Once Upon a Cowboy: contemporary fairy tale romance (Cowboy Fairytales Book 1)

by Lacy Williams

  And then he was gone, banging through the mudroom and out the back door.

  She sat for a moment, heart pounding. Should she follow him?

  She'd give him until the dishes were done to clear his mind.

  But he didn't come back, not after the last dish had been washed and put away.

  She waited in the living room, curled beneath an afghan as the house darkened around her. She let her eyes roam, noting the changes. She and Carrie had made them together. Photos of the Hales: Gideon, Matt, Carrie, and Scarlett, now lined the walls. A pitcher with hothouse flowers from town claimed space on the end table.

  It wasn't the empty dreary room it had been when she'd arrived.

  She'd like to think she'd brought changes to the people, too.

  She idly played with the phone Gideon had given her, scanning through the pictures on the high-tech device. She'd surreptitiously taken several candid photos of Gideon when he hadn't been watching. Him working with the cattle, actively shooing two mama cows and their days-old babies back out into the open pasture. Laughing from across the supper table at something Matt had said. She rarely saw those genuine smiles cross Gideon's face, much less his entire face lit and open with laughter. Mostly when he interacted with his family, though a few times his expression had been open and soft after they'd kissed.

  She traced the line of his smile with the tip of her finger. She was falling in love with the irascible cowboy.

  She'd thought something real was growing between them. Which was why his absence tonight confused and hurt her.

  At ten, she decided not to wait any longer. She was a princess, wasn't she? Capable of standing up for herself. Facing hard things, not cowering. She'd find Gideon and tell him how she felt. They couldn't leave things like this. Unresolved.

  All the cowhands were upstairs in bed, except for Nate, who nursed a cup of coffee as he stood in front of the kitchen window, looking out.

  She'd already bundled up in the heaviest sweater Carrie had loaned her and thick wool socks. "I'm going to run out to the barn," she told the hand, whose eyes twinkled with merriment.

  "I'll keep an eye out," he promised.

  She slipped into Carrie's old work boots and Gideon's coat, bundling up as best she could before she darted across the yard.

  Something felt different tonight.

  She was aware of Nate standing on the back porch, watching her cross to the barn. But somehow, without Gideon beside her, the darkness felt menacing. The cold felt threatening.

  Was her mind making things up because of the anticipation of leaving tomorrow? She'd found safety, an inkling of peace on the ranch.

  Wind rushed at her back, and she misjudged the final few feet, running into the door with a thump. She straightened, not hurt but a little shaken at the way she'd let her imagination take off. When she tugged on the door, it wouldn't budge.

  And then it did, almost ripping from her hands. Gideon stood there, inches from her.

  His face was dark as he pulled her inside the lit space, throwing a glare over her shoulder.

  "What the—?" He mumbled what she thought was an expletive before releasing her. She reeled a few feet away. "You walked out here in the dark, alone?"

  "I ran," she said. "And Nate was watching from the porch. Besides... aren't you taking the bodyguard thing a little far? I thought things were safe now."

  He muttered something else beneath his breath. "Just because nothing's happened doesn't mean you're safe. It could mean the threat has gone underground."

  It was a valid point. She'd had no sense that anything had been wrong in New York City, either. Gideon was the soldier.

  "I'm sorry."

  Her apology didn't seem to ease his tension. His Stetson was pulled low over his eyes, and he backed a few feet farther from her.

  She wrapped her arms around her middle under the pretense of holding the coat together. "If you'd come inside earlier, I wouldn't have had to come looking for you."

  "Shouldn't you be in bed by now?" he muttered.

  "Shouldn't you?" she returned. Then, softer, "I need to talk to you."

  "Why?" he asked, voice flat. "Why are we still pretending when you're going home tomorrow?"

  His words stung. "Pretending?" It had all been real to her. Every moment with Gideon had brought a sense of belonging.

  Until now.

