Cowboy Fairytales Omnibus

by Lacy Williams

  He'd had to stop someone in the parking lot and get help with the bowtie.

  But neither pinching shoes or tie issues mattered as he took in the light shining from Mia's eyes as she closed the last few feet between them.

  Her dress was something else. The pale blue made her skin luminescent, and she hadn't been joking when she'd mentioned the layer of fabric that he could easily see himself tripping on or stepping on if they really did try to dance. She was almost like a planet of her own.

  He was definitely trapped in her gravitational field.

  He stopped short, not wanting to muss her dress or the way her hair was perfectly styled, partly up and partly cascading down her back in soft curls.

  She seemed to have no such compunction, because she threw herself the last two feet toward him, leaving him no choice but to catch her. He held her trim waist loosely between his hands, breathed in the sweet flowery perfume and just Mia beneath. Her huge skirt pressed against his legs, and he locked his limbs, afraid to move an inch and risk stepping on it.

  He heard conversations cease nearby. Probably the who's who that was here wondered who he was to get a hug from the princess.

  "You came," she whispered.

  "You look... beautiful," he returned, his voice catching. This amazing creature counted him—him!—as a friend. Someone she wanted by her side. He still couldn't fathom it.

  Her eyes shone at the compliment, and he was stunned all over again by her beauty. Inside and out.

  "They're starting another waltz next," she said, "and I'd really like to dance with you."

  "Are you sure?" he asked. "That might be a recipe for disaster."

  She slid him a glance as she finally moved slightly away from him. "I'm sure. Come on."

  He followed her.

  Couples had arranged themselves on the marble dance floor in one of the huge ballrooms. Mia's dress was definitely the widest, but he glanced side to side, taking in the countless floor-length skirts. There were a lot of people, especially considering they represented obstacles that he needed to watch out for.

  The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass Mia by bumping into someone else or tripping her in that infernal skirt.

  She seemed to read his mind as the musicians drew out a long note. "Keep it simple. Trust the music," she said softly, her chin tilting up. "I trust you."

  And when she said something like that, he'd willingly throw himself off the cliff. The music started in earnest, and he followed the count. He found that if he kept to the small square that Mia had taught him and threw in a quarter turn every so often, it wasn't that hard.

  He didn't step on her skirt. They didn't run into any of the other couples.

  And he might be sweating through his undershirt, but having her smile up at him like he was worth something made him feel like he was flying.

  * * *

  With the happy couple busy greeting their guests and the party going smoothly, Mia didn't want to waste another minute she could be spending with Ethan. After all, the palace had already scheduled her flight home for Monday morning.

  So she dragged him out to the terrace, where a beautiful rose garden was putting out its final blooms of the season. She knew Gideon's security team had a presence out here, but they'd leave her and Ethan alone, if they knew what was good for them.

  "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she teased. He'd done remarkably well with the simple waltz, and she'd been proud to be on his arm.

  These past two weeks had been the happiest days of her life. Oh, there'd been bumps. She and Alessandra still hadn't patched things up, and she'd avoided two calls from Eloise.

  But spending time with Ethan...discovering the kind of man he was...had been incredible.

  She'd fallen for him. Hard. Her feelings were deeper than anything she'd experienced with anyone else.

  He looked back to where the light spilled from the French doors that opened onto the terrace. Most of the partygoers remained inside, hoping to speak to Alessandra and Gideon, or to catch a glimpse of the other rich and famous guests, but some couples had meandered into the quiet darkness. Hopefully none of the invited press was out here, though she'd learned she could never be too careful.

  "Are you sure you shouldn't be mingling? I don't want to keep you from your..." He made an uncertain gesture with one hand.

  "Brad Pitt? I told you he declined the invite."

  He smiled, but it faded too quickly. "I don't want to monopolize your time, if you're needed elsewhere."

  And that was one of the reasons she'd fallen for him. Because he put her needs—and everyone else's—above his own.

  "If you're worried about the duke and the soccer player," she said carefully, aware of what the tabloids had reported. "I said my hellos earlier. I would rather spend this time with you. I want to be with you." She finished with an honesty that would have been hard for her in the past.

  Something intense flared in the depths of his eyes.

  His selflessness was also why she hadn't spoken of the future. She wanted Ethan in her life, but she knew he was committed to raising his stepbrothers through their high school graduations. He'd told her some of his past, and people from town had been more than happy to fill in the rest. His stepmother's insistence that he devote all his spare time outside of schooling to maintaining the dairy. How she was the one who'd mishandled the property and sold it off to pay for her own extravagances.

  Mia refused to add to his responsibilities or complicate his life. Surely, she could find reasons to visit the states—and Ethan—as often as possible. Which meant she needed to get over herself and talk to Alessandra and Eloise. Her sisters could smooth things over for her with travel plans and the international royal agenda.

  But she also wanted tonight.

  * * *

  Ethan tried not to feel the magic of the night. He really did.

  But he was already in love with Mia. And when she looked at him like that...

  He knew that whatever was happening between them was just for tonight. It had to be.

  He shifted his feet, his toes pinching.

