Cowboy Fairytales Omnibus

by Lacy Williams

  Gideon grunted.

  The waitress reappeared at Gideon's elbow, efficiently setting three cups of coffee on the table, along with a small open carafe of creamer. "Sugar's on the table." She scurried away to buss a table that had just emptied.

  The soldier's gaze stayed with Katie for longer than was really necessary.

  Gideon scooted Alessandra's mug closer, and she wrapped her hands around it, grateful for the warmth that bled into her still-chilled body. He nudged the creamer her way, and she took it too.

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  "Ah, so you can talk."

  She looked up sharply at his words. His dark eyes glittered, but it was almost impossible to read his expression behind the heavy, shaggy beard.

  "Gid," the soldier chided. He sent an apologetic look to her. "I think we've got off on the wrong foot. I'm Matt Hale. Gideon is my big brother. My grumpy big brother. And you're—"

  "Allie," Gideon interrupted. He didn't glance around furtively or do anything that might've brought attention to them, but he practically skewered his brother with a dark-eyed gaze. "It's better if you don't call her anything else."

  Allie. She experienced a flash of memory from her childhood, when she'd wanted to be "just Allie," and live with the head housekeeper.

  She blinked the memory away. She hadn't thought about that in years.

  Had the shock of her ordeal caught up with her?

  She let out a shaky breath. "If you recognized me," she nodded to Matt, "what's to stop someone else from doing so as well?" She sipped her doctored coffee, but the warmth didn't reach all the way inside, where she'd frozen solid when Tim had stepped in front of that bullet for her.

  Matt smiled, an easy smile. Now that there was no sign of their waitress, his body language relaxed. He slouched in the bench seat, clearly at ease. "I spent all day yesterday in airports. They must've replayed the same news coverage every hour. But around here... most of the folks don't get cable or pay much attention to national news coverage. They maybe got a blip on the local nightly news."

  She glanced at Gideon, who wasn't at all relaxed like his brother. But he nodded, confirming Matt's words.

  "No one around here would expect to meet a"—he waved his hand her way—"someone like you. People see what they want to see."

  Their confidence was something of a relief, but it didn't help with her current predicament.

  "I'm U.S. Air Force," Matt said. "And Gideon is a former Navy SEAL. You might not have handpicked his truck before you climbed into it, but you've found two guys who are willing and able to help you."

  Gideon mumbled something beneath his breath. He didn't seem happy to be sitting next to her.

  Well, that made two of them.

  The waitress made another appearance, this time delivering three steaming plates of omelets, bacon, sausage and toast.

  Matt had already shoveled two bites into his mouth before the waitress had walked away.

  The food smells, salty and meaty and hot, rose to Alessandra's nose. She had to be hungry.

  But her body's response was off.

  Alessandra stared down at her plate, wondering if she'd be able to eat at all. Yesterday, she'd been so focused on getting away from New York City, getting somewhere safe, that she had barely paid attention to her body's needs. When she'd bought a health bar from a vending machine in one of the airports she'd bounced around, she'd barely been able to stomach it, still reeling, grieving over Tim.

  But now...her stomach gave an audible growl.

  Matt seemed oblivious, his eyes closed as he savored the food.

  But Gideon had to have heard it. He shifted slightly in the seat, his knee bumping hers in their close proximity. "It gets easier," he said in a low voice.

  She glanced at him briefly, unsure how to take his meaning.

  "To go on."

  It didn't seem fair. She could go on eating. Go on living. When Tim would never have the chance.

  But she also didn't have a choice. She had a duty to her family. To her father. To her people.

  She picked up a strip of bacon and bit into it. Salty, greasy goodness exploded over her tongue. Tears pricked her eyes at both the rightness and the wrongness of being able to enjoy it.

  Thankfully, both men pretended not to notice as she raised her paper napkin to her face and dabbed at her tears.

  A few moments passed in silence as the three of them ate.

  "What happened after you left the—the scene of the shooting?" Gideon asked, his own fork clinking against his plate.

  "Gid," Matt admonished through a mouthful of food.

  "If she wants our help, we need to know what's going on. Have all the facts."

  She hadn't said whether she would accept their help. Her gut told her she could trust the two men, but she didn't know whether she could risk putting someone else in danger. If what happened in New York had truly been an assassination attempt, what would keep the assassin from tracking her down?

  She also didn't have any other choices, because after she'd maxed out the cash allowance on her cards back at the airport in Boston, she'd ditched her purse, cards and identification and everything, too afraid someone could track her movements.

  "The police took me into a private room in the hotel," she said softly. She couldn't look at them, kept her gaze focused on her plate. "I made a phone call to the pal—to my sister." She'd almost blurted out that she'd called the palace. How stupid could she be? She was terrible at subterfuge. "There was—something was going on there as well."

  The two men seemed to take her meaning without her having to explain everything—at least not for now. Gideon seemed the kind of person who left no secret unexplored. Pushy as he was.

  She couldn't exactly say bomb aloud without risking someone overhearing and making the connection.

