Читать книгу Westin's Wyoming - Alice Sharpe - Страница 13

Pierce looked over his shoulder again. “I’m assuming the photo ties into that ‘important’ reason for your visit,” he added.

“Yes,” she said. “I tried to tell you earlier—”

“As we rode, I know. But I want to look you in the eyes when you talk.”

“Why? Do you think I would lie?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what—”

“Words aren’t the only way a person speaks,” he said, “and sometimes the way something isn’t said is pretty informative.”

She blinked a few times as she thought about that statement. “It may be hard to get time alone again,” she warned as he stopped the horse next to the walkway.

“I’ll figure it out.” He got off the horse, stepped onto the walkway and reached up to help her dismount. The next thing she knew, she was sliding down his firm body, his strong hands gripping her waist, his breath warm where it touched her bare skin. Her feet hit the rocks a second later and she looked up at him, peered into the depths of his eyes, and felt a shock as something almost tangible passed between them.

And in that moment she knew she could trust him with her concerns. Not everything, of course, and certainly not with her heart.

What an odd thing to think.

“Princess? You are all right?” the general called, and she and Pierce both turned to find the older man marching toward them, moving faster than normal.

General Kaare was old-school. Royals should be admired but never touched by a mere mortal like Pierce Westin.

Ignoring his question, she looked around the open meadow. “Where’s Toby?”

“I am told he is out in the barn with the cowboys. Your maid is inside getting your rooms ready for occupancy. Mr. Vaughn was cold—I believe he’s inside by the fireplace being attended by the staff. Come now, come inside.” The general’s eyes lingered on Pierce’s hands which still encircled her waist.

“What about her bodyguard?” Pierce asked as he kept his hands right where they were. “Where is he?”

“Patrolling the immediate vicinity, getting the lay of the land, or so he called it. Come, Princess.”

Something cold touched Analise’s cheek and she looked up as another flake landed on her forehead.

Holding her hands palms up, she watched the flakes swirling overhead before landing on the blue cashmere. “Is this your storm?”

“No, this isn’t the storm,” Pierce said, his eyes delving into hers. At last he moved his hands—on his terms, she noticed with a touch of amusement. “These are just stray flakes. I’ll be inside after I get Sam to the stable.”

“Let your staff take care of that,” the general demanded as he straightened the lapels on his coat. “We must discuss—”

“My staff?” Pierce repeated with a sudden glint in his eyes. “This isn’t a castle with servants, General. Around here, a man takes care of his own horse. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.” With that, he swung himself back into the saddle and trotted off toward a large structure to the south.

Analise smiled into her jacket collar.

“The man is impudent,” the Colonel snapped. “He is much too familiar with you. Furthermore…”

“General? We are guests in his home.”

“And why exactly is that?” the general asked, leveling hooded eyes at her. “Why are we here, Princess Analise? After the situation in Seattle, why didn’t we skip this frivolous side trip and return to Chatioux as I suggested? I know your father—”

“We are here because I want to be here,” she interrupted, affecting the aristocratic manner she knew would remind him not to push too hard or too far.

He studied her intently for a moment. “Then, Princess, let me say this. Without information and in such a remote spot, I am powerless to protect you.” He held up a hand to still her as she started to comment. “Furthermore, it is clear you’ve placed your trust in this cowboy, this stranger. So be it.” He bowed his head slightly and gestured toward the house with one large hand. Analise preceded him down the walkway.

PIERCE SPENT THE next hour getting Sam settled and delegating work. He put men on duty creating something approaching a campout in the pavilion Jamie mentioned. He sent another up to replace the lock on the violated gate in Shadow Canyon, and turned over babysitting chores to Jamie to whom Toby had taken an instant liking. Even now the child was perched atop the mare as Jamie led her around the indoor arena, Cody’s yellow Lab trotting along while expertly avoiding hooves.

The dog was kind of an odd choice of breed for a ranch. For the first time, Pierce wondered where she’d come from.

The kid spied Pierce and waved vigorously, slipping in the big saddle when he took one of his hands off the horn. Pierce waved back before the boy fell, and turned away, a bitter taste in the back of his mouth as Patrick once again flitted across his mind.

The next thirty minutes were spent in a frustrating string of dropped calls to his partner at Westin-Turner. Bob Turner was an old army buddy and a good friend, but lately he’d been discontent. Pierce thought he knew why—it was Sue, Bob’s girlfriend, and she was exerting pressure on him to settle down.

The ranch hand who had driven the truck to the airstrip and back showed up as Pierce was leaving the barn, the Lab close on his heels. The man had a familiar look to him but he was far too young to have worked here in the days Pierce was around all the time. “You one of Tom Garvey’s boys?” Pierce asked.

“Yeah. I’m Lucas.”

Pierce offered his hand and they shook. Lucas was in his early twenties, sandy-colored hair, blue-eyed and wiry like all the Garvey men, no doubt strong as an ox despite it. He had a pointed chin and nose and about three days’ growth of beard which didn’t really amount to much. “I went to school with your older brother, Doyle.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lucas said. He shoved both hands in his pockets.

“How is Doyle?”

“He’s okay,” Lucas said, but his eyes shut down. Too late Pierce remembered Cody saying something in one of their phone calls about Adam firing Doyle last winter. Something about temper issues, a fight that broke another man’s nose. Though no formal charges were ever filed, Doyle had left and everyone knew why.

Pierce and Doyle had been adversaries in high school. Both of them had been screw-ups, but while Pierce’s antics had been confined to victimless rowdiness, Doyle’s had landed him in juvie. The boy was as mean and sneaky as his father, the elder Garvey.

Well, that was in the past. Pierce quickly changed the subject.

“For the next twenty-four hours, I want you to be a kind of unofficial bodyguard for our guests, especially Princess Analise,” he said. “Just keep an eye on things around the ranch. Report anything unusual to me. And later on, when we have the cookout, stick close by. I’ll find someone else to help you.”

“How about Darrell Cox?”

“The big guy with all the freckles? Sure, he’d be fine.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks,” Pierce said and took off for the house, the dog running ahead. After he called his assistant back on the land line, his plan was to get some answers from Princess Analise.

And that brought her fully back to mind. He rebuilt her face, then the feel of her seated behind him on the horse, especially when she’d bumped up against his back. That led to reviewing the second she’d spent sliding down his body when she dismounted and the rush of heat that had passed through him, the frisson like a nuclear reactor that had zapped him when their gazes met and held.

He 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.