37 Her Highness and the Bodyguard

by Christine Rimmer

  What do you know?

  Twenty-point-six miles straight ahead. Rowdy’s Roadhouse. Music, liquor, pool tables, video poker—and dancing nightly. Just what Allie had promised she’d find if she only went looking.

  Humming along to a song about a man who was hard to love, Rhia swung out onto the empty highway again, headed for Rowdy’s.

  * * *

  Captain Marcus Desmarais lived to serve his country.

  And right now he was doing one craptastic job of it—as the Americans might say.

  He drove the black SUV faster than he should have, hardly slowing as he went through Elk Creek, eyes scanning the street, on one side and then the other, looking for a shiny red pickup or a beautiful dark-haired woman dressed in a blue silk suit with a snug jacket and a short, slim skirt that showed off her fine, long legs.

  He didn’t see either—the woman or the pickup.

  That had better mean she was up ahead of him.

  She had better not have turned off the main highway. If she’d done that, he might never find her until she was damn good and ready to be found.

  But no. He was going to find her and he wasn’t allowing himself to think otherwise. He would find her. Or she would come back on her own within the next few hours. He would consider no other possibility. He ground his teeth together, stepped harder on the gas and focused on the road ahead.

  An hour. That was how long His Highness Alexander had given him to track her down solo and solve the problem simply, without all the unpleasantness of sounding the alarm. If he couldn’t do that, the prince would be calling in reinforcements, which would terrify her family, cast a pall on what should have been a day of joy and celebration and provide fodder for the scandal sheets.

  An hour—twenty-five minutes of which were already gone.

  Why was she doing this? What could she possibly hope to prove by endangering herself in this foolish, reckless, pointless way?

  The questions didn’t even bear asking. He knew very well why. And he knew what she hoped to gain by running: she only wanted to get away from him.

  He should never have accepted this assignment. He’d known what it meant, that she would hate having him as her protector. Staying well clear of her was essential and had been since those eight unforgettable weeks they’d been together nearly a decade ago. So he should have spoken up, asked to be removed, no matter what the higher-ups made of it. If they’d refused him, at least he would have done what he could.

  But he was too proud. And too ambitious. And he didn’t want her hurt, either—at least, no more than he’d already hurt her. He didn’t want anyone wondering why he would refuse such an assignment, didn’t want them digging around in the past and maybe, against all odds, learning what had happened so long ago.

  So he hadn’t spoken up. He hadn’t requested a different assignment. He’d left her to turn to her impetuous younger sister to find a way to escape him.

  The town vanished behind him. The dark highway lay ahead, growing darker as clouds crept across the face of the moon and obscured the thick wash of bright stars. He pressed the gas harder, adjusted the Bluetooth device in his ear and kept going.

  * * *

  On the radio, a lonely cowboy begged his girl to come over. By then, Rhia had it turned to full volume.

  A moment later, Rowdy’s Roadhouse appeared up ahead, a wash of lovely, garish light on the dark horizon. “Arriving at your destination in point-two miles,” said the GPS. Rhia turned it off.

  She slowed as she reached the entrance to the great big parking lot lighted with bright streetlamps on tall poles and chock full of muddy pickups and enormous sport utility vehicles. Rowdy’s itself was a gray-shingled square building in the center of the lot, complete with giant neon sign over the door proclaiming it Rowdy’s Roadhouse and Motor Inn. The sign had two arrows. One pointed at the door below it, the other straight up—presumably indicating the long, low building at the back of the lot, which had its own neon sign advertising rooms for rent.

  Rhia found a space when a big green quad cab pulled out. She parked and patted her pocket with the permit in it. In the USA, bartenders were usually careful to check the age of their patrons.

  About then it occurred to her that she had no money. It was going to be difficult to get a beer and a tequila shot without cash or a credit card. But then she shrugged and climbed down from the pickup, anyway. Even without the tequila, she could still dance with a cowboy if one would only cooperate and ask her.

  Or maybe she would simply have to be truly bold and do the asking herself.

