“I’ve never tasted it, but I’m sure it’s fine.” She took a sip and tried not to show her surprise. The dark liquid was as different from a cola as Hank was from Alexi.
“What did you learn?”
He looked at her blankly.
“About Alexi’s whereabouts? While you were in town?”
He relaxed back into a leather recliner. “I talked to Kerry’s momma at the Four Square Café. She’d talked to Kerry just this morning.”
“Really?” Gwendolyn leaned forward. “Where are they? When will they return?”
“She’s not real sure. They were leaving Galveston this morning, but that runaway prince of yours has decided he wants to see a little more of Texas,” Hank said with a sneer. “He’s draggin’ Kerry all over hell and half acre, without a care that she needs to be back here tomorrow for her graduation.”
“So you don’t think they’ll return by Saturday?”
“Mrs. Jacks seemed to think they would. She and Kerry’s sisters are drivin’ to San Marcus for the ceremony Saturday afternoon.” He shook his head. “I sure hope Kerry gets back in time. She’s gonna be sorely peeved if she doesn’t have time to get ready. She’s really lookin’ forward to that degree.”
“Well,” Gwendolyn said in a small voice, watching the condensation on her glass, “she’ll still have the degree even if she misses the ceremony.”
Hank shot up from his chair. “That prince is makin’ me mad. He’d better not do that to Kerry.”
“I’m sure she’ll tell him how important it is to her.”
Hank snorted. “Like he’d listen to some Texas waitress when he’s used to bossin’ around people right and left.”
“Alexi isn’t like that. Why do you always think the worst?”
“I do no such thing.”
“You already know what I think, Mr. McCauley. This is just more evidence that you’re a reverse snob.”
“A what?”
“You feel the only worthy people are those who grew up around here…people you know and trust. Well, the world is filled with good, worthwhile people.”
“Is that right? Well then why did we get stuck with a prince who won’t live up to his responsibilities?”
“He will! He’ll be here on Saturday. Why, he could show up at any time.”
“We’ll see.”
HANK SPENT THE REMAINDER of the afternoon on chores around the barn, determined to put Wendy and that damned prince out of his mind. The new bay gelding settled into his stall nicely. His feed had been unloaded and stored, the water buckets were full, and the tack was clean.
His yellow tabby cat, Peaches, deposited a fat mouse on his boot as Hank looked in on his futurity hopeful, a three-year-old chestnut filly who turned on a dime and concentrated like a veteran.
“Good girl.” He reached down and praised the cat with long strokes and the silly voice he reserved for her when he was alone. Baby talk, some people might call it. “You’re the best mouser in the state of Texas, aren’t you?” Reaching down, he grabbed the dead mouse by its long tail, since he knew Peaches expected him to “enjoy” the treat she’d given him.
“Hank?”
The mouse swung like a pendulum from his fingers when he turned around. Wendy screamed like a banshee about the same time Peaches meowed her displeasure and ran under the bottom board of the stall. The horse spooked, squealing as the cat dashed across the sawdust-covered ground for parts unknown.
He stared at Lady Wendy’s horrified expressed and grinned, dangling Peaches’s treat from two fingers. “Welcome to the ranch.”
“What are you doing with that mouse?”
“If Peaches had her druthers, I’d sauté it with a nice cream sauce—kind of like the fish we were served last night—and present it to her for dinner. But seein’ how it was a gift, I think I’ll just find a nice spot to bury it. It’s not a good idea to offend the cat.”
A smile replaced Lady Wendy’s look of horror. “I see. No, I can certainly see that honoring her gift is important for your future relationship.”
He shifted away from the stall, watching the shafts of afternoon sunlight play on Wendy’s reddish-brown hair. “Is anything wrong? I hadn’t expected to see you around the barn.”
“Milos Anatole received another call from King Wilheim. He’s threatening to send the royal physician over if Prince Alexi isn’t well by tomorrow.”
“Will he do it?”
Wendy clasped her hands in front of her. “Yes.”
