The Cowboy and the Princess

by Myrna Mackenzie

  “Come on. Let me do that,” Lydia was saying.

  “No. I messed everything up and I will fix it.” Delfyne’s lilting accent floated out, its sexy timbre sending his body into full alert. Don’t react, he ordered himself. Don’t feel. Don’t desire.

  Instead he moved further into the mess, catching both Lydia’s and Delfyne’s attention. They both looked up, and Owen saw that Lydia, while clean, was flustered and concerned. Delfyne’s face was radiant…and covered in numerous smudges of white. Her dark satiny hair had traces of white here and there, too. The kitchen was coated in what appeared to be flour.

  “Problem?” he asked as innocently as he could.

  “I’m trying to cook,” Delfyne declared, “but I hadn’t quite realized just how heavy a twenty-pound bag of flour could be.”

  “Hmm, I see. Cook a lot, do you?” Okay, she looked so proud of herself that it was difficult to keep the amusement from his voice. His state-of-the-art kitchen had never looked so distressed and neither had Lydia, at least not in his memory.

  “This is my very first time,” Delfyne admitted. “I’ve practically given Lydia a heart attack. Lydia, don’t be upset. I will take care of the mess.”

  Lydia was shaking her head. “That’s not why I’m upset. A little mess isn’t going to kill me. You just stop right there. Put that broom down. I mean it, darn it. I’m the one who’s cleaning this up. Don’t make me wrestle that broom away from you.”

  Lydia’s voice brooked no argument. She was a decent-sized woman and a stern one. Stronger men than he had fled when Lydia gave an order. But Delfyne just wrinkled her nose and grinned. “Lydia, I’m sorry but I cannot allow you to do that.”

  Uh-oh, the queen of the kitchen and the princess from birth were about to have some issues over who was in charge. But Owen knew Lydia well enough to know that what was bothering her went deeper than maintaining control of her domain.

  “Excuse us, Delfyne,” he said, motioning to Lydia, who followed him out onto the patio. “Okay, spill it. What’s happening and why are you so upset?”

  “Owen, that girl is a guest here. And my lands, she’s clearly never set foot in a kitchen before, at least not to make a meal. This morning she tried to light that old gas stove that we only use when we have extra-big affairs, and she nearly blew her head off. I swear my heart stopped dead for five whole seconds. What are you about, having your house guest messing in the kitchen when she should be seeing the sights?”

  Good question. He knew the answer—he didn’t want to take her out to “see the sights,” such as they were, for fear that sooner or later someone would figure out who Delfyne was and the world would come running. They would spoil her vacation from royalty and they’d post his son’s photo all over the newspapers and the Web. Heartbroken Rancher Heals his Sorrow over Loss of his Child by Falling for Princess, or something obscene like that. But he couldn’t tell Lydia that, at least not all of it. To Lydia, Delfyne had to be just another guest.

  “She values her privacy and isn’t really into sightseeing. And, Lydia, look at her,” he said, motioning to Delfyne, who could be seen through the window. “Does she look unhappy?”

  Lydia grunted. “She looks way too happy for a woman who is sweeping the floor.”

  He laughed. “Lydia, I know you’re not used to sharing your kitchen, but I’m asking you…share it, teach her what she wants to know. Ennis mentioned you wanted a raise, so yes, there’s a raise in it for you.”

  Lydia blushed. “You know I didn’t mean that when I said it. I was talking off the top of my head because I was upset.”

  “Nonetheless, you’re getting one. I’ve been paying you to cook, not give cooking lessons, so now that I’m asking you to do that, too, I’ll pay you more.”

  Lydia gave him a grateful smile and a thank-you. “I’d better go help her clean up. If we’re going to start lessons, we’ll need a clean kitchen.”

  “All right, but let me talk to her first. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  She nodded. “I’ll just do a little weeding in the kitchen garden.”

  Owen stepped back into the kitchen and shut the door behind him. “Delfyne,” he said.