  It was a dirt parking lot. Not good for her satin shoes. Too bad. She’d come this far and she wasn’t turning back now, not even at the risk of ruining her favorite Manolos. She locked up the pickup and turned toward the music and neon lights.

  Overhead, the sky was a solid sheet of darkness now. Clouds had rolled in and obscured the moon and stars. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering a little because the night was so cold. There were cowboys leaning against the long rail on the wide front porch of the roadhouse. They watched her come toward them.

  One of them let out a long whistle. “Oh, darlin’. Hot and classy. Just how I like ’em.” He was tall and very lean. He grinned at her and she saw he had a wide space between his front teeth.

  A red-haired woman in a rhinestone shirt and studded jeans smacked his big hat off his head. “Mind your manners, Bobby Dale, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

  Bobby Dale bent and scooped up his hat. “Be nice, Mona. I was only jokin’ around.”

  Mona made a humphing sound and aimed a wide, friendly smile at Rhia. “Come on in. The music’s great and the company is passable.”

  * * *

  As it turned out, Mona was the head bartender at Rowdy’s. She took Rhia inside and got her a beer and a shot of tequila on the house. At the sight of Rhia’s driving permit, which gave her full name but none of her titles, Mona asked, “From Montedoro, huh? You here for Pres McCade’s wedding to our princess?”

  Our princess. Rhia found it rather charming, that already the people of Belle’s new community thought of her as “theirs.” “I am,” she said. “It was a beautiful wedding.”

  “I knew it would be. We’re all mighty fond of Pres, and of Silas. Makes us happy to see two good men find what they’ve been lookin’ for.”

  The band started up again and a cowboy tapped Rhia on the shoulder. She took a sip of her beer, gave Mona a conspiratorial wink, and off she went to learn a cowboy dance called the two-step.

  Twenty minutes later, she’d danced with three more cowboys, each as polite and gentlemanly as the one before. She was having an absolutely perfect time and thinking that maybe she would borrow a phone and make a call or two, see if she could reach Allie to tell her where she was and not to worry and say she would be staying out until midnight or maybe later.

  Also, it would be a chance to make sure that no one was too terribly concerned about her having slipped away. She could make it very clear that she was safe and warm and had only had one beer and one tequila shot and would return to the ranch as soon as Rowdy’s Roadhouse closed its doors for the night.

  Mona was pouring drinks at the other end of the bar. Rowdy’s was a busy place that Saturday night and the customers were thirsty. Rhia climbed onto her stool, drained the last of her beer and waited for Mona to glance her way.

  She sensed a manly presence behind her. Smiling, she turned to face the cowboy she knew would be standing there, planning to tell him she would be happy to dance with him as soon as she’d made a phone call.

  Her heart jumped into her throat and got stuck there, cutting off her air, when she saw that it wasn’t a cowboy at all.

  It was Marcus.

  Chapter Three

  Someone must have come up with a change of clothes for him after his close encounter with all that home cooking on Allie’s plate.

  He was wearing old jeans and rawhide boots, a dark sweatshirt and a hea
vy canvas jacket. He smelled of the cold mountain air outside and he looked more dangerous and exciting and wonderful than any of the handsome cowboys she’d danced with so far. His expression, however, was even bleaker than usual.

  “Time to go, ma’am.” His voice sent the usual infuriating warm shivers cascading through her.

  She swallowed her silly heart back down into its proper place and remained on her stool. “No, thank you. I’m having a lovely time and I’m not ready to leave yet.”

  He frowned rather thunderously and then touched the device in his ear, listening. After a moment, he said, “Yes, sir. All is well, sir. Although Her Highness expresses reluctance to leave.”

  Rhia groaned. “Is that my brother?”

  Marcus granted her a put-upon glance as he spoke again—but not to her. “Yes, sir. I will. Thank you, sir.”

  The call appeared to have been concluded, so she asked a second time, “My brother?”

  He scowled, an expression both dismissive and chock-full of exasperation. “That was His Highness Alexander, yes. Are you ready to go now, ma’am?”