Hank sighed. “I don’t know what to do until Kerry drives back into town, unless you want to get the Texas Rangers or the State Highway Patrol involved. I’m sure I could get a description and a license plate of her car if you want to notify—”
“No! If we do that, the media will be all over the place, staking out the hotel in Austin and following all other leads until Alexi is found. King Wilheim will know I lied, and then…Well, I just don’t want to admit that I couldn’t stop the prince from running off.”
“And ruin your career.”
“King Wilheim would insist I be replaced by someone who had a better control on the situation.”
“That’s not fair. I’m sure you didn’t just wave goodbye as the prince was drivin’ away with Kerry Lynn.”
“No, I tried everything but physically restraining him to no avail.”
Hank grinned. “If the prince is my size, I don’t think you’d have much luck wrestlin’ him into the Land Rover.”
Wendy smiled, but she still looked sad and worried. “No, but I probably should have done something else. Perhaps threatened him.”
“With what?”
“Some old secrets. I could always say I was writing a tell-all memoir of our schooldays together. Or certain holidays with actresses and models.”
“And he’d believe you?”
“Well, perhaps not. But I should have done something.”
Hank wrapped his arm—the one not holding a mouse—around her shoulders as they walked through the barn. “Quit beating yourself up over this. We can’t do a thing until they show up.”
“I feel so helpless…so frustrated.”
He hated how she sounded, all defeated and worried. He knew of only one way to change her mood. “Well now, darlin’, I know just what you need to cure that feelin”’
She elbowed his ribs. “Stop it.” She went through the motions of protest, Hank noted, but there wasn’t much passion behind her order or her jab. A slight smile even threatened one corner of her mouth.
“I was thinkin’ of something we could do until the sun went down. With all those fox huntin’ friends of your daddy, I suppose you’ve ridden a horse?”
“Yes, I’ve ridden a time or two.”
“Want to go for a ride and a swim?”
“Where?”
“You just have to trust me. This is one of the prettiest sights you’ll see around these parts. Heck, in the entire state of Texas! I’d hate for you to miss it.”
Wendy smiled. “I’ll see if I packed my bathing suit.”
Hank gave her his best sober look. “If you didn’t, don’t you worry. I’ll sacrifice my pride and go skinny-dippin’ if you will.”
His outrageousness made her laugh, and before long he’d buried the dearly departed mouse and saddled two horses.
WENDY DIDN’T KNOW MUCH about where they were going, but evening was rapidly approaching. She might have only one more night in Texas, and she was determined to enjoy it, she decided as she pulled on jeans over her bathing suit. After several days with Hank, she trusted him to show her a good time. He’d taken her out along the Riverwalk in San Antonio, entertained her with stories and his own brand of humor, and tempted her with his kisses. Now she had one last chance to go on an adventure with her Texas cowboy. With a smile, she buttoned her shirt over her black maillot.
She placed a bottle of wine she found in his dining room, along with a corkscrew, a box of crackers and a wedge of cheese from the refrigerator, in a plastic gro
cery sack she found beneath the sink. From the back of the recliner she grabbed a knitted afghan in stripes of coral, blue and pale green that someone had obviously made several years ago. Almost as an afterthought, she took two towels from the guest bathroom. She wasn’t sure where she was going to put all these things on a saddle, but she’d find a way.
“Ready?”
Gwendolyn jumped, then clutched her bundle to her chest. For a big man who wore boots, Hank could certainly move quietly. When her heart slowed, she swallowed and said, “I just put together a few things I thought we might need.”
A grin spread over his face as he took in the assortment filling her arms. “Well now, maybe I’d better bring along a pack mule.”
Gwendolyn blushed. “It’s not that much, really. I thought we might want to…sit down after the ride.”
“Right. Well, I’ll just bet I can wrap all this into a nice saddle roll.”
“Very good, then,” she said briskly as he took everything from her, grinning as he noticed the wine and cheese. Gwendolyn shrugged. “It’s dinnertime.”
