The Princess And The Cowboy

by Lois Faye Dyer

  The brief silence that followed his question was finally broken by Alex. “If it was just money, I’d tell him to go to hell, too. But it’s not, is it?”

  “It’s about the things and places he knows matter most to us.” J.T. sounded grim.

  “Part of Harry’s demand was that the brides not know our identity until after we’re married. How are you going to find an eligible woman in Seattle who doesn’t know you’re rich, Justin?” Gray asked.

  “I’ve been out of state for most of the last two years, plus I’ve never been as high profile as the rest of you.”

  “Yeah, right,” J.T. scoffed. “There isn’t a single one of us who hasn’t had our picture in the paper or in a magazine.”

  “But not as often as Harry,” Gray said thoughtfully. “He’s the public face of HuntCom. I’ve got to give the Old Man credit, he’s deflected as much publicity from us as he could.”

  “True,” Justin agreed. “So, how about it, Gray? Are you in?”

  “Face it, Gray,” Alex said. “Harry holds all the cards.”

  “He always has.” J.T. sighed audibly.

  “Okay, fine,” Gray finally said. “But the only way to tie the Old Man’s hands is by outvoting him in the boardroom. I’m not agreeing to anything without an iron-clad agreement, in writing, that he’ll transfer enough voting shares to each of us so that he can’t pull this again the next time he gets some wild hair. If we can’t back out, neither can he. Nor can he start adding on more conditions just because he feels like it. The only thing he’s ever understood is HuntCom. Once he’s no longer squarely in the driver’s seat, then I’ll start believing he’s really concerned about us passing on the family name—no matter how concerned Cornelia seemed.”

  Justin rang off, dropping the cell phone onto the seat next to him. He’d never wanted to get married, let alone have a kid.

  If Harry expected hearts and flowers with some sappy version of true love along with Justin’s cooperation, the Old Man was in for a rude awakening. Hell, Harry’s threats and demands were downright bizarre.

  The morning after the conference call with his brothers, Justin woke early. Just before 6 a.m., he carried a mug of coffee, a writing pad and a pen out to the deck. Several streets below, sunlight sparkled on the waters of Puget Sound. An ocean freighter lumbered slowly through the deep water toward the Port of Tacoma to the south. Its ponderous size and speed made the boxy white-and-green Washington State ferry appear sprightly and swift as it neared Colman Dock on the Seattle waterfront.

  Much as he loved his Idaho ranch, Justin couldn’t deny the Pacific Northwest was stunningly beautiful on this sunny July morning. He tipped his chair back, propped his bare feet on the seat of a neighboring chair, ankles crossed, and wrote a name in capital letters at the top of his potential-bride list.

  Lily Spencer.

  She probably never wants to see me again, he thought, remembering the Tiffany bracelet she’d returned the morning after he’d broken off their affair. The box was unopened, his note still sealed in its envelope. The messenger who brought back the items had told his secretary Lily herself had written Return To Sender in black script across the front of the envelope.

  Justin had left Seattle the next day and had rarely returned over the following two years. Long days spent in punishing physical labor had exhausted his body but hadn’t stopped his mind from thinking about her. Finally, after months of pain, the ache in his chest where his heart was went numb. He figured that meant he was finally over her.

  But you haven’t stopped thinking about her. You haven’t forgotten her.

  He tuned out the small voice in his head and went back to his list-making, forcing himself to write despite the distaste he felt for the task.

  He jotted down the names of three unmarried women before he stopped abruptly, frowning at the list. Every one of them was a business connection he’d met through HuntCom. They all knew he was billionaire Harry Hunt’s son.

  How the hell am I going to find a bride if they can’t know who I am?

  Despite equating the Bride Hunt with any other project he’d done for HuntCom, Justin felt a distinct reluctance to make the very personal details of Harry’s demand known outside the family.

  I suppose I could use a pseudonym and join an online dating service. Almost immediately, he dismissed the thought. Too time-consuming.

