by Cindy Gerard
It was selfish, she knew, to let Gregory go on protecting her when the only threat she still faced was from the life she had been born and bred by royal blood to lead. Sadder still, she couldn’t rally the strength to do anything but take advantage. She would let him protect her from the encroachment of a life she had lived for twenty-eight years.
For just a little while longer. Just a little while longer, even though she felt the shame of her weakness like she felt the burden of the obligations that waited for her. Just a little longer—until she garnered the courage to tell him about William.
She glanced at Gregory. An enveloping sadness replaced the impossible yearning in her heart. Who will protect you, Gregory, she thought as she turned her gaze from his and back to the prairie beyond the walled gardens. Who will protect you from the pain when I finally find the strength to tell you of my betrayal?
Even as she posed the question, she knew there was only one answer. She, and only she, could be the one. She would shield him from the pain by cushioning it with the gift of his son.
The thought of telling him made her heart race. He wouldn’t understand. When she finally found the courage to tell him, he would never be able to comprehend her reasons for keeping William from him all these years. And while those reasons were compelling, there was no possible way for her to make it up to him.
She couldn’t make it up, but she could correct it. One look at the way William’s blue eyes—eyes so like his father’s—lit up when Gregory had ruffled his hair in a gesture of genuine, honest affection, and she’d known she had to correct it for William’s sake. Even if in doing so, she would risk losing William, too.
An even bigger risk, however, was the gamble she’d be taking with William’s tender heart. She had no assurances that Gregory would embrace him as his own. Yes, it was apparent that Gregory was open to liking, possibly loving, William, but there were no guarantees that he would want to become an instant father of a child he had never known. To have his life cluttered with a timid little boy who was hungry for the father he deserved.
That gamble alone was enough reason to hold, for a little longer, a silence bred by a secret that had not yet run its course. She could not, would not return to Obersbourg until she was certain of Gregory’s love for their child. Then and only then could she tell him.
Dawn slid across the vast West Texas horizon like the silver streak of a distant, slow moving train. No pastel butterfly emerging from a cocoon, it was all blazing light and dazzling color as the cobalt of night blended and bled, and graciously gave way to a blue so brilliant it burned.
Anna hugged a borrowed bathrobe around her and watched the sunrise from the patio in suspended awe, indulging in its spectacle and the morning quiet until the house woke up around her. Only when the delicious scents from Juanita’s kitchen teased her senses did she rouse herself enough to return to the bedroom Gregory had given her. She quickly showered, then blessed Harriet, who had not only packed William’s pajamas but some fresh underwear and a pair of Anna’s jeans and a pale-blue cotton sweater.
Tito and William came tumbling out of the house and into the yard as Anna sat down at the table on the airy screened-in patio. A soft breeze ruffled her hair as she sat in a teak chair beneath a ceiling of hand-hewn Douglas fir beams. The bluestone floor beneath her bare feet held the coolness of the past night; embers from a fire Juanita had built last evening glowed orange-gold in the open fire pit at her back.
In the sweet shade of this vine-covered extension of the main house, she appreciated the ornamental grasses dotting the edge of a low stone fence that lead to a kidney-shaped pool. Juanita had pointed out the West Texas native sotol; a plant with narrow, serrated leaves that sent up tall flower stalks in the spring.
Spring. She wondered where spring would find her.
Her gaze swept the garden dotted with Mexican stone sculptures resembling plump turkeys and horse heads. A fountain bubbled peacefully near the sculptures, and suddenly she yearned to be sitting on one of the many stone benches circling it. William and Tito sat giggling in the grass nearby. She was about to join them when a horse disguised as a dog galloped straight toward William, who sat cross-legged with a glass of milk and a piece of Juanita’s special cinnamon toast.
Alarmed by the size of the dog, Anna rose swiftly from her chair.
A strong hand gripped her wrist and stopped her.
“Leave them. They’re fine.”
