The Cowboy and the Princess (6 page)
She spoke of it to Rosalind. Carefully of course, testing the waters. Her nursemaid had assured Annie that her emotions were nothing more than prewedding jitters. She had been born into the complex life of royalty. There was no long-term escape. It was her duty, and should be her honor, to rule over Dubinstein with her husband.
Husband.
That was the sticking point. In less than two months she’d be forever shackled to a man she did not love. If only for a little while, she desperately wanted to know what it felt like to be desired by a man that
she
was attracted to.
A man like Brady Talmadge?
Just looking at him made her body grow warm in soft places. He wore faded jeans with a rip in one knee, probably caught it on barbwire once and never bothered mending it. His hair, as dark as the color she’d dyed her tresses, was neither clipped short nor long, but a medium length just on the right side of shaggy. She lowered her eyelids, looked at him through the fringe of her lashes, not wanting him to see that she was inspecting him.
Why not be honest? No point fooling herself. She was admiring him. All manly muscles and angular bones.
“Annie,” Brady repeated. “You awake?”
She had trouble hearing him over the masculine rumblings of the big diesel engine. “Yes.”
“Who were those guys?” he asked.
“What guys?” She stared at the dashboard of his truck. There were all kind of knobs and dials lit by a faint green light. A laser radar detector, GPS tracking device, and the satellite radio were mounted there. It reminded her that she had tossed her cell phone in the lake on her way from the presidential compound so that she couldn’t be tracked through the GPS inside it.
“You know what guys. The men at the restaurant. One tall. One short. Sunglasses at night. Fedoras. Not your typical truck stop patrons. The ones you were so anxious to hide from that you asked me to kiss you.”
“Oh, them. They were just some people I did not want to see,” she said.
“How come you didn’t want to see them? Were they old boyfriends?”
“That is a very impertinent question.”
“Impertinent, huh?”
“Examine this topic from my position if you will,” she said.
“What position is that?”
“You told me you do not like liars. Do not make me lie to you.”
“I don’t like people who keep secrets either. Secrets aren’t good for anyone. C’mon, let the truth out. You’ll feel better.”
“You cannot expect full disclosure from someone you just met.”
“Why not?”
“By nature, humans are reluctant to trust. Unscrupulous individuals could use their secrets against them. People need to protect themselves from getting hurt. Life never taught you that?”
“Life taught me secrets are the things that hurt people the most.”
“What secrets hurt you?” Annie murmured.
“We’re not talking about me. I gotta know one thing,” he said. “This thing you’re running from, is it a husband or a possessive boyfriend?”
In a way, it was, but she knew that was not how he meant it. “No.”
“That’s good to know.”
“What are
you
running from?” she asked.
“Who says I’m running from anything?”
“You are pulling your home behind you.”
“Roots,” he said. “I’m running from roots.”
“Roots?”
“You know. Like tree roots.”
“And why are you afraid of tree roots?”
“I don’t like being tied down.”
“You have been married before?”
“No. That’s the point.”
“Have you ever come close to getting married?”
“No, but hey, how come I always end up answering the questions and you keep sidestepping them?”
“Because people like to talk about themselves more than they enjoy listening to others talk about themselves.”
“You saying I’m self-centered?”
She shrugged. “I am saying you are normal. You like to talk about yourself. You run away from commitment . . .”
“You’re hardly in a position to judge.”
“I did not say that I was.”
“Darn straight.”
She canted her head. He was handsome enough to be an outlaw. Especially when he flashed that grin. She did not have much experience with men, outlaws or otherwise. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“How personal?”
“You do not have to answer.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you want most in life, Mr. Talmadge?”
“Brady,” he said. “You can call me Brady. After all I did save you from that guy back there.”
“You did. I said thank you. Now answer the question.”
“You have a way of ordering people around. It’s polite and all, but it’s still ordering. Bossy. You’re bossy.”
“So you do not know what you want most in life?”
“I want for nothing. I’m living the dream.”
“How does one get to be that happy?” she mused.
