Cowboy Fairytales Omnibus

by Lacy Williams

  Gideon nodded once, letting the cowboy—and his friend—know that he couldn't protest a friendship or relationship anymore.

  Matt came near, clapping him on the shoulder.

  "The nurse know you're all in here? Probably against protocol." But for the moment, Gideon's will was too weak to protest more.

  And then, Carrie and all the ranch hands had slung their arms around each other, circling the bed in one big man-hug as they bowed heads. On the end of the chain, Gideon gently laid his free hand on Alessandra's shoulder.

  Each man shared a special prayer on Alessandra's behalf, beseeching God to heal her and bring her back to them.

  By the time Dan had finished, every one of them was clearing his throat or surreptitiously wiping his eyes. They moved slightly away from each other and the brotherly intimacy of the moment, some of them shuffling their feet. Dan and Nate shoved their hats back on their heads.

  "Is she really a princess?" Chase hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

  Gideon glared at Matt, who raised his hands helplessly. "Sorry, man. Some reporter got shots while she was getting loaded into the helicopter."

  Gideon winced.

  "Got pictures," Matt corrected himself. "And by the time we got to the hospital, it was all over social media and local news stations."

  That was a nightmare for another time. At least he'd had the foresight to secure this wing of the hospital.

  "So she really is?" Chase pressed.

  Gideon nodded. "Yeah."

  Brian whistled low. "And we had her cleaning up after us like a maid."

  Carrie's eyes were shining. "Scarlett will be thrilled. She's claimed this whole time that Allie was a princess."

  Gideon rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "She's not coming back to the Triple H. When she wakes up"—he almost choked on the words, but he had to believe she was going to wake up—"she's going back to Glorvaird."

  Carrie looked at him with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Maybe. I guess we'll see."

  He clung to his sister's hope. Right now, it was all he had.

  * * *

  Alessandra was trapped in cold, terrifying darkness, unable to move. Barely able to think.

  Voices came. Someone stuck something nasty down her throat and she gagged. The contents of her stomach emptied.

  Oh, she hated being sick.

  She was so hot.

  No, cold.

  And then came the voice of the man she loved. Gideon.

  She even thought she heard Carrie, Matt, and the other hands. Were they...praying for her?

  Peace and warmth stole over her. Snatches of conversation wafted to her, as if from far away.

  "...she really a princess?"

  "...she's going back to Glorvaird."

  "Maybe..."

  She couldn't go back. Not yet. There was still something undone. Something she hadn't told Gideon.

  Why couldn't she wake up?

  She needed...

  She went cold again. Started shaking uncontrollably. Couldn't find her tongue.

  And then there were voices again—strange ones. "She's seizing!"

  Where had Gideon gone? Her friends?

  She needed them.

  Needed him.

  Was lost.

  * * *

  It was after midnight, but Gideon couldn't sleep. The ICU room allowed for one uncomfortable chair, and the cowboys and his siblings had agreed to stay in the waiting room for now.

  Why hadn't Alessandra woken?

  Earlier, after the impromptu prayer vigil, she'd shown signs of improving.

  And then she'd had some kind of seizure, her body reacting to the poison. The doctors had been able to help her ride it out, but since then, there'd been no sign of awareness behind her eyes. He imagined her lost in a deep pool. Maybe the seizure had brought her close to the surface. Since then, though, she seemed to have sunk all the way at the bottom, her beautiful heart hidden beneath the murky waves. Would she ever make it to the surface again?

  Was he losing her? Was she drifting away even now as he watched her pale face?

  This waiting...he was dying a slow death.

  If she died, he would never be the same. He couldn't bear to think of a world where he wouldn't hear her laugh, see the flash of her teeth in that secret smile she'd only given to him.

  He took her hand. Shook it gently. "Wake up, Allie-girl."

  Nothing. No blip on the machines monitoring her. No catch of her breath.

  "I need you—" His voice broke on the words. She'd never know how devastated he was at this moment, how very badly he'd realized he needed her.

  "I was wrong. You were right." If ever there were words to wake a woman up...

  And it was true. He'd been wrong to push her away. He should've been pulling her closer. They were a team, the two of them.

  He waited. Still no change.

  The clock ticked. The monitors proved she was still here, still with him. But still not.

  "Please." He bowed his head over her hand, squeezed his eyes against the tears that were so close.

  "Please." He didn't know what he was pleading for. For God not to take her, maybe. For her to come back to him.

  Right now, thank you very much.

  He rose from the chair, unable to contain the nervous energy that buzzed through him. He rested his hands against the railing and leaned over her, so pale and still in the bed. At least the awful red had faded from her skin, one of the signs of the cyanide poisoning.

  "Alessandra," he breathed.

  He leaned closer. Didn't even know what he was doing, but he had to do something.

  He brushed one soft kiss, a feather kiss, again her mouth. One against her forehead. He let his chin rest against her temple.

  And whispered, "I love you."

  * * *

  Alessandra felt Gideon's presence nearby, felt the brush of his whiskers against her temple.

  "I love you."

  She opened her eyes.

  He froze. He backed slightly away, enough so she could see his dear face.