“I’d take you out on the town, but everyone at Bret-ford House, which is the best place in Ranger Springs, would wonder who you are and ask me a dozen questions.”
“I understand, truly I do. Staying at the ranch is a wonderful idea. I don’t know why I argued with you about it.”
“Because you like to argue with me,” he replied, his good humor evident in his laughing eyes and contagious grin.
“Perhaps.”
“Did you put on sunscreen?” he asked.
“Yes.”
In just minutes, Hank had the wine, cheese and everything else rolled inside the afghan and towels. He secured the bundles with pieces of twine from the kitchen. “This can be tied on the back of the saddle.” His eyes narrowed as he looked over her body critically. “You have a bathing suit on underneath all those clothes?”
“Yes.”
He snapped his fingers and frowned, no doubt teasing her about “skinny-dipping.” “Let’s go, then. Sunlight’s a wastin’.”
Gwendolyn followed him to two horses that stood grazing on the tufted grass beside the house. One was a buckskin, the other a flashy pinto. “Won’t they run away?”
“They’re trained to be drop-tied.”
“I see.” She didn’t, of course, but Hank would probably decline to tell her his training secrets for some silly reason like he’d done before.
“I picked out a nice gentle mare for you, Lady Wendy,” he said, walking toward the buckskin. “Why don’t you tie that saddle roll on back and I’ll give you a leg up.”
“This is quite a large saddle,” she said as she lay the rolled afghan across the horse’s rump.
“It’s just your standard western gear.”
“I’ve only ridden English.”
“Ah, one of those fancy pieces of leather that’s barely big enough to settle your rear into.”
“I quite like them.”
“You’ll like this better. There’s even a saddle horn you can grab if you need to.”
“Really?”
“Now, this mare neck-reins, which means that you need to hold them in one hand and press them against her neck to make her turn. Press left to turn right. Got it?”
“This is as confusing as your automobiles and highway system.”
“Ah, don’t worry. You’ll get the hang of it.”
Gwendolyn walked around the mare, checking the unfamiliar straps and girth. Satisfied the monstrous saddle wasn’t going to rotate beneath the horse’s belly, she gathered the reins in her hands. “Will you give me that leg up now?”
“My pleasure.” Hank came up behind her and placed his hands on her waist. “Now, don’t you jump too high.”
“Then behave yourself, Mr. McCauley.”
Hank laughed as she bent her knee. She expected him to give her a bouncing boost as was common with English riders, but instead he guided one of her hands to the saddle horn—a totally unnecessary encumbrance, in her opinion—and the other to the cantle of the saddle. “Now, just ease on top of Buttercup.”
“Really, I’m quite capable—”
“I’m the expert here, remember? You can tell me how to eat asparagus and shake hands with dignitaries, but let me guide you on this one.”
Gwendolyn hid her amusement. “Very well.”
While she held on to the saddle, he eased her foot into the large wooden stirrup. Then, quite shockingly, he placed his hands on her rear and gave her a boost. She was so startled by the feel of his large, strong hands on her bum that she almost didn’t budge. And when she did, she almost overshot the saddle.
Hank chuckled as he adjusted the stirrups. Gwendolyn was about to chastise him when she decided on another tactic. She sat still while he ran his hands over the saddle, the horse and even her own legs. Her skin grew warm beneath the denim of her jeans as he smiled up at her. “She’s got a gentle mouth, so you don’t need to saw on the reins or pull back hard, okay?”
“I’ll try to remember everything you’ve told me.”
“Good girl.”
Good girl, my aunt’s eyebrows, she thought as he sauntered to the flashy pinto and swung into the saddle. He turned to her and grinned. She managed a tight smile as she adjusted her body to the unfamiliar saddle. Gathering the reins as she saw him do, she nudged the mare with her knees.
First she walked in a circle, getting the feel of neck-reining. Buttercup was responsive, obviously well trained by the smug cowboy who watched her patiently.
