After a moment she nodded. "Gerald. It was Gerald, and he'd come for Luke...."
Her gaze shot to the small crib beside her bed. The baby slept on, peacefully. Unable to resist, Lucas walked over and sat beside her on the bed.
"It's all right, Jessie. You're safe now."
That strength he'd seen building back up since they'd come here asserted itself. "I know. It was just a dream."
"Do they happen often?"
"Not as much as before. And I know they'll go away, eventually."
The admiration he'd been acknowledging before surged to the forefront now. Jessie Chambers was the gutsiest woman he'd ever met, possibly excepting his mother, the teacher who had become a queen.
For a long, silent moment he sat there, aching to take her into his arms, aching to bury himself in her, find the comfort the lost soul called Joe had once found.
"Jessie," he said hoarsely, and was a little startled at the heat he heard in his own voice.
She looked up at him as if she'd read his thoughts. "I know," she whispered. "But I can't. Everything's too tangled up, too confused."
He reined himself in. He hadn't really expected anything different.
"If you were Joe," she began, then stopped.
And not for the first time, Lucas envied that man he'd been, with no memory, no past, and no life to get in the way.
This was so awkward, Jessie thought.
She had finished changing Luke's diaper—she was getting better at it, she really was, she told herself—and put him down for his afternoon nap, then wandered down to the kitchen for a snack. She'd lost enough weight during her ordeal that she could afford a couple of Mrs. Winstead's wonderful, sinful chocolate-fudge cookies.
Now, with the sweet taste of the chocolate lingering, she leaned against the counter and stared out the windows, not really seeing the barn or the paddock beyond where Brat was kicking up her heels.
She hadn't really thought about what it would be like to have him under the same roof, when their circumstances were so changed. But that night last week, when he'd come in after she'd had that nightmare again, it had been pounded home to her that if he indeed had been Joe, she could have sought solace in his arms. She could have let his body and what it could do to hers drive away all the nightmares, all the horror of it. She remembered so well those long nights, so cold outside and so hot with passion inside. She remembered so well the way he had loved her, the way his clever fingers had played upon her nerve endings, the way his mouth had teased her to a frenzy, how the slow, huge invasion of his body had sent her soaring.
But that had been Joe. This was a man she didn't really know, a man with a past that was the stuff of history books, a present that was in the news and a lifestyle she couldn't begin to comprehend.
She supposed she should be grateful that he hadn't pressed her, that he hadn't come back to the ranch assuming they would pick up right where they left off.
Then again, maybe he hadn't because he didn't want to. She'd been good enough for Joe, but a prince?
"You're frowning again, girl," Mrs. Winstead said as she came into the kitchen. "What are you worrying about now?"
"Not worrying," Jessie said. She licked the last of the melted, gooey chocolate from her fingers before adding, "I was just being silly. Wishing Lucas was still just Joe."
"Do you, really?"
"Well, not if it meant he never got his memory back. That would be too cruel. I guess I just wanted—still want —Joe to be...real."
"Feel you've lost him, do you?"
"I feel as if I never really had him, because he never really existed."
Mrs. Winstead clucked and shook her head. "He'sjust hidden behind all that princely stuff," she said with a sniff.
Was it possible? Could her Joe still be there, amid all the changes she saw?
She walked outside thoughtfully, then smiled as Brat whinnied the moment she set foot on the porch. She walked across the yard to lean on the fence, and the mare raced over and skidded to a flashy stop in front of her.
"Show off," Jessie said, but her voice made it clear she was teasing.
The horse bobbed her head, making her black forelock dance. Jessie reached out to rub the velvety nose and leaned forward to puff a soft hello at the horse's nostrils, something she'd learned early on the animal liked. After a moment she heard footsteps behind her. She didn't turn to look; she knew that steady, long stride.
"She's quite a horse," Lucas said.
"Yes, she is."
