Cowboy Fairytales Omnibus
Page 1
Cowboy Fairytales Omnibus
Lacy Williams
Contents
Once Upon a Cowboy
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
Cowboy Charming
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
The Toad Prince
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
The Beastly Princess
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
The Lost Princess
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
A Fairytale Christmas
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
Exclusive invitation
Also by Lacy Williams
Once Upon a Cowboy
1
Early February
Just keep smiling.
Princess Alessandra, second in line for the throne of Glorvaird, meandered through the crush of bodies as the Who's-Who of New York City society mingled on the sidewalk outside a ritzy hotel. Inside the ballroom would be even worse, stuffy with the heat of so many people. The icy air chilled her skin where the slinky dress she wore didn't cover nearly enough beneath her designer coat, but inside she'd be grateful to shed her outerwear.
She detested events like these. But her royal duty demanded her presence. Her sister, the crown princess, had tasked her with forging alliances with two powerful dignitaries, which she would attempt when she could get inside. Two hours, and she could return to her own hotel, several blocks away. And rid herself of the awful, pinching heels her stylist had provided.
Paparazzi snapped pictures from behind a cordoned-off line, the flashes from their cameras whisking her to the present and out of her thoughts. Hired security milled around, looking bored. After years of being in the public eye, she was used to the presence of both.
It didn't mean the press weren't as annoying as gnats, constantly buzzing in her ear.
One misstep, one faux pas, could follow her around on the Internet for a year.
She smoothed her skirt unobtrusively and kept the smile fixed on her face.
A hand on her elbow made her pause amidst the crowd.
Her bodyguard. Tim was dark-haired and fair-complected, bulky, and more than a head taller than she. He usually faded into the background.
The fact that he'd moved in close had her pulse speeding.
"What's—" wrong?
She didn't get both words out before a pop echoed above the rumble of the crowd.
Tim's body jerked.
He fell into her. Knocked her off the precarious heels. They tumbled together. Her elbow scraped against the pavement.
The crowd rumbled. Feet shuffled in the periphery as the other high society types didn't seem to know whether to move closer or farther away.
Alessandra struggled to separate herself from Tim, but he weighed close to a hundred pounds more than she did, and his body was heavy and unmoving. Her coat had fallen open when he'd landed atop her, and they seemed to be tangled together.
Why wasn't he moving?
"Stay—down," he gasped.
Someone screamed.
And she realized the hot, sticky substance that covered her hand where she'd tried to push him off was blood. His blood.
"Tim!"
Blind panic added strength to her scrambling, and at last she was able to push him off. He rolled to his back, his suit coat falling open to reveal his white shirt stained red.
"Someone—" She looked up at the blur of faces surrounding her. There was no one she recognized.
She pressed her hands to Tim's chest to try and stop the flow of blood, but more seeped up between her fingers. No!
"Please, is there a doctor?" she called out. In the cacophony of voices, she couldn't make out a distinct answer. "Can someone call for help?"
But as she looked down on the man bleeding out beneath her hands, she realized it was too late. Tim's eyes had gone glassy and unfocused.
He was gone.
Someone had shot him.
He'd died protecting her.
Her fright didn't recede as she glanced at the faces surrounding her. Some sympathetic. Some crying, panicking now that they realized the nightmare was real. Two of the hired policemen edged through the crowd and knelt beside her.
They provided scant cover.
Was someone waiting to take another shot? A sniper? A killer in the crowd?
If she stood, would another bullet find her? Would she collapse beside Tim, her life dripping out onto the New York sidewalk?
She'd stayed crouched beside the man who'd given everything to protect her, shielded by the police who hovered near. People everywhere. Noises. The scent of blood.
She'd never felt so alone.
One thing was clear. She had to get away.
Far, far away.
* * *
Gideon Hale winced as he stepped off the somewhat sheltered back porch and into the biting February wind. He'd already waved Apollo, a German Shepherd Dog, back inside to his bed in the mudroom. No use in both of them freezing their guts out here tonight.
It was after ten and the other cowhands were abed. Not him.
At least it wasn't snowing. Or sleeting. For now. The north Texas weather could change quickly, and often did.
He left the ranch house behind, his booted strides quickly eating up the distance across the yard. The moon shone above the row of elms that lined the gravel drive, casting eerie shadows. By rote, his eyes scanned for anything out of place. Until he shook himself out of it.
This wasn't Afghanistan. Or any of the top-secret locations he'd traveled to.
By the time he hit the barn, his hands were chilled inside his leather gloves. He slipped through the double doors and pulled them closed behind him.
The barn was split into two sections. One enclosed, one open to the elements. It provided shelter to the Angus cows that were his family's livelihood, allowing the mamas and babies free access to the paddock beyond.