  "What's the matter?" Mia asked.

  "Borrowed these boots." He shrugged. "Might have a blister in the morning, but it was worth it to dance with you."

  She glowed in the moonlight. "We can do it again. Just take off your boots. No one will see your sock feet out here."

  He made a face, but the boots were really starting to hurt, so he took them off and placed them on a nearby stone bench.

  The music was low as it filtered through the open French doors.

  And when she came into his arms, it wasn't in the waltz hold they'd practiced before. She was much closer. Both her arms came around his neck, leaving him to hold her waist between him hands. Beneath his palms, the material of her dress was soft and smooth.

  He still couldn't fathom that she'd rather be out here with him than inside with her old beaus.

  "I've been thinking," she said. "That I'd like to stay in contact after all this."

  She would?

  She seemed to sense his incredulity, because she smiled softly up at him. "It won't be quite the same, but we can still talk on the phone. Send texts. And I'll be back in the states eventually."

  He nodded, stunned and running her words through his mind. She wanted to continue their friendship.

  He knew that eventually she'd be distracted by her royal life. Or the man she'd eventually fell in love with.

  Just thinking about that gave him heartburn.

  And then suddenly his jacket pocket was buzzing. Or rather, his phone.

  He ignored it, focusing on Mia's dear face, trying to soak her in for the long days when she was gone.

  But it rang again, and she moved slightly back, letting go. "It might be important."

  When the screen lit, he saw it was straight up midnight. He didn't recognize the number. He connected the call.

  "This is the county sheriff," the voice on the line said. "I've got your brot
hers in custody. They're drunk. We picked them up for breaking into the feed store in town. They did quite a bit of damage."

  He couldn't find words.

  Mia watched him from too close, and he turned his back to her, not wanting her to overhear, to be tainted by his family drama. He knew there was press attending the event tonight, and knew that Mia wanted to stay out of the limelight.

  Finally, he got his voice to work, though it was rough. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

  He still couldn't think straight as he turned back to Mia. She wore a concerned expression and reached out one hand to him, but he pulled back before she could touch him.

  "I have to go," he said, the words wooden. His stepbrothers had ruined this night not once, but twice.

  "Ethan, can I help you—?"

  He shook his head violently, not wanting her to become a part of this. "I just—I have to go."

  He gathered his boots from the bench, not bothering to put them on. Urgency surged through him. His stepbrothers were in jail.

  Mia was close behind him, wanting to help, but he couldn't face her right now.

  Before she could stop him, before she could say something that would make everything hurt worse, he walked off, brushing past a buff guy in a suit who had to be security. Ethan rounded the house instead of going inside, hitting the parking lot and then his truck in his sock feet. He tossed the boots to the floorboard and cranked the engine.

  His brothers had ruined his night, but that wasn't the worst of it.

  What if they'd ruined their chances for a new future?

  What did that mean for Ethan's future?

  7

  At seven the next morning, Ethan sat in the county judge's chambers. His elbows rested on his knees, and he stared at his feet. It was Saturday, so the courthouse was empty and quiet, but the judge had made an emergency exception and allowed Ethan to come in so he could plead on his stepbrothers' behalf.

  He hadn't slept all night. He'd started at the county sheriff's office, where they'd told him the judge wouldn't be in until Monday. He'd gone home to make phone calls and change out of the borrowed tuxedo, only then realizing he was missing one of the fancy black dress boots. Which meant he'd have to go back to the mansion where the ball had been held and find it later. And if he didn't, then maybe he'd have to call Mia, if the book wasn't lying in the gardens or parking lot.

  He hadn't slept at all. Had stayed awake praying and worrying and trying to figure out a way to get his stepbrothers out of this mess.

  Apparently, the idiots had gotten drunk with some of their friends and decided it would be fun to ride the tractor mowers parked in front of the feed store. He couldn't imagine where they'd gotten the keys. But they'd turned on at least one mower and driven it through the front windows of the store, destroying thousands of dollars' worth of merchandise.

  He didn't know if he could fix this. There was no money in the budget to retain an attorney. How would the boys even make restitution? What would this do for their college plans? School?

  "Back again, young man?" The judge, in his fifties with a balding head and hard-to-read eyes, entered the room. His long black robe flowed around him as he moved to sit behind a huge, old-looking wooden desk.

  "Hello, your honor." Ethan had hoped never to see him again after last summer when the boys had been charged with vandalism.

  The judge shuffled some papers on his desk and flipped open a manila folder. He didn't speak to Ethan again as he read whatever was in that document.

  "Your brothers—excuse me, your stepbrothers—appear to be in a mess of trouble. We talked last summer about them getting a second chance, but it sure seems as if they've squandered it."

  Ethan nodded miserably. "I'm really sorry, sir. They'd been a little more responsible since last summer..." He let the words trail off, because what they'd done last night obviously belied the statement. He glanced at the door behind him. "Shouldn't they be in here?"

  The judge flipped the folder closed and leaned back in his chair, which protested with a metallic squeak. "I wanted to talk with you first, before I see your stepbrothers."