  A bomb had been set off at the palace gates, nearly hitting a limousine that carried her younger sister, Mia. Just thinking about it made any remaining appetite vanish. Alessandra pushed her plate slightly away.

  Her older sister Eloise had assured her that she and Mia and their father were fine, that most of the staff had been unharmed, but that they were on lockdown.

  "I was told to go underground," she whispered. "Without Tim, I...did the best I could."

  The visit to New York was only to last a few days, and the palace security team had deemed it completely safe. Tim had been her only guard.

  How wrong they'd been.

  Matt nodded, eyes sympathetic. She hesitated to turn her head and take in Gideon's expression. When she finally looked, his eyes were narrowed, assessing. Did he think she was lying?

  "Any idea who wants—who would do something like this?"

  She'd followed his first sentence before he'd cut himself off. Any idea who wants you dead?

  "My aunt."

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, Gideon paced in the farmhouse kitchen, feeling caged.

  He wanted to do more than pace. He wanted to put his fist through something.

  He couldn't believe he'd agreed to Matt's farfetched plan. Hide a princess on the Triple H?

  Matt had been right when he'd said they couldn't leave the princess to her own devices. She'd lucked out when she'd jumped in the back of his truck, finding help instead of someone who would do her harm. It was obvious she had no idea how to survive on her own. She hadn't even taken the time to purchase some cheap, touristy clothes in one of the airport shops, which might've given her some anonymity while she'd traveled. She'd still been wearing the slinky evening dress and heels she'd worn at the time of the shooting!

  It would've been easy for Gideon to track her, if that had been his assignment.

  He could only hope and pray that whoever had come after her in New York was a moron, or that their assignment had been to scare her off, not kill her.

  He wanted answers from her so-called security team. He'd questioned her in-depth in the truck on the ride here, but she'd claimed they'd deemed
her trip safe, kept the security light.

  There could be someone on the inside. It was possible. That was one explanation for letting as assassin get so close to her.

  Or else they were idiots.

  He might be one too, because if someone was still after her, he'd just put his own family in danger. And that was something he couldn't live with.

  With calving season upon them, he didn't have time to babysit a spoiled, rich princess who undoubtedly was used to a large staff catering to her every whim. He'd already reached out to one of his old SEAL teammates, Cash, asked for information about the investigation behind the shooting and bombing—he'd had to pry that out of her too—and gave him a heads up as to the princess's location. The other man had advised Gideon to lay low, keep her hidden.

  This was a huge mistake. Gideon knew it, but he hadn't been able to talk Matt out of it or think of another solution on the fly. And looking down on the princess's wide, frightened eyes, he hadn't been able to tell her no, either.

  He'd been shocked to feel compassion flare when she'd become visibly upset over the death of her bodyguard. That she'd felt such deep emotion over the loss of someone she employed made her seem...human. Almost.

  He heard a tread on the stairs and stopped pacing. Faced the mission head-on, hands at his sides.

  Her feet came into view first—bare—as she descended the steps from the second floor. Then a slender pair of legs encased in jeans. They were borrowed from a stash of clothes his sister had left behind and fit a little too snugly in the hips. A chambray work shirt over a faded T-shirt completed the outfit. With her hair pulled back in a braid behind her head, she looked the part of a working cowgirl.

  He knew how badly appearances could deceive.

  As she landed on the second-to-last step, her gaze lifted and their eyes met. Something in the soft blue depths hit him square in the chest.

  It was uncomfortable. And he didn't like it. He flicked his gaze away, instead staring just over her right shoulder.

  "You'll want to stay in the house," he said, voice a bit more gruff than he'd intended. "There's livestock roaming every pasture, and you're likely to get stepped on or scare them—and most of them are calving right now."

  She nodded slowly.

  He went on. "We're having supper tonight to celebrate my brother's leave—time off. You can stay out of sight, if you want. Or you can come down, meet all the hands. And my sister, Carrie."

  She pressed her palms together, interlocking her fingers just in front of her midsection. A picture of calm. But he caught the slight tremble of her hands. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  He didn't figure someone who got waited on hand-and-foot knew her way around a kitchen, so the offer sounded pretty weak to him. "Nope. Just lay low."

  He needed to get back out to the barn, get Dan on the radio and make sure the boys were making progress fencing off the far south pasture, but there was one more thing.

  He approached the princess, bristling internally when she tensed. He knew she must be having a rough time of it, but he'd opened his home to her, offered his protection. Not something he did lightly. The least she could do was not flinch when he came near.

  "Here," he gruffed. He held out his smartphone.

  She just stared at him.

  Finally, impatient, he waggled it. "Take it," he ordered. "It's mine. For emergencies. I've got a burner phone I can use for now. I've programmed numbers for me and Matt at the top of the contacts. I'd hold off calling or emailing your family for now—it's possible a hacker could intercept the signal and track where you are. Possible, not likely," he amended when her face paled.

  She took the phone from him, her fingers a cool brush against his palm. "Thank you." She looked him directly, which bought her a modicum of respect. "For everything. I know I'm putting you out, and I hope to give you a more official thank you when I can get back to—to the palace."

  He didn't need her thanks, but he nodded anyway. "I've got work to do."