  He stared at the rooftops—marching in neat blocks down the hill between him and the waterfront—while he considered the problem.

  He drank his coffee and watched the marine traffic on the waterfront, his thoughts drifting back to Lily Spencer. He ended his relationship with Lily when he’d realized she was a woman who wanted marriage and a family. Neither of those two commitments were in his future. He’d walked away from her so she could find what she needed.

  He punched in the phone number for her shop, frowning as he realized he still remembered it, even though he hadn’t dialed it in years.

  “Good morning, Princess Lily Boutique. How may I help you?”

  “Is Lily in?”

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Justin Hunt.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Justin paced impatiently, listening to the murmur of female voices and occasional laughter in the background.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt.” When she finally came back on the line, the feminine voice was distinctly cooler than before. “Ms. Spencer isn’t available.”

  “When do you expect her?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” she said politely. “May I take a message?”

  “No message.” Justin hung up, convinced the woman was lying.

  He suspected Lily was somewhere in the shop or in her workroom one floor above, but had refused to take his call.

  When he’d abruptly ended their three-month affair, Lily hadn’t cried or called him names. Unlike other women he’d dated and broken things off with, Lily hadn’t made a scene at the restaurant. Instead, she’d carefully folded her napkin, stood and walked out without a word.

  Maybe that was another reason he needed to see her—maybe he wanted her to yell at him and tell him what a rat he was for dumping her. Then he could apologize, and if he was lucky, she’d forgive him. At least then she wouldn’t hate him for the rest of her life.

  With sudden decisiveness, he grabbed his keys from the counter and left the apartment. Ten minutes later, he parked the Escalade on Ballard Avenue and jogged across the brick street, dodging traffic.

  The mannequins in the bowfront display windows of Lily’s shop wore white lace bustiers and garter belts, and were posed against draped black satin. Justin stepped inside, the shop’s interior an Aladdin’s cave of jewel-tone colors and sexy silk and lace women’s underwear. The air had a subtle floral scent, and the designs and textures of the lingerie were extravagantly feminine.

  The door eased shut behind him and he paused, searching the room. Everywhere he looked, he was reminded of Lily.

  Several women browsed the racks and shelves. All of them gave him curious glances. He ignored them, scanning the shop, hoping to find Lily. She wasn’t there.

  “May I help you, sir?” The willowy redhead behind the counter left a customer sifting through a basket of lacy thongs and approached him.

  Justin recognized her voice; she was the woman he’d talked to on the phone earlier.

  “I’m looking for Lily.”

  The redhead’s eyes widened, her smile disappearing. “I’m sorry, sir. She isn’t in.”

  “When do you expect her?”

  “I’m not sure. Would you care to leave a message?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He took a card from his pocket and jotted his cell-phone number on the back, followed by the words call me.

  The salesclerk took the card and glanced at it. “No other message?” Her expression was sharply curious.

  “No.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets the card.”

  “Thanks,” Justin drawled, suspe
cting his card would hit the trash can as soon as he left the shop. He wondered if Lily was upstairs in her workroom, avoiding him.

  Short of forcing his way through the Employees Only door behind the counter and climbing the stairs, he couldn’t be sure. And he didn’t want to go there—there were other ways to reach her.

  Tonight he’d drive to Lily’s town house and knock on her door unannounced. He’d apologize for ending their affair, make sure she was having a happy life, ask her to forgive him and leave.

  He left the shop and waited for a break in traffic before crossing the street to his SUV.

  Not being able to contact Lily easily had made him even more determined to see her.

  Justin drove back to his apartment and forced himself to wait until evening, giving Lily plenty of time to go home before he sought her out.

  Lily lived in Ballard, an older but upwardly mobile community edging the waters of Puget Sound just north of downtown Seattle. The newer brick-and-wood building was split into six town houses, each with a small square of grass out front.