  "I can't do it anymore." The hardness in his voice was like being struck, and she clutched herself tighter. "Pretend that all of this is going to have a happy ending."

  A muscle ticked away in his jaw, proving he wasn't as emotionless as he let on.

  She took a deep breath, searching for the right words.

  "I've been doing some thinking," she said, heart thrumming loudly in her ears. "We might come from different places, but that doesn't mean we can't be together—"

  He laughed, a harsh sound. "Are you going to ditch your family and stay on the ranch? I know you've been enjoying yourself, but what about Dear Old Dad? What about your obligations?" His words were a verbal punch. She'd confided in him that she often felt stifled by her royal duties. That she wished for a closer relationship with her father. And now he was throwing her words back at her.

  She shivered at the twist of his lips. Why was he being this way?

  "You know I wouldn't be able to stay on all time. But if we split our time—"

  "Split our time?"

  She jerked her chin up. "You are more than the Triple H. You're well spoken and intelligent. Well-traveled. You could hold your own with any of the dignitaries I've met."

  He looked dumbfounded. "You want me to go with you?"

  "Like I said, we could split our time—"

  But he was already shaking his head. "I can't leave. I've got to be here to look after the ranch—"

  "That's Nate's job," she reminded him softly. She could see from the set of his shoulders that she wasn't getting through.

  "What if something happened to Carrie again, and I was half the globe away?"

  And she could see the guilt eating him up, still.

  "What if you were half the globe away, and nothing happened?" she asked gently. "What if you're giving up your chance at a different life for a hypothetical?"

  He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, a gesture she knew meant he was upset.

  "My whole life has been planned out for me, up until now," she said, wishing, praying that he could understand. "I never had a reason to fight for anything different, until now. Until you."

  Hat still clutched in one hand, he looked at her. She could see the torment in his eyes. "I just don't see how it would work, long-term."

  "But..." She loved him. The words stuck in her throat at the resigned look on his face.

  "It makes sense that the ranch has been a place of rest for you. Something totally different than what you're used to. And a place that's kept you safe. But in six months, or next year during calving season... the newness will wear off. Even if you split your time..."

  She noticed he didn't use the word we.

  "You'll figure out this place is all work, work, and more work. We"—he pointed back and forth between them—"won't work. Not for long."

  She didn't know how he'd become so defeated. Did he really think they were that different, after all she'd tried to do to prove to him that she could be a cowgirl, too?

  Tears rose, and she valiantly fought them back. Her heart might be breaking, but she didn't want him to see, not now that he'd rejected her.

  "I'll see you home," he said, and she couldn't look at him. "But that's it. That's all it can be."

  GIDEON WASN'T his best self the next morning, not after tossing and turning for hours.

  He couldn't erase the image of Alessandra holding herself together last night, her hands shaking as she clutched her elbows.

  As if, by denying that they could have something lasting together, he'd broken her.

  The SEALs had taught him the value of considering every angle, e
very scenario, every possible ending. He couldn't see a way forward that didn't end with one of them in heartbreak—most likely him.

  He feared his heart might be breaking now. He felt nauseated, like something he'd eaten last night hadn't set well with him.

  She'd been quiet on the ride to Dallas, once again sandwiched between him and Matt in the truck. He'd spent the entire drive watching for a tail, unconvinced she was safe, and fighting the icy roads.

  There was no tail, but he still had that awful feeling down the back of his neck.

  The airport was bustling as he pulled into the underground parking lot where this had all started. She slid out of the truck after him, and when as he helped her to the ground, he got his first good look at her of the morning. She wore a long, elegant coat similar to the one she'd worn that very first day. It fell open, revealing a slim pantsuit and heels—though not as unwieldy as the stone-encrusted ones they'd found her in. She looked night-and-day different from the farm girl who'd worn her hair in a braid and donned one of his flannel shirts when she fed the undernourished calf. Carrie must've gone shopping on her behalf, though they still hadn't let his sister in on "Allie's" secret identity.