  She turned in a swirl of white.

  “So…what are you doing exactly?” he asked, now that they were alone.

  “I told you,” she said. “Everything. It occurred to me that here, in this place away from everything and everyone I know, I can try things I’ve never had a chance to try. Here, not a soul other than you and my guards knows who I am, and they’re posing as working guests on a ranch vacation. So, I’m anonymous. I’m free. At home no one lets me near the kitchen, but here I can do anything. Still, I’m really sorry I upset Lydia. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

  He shook his head. “Lydia’s not upset about the mess. She just feels she’s being a bad hostess.”

  Delfyne frowned. “Oh, no. Lydia is a fine hostess. I practically forced my way in here—I guess I do have a tendency to be imperious—and what was she to do? She’s a love even to let me in her kitchen. Just look what I did!”

  She held out both arms. They and her clothing were coated in white. Without thinking Owen reached out and traced a finger down the inside of one arm, leaving a trail of soft pink skin and revealing the delicate blue veins in her wrist.

  A visible shiver went through her and he abruptly pulled back.

  “What were you making?”

  She glanced to the side. “There’s the problem. I don’t even know. In fact, I have absolutely no idea where a complete novice like me starts, but flour seemed a good idea. Don’t most things have flour in them?” she asked, looking up at him as if she genuinely expected him to know.

  For some reason he couldn’t explain, he wished he could answer her question. Her eagerness was so charming that he wanted to be the one to show her the ropes, to be privy to that delicious enthusiasm. He wanted to lick chocolate frosting from her fingertips…

  “Lydia is going to help you,” he said, his voice rough. “She’ll teach you.”

  Delfyne leaned back and looked up. “What did you say to her? You didn’t order her to help me, did you? I don’t want people to spend time with me out of obligation. There’s always so much of that in my life. Even you—”

  “No.” The word came out harsher than he had intended. “I’ll admit that I wasn’t enthusiastic when Andreus approached me, and there are reasons why I still don’t think it’s the best idea in the world…”

  “You think I’m a pest.”

  “I think you’re a distraction. You’re very beautiful.”

  “Distracting to…you?” Her eyes were wide.

  “And pretty much any male in your vicinity.”

  “But you’re implying that I’m no longer an obligation. Why?”

  He glanced to the side. “I like you.”

  When he turned back she was beaming. “I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “No, it’s true. When you’re a—” she glanced around “—a you-know-what, people do things with you because they have to or because they think you can get something for them. Liking doesn’t have anything to do with it. I like you, too. You didn’t yell at Lydia, and your men respect you. You let me stay here and now you’re giving me free access to your kitchen.”

  That elicited a laugh from him. “You could go anywhere you wanted to,” he began, but then he stopped. That wasn’t true. That was the reason she was here, because she couldn’t go anywhere. She wasn’t safe anywhere. And maybe not even here, with a man who found that her smile made him burn…

  He wasn’t going to do anything that might bring harm or pain or disgust to her life. He should get smart, go into town and hook up with one of the female sometime friends he knew. He definitely needed to bank the fire this woman had fanned to life within him. Yeah, he was going to do that real soon. And, as for Delfyne…

  “Do not try to light that old gas stove again. We
don’t usually use it, and only Lydia understands it. She’ll help you.”

  “I’ll listen to her carefully,” she promised. “And one day I’m going to serve you something that I made with my own hands. It will be a treat.”

  “I’ll consider it as such.”

  She laughed, a sound that made him want to lean closer. “I meant me. It will be a treat for me to be able to say that I actually made something. I’ve never made anything in my life.”

  Suddenly she rose on her toes and kissed Owen on the cheek.

  Like a torch filled with fuel, his senses burst into flame. Carefully he held himself in check, not following through on his impulse to turn so that his lips met hers, his warmth against her warmth, his mouth covering her mouth.

  “I’ll look forward to whatever you give me,” he said, his voice brusque.

  “And you’ll be honest with me about how it tastes?” she asked.

