The Cowboy and the Princess Page 6

  “You’re hardly in a position to judge.”

  “I did not say that I was.”

  “Darn straight.”

  She canted her head. He was handsome enough to be an outlaw. Especially when he flashed that grin. She did not have much experience with men, outlaws or otherwise. “May I ask you a personal question?”

  “How personal?”

  “You do not have to answer.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you want most in life, Mr. Talmadge?”

  “Brady,” he said. “You can call me Brady. After all I did save you from that guy back there.”

  “You did. I said thank you. Now answer the question.”

  “You have a way of ordering people around. It’s polite and all, but it’s still ordering. Bossy. You’re bossy.”

  “So you do not know what you want most in life?”

  “I want for nothing. I’m living the dream.”

  “How does one get to be that happy?” she mused.

  “By keeping things simple. Not getting involved. Light. That’s the way to get through life. Light and easy.”

  “You got involved with me tonight.”

  “You caught me at a weak moment. Atypical.”

  Wind buffeted the truck. A fresh round of upset rain pounded the windshield. Brady slowed.

  “Does it always rain like this in Texas?” Annie asked.

  “This time of year? Hardly ever. But an unseasonably early hurricane hit Brownsville this morning at dawn, and we’re reaping the fallout. You don’t like rain?”

  “It is very sunny where I am from.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Shh.” Annie brought an index finger to her lips. “That’s another secret.”

  “You know that’s driving me nuts. I think it’s why you keep hinting at secrets. You enjoy seeing me squirm.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  “You know,” he said. “I never understood that saying. Just how did curiosity kill the cat? I want specifics.”

  “I think it means he stuck his nose in where it did not belong and someone cut if off.”

  “His nose or his curiosity?”

  “Maybe it was something else altogether.”

  “Are you threatening me, Annie Coste?” he teased.

  “Now why on earth would you think that?”

  “You’re a sharp one. How did you learn to be so slick? Lots of younger brothers and sisters keep you on your toes?”

  “Why younger?”

  “You’re too highhanded to be anything but the oldest child.”

  “I am an only child.” Sort of. It was the way she saw herself. There was Henry of course, but he was so much younger, he was more like a nephew than a brother.

  “So where did you learn the saucy give-and-take?”

  “My nur—” She almost said “nursemaid,” but stopped just in time. Regular people didn’t have nursemaids growing up. Rosalind was only sixteen years older than she. They’d had a sisterly relationship when other people were not around to discourage it. “My neighbor,” she finished. “We were close. Do you have brothers or sisters?”

  “Four brothers.”

  “Gracious, your poor mother. Five boys.”

  “We did give her hell,” he admitted ruefully.

  “What is your birth order?”

  “Middle child.”

  “Hmm, that offers a bit of explanation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps that is the reason why you are a nomad. Growing up, you felt displaced.”

  “Who says I felt displaced?”

  “It is the fate of the middle child. Is it not? To be displaced. What do your brothers do?”

  “Cody, my oldest brother, is thirty-five. He’s a chemical engineer. Works in oil and gas. He’s married and got two boys. Big house, big mortgage, all those things that trap a man.”

  “You are afraid of being trapped.”

  “I’m afraid of talkative hitchhikers.”

  “What about the other brothers?”

  “Colton is second oldest. He’s thirty-three. He’s a rancher, lives in Montana. Leif is twenty-seven, he’s getting married next year. He’s a musician in Austin. My youngest brother, J.D., is twenty-three and a bull rider.”

  “You are all cowboys?”

  “We are.”

  “Did your parents move around a lot when you were children?”

  “Nope. They’ve lived in the same house for thirty-six years.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Llano.”

  “Is that far from here?”

  “About a three-hour drive. You done with the interview?”

  “For now.” She stretched, raised her arms over her head, felt her blouse slip from her waistband and expose a stretch of bare abdomen. She noticed that Brady noticed. “Do you like navel rings?” she asked.

  He coughed, blinked. “What?”

  “Navel rings. I understand they are quite popular. Do you like them?”

  “Um, I dunno. Yeah, I guess. Sure. Why?”

  She placed a hand to her belly. “I think a navel ring would be quite seductive. A small gold hoop, winking in the light. A navel ring says, I am a daring woman.”

  “Are you?” Brady asked. “A daring woman?”

  She tilted her head and gave a coy smile. “I think I’ll get a navel ring. What else do you think I should have pierced?”

  “Uh . . . uh . . .” A disconcerted expression crossed his face. He was so busy staring at her belly that when oncoming headlights rounded the bend ahead, Annie realized he’d had his eyes off the road long enough to drift into the wrong lane.

  She reached over, took hold of the wheel, and guided the truck back to where it belonged. Immediately, he clamped his hands over hers. “I’ve got it.”

  Heart thumping, Annie let go, eased back against her seat. The heat from his palms lingered, seeping through the backs of her hands, drifting into her bloodstream. An indolent flash of something erotic yawned, shook its sleepy head, smacked its lips. “Next time, you should consider keeping your eyes on the road.”

