by Mindy Neff
He thrust Emily into Raquel’s arms, and Chelsa, along with Sophie, into the queen’s hold, then whirled around, intent on shoving that silencer down Rick Lawrence’s throat.
“Antonio, no!” Chelsa yelled, grabbing at him even as she struggled to fill her arms with her daughters.
He spared a bare instant to look back at her, to drink in the sight of the three of them, mother and daughters, his heart’s desire.
The words I love you backed up in his throat. There would be time later for declarations. He hoped. Right now, though, he would see an end to her torment. He would make sure Lawrence was out of her life, once and for all.
Out of their lives.
“Stay put.”
Joseph and Cole fell into step beside him, as did Detective D’Ambra. Antonio frowned, the stock of the gun slick in his hands. “Joseph, this is my fight. Stay with your family. You, too, Cole.”
Cole ignored him. Commanding the Royal Guard was his job.
Joseph, wearing an equally lethal expression as he palmed a gun Cole had given him, shook his head. “We are in this together, brother. This is about family.”
“Then stay the hell out of my way. I want first crack at the scum.”
No one argued. The look on Antonio’s face prevented it.
He noticed that Lawrence was hesitating now, his fevered gaze darting around at the army of guards closing in.
Antonio’s steps became measured now. Calm descended. He could take him out, get this over with. He raised his arm, pointing the .38.
Someone shouted and a guard stepped in front of him, then another, blowing his shot. Gunfire erupted as Cole’s men rushed Lawrence.
In the scuffle, one man went down. One of Cole’s men.
It took five more to wrestle Rick to the ground, to disarm him.
Deadly calm, Antonio waded through the authorities. His gun was steady in his outstretched arm, and pointed straight at Rick Lawrence’s heart.
“It’s over, Tony,” Joseph said, placing a restraining hand on his arm.
Antonio stared down at the man who’d made Chelsa’s life so miserable, feeling both pity and hatred. He wanted to tear this piece of scum apart with his bare hands. But that wasn’t necessary.
Just a little squeeze of the trigger would do it.
His finger tightened.
“It’s not worth it, mi hermano,” Joseph said quietly.
Was it? Antonio wondered. It felt like it at the moment. He thought of Chelsa’s softness and sweet spirit, of little Sophie’s wide-eyed innocence and rambling stories, and of Emily’s infectious giggle and penchant for flattery. Rick Lawrence threw away that great family and Antonio was fortunate enough to get them. Joseph was right. There was no need to come to them with blood on his hands.
He eased his finger off the trigger, dropped his hand to his side and looked at his brother. “I trust you’ll do your prince thing and make sure the charges against this guy are so airtight that the threat of parole will never again be an issue?”
“Between Father and myself, I am certain we can manage that.” The strict laws in Valldoria were the prime reason Chelsa had been sent to his country in the first place.
“Good. Now I’ve got a family to see to. You wanted a ringside seat to watch my fall, brother. I am offering you front-row tickets.”
Leaving the Royal Guard to take Rick Lawrence into custody, Antonio dropped his gun back into his boot and turned toward the palace.
Toward his destiny.
For a guy who spent his life more or less determined to be a loner, the commitment of family by his side had the profound effect of locking that final piece of the puzzle firmly in place.
Family is what living was all about. And love.
He would get both with Chelsa.
Elation started deep in his belly and worked its way upward. The closer he got to them, the wider his grin grew. He felt cocky and on top of the world now that the adrenaline was subsiding. He felt like a conquistador returning victoriously to claim his bride.
But the look on Chelsa’s face told him she was anything but impressed.
“You idiot! What in the world possessed you to charge off like that? It’s just like you...a—a playboy who’s so caught up in your pursuit of thrill seeking that you don’t give a single thought to the people around you who happen to love you!”
Amused by her outburst, he pounced on her last statement. “Ah, querida, may I assume you are including yourself in the list of those who love me?”
Chelsa was certain she could hit him right now. She’d never been so scared in her life. How dare he go off, deliberately put himself in danger. And then make a stupid joke when she tried to tell him how special he was!
Flustered, she didn’t bother to censor her words. “It would serve you right if I did, Mr. Run-From-Commitment-Castillo!”
“Prince Antonio, if you please,” he corrected.
Antonio never acknowledged his title, and the fact that he did so now, caused the royal family to stare at him in varying degrees of surprise—all except Queen Isabel, who looked smug.
But Chelsa was the most astonished of all. Butterflies took wing in her stomach. Could it be? Antonio had always equated title with commitment and sworn he didn’t want any part of either. But...
“You did not answer, querida. Are you among those who love me?”
Well, of course she was, but she wasn’t about to tip her hand so easily. It would do this playboy prince good to worry.
The charismatic twinkle in his eyes waned, replaced by such profound tenderness, everyone present forgot to take a breath—including Chelsa.
“I love you, Chelsa Lawrence. I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve got marriage in mind. Will you be my princess? Live with me in my castle? Love me?”
At that moment, she couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. Antonio mistook her vocal paralysis for indecision and set about to persuade her. He cupped her face and kissed her so softly, so reverently, her heart nearly flopped out of her chest.