  Again he thought of her lips and how she would taste.

  “I’ll do that,” he promised.

  Later, when he stood outside beneath the stars thinking about the fact that Delfyne slept in one of his beds upstairs, he reminded himself that her glow, her enthusiasm, the way her whole body seemed barely to keep her spirit locked inside was simply the result of the newness of this experience.

  To him this was home, a place he’d lived all his life. It wasn’t exactly ordinary, but it was familiar. When the ranch became familiar to Delfyne, the new would have worn off, the enthusiasm would be gone.

  Then she would see the rough parts, the lonely parts, the lack of things she was used to and wanted and she would look forward to leaving. That was the way it was with people who were brought or sent here rather than coming of their own accord.

  Not that any of that mattered. She wouldn’t be here long enough for that to happen. She had a prince waiting for her somewhere. By this time next year she would be married to him and in his bed.

  Owen let his breath out in a whoosh, shook his head and moved farther away from the house. He wished the summer would end soon. Andreus owed him more than the man would ever know.

  It was a debt he would never claim. Once this summer was over, it would probably be a good idea to break ties with his friend.

  Andreus was a busy man.

  And so am I, Owen thought. Tons of jobs to do around here. He intended to throw himself into work. No more stroking the new cook.

  Delfyne looked at the massive four-poster bed where she had just finished changing the sheets. The bed was constructed from some sort of rustic golden wood, and it was Owen’s. Lydia had said so while Delfyne was trailing her about, asking her to show her how to do all the hundreds of things that Lydia did every day.

  She smoothed her palms over the green-and-blue quilt. It was the color of Montana, Lydia had said. Delfyne smiled. Lydia was always saying things like that, giving Delfyne a running commentary about this place and the people she so clearly loved. Except for Owen. She didn’t say much about Owen.

  “He’s private,” Lydia had told Delfyne. “He’s a good man, but he’s a hard man and he wouldn’t like it if I talked about him, so I don’t.” Her words were clearly a warning, especially since Delfyne had been asking nonstop questions about anything and everything, especially Owen.

  “I have to run out for a while, dear,” Lydia said. “One morning a week, I deliver meals to shut-ins. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

  “Oh yes, I have tons of things to do,” Delfyne said, even though that wasn’t really true. There was no sense in making Lydia feel bad for doing the things she needed to do or to make her feel that Delfyne was dependent on her for company and guidance, even though she was.

  “You go. I have plans,” Delfyne said, whirling from the bed. Her bracelets rattled as she moved, and Lydia frowned.

  “When we make bread this afternoon, you’ll have to take those off. You’ll get them caught on the mixer and hurt yourself. They’re not real practical for a ranch.”

  “I know, but I love them. I’m a sucker for inexpensive trinkets,” she said, holding up her wrist with the silver, pink and lilac hearts dangling down. “I’ve been collecting them for a long time.” Princesses didn’t wear cheap jewelry in public. It was a total shame, in Delfyne’s eyes.

  “Go before I change my mind,” she ordered Lydia, using the tone and words Lydia often used with her and ending on a laugh that made the older woman smile.

  “Where on earth did Owen find a delightful fairy woman like you? You’re nothing at all like the women he usually hangs around with,” Lydia said, which made Delfyne’s eyebrows rise.

  “You’re right. Forget I said that. Owen’s taste is none of my concern, and I know that you’re not one of his women. Both of you have told me already, you’re the sister of an old college friend and you’re from the east. But, sweetie, much as I adore you already, you clearly have never done manual labor, so don’t try to do too much while I’m gone. And, Delfyne, don’t—”

  “Light the stove,” Delfyne said before Lydia could finish. “I won’t. That stove hates me.”

  “Stupid stove,” Lydia said with a laugh.

  When Lydia had gone, Delfyne tried to figure out something to do. What did ordinary women do with their time in situations like this? she wondered. What would Lydia do?