He'd brought in two prospective mamas from the larger, western field earlier in the day, suspecting they were close to giving birth.
This was a critical time of year for the Triple-H. Calving season. The next few weeks would determine how much of a profit they'd make this year. His family was counting on him.
And he knew it was Mother Nature, not a conscious choice, but it seemed as if the animals always gave birth on the most bitter nights of the year.
When he checked on the soon-to-be mamas, they were resting peac
efully. No signs of agitation, no sign that they were close to giving birth.
Which made him suspicious. Running a herd of fifteen-hundred, they rarely went a day this time of year without several births.
So he bundled his work coat tighter around himself and went out the back of the barn, rounding the side of the structure to where the UTV was parked. It didn't want to crank, probably because of the bitter temperatures. He prayed it wasn't the battery, prayed he wouldn't get stranded out in the fields on a night like this and have to walk home.
The UTV started, and he threw it in gear, bumping his way out of the barnyard and into the field behind. The vehicle had a windshield but little else to shelter him from the open air, and he was frozen through by the time he reached the paddock where the rest of the mamas and expecting mamas were kept.
Sometimes, on nights like this, he wished he was back on the Teams. It had been blisteringly hot during their last covert mission in a place he wasn't supposed to talk about, and he'd lost several pounds of water weight. Two years ago, he'd been an integral part of the close-knit team. Had been armed and lying on his stomach on the sand next to Cash, too close to the Tangoes to whisper a joke or two, separated from the rest of their team by a few hundred yards as they waited for the order to infiltrate.
It hadn't been comfortable. And it wasn't the adrenaline rush that he missed now.
It was the camaraderie. Those guys knew him. They were like brothers.
Gideon had blown his knee out on that mission, injured himself so badly that he wasn't fit for duty anymore. And while he'd been in the hospital, his stepdad had died. Which meant his little brother and sister had needed him to run the Triple H.
So here he was. Missing his SEAL family and freezing his toes off on what might be a wild goose chase. He gritted his teeth against the thoughts. Shook them off. What he had been didn't matter now. His place was here.
He located the herd, tucked in a shallow gully. Between the UTV headlights and the fog lights rigged on the roof, he started counting.
One cow was missing. Or maybe he'd counted wrong.
Thoughts of his warm bed had him closing his eyes for a split second. Then, with a groan, he reversed the UTV and started making another pass. Hopeful he'd been wrong.
But a second count didn't turn up the cow. Gideon had worked the herd long enough to know their markings and ear tag numbers and realized this was one of the few heifers who'd been bred. This would be her first delivery.
She'd probably be fine. Cows had been giving birth since the beginning of time, right?
But the bitter cold and the fact that sometimes cows that hadn't delivered a baby before got into trouble had him stubbornly refusing to give up. A lost cow was lost money. More when you considered the calf too. His family depended on the Triple H's income. After what Carrie had been through, she deserved for him to give it his all, even if it wasn't what he dreamed about in the dark of night.
He'd take one last pass through the pasture and see if he couldn't find the heifer.
Maybe he'd get back to bed before one. If he was lucky.
2
Gideon didn't make it to bed at all.
By the time he'd found her, the cow had been in labor and was very distressed. There'd been blood, and she'd been down. He'd had no way to get her back to the warm barn, so he'd stripped out of his shirt and done what he could to assist the birth.
Turned out there was a reason she'd been in trouble. She'd given birth to twins. With the mama so weak—although she'd quickly gotten to her feet—and two calves shivering and covered in fluid, he'd known he had to get them back to the barn.
Which was a trial-and-a-half, because the mama had turned protective, fast.
It'd been nearly four when he'd finally stumbled into the farmhouse. Only to find Nate, the foreman, scrambling two dozen eggs for the rest of the hands. He'd spent a half hour discussing the day's agenda and stressing the need for Nate to send one of the hands out to check for more newborn babies in the field.
If it'd been any other day, he might've caught a combat nap, but his brother Matt was flying in on an early-morning flight, and the website showed it was on-time, which left Gideon only time for a quick shower.
Now, after a two-and-a-half hour drive to Dallas and sitting an hour in traffic, he waited in the baggage claim for his little bro.
Little.
Matt was active duty Air Force and on leave from his tour overseas. Gideon was proud of him.
And maybe a bit jealous too.
His bum knee panged in sympathy, and he shifted his feet, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. His eyes flicked to a TV angled from the ceiling. It was hard to hear in the echoing cavern of the luggage claim, but he caught the words "assassination attempt," and he zoned in. Apparently some European princess had gone missing in New York City. He wondered if any military personnel would be called in to help, or if the Feds were handling it.
