Читать книгу The Prince's Texas Bride - Victoria Chancellor - Страница 11

Three months earlier

“Hank McCauley, you devil!” the young woman squealed, throwing her arms around Alexi’s neck. “Did you remember to bring me a present?”

Alexi, stunned by the feel of her firm breasts pressed against his chest, her soft-as-silk blond hair brushing against his neck and her light floral fragrance filling his senses, could only wrap his arms around her petite, curvy body and hold on tight.

Sooner or later he was going to tell her he wasn’t Hank McCauley…whoever that might be.

Before he could gather his wits, she pulled back, grinned and placed a smacking kiss on his lips.

Her lips were as soft as her breasts were firm. She tasted of cinnamon and mint, and he immediately wanted her.

When she pulled back, her smile faded. Her arms slipped away from around his neck and he allowed his hands to slide down her arms until they were both standing in the truck stop, breathless and confused. Her light brown brows drew closer together over a cute little nose sprinkled with freckles.

“You’re not Hank.”

“No, I’m not.”

She tilted her head. “But you look just like him.” She stared, leaning forward to examine him as though he were an interesting new species of insect. “You don’t have the little scar above your lip.”

“No, I don’t.” He folded his arms across his chest, expecting some accusation or scorn. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. You took me by surprise.”

“Are you British?”

“I was born and raised there, but I live in Belegovia now.”

“Belegovia. Where have I heard that name?”

“Perhaps on the news?” he offered.

Comprehension dawned swift and sure. “You’re the prince.” She grinned and shook her head. “You don’t look very much like the grainy photo I saw in the newspaper this morning.” She placed a uniform down on a stool—she’d obviously just changed clothes also—and reached for a section of the paper resting beside the cash register. It was crumpled from many people sharing the newsprint. “See. You look a lot more…stern in the paper.”

“Thank you, I suppose,” he replied, more and more fascinated by this young woman who seemed completely unimpressed by his position. He was about to ask for an introduction when Lady Gwendolyn Reed walked up, frowning. She’d probably witnessed the whole incident from her position by the double glass doors. Gwendolyn didn’t miss much.

“No, I mean you look better,” the petite blonde continued, sparing a quick look at Gwendolyn. “Like Hank McCauley. He used to be my boyfriend…well, for a little while. Not that we were ever serious. We’re just friends now. I thought maybe he’d come to visit me here at the truck stop.”

“And bring you a present,” Alexi finished.

The cute blonde grinned. “I like surprises.”

Alexi felt his answering smile all the way down his body. “So do I.” Especially when they come in such attractive packages, he thought.

“Your Highness, we really should be leaving,” Gwendolyn said. She looked businesslike and slightly severe in her purplish woolen suit, black pumps and combination purse and briefcase. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple clip. She appeared the exact opposite of the slightly disheveled truck stop waitress whose blond hair curled in an attractive style around her head.

“I’d introduce you,” he said to his public-relations director, “but I have yet to learn the name of our new friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The young woman in question tossed the paper back onto the counter and thrust out her hand. “Kerry Lynn Jacks, from Ranger Springs.”

Alexi turned it over so he held her fingers and kissed the back of her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Kerry Lynn Jacks. I am Prince Alexi Ladislas of Belegovia. May I present Lady Gwendolyn Reed, the formidable woman who is urging me ever closer to San Antonio and another round of boring public appearances?”

Kerry laughed. “Sounds like a difficult job.”

“You have no idea,” Gwendolyn said, her nostrils flaring as her eyebrows rose. Don’t give me any trouble, she seemed to be saying. Please, just get back in the Land Rover and we’ll forget all about this little encounter.

Fat chance, he’d learned to say when he’d lived in the States several years ago. Sometimes he simply couldn’t resist tweaking Gwendolyn’s nose—figuratively, of course, as he’d done when they were much younger. She preferred a much more restrictive view of his public life than he favored. He enjoyed much of the baby-kissing and hand-shaking, but Gwendolyn scheduled a plethora of those appearances. He would rather focus on promoting tourism and stimulating economic development in his country, which he’d just done in Dallas. As far as he was concerned, he’d accomplished his mission to Texas. Gwendolyn, on the other hand, still believed he had several days of public appearances to endure before finding out if he’d be meeting the president on his Texas ranch late Saturday.