  His hands were clamped around the hospital bed railing, close enough that she barely had to move to reach for him. He met her grasp, his fingers tangling with hers.

  "Alessandra." His breath caught, and there was no missing the sheen of tears in his eyes. Her sensitive Bear.

  "Hi," she whispered, the word burning her throat. Tears stung her eyes.

  He breathed out a shaky exhale, squeezed her hand once. He let go only to move away momentarily, and then he was back with a cup of water and a straw. He held it to her lips, and she drank greedily, feeling echoes of fever—or something—that had overwhelmed while she'd been lost in the darkness.

  When she'd had her fill, he put away the cup. "I should call the nurse. There are a lot of people waiting for you to wake up."

  He took her hand again and stared at her.

  Long enough that she began to wonder what had happened. Had her hair been all shaved off? "What is it?"

  He narrowed his eyes slightly. "For a bit there, I thought I might never see you looking back at me again."

  "Was I sick?" she asked. "I remember feeling feverish, and cold. Choking. Throwing up."

  "You were poisoned," he said. "You collapsed at the airport. The woman gave you that pastry... Remember?"

  She did, barely.

  "Mostly I remember you were going to let me walk away."

  His eyes darkened, and he leaned close to touch his temple against hers. "That's because I was doing what my sex often does. Being an idiot."

  Relief and love flowed through her. "So you've changed your mind, then? About us not working in the long-term?"

  "Well, for one thing, your royal security team needs a massive overhaul. I can't trust them to get you back to Glorvaird safely, so it seems I'll be forced to accompany you at least that far."

  He brushed a kiss against her upper cheek. "There's no telling how long it will take before they can be whipped into s
hape, and I can't leave you unprotected. You're too important." Though most of his words held a teasing note, those last were spoken with an intense seriousness.

  "And then there's the fact that I've fallen in love with you," he said softly. "And I can't live without you. So I suppose the roundabout answer is: yes, I've changed my mind."

  She raised her other hand, the first real movement she'd made since waking. Everything seemed to be in working order, though she felt as weak as a baby. She cupped his cheek, his trimmed beard rough against her palm. "I'm in love with you, too."

  His eyes squeezed shut, but not before she saw the depths of emotion that overwhelmed him.

  "That seems like the second miracle of the day," he whispered. He brushed another gentle kiss against her lips. He drew away slightly, and her hand fell to the bed. "But if God wants to heap blessings on my head..."

  She smiled. "You won't argue?"

  "Not today."

  He was forced to move back as a nurse and doctor bustled in, surprised to see her awake.

  They began asking questions immediately, prodding her with a thermometer and stethoscope, but she held Gideon's gaze throughout.

  It was a little bit astounding.

  She'd never expected to be running for her life, then stranded on a working ranch for days on end. If not for New York, she never would have met Gideon.

  Although he hadn't admitted to it, she guessed that if it hadn't been for Gideon's training and quick thinking, she could've died in the airport.

  And then, he'd declared his love for her.

  Miracles, indeed.

  Epilogue

  "The Kissing Princess"

  Mia, third in line to the Glorvaird crown, crumpled the newsprint between both hands.

  She considered throwing it in the fire burning on the nearby hearth, but ultimately smoothed it out on the table. The headline shouted up at her again, making her lose any appetite for the breakfast spread laid out on a silver tray before her.

  Is that what they really thought of her? All the public could see of her?

  Beneath the headline was a photograph of her—yes, kissing—the young duke of Regis, a neighboring kingdom.

  The long-range, slightly grainy photo didn't show the moments that followed, when she'd discovered his infidelity. The photograph didn't show the resounding slap she'd delivered.

  The press liked to paint her as someone who hopped from boyfriend to boyfriend, who liked to play with men's hearts and give kisses freely, but it wasn't the truth. Not at all.

  She fell in love easily. Too easily, as the line of jerks that had left her with a broken heart could attest to.

  But the media didn't care about that.

  Voices intruded, and she slouched in the wingback chair in the palace's blue parlor.

  It sounded like her sister and her new—American—beau. She'd welcomed her sister back to the palace last night and met the handsome, dark-bearded man, but she didn't want company now. Maybe if she was quiet enough, still enough, they wouldn't find her here, and she could continue her sulk in private.

  "You're having brunch with Eloise?" Gideon asked.

  "Mm hmm. Worried about being left to your own devices?"

  There was a quiet moment, and Mia squeezed her eyes closed, imagining her sister locking lips with the handsome American.

  "Not too worried," came Gideon's voice, amused and warm. "I might sneak down and talk with your head of security while you're busy."

  "Again?"

  "There were a couple of recent email threats that they should look into."

  Mia's pulse sped momentarily. She'd been a part of the motorcade that the bombing had narrowly missed just three months ago. It had been the most frightening thing she'd ever experienced, and for brief seconds she'd thought she wouldn't survive. Since then, palace life had returned to a normal, if more vigilant, state.

  She'd hoped that the threat was past, but it seemed Gideon didn't think so. Did he know something she didn't, or was his suspicion because of his former role as a soldier and the near-misses Alessandra had had?

