Читать книгу The Princess and the Cowboy - Lois Faye Dyer - Страница 8

Chapter One

Lily Spencer sipped her first cup of organic green tea while standing at the kitchen island of her town house, the pages of the Seattle Times spread out over the white marble counter in front of her. Early-morning sun spilled through the window behind her as she read, slowly turning the pages and enjoying the peaceful, quiet moments before her daughter awoke.

She skimmed the business articles and flipped the page to the Seattle Life section. A photo of a jogger at Green Lake was prominently featured at the top of the page.

Lily caught her breath, the gently steaming mug held motionless halfway to her lips. She narrowed her eyes and stared, trying to make out the man’s features. But his face was partly turned away from the photographer.

Still, she knew with gut-deep conviction that the jogger was Justin Hunt. A gray tank top with a University of Washington logo left his broad shoulders and upper arms bare, the muscles of his thighs and long legs powerful beneath the hem of his black jogging shorts. Sunlight gleamed off sweat-dampened tanned skin.

She skimmed the brief caption beneath the photo, confirming her guess. The jogger was indeed Justin Hunt, in town for meetings the reporter speculated were important, since all four of the Hunt brothers had been seen in Seattle over the last twenty-four hours.

Lily leaned over the counter, her fingertips brushing the photo.

Then reality intruded and her lips firmed, compressing into a frown. She set her mug on the counter with a distinct clunk.

So he’s back in town. So what?

She’d stopped jogging at Green Lake after Justin had dumped her. The wide asphalt track that circled the lake had been her favorite spot to run, but the possibility that she might see him, either alone or with another woman, wasn’t one she cared to chance. Nowadays, she jogged along the waterfront, timing her visits to avoid the arrival of the cross-sound ferries and the wave of traffic from the passengers and vehicles they brought with them.

The baby monitor sitting on the counter next to the toaster crackled, followed by the subtler sound of rustling bedclothes.

Lily glanced at her wristwatch and smiled. Right on time, she thought.

“Ma-ma. Ma-ma.” Ava’s voice came clearly over the monitor.

Lily folded the newspaper and left the kitchen for her daughter’s bedroom. Ava looked up the moment Lily opened the door. She grinned with obvious delight and held up her arms to her mother.

“Good morning, sweetie.” Lily picked up the one-year-old toddler and cuddled her close. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Ava responded with a string of sounds interspersed with several “mamas,” chortling when Lily nuzzled her downy cheek.

Lily carried Ava downstairs, tucked her into her highchair and shook a handful of Cheerios onto the tray. As Ava carefully picked them up, one by one, and tucked them into her mouth, Lily switched on the kettle for her daughter’s morning oatmeal.

Justin is ancient history, she thought. He’s probably in town for a meeting at HuntCom, and will be gone soon.

She picked up the newspaper and dropped it into the recycling bin, determined to forget the photo.

And Justin Hunt, as well.

Twenty-four hours after the meeting with Harry, Justin drove away from his aunt Cornelia’s home in Queen Anne, dialed his cell phone and waited to be connected to his brothers. His conversation with Cornelia had convinced him there was a strong possibility Harry’s threat to sell the company was real. Cornelia was growing increasingly worried by Harry’s demeanor since the heart attack. Without prodding from Justin, she’d confided that Harry seemed uncharacteristically introspective. On several occasions, Harry had told her he wanted his sons to marry and have children. Cornelia was afraid Harry felt a need to right his wrongs, and that he was getting his fiscal and emotional affairs in order, preparing to die.

Privately, Justin thought the Old Man was too damned stubborn to die, but he didn’t tell Cornelia that. She was one of the few women he actually respected, and she genuinely cared for Harry.

Of course, he thought, she’d known Harry since they were kids. They had years of history between them.

“Justin? What’s up?” Gray spoke over a muted background of conversation and music.

“I’ve just left Cornelia’s. I think we should take the Old Man’s deal,” Justin said bluntly. “Here’s why.” With a few brief words, he told his brothers what Cornelia had told him. “I own sixty percent of the ranch and I want the rest of it. I’m not willing to chance Harry selling the other forty percent to anyone else.”

