The Godmother (Everland Ever After Book 11)

by Caroline Lee

“And then,” he added, with a loving smile, “there’s little Antonia. She arrived in Micah’s life as an infant the same time Penelope did, and they are as much a family as can be possible. She calls me Papa and tugs on my hair, and although I would never tell the others, I suspect she’s my favorite.”

  Well, he sounded so adorably proud, so conspiratorial, as if he had the best grandchildren in the whole world, that Christa had to smile. No, more than that. She had to wrap her fingers through his, to squeeze tightly, to agree with him. As far as she was concerned, he did have the best grandchildren in the world.

  “I can’t wait to meet them.”

  It wasn’t until she’d said the words out loud that she realized she meant them. He blinked, surprised, and she wondered if they were both thinking of the same deeper meaning.

  Meeting his family would mean more time with him. Another chance to be with him which had nothing to do with poker or Max DeVille, or anything else other than the fact she just wanted to get to know him better.

  She wanted to hold his hand and wanted to lean against him for warmth. Wanted to make him smile and hear his voice fill with pride when he spoke of his family.

  You want to kiss him.

  Wanted to kiss—

  Wait, what?

  Oh, go on, admit it.

  Maybe.

  Well, yes. Yes. For the first time in a long while, she wanted to kiss a man, and she wanted to be kissed in return.

  And that was the honest truth.

  So she smiled, and his hesitant expression melted into a welcoming one.

  “Christa, you have no idea how much I’d like that.” He squeezed her hand. “I can’t wait to introduce you to my family and show you around Everland.”

  There was a promise in that declaration, and she found herself excited by it.

  Chapter 5

  It wasn’t until their food arrived that Andrew realized he’d spent an inordinate amount of time talking about himself. “Look at me, dominating the conversation as if I’m someone special!”

  When she smiled gently, cutting her steak, he felt parts of himself warm.

  “I enjoyed it. And you are special. It’s clear from the way you talk about your family that they mean very much to you.”

  “After so long without my son, how could I not spend as much time as possible with them? That’s why I had my home built here in Everland, and why I’m here as often as possible.”

  “And why you donated to rebuild the orphanage you told me about. Now Micah and his family are able to live in luxury.” She flicked a glance up at him long enough to wink. “And there’s space for future additions.”

  He had to grin at that. “I confess I’m anxiously awaiting that announcement from Penelope, but I will be just as satisfied if they continue to adopt. As long as I get to still be Papa!”

  When she chuckled, the throaty sound did something to his stomach, and he found himself watching her lips as she chewed. What was it about Christa Harrington which affected him so? He couldn’t recall reacting this way to his wife almost thirty years ago. Maybe it was just age and maturity which lent him the time needed to appreciate a woman the way she ought to be appreciated.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he blurted out.

  Her brow flicked up, and she leaned back in her chair as she chewed. She had a unique way of moving, as if she weren’t as constrained by corsets and bustles as other women. But if she were used to dressing and walking like a man, that could be explained.

  Finally, she swallowed, and said sardonically, “What’s there to tell?”

  Surprised, a chuckle burst out of him. “What’s there to—? Christa, you are the most intriguing woman I’ve ever met.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’d like to know, for instance, what brought you to Everland? Was it just to join the poker game at The Gingerbread House?”

  Surely not, or she would’ve left by now.

  She took her time answering, a little grin on her face. “You know, I wondered if you’d seen through my disguise that night. I didn’t expect to run into you again yesterday while I was dressed as a woman.”

  “I’m most certainly glad you did because if you’d been dressed as a man, people might wonder why I was inviting you out to dinner, and why I was smiling at you the way I’ve been smiling.”

  Her laughter was just as husky and intriguing as she was.

  Settling into a sigh, she popped a forkful of beans into her mouth and washed it down with a sip of wine, then met his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “I’ve spent years traveling around the tables, nothing too big or fancy, but I make enough to keep traveling and send money home to support my family. My older brothers and younger sisters—most of them depend on what I can send home. But…” Her gaze dropped to her plate, as she began to fiddle with her fork. “On my last trip home, I saw a job advertised that intrigued me. It’s here in Everland, and so I came out. If I can get the job, I’ll still be able to play poker, and I might still be able to travel.”

  Had he thought himself intrigued before?

  Humming, he reached for his wine. “What’s the job?”

  By cutting another piece of steak, then popping it into her mouth, she was able to avoid answering the question. He studied her, wondering what she was hiding, and a realization crept over him: he didn’t like the idea of her having to work. With so many people relying on her, what kind of stress must she be under? He wanted to shower her with gifts and allow her to live in luxury.

  Good God, man. Are you thinking marriage?

  Maybe his expression showed his reaction to his thoughts, because when she finally met his eyes again, she winced. Apparently thinking he was still waiting for an answer—and not completely flabbergasted by thoughts he hadn’t considered for years—she sighed.

  “It’s a sort of…of matchmaking agency. The type which brings together two people.”

  “For marriage?” he blurted, surprised to have the topic brought up in the verbal conversation, as well as the one he was having in his head.