"I'll never forget that day you cut that sick little white-faced calf out of the herd, and momma came after it."
"Neither will I." Jessie meant it; the herd had been at one angle, the cow had been coming at her from another angle, trying to get to her calf on yet another. Brat had been puzzled at first, but had apparently decided her job was to keep them all apart no matter what, and had put on a show of cutting, darting and spinning unlike anything Jessie had ever seen, let alone ridden.
"I'm thinking of breeding her. A foal next year would be just about old enough for Luke when he's ready to ride on his own."
Lucas didn't answer, and when she glanced at him she was startled at the grim look on his face. She wondered what had brought it on, and could only think of one thing.
"You don't believe in starting a child riding that early?" she asked.
"Of course I do. I was three."
"Oh. Well, good then." Another possible explanation for that look came to her. "Are you thinking you won't be here when he's that age?" she asked gently, knowing how it would hurt her to have to live a life without that child who had already become so precious to her.
He went very still. "I won't be far away from him, Jessie. Ever."
She sighed. "How can you not be? Your life is half a world away."
"Yes." He took a long, deep, audible breath. "And so is Luke's."
It was her turn to go still. "What?"
"He's coming back with me, Jessie. He's the heir to the throne of Montebello. He belongs to us." And just like that, the man she'd once loved—or rather, this man who looked like him—managed what Gerald had never quite accomplished. He'd terrified her.
♥ Scanned by Coral ♥
Chapter 6
"No," Jessie said.
Lucas was already cursing himself for the blunt way he'd put it. He hadn't meant it to come out like that, he'd had the words all worked out, the words to explain to her, but he'd somehow lost them. Since the first moment he'd seen her holding their baby, he'd had trouble holding on to the reality he knew was coming.
But when he'd heard her making plans for an idyllic life for herself and the baby here on the ranch, apparently without him, he'd known it would only get worse if he waited any longer. He had to return home, and he had to bring the heir to the throne with him. There was no choice. Even if the life she'd been planning aloud made him ache inside with longing.
With an effort, he gathered his scattered thoughts. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."
She gave him a look so chilly he nearly shivered. "Am I supposed to be honored? I suppose not many get an apology from a prince."
"Jessie, please, don't. Do you think that this is easy for me?"
"I don't know. Because I don't really know you at all, do I?"
He let out a compressed breath. "I suppose you don't. So will you let me tell you? Who I am?" She looked a bit startled, as if she hadn't expected that. He pressed his advantage. "Come ride with me," he suggested, knowing she was at her most amenable on the back of her beloved Brat, riding the land she loved. "Let me tell you everything."
"Nothing you tell me will make me let you take my baby away from me," she warned him.
He didn't tell her he had no intention of taking the baby away from her. He had another plan, one she wasn't ready to hear. Not yet. "Just ride with me, listen. Then we'll talk."
But when they were at last heading out, Brat prancing a bit, as if she sensed her rider's edginess, Lucas still wasn't
sure where to start.
"Let me tell you about my home, first," he finally said. "What do you know about Montebello?"
"I've read the stories," she said, her voice so flat it told him volumes about how hard this was going to be. "I know it was an English colony, and only became self-governing in eighteen-something."
"Eighteen-eighty. And England never left, not really. They've been part of Montebello forever, and now we're so intermingled they always will be. Besides, it was wise of the first king to keep in favor with Britain, with Tamir on our doorstep."
"The first king. Your great-times-something grandfather?"
"Yes. Augustus."
He knew she was thinking of Luke and the ancestral name he'd been given, he could see it in her face, but she said nothing about that. Instead she asked, "I read about some sort of feud or something from back then."
"Yes. All the melodrama you could want, an arranged marriage for political reasons, a dowry of a large piece of Montebellan land, the mysterious death of the groom-to-be." His mouth quirked. "We do nothing in a small way."