She didn’t know if she could draw sufficient breath to speak. “My ex-husband’s a felon.”
He drew back, looked at her with so much love, it nearly blinded. “Do you think that matters to me? I don’t care who you are, or where you’re from, or anything else about your past—as long as you say you love me, as long as you’ll promise to share my life.”
“Oh, Tony...I don’t need the castle and all the trappings,” she whispered.
He smiled. “That’s one of the things I love about you. You have so much integrity, so much strength. From the moment we met, I have watched you in awe. You don’t run or back down from tight spots. You humble me, querida. You will also keep me grounded.”
She would give him the attention he’d always sought—not because of who he was or could be. Just for him, the man.
Her arms rose, her fingers linking behind his neck. He saw her surrender, her love.
His heart pounded. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how scared he was. Scared that she wouldn’t return his love.
That smile he loved so much blossomed on her face. A face he intended to spend a lifetime looking at, one that he would never tire of.
“Come to think of it, you could use somebody to keep you grounded.”
“I’m sinking, bella. Just three small words will save my life.”
She touched the deep crease in his cheek, eased right up against him, feeling safe, home at last.
Home in his arms.
“The words aren’t small, Tony. They’re bigger than anything I ever imagined I could feel. I love you. And if you’ve really got marriage in mind, I accept.”
He lifted her off the ground, whirled her around and kissed her with an expertise that made her knees weak—an expertise he should not have displayed in public.
But Chelsa wasn’t complaining. She was right where she wanted to be.
“Mother,” Antonio said. “You will get your wish after all. Both your sons ma
rried by age thirty—as per tradition.”
Chelsa thought to object. “I’m not sure I like being labeled a tradition.”
“Ah, the very best tradition, my love.” He reached out and brought Emily and Sophie into their circle. His family. “Let me introduce you all to the newest princess of Valldoria. And you, mi bellas,” he said to the girls, “will be princesses also.”
“Nuh-uh,” Sophie declared, frowning. “I’m the mermaid!”
“Hush, silly,” Emily scolded, even though her mother and Antonio were too busy kissing to notice Sophie’s outburst. “A princess is better than a mermaid.”
Sophie wasn’t too sure of that. Sometimes Emily said stuff just so she could be better and smarter cuz she was older. As long as Antonio could be her daddy, though, she guessed it might be all right to be a princess.
So, she folded her pudgy hands together and turned round eyes up to her momma and her new daddy, her little mind already spinning stories.
Maybe the frog in the water babies stories was a prince who looked like Antonio. Yep, she bet he was, that sneaky thing. She should’a seed it before, with his big old sad eyes just waiting for the right baby to set him free.
And she’d make sure it was the Sophie baby who got to kiss the frog, not the Emily baby.
Well...maybe that wasn’t so nice.
Maybe there could be two frogs....
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Missed any of the books in the Cinderella Escape Series? Here’s they are!
The Prince & His Cinderella - Book #1 - Joseph & Brianna
The Princess & Her Bodyguard - Book #2 - Cole & Raquel
The Prince & The Mommy - Book #3 - Antonio & Chelsa
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Love small town, feel good romances? Try Mindy’s bestselling Bachelors of Shotgun Ridge series and fall in love with eight sexy cowboys. All books in the series stand alone, so you can choose one bachelor—or all of them. Turn the page for an excerpt of THE RANCHER’S MAIL-ORDER-BRIDE.
The Rancher’s Mail-Order Bride
Prologue
Well, it’s about to begin, and I’ve gotta hope there won’t be no shootin’ to go along with it.
Ozzie Peyton tapped his pen against his journal and gazed at the photo of his late wife that held center stage over the fireplace mantel where most ranchers hung animal heads and prize antlers.
I’m the one that done the writin’ seeing as I’m the romantic in the bunch. Plus, my sweet wife, Vanessa—God rest her soul—was a schoolteacher. I didn’t spend all them years helping her grade English papers and not learn a thing or two. Besides, Vanessa taught nearly every boy and man in this town. She’d approve of the plan; she’d want to see these fine young fellows get hitched and have babies.
But left to their own devices, those boys would just go on about their merry lives and before you know it, Shotgun Ridge would die out from lack of procreating! It’s not right. The Good Lord started us out with a dang good plan and by dog, the citizens of Shotgun Ridge have abused the whole thing! We’ve all grown old and our offspring have moved on.
And here we find ourselves in a town full of men.
And those men seem to have forgotten that they have a God-given responsibility to the future of mankind.
Well, me and Lloyd and Henry and Vern have cooked up just the thing to set these cowboys to rights. We all agreed that what we need are women and babies. The gettin’ part was just a little tricky.
Especially when it comes to makin’ decisions. Like I said, I done the writin’—and I don’t for a minute consider any of it lies—but we all, me and Lloyd and Vern and Henry, did the deciding. (And Vanessa had a say in it too, but I don’t like to go on to folks about how Vanessa and me still talk. They’d think I was touched in the head or something).
Anyway, what we decided was to put a picture in the magazines and run a couple of ads in the big-city papers to let the women know that we got an unbalanced situation here.