“Well, I’d better let you go. I’m sorry about assaulting you. I’m sure that doesn’t happen often.” She frowned. “Not that women wouldn’t want to throw themselves at you. I just meant that I’m sure you’re not usually confused with someone else.”

Alexi smiled. “I can honestly say that has never happened before.” And he couldn’t have imagined a more pleasurable case of mistaken identity, either.

“Nice to meet you, Lady Gwendolyn,” Kerry replied with a smile. “I hope y’all have a nice time in Texas.”

She turned away with one more friendly smile over her shoulder. Alexi stood rooted to the spot, still tasting her lips and feeling her petite, curvy body pressed to his.

“We really should be going,” Gwendolyn reminded him. “Between the incident in the Land Rover and this distraction, we’re nearly an hour behind schedule.”

The “incident” involved a soft drink Alexi had purchased on their last stop. He loved American soft drinks. They tasted different in the States than in Europe. This particular bottle, however, had either been shaken on purpose or dropped by clumsy hands, because the minute he’d twisted open the lid, cold, sticky liquid had spewed from the bottle, soaking his shirt and the seat of the Land Rover, and saturated his hair and face.

He’d needed a change of clothing and the truck stop seemed a perfect place to wash his face, neck and hands. To his surprise, the large facility contained showers for both men and women, clothing, a variety of recordings and books, and every type of food imaginable. The combination showers and rest rooms separated the retail part of the truck stop from the restaurant, which occupied about one third of the building.

He’d chosen jeans, a Western-cut shirt in bright stripes and a tooled leather belt that he knew would remind him of Texas long after he returned to Belegovia. With his new wardrobe and impatient looks from Gwendolyn, he’d slipped into the men’s showers.

When he’d emerged clean and in his new clothes, Kerry Lynn Jacks had launched herself into his arms.

Alexi narrowed his eyes and watched her hug two waitresses and wipe a tear from her eye. “She’s certainly an interesting young woman.”

“One we don’t have time to linger over.”

“You are no fun,” he told Gwendolyn, who was single-minded in her duties. Mainly she scheduled, then escorted him from event to event, competently and without any surprises. And she never scheduled any temptations.

With one last look at Kerry, who had picked up a canvas tote bag and was waving goodbye to her friends, he turned away also. “Okay. Let’s get on the road.”

“You don’t need to sound so disappointed,” Gwendolyn chided. “This trip was your idea.”

“The meetings in Dallas were my idea. The photo ops were for you and my father.”

“Whatever.”

They emerged into the bright morning sunlight. The newly cleaned Land Rover with their Texas driver, Pete Boedecker, and Alexi’s man, Milos Anatole, stood ready at the door.

“We’re off to San Antonio, Mr. Boedecker,” Gwendolyn announced. She stood beside the vehicle door, waiting for Alexi to enter first, as was his right. He still had a hard time remembering to observe the formality when he was in the States. He’d lived in Boston for five years, never once failing to act courteously to women—most of whom knew him only as Alex.

Just when he was getting ready to enter the vehicle, a loud compact car, partly blue and partly rusted, pulled up beside them. Milos immediately stepped in front of him, but as soon as Alexi saw who was driving the disreputable automobile, he smiled.

“It’s okay, Milos. I don’t think the young woman is going to abduct me.”

“Prince Alexi,” Kerry called out breathlessly, “I almost forgot to ask you for a big favor.”

“What is that, Miss Jacks?”

“My mother is a huge fan of all the European royalty,” she explained as she stepped out and walked around her sorry excuse for a car. “If she found out I’d met you and didn’t get her an autograph, she’d tan my bottom.”

The image of Kerry Lynn Jacks’s firm, round bottom popped into his mind and wouldn’t leave. Not that he wanted to “tan” her, but he would like a peek at what was hidden by her jeans.

