Cowboy Fairytales Omnibus

by Lacy Williams

  Her face burned. She certainly hadn't meant to say so much. There was something about him that made her nervous.

  She barely dared to look up into his eyes, afraid she'd offended him in some way. When she did, she couldn't read his expression. His eyes glittered slightly, but the masked emotion could be anger or humor or anything, really.

  Finally, he spoke. "So you're saying you're a"—his eyes widened slightly—"you-know-what, who likes to do dishes."

  His nostrils flared slightly, and one corner of his mouth tipped up. He was teasing her?

  Movement from behind them broke the moment, and she flushed, quickly going back to the sink, though the mountain of dirty dishes had been reduced to a more manageable hill.

  "Gideon, are you picking on your houseguest?" It was Carrie's strident voice. "You don't have to clean up after these pigs—I mean bachelors—honey."

  The other woman touched Alessandra's shoulder, a gesture meant to convey solidarity, but the unexpected touch startled her. People usually weren't so familiar. Of course, Carrie didn't know her true identity either, or she might not get so close.

  Alessandra hated the subterfuge, though she understood why it was necessary.

  Gideon backed away, raising both hands in front of himself. "I didn't make her do anything. I walked in, and she was already halfway through the pile."

  Carrie moved into the place beside Alessandra that he'd recently vacated, picking up the damp towel and twisting it into some kind of snapping weapon that she wielded to drive him out of the room. She joined Alessandra beside the sink and took up the task of drying, much more efficiently than Gideon had.

  "I don't know what kind of trouble you're in," Carrie said, voice low, "and I don't need to know. Gideon and his boys will take care of you."

  Alessandra didn't know whether the woman was gearing up for a warning, but she braced herself anyway.

  "I just wanted you to know that if you need a woman to talk to, I'm not too far away. My place in town is only about a ten-minute drive from here. I work afternoons, while Scarlett is in school."

  The offer was so unexpected that tears welled in Alessandra's eyes. She blinked them back. "Thank you."

  "I'm planning on making a run out here in the morning, after I drop Scarlett at class. I doubt either of my brothers thought to provide you anything more than a bar of rough soap and a change of clothes. I've got some things you can borrow, and I'll stop by the drug store for the essentials."

  Carrie's words were so true that Alessandra couldn't help the wet giggle that emerged. "Thank you. Very much."

  Carrie shook her head in an exaggerated manner. "We grew up together, but I don't think I rubbed off on them all that much. They don't know an eyelash curler from a flat iron, and heaven forbid you start crying in front of them. Easiest way to get rid of them in a pinch, by the way. Of course, Mom was gone by the time we were teenagers."

  Alessandra handed Carrie the next dish. They were down to the supper plates now, the water in the sink grown tepid. "My mother died when I was five."

  They shared a glance. It was a unifying thing. Losing a mother was something you never quite got over.

  They finished the rest of the dishes in no time at all, Gideon's sister carrying the conversation, mostly talking about Scarlett. There was no mention of Scarlett's father, and Alessandra couldn't help wondering what had happened to him, though she didn't get up the guts to ask.

  They wiped off their hands on clean towels. Alessandra's were pruny from being in the water so long. Carrie kept her eyes down. "About Gideon... He's got a good heart, but...he won't open up. Don't expect too much from him."

  Carrie raised her head, her eyes trying to impart the message that Alessandra was struggling to comprehend. "I-I won't," she said, because that's what Carrie seemed to expect.

  Did everyone thing she and Gideon were involved? She remembered his earlier statement at the diner that he hadn't dated in a long while. Were his friends and family just seeing what they wanted to see?

  Was there any use in telling the other woman that she had absolutely no expectations of Gideon? He'd offered her sanctuary while the royal security force worked with the Glorvaird and New York law enforcement teams to investigate the shooting and bombing. When the head of palace security was able to find her a secure way home, she'd return to the family duty that awaited her.