"With the crown prince crashing a plane in America and disappearing for months, turning up later having had amnesia, just in time to help the FBI break up a terrorist stronghold in the U.S.? Yes, I'd say you don't."
He would have been able to handle it better if her tone had been sarcastic, but it hadn't. It had still been as flatly neutral as before. As if the tale didn't matter to her, didn't affect her in any way.
As if she'd already cut herself off from him, and from his world.
For the first time Lucas felt a twinge of desperation and doubt. He quashed it, but it took more effort than it ever had before. Perhaps, he thought wryly, because he'd always been arrogant enough before to assume that he could resolve any problem he came up against, that he could make anyone do what he wanted, eventually.
He wasn't at all sure he could make Jessie do a thing.
He tried another tack. "My family has ruled Montebello since the day Britain gave us self-rule. We are Montebello, the people of our country are our responsibility, and one that we take very, very seriously. Unlike other monarchies, we aren't just figureheads. We govern, and every decision made is made because we truly believe it's for the good of the people."
"Noble," she said, again with no trace of sarcasm, no emotion at all.
Despite his concern over that lack of feeling in her voice, Lucas smiled inwardly at her choice of words. Someday he would tell her that in Montebello, that word had a special meaning because of a group of very special men who had become part of Montebello's history over the years. The story of the Noble Men and their firstborn sons would appeal to her, he thought, and not only because they were Americans. He knew Jessie would appreciate their quiet heroics.
And, he admitted honestly, the fact that they were heroes in Montebello couldn't hurt when it came to swaying her toward acceptance of the inevitable.
But first he had to convince her to come.
"Not really," he answered. "It's simply that we understand that we rule by the grace of our people. We serve at their pleasure, not the other way around. It's been that way since Augustus."
"Unusual king," she said, and he noted with relief that there was at least a spark of interest in her voice.
"So is my father. He has a long legacy to live up to, and he knows it."
"As does his only son?"
"Yes." There was really nothing more to say, so he left it at that. He thought she was going to let the conversation die there, but after a long moment she finally spoke.
"You have sisters, don't you?"
"Three. Julia, Christina and Anna. Every one of them as strong-willed in her own way as our mother." He cast her a sideways glance. "So Luke has three aunts to spoil him."
He saw the flicker of pain in her eyes, and knew she was thinking of Luke's other aunt, the wicked, vicious Ursula. Quickly, he leapt into a spiel about Montebello, things about which he was most often asked about his homeland.
"We have three hundred days of sunshine a year. You never need anything heavier than a sweater, or a light jacket when it rains in the winter. San Sebastian is an international trading center, and we host leaders from all over the world on a regular basis. We have a variety of plant life to make a botanist weep, orchids and lilies of the field growing wild, side by side, and over three hundred and fifty species of birds, not to mention a rare species of goat that can only be found there."
"You sound like the Chamber of Commerce."
He grinned. "I know. And in a way, I am. Since my father is king, and he's healthy as your Brat there and likely to rule for many more years, I've got nothing more important to do than extol the merits of Montebello to the world."
He thought he saw a flicker of a smile curve her lips, but it didn't last.
"The Sebastianis are Montebello, because we've always stood for the rights of the people, and because they've granted us the right to rule. We've fought for them, and occasionally died for them, and they for us. Our history is inextricably linked, and our destiny is with the people. It always has been, and it always will be."
"And that," she said, "sounded like a speech."
"Perhaps it was, at some point," he said, not reacting to the slight edge that had come into her voice. "My father, and his father before him, and all the Sebastianis who have worn the crown believe those words."
"And you?"
"And me. When my turn comes, I will do the same."
She abruptly reined Brat to a stop and sat there looking at him intently for a long, silent moment.
"And Luke?" she whispered finally.
He drew in a deep breath, knowing the moment had come. "He is my designated heir. One day, he will assume the throne of Montebello."
"He will?Just like that, no choice?"
"He has no more choice than I have," Lucas said flatly.