  He and Matt flanked her as they walked inside.

  "Keep your eyes open," he told his brother, though it wasn't necessary. At least Matt seemed to be taking this seriously, scanning the crowds as they passed through the lower-level corridor and then arrived at the passenger check-in. Because Gideon had printed her boarding pass at home, they were able to move directly to the Security line. He'd coordinated with the royal security team and planned to accompany her to New York, then hop a flight right back home. Matt would kill time around here, and they'd drive back to the Triple H together.

  This was the end of his time with Alessandra.

  She hugged Matt at the Security line, then walked through, that princess-grace evident in her posture, her calm exterior.

  Gideon stayed close, silent, like a bodyguard would. Which felt appropriate, since she still wasn't speaking to him.

  She clutched his cell phone between her hands, though he didn't know why.

  Inside the terminal, they discovered the flight had been delayed as the airport personnel de-iced the runway. He growled quietly. It was only an hour's delay, but it meant more time out in the open.

  The hair on the back of his neck was tingling again, this time the pit of his stomach carried a knot the size of a boulder.

  The gate attendant confirmed the delay, and he stifled the urge to punch someone.

  "Can we get something to eat?" the princess asked.

  He agreed reluctantly.

  Everyone else seemed to have the same idea, because the few food places that were open on their end of the terminal were packed. Alessandra stood in line for a bakery kiosk, him beside her.

  The feeling on the back of his neck got worse. He kept Alessandra close to his side, noticing and hating it when she unobtrusively put a few inches between them.

  He craned his neck, trying to see in all directions. Could someone have snuck a gun inside the airport, where security was tight? Or a knife? He knew it could happen, but...

  There. Near the restrooms, a man in a long trench coat was darting looks in all directions, one hand tucked beneath his coat. Gideon lost focus on the crowd around them as he zeroed in on the suspicious guy.

  "Sorry the lines are so long," an older, feminine voice said from nearby. "Would you like to try one of our apple fritters? It's a free sample."

  Gideon turned back to the princess, just in time to see her take a paper-wrapped pastry from a uniformed woman. He didn't get a good look at the woman's face, only the dingy gray ponytail hanging from the back of her ballcap.

  Focus now split between Trench-coat Guy and the woman who'd approached Alessandra, Gideon lost a half-second of reaction time.

  "Wait—"

  But he was too late to stop the princess from raising the tissue-wrapped pastry to her mouth. She ate a bite.

  Still distracted by Trench-coat Guy, he put his hand beneath Alessandra's elbow. "Can we sit down now?" He didn't wait for an answer.

  They didn't make it back.

  "Gideon, I'm—"

  Alessandra faltered mid-step, and the only reason he was able to catch her around the waist was because he'd been so close to her.

  What was happening?

  Her eyelids fluttered rapidly, and her cheeks were reddening as he watched. She collapsed, and the pastry she'd held dropped to the floor.

  Panic threading through his veins, he knelt, cradling her head. "Alessandra. Honey?"

  He searched for a pulse even as she lost consciousness.

  "Help!" he called out, waving down the gate attendant. "I need medical help!"

  He touched her beneath the coat, feeling for any sign of a bullet entry, though there was no blood blooming, and he'd heard no pop, even from a gunshot that had been silenced.

  Had she been poisoned? The thought was absurd, but what else could've happened?

  Fear clawed through him at her weak, fluttering pulse.

  He was supposed to have protected her.

  How could he have let this happen?

  CHAPTER 9

  Hours later, Gideon sat beside Alessandra's hospital bed in the secure ICU wing of the university hospital, head in his hands.

  He'd been praying, frantic wordless prayers, since the princess had been poisoned at the airport. He'd believed the royal security team when they'd said the danger was past. Hadn't given enough credence to his gut.

  Someone had gotten close enough to poison her.

  And Gideon had let it happen.

