by B. J Daniels
Willa heard the vehicle pull into the farm yard and looked up from her painting to see the unfamiliar car stop in a cloud of dust.
She'd never thought she'd come back to South Dakota. But after everything that had happened, she realized a true home didn't have to be one you'd been raised in all your life. It was anywhere there were people who loved you.
Her mother and stepfather had been wonderful through all of this. She'd seen how much her stepfather loved her mother and it had made her realize she'd never given him a chance.
Being around family had helped her regain her strength if not heal her aching heart. But she was painting again and that she knew was a sign that she would be all right.
"Who's that?" her mother called from the kitchen. The house smelled of homemade bread and beef stew since it was almost suppertime.
"Someone lost," Willa called back as she put down her paintbrush. No other unfamiliar cars ended up in the yard otherwise. "I'll take care of it."
She left the small room off the living room where she'd set up her studio and walked to the door, pushing open the screen to squint out at the car, the sun glinting off the windshield.
The driver's door slowly opened.
She blinked, her heart soaring as Landry Jones climbed out. Over the weeks since she'd seen him she'd heard he'd cleared his name. But she'd never expected to see him again. Because she never planned to go back to Florida. And she'd never dreamed he'd come all the way to South Dakota.
"Hello, darlin'," he said, stopping on the bottom porch step. "You're a hard woman to find, Willa St. Clair."
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as tears welled in her eyes. "Landry, what—" That's all she got out before he was up the steps and she was in his arms.
"I love you, Willa St. Clair," he said, and then he was kissing her.
Behind her she heard the screen door creak open. "This must be Landry Jones," she heard her mother say. "I'll set another plate." The screen door closed with another creak.
Landry pulled back from the kiss and grinned at her. "I already like your mother," he whispered. "But then I adore her daughter."
Her heart leaped.
Landry turned serious. "I quit my job. I've got some money saved, though. But at this moment, I have no plans for the future." He grinned again. "Except one."
Willa held her breath and thought about the painting on her easel inside the house. She hadn't painted since she left Cape Diablo. Until this morning.
On her easel now was a painting of a two-story white house, a tire swing in the big tree next to it, an assortment of toys scattered across the green lawn. There. were red-and-white gingham curtains at the kitchen window and a man and woman sitting together on the front porch swing. They were faceless, the painting not yet finished.
"Willa," Landry said, and swallowed.
She'd never seen him nervous before.
"I know the timing is awful. Why would you want to marry a former undercover cop, let alone one who is jobless and isn't even sure what he's going to do now?"
"Landry," she said, smiling up into his wonderfully handsome face. "Is there something you wanted to ask me?"
He laughed. "Oh, yeah, darlin'. Would you consider being my wife? I love you. I need you. I don't care what tomorrow brings as long as I'm with you." He dropped to one knee. "Marry me, Willa St. Clair."
She laughed as she cupped his face in her hands and leaned down to kiss that amazing mouth.
"Was that a yes?" he asked as she pulled back from the kiss.
"No," she said as she drew him to his feet, wrapped her arms around his neck and started to kiss him again.
"This, my love, is a yes."
Look for the exciting conclusion to the CAPE DIABLO trilogy, next month in Joanna Wayne's A CLANDESTINE AFFAIR.
Experience the anticipation, the thrill of the chase and the sheer rush of falling in love!
Turn the page for a sneak preview of a new book from Harlequin Romance
THE REBEL PRINCE
by Raye Morgan
On sale August 29th
wherever books are sold.
"Oh, no!"
The reaction slipped out before Emma Valentine could stop it, for there stood the very man she most wanted to avoid seeing again.
He didn't look any happier to see her.
"Well, come on, get on board," he said gruffly. "I won't bite." One eyebrow rose. "Though I might nibble a little," he added, mostly to amuse himself.
But she wasn't paying any attention to what he was saying. She was staring at him, taking in the royal blue uniform he was wearing, with gold braid and glistening badges decorating the sleeves, epaulettes and an upright collar. Ribbons and medals covered the breast of the short, fitted jacket. A gold-encrusted sabre hung at his side. And suddenly it was clear to her who this man really was.