  Ma’am. He was such a stickler for protocol. You would think he had never seen her naked. She wanted to toss her drink in his face. Unfortunately, it was empty. “No. I am not ready to go. If you insist on staying here until I am ready, please move away from me.” She flung out a hand in the direction of the far wall. “Go over there and lurk in the shadows somewhere. No one will ask me to dance with you standing right next to me, glowering.”

  He told her again, as if he hadn’t already said it twice, “Ma’am, we have to leave.”

  “No, we most certainly do not. Go if you want to. I’m staying.”

  He stood even straighter—if that was possible. “Ma’am, there’s a storm coming.”

  She answered with excruciating pleasantness. “If you call me ma’am one more time, I am going to throw back my head and scream.”

  He tried again, without expression or vocal inflection—and without saying ma’am, either. “There is a snowstorm coming. It could be a bad one. It is imperative that we return to Elk Creek and the safety of the motor lodge.”

  “What are you talking about? There was no storm predicted.”

  “I noticed the clouds gathering and I listened to the weather channel,” he explained slowly and patiently, as one would speak to an idiot or a very young child. “There is a snowstorm coming. Please take my word for it.”

  “But it’s April. I don’t believe you. And even if there is a little snow on the way, look at all these people.” She held out her hands, palms out, indicating the large, busy bar and everyone in it. “If the weather is going to be dangerous, why aren’t they leaving?”

  “It often snows in Montana in April.”

  “Oh, because you’re such an expert.”

  “These people live here. They are accustomed to snowstorms. They have proper outerwear and the right vehicles, which they know how to drive.”

  “I have the right vehicle. And I can drive it perfectly well. And as to my lack of outerwear, the pickup I drove here has a heater. What do you think about that?”

  “Rhiannon. It’s time to go.”

  She blinked at him. “You must be upset. You just called me by my first name.”

  He stared at her for several seconds and then said, too softly, “Please.”

  She felt herself wavering, starting to feel like a spoiled, misbehaving child.

  But no. She wasn’t going to slink out of here just because Marcus Desmarais wanted her to. She didn’t believe him about the weather. He was just saying that to get her to go.

  The facts were simple. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. The clock over the bar said it was just ten-thirty and she had every right to stay a little longer if she wanted to. Especially now that he’d tracked her down. Now that he was here, doing his precious duty, protecting her, if for any reason she happened to need protection—which she had not at any point thus far.

  Her brother Alex knew where she was and that her bodyguard was with her and that meant no one at the McCade Ranch was worried about what might happen to her. There was no real reason she couldn’t stay for just a bit.

  “Marcus. Go and stand by the wall. I want to dance some more. I will let you know when I am ready to leave.”

  His face remained carved in stone while his eyes burned with green fury. He glared at her for a slow count of five and she became a little concerned that he would actually touch her, that he would manacle her arm with that big hand of his and drag her bodily from the premises. Sparks chased themselves beneath her skin at the very idea.

  But he had iron control. In the end, he only turned sharply on his heel and went where she’d told him to go.

  * * *

  Marcus watched her.

  It was all he was allowed to do, all she had permitted him to do.

  Watch. As she danced with another cowboy. And another after that.

  Frustration built. He wanted to grab her and throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of there bodily. But he could never do any such thing. She was his princess and he lived to serve her. And that meant, when it came right down to his will versus hers, she held all the cards.

  No matter that a storm was brewing. No matter that all those cowboys she was dancing with were strangers. And she was beautiful and friendly and she gave her smiles to everyone.

  There was going to be trouble with one of those strangers. One of them was bound to go too far as the evening wore on and the liquor kept flowing.

  Then he would probably have to hurt someone. He didn’t particularly look forward to that.

  But then again, the more cowboys she danced with and the more he was forced to stand there and watch them put their common hands on her person, the more he felt heat building in his chest and behind his eyes, the more hurting someone began to seem like a good and necessary thing.

  * * *

  Rhia danced with yet another cowboy. It wasn’t as much fun as it had been before Marcus appeared.