  Carrie surprised her with a goodbye hug. Alessandra had to fight not to tighten up at the familiarity.

  It made her nose sting.

  When was the last time one of her own sisters had hugged her?

  She couldn't remember.

  5

  That same night, Gideon stayed late in the birthing barn. He watched a mama giving birth, just making sure everything went the way it was supposed to.

  He was afraid to go back to the house. Afraid that, even though it was late, he would run into Alessandra again. That she'd start rambling in that adorable way that made him want to smile. Or hug her.

  Gideon the Bear.

  There was a little jagged piece of broken mirror nailed to one of the studs on the far wall, and he caught a bit of his scowling reflection.

  The Bear.

  It wasn't the worst thing he'd been called in his life.

  He tilted his head slightly, catching sight of the unkempt hair and scraggly beard. He looked like a mountain man. A little like a real bear.

  He jerked his chin up, and there was that scowl again in the reflection.

  He didn't really growl and grunt all the time, did he? He ran his hand through his beard, a little ashamed of himself. Since when did he not care?

  Sure, he had high expectations. He paid his hands better than any other ranch around, and if they slacked off on the job, it ticked him off. The Triple H ran a large herd and every cog had to operate.

  And when someone hitched an unexpected ride in his truck, something that could potentially put his family in danger, he might've come off a little grumpy...

  Was that really how she saw him? How everybody saw him? She'd seemed to admire his interaction with Scarlett, but the rest hadn't been very complimentary.

  And she'd been right. He'd judged her harshly, thinking she didn't have any experience with domestic chores.

  He didn't know what to think about her story about hanging out in the kitchens with the royal chef. There had been a slight pause when she'd begun the story. One that made him think there was more behind the story than she'd told him.

  Or was that just his suspicious, grizzly-like nature, rearing its head?

  There was a computer in the tack room, in the area of the barn closed off to protect it from the elements. It was an old one, but it had Internet access.

  He took one last look at the cow and decided she could work on her own for awhile before he pushed through the door toward the tack room.

  It took longer than he would've liked for the old machine to boot up, but within a few minutes he was logged on to the Internet, searching for everything he could find about her family. Something he probably should've done earlier in the day, and would've if he hadn't lost time bringing the princess out here and then checking in with all the hands.

  Her mom had passed away when she was little. He felt a sympathetic pang, because it was something they had in common. There were some old mentions of concerns over the King's health, but they seemed to taper off after a few years.

  The crown princess, Alessandra's older sister, had been in a car accident as a preteen and bore scars across her face and torso. She had been basically out of public sight, no pictures or anything, until her coronation when she came of age at eighteen. He'd seen worse. She would never be a grand beauty, but he didn't think the scars detracted that much from her looks. The gossip rags, however, claimed she had a beastly personality. He couldn't find one picture of her smiling, and sure enough, in several paparazzi shots, she wore a nasty snarl across her face.

  Alessandra's younger sister seemed to be in the media all the time. He
r bubbly smile came through in pixels, and he could guess she enjoyed the attention. She was young but seemed to be on the arm of several handsome young men at different times. A social butterfly? Or did she enjoy toying with young men's affections? It was impossible to know.

  Alessandra didn't get as much media coverage as either of her sisters. She appeared regularly at charity events and palace-sponsored occasions. Her smile was much more reserved than her younger sister's. After interacting with her today, he didn't think what he was studying on his screen was her real smile at all.

  At breakfast, she'd claimed her aunt might be behind the bombing and assassination attempt. He searched for information on a possible family feud but didn't find much. The king's sister had been estranged since her eighteenth birthday. She'd married and had two sons, now about the same age as Alessandra and her sisters. The reason for the estrangement wasn't publicized. Nothing was mentioned anywhere about the aunt's relationship to the crown being revoked. Which meant the king's nephews were technically princes in their own right.

  What could make a woman hate the king and his daughters so much that she tried to kill them?