She hadn’t heard Gregory approach. Wasn’t prepared for the impact of his touch. Or for the way her heart kicked up when she lifted her gaze to his as he sat down and indicated she should do the same.
She couldn’t take her gaze from his face—could barely digest the words as he spoke in his slow, Texas way, his attention on the boys, avoiding eye contact with her.
“Cosmo won’t hurt the boy.”
“Cosmo?” Breaking the tether of his effect on her, her gaze swung back to the huge dog as he put on the brakes and parked his lumbering black self right between the boys.
When Tito laughed, William joined in. After only a little hesitation, he reached out to pet the shaggy Newfoundland, who promptly rolled over onto his back and begged for a belly rub.
Until she had brought him to Texas, William would have shied from his own shadow. Today he set his milk aside, fed Cosmo the last of his toast, then flung his arms around the dog’s neck and snuggled against him as if he was a big teddy bear.
Tears stung her eyes as she watched. William’s open gesture of trust was both heartwarming and humbling. As little as four months ago, he wouldn’t have known how to react to the trusting affection the dog exuded.
A sad smile tilted one corner of her mouth. Four months ago, he wouldn’t have been sitting in the grass in denims with frayed knees and a Cowboys T-shirt that Juanita had found for him in a box of cast-off clothes Tito had outgrown. He would have been doing what his grandparents expected of him.
It was now, as he displayed this uninhibited and open affection, that she accepted full measure what her parents’ staunch, staid exceptions had done to him. And she was ashamed that she had not been more effective in undercutting their influence.
Little boys should laugh without fear of reprisal. Before he came to Texas, William rarely laughed. Little boys should run like the wind and wrestle in the dirt. William had never been allowed to get dirty.
Little boys should be little boys—not miniature men, conditioned to always display impeccable manners, to being seen and not heard, to always look like they had dressed to pay homage to a king.
And she had to take him back to all that.
Aware, suddenly, of Gregory’s dark eyes on her, she made herself relax. Muscle by muscle, she let the tension flow from her body—until she made eye contact with Gregory again.
Like the dawn, Gregory Hunt was a stunning addition to the morning. Like her, he’d recently showered. Like her, he’d dressed in denims. There the similarities ended. And as they took stock of each other over the steaming plates of western omelettes and fresh melons that Juanita set before them, she’d never been more aware of those differences.
Drifting above the delicious aroma of Juanita’s breakfast, a hint of scent—the deep, masculine scent of his aftershave—arrested her attention, took her back to yesterday and the kiss they had shared.
Until that moment, she had managed to keep at bay the sweet, heated desire he had never failed to bring to flash point when they had been lovers. Until yesterday when he’d held her again, until he’d gentled her with his words, then aroused her with his touch, she had been able to keep her need for him under control. And now because she had given in, she couldn’t look at him without wanting to make love to him.
She should have resisted. When he’d touched his strong, lean fingers to her face, when he’d pressed tender kisses to her brow, she should have resisted. She’d known where it would lead. She’d known and she hadn’t stopped him. Couldn’t have stopped him if her life had hung in the balance. For his
touch, for his kiss, she would risk anything. And now it seemed she had. She’d risked her heart again, and judging by the closed look on his face, the gamble hadn’t paid off.
She eased away from her dismal thoughts as Harriet joined them.
“What a fine morning.” With a grin and a nod toward the boys and the dog, she sat down and poured herself a cup of coffee. “And to think, tomorrow I’ll be slogging through six inches of slush and snow trying to convince myself it’s pretty.”
“Tomorrow?” Anna lost the battle to keep the alarm from her voice. “You’re leaving?”
When Harriet turned kind eyes to her and nodded, she felt her fingers grow cold under the Texas sun.
“It’s Christmas next week, honey,” Harriet said gently. “My family is in New York. They expect me there.”
