The Princess Problem

by Diane Darcy

  The log and cushion chair lay broken into pieces, a few clamps gripping wood in strategic places, and one wood clamp on the floor amid the mess.

  Someone had been fixing the chair.

  The throw-quilt over the back had hidden the clamps and she must have pulled one loose when she’d tugged on the blanket and her weight had done the rest.

  “This is so awful,” she whispered.

  Reaching down, she pulled at one piece of wood and it came completely free of the others. She closed her eyes for a moment, then glanced around. “What do I do?”

  She felt like grabbing her stuff, running out, and leaving forever. She actually stared at the door for a long moment before remembering the glue on the mantle.

  Maybe she could fix the chair? Re-glue and re-clamp it? Maybe the Baron family wouldn’t be home for a while longer?

  She thought about calling Nick for advice, but quickly threw out the notion. Her boss had sent her to charm them, not to destroy their property.

  Her dad? He didn’t know a lot about fix-it stuff, but probably more than she did. Or Christian might be able to help, but again, she knew he wouldn’t answer the phone. She blew out a breath and looked at the mess. This didn’t look like something that could be explained over the phone, anyway.

  So what should she do? Leave it and try and explain the cringe-worthy mess to her hosts?

  She shook her head once more. She had glue, she had clamps, she had to at least try.

  ***

  Forty minutes later, she was done. The chair was upside down, but back together, and she didn’t dare try to turn it over again. She wasn’t out to hide what she’d done, anyway. She’d glued and clamped the three pieces, and it looked okay. She was going to bed. Explanations could wait until morning.

  She stood, and from the higher perspective, the chair looked kind of . . . off.

  Tears filled her eyes. She’d just pay for the darn thing. She’d buy them a new one. Even if it was custom-made and ended up costing her two weeks’ wages.

  Feeling tired, cranky and frustrated, Honey grabbed her suitcase, and went upstairs to look for a bed. There were four doors, and the first opened into a bedroom overlooking the front yard. She flipped on the light and peeked inside.

  A queen-sized bed, a nightstand with a picture of a group of kids, an alarm clock, and a book. A rocking chair sat in the corner. There were no personal effects, but the gorgeous cream-colored quilt on the bed was obviously handmade and sported ducks, coyotes and pine trees. It definitely looked like a guest room.

  She walked in, dropped her purse and suitcase, sat on the bed and bounced on the mattress. There wasn’t much give. In fact, it was hard.

  She sighed. This night just kept getting better and better. She turned her head to the open closet door, and shot back off the bed. Clothes hung in the closet, and boots and shoes neatly lined the floor. She quickly gathered her things and left the room.

  The second door led to a big bathroom with a tile floor, a vanity with matching basins and silver-framed mirrors, and both a shower and a jetted tub. Nice. Very nice. She could picture herself taking a bubble bath, but not tonight. Not when her hosts could come home at any moment.

  Going to the third door, she went inside, flipped on the light and looked around. A huge, foam cushion chair dominated the floor. Playstation paddles led back to a box on top of a television, and a shelf with DVDs was attached to the wall. It was conceivable that it could be a guest room. Children would certainly enjoy sleeping on the giant, oversized cushion.

  Going inside the room, she set her things down and gingerly sank down on the foam-filled suede. It was very soft. She lay back and wiggled. Perhaps it was too soft. She really couldn’t see herself sleeping there the entire night. There was no blanket and she felt as though she might sink right inside and suffocate. Getting up, she hoped for better luck with the last door.

  Pushing it open, she went inside and breathed a sigh of relief. A king-sized bed dominated the room and a few hunting trophies graced the top of the dresser, but no family pictures or anything like that. A gray quilt spread over the bed. Nice, but spartan. Out of the three, this had to be the guest room.

  Dropping her purse and bag, she sat on the bed. The mattress was much nicer. Kicking off her shoes, she sank full length on the bed, pressed her face into one of the pillows and sighed. It was better than nice. Not too hard, not too soft, it was just right.