“By keeping things simple. Not getting involved. Light. That’s the way to get through life. Light and easy.”
“You got involved with me tonight.”
“You caught me at a weak moment. Atypical.”
Wind buffeted the truck. A fresh round of upset rain pounded the windshield. Brady slowed.
“Does it always rain like this in Texas?” Annie asked.
“This time of year? Hardly ever. But an unseasonably early hurricane hit Brownsville this morning at dawn, and we’re reaping the fallout. You don’t like rain?”
“It is very sunny where I am from.”
“And where is that?”
“Shh.” Annie brought an index finger to her lips. “That’s another secret.”
“You know that’s driving me nuts. I think it’s why you keep hinting at secrets. You enjoy seeing me squirm.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“You know,” he said. “I never understood that saying. Just how
did
curiosity kill the cat? I want specifics.”
“I think it means he stuck his nose in where it did not belong and someone cut if off.”
“His nose or his curiosity?”
“Maybe it was something else altogether.”
“Are you threatening me, Annie Coste?” he teased.
“Now why on earth would you think that?”
“You’re a sharp one. How did you learn to be so slick? Lots of younger brothers and sisters keep you on your toes?”
“Why younger?”
“You’re too highhanded to be anything but the oldest child.”
“I am an only child.” Sort of. It was the way she saw herself. There was Henry of course, but he was so much younger, he was more like a nephew than a brother.
“So where did you learn the saucy give-and-take?”
“My nur—” She almost said “nursemaid,” but stopped just in time. Regular people didn’t have nursemaids growing up. Rosalind was only sixteen years older than she. They’d had a sisterly relationship when other people were not around to discourage it. “My neighbor,” she finished. “We were close. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“Four brothers.”
“Gracious, your poor mother. Five boys.”
“We did give her hell,” he admitted ruefully.
“What is your birth order?”
“Middle child.”
“Hmm, that offers a bit of explanation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps that is the reason why you are a nomad. Growing up, you felt displaced.”
“Who says I felt displaced?”
“It is the fate of the middle child. Is it not? To be displaced. What do your brothers do?”
“Cody, my oldest brother, is thirty-five. He’s a chemical engineer. Works in oil and gas. He’s married and got two boys. Big house, big mortgage, all those things that trap a man.”
“You are afraid of being trapped.”
“I’m afraid of talkative hitchhikers.”
“What about the other brothers?”
“Colton is second oldest. He’s thirty-three. He’s a rancher, lives in Montana. Leif is twenty-seven, he’s getting married next year. He’s a musician in Austin. My youngest brother, J.D., is twenty-three and a bull rider.”
“You are all cowboys?”
“We are.”
“Did your parents move around a lot when you were children?”
“Nope. They’ve lived in the same house for thirty-six years.”
“Where is that?”
“Llano.”
“Is that far from here?”
“About a three-hour drive. You done with the interview?”
“For now.” She stretched, raised her arms over her head, felt her blouse slip from her waistband and expose a stretch of bare abdomen. She noticed that Brady noticed. “Do you like navel rings?” she asked.
He coughed, blinked. “What?”
“Navel rings. I understand they are quite popular. Do you like them?”
“Um, I dunno. Yeah, I guess. Sure. Why?”
She placed a hand to her belly. “I think a navel ring would be quite seductive. A small gold hoop, winking in the light. A navel ring says,
I am a daring woman
.”
“Are you?” Brady asked. “A daring woman?”
She tilted her head and gave a coy smile. “I think I’ll get a navel ring. What else do you think I should have pierced?”
“Uh . . . uh . . .” A disconcerted expression crossed his face. He was so busy staring at her belly that when oncoming headlights rounded the bend ahead, Annie realized he’d had his eyes off the road long enough to drift into the wrong lane.
She reached over, took hold of the wheel, and guided the truck back to where it belonged. Immediately, he clamped his hands over hers. “I’ve got it.”