Now, I imagine young Wyatt Malone might be a bit surprised to find that his good-lookin’ mug was flashed in the fancy magazines, but the boys and me, we figured he’ll get over it. Why it’s plain as the nose on a man’s face that Wyatt’s got a hole in his heart the size of a canyon and it needs healin’.
The thing is, I gotta wonder if we made the right decision when we picked out our candidate from the mail we got. Course it’s a little late for second thoughts seeing as how she’s due to show up tonight.
Ozzie paused and flexed his hand, working the kinks out of his old joints. He gazed at Vanessa’s portrait, gaining strength from her beautiful, soft eyes. Nodding, he licked the tip of his ballpoint pen.
I’ve known Wyatt Malone all his life, and the boy’s as fair-minded as they come. And that’s a pretty good thing seeing as how Miss Hannah might be a bit of a surprise….
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Chapter One
Hannah Richmond touched the crystal pendant at her neck. The necklace had been a gift from her Aunt Shirley. Hannah had visited her aunt’s farm often as a young girl, visits that had created powerful, poignant memories that were etched for a lifetime.
To Hannah, the necklace was a symbol of what she desperately wanted for herself and her children—life on a ranch, a slower pace, love that was genuine. It was an ideal that had grown in her mind to near obsession, an ideal that had compelled her to drive from California to Shotgun Ridge, Montana to start a new life.
To be Wyatt Malone’s mail-order bride.
She still went into near hyperventilation about every fifteen minutes—each time she allowed herself to think about her nerve and the enormity of the step she’d actually taken.
She put her hand on Ian’s shoulder, gave a reassuring squeeze, both for herself and her son. Just four years old and too often he felt like he had to be a little man. Having a father abandon you tended to do that. And it wasn’t fair.
She shivered beneath her lightweight sweater, but didn’t want to go back to the truck to get a coat. She might chicken out and keep right on going.
No, she told herself, she wouldn’t. This was her ultimate dream and she intended to grab it with both hands. But she sure hadn’t realized that springtime in Montana would be this cold!
Taking a breath, she pushed through the door of Brewer’s Saloon and paused, scanning the interior. The smell of beer, cooking grease, onions and sweet cigar smoke swirled around her. A sign over the bar admonished patrons to watch their language, that this was a family establishment. She smiled, eased a bit even though butterflies still knocked against her solar plexus, stealing her breath.
The place was more restaurant than saloon, its name misleading. Booths lined two walls. Tables draped in red-and-white-checked cloths were scattered in no particular formation across the plank floor. Through chest-high, swinging saloon doors, a separate room housed a jukebox that played a Faith Hill ballad as cowboys unwound over competitive games of pool.
How was she going to find him?
“Mommy?”
“Yes, Ian?”
“Do we get to eat now?”
“Soon, champ.” She’d been traveling in wide-open country for what felt like hundreds of miles, and she hadn’t passed a single fast-food restaurant. She was heartened to see that this saloon was indeed an eating establishment. Not that it had been all that long since they’d last eaten, but Ian seemed to be a bottomless pit lately. Probably the boredom of being cooped up in the truck.
She was debating whether to order first and search later when she spotted him. Her heart lurched. Just like it did every time she looked at his picture.
He was standing by one of the booths, smiling and talking with a woman dressed in western wear who looked to be around forty. It was hard to tell.
But Hannah knew the man was Wyatt Malone.
Her cowboy.
She recognized him from
the magazine picture she’d carried around with her—the one now tucked inside her purse. She’d memorized this man’s features, placed her hopes and dreams on him even though they’d never met.
This was a man whose handwriting she’d traced a hundred times, but whose voice she’d never heard.
With Ian clutching the back of her broomstick skirt, playing peekaboo with the customers in the booths and tables they passed, she made her way across the room.
“Wyatt Malone?”
He turned, did a double take. “Yes?”
Her heart fluttered again. It had been a while since a man had done a double take, given her a quick distracted pass then let his gaze slam back. It did her tattered ego good.
And it gave her hope. It let her know that the physical attraction was mutual.
A person could build on physical attraction. She was banking on it.
“I’m Hannah Richmond?” She hadn’t meant to make it a question, for heaven’s sake. She sounded like she didn’t even know her own self. Which could actually have some validity given the huge chance she’d taken by coming here.
He grinned and tipped back his buff-colored Stetson. “Pleased to meet you. This is Cherry Peyton,” he said, nodding to the woman who stood by his side. “My neighbor.”
Cherry held out her hand and Hannah took it, wondering if she was any relation to Ozzie Peyton. “Nice to meet you,” Cherry said, though there was reserve in her voice. “You’re new in town.”
“Yes.” She sensed the other woman expected more information, but Hannah wasn’t used to having intimate conversations with strangers. At least not about why she was “new in town.” She was still getting used to the idea herself.
Cherry shrugged and looked back at Wyatt. “I’ll leave you be for now. Call me tomorrow and we’ll talk about that bull.”
“Sure thing.” His tone was distracted, apparently because of where his gaze had just landed…and froze.