“Ready to head on out?” he asked.
“Yes, I believe I am.” Putting her heels to the mare and clucking lightly, she shot forward.
“Whoa now, Lady Wendy,” she heard Hank shout.
Laughing, Gwendolyn guided the mare into a large figure eight, then stopped her with the slightest pressure of her legs and bit. “She does handle well, Mr. McCauley.”
Hank folded his hands over the saddle horn and glared. “You’re a ringer, Lady Wendy.”
“I’m a what?”
“You tried to fool me into thinkin’ you didn’t know much about horses, all the while knowin’ you could handle whatever I gave you.”
“I wasn’t sure of that. After all, I’ve never ridden one of these western saddles. I’m accustomed to English, remember, and I jump, not rope cattle.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to note that we won’t be ropin’ any cows today.”
“Fair enough. I’ll just ride alongside you, then.” She tilted her head and gave him a look from the corner of her eye. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Fine by me,” he said, looking slightly suspicious. Good. Let him worry about her intentions…and her skills. For once, she’d bested Hank McCauley at his own game!
They rode north out of the ranch area toward some sloping hills covered in blue, yellow and red wildflowers, cactus and other brushy plants. Only a few fluffy white clouds broke the brilliant blue of the Texas sky. The only large trees around were closer to the house, so the horizon seemed infinite. Gwendolyn had never experienced such a feeling of openness as she did under the Texas sky.
“This is really a lovely idea,” she commented, breaking the near silence of creaking leather and muffled hoofbeats on the dry ground.
“Thanks. I thought you might like to get out.”
“I didn’t realize how much until just now. I’ve been a bit stressed over the situation.”
“Just do me a favor and don’t think about all that for now. I’d like to enjoy the evening with a pretty lady and my favorite horse.”
“Well…very good. And thank you.”
He turned and grinned. “You’re welcome.”
They rode for a while in silence, keeping the horses to a walk most of the time, but occasionally breaking into a trot. Gwendolyn resisted the urge to post as she would have in an English saddle. Even if she were going to stay in Texas longer, she doubted she could become accustomed to these large, utilitarian saddles.
She much preferred to feel the horse beneath her.
“Is this all your land?” she asked as they topped a rock-strewn hill.
“We’re still on my land, but just up ahead is the boundary,” he replied, pointing to a stand of trees in a small valley below.
“Is that where we’re going?”
“Yep,” he said in typical Hank fashion. “It’s real pretty. You’ll like it.”
“I wish I’d brought a camera. The scenery is truly wonderful, rather like the postcards I’ve seen everywhere.”
“Spring is the best time of year in this part of the country. Some people like autumn the best, but I like the wildflowers.”
“Do you get much fall color?”
“You mean the leaves turning yellow and red?”
“Yes.”
“No. Mostly, the dry leaves just fall off the trees sometime in November. That’s what “fall” means around here.”
Gwendolyn laughed and guided her mare down the rocky path of sorts. She could tell other horses had been here regularly from the beaten-down, sparse grass, but not lately since she didn’t see any fresh hoofprints in the dusty soil.
She followed behind Hank as they entered a wooded area, which she believed was composed of live oaks. They were certainly more stately than the scrubby mesquite trees Hank had pointed out earlier. A wire fence bisected the area, showing the end of Hank’s property.
“We need to leave the horses here,” he said, swinging down from the saddle. He made the movement seem so athletic, so graceful, that she wondered about any injuries he might have received from his former career. He certainly didn’t appear to have any weakness, nor did he wince and complain about his joints as she’d been led to believe all cowboys did from the movies she’d seen.
She pulled the mare to a halt, then kicked free of the stirrups. Through the branches she glimpsed a slice of water surrounded by green grass and more rocks.
“When you’re riding western, darlin’, you usually leave the left foot in the stirrup to dismount,” Hank said from beside her horse.
“Really?”
He nudged her foot back into the stirrup. “Just swing your right leg on over and I’ll catch you.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
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