“You’re willing to let him choose your wife?” Alex’s tone was pure disbelief.

“No. Cornelia convinced me the Old Man’s heart attack might have scared him enough to believe he has to force us to marry and have kids for our own good,” Justin said. “I’m willing to tell him that’s what’s happening until we’ve had time to figure a way around this, or he realizes how crazy his demand is. But in the meantime,” Justin added, “I’ll do what’s necessary to keep him from selling the ranch. If that means looking for a wife, that’s what I’ll do.”

“He’s bluffing. He’d never sell the company,” Gray said with conviction. “Even if he does hold the controlling interest.”

Which is a damn shame, Justin thought. He and his brothers, together with Cornelia and her four daughters, all sat on the board, but even if they voted as a block, they couldn’t override Harry.

“I don’t see it happening,” J.T. agreed. “He spent his life building HuntCom. We all know the company is more important to him than anything else, especially us. I don’t believe he’d sacrifice it just to see us all married with babies.” Derision laced his words.

“We’re in the middle of a buyout,” Gray said. “There’s no way he’d consider selling the company until it’s finished, and that might be months away. He’s bluffing.”

“How can you be sure?” Alex asked. “What if you’re wrong? Do you want to chance losing everything you’ve worked for over the past eighteen years? I know I sure as hell don’t want to see the foundation shut down…or run by someone else.”

“The only baby Harry’s every cared about is HuntCom. There’s no way he won’t do what’s ultimately best for the company,” Gray said. “He always does.”

“I sure as hell hope you’re right,” Justin muttered. “Where did he get the idea it was time we all went hunting for brides?”

“A Bride Hunt,” J.T. grinned. “Sounds like one of those reality shows.”

“Yeah,” Alex put in dryly. “A really bad reality show.”

“You know this won’t work unless all of us are in,” Gray said.

“And it won’t work for any of us unless we come up with a contract that ties Harry’s hands in the future,” Justin added. “We have to make sure he can never blackmail us like this again.”

“Absolutely,” J.T. put in. “If he thinks he can manipulate us with threats, he’ll do it again in a heartbeat.”

“So we need an iron-clad contract that controls the situation.” Justin could tell from J.T. and Alex’s tones that they were considering whether to join him. He wasn’t so sure about Gray. “If all Harry threatened us with was loss of income, I’d tell him to go to hell, and walk. But I’m not willing to lose the ranch. Nor do I want to be the cause of another heart attack that might kill him. What about the rest of you?”

The brief silence that followed his question was finally broken by Alex. “If it was just money, I’d tell him to go to hell, too. But it’s not, is it?”

“It’s about the things and places he knows matter most to us.” J.T. sounded grim.

“Part of Harry’s demand was that the brides not know our identity until after we’re married. How are you going to find an eligible woman in Seattle who doesn’t know you’re rich, Justin?” Gray asked.

“I’ve been out of state for most of the last two years, plus I’ve never been as high profile as the rest of you.”

“Yeah, right,” J.T. scoffed. “There isn’t a single one of us who hasn’t had our picture in the paper or in a magazine.”

“But not as often as Harry,” Gray said thoughtfully. “He’s the public face of HuntCom. I’ve got to give the Old Man credit, he’s deflected as much publicity from us as he could.”

“True,” Justin agreed. “So, how about it, Gray? Are you in?”

“Face it, Gray,” Alex said. “Harry holds all the cards.”

“He always has.” J.T. sighed audibly.

“Okay, fine,” Gray finally said. “But the only way to tie the Old Man’s hands is by outvoting him in the boardroom. I’m not agreeing to anything without an iron-clad agreement, in writing, that he’ll transfer enough voting shares to each of us so that he can’t pull this again the next time he gets some wild hair. If we can’t back out, neither can he. Nor can he start adding on more conditions just because he feels like it. The only thing he’s ever understood is HuntCom. Once he’s no longer squarely in the driver’s seat, then I’ll start believing he’s really concerned about us passing on the family name—no matter how concerned Cornelia seemed.”

