A thrill pulsed through her. She had done it. She had actually run away.

She filled one of the sinks with water and let Lady Astor out of the satchel to have a drink. When she walked out past the row of truckers at the counter, insecurity gripped her anew. She kept her head held high. She certainly knew how to do that. She stared straight ahead and imagined she was walking the hallways of Farrington Palace where men bowed and women curtsied in her presence.

The bravado did not work. She could feel heads turn as she went by. Anxiety slid under her skin. She was calling attention to herself again. This was not good.

“Hey baby,” one guy said.

She sailed past as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Will you look at that critter?” another one snickered. “Prettiest lot lizard I’ve seen in a long time.”

Was he speaking about her? And what did this term “lot lizard” mean? Annie’s heart thumped faster.

After she had sneaked out of President Glover’s compound while everyone was distracted by the rehearsal dinner, she simply started walking, the sense of adventure stirring her blood. She had Lady Astor. She had been safe. She never once felt in any danger.

She had been naive, she realized now, feeling the heat of masculine gazes upon her body. She did not dare look around. Just keep walking, running the gauntlet, apprehensive to get to the door. Get out of here. She pushed open the door and stepped out into the rain.

Not exactly the salvation she was searching for.

Water flowed like a river from the sky. Lightning filled the darkness in periodic flashes. Thunder made her jump. She huddled underneath the awning, eyeing the big, rumbling diesel trucks pulling in and out of the parking lot. The heavy hiss of air brakes chuffed a perilous lullaby.

She hunched her shoulders and another unsettling thought occurred to her. What if Chandler and Strawn were still in the vicinity and saw her out here?

The spirit of adventure that had gotten her this far eroded in the face of reality. She was in a predominantly masculine environment and she was unprepared for it. In Monesta she was accustomed to having servants do her bidding. Whenever she wanted to go somewhere, a chauffeur drove her. Whatever she wanted to eat, someone cooked it. Whatever she wanted to purchase, someone bought it. She was never alone and now here she was without anyone to rely on, save for Lady Astor.

Annie swallowed, shivering in the shadows. A side door opened and a man came out. He wore a brown cowboy hat, stiff black jeans, and a blue short-sleeved shirt. He fished a cigarette from his pocket, dipped his head to light it, stuck the lighter back into his pocket, and ambled over, blowing smoke from his nose like a dragon. “Hey, baby,” he said.

It was the same man who had called to her inside the restaurant.

She turned away from him.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it, sister?” He shuffled closer. “Too good to talk to me, huh? Only going for those clients with a big wad in their pockets?”

She wasn’t sure what this vile man was talking about, but he was quite unsavory and smelled both dank and astringent. “Take your leave, sir,” she said. “I am simply awaiting a ride.”

“I got something you can ride.” He gave a crude laugh and grabbed himself inappropriately.

No one had ever spoken to her in such a manner. Annie was taken aback but tried not to show it. “I do not want trouble.”

“Now that don’t sound like any fun.”

From inside the satchel, Lady Astor growled. The Yorkie was very attuned to Annie’s emotions.

“Fun is not my goal,” she said.

Which was a lie. Fun was precisely her goal when she embarked on this adventure, but this was decidedly not fun. She was going to go back inside. At least there were people around. She turned for the door, but the man moved quickly to block her escape.

“Don’t be like that.” He reached out a finger to stroke her arm.

Annie struggled to suppress a shudder. She didn’t want him to know how scared she was.

“We were just getting to know each other. C’mon, I’ll give you a lift. Where you headed?” He grabbed for the satchel.

Lady Astor poked her head from the bag and sank her sharp little teeth into his index finger.

“Son of a whore!” he exploded. “That hairy rat bit me!”

Annie cringed, drooped against the wall, praying hard that someone would come out of the restaurant or pull into the parking lot. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she could get a sound out, he clamped a palm over her mouth, yanked her up tight against him.

“C’mon girlie, no lot lizard is turning her nose up at me. I got cash and I’m taking what I want.”

R
elief rippled the tension from Brady’s muscles. Tonight, he might have broken his five unbreakable rules for leading an uncomplicated life, but it wasn’t too late to undo his mistakes.

Well, except for the chili. It was too late to uneat the chili, but so far his stomach hadn’t kicked up a protest. Maybe that rule could be safely bent.

The other rules he’d cobbled back together. He ditched the hitchhiker, simultaneously turning his back on a dangerous damsel in distress. He trusted his gut when it urged him to flee and he had told Annie the truth.

He was free and clear.

The road lay open. The simple path beckoned. After letting Trampas out to do his business, he put the dog back into the trailer, climbed into the cab of his one-ton dually pickup truck, shook the rain off his clothes and pulled around to the front of Toad’s. He had a straight shot onto the highway. No oncoming vehicles. All he had to do was drive.

But then he made the mistake of glancing into his rearview mirror.

There was Annie, satchel clutched close to her chest, shivering underneath the awning outside the restaurant.

And she wasn’t alone. A mangy-looking cowboy had hold of her elbow and was dragging her away from the entrance and toward the shadows.

Annie struggled, fighting to get away from the guy. Even in the darkness, Brady could see alarm in her eyes.

She’s not your problem.

Maybe not, but he couldn’t sit here and watch some guy accost her.

How do you know he’s accosting her? He could be her old man, dragging her back home. You know better than to get involved in a domestic dispute. You’ll be the one losing your teeth over it.

Annie opened her mouth to holler, but her outcry was lost in the noise of the storm. She dropped her satchel. Lady Astor was in there. Brady’s gut lurched and it wasn’t from the chili.

The cowboy had his arm around Annie’s waist now. He had lifted her up off the ground and was dragging her toward a dilapidated old truck with Bondo doors. She was fighting him hard, kicking with the fury of a wild mustang, slapping at his head, knocking off his hat, but she was no match for the much larger man.

Anger bulleted Brady from the cab and he hit the ground running.

“Hey!” he shouted, but the wind snatched his voice up and threw it toward the stormy sky.

The mangy cowboy almost had her to his truck. Brady ran full throttle. Good thing he took a three-mile jog every morning. Otherwise he might not have made it to them before the guy got her inside his pickup.

As it was, Brady reached the truck just as Cowboy Mange got the passenger side door open. He’d been so busy struggling with Annie that he apparently hadn’t heard Brady’s boots slapping against the wet pavement. Brady seized the seedy cowpoke by the shoulder and spun him around.

Letting go of Annie, the cowboy doubled up his fists.

In the momentum shift, Annie lost her balance and stumbled to the ground. The man let out a growl and started swinging. He’d been drinking. Brady could smell whiskey on his breath.

Brady was a lover, not a fighter. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to fight or that he backed down from one. He’d been raised in a nest of brothers. Of course he knew how to fight. It was just that he preferred nonviolent solutions, favored turning away anger with a joke and a smile, sidestepping the bullies with some dazzling comment that sailed over their heads.