  “Next time, you shouldn’t talk about piercing parts of that awesome body with a man pulling a forty-foot horse trailer behind him. I’ve got a vivid imagination about those places you’re considering piercing.”

  She reached to finger her earlobes. “I was talking about my ears. What were you thinking?”

  He swiped a palm across his forehead. “That a woman like you shouldn’t poke unnecessary holes in herself.”

  “Then I am fortunate that it is not your decision.” She didn’t even know for sure if she was going to get her ears and navel pierced. She just wanted to do something to remind her of her wild Texas adventures in the years ahead. “I suppose I could get a tattoo instead.”

  “No!”

  She startled, splayed a hand to her chest.

  “Absolutely no tattoos,” he said.

  “You have a tattoo,” she pointed out, peering at the galloping horse on his right biceps partially hidden by the short sleeve of his shirt.”

  “That’s how I know you don’t want one. You can’t take it back once you do it.”

  “It is a very lovely tattoo. Why do you regret it?”

  “I didn’t say I regretted it. I said you can’t take it back.”

  “If you do not regret it, why would you want to take it back?”

  He scrunched up his face. “Why do you ask so many questions?”

  “There’s so much to learn!”

  “Learn?”

  She pressed a hand to her mouth. Tightrope walking. She had to be careful. She felt a strange urge to tell him all her secrets. That was a fatal impulse. “I can share one secret.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m only in Texas for a few weeks and then I must depart.”

  “Back to where you came from?”

  “Back to where I came from,” she echoed.


  “So this is a sabbatical of sorts.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The hitchhiking, piercings, tattoos are all your attempt to cram the most living into the least amount of time.” Outside the rain went from splattered to patter. A sliver of moon swam in a sea of black clouds.

  “You understand.”

  “What precisely are you taking a sabbatical from?”

  “Other people’s rules,” she replied honestly.

  “I’ve never been a fan of other people’s rules myself.”

  “I have observed that.”

  “You’ve already got me figured out.”

  “Yes, I have dove-holed you.”

  “Dove-holed?” Brady hooted. Making fun.

  “Is that not right?” She worried her collar with her fingers.

  “What? Oh, you mean pigeonholed.”

  “Yes, that is it. Wrong bird.”

  Brady’s warm, rich laugh rolled right over her. “You’re something else, you know that?”

  “What else?”

  “It’s an expression. Meaning you’re different. Special.”

  Yes, she knew that. Being different and special was what she was running away from. “What is it like?” she asked.

  “What?” He turned on his blinker, changed lanes to pass a slow-moving truck transporting ice cream. A picture of a cow was plastered on the side of the truck along with a slogan proclaiming: “Simple Pleasures.” The cow wore a red bell around her neck and was smiling like a human.

  “This place called Jubilee.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a horse town.”

  “Does that mean that it is a very small town?”

  “You’re thinking of a one-horse town.”

  “So may idioms. What is the difference?”

  “Jubilee literally is the cutting horse capital of the world.”

  “What is a cutting horse?”

  “Usually it’s a quarter horse, but it can be other breeds. Once upon a time cutting horses were used to work livestock on a ranch. Now, mostly it’s a sport.”

  “A sport?”

  “Like rodeo events. Bull riding or steer wrestling.”

  “Cutting horses are not in the rodeo?”

  “No, they have a venue all their own.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s clear why you came here to learn.”

  “I can assure you that my education is quite comprehensive,” she said, mildly offended. “I speak six languages.”

  “No kidding?”

  “Je parle français.”

  “French.”

  “Ich spreche Deutsches.”

  “German?”

  She had to speak German. It was the national language of Dubinstein. “Excellent guess. Eu falo o português.”

  “Portuguese.”

  “Parlo Italiano.”

  “Simple and to the point, those Italians.”

  “Hablo español.”

  “Poco.”

  “Oh, you speak Spanish as well?” That surprised and delighted her.

  “Buttercup, you’re in Texas. We all speak a little Spanish. Almost half my customer base speaks Spanish.”

  “May I see it sometime?”

  “What’s that? My customer base.”

  “These horses being cut.”

  “No, no, the horses aren’t cut. They’re the ones doing the cutting.”

  “What do they cut?”

  “Cattle from the herd.”

  Annie had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded fascinating. In Monesta they didn’t have cattle. Not enough land. They raised sheep and goats instead.

  “But you should really see a rodeo before you go back home.”

  She knew what rodeos were. She had seen them on television. “Will you take me to a rodeo?”

  “We’ll have to see about that. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  That was a good thing. He was a man of his word.

  “So tell me more about Jubilee. What are the people like?”

  “It’s about as perfect as a town can get. The people are friendly, they help each other, but they’re very focused on their horses.”

  “That is good for your business.”

  “It is,” he said. “We’re almost to Jubilee. Tomorrow you can find out about it for yourself. We should be there a little after midnight. The rain has slowed down our time.”

  “This will be fine.”

  “You got arrangements? A place to stay? Friends you can call?”

  “No,” she admitted, feeling stupid. She should have made better plans. But she was so afraid that too much planning would lead to her immediate capture.

  “Where are you going after this?” he asked.

  “I do not know.”