Justin rang off, dropping the cell phone onto the seat next to him. He’d never wanted to get married, let alone have a kid.

If Harry expected hearts and flowers with some sappy version of true love along with Justin’s cooperation, the Old Man was in for a rude awakening. Hell, Harry’s threats and demands were downright bizarre.

The morning after the conference call with his brothers, Justin woke early. Just before 6 a.m., he carried a mug of coffee, a writing pad and a pen out to the deck. Several streets below, sunlight sparkled on the waters of Puget Sound. An ocean freighter lumbered slowly through the deep water toward the Port of Tacoma to the south. Its ponderous size and speed made the boxy white-and-green Washington State ferry appear sprightly and swift as it neared Colman Dock on the Seattle waterfront.

Much as he loved his Idaho ranch, Justin couldn’t deny the Pacific Northwest was stunningly beautiful on this sunny July morning. He tipped his chair back, propped his bare feet on the seat of a neighboring chair, ankles crossed, and wrote a name in capital letters at the top of his potential-bride list.

Lily Spencer.

She probably never wants to see me again, he thought, remembering the Tiffany bracelet she’d returned the morning after he’d broken off their affair. The box was unopened, his note still sealed in its envelope. The messenger who brought back the items had told his secretary Lily herself had written Return To Sender in black script across the front of the envelope.

Justin had left Seattle the next day and had rarely returned over the following two years. Long days spent in punishing physical labor had exhausted his body but hadn’t stopped his mind from thinking about her. Finally, after months of pain, the ache in his chest where his heart was went numb. He figured that meant he was finally over her.

But you haven’t stopped thinking about her. You haven’t forgotten her.

He tuned out the small voice in his head and went back to his list-making, forcing himself to write despite the distaste he felt for the task.

He jotted down the names of three unmarried women before he stopped abruptly, frowning at the list. Every one of them was a business connection he’d met through HuntCom. They all knew he was billionaire Harry Hunt’s son.

How the hell am I going to find a bride if they can’t know who I am?

Despite equating the Bride Hunt with any other project he’d done for HuntCom, Justin felt a distinct reluctance to make the very personal details of Harry’s demand known outside the family.

I suppose I could use a pseudonym and join an online dating service. Almost immediately, he dismissed the thought. Too time-consuming.

He stared at the rooftops—marching in neat blocks down the hill between him and the waterfront—while he considered the problem.

He drank his coffee and watched the marine traffic on the waterfront, his thoughts drifting back to Lily Spencer. He ended his relationship with Lily when he’d realized she was a woman who wanted marriage and a family. Neither of those two commitments were in his future. He’d walked away from her so she could find what she needed.

He punched in the phone number for her shop, frowning as he realized he still remembered it, even though he hadn’t dialed it in years.

“Good morning, Princess Lily Boutique. How may I help you?”

“Is Lily in?”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Justin Hunt.”

“One moment, please.”

Justin paced impatiently, listening to the murmur of female voices and occasional laughter in the background.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt.” When she finally came back on the line, the feminine voice was distinctly cooler than before. “Ms. Spencer isn’t available.”

“When do you expect her?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” she said politely. “May I take a message?”

“No message.” Justin hung up, convinced the woman was lying.

He suspected Lily was somewhere in the shop or in her workroom one floor above, but had refused to take his call.

When he’d abruptly ended their three-month affair, Lily hadn’t cried or called him names. Unlike other women he’d dated and broken things off with, Lily hadn’t made a scene at the restaurant. Instead, she’d carefully folded her napkin, stood and walked out without a word.

Maybe that was another reason he needed to see her—maybe he wanted her to yell at him and tell him what a rat he was for dumping her. Then he could apologize, and if he was lucky, she’d forgive him. At least then she wouldn’t hate him for the rest of her life.

With sudden decisiveness, he grabbed his keys from the counter and left the apartment. Ten minutes later, he parked the Escalade on Ballard Avenue and jogged across the brick street, dodging traffic.