  It wasn't his job to find out. It wasn't even really his job to protect Alessandra, but he'd taken it on. He'd give Cash a couple of days for reconnaissance, and hopefully things would settle down enough for her to go home.

  He couldn't wait for things to get back to normal.

  * * *

  Alessandra couldn't sleep.

  She'd gone to bed, even dozed a little, but nightmares quickly followed. Of those awful moments when Tim had surged toward her in the crowd. The muted pop! of the gun discharging. And Tim's blood after he'd knocked her to the ground.

  Then the scene went a little fuzzy.

  Her dream-self pressed harder on Tim's chest, trying to save him. Only something had changed. She looked closely at his face and realized her dream self was pressing on Gideon's chest. That it was Gideon's broken body beneath her hands.

  She woke with a gasp.

  She bolted up in the twin bed, breathed deeply.

  The bed was safe. Lumpier than anything she was used to, but safe. She tucked the quilt over her knees and wrapped her arms around herself.

  She couldn't deal with whatever part of her subconscious had put Gideon into the dream. Surely it was because he'd been kind to her, and he'd been one of the last people she'd seen before she'd gone to bed. And he was protecting her.

  That was all there was to it, right?

  She grieved for Tim, tears falling now as she thought about the man who'd given his life for her. Who would comfort his sister and mother back in Glorvaird?

  Until now, she hadn't paid attention to the other thoughts that she'd shoved away after Tim's death. But questions swirled now. How had a killer gotten so close to her? Close enough that her bodyguard had barely had time to step into the line of fire? Although some events she attended were publicized on the palace website and in the media, her exact schedule was never confirmed. Tim had been her only bodyguard, but there was a team of hired men and women who scouted each location, each function she attended beforehand. And everyone in that crowd was supposed to have been invited to the party.

  She didn't have answers.

  She also didn't think her aunt—if that's who'd initiated the bombing and the shooting—would give up. She didn't know the woman personally, and Father didn't talk about her much, but there were always whispers among the staff about her aunt's unhappiness with the way her father ruled the country. Helena wanted to rule.

  But because of the bloodlines, she would have to kill all of them—the king and his three daughters—before she would be crowned. Would the people of Glorvaird even accept her if she was behind the killings? Perhaps that's why it was so hard to connect the attempted killings to anyone. Her aunt was covering her tracks, and well.

  Or perhaps it hadn't been her aunt after all, though Alessandra couldn't think of another party with such violent intentions toward her family. Glorvaird was a small, peaceful country that relied on trade with its neighbors and worked to keep peaceful agreements in place.

  Knowing her swirling thoughts weren't conducive to sleep, Alessandra got out of bed. The bedroom was bare and simple, with not even a television to distract her.

  Because she had only the clothes that Gideon had given her, she'd gone to bed in just a T-shirt and undergarments. Now she pulled the jeans back on. Then she slipped into the hallway.

  She paused on the top step, one hand covering the smile that bloomed. She hadn't heard it from inside her room, but heavy snores emanated from most of the upstairs bedrooms. She knew the ranch hands worked hard. Guessed they played hard. Apparently, they slept hard, too.

  She crept downstairs, but there was no sign of anyone else awake. The microwave clock in the kitchen read one a.m. and she guessed the crew had to be out working early.

  But knowing that didn't get her any closer to a restful state. She needed something to do.

  And she found it in the kitchen.

  She'd finished the dishes earlier, but Carrie had shooed her out before she'd attacked any of the other cleaning issues. Not that she hadn't noticed and catalogued them.

  The countertops and window needed a good washing. As did the microwave, stovetop, and oven. Even the shelves in the cabinets wore a layer of dust between where the dishes rested.

  And the floor was desperately in need of a good mopping.

  She turned on the soft light over the sink, not the full overhead light, hoping that she wouldn't wake Gideon in his back bedroom. She found a plethora of cleaning supplies beneath the sink. Mostly unopened.