  The doctors had praised his quick thinking as he'd scooped up the remainder of the apple pastry into a plastic baggie before they'd rushed Alessandra out of the airport on a medevac helicopter. First, they'd pumped her stomach. Initial testing of the pastry had identified large doses of cyanide, and the doctors had quickly given her an anti-cyanide antidote kit.

  She'd remained unconscious since the airport. It was probably a blessing for her not to be awake to feel the poison ravaging her body, but Gideon wished and prayed for nothing more than her to open those bright blue eyes and look at him.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stem the tears that burned behind his nose.

  In all the chaos, with his adrenaline pumping, he'd felt the same clarity he had back when he was with the Teams on a mission. The high-octane situation had burned away all his excuses, all the worries that had once seemed so important that they'd clouded his judgment. And his true feelings.

  He loved her.

  And all the rest of it didn't matter.

  She'd been right. They could figure things out with their schedules, the ranch, his siblings.

  None of that mattered when all he could see was her closed eyes, her motionless body.

  He just wanted to be with her. For any time they could carve out to spend together, for now, forever.

  But first, she had to wake up. The doctors and nurses were monitoring her closely, but they wouldn't be able to fully evaluate how much damage the cyanide had done until she regained consciousness.

  A knock at the door brought his head up, though it felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

  While the ER doctors had been working to save her life, he'd coordinated with local law enforcement and the nearest high-clearance security team he could find to set up this secure wing in the hospital. Where before he'd been content to let the royal security team manage things from offsite, he refused to risk her life again, not when he could do something about it.

  Carrie stuck her head around the door, and he stood, surprise overcoming the lethargy in his limbs. "What're you doing here?"

  "Matt called." She stepped inside as he reached for her, and her arms came around him in a hug that had him blinking against his burning eyes. "The guys are here, too, out in the waiting room."

  He hugged her tightly, unable to find words. Alessandra had been r
ight. He hadn't been able to protect her from right beside her. He needed to learn to let go and trust God and Carrie. She could handle her own life.

  Even if it wasn't entirely comfortable right now.

  "How is she?" Carrie asked.

  "Unconscious." He ran a hand through his hair, missing his hat. It'd been lost somewhere in the melee. "It takes hours to run the full test on the poison she ingested, but the doctors think they've at least stopped it from doing further damage."

  Carrie sniffled a little as she looked at Alessandra's pale face against the pillow, hair mussed and IVs trailing from Alessandra's arm.

  Gideon's chest felt so full and hot that he wanted to howl.

  Suddenly, more bodies were crowding inside. The ranch hands were led by Trey, who had his chin hitched in the air and a stubborn glint in his eyes. "Figured if y'all are holding a prayer vigil, we'd better all get in on it." He moved next to Carrie, one hand resting at her waist.

  Gideon nodded once, letting the cowboy—and his friend—know that he couldn't protest a friendship or relationship anymore.

  Matt came near, clapping him on the shoulder.

  "The nurse know you're all in here? Probably against protocol." But for the moment, Gideon's will was too weak to protest more.

  And then, Carrie and all the ranch hands had slung their arms around each other, circling the bed in one big man-hug as they bowed heads. On the end of the chain, Gideon gently laid his free hand on Alessandra's shoulder.

  Each man shared a special prayer on Alessandra's behalf, beseeching God to heal her and bring her back to them.

  By the time Dan had finished, every one of them was clearing his throat or surreptitiously wiping his eyes. They moved slightly away from each other and the brotherly intimacy of the moment, some of them shuffling their feet. Dan and Nate shoved their hats back on their heads.

  "Is she really a princess?" Chase hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

  Gideon glared at Matt, who raised his hands helplessly. "Sorry, man. Some reporter got shots while she was getting loaded into the helicopter."

  Gideon winced.

  "Got pictures," Matt corrected himself. "And by the time we got to the hospital, it was all over social media and local news stations."