Christmas. Family. Of course. Of course, she’d known Christmas was only a week away. She’d known Harriet would be leaving for a family visit. With all that had happened, it had slipped her mind. For someone like Harriet, the holidays would be a time of family celebration, of homecoming and warm embraces.
She made herself smile. She hadn’t realized until this moment how she had grown to depend on Harriet’s genuine warmth and affection. “I’ll miss you. William will miss you.”
Harriet’s smile hovered somewhere between affection and sorrow. “That goes both ways.” She hesitated, glanced at a hard-faced Greg then back to Anna. “Will I see you here when I return to Royal after New Year’s?”
Anna couldn’t find it in her to meet Harriet’s kind eyes. “I...I don’t know. I—”
“It’s all right.” Harriet covered Anna’s cold hands with hers. “If not here, we’ll make sure we get together again soon, okay?”
It was a time-honored ploy to avoid the pain of dealing with a goodbye that neither wanted to accept. So Anna played the game, for Harriet’s sake and for hers.
“Absolutely. We’ll keep in touch.”
Yet when Harriet left the table to join the boys and spend some time with William before she left for Royal to pack for tomorrow’s flight, Anna struggled with a sad certainty that she might never see Harriet again.
Greg watched the exchange with a mood that grew blacker by the minute. This was not how things were supposed to work out. He was not supposed to feel these things for Anna—things that started with empathy, built to concern, drifted hard and heavy toward a desire he’d only pretended no longer existed.
Hell. She wasn’t supposed to end up here. Not here, the one place where he’d always been able to escape to be free of her. Her sanctuary was not supposed to overlap with his.
Casa Royale had always been that. His sanctuary. His pocket of paradise carved out of the heat of West Texas. He’d never brought a woman here. Had never intended for Anna to end up here but he’d run out of options yesterday. As he watched her steel herself to deal with the pain of letting go of yet one more person who was special to her, he felt close to the end of his control as well.
Four years ago he had never planned on falling in love with her. Once he had, he’d never planned on letting her go. She was the one who had done the walking away. She was the one who had said goodbye.
Now she was back in his life. She was back, and unfortunately, every time he turned around she seemed to be more deeply rooted into his existence—like he was rooted to life in the West Texas soil. He had to remember that the soil in Texas was shallow. Transplanted vegetation did not flourish here. Like life, it had to be nurtured in order to sustain it, and it had to be resilient enough to grow.
Despite her fragile appearance, Anna was resilient. She’d proven that. But, like his carefully tended gardens, she was not native. There was little chance that she would thrive here. And he, he had no business even thinking along those lines.
Yet fool that he was, with increased involvement, came a damnably increasing need. He wanted to be the one to slay her dragons, to free her from the sadness in her heart and heal the world of hurt she tried to hide behind those fathomless green eyes.
For some unaccountable reason he didn’t want to explore, he was also drawn to that quiet, tentative little boy of hers. William’s reserve called out to him in a way he couldn’t explain. Recurrent and unreasonable notions kept cropping up, telling him that he ought to be the one to open the locked door so the child behind those serious blue eyes could come out and play.
He was getting in too deep. Way too deep. He was letting himself get involved with thoughts of both Anna and the child that weren’t his to consider.
Abruptly, he rose from the table, steeled himself against the look of her, green eyes questioning, the long, unbound silk of her hair trailing halfway down her back.
“If you’ll excuse me. I have work that needs my attention.”
He left her then. Walked straight to his office. Shut the door. And there, by God, he told himself he would stay until he came to his senses, or at least until he got a handle on them.
Six
“The filly’s all heart and speed, Mr. Hunt. She’s gonna be a good one.” Alexandro Hernandez handed Greg the stopwatch and jomed him at trackside. “She’ll be more than ready to start the novice circuit this spring.”
Forearms draped over the white rails of the fence bordering the quarter-mile practice track, Greg squinted against a noonday sun as the little blue roan danced and fought the bit at the starting gate. Her coat gleamed. Well-honed muscle quivered.