  "Stop worrying so much," Alessandra said to her beau. "You'll start to go prematurely gray, and then my people will think I'm dating a much older man."

  "I'll stop taking precautions when I'm certain there are no threats against the woman I love."

  It was a swoon-worthy statement. Mia's stomach twisted. Some of it was happiness for her sister. Some of it, she hated to admit, was envy. She wanted that kind of love for herself. Was desperate for it.

  Her eyes fell to the front page again, as Alessandra and Gideon's voices faded to murmurs. Was it her imagination, or did her desperation show in the grainy photograph?

  She couldn't go on like this. It wasn't healthy.

  She needed to prove to herself—and to the kingdom—that she wasn't just the kissing princess.

  And that's when she promised she would not kiss another man unless he was the man she would marry.

  * * *

  Gideon watched Alessandra disappear down the hall to meet her sister. He stood with both hands in the front pockets of his slacks, posture relaxed, just in case she turned around.

  "I'll stop taking precautions when I'm certain there are no real threats against the woman I love."

  He was fairly sure he'd convinced her that all he was thinking about was her security. Right now, nothing could be further from the truth.

  When she turned the corner at the end of the opulent, marble-floored hall, he swiveled on his heel and marched back to the quarters he'd been assigned, in a different hall than where the princesses resided. He unrolled his shirt sleeves as he walked, pushing the cuffs back down and buttoning them.

  He had another mission in mind today. And one didn't have an audience with the king in shirtsleeves. Inside the richly-appointed bedroom, he checked his black leather shoes for scuffs—none—and pulled the tie out of the top pocket of his suitcase, laid out on the foot of the bed.

  Carrie had helped him pick it out. He'd confided in his sister before he and Alessandra had left the United States. She thought his plan to ask the king for Alessandra's hand before planning an extravagant proposal was romantic and perfect.

  He wished he was as certain.

  He stood before the bureau mirror, tucking the tie around his neck and knotting it.

  In the past three months, he and Alessandra had been almost inseparable. He'd escorted her home a week after her near-fatal poisoning and met her older sister, Eloise. The king had been home, but the recent events had laid him up with an "episode," and Gideon hadn't had a chance to meet the man.

  Gideon had stayed with Alessandra for nearly two months as the kingdom reeled from the attempts on their royal family. Had worked extensively with the security team, and although they hadn't discovered an inside man, their procedures had been sloppy, and the head of security had been happy to have Gideon as an advisor.

  Then, they'd returned to the United States to the ranch. This time, with two of Alessandra's staff members as she worked on a proposal for a children's program that she'd been dreaming about for years. He'd had a few weeks to work with Nate and make some decisions about the ranch. Matt was back on active duty, and Gideon only had contact with him an occasional email and even rarer phone calls.

  He and Alessandra had grown closer than ever. She'd been right that they could fit into each other's lives. He'd seen her nurturing spirit in the projects for which she chose to wield her influence. She made him laugh, made him notice the little things that he was often too busy to care about.

  But there was still a part of him that worried things would fall apart. Something had happened between Carrie and Trey while he'd been in Glorvaird the first time, and although his sister had insisted that things were fine, he'd noticed the tension between them.

  And while his feelings for Alessandra had deepened and grown...what if she wasn't ready for an engagement? What if she loved him, but she didn't want to marry him?

  He knew t
here was protocol. That's why he was going to talk to her father first. But what if the man didn't approve? Gideon had no royal bloodlines. Although the ranch made a small profit most years, the real asset was their land. In no way was he considered rich.

  Why in the world would the king agree?

  But Gideon wasn't a coward, and he wasn't going to back down from this. He straightened the lapel of his suit jacket in the mirror and ran his comb through his hair once more—Alessandra had insisted he keep the beard—before gritting a frown and then turning for the door.

  But before he left... He went to the suitcase once more and dug out the small, square jeweler's box he'd stowed beneath his drawers. For luck.

  He'd had to work to convince the king's aide to give him the meeting, trusting the man with the real reason. Now he met the aide in the hall and followed the serious-faced fellow down another long hallway to a set of double-doors decorated with swirls of what might be real gold.

  Gideon took one last deep breath as the doors swung open.

  "You'll have a quarter hour," the assistant said in low tones as Gideon passed by him to enter the room.

  The doors closed behind him.

  The king sat behind a large cherry-wood desk ensconced in a fancy wheelchair. Alessandra had told Gideon what to expect when he eventually met her father—not knowing this was planned for today—but the man's wasted muscles and thinning white hair were still a shock. Gideon hid his reaction by bowing from the waist, the way he'd been instructed.

  "Your Highness. Thank you for taking this meeting with me."

  He straightened, meeting the King's stare. Though the man's body was failing him, there was no weakness in his shrewd gaze.

  * * *

  Alessandra sat across a small tea table from her older sister. Fine china and an elegant spread of pastries and fruit covered the white lacy tablecloth.

  "So you're set on the American cowboy?"

  Eloise wasn't one to mince words. Her sister's eyes met Alessandra's briefly and then skittered away. She didn't like to look at anyone in the face for very long. After years of being around her sister, Alessandra was used to it, though it still hurt.