The Princess And The Cowboy. Martha Shields

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СКАЧАТЬ rodeo cowboys. They don’t like to be tied down, but they do like money. Since you can offer the right candidate several thousand dollars in exchange for a few months’ use of his name, you’ll have more takers than you can throw a lasso at. Especially since this is not going to be a platonic relationship.”

      Josie ignored her friend’s playful nudging. She wasn’t thrilled with the idea of having sex with a perfect stranger, even if he would be her husband. But she knew if the marriage wasn’t consummated and Bonifay’s men found her, it would be quickly annulled and the wedding with Picquet would proceed.

      “If only I could go with you and go on my honeymoon.” Melissa sighed. “I could help you pick out a real cute cowboy.”

      Josie shook her head. “I need to do this on my own. I’m going to have to disappear for a few weeks, and I don’t want even you to know where I am.” Steeling herself for what she had to do, Josie took one last look in the mirror. She straightened the bodice of the gown and stood. “I’m sure Peter’s getting anxious for you to go downstairs so you two can leave. You put the bundle of clothes and money in the tack room, right?”

      “Behind the second row of saddles on the left.” Melissa stood and faced her, tears shining in her green eyes. “Well, who’d a’ thought? I’m married, and you’re about to be.”

      Josie smiled wryly. “With any luck.”

      Melissa gathered her into her arms. “Take care of yourself, okay? You’ve never been on your own. I’ll be worried.”

      “Don’t be.” Josie returned the hug. “I’ll be fine. Go on downstairs. I’ll slip out during the excitement of you and Peter going away.”

      With one last hug and a lingering glance from the door, Melissa left. A few minutes later, Josie heard the commotion of the wedding guests wishing the new couple well. She took a deep breath and slipped into the empty hall.

      She grabbed a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses as she passed the kitchen. Accessories to complete her disguise. With another deep breath, she opened the door and stepped boldly through.

      What was probably less than a minute seemed like an hour, but she made it into the stable without raising an alarm. She paused to catch her breath as she entered the cool shade, but didn’t linger.

      Placing the champagne on a bale of hay, she picked up her voluminous skirts and ran down the wide corridor between the stalls that housed dozens of blooded thoroughbreds and quarter horses. The familiar smells and sounds of the stable comforted her, but she didn’t pause to enjoy the rare solitude. She ran straight for the tack room.

      Kicking her skirts aside, she reached behind the second row of saddles on the left. No bundle.

      Concerned, she began pulling saddles from their racks to look behind them. No bundle. Anywhere. One of the hands must have found it, and either returned it to the house or stolen it.

      Alarm blared through her. What was she going to do now? She didn’t have any money or any clothes except the gown.

      She forced herself to breathe, to fight the panic making her heart race. What should she do? Give up? Go back to Montclaire and marry Alphonse Picquet? Watch the bedrock ripped from her island, slab by slab?

      No, that’s the one thing she couldn’t do.

      Josie glanced down at her clothes. The skirt was full. She could ride in it. And she was wearing diamond earrings and a necklace she could exchange for American dollars.

      She had to go through with her plan. Though it was ripping apart at the seams, it was the only option she had.

      “Yes, ma’am.” Buck Buchanan rolled his eyes toward the gray metal ceiling of the camper on the front end of his horse trailer. Why couldn’t his mother just forget he existed?

      “Now, Hardin, I’m counting on you coming home tomorrow night. It’s your father’s birthday, after all, and you know how I hate an uneven table. Besides, Susan needs an escort.”

      He didn’t know which he hated worse—his mother calling him by the name she’d given him at birth, or the fact that she’d set him up again with some California debutante she wanted him to marry.

      “Tomorrow night? Sorry. No can do. I’ll be heading for—”

      “You have to, Hardin. You’re giving the party.”

      “I’m what?”

      “I’m at the ranch right now.” There was a definite shudder in her voice. “How do you think I got your number this time? I found the cell phone bill in your file drawer.”

      Buck ground his teeth so hard he could hear the enamel scraping against itself. His parents—his mother especially—hated the Double Star Ranch. To them, it represented their ranching roots, which they’d worked as hard as any ditchdigger to “rise above.” That his mother was giving his father’s party at the ranch Buck had inherited from his grandfather, instead of their three-million-dollar mansion in Sacramento, meant she was stepping up her campaign to get him married.

      He knew why. It wasn’t because she wanted grandkids to pamper. Oh, no. His thirtieth birthday was just around the corner, and it galled her that he hadn’t cemented the Buchanans’ place among the California elite by marrying some rich American princess.

      Like Susan. He knew her and dozens like her. Spoiled, selfish, with hair, skin and nails as perfect as the best salons could make them. They’d never done a lick of work in their lives, and would be horrified at the suggestion they ought to.

      “Hardin. I’m counting on you.”

      That’s all his mother had to say—those four little words, in that half-hurt, half-disbelieving tone of voice. She was his mother, after all. Even though she vehemently disapproved of the cowboy life he lived, he loved her.

      He sighed heavily, not caring whether she heard it or not. “I’ll be there.”

      She sighed happily, as if she’d doubted the outcome of her call. Like he’d ever been able to refuse her. His mother was a master at applying guilt. It was amazing how much she could heap on him with a dainty silver teaspoon.

      “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

      “Goodbye, son.”

      Buck didn’t reply. He pushed the End button on his cell phone and hurled it onto the camper bed set high on the gooseneck portion of the trailer.

      Why had he answered the damn phone? He should’ve known it wouldn’t be his lawyer this late. But he’d been distracted after checking the Internet for the day’s stock prices. He’d picked it up without thinking.

      Now he was stuck—not only with a damn dinner party, but with his parents’ presence at his ranch. No telling how long his mother would stay if she was determined to get him married by the time he turned thirty.

      He shoved open the flimsy camper door so hard it banged against the side of the trailer. He dropped to the ground in one step, bypassing the fold-down step leading up to the tiny cramped quarters he called home most of the year. The two-inch slanted heel of his cowboy boot dug into the dirt and spewed a shower of earth as he spun toward his horse.

      Agamemnon СКАЧАТЬ