  Her nod appeared a little reluctant. “Of course. The—agency is supposed to be a secret, so I shouldn’t say much about it.”

  “I confess, even after your earlier claim, I hadn’t expected you to be a real matchmaker.”

  Her chin rose defiantly. “Why not? I’ve done my share in the past. It’s really not that difficult; mostly it comes down to research.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m just…well, I’m rather thrilled to discover that you have a romantic side, Christa.”

  It had sounded silly to him, but she obviously appreciated it, judging by the way she flushed and ducked her head, a soft smile on her lips.

  She’s a romantic. Perhaps she’ll appreciate my offer to shower her with gifts.

  But then, something struck him.

  “Max!” he blurted.

  After a jump of startlement, she went so far as to twist in her seat, peering behind her. “Where?”

  “No, I mean—” He broke off, chuckling. “Yesterday, after church, your companions said they wanted to introduce you to Max, and I offered to give you all the information I could about him if you accompanied me to dinner.”

  “Yes,” she said dryly, “but thus far you’ve been very unforthcoming.”

  “Might an old man hope that you are interested in him not as a potential beau, but as part of your matchmaking?”

  Still holding her fork, she pointed it at him in a suddenly violent movement. “Listen, Mr. Prince, stop calling yourself old. I’m barely a decade younger than you, and I’m not ready to resign myself to knitting and a wheeled chair.”

  He was finding he loved her spirit.

  “Yes, but Max is even younger,” he offered blandly.

  “And very handsome.” When she waggled her brows, he found himself smiling. “But you are correct. I am interested in him not as a potential beau—we need to discuss your language, by the way—but as a candidate for my matchmaking. I’ve been given a
trial assignment—no, I won’t tell you who the female is—and I think Max might have possibilities. If I can nail this, I’ll be accepted into the agency.”

  “Max has many possibilities,” he fired back, loving their banter. “He is a successful businessman outside of his father’s ranch, a kindhearted man, who deserves happiness. I’ve often thought he has been wasted here under the shadow of his older brother. And what’s wrong with my language?”

  “It’s not your language, per se, but the way you speak. I’ve known plenty of wealthy, stuffy men in my day who at least relax at the poker table, but you talk like you’re meeting the Queen of England! And yes, I agree with you about Max. He struck me as a good—as we say in the business—catch.”

  Andrew snorted out a laugh, then reached for the napkin to dab at his mouth. “Forgive me, that was rude. A good catch, eh?” He decided against reminding her she wasn’t “in the business” yet if her admittance into the agency relied on her successfully making this match.

  “Eh? Eh?” she repeated with a smile, as she smothered her bread with butter. “We’ll make you sound like a commoner yet, Mister Prince!”

  Smiling at their banter, he found himself studying the sure way her hands moved. They’d been what had clued him into her secret the night of the poker game. They’d been too graceful for a man, but as a woman, they were confident and strong.

  And un-callused.

  He felt himself warming again, remembering the way her fingers had felt, twined through his as she spoke about meeting his family. The thought required him to shift in his seat, surprised by how aroused this woman could make him.

  As if she knew what he was thinking about, she shot a grin up at him, and he found himself blurting out a new topic. “My father was from Scotland!”

  “Really?” She blinked as she took a bite of the bread.

  Exhaling, he forced himself to get hold of his thoughts and his free-rein libido.

  “My father…” He cleared his throat, then started again, “My father was the younger son of a minor rank in Scotland. His family is still considered lords there—lairds is the local colloquialism—and he was educated in the best schools. He married my mother for her father’s fortune, as she’d been groomed to catch a lord’s eye.”

  Christa had paused in her chewing, and he got the impression her expression was supposed to be one of shock.

  “You mean—” She swallowed her bite. “You mean to tell me, you’re royalty? Prince isn’t just your—?”

  “Good heavens, no!” He smiled as he blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair. “No, not at all. It’s just that…well, my parents had a tremendous amount of money, before I made even more, and I’ve been to a number of fancy schools, some of them even in Britain.”

  Her eyes were darting over his face, as if looking for the truth, but she didn’t seem overly in awe. “Well, I’ll be,” she whispered.

  “I was just trying to explain why my speech might seem a little…” He shrugged.

  “Highfalutin’?”

  Smiling at her teasing suggestion, he shrugged again. “I have been trying. I confess, there’s something about a lady’s presence which makes me want to—”

  “If you’re calling me a lady, I’ll throw this roll at you.”

  She sounded halfway serious, and he studied her. “Being a lady isn’t that bad. As I said, I’d hardly be able to invite Chris O’Hare to MacKinnon’s in an attempt to woo him.”

  Her lips tugged upward, and she tossed the roll back onto the plate. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. Is that what you’re doing, attempting to woo me?”

  Now it was his turn to study her expression, looking for a hint.

  “Would that be so bad, Christa?” he asked quietly.

  She took her time answering, but he liked that she was really considering his question.

  Finally, she shook her head. “No. No, Andrew, I don’t think it would be.”

  “And you don’t mind being seen with me as a lady?”