  Rush hour and dinnertime were past and the neighborhood was quiet, with only an occasional jogger accompanied by their dog, or a young couple pushing a stroller along the sidewalk passing by.

  The walkway to Lily’s home was swept clean and edged with flower beds filled with red Martha Washington geraniums and green ferns. Justin rang the doorbell, idly noting the small, tidy porch with its wicker bench and the dried herb wreath that hung on the wall above it.

  The minutes dragged by. Impatient, he pushed the button again, the ring of the chimes muted through the thick door.

  Maybe she’s not home. Disappointed and frustrated, Justin half turned to search the quiet street, but saw no one. In a last attempt before leaving, he turned back and pushed the bell one more time.

  The door opened abruptly.

  “What?” The single word was filled with annoyance. A frown veed sable brows above green eyes that widened, flaring with shocked surprise as Lily stared at him.

  Deep inside Justin, something that had been unsettled calmed, the emptiness that had been his constant companion for months eased and filled. His memory hadn’t betrayed him. The green eyes, high cheekbones and lush mouth, with its full lower lip, were exactly as he’d remembered. Lily’s shoulder-length hair was tousled, the sunlight glinting off streaks of blond in the dark brown mane. His gaze moved lower and, belatedly, he realized she wasn’t alone.

  A little girl perched on Lily’s hip. Her tiny shoulders and arms were bare above the blue towel wrapped around her torso and her chubby little legs and feet left damp spots on Lily’s shorts. The toddler’s coal-black hair clung to her cheeks and nape in damp curls. Her green eyes were framed with thick black lashes, and when she smiled at him, a dimple flashed in her cheek next to a rosebud mouth.

  The toddler had Lily’s eyes. And his hair and dimple.

  He dragged his gaze from the little girl and met Lily’s. Emotions chased across her expressive features—surprise replaced by a swift look of guilt that was quickly banished by the defiant lift of her chin.

  Then she slammed the door shut.

  Chapter Two

  S hock held Justin paralyzed for one stunned moment before he pounded on the door panels. “Lily!”

  “Go away!”

  “Open the door or I’ll keep this up until your neighbors call the cops.”

  The door flew open. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “Let me in.”

  “No.”

  “Do you really want to have this conversation on your doorstep?” he asked grimly.

  Her gaze flickered over his shoulder and a small, forced smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She waved. “Hi, Mrs. Baker. Nice evening, isn’t it?” She stepped back and held the door wide. “Come in,” she hissed at Justin.

  The moment he stepped over the threshold, she closed the door and quickly moved farther into the room to put space between them.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I’m in town. I wanted to say hello,” Justin said almost absently, shock still gripping him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the little girl. “What’s her name?”

  “Ava.” Lily gathered the toddler closer, her stance protective. “You’ve said hello, now I want you to leave.”

  “Oh, no.” He shook his head. He wasn’t sure of much, since his brain felt as if it had been scrambled by a bolt of lightning, but he did know he wasn’t leaving. Not yet. “Not until you tell me about Ava. She’s mine, isn’t she.” It wasn’t a question. He was convinced he knew what Lily’s answer would be, but he wanted, needed, to hear her say the words.

  “No, she’s not yours. She’s mine.”

  “Mama.” Ava patted Lily’s cheek, demanding her attention. “Mine Mama.”

  “Yes, sweetie, I’m your mama. And you’re my very best girl, aren’t you.”

  Ava threw her arms around Lily’s neck and hugged her enthusiastically. Then she laid her head on her mother’s shoulder and smiled beatifically at Justin.

  His heart stuttered and he couldn’t help smiling helplessly back at her.

  “She’s mine,” he said softly, but with rock-solid conviction.

  “You contributed DNA, but that doesn’t make her yours.”

  Lily’s vehement words were more denial than confirmation, but Justin’s heart leapt just the same. He’d felt numb for the last two years, and the pound of his heart in his chest after so long was startling.

  “I want you to leave,” Lily said quietly.