  And she set to work.

  * * *

  Gideon had slept hard after foolishly being out in the barn so late—for the second night in a row. He woke abruptly.

  Something was wrong.

  Light streamed through his window, which meant he'd overslept by at least an hour and a half. The clock read seven-thirty.

  The hands were going to give him heck for sleeping in.

  He emerged from his room minutes later, running one hand through his hair. And stopped cold.

  Someone had baked. The sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar wafted through the house.

  He found Dan and Trey standing in the foyer, a plate in each of their hands, shoveling food into their mouths. Judging from the crumbs on their plates, they'd enjoyed...were those cinnamon rolls? And some kind of pie made from eggs and vegetables. They were staring into the living room until he approached, and then Dan started to swivel away, defending the remaining eggs on his plate.

  "What's going on?" Gideon asked.

  "Shh," Trey shushed him with a scandalized look into the living room.

  Gideon frowned and stepped forward so he could see.

  Alessandra was curled up on the far couch. Sleeping. One hand was tucked beneath her face. Her hair was loose and wavy—probably from the braid she'd worn yesterday—and formed a cloud all around her.

  Why wasn't she upstairs, in her own bed?

  "She must've made breakfast," Dan murmured from behind him. "Sticky buns and quiche in the oven when I got up."

  "Cleaned the whole kitchen too," Trey whispered.

  Gideon hadn't been able to tear his gaze from the sleeping princess, but now he registered the spray bottle and dirty rag on the low table not far from where she lay.

  He sniffed again, this time registering the scent of lemony soap beneath the food smells. She'd cleaned?

  Sure enough, his boots didn't stick to the kitchen floor when he finally turned them that direction. The appliances were shiny. Even the sunlight seemed to sparkle through the window. Everything was spotless.

  "Cleaning fairy got us in here, too," Matt called out from the dining room.

  Gideon bypassed the tray of buns and the dish with eggs that sat on the stovetop—for now—to stick his head through the doorway. Matt, Nate, Brian and Chase all lounged around the table, stuffing their faces. The dog was under
the table again.

  "Why are you all not at work already?"

  "Breakfast," Brian slurred, his mouth full. A piece of eggs zoomed out of his overly full mouth and landed on the table.

  Gideon winced. "Do you think someone who spent the night cleaning up after you lot wants to do it all over again? Have a little respect."

  Brian looked appropriately abashed and used his fingers to scoop the egg back onto his plate.

  "You're gonna keep her around, aren't you?" Chase asked hopefully.

  "Yeah," Nate chimed in. "She's a mighty good cook."

  Brian swallowed the rest of his food. "Not sure what she sees in you, but you've got to turn on some kind of charm and keep her around."

  "Yeah," chimed Trey, as he and Dan joined the crowd from the doorway off the front hall.

  Matt's eyes glittered as he looked to Gideon, waiting for the answer like everyone else. Matt should know better than to wear that expression. The woman was a princess.

  There was no way she could stay, but Gideon couldn't tell the boys that.

  He sighed. "I told you yesterday, she's in trouble. Just needs a place to lay low for a few days." But he couldn't resist teasing them. "Besides, do you really think someone like her"—he jerked his finger over his shoulder—"would want to hang around a bunch of hands who think personal grooming is optional and don't even know how to clean up after themselves?"

  Matt grinned, shoving another forkful of food into his mouth. The other hands looked down at themselves. They were a rough bunch. Other than Carrie, they didn't interact much with women. Didn't spend much time in town. There wasn't much need to trim a beard or get a haircut. Or buy new clothes.

  Like he was one to talk, anyway. She'd called him Gideon the Bear. Not just for his personality.

  It wasn't as if it mattered anyway, because she'd be leaving soon. They'd go back to their regular routines, and she'd go back to her palace. She wouldn't be around to appreciate it if they all up and decided to shave and wear clean clothes anyway.

  But the thought remained lodged in his gut, a boulder.