Heart thumping, Annie let go, eased back against her seat. The heat from his palms lingered, seeping through the backs of her hands, drifting into her bloodstream. An indolent flash of something erotic yawned, shook its sleepy head, smacked its lips. “Next time, you should consider keeping your eyes on the road.”
“Next time, you shouldn’t talk about piercing parts of that awesome body with a man pulling a forty-foot horse trailer behind him. I’ve got a vivid imagination about those places you’re considering piercing.”
She reached to finger her earlobes. “I was talking about my ears. What were
you
thinking?”
He swiped a palm across his forehead. “That a woman like you shouldn’t poke unnecessary holes in herself.”
“Then I am fortunate that it is not your decision.” She didn’t even know for sure if she was going to get her ears and navel pierced. She just wanted to do something to remind her of her wild Texas adventures in the years ahead. “I suppose I could get a tattoo instead.”
“No!”
She startled, splayed a hand to her chest.
“Absolutely no tattoos,” he said.
“You have a tattoo,” she pointed out, peering at the galloping horse on his right biceps partially hidden by the short sleeve of his shirt.”
“That’s how I know you don’t want one. You can’t take it back once you do it.”
“It is a very lovely tattoo. Why do you regret it?”
“I didn’t say I regretted it. I said you can’t take it back.”
“If you do not regret it, why would you want to take it back?”
He scrunched up his face. “Why do you ask so many questions?”
“There’s so much to learn!”
“Learn?”
She pressed a hand to her mouth. Tightrope walking. She had to be careful. She felt a strange urge to tell him all her secrets. That was a fatal impulse. “I can share one secret.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m only in Texas for a few weeks and then I must depart.”
“Back to where you came from?”
“Back to where I came from,” she echoed.
“So this is a sabbatical of sorts.”
“Exactly.”
“The hitchhiking, piercings, tattoos are all your attempt to cram the most living into the least amount of time.” Outside the rain went from splattered to patter. A sliver of moon swam in a sea of black clouds.
“You understand.”
“What precisely are you taking a sabbatical from?”
“Other people’s rules,” she replied honestly.
“I’ve never been a fan of other people’s rules myself.”
“I have observed that.”
“You’ve already got me figured out.”
“Yes, I have dove-holed you.”
“Dove-holed?” Brady hooted. Making fun.
“Is that not right?” She worried her collar with her fingers.
“What? Oh, you mean pigeonholed.”
“Yes, that is it. Wrong bird.”
Brady’s warm, rich laugh rolled right over her. “You’re something else, you know that?”
“What else?”
“It’s an expression. Meaning you’re different. Special.”
Yes, she knew that. Being different and special was what she was running away from. “What is it like?” she asked.
“What?” He turned on his blinker, changed lanes to pass a slow-moving truck transporting ice cream. A picture of a cow was plastered on the side of the truck along with a slogan proclaiming: “Simple Pleasures.” The cow wore a red bell around her neck and was smiling like a human.
“This place called Jubilee.”
He shrugged. “It’s a horse town.”
“Does that mean that it is a very small town?”
“You’re thinking of a one-horse town.”
“So may idioms. What is the difference?”
“Jubilee literally is the cutting horse capital of the world.”
“What is a cutting horse?”
“Usually it’s a quarter horse, but it can be other breeds. Once upon a time cutting horses were used to work livestock on a ranch. Now, mostly it’s a sport.”
“A sport?”
“Like rodeo events. Bull riding or steer wrestling.”
“Cutting horses are not in the rodeo?”
“No, they have a venue all their own.”
“I see.”
“It’s clear why you came here to learn.”
“I can assure you that my education is quite comprehensive,” she said, mildly offended. “I speak six languages.”
“No kidding?”
“
Je parle français
.”
“French.”
“
Ich spreche Deutsches
.”
“German?”
She had to speak German. It was the national language of Dubinstein. “Excellent guess.
Eu falo o português.
”
“Portuguese.”
“
Parlo Italiano
.”
“Simple and to the point, those Italians.”
“
Hablo español
.”
“Poco.”
“Oh, you speak Spanish as well?” That surprised and delighted her.