  Somehow, with him there, observing her every move in that cold and disapproving way of his, no doubt judging her for not being a proper princess, it all seemed a bit tawdry. The pleasure had definitely gone out of her little adventure.

  When the next cowboy stepped up to claim her, she thanked him, but said she was going to sit down for a while. She returned to the bar, where someone had bought her another tequila and a fresh beer.

  Mona stepped up close. “Compliments of Bobby Dale,” she said.

  A few stools away, Bobby Dale raised his bottle of beer in a salute, grinning wide to reveal that space between his teeth.

  Why not? She knocked back the shot and chugged the beer in a manner supremely unprincesslike. Somewhere in the shadows, Marcus was bound to be scowling in disgust.

  She told herself she didn’t care. Not in the least.

  Bobby Dale signaled Mona to pour her another. The bartender had the shot poured before Rhia could stop her.

  “Never mind about the beer,” Rhia said. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of it, she picked up the shot glass and drained it.

  Foolish. She knew that. The tequila made a fiery trail down the back of her throat and spread heat in her belly and she already regretted drinking it—and the one before it, too.

  What was getting drunk going to prove? Nothing good.

  Plus, now she needed to pee.

  She went to the ladies’, where she had to wait for a stall. When she’d finished and was washing her hands, she saw that her hair was coming loose from its thick knot at the back of her head, her bangs were mussed and her lip gloss had long ago worn off. She looked way too much like she felt: forlorn and weary, a little bit woozy from those shots and the beer, with faint circles under her eyes.

  She straightened her skirt and jacket, smoothed her bangs, repinned her hair, yanked her shoulders back and marched out the door. Of course, he was right there in the hallway, waiting for her.

  One look at him, so stern
and unwavering, patient as death, and she knew it was no good. The evening was over. It was time to go back to the Drop On Inn and try to get a few hours’ sleep before boarding the family jet for home tomorrow.

  Thanks to those shots and the beer, she shouldn’t be driving. And she wouldn’t. She would do the right thing and ride back with the man she’d tried so hard to get away from. Allie could have the rental people pick up the red truck tomorrow.

  She looked directly at Marcus. “All right. You win. Let’s go.”

  Without a word, he fell in behind her as she turned for the door.

  “Hey, beautiful. Where you goin’ in such an all-fired hurry?” Bobby Dale stepped in front of her. “Don’t I at least get one little dance first?”

  She felt Marcus moving closer behind her. There was no need. She could handle Bobby Dale. She put up a hand, warning Marcus back. “All right, Bobby Dale. One dance. And then I really do have to go.”

  Bobby didn’t look drunk, exactly, but he didn’t look quite sober, either. He bared the space between his teeth and narrowed his pale eyes at the silent man behind her. “Who’s that? Your boyfriend?”

  “No, he is not my boyfriend. Would you like that dance or not?”

  “You bet I would, darlin’.” He reached for her.

  With some trepidation, she went into his arms.

  Right away, she realized it was a mistake. He pulled her too close and whirled her away from the dance floor, into the shadows at the edges of the big barroom. When she stiffened and tried to put distance between his body and hers, he splayed a hand where he had no right to touch her and yanked her close again. “The minute I saw you, I knew you were special,” he whispered in her ear, his breath reeking of stale beer. “All ladylike on the outside, hotter’n a bottle rocket underneath, just beggin’ for the right man to set you off.”

  It was too much. “That’s enough. Release me, now.” Past Bobby’s shoulder, Marcus appeared. She saw nothing but stillness and calm intent in his eyes. He was no more than a foot away.

  Bobby Dale seemed to have no clue that Marcus was there. “Aw, now, sweetheart, don’t go gettin’ riled,” Bobby whispered. He nuzzled her hair. “You and me got chemistry.” Marcus reached out. “So you might as well—” Marcus touched Bobby’s shoulder and Bobby stopped talking. The cowboy’s mouth formed a round O and his eyes went flat. He let go of her, his arms dropping boneless to his sides as his knees crumpled and he collapsed to the floor.