“You’ve done a good job with her Alex. Who’s on board today?” He nodded toward a rider he didn’t recognize.
Alexandro grinned. “It’s Ramon.”
Greg did a double take then smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned if it isn’t. When did your little Ramon get so big?”
“He’s only little in his mother’s eyes.” The men exchanged knowing looks. “He turned fifteen in September.”
“He could always ride. Let’s see what he does with the filly.”
Chest puffed with pride, Alexandro gave a signal to the gate man. Thirty seconds later, horse and rider burst out of the gate. Greg set the watch.
As fast as a desert wind, Ramon jockeyed the filly down the quarter-mile track and across the finish line. Greg hit the second button, checked the time. Smiling, he showed it to Alex.
Alex chuckled. “Told you.”
“Told me straight, too. She can flat-out fly. The boy’s good with her.”
“He has the touch, my Ramon.”
“Is he on salary?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Hunt. Ramon just rides because he loves it.”
“Put him on salary,” Greg said firmly but with open friendship when Alexandro looked hesitant. “Hell, a kid’s got to have a little pocket money. Looks as if he more than earns the right. No, don’t get all waffly on this. If you lived in town he’d probably be working at a grocery store or at the diner for some spending money. Since he doesn’t have the opportunity way out here and since, from what I can see, he’ll be worth every dime, let’s just give him a little incentive.”
He clapped a hand on Alexandro’s shoulder as they ducked under the rail and walked toward Ramon and the racer. “Work it out with Juanita. We don’t want her getting upset and worrying that Ramon will neglect his schoolwork.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hunt. That’s very generous.”
“What it is, is fair,” Greg insisted, and approaching the filly, he offered Ramon the praise he was due.
Later, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of a lightweight denim jacket, Greg ducked into the relative warmth of the barns and took his time inspecting his stock. He’d taken his time doing a lot of things since he’d brought Anna here two days ago. Mostly, he’d taken his time staying away from her. Not that it had done any good. Whether he was holed up in his office, haunting the track, riding the range or keeping the hands up with late-night poker games in the bunkhouse, it was Anna he thought of. Anna, who kept him wandering and wondering exactly where they went from here.
Today, he was determined to shake it
off. After joining Alexandro for coffee in the tidy house that he and Juanita and their boys shared south of the main house, he’d wandered back to the barns. He didn’t get out to Casa Royale as often as he would like. And he sure as hell didn’t make it to as many races as would make him happy. But he surely did enjoy the shadowed quiet and the soft sounds that were intrinsic to a horse barn.
The racers nickered softly as he approached each stall. The soft snuffling as they contented themselves with hay from their mangers, the bubbling giggles—
Giggles?
With narrowed eyes and a soft step, he approached the stall at the far end of the alley. Very quietly, he peered inside—to see two little boys hand-feeding oats to a sloe-eyed brood mare. Since he knew Juanita forbade Tito to be underfoot in the barns unless she or Alexandro were with him, he decided he had a couple of little desperadoes on his hands.
“Afternoon, gents,” Greg said, in his best papa bear voice. “Do your mothers know what you’re up to?”
As wiry as a monkey and just as fast, Tito clambered up the side of the stall, hooked his toe in the wire manger, and vaulted over the side. He was making tracks and racing out the barn door before William’s eyes had popped back in their sockets.
Belatedly, William shot straight toward the stall door to make his own escape.
“Whoa, there.” Greg latched on to the boy’s belt when he tried to wedge his way between Greg’s widespread legs and out of the stall. “What’s the rush?”
The minute he touched him, the little boy froze in his tracks. Stiff as a fence post, he stilled to an extreme military form of attention.
Greg frowned, hunkered down in front of him. He stared at the boy’s lowered head, thumbed back his Stetson. Not liking the fear in the boy’s stance, he proceeded cautiously.
“You like horses, do you?” What little he could see of the small hands poking out from the sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt were balled into fists at William’s sides.