  This time her answer was faster. “I’m surprised to discover I don’t mind it, even a little. But I do want a chance to play poker with you again.” She winked. “My nieces and nephews need new shoes at Christmastime.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head and picked up his fork to scoop up potatoes. “I wouldn’t mind that at all, Christa. What is that short for, by the way? Now that you know my family’s history, surely I can be trusted to know if you really are named Christopher?”

  She sighed. “Fine. It’s… It’s Christmas. It’s a silly name, but I was born on the twenty-fourth, and my parents had a twisted sense of humor.”

  “You mean, your birthday is only a few days away?”

  Shrugging, she didn’t seem to understand the way he was looking at her. Truthfully, Andrew didn’t quite understand his reaction to the news either. He wanted to give her gifts. He wanted to make her smile. He wanted to ensure she and her family never had to worry about money again.

  There you go, thinking about marriage again.

  No he wasn’t.

  Was he?

  “Christmas is only a week away,” she pointed out, not looking at him.

  It seemed she didn’t want to follow that line of conversation, so he cleared his throat and tried to come up with something else instead. Everland! She was new to town after all.

  “Everland has a delightful Christmas celebration. It’s usually on Christmas Eve, as I understand it, but last year a snowstorm pushed it back. Rojita—her husband is the sheriff, by the way—tells me that the town ladies are hard at work planning it.”

  Christa settled back, seeming as glad for the change of subject as he was.

  “Tell me about it,” she demanded, and he obliged.

  Through the rest of the meal, he told her everything he could think of about Everland and its people, and loved the way she laughed and reacted to some of his stories, as if she knew these people as well as he’d come to know them over the last two years. Then they began swapping stories of past Christmases, and while his tales were full of gilt and dazzle, hers were full of family and love, something he’d been missing all those years without Micah.

  She asked him if he’d been to Scotland, so he told her of his visits there, and his ancestral home of Oliphant Castle, riddled with secret passages and mysterious ghost stories. He told her about his cousin’s family, and the people in the village, and the clan’s legends. And he even found himself explaining the recent troubles he’d been having with the timber and engraving industries his ancestors had founded.

  “Wait, you harvest timber in Scotland?” she interrupted.

  “It’s connected to our family lands and businesses. Centuries ago, Duncan Oliphant gained renown as a silversmith, and in his old age, he founded an engraving school to teach the art. The clan has kept it alive, and Prince Armory relies on the artists there to adorn our custom pieces.” But she’d asked about the timber. “The engraving is secondary, to be honest, I’m certain I could find artists here in the States who are equally talented, but I really don’t want to move my business away from my ancestral clan. I’m proud of the history behind each custom engraving, but it would be less of a headache, certainly.”

  “So it’s the engraving that’s giving you trouble?” she asked, as he scooped up a piece of the apple pie they were sharing. “But you haven’t moved the business?”

  “Because of the timber,” he explained. “My father’s grandfather planted a grove of walnut trees, and his son understood their value. They’re not the oldest in Scotland, not by a long shot, since they were cultivated starting in the 1600s.” She likely wasn’t interested in the horticultural history. “But they were a status symbol. My grandfather hypothesized that, when they were old enough, they could be harvested at a slow rate, dried, and used for finely crafted pieces.”

  She pointed her fork at him. “Like rifle stocks and handgun butts?”

  He should’ve known she’d understand; she was an intelligent woman. “Exactly.
We harvest one of the older specimens each year and plant five more. It takes over two years to properly age and dry the wood—I will not allow warping in my products—so we believe the grove will continue to produce for many years. The land the walnuts stand on was left to my father, and then to me. So while it falls within my cousin’s domain as Laird Oliphant, I am the owner.” He sighed. “And ultimately, in charge.”

  “And it can’t be fun trying to run a timber and engraving industry from Wyoming.”

  “Indeed,” he admitted with another sigh. “It’s not that my cousin is incompetent, it’s just that he has his hands full with the clan.”

  “He’s Laird Oliphant, but you’re a Prince? That doesn’t sound Scottish.”

  “It’s English,” he agreed. “My great-grandfather married into the family and brought his name with him. Most of the people who live in the area are Oliphants, but the laird and his sons are Princes.”

  Nodding, she swallowed down her bite and gestured with her fork for him to continue. “So what’s your plan for this headache?”

  “When I lived in New York and oversaw the armory, it wasn’t such a hardship to deal with Scottish business as well. I’m not certain why; perhaps because I was younger then, or perhaps because I was surrounded by competent assistants.”

  She hummed and used her fork to cut a chunk of the pie. “But now you’re splitting your time between the city and Everland. You’re older—not old”—she sent him a cautionary glare which made him grin—“and you’re spending a significant amount of time traveling. That can’t be good for you.”

  “I trust my foremen and assistants implicitly,” he protested. “I’ve been able to spend more and more time here in Everland.”

  “Yes, but when you’re here, what are you thinking about?”

  Before he had the chance to figure out what she meant, she gestured with the piece of pie on her fork.

  “Your family,” she stated emphatically. “And you should. You’ve spent years building your empire, Andrew, and now you should have the chance to rest on your laurels and enjoy your family. You don’t need to spend the time overseeing two distant empires.”