“What would you like me to autograph?” he asked, straight-faced.

She handed him an envelope from the truck stop and a pen that had been chewed on the plastic end. “Would you make it out to Charlene Jacks, please?” Kerry asked, peering at the paper he held as though she didn’t trust him to give a proper autograph.

He smiled. “Of course. Are you going home now?” he asked, to make conversation while he worded an appropriate message.

“No, I’m on my way to Galveston.”

“Galveston!” He looked up, remembering the island from his check of the map before his trip to Texas. “Surely not in—”

“Now, don’t say anything rude about Delores,” Kerry admonished with a grin. “She may be old, but she’s been real good to me for the past eight years. We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Really?” Alexi wondered if any of those memories involved the back seat of the aging vehicle, but a quick glance inside confirmed his suspicions. The back seat was too small for any decent-size man.

“I don’t want to demean Delores, but perhaps you should reconsider driving all that way. Surely you’re not going alone?”

“I am. My mother is working and my sisters are busy. I have to be back on Saturday for my college graduation ceremony, but I’m going to see my aunt and uncle. I’m getting my aunt’s mother’s car. It’s in real good shape—only twenty-one thousand miles and not a dent or a scratch.”

“I see.” College graduation? How old was Kerry? She’d appeared several years older than an undergraduate. “What type of degree?”

“My bachelor’s in business. It’s taken me ten years, but I’m finally finished.”

Alexi breathed a sigh of relief. At least he hadn’t been lusting after a twenty-one-year-old. Kerry was at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight—just a few years younger than his age of thirty.

“Your Highness,” Gwendolyn said, warning him she was serious by the use of his title, “we really must be going.”

“Lady Gwendolyn, I’ve just learned this young lady is driving all the way to Galveston by herself in this rather questionable automobile. Surely I can’t let that pass.”

“Surely you must, Your Highness,” she insisted.

Alexi laughed. “How far is this trip of yours?”

“In hours, I’d say around six or so.”

“Six hours in Delores,” he said, turning to Gwendolyn. “That seems rather unfortunate, don’t you think?”

Gwendolyn tugged on his sleeve. When he leaned down, she whispered fiercely in his ear. “So buy her a bloody ticket on an airplane and let’s be on our way!”

Alexi laughed. “You can’t solve everything with money, Gwennie.”

“Alexi Ladislas,” she whispered, reverting to the tone of voice she’d used when she was peeved with him, “forget any idea that might be forming in your head.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“I can see you’re busy,” Kerry said with a sigh. “Thanks for the autograph. My mother will be so proud.”

“Just a moment, Kerry,” Alexi said.

“Alexi, no!”

He smiled down at Gwendolyn. “This is fate, don’t you think? If that soft drink hadn’t exploded. If we hadn’t stopped in this particular place.”

“Fate is sticking to your schedule. Who knows what momentous events await you in San Antonio?”

“I’ve never been to Galveston.”

“You’ve never been to San Antonio, either!”

“Yes, but Galveston has a beach.” He turned to Kerry. “It does have a beach, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she answered, obviously confused. “Galveston is actually an island.”

“Ah, you see, an island. You do remember how I love the islands. Besides, all my important meetings are complete. Relax for a few days, Gwennie. You need a holiday as much as I do.”

“Alexi, don’t!”

“I must, dear Gwendolyn.” He turned to Kerry. “As a gentleman, I cannot allow you to make the treacherous trip alone. It would be my honor to accompany you to Galveston in your faithful steed, Delores.”

KERRY COULDN’T BELIEVE she was driving State Road 46 toward Interstate 10 with a genuine prince. He was sitting on the passenger side, his backside resting on her Wal-Mart imitation leopard-print car seat cover, looking as though he were having the time of his life. The wind blew his brown hair across his forehead and plastered the Western shirt he’d bought in the truck stop to his chest. His really nice, impressively muscular chest.