She gulped wordlessly. Reaching out, he took her elbow and pulled her aboard. The doors slid closed. And finally she found her tongue.
"You…you're the prince."
He nodded, barely glancing at her. "Yes. Of course."
She raised a hand and covered her mouth for a moment. "I should have known."
"Of course you should have. I don't know why you didn't." He punched the ground-floor button to get the elevator moving again, then turned to look down at her. "A relatively bright five-year-old child would have tumbled to the truth right away."
Her shock faded as her indignation at his tone asserted itself. He might be the prince, but he was still just as annoying as he had been earlier that day.
"A relatively bright five-year-old child without a bump on the head from a badly thrown water polo ball, maybe," she said defensively. She wasn't feeling woozy any longer and she wasn't about to let him bully her, no matter how royal he was. "I was unconscious half the time."
"And just clueless the other half, I guess," he said, looking bemused.
The arrogance of the man was really galling.
"I suppose you think your 'royalness' is so obvious it sort of shimmers around you for all to see?" she challenged. "Or better yet, oozes from your pores like… like sweat on a hot day?"
"Something like that," he acknowledged calmly. "Most people tumble to it pretty quickly. In fact, it's hard to hide even when I want to avoid dealing with it."
"Poor baby," she said, still resenting his manner. "I guess that works better with injured people who are half asleep." Looking at him, she felt a strange emotion she couldn't identify. It was as though she wanted to prove something to him, but she wasn't sure what "And anyway, you know you did your best to fool me," she added.
His brows knit together as though he really didn't know what she was talking about. "I didn't do a thing."
"You told me your name was Monty."
"It is." He shrugged. "I have a lot of names. Some of them are too rude to be spoken to my face, I'm sure." He glanced at her sideways, his hand on the hilt of his sabre. "Perhaps you're contemplating one of those right now."
You bet I am.
That was what she would like to say. But it suddenly occurred to her that she was supposed to be working for this man. If she wanted to keep the job of coronation chef, maybe she'd better keep her opinions to herself. So she clamped her mouth shut, took a deep breath and looked away, trying hard to calm down.
The elevator ground to a halt and the doors slid open laboriously. She moved to step forward, hoping to make her escape, but his hand shot out again and caught her elbow.
"Wait a minute. You're a woman," he said, as though that thought had just presented itself to him.
"That's a rare ability for insight you have there, Your Highness," she snapped before she could stop herself. And then she winced. She was going to have to do better than that if she was going to keep this relationship on an even keel.
But he was ignoring her dig. Nodding, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his golden eyes. "I've been looking for a woman, but you'll do."
She blanched, stiffen
ing. "I'll do for what?"
He made a head gesture in a direction she knew was opposite of where she was going and his grip tightened on her elbow.
"Come with me," he said abruptly, making it an order.
She dug in her heels, thinking fast. She didn't much like orders. "Wait! I can't. I have to get to the kitchen."
"Not yet. I need you."
"You what?" Her breathless gasp of surprise was soft, but she knew he'd heard it.
"I need you," he said firmly. "Oh, don't look so shocked. I'm not planning to throw you into the hay and have my way with you. I need you for something a bit more mundane than that."
She felt color rushing into her cheeks and she silently begged it to stop. Here she was, formless and stodgy in her chef's whites. No makeup, no stiletto heels. Hardly the picture of the femmes fatales he was undoubtedly used to. The likelihood that he would have any carnal interest in her was remote at best. To have him think she was hysterically defending her virtue was humiliating.
"Well, what if I don't want to go with you?" she said in hopes of deflecting his attention from her blush.
"Too bad."
"What?"
Amusement sparkled in his eyes. He was certainly enjoying this. And that only made her more determined to resist him.
"I'm the prince, remember? And we're in the castle. My orders take precedence. It's that old pesky divine rights thing."
Her jaw jutted out. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn't let that pass.
"Over my free will? Never!"
Exasperation filled his face.
"Hey, call out the historians. Someone will write a book about you and your courageous principles." His eyes glittered sardonically. "But in the meantime, Emma Valentine, you're coming with me."
