The Rancher's Runaway Princess. DONNA ALWARD

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      He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Yes, you are. And now I have more questions about you than answers, and that doesn’t do much to inspire my trust.”

      “You, trust me? My fa— King Alexander’s name should be enough.” She tried to hide the near slip.

      “Like I said earlier, I know enough about Navarro to know that His Highness only wants the best.”

      “Why do you need this alliance, anyway?” She jutted out her chin. What had seemed like a simple enough assignment on paper was rapidly getting complicated. She hadn’t counted on a stubborn rancher who didn’t know how to mind his own business!

      “Are you kidding? Everyone knows about Navarro stables. An alliance with the royal family of Marazur could change everything.”

      She pursed her lips, putting her cup down on the desk and folding her arms. “You clearly will gain more than we will, then. It’s not in your best interest to question.”

      Brody raised an eyebrow. “And if you went back empty-handed?”

      Her scowl faded. That was out of the question. This was all she had left. She had to prove herself to her father. And that meant proving herself to Brody now.

      Brody persisted. “He’s sent you to me. Face it. We need each other.”

      “What do you want from me?” She hid her face behind the rim of her mug. She was still feeling too raw, and their verbal sparring had only been a placebo against the pain; the reason why she’d sneaked down here in the middle of the night in the first place. She’d wanted to be away from prying eyes. To be somewhere that she felt even a little bit at home. She had wanted to have her cry—the one that had been building all day—in private. Get it over with, with no one the wiser. Now she was having to deal with that and an angry Brody.

      “I want to know why you were in my barn in the middle of the night, crying.”

      “It’s private.”

      With an impatient huff, Brody stood and put his cup down on the desk. “Have it your way,” he said shortly, turning to the door.

      Had she honestly thought he’d accept that answer? She supposed it would have been too much to ask for some understanding. Maybe he’d used up his quota holding her outside Pretty’s stall. But she could tell by the set of his jaw that the next days were going to be very difficult if they were working from different sides.

      Her mouth opened and closed several times but no words would come out. Instead the only sound was Brody’s boots on the cement floor.

      She couldn’t let him leave. If he refused to negotiate, she’d go back to Marazur a failure and that was the one thing she couldn’t do.

      “Brody, wait!”

      She ran to the door and braced her hands on the frame. “Wait.”

      He stopped. Turned back around.

      And her heart did that skip thing again.

      It was supposed to be easy. An escape. Not a sexy cowboy who felt a need to pry into her personal business and was using her professional needs as blackmail.

      “If you must know, I grew up in Virginia. Around horses. My mum…she was a bookkeeper for a farm there. That’s how I knew Pretty’s dam, Pretty Colleen. She was at Trembling Oak when I was a child, before she was sold. This place…it reminds me of there.”

      “You’re homesick?” He didn’t sound as if he quite believed her. His voice echoed hollowly through the barn.

      “Yes…but there’s more. My mum…” She paused, swallowing against the sudden lump that lodged in her throat. “My mum died a few months ago. There’ve been so many changes…” Her words drifted into ether. She blinked once, twice. Inhaled, gathering strength. “So many changes lately that I haven’t had time to grieve. Being here today seemed to set me off, that’s all. And I needed to be with…with someone who understood.”

      “Pretty,” he replied, an indulgent smile in his voice.

      “Don’t make fun of me.” Her eyes flashed at him. Was it so hard to understand that she’d found a link to her home in the horse, in Prairie Rose? Surely he wasn’t that blind.

      He came closer. “I’m not making fun.” He stopped, the toes of his boots mere inches from her sneakers. “It’s the first thing you’ve said that made perfect sense.”

      She lifted her gaze and met his. With the animosity and grief suddenly drained away, there was nothing standing between them, and Lucy felt the unadulterated pull of attraction.

      “Was that so hard?” His question was a soft murmur.

      “Yes,” she whispered back.

      “I know,” he replied, those two words evoking so many questions she now wanted to ask.

      He cupped her jaw, ran a rough thumb over her cheekbone. “Thank you for telling me. It explains a lot.”

      She swallowed, tried to inhale, but the air seemed thin. Another inch and he would be in kissing distance. She shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him….

      “Let’s go back up now. Tomorrow’s a long day.”

      Lucy stepped back, offered what she hoped passed for a smile and followed him out of the barn.

      She’d said more than she’d planned…how could she have mentioned Trembling Oak? And she’d been talking to the horse when he’d burst into the box. Had he overheard any of what she’d said?

      He already knew too much. She’d have to be much more careful. No more midnight revelations. From now on it had to be strictly business!

      CHAPTER FOUR

      BRODY looked up from his breakfast when he heard her steps on the stairs.

      And then looked down again, spearing another chunk of scrambled egg on his fork and ignoring the queer lifting in his chest. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing her. He couldn’t be. That was just plain ridiculous.

      He’d been crazy last night. Finding her in Pretty’s stall had raised all sorts of alarm bells, but by the end of it…

      He scowled. He’d been a fool. A soft touch. He should know better by now. Instead he’d listened to her story and he’d…hell, he’d even touched her at the end. His fork dropped to his plate. Touched her soft, white skin with its faint smattering of freckles.

      And he’d thought about kissing her.

      Yup. A fool. A fool to forget who she was, where she was from. A fool to be distracted by the sight of tears on her lashes, and a fool for wanting somehow to make it better. He picked up his fork again and defiantly shoved another piece of egg into his mouth. Oh, no. He’d fallen into that trap before.

      “Good morning.”

      He looked up, schooling his features СКАЧАТЬ