And then he didn't have time to wonder anymore, because passengers started trickling down the escalators. Then came a flood, complete with a large family of jostling teenaged boys and a smaller family with a squalling baby and a toddler clinging to mom's pant leg. Dad pushed an overloaded stroller and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
And there was Matt, his fatigues and crew cut instantly recognizable among the civilian clothing surrounding him. He looked exhausted and stressed, lines fanning from the corners of his eyes. When he caught sight of Gideon, he smiled, but it was rough.
Gideon's stomach clamped into a tight ball. Something was wrong. He watched his brother's approach closely but couldn't see any signs of injury.
Then Matt was beside him.
"Hey, man." He wasn't ashamed to pull his brother into a back-slapping hug. "Good to see you." And it was. Now that he was on the other side of the deployment, he'd realized how much worry he'd put his family through while he'd been off on missions.
They both backed off to a respectable, manly distance. "You're looking pasty, old man," Matt said.
"Long night." Gideon shoved the Stetson back on his forehead. "Little heifer gave birth to twins out in the field."
Matt squinted. "And you had to help?"
Gideon shrugged. She'd been in pretty bad situation when he'd arrived on the scene, with the first calf twisted up in the womb. "They survived the night."
"How's Carrie and the little booger?" Matt asked as they turned to follow the crowd.
"They're fine. Can't wait to see you at dinner tonight."
They moved closer to the carousel, which now spun. Luggage appeared in a slow trickle. When Matt grabbed his government-issued duffel, Gideon couldn't help looking over his brother again. Was Matt limping slightly? He couldn't be sure. His brother was saying all the right things, but something was off.
Gideon made his brother hand over the duffel—which Matt did with only a minimum of stink-eye—and slung it over his shoulder as he led the way to the parking garage.
"You hungry? Figured we could stop somewhere on the way back to the Triple H."
Matt shifted his nearer shoulder, and Gideon resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. Dislocated? Or was Gideon just being paranoid? Trying to see the worries that plagued him because he could guess what his brother had walked into over there?
"Sure, I could eat."
That was a good sign, at least.
They reached the right level in the parking garage and approached the truck. Gideon stowed Matt's duffel in the truck bed, where it landed next to the blue tarp he'd thrown over the tools he'd used two days ago to repair a section of broken fencing in one of the pastures. He'd meant to unload the tools in the barn yesterday but had never gotten around to it.
He was glad to hop in the truck and crank the heater. He rubbed his chapped hands together. If anything, it had gotten colder in the night, although he hadn't heard about a front moving through.
He felt the shift in the cargo as he backed out of the parking space and kicked the truck into Dr
ive. Hadn't realized he'd used that many tools.
Matt slouched in his seat, long legs eating up the space beneath the dash.
"How long is your leave?"
"Three weeks. Maybe a month." He grunted. "Why, you need another hand for the spring cutting?"
Gideon grinned. Castrating bull calves, turning them into steers, had been his brother's least favorite task on the ranch during their growing up years. "If you're going to be a sissy about it, I'm sure the hands and I can handle it without you."
Matt leaned his head against the seat-back. "Trey still hanging around? Still mooning over Carrie?"
"I don't know about mooning. We've still got the same guys working for us. Nate, Brian, Trey, Dan, Chase. If cattle prices stay up, we'll make enough from the summer sale to buy out old man Cameron. Maybe add another hundred head."
Matt grunted again. He'd worked the ranch, same as Gideon, and left as soon as he was of age. Same as Gideon. Neither one of them had wanted to stay on and work the ranch long-term. Only now Gideon was back, running the ranch for their family. Trying not to chafe under the small-town life.
Carrie needed him. He owed her.
"Think Gerry's will be too busy for breakfast?" Matt asked.
The mom-and-pop diner was halfway home, not too far off the interstate, and a popular eatery in three counties. Mama G, the proprietress, served a mean omelet.
"Might be too busy if I hadn't called Mama G on my way down and told her you were back home for awhile. She's reserving a table for you, soldier-boy."
Matt grinned, but there was something behind the smile that Gideon couldn't read, not when he needed to keep his eyes on the interstate traffic.
Over an hour later, they exited I-30. It'd be another fifteen minutes of two-lane highway to Gerry's. They'd covered all the small talk Gideon could stand in his exhausted state and fallen into a comfortable silence. It'd always been like that growing up. They'd understood each other, sometimes hadn't needed words.
A thump from the truck bed had Gideon glancing in the rearview mirror, then reaching up to tug the mirror down so he could see. He hadn't taken the last turn fast enough for the tools and duffel to shift. Not that much.