The mannequins in the bowfront display windows of Lily’s shop wore white lace bustiers and garter belts, and were posed against draped black satin. Justin stepped inside, the shop’s interior an Aladdin’s cave of jewel-tone colors and sexy silk and lace women’s underwear. The air had a subtle floral scent, and the designs and textures of the lingerie were extravagantly feminine.

The door eased shut behind him and he paused, searching the room. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of Lily.

Several women browsed the racks and shelves. All of them gave him curious glances. He ignored them, scanning the shop, hoping to find Lily. She wasn’t there.

“May I help you, sir?” The willowy redhead behind the counter left a customer sifting through a basket of lacy thongs and approached him.

Justin recognized her voice; she was the woman he’d talked to on the phone earlier.

“I’m looking for Lily.”

The redhead’s eyes widened, her smile disappearing. “I’m sorry, sir. She isn’t in.”

“When do you expect her?”

“I’m not sure. Would you care to leave a message?”

“Yeah, sure.” He took a card from his pocket and jotted his cell-phone number on the back, followed by the words call me.

The salesclerk took the card and glanced at it. “No other message?” Her expression was sharply curious.

“No.”

“I’ll make sure she gets the card.”

“Thanks,” Justin drawled, suspecting his card would hit the trash can as soon as he left the shop. He wondered if Lily was upstairs in her workroom, avoiding him.

Short of forcing his way through the Employees Only door behind the counter and climbing the stairs, he couldn’t be sure. And he didn’t want to go there—there were other ways to reach her.

Tonight he’d drive to Lily’s town house and knock on her door unannounced. He’d apologize for ending their affair, make sure she was having a happy life, ask her to forgive him and leave.

He left the shop and waited for a break in traffic before crossing the street to his SUV.

Not being able to contact Lily easily had made him even more determined to see her.

Justin drove back to his apartment and forced himself to wait until evening, giving Lily plenty of time to go home before he sought her out.

Lily lived in Ballard, an older but upwardly mobile community edging the waters of Puget Sound just north of downtown Seattle. The newer brick-and-wood building was split into six town houses, each with a small square of grass out front.

Rush hour and dinnertime were past and the neighborhood was quiet, with only an occasional jogger accompanied by their dog, or a young couple pushing a stroller along the sidewalk passing by.

The walkway to Lily’s home was swept clean and edged with flower beds filled with red Martha Washington geraniums and green ferns. Justin rang the doorbell, idly noting the small, tidy porch with its wicker bench and the dried herb wreath that hung on the wall above it.

The minutes dragged by. Impatient, he pushed the button again, the ring of the chimes muted through the thick door.

Maybe she’s not home. Disappointed and frustrated, Justin half turned to search the quiet street, but saw no one. In a last attempt before leaving, he turned back and pushed the bell one more time.

The door opened abruptly.

“What?” The single word was filled with annoyance. A frown veed sable brows above green eyes that widened, flaring with shocked surprise as Lily stared at him.

Deep inside Justin, something that had been unsettled calmed, the emptiness that had been his constant companion for months eased and filled. His memory hadn’t betrayed him. The green eyes, high cheekbones and lush mouth, with its full lower lip, were exactly as he’d remembered. Lily’s shoulder-length hair was tousled, the sunlight glinting off streaks of blond in the dark brown mane. His gaze moved lower and, belatedly, he realized she wasn’t alone.

A little girl perched on Lily’s hip. Her tiny shoulders and arms were bare above the blue towel wrapped around her torso and her chubby little legs and feet left damp spots on Lily’s shorts. The toddler’s coal-black hair clung to her cheeks and nape in damp curls. Her green eyes were framed with thick black lashes, and when she smiled at him, a dimple flashed in her cheek next to a rosebud mouth.

The toddler had Lily’s eyes. And his hair and dimple.

He dragged his gaze from the little girl and met Lily’s. Emotions chased across her expressive features—surprise replaced by a swift look of guilt that was quickly banished by the defiant lift of her chin.

Then she slammed the door shut.