  Rolling off the bed, she retrieved pajamas and toiletries and headed for the bathroom. At this point, she didn’t even have a desire to meet up with the owners until morning. If she’d blown the deal when she’d broken the furniture, tomorrow would be soon enough to find out about it.

  She brushed her teeth, pulled her thick hair back into a ponytail, washed off her makeup, and accidentally drenched the front of her hair in the process. She dried her face with a towel, and quickly patted her hair but it was too late. It started to curl. The tiniest hint of moisture and she frizzed out. It had taken her forever to straighten it that morning. Tears pricked her eyes again. Frizzy hair was the final straw.

  Wasn’t it enough that she’d worked a full day, had a fight with Christian, driven three hours, and then all the problems she’d encountered here at the client’s house? Not to mention she was starting her brokerage class in the morning, and was completely stressed out about that? And now curls?

  She needed to get hold of herself. She knew that. She dried her eyes, blew her nose, gathered up her things, went back to the guest room, and shut the door. She put her stuff down and climbed into the bed.

  She’d unpack in the morning after she had an inkling about how long she’d be staying before moving to a hotel. Right now all she wanted to do was to escape into dreamland.

  ***

  Trevor Baron turned onto his driveway. It was almost midnight and all he wanted to do was eat the turkey dinner his mom had promised to leave, and then fall into bed.

  Another day or two and he’d be finished with the backbreaking schedule he was on.

  There was a car parked on one side of the driveway, in his spot. It took him a moment to realize the vehicle must be his sister’s new car. He’d heard her jerk-off husband had bought one as a bribery gift. Since Elizabeth was at Trevor’s house, he’d guess it hadn’t worked. No surprise there. His sister wasn’t the kind of woman to forgive infidelity, or to forget.

  He went for the mail and on the way back to the house, reached into the bed of his truck, grabbed three fishing poles-–minus hooks--and propped them by the side of the cabin.

  He knew the three boys he’d taken them from would eventually work up the courage to steal them back, and knew the lack of hooks, and the fact that the boys had been caught fishing illegally, wouldn’t stop them from doing it again. It hadn’t stopped him at that age, either.

  Smiling, he continued to the back gate, opened it, and let himself in. “Hey, Charlie boy. Come here.”

  A dark form moved toward Trevor and a big head bumped against his hand.

  “You eat all that food I left out?”

  Trevor checked the dog dishes, one empty and one still half-full of water. “Good boy.”

  Trevor went down on one knee and rubbed the dog’s thick fur coat while Charlie, ecstatic, wiggled like a puppy. With one last pat, Trevor opened the back door–-no need to lock it with Charlie in the back yard-–and they both went inside.

  Charlie immediately bounded up the stairs, probably looking for Elizabeth, and Trevor headed for his office.

  He was tired. He’d worked the entire day, putting in a full eight hours, most of it rounding up a deer wandering the city and returning it to the forest. He’d then talked to reporters about the incident.

  After some routine paperwork, he’d taken time to catch the kids doing their spot of illegal fishing, then back to work for the rest of the evening repairing some commercial property for the family company.

  All the painting he’d done had made his back sore. But only a few more nights
and the building would be ready to lease again and he could relax.

  Opening his safe, he locked his gun away, set his belt on the desk and went back to the kitchen to get his dinner.

  He opened the fridge.

  No dinner.

  Had his mom forgotten him? A note on the countertop caught his eye and he kicked the fridge shut and snagged it. I’ve left a plate of food for you in the fridge. Love, M.

  He checked again. The milk, ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise weren’t hiding a plate of food. He checked the freezer. Nothing.

  Thinking about Elizabeth’s car in the driveway, he opened the cupboard under the sink and pulled out the garbage. Sure enough. A used sheath of tin foil lay on top and had very likely covered his plate of food.

  Well, that was nice.

  He rubbed a hand over his full beard, blew out a breath, then got out fixings for peanut butter and honey sandwiches. He slathered four slices of bread, and poured himself a large glass of milk.