  “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t. There’s nothing to discuss. Ava and I have a life. You’re not part of it. Go away.” Her voice was a shade less quiet, and a faint tremor shook her.

  Ava’s smile disappeared. She looked from Justin to her mother, then back again, her little face concerned. “Mama?”

  “Please go. This is upsetting Ava.”

  “All right, I’ll leave.” Justin kept his voice even, his tone mild. “But we have to talk. I’ll call you at the shop in the morning.”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she merely nodded, then walked to the door and held it open, closing it silently behind him.

  Lily stared at the door. She was shaking, tremors of shock and anger rippling in waves from her midsection through to her arms and into her fingertips. She’d never expected Justin to show up on her doorstep. He must have known Meggie was lying to him when he’d telephoned and then dropped by the shop.

  There had to be dozens of women listed in his little black book who would be delighted to take his calls. Why did he have to come looking for her? If she’d thought there was any possibility he wouldn’t move on to greener pastures after he was unable to reach her earlier, she would have been more careful. She certainly wouldn’t have opened her front door with Ava in her arms.

  Lily squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the image of him standing on her doorstep. He wore polished black cowboy boots, and worn Levi’s covered his long legs and powerful thighs. His pale blue cotton shirt screamed designer-label and she was sure the gold watch on his wrist was a Rolex. When he’d smiled at Ava, dimples dented the tanned skin of his cheeks. With his coal-black hair, piercing blue eyes and muscled body, honed by jogging and long hours working on the Idaho ranch he loved, Justin Hunt was every woman’s dream.

  Except mine, she thought fiercely. Justin Hunt is my own personal nightmare. And contrary to her assumptions, he seemed entranced by Ava. The possibility that he might have wanted to know she’d become pregnant with his baby was unacceptable. And frankly terrifying. She shuddered, unwilling to consider that she might have misjudged him.

  Ava wiggled, babbling a protest, and Lily realized she was clutching her too tightly.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she crooned, brushing a kiss against the toddler’s quickly drying curls. “Mama didn’t mean to scrunch you.” She shifted Ava higher, the little body a warm, reassuring weight against her chest. “Let’s g
o put your jammies on and find a book to read before your bedtime, okay?”

  Ava responded with her own babbled version of English, her unintelligible sentences liberally sprinkled with “Mama.”

  Lily distracted herself with Ava’s nighttime rituals of donning pajamas and reading two Sandra Boynton books with Lily, then she dimmed the lights for fifteen minutes of cuddling in the rocking chair before tucking the sleepy little girl into her crib.

  But when she went back downstairs, the house quiet about her, there was no escaping the flood of memories Justin’s visit had caused.

  One rainy evening a little over two years ago, Justin had walked into a florist’s shop in downtown Seattle. She’d been there, ordering flowers to cheer a hospitalized friend. While he’d waited to give the clerk his order, they’d chatted. The attraction between them was instant and mutual. They’d flirted, then went next door to share dinner, after which she’d refused his offer of a ride and driven herself home. It wasn’t until the next day that she’d made the connection between his name and the huge HuntCom corporation that was a Seattle household word.

  When he’d called and asked her out that afternoon, she’d told him she wasn’t sure she should date one of the playboy Hunt brothers, but he’d laughed and charmed her into agreeing to meet him.

  With Justin, she’d broken every rule she’d ever had about caution with men in relationships. She’d let her heart overrule her head and had swiftly fallen head over heels in love with him. He was handsome, sexy, charming and very, very rich. But she’d never indulged in casual sex. Nevertheless, he’d quickly overwhelmed her reservations and within a week, they were sleeping together. Once in his bed, she was committed. When he’d abruptly broken off their relationship, she’d been devastated.

  The night he told her goodbye over dinner, she’d been so stunned by his words she hadn’t responded, had been incapable of speech. She’d managed to stand, leave the restaurant and catch a cab for home.

  She didn’t leave her house for a week, grappling with heartbreak. Then she’d gone back to work, determined to put her life back together.