  Ethan's stomach tightened into a little ball of misery. This didn't sound good.

  "They were what, ten and eleven when you were granted custody of them?"

  "Yes, sir." Ethan wiped sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs.

  "Did you know that last summer, after their arrest, I got several phone calls and two letters from your neighbors and friends?"

  What? That was news to Ethan. "No, sir."

  "They all wanted me to know how much you were sacrificing for those boys and how you'd tried your best not only to provide for them, but to teach them how to be good citizens."

  He had tried to impart the lessons Dad had taught him, but somehow it'd gone all wrong. He didn't know how, couldn't see where he'd missed a crucial element, but clearly he had, because Robbie and Sam didn't get it. Ethan rubbed the bridge of his nose, behind which an ache built that he couldn't seem to get rid of.

  "You've got good friends," the judge said.

  Ethan nodded dumbly. He knew it. Just like the vet who'd watched out for him yesterday evening. But what did that have to do with his stepbrothers?

  "And you've done your best to influence those boys. But I've been doing this a long time, and do you know what I see?"

  The question didn't seem to require an answer. Ethan kept quiet.

  "I see two young men who've been given every chance. Been taught right from wrong. Been loved on. And they still make bad choices. It's not your fault," the judge said quickly when Ethan squeezed his eyes shut. "You've given six years of your life to caring for and providing for these boys."

  Longer, if one counted the time he'd spend working for his stepmother before his eighteenth birthday.

  "It's my decision that your influence alone, as good as it's been, isn't enough to keep those two on the straight and narrow. They are removed from your custody and will become wards of the state. They'll likely have to serve some time in a youth detention facility for what they've done. They're not first-time offenders. And they're old enough to know better."

  He sat dumbly in the chair. Not knowing what to feel. He would no longer have charge of his stepbrothers. He'd failed them.

  Or they'd failed themselves.

  His mind whirled with hurt, despair, fears for his stepbrothers.

  He stood up, not sure what he should say. Thank you didn't seem quite right.

  The older man stood too, then rounded his desk before clapping a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "This isn't your fault. You understand?"

  How could it not be? When Ethan was supposed to have taught Robbie and Sam right from wrong?

  "A lot of people care about you—as evidenced by their phone calls and letters from last summer. You've done your best. But your stepbrothers haven't. That's all this is."

  Ethan walked out of the office feeling sick to his stomach. He didn't know where to turn. Whether he should try to see his stepbrothers and say goodbye.

  The last time he'd spoken to them, Robbie had thrown Ethan's actions in his face. They'd destroyed his dad's suit, one of his few reminders of his father. He could still see his dad in that suit—wore it to church every Sunday.

  But Robbie and Sam—they'd been ungrateful and rude.

  Would saying goodbye provide closure or just pour gasoline on the fire of his stepbrothers' hatred?

  * * *

  Monday morning, Gideon had wanted to come to the bank by himself, but Alessandra had parked herself in the passenger seat of his truck with arms crossed and refused to move.

  So here they were, seated side-by-side at a desk in the manager's office, with the county sheriff behind them as digital video played over a large computer monitor.

  The bank manager stood nervously behind Gideon's shoulder. Gideon knew the man was worried about liability being placed on his bank or his employees, but as far as Gideon was concerned, whoever had perpetrated this theft was t
o blame. Not the bank.

  "The time stamp was for 10:50 a.m.," the bank manager said nervously.

  The video feed on the computer monitor showed that the digital film was approaching that time, and Gideon found himself squinting at the screen, waiting to see a grainy image of Nate cross into the footage.

  But when it came, it wasn't Nate.

  "That's Dan," Alessandra whispered.

  It sure was. The ball cap pulled low over his face wasn't enough to shield him from the cameras, and they watched as the cowhand presented a piece of paper to the cashier. They watched as ten grand was counted out to him by the bank teller.

  A half hour later, Dan sat with head in hands in the Triple H dining room. The sheriff read him his rights, and he sat silently, unmoving.

  Dan didn't fight the arrest, though Gideon stood nearby as backup, just in case. The sheriff was armed, though, and Dan seemed more resigned than anything else. Nate had followed them up from the barn and stood in the doorway, watching in horror.

  When the sheriff had finished, he looked to Gideon, maybe silently asking whether he wanted to confront the man or not.

  But it was Nate who burst out with a question.

  "If you needed money, why didn't you come to me?" Nate's words emerged angry, but Gideon knew his foreman must feel the same betrayal and hurt beneath that Gideon did.

  Dan shook his head, not raising his gaze from the table. "You'd already bailed me out once, man."

  That was news to Gideon, who cut his gaze to the foreman.

  Nate ignored him, his entire focus on Dan. "So you just stole it? Stole from Gideon, who gave you a job outta high school, when you had nowhere else to turn?"

  He sounded like he wanted to smack the other man upside the head, but Gideon shook his head in warning as the sheriff ushered Dan out of the room.

  Alessandra perched at the long table as if all the air had been sucked out of her entire body. Gideon reached for her, and she met his hand, linking their fingers together. "Now we know," she said.