  * * *

  Alessandra stood in the hallway after Gideon the Bear had stalked past her and out through what appeared to be a mudroom, judging by the number of dirty boots piled on a rug next to the back door.

  She should really stop thinking of him that way. He might look like a bear, might snarl and snuffle and grunt like one, but he'd shown her kindness by offering his home. Reluctant though the offer might have been.

  She turned the phone over in her hands, at a loss.

  Normally, every moment of her day was scheduled. Events for charities the palace supported. Keynote speeches. Time spent being updated on current events across the globe. Except for the scant, early-morning hours where she snuck "below-stairs," she rarely had time to herself.

  Thus, the loss. She didn't know what to do with herself.

  She turned a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. When they'd arrived, Matt had taken a phone call and wandered off toward the big, red barn that was situated on a slight hill above the house. Gideon had brought her inside and given her the change of clothes, but it was obvious he'd been in a hurry to get back to his work. She'd barely looked around when she'd come inside.

  At the foot of the stairs, she stood in what appeared to be the heart of the home. The staircase landed in the center of the house, and all directions led somewhere else. The mudroom and back door were at the end of a short hallway, directly behind where she stood. Another offshoot led to—she peeked through a swinging door—the kitchen. She normally wasn't so nosy, but Gideon hadn't told her she couldn't look around.

  She raised on the balls of her bare feet for long seconds before she committed herself. Then started off.

  The kitchen was a mess. Someone had make breakfast, but the remains of eggs stuck in a pan on the stovetop, now brown. A biscuit pan was empty of bread, but had rings of cooked-on residue where it hadn't been scraped. A pile of plates sat next to the sink.

  The countertops were littered with old mail, other assorted dishes and a...she didn't know what kind of farm implement it was, but the pronged tool looked dangerous. And like it belonged in the barn, not the kitchen. The cabinets were dated, the stain almost worn off in some places. The wallpaper was faded, and the fridge an old model.

  The entire room was in need of an update and a thorough cleaning. Matt had said Gideon ran the ranch with several "hands"—cowboys, she thought. Did the mess really not bother the group of bachelors?

  She wandered through the room and into a dining room. Only it was like no dining room she'd seen before. A rough-hewn wooden picnic table took up the center of the room. It would've been country charming if there had been any decoration to go with it. The table was bare, walls were bare, even the hardwood floor could've used a rug. And a good scrubbing.

  Well, it was...functional. Certainly big enough to seat ten or so men. Maybe eight, if they were all as large as Gideon.

  She edged past the table and back through the entryway she'd passed through earlier. This time, she kept going instead of turning back to the center staircase.

  The family room had a lived-in look. The two low couches bookended a coffee table that had so many water rings that it almost seemed planned. A flat-screen TV took up one wall, and opposite that, a large rock fireplace appeared inviting. But there was no throw over the back of the couch, no homey touches anywhere.

  She wandered through the entryway and past the staircase to the back corner of the house, the only place she hadn't explored. There were three doorways off the hall here. Bathroom. Linen closet. Bedroom.

  She stood in the doorway, frozen for a long moment. The bed was made, a simple quilt thrown across it as bedspread. Curtains framed the window looking out on blue sky. A dresser was cluttered with a collection of spare change and, in the back corner, a huge, gold belt buckle.

  On the side table stood two pictures. One was Matt, a woman that must be his sister, and... could that clean-shaven man be Gideon?

  He was handsome. With his chiseled jaw and those s
harp eyes, laugh lines fanning from his eyes... he would have caught her eye if they'd met in different circumstances.

  Was this Gideon's room?

  In the picture, a gray-haired man stood behind the three, his arms stretched to encompass them. Their father?

  Behind the picture was another. She'd stepped into the room before she really meant to. Close enough to see the photo.

  It was a candid shot of several men in camouflage sitting around in the desert. They were heavily armed with scary-looking black guns in hand. In this one, Gideon sported a shorter, trimmed beard and dark sunglasses.

  He was laughing.

  Something tugged deep in the pit of her stomach. A response to the man, even though he wasn't here.

  She shouldn't be in his room. She backed up even as she realized she'd intruded into his personal domain.

  She wouldn't like it if he'd invaded the inner sanctuary of her rooms back at the palace. He'd probably hate knowing she was in here.

  She quickly ducked out of the room and regrouped in the hallway, wrapping her arms around her middle.

  What had happened to that smiling soldier? What had turned him into a surly grizzly bear?

  Her thoughts dissipated.

  Even though she stood in a patch of sunlight slanting in from the large picture windows in the living room, she didn't feel warm.

  She was here, on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, Texas. She was safe.

  But there was a part of her, a big part, that was also lost.

  4

  If Alessandra had expected Gideon to be the worst-groomed of the cowhands, she would've been sorely disappointed that evening.

  After the past, crazy forty-odd hours, she'd hit a wall sometime in the early afternoon. She'd dragged herself upstairs to lie down on the bed and only wakened when the noise level in the house below rose loud enough that it shook the rafters.

  She was still mulling over Gideon's hesitant invitation. Should she go downstairs and join the party?