She was usually a good judge of character, but Prince Alexi had poleaxed her from the moment she’d kissed him, so she might not be thinking straight.

She almost moaned aloud. Jeez, she’d kissed a prince! She still couldn’t believe she’d done that. The only explanation she could come up with was that today was her last day as a waitress. She’d said goodbye to her fellow waitresses and regular customers, all emotional about this change in her life, including her college graduation on Saturday. Then a prince walked into her life. And not just any prince, but one who was so good-looking he made her eyeballs hurt.

She wanted to watch him instead of the road, inhale his scent instead of the dusty highway breeze, and most of all, she wanted to kiss him again. Which was crazy. She had to keep reminding herself that he was a prince.

Why was he sitting in her aging Toyota? If he’d wanted to see Galveston, why hadn’t he hopped on a jet or into his fancy Land Rover? Why would he care if she drove there in Delores when he didn’t even know her?

“What kind of music do you like?” he asked, reaching for her radio.

“Almost everything but rap,” she replied. “It might be hard to pick up a station between towns, but I have a CD player. CDs are in the back seat, in that black zippered case.”

“You have a CD player?”

She glanced over at her passenger. “What, you don’t think Delores deserves a nice stereo?”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“The new CD player and stereo radio was a gift from my mother two years ago. I spend—spent a lot of time commuting from home to school to work.”

“Where is Ranger Springs?” he asked as he reached for her CDs.

“West of the truck stop, about twenty-five minutes.” She grinned. “In Texas, we often give distances in the minutes it takes to drive rather than the actual miles.”

“I only visited Dallas. I have some business contacts there.”

“I thought you were in the business of being a prince.”

“I have some other interests.”

“Really?” She glanced over and saw him flipping through her CDs. Garth Brooks, vintage Bee Gees, the music from Phantom of the Opera and a half-dozen other groups.

He sighed as if he didn’t want to talk about himself. “Some investments of my own.”

“Ah. So you’re not just another pretty face with a crown.” Maybe if she joked about his good looks, she wouldn’t keep thinking about how interested she was in him as a man.

He laughed. “Thank you for the compliment, I think. I suppose that is the view of royalty, especially in Texas, where everyone values their independence.”

Kerry nodded in agreement. “We’re big on independence, but fascinated by everything bigger than life. Rich folks. Movie stars. Royalty. My mother is one of the biggest fans of the British royals, but she doesn’t discriminate. When I give her your autograph, she’s going to be doing the happy-happy dance all around the living room.” Kerry chuckled as she imagined her mom squealing in delight. “As a matter of fact, I may have to keep that car seat cover just because you sat on it.”

“Maybe you should bring me home and really make her day.” He slipped one of her favorite Dixie Chicks CDs into the stereo.

Kerry shook her head. “I’m not sure her heart could stand it.” Maybe her heart couldn’t stand it, either.

“Is she ill?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Kerry chuckled again. “No, she’s as healthy as a horse. And she’s not that old, either. She just turned fifty. I was exaggerating.”

“That’s another trademark of Texans, isn’t it?”

“Only when we’re talking to Yankees.”

He laughed and turned up the volume on the CD player. “I’m having a good time, Kerry Lynn Jacks.”

“I’m glad….”

“Call me Alexi.”

“That seems kind of wrong. I mean, just because you and I are on a road trip, you’re still a prince.”

“Can you put that aside for a couple of days?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I can try.”

“Please, try,” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She tried not to react, even though her skin felt suddenly overheated…and not from the warm May temperature. “Okay.” She passed a pickup truck heavily laden with bales of hay as she thought about forgetting that the man beside her was a prince. The name Alexi sounded so foreign. Maybe if she had a nickname for him, she wouldn’t think of him as the prince. And what about when they stopped, or got to her aunt and uncle’s house? She couldn’t call him by his real name without alerting everyone that the prince was slumming around Texas with a truck stop waitress he’d just met.