  That answer didn’t seem to bother him, as if he understood not having plans. “You can spend the night in my trailer.”

  “Thank you for your generous offer, but I do not know if that is a wise idea.”

  “Where else are you going to stay?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer because she didn’t have one.

  “I know the trailer is small and there’s only one bed, but you’re welcome to share it.”

  Annie swallowed the gasp that rose to her throat. “You are asking me to sleep with you?”

  Although she felt scandalized, she had to admit that she held a secret desire to make love to a cowboy before she was bound to Teddy forever. She was supposed to stay a virgin until her wedding day. It was the way things were done. She had always done what was expected of her, but part of her yearned for just one out-of-the-box experience before she committed to a lifetime of a loveless marriage.

  Just once she wanted to feel something real. She wanted great sex like the kind she saw in movies and read about in books. She wanted to spread her wings and fly just a little bit. She wanted to know what great sex felt like, and instinctively, she understood that Brady could provide such an experience for her. She wanted her own version of Roman Holiday.

  But she barely knew him. Had not expected to find the opportunity for sex with a good-looking cowboy so soon in her adventure. And as much as she might want it, she wasn’t ready for it.

  “I’m saying you can sleep in my bed and I promise I won’t touch you. No hanky-panky. Just sleep.”

  “What if—” She stopped, cleared her throat.

  “What if?”

  “I wanted to do more than sleep?”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea for either of us.”

  “I thought men always wanted sex.”

  “I might want sex, Buttercup, but I don’t have to have it. Especially with a woman who’s keeping some mighty tall secrets.”

  “Not even if I want to?” She reached over and touched his thigh, shocking herself.

  “You’re playing with fire,” he said. “Watch out or you just might get burned.”

  Chapter Four

  You might be a princess if . . . you can’t sleep when there’s something hard in your bed.

  Brady took Highway 51 to Tin Top Road and traveled ten more miles to Green Ridge Ranch. At this hour of the morning, the ranch lay in darkness. He bumped over the cattle guard, the trailer rattling as they went. He parked in the graveled driveway a quarter of a mile from the ranch house.

  Joe Daniels, the owner of Green Ridge, was a good friend. Recently, Joe had married Dutch Callahan’s daughter, Mariah, and they had a baby boy named Jonah. The same Dutch Callahan who’d picked Brady up on the side of the road when he was fifteen, running away from his childhood as fast as he could. Dutch had brought him here to Jubilee. Given him a job and a place to live. Back then Joe’s father had owned Green Ridge, before he’d retired, sold the ranch to Joe, and moved to the neighboring town of Twilight. That was fourteen years ago. Every time Brady came to Green Ridge, he thought of Dutch, who’d worked there as a trainer. Everywhere he looked he saw his mentor. In the buildings, the fences, the vast stretch of land.

  Annie h
ad fallen asleep, her head lolled on the headrest, Lady Astor curled up in her lap. He cut the engine and glanced over at her. Her flawless skin glowed pale and ethereal in the darkness. Her breathing was deep, untroubled. She looked so damn naive.

  As quietly as he could, Brady opened the door and got out. He chalked the tires, but left the trailer hooked to the truck. He’d leave the unhitching details for tomorrow. He let Trampas out of the trailer to go to the bathroom, stretched, yawned, and stared up at the stars.

  For the most part, the rain had passed. Sprinkles dampened his skin and water stood in puddles. Bullfrogs shrieked. The wind whipped his shirt and a lock of hair fluttered across his forehead. He ran a hand over his jaw, rough with beard. He was one of those guys who started sprouting a five o’clock shadow fifteen minutes after he shaved. His fingers gingerly explored the fresh cut clotted with dried blood. Not deep. He would live and the scar would enhance his cachet with the ladies.

  He felt peaceful here, more than in most places, although Brady adapted quickly to new environments. He knew how to make himself at home wherever he went. But Jubilee was special and even though he knew he would never really settle down, if he ever did, this would be the place.

  But right now, an uneasy feeling rippled the surface of his peace. The woman sleeping inside his pickup truck spooked him. He wanted her with a hard, insistent craving, and that was dodgy stuff. She was a hundred and ten pounds of trouble and he’d gone and offered to let her sleep in his bed.

  Biscuits and gravy, Talmadge. What the hell were you thinking? You haven’t been thinking straight since you picked her up.

  Guilty.

  He was guilty as charged. Addled. Empty-headed. No excuse for it.

  The moon had come out, glowing ghostly against the black shadows. In the distance, he heard a horse nicker. Trampas’s ears pricked up. The dog loved horses almost as much as Brady did. Unfortunately, horses weren’t always fond of the dog. And Brady always did what was best for the horses. Unlike many cowboys, he never wore spurs, or used a crop. He believed slow and gentle was the best way to approach a horse. No exceptions.

  Brady remembered his first glimpse of this ranch. It had been from the bed of Dutch’s pickup truck. How he immediately felt at home here and everyone had made him feel welcome. He wasn’t new to the ins and outs of hard labor. He was a country boy after all. What was new to him were cutting horses, cutting horse cowboys, and the cutter way of life.