Something hot and determined flashed in Jessie's eyes. "That," she said, her voice sharp-edged now, "is what you think."
She put her heels to Brat's flanks, and the mare leapt away as if catapulted. Lucas lifted his reins and the bay's ears shot up, but before he sent the horse rocketing after her, he hesitated. Jessie didn't get angry often, but when she did, there was no moving her. He'd do better, he thought, to let her go, let the far reaches of her beloved ranch and the steady, rocking-chair gait of the leggy buckskin calm her down.
So instead of pursuing the rapidly departing black-and-gold horse, he reined the bay around and sent him slowly back toward the house.
* * *
When Jessie reached the flats along the river, she gave Brat her head and yipped her up to a full, mad gallop. It had been a long time since the horse had had the chance to run free, and the mare leapt forward gleefully. Jessie leaned over her neck, concentrating on the ground-eating stride and the smooth, sweet action of the beautifully put together animal, marveling at her steady strength and her quickness. The horse's mane whipped back in the wind, and in her mind's eye Jessie could see her tail flying. On and on they ran, the pounding four-beat rhythm balm to her soul.
She knew the horse would literally run her heart out if asked, so when they reached the curve of the river she signaled Brat to ease up with a slight tightening of her fingers on the reins. Beyond the curve was broken ground anyway, where there was too much danger of the horse putting a foot wrong, or into a critter hole, to keep up such a pace. Reluctantly the mare slowed.
Jessie turned toward her favorite place, a small, grassy clearing on a bluff overlooking the river; a place she called the lookout. It was where she always went when she had heavy thinking to do. Or when she needed to escape. She'd spent many hours up here after her parents had died five years ago. More when she'd discovered she was pregnant. And after Joe had left her that cold winter night, she had lived up here for two days, until fear that she would become ill and endanger her child had sent her back down to the ranch.
When she reached the lookout she dismounted, loosened Bra
t's cinch and sat for a long time, staring out over the landscape.
The time had finally come. She had to fight for her son as hard as she'd fought for her own life. Harder, if need be. And she had to fight something that was so foreign to her she didn't know where to begin.
Calmer now, Jessie mounted up and turned the mare toward home, letting Brat pick her own path and pace. She knew she was not heading back to the ranch house for the hearty meal and peaceful evening she'd been hoping for. Instead she was facing what could be the biggest fight of her life, bigger even than the battle she'd fought to stay alive in poor, mad Gerald's clutches.
When they got back to the barn, Jessie took her time grooming Brat. She knew she was only stalling the inevitable, but she did it anyway, grooming the mare to a glistening shine, combing mane and tail, even clipping the bridle path atop her head, although it didn't really need it yet.
Finally the horse nickered in protest at the delay in the expected grain, and Jessie knew she'd dragged her feet as long as she could. She put the buckskin in her stall, dumped a portion of sweet feed in the trough, added an extra dollop of molasses by way of apology, and washed her hands at the tack room sink.
She could soap and oil her saddle, she thought, looking at the racks she'd replaced them on. That would take a good hour, maybe two if she did a real thorough job.
Coward, she muttered to herself. Quit stalling.
She came in through the side kitchen door, intending to head straight up to check on Luke, who should be awake by now. Instead, she found Lucas sitting at the table, as if waiting for her. As he probably was, she realized.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"I feel fine," she said, not stopping but heading toward the door that led to the stairs.
"Luke is with Eliya and Mrs. Winstead. And Lloyd is outside."
She stopped in her tracks, then turned to face him. "On your orders?"
"We need to talk."
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe you need to listen."
"Maybe," he agreed, surprising her. "So talk to me."
Slowly she walked back over to the table, pulled out a chair that was safely on the other side from him, and sat down. Now that she was face-to-face with him again, all the things she'd worked out on her long ride seemed to skate right out of her brain. It took her a few minutes to gather them together again.
The Prince's Wedding Page 6