  Lydia would clean, of course. But then Lydia was so good at her job that there was really nothing much left in the cleaning department for Delfyne to sink her teeth into.

  “Except for the guest rooms that no one is staying in.” Delfyne said the words out loud and immediately ran to get some supplies. What did she need? What did Lydia use?

  A broom, a vacuum cleaner, some of those citrusy-smelling green cleaners Lydia seemed to favor. Maybe a bucket and some rags and a brush and…

  Within minutes Delfyne was hard at work scrubbing bathrooms and polishing mirrors, sloshing water and swinging a broom around.

  “What are you doing?” That low, deep voice caught her in midswing with her broom, and Delfyne jumped and whirled around. Dust swirled with her and she stepped in the dirt she had been trying to sweep up. She sneezed.

  Owen was leaning against the door frame, regarding her with those lazy blue eyes that seemed to see the things she kept hidden inside. He was also looking at her as if…

  She followed the path his gaze had taken and realized that her blouse was torn. It was a small tear, one she’d dismissed as insignificant when it had happened. Certainly not much of her skin was revealed. But Owen had noticed. Her body tightened with awareness and her breath hitched in an alarming way.

  “I’m—I’m sweeping,” she said.

  “I see that. But maybe I should have rephrased that question. Why are you sweeping?”

  “I’m learning.”

  “I pay Lydia to clean.”

  Delfyne frowned. “Lydia didn’t tell me to do this. She isn’t trying to get out of work.”

  “I didn’t say that she was. In fact, I would never accuse her of something like that, so…is it important for you to know how to sweep?”

  “It’s important for me to live, really live and to see how others live. To experience things I haven’t experienced.”

  “But not to damage yourself.”

  “I’m not damaged.”

  “You sneezed. Maybe you’re allergic to the damn dirt for all I know. Probably for all you know, too. I don’t like the feeling that we’re acting like the ugly stepsisters and treating you like Cinderella among the cinders. I’ll bet you haven’t spent much time playing in the dirt.”

  She couldn’t help laughing then. He sounded so chagrined.

  “Maybe I missed out on a lot being a princess. You should go. I’m only on my second room and there are a lot more to do.”

  He looked around the room, which was, Delfyne was delighted to realize, sparkling, even if the bedspread was hanging a bit crooked.

  “I cleaned the bathroom, too,” she pointed out. “All by myself.”

  He
grinned then. “You don’t say.”

  “I do say.”

  “For a princess you’re quite a surprise.”

  She laughed again. “You know a lot of princesses?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Andreus tells me that you’re very wealthy. You could travel in higher circles if you wanted. I know some princesses who would definitely be interested in catching your eye.”

  He raised a brow and an unfamiliar sense of warmth crept up her spine and her face.

  “You’re blushing, Delfyne.”

  “No, I’m not. Princesses don’t.”

  “All right.” He shrugged. “You’ve done a fine job here,” he said, motioning to the room.

  “Thank you.”

  “But I think you’ve done enough.”

  Delfyne tilted her head, confused. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, I did. I let this get out of hand. You were supposed to be having a little fun, not laboring, and I…You ripped your blouse.”

  “It’s a very small tear.”

  “But that’s a pretty blouse. You’re not used to this kind of thing.”

  “You just said I did a good job.”

  “And you did, but…I just got through talking to Alice, Ennis’s wife. She told me she spoke with Lydia when Lydia was leaving the ranch.”

  “Yes. Lydia had a task to do.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “But what?” Delfyne wondered why Owen looked so perturbed.

  He said something beneath his breath that she couldn’t make out. “Alice tells me I’m being a very bad host. She said I’ve never treated a guest so badly before.”

  Delfyne’s eyes opened wide. “Why did she say that?”

  “Because…she’s right, you know. You’ve been here for days, and I’ve kept you a virtual prisoner in the house.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know that I tend to stand out. All your employees look at me as if they wonder who I really am. I suppose you don’t often have totally unexplained guests who stay the whole summer.”