  He took his plate and glass out to the living room, set them on an end table, grabbed the remote control, sat and turned on ESPN.

  It was on the wrong channel and--

  His chair! Jumping up, he quickly scanned the poorly repaired chair, then glared at the stairs and considered waking Elizabeth to have a talk. But she had at least tried to fix it and that surprised him, so, disgusted, he changed the channel to ESPN, quickly ate, and, with Charlie now back and watching his every move, spent the next thirty minutes re-glueing the chair correctly, and placing the clamps where they’d actually do their job.

  He finally turned the chair around carefully set it in the corner so Elizabeth wouldn’t forget and sit in it again.

  It was time for bed. In the morning, he was going to have a talk with his sister because this was getting out of hand. She needed to work out her marriage problems on her own time. Or at least in her own house. Or at their parents’ place if she had to go somewhere.

  With Charlie following, Trevor climbed the stairs, walked down the hall, opened the door, and absolutely couldn’t believe it.

  She was in his bed!

  Talk about selfish!

  He wouldn’t lose his temper. They could discuss this like the two grown adults they were. How much could a man be expected to take from his big sister? She could stay in his house, she could even eat his food and break his furniture. But danged if she was sleeping in his bed! She could take the spare room. There was a reason that mattress was uncomfortable. He didn’t like guests!

  He flipped on the light and his sister sat up, looked to where he stood in the doorway, and sucked in a loud breath.

  The only problem was, it wasn’t his sister.

  If you’d like to read more, please go to www.DianeDarcy.com

  Excerpt of Pride and Precipitation by Heather Horrocks

  Breezy Jones is crazy about the weather, rain or shine, which makes her new job as the local television station’s meteorologist perfect. She’s even hoping the new buyers of her Aspen Grove, California, station will make some positive changes.

  That’s before she meets the attractive new general manager, Noah Drake , who is determined to repackage everything—including Breezy’s down-home delivery and casual, girl-next-door appearance that seems too Pollyanna for him. He Withs her with a high-powered diva weathercaster and makes Breezy her off-screen assistant.

  With a flood of angry emails from the community, plummeting ratings, and incessant demands from the diva, it doesn’t take long for Noah to see which way the wind is blowing .

  Will the station survive the competitive clash between pride and precipitation?

  More importantly, can their blossoming attraction survive ?

  Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. (John Ruskin)

  Chapter One

  Monday, April 1

  “Mom, Dad, I have something important to tell you.” Breezy Jones sucked in a deep breath as she stood on her higher-than-comfortable heels and straightened her skirt. She had to act casual or she couldn’t pull this off.

  On Breezy’s left, her mother looked up from loading the dishwasher and, at the far end of the breakfast nook table, her father lowered his newspaper. He had an iPad, but would doubtless cling to his daily print newspaper right up until the day they stopped delivering, probably because it looked silly to hide behind an iPad.

  “Have a seat, Mom.” Breezy bit the inside of her lip. “You’ll need it.”

  Her mother circled the counter and sat next to her father, and both watched Breezy expectantly. They made such an adorable pair. Her big, strong, silver-haired, handsome father and her petite, cute-as-a-button, flibbertigibbet blonde mother. Apparently opposites did attract.

  “I don’t know how to say this other than to just say it.” Breezy sighed dramatically, and then lowered the April Fool’s boom. “I got fired from the station.”

  Other than her mother’s ferocious gasp as she placed her hand to her heart, the kitchen was silent. Her father tipped his head and studied her.

  It only took a moment for her mother to recover her voice and jump up from the table. With a worried look, she said, “Breanne, you cannot have been fired. Everyone loves you at the station. Your ratings are high. Your forecasts are accurate. What on earth would they fire you for? This has got to be a horrible misunderstanding.” She looked over at her husband, who set the newspaper on his lap. “Your father will go to the station with you and straighten this out. Tell her you will, Arthur.”

  Before her father could say anything, her mother whirled back around. “This is awful. You’ll be ruined. Your career could be over before it’s even begun.”