“What’s your middle name?” she asked as the Dixie Chicks sang about women striking out on their own. What appropriate music. Kerry was just getting ready to start her new life. A professional life in which she would never have to wear a uniform again. And she’d have an apartment all her own. She could stay out late without anyone worrying. She could sleep late on Saturday morning and only wash dishes when she felt like it.

“Which one?” Alexi asked, breaking into her fantasy. “I have several.”

She made a face in his general direction. “Just tell me, okay? I need to call you something besides Alexi, or Your Highness, or whatever else is appropriate, because people are going to be a bit suspicious. They’ll either think I’m crazy as a loon for calling Hank a prince, or that you’re crazy for running off with me.”

“My full name is Alexi Karl Gregor MacCulloh Ladislas.”

“Wow.”

“My sentiments exactly. While attending college in Boston, I rarely used anything but my first name, usually shortened to Alex. And I found the computer forms weren’t understanding about more than one middle initial.”

“All your names sound real European except MacCulloh. Where did that come from?”

“My mother is English. Her grandfather was from Scotland and honored him by giving me his surname.”

“That’s nice, and it’s also perfect. Can I call you Mack? Anyone who hears us talking will think that you’re Hank McCauley.”

“Ah, yes. The man who looks like me. Tell me, now that we’ve spent some time together, do you still think we resemble each other that closely?”

She glanced over at him again. “Yes, you do, although your expressions are different. Hank’s more…well, I guess you could say he’s spontaneous. He’s also a big tease, and he’s a Texan through and through.” He also didn’t make her heart race with just a smile.

Alexi was silent for a moment. Kerry glanced quickly at him and noticed he was frowning. Finally, he asked, “What does he do for a living?”

“He trains cutting horses now, but he used to be a champion bronc rider. He’s retired.”

“Retired…at what age?”

“I guess he’s thirty-one now. Around your age, I suppose.”

“You cut me to the quick,” he replied with mock indignation. “I’m a relatively young thirty.”

Kerry chuckled. “Sorry. I wouldn’t want to add a whole year.”

“I was dreading my thirtieth birthday enough. I can’t imagine the next one.”

“I thought women worried more than men about aging.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about getting older. It’s just that my father, King Wilheim, has decided that thirty is a magical number. It’s the age at which I should settle down and choose a bride.”

“Choose a bride? That sounds so…archaic.”

He shrugged, then rested his arm on the open window and stared at the passing flat plains dotted with patches of wildflowers and barbed-wire fences. “What can I say? I’m a prince. You can’t get much more archaic than that.”

As she neared the intersection of Interstate 10, Kerry wondered if that was what this whole “road trip” incident was all about for Prince Alexi. Running away from his life. Running away from the responsibility of finding a bride.

She wondered if the men in her life would always lack reliability and maturity. Her father had loved gambling and excitement more than his family. Hank was a nice guy, but he flirted and teased his way through life. And now she was on a road trip with a prince—a prince, for goodness’ sake!—who’d left his entourage with the drop of a hat. What did that say about him? That he didn’t care? Or that he couldn’t be trusted? Or maybe both.

He certainly didn’t seem excited about marrying one of the “beautiful people” among the elite in Europe. He’d marry someone tall, slim and elegant and within a few years they’d produce the next generation of tall, elegant royalty. She’d never seen a photo of royalty in which the women were petite, freckled and “wholesome”—a description she’d heard from family and friends one too many times.

The difference between Prince Alexi and her long-gone father, Kerry mused, was that dear ol’ Dad had run away after he’d fathered three daughters. He’d left four people confused and angry, while Alexi had infuriated his public-relations director…and maybe disappointed his king. He certainly wasn’t married yet, so maybe he’d settle down someday soon.

She risked a glance at him, wondering why he didn’t remind her more of Hank since they looked so much alike. Alexi’s striking profile was highlighted by morning sunlight streaming in through the windshield. His handsome features and confidence probably came from generations of blue blood. She imagined that he was used to getting whatever he wanted, even if his whim was a trip to Galveston in an un-air-conditioned car named Delores.

Perhaps he was a little like her dad, she thought as she headed east on Interstate 10, but not much. Not too much, anyway…