  Her father adjusted his glasses, smiled gently, and drew in a deep breath. “It’s April Fool’s Day, Emily.” He winked at Breezy, who couldn’t resist smiling back.

  Her mother looked at her husband, then at Breezy. She narrowed her eyes. “I do not appreciate this at all, Breanne Jones.”

  Breezy laughed as her smiling father ducked behind the newspaper again. “It is April Fool’s Day, after all, Mom, and I figured you must have already gotten a call from Kendra saying her house had been struck by a hurricane or something.”

  “No. Your sister has not called to give me any heart attacks today.”

  “The day’s still young,” Dad said, newspaper still in front of his face.

  “I’m sure I’ve aged ten years from the shock.” Shaking her finger at her daughter, Breezy’s mother said, “Don’t do that to me, Breezy. I mean it. My heart can’t take it.”

  “Okay. I won’t do it again.” Breezy wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulders. “I almost told you I was pregnant, but I didn’t think you would find that very funny.”

  “I didn’t think this was funny.” Her mother frowned. “And you’re not even dating anyone. Heaven knows I wish you were, and you know how much I want grandchildren, but I’m glad you know you’ve got to have a husband first.”

  Breezy squeezed her mother’s shoulders and stepped over to the table, moving the bowl of strawberries to the counter. “That’s the general idea.”

  Her mother touched her arm. “After you’re married, Dear. Then you can announce you’re pregnant.”

  “Call us from the honeymoon suite to announce it, Breezy.” Dad’s voice floated over the weather section. “That would thrill your mother.”

  “The thought of a marriage would thrill me. When are you going to start dating again, Breezy? You and Kendra are twenty-eight and thirty. Your eggs are probably drying up as we speak. Can’t you hear your biological clock ticking? Because I can.”

  “The only thing Breezy hears is the weather.”

  Now that was true. And Dad should know. They were kindred spirits.

  “Look who’s talking,” Mom said. “Weatherman for thirty years.”

  “And retired just in time to pass the mantle on to my daughter.” Dad lo
oked over the paper again, fondness in his eyes. “How are things going at the station?”

  “Wonderful.” Breezy laughed. “Though there are a few changes I’d like to make. Shake things up a bit.”

  Dad laughed. “Good luck with that bunch in management.”

  “Change can be hard.” Her mother put the strawberries into a container, snapped on the lid, and placed it in the fridge.

  “Change can be good, too.” Dad shrugged. “But, like I always say, If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

  “Wait a minute. I just had a wonderful idea.” Her mother’s face lit up with excitement.

  Oh, no. Not again. Her mother’s wonderful ideas usually involved men and matchmaking.

  “I’m going to invite a man over to dinner next Sunday.”

  Breezy groaned. “Mom, no dates.” Though she wasn’t opposed to dating, per se, she did object to the men her mother lined her up with.

  “But now you’re out of graduate school, you have time to date again. I’m going to invite over two men. And I’ll get your sister over here, too. You can both come early and I’ll give you lessons in how to flirt. I’m tired of waiting around for you late bloomers. Then when I line you up for blind dates, you’ll get a second date.”

  “No date! But I could totally ace Eyelash Batting 101.”

  “Mock me all you want. Your father loves it when I bat my eyelashes.”

  Her father lowered his paper and smiled his gentle smile again. “It’s true. I do.”

  Her mother sighed. “Speaking of batting your eyelashes, I hear Andrew’s back in town for a visit.”

  Andrew North? “That’s really nice, Mom. Thanks for letting me know the man who dumped me two years ago is back in the vicinity.”

  “Forewarned is forearmed.” Her father turned another page. “Like receiving a tornado warning in time to board up the windows.”

  The last thing she wanted to deal with was her ex-boyfriend showing back up in town. Everyone had thought for sure they’d get married, but Andrew had bigger plans. He’d left Breezy, not for a racier woman, but for a racier city. Los Angeles, to be exact. If he was in town, she was sure it was only for a brief visit and then he’d be back out looking for the thrills that small-town Aspen Grove, California, could never provide for him.