The Prince's Cowgirl Bride

Now he was twenty-five years old and still didn’t have a clue about what he really wanted to do with his life—except that at this point he wanted to know Jewel Callahan better. The woman in question, however, had made it clear that she only wanted a hired hand.

Of course, she didn’t know who he was. He’d enrolled in school as Mac Delgado, trusting that the use of his mother’s maiden name as his own would help him avoid media scrutiny and allow him to concentrate on his studies. And it had worked—more successfully even than he’d anticipated. In fact, soon after coming to America he’d realized few of his classmates could find Tesoro del Mar on a map. They certainly never suspected that Mac was a member of the royal family.

His anonymity hadn’t made him any less sought after by the female coeds, confirming that his looks, charm and intelligence were almost as big a draw to members of the opposite sex in America as his royal status had been in Europe. And he found it interesting that the characteristics that had attracted so many women in the past were the same traits that made Jewel wary.

She was grateful to him—he was sure of that. Whether she felt anything beyond appreciation for his actions in delivering the foal he was less certain. But now that he’d been hired on, albeit on a trial basis, he would have some time to find out.

What he found, when he detoured to check on the new foal, was that the woman in question had the same idea.

She was standing at the gate, her arms folded on top of it, her attention riveted on the mare nursing her baby.

“Hard to believe she caused such a fuss only a few hours ago,” Marcus noted.

“And scary to think how differently things might have turned out.” She turned to face him. “I didn’t expect you’d be back so soon.”

“I didn’t have a lot to pack,” he told her.

But before he’d checked out of the hotel, he’d taken the time to shower and change, as he saw she had done, too.

Her jeans had been discarded in favor of a pair of khaki pants, the navy T-shirt replaced by a soft yellow one, and the band that tied her hair back had been removed so that the riotous golden curls tumbled over her shoulders.

She dug something out of her pocket, held it out to him. “The apartments aren’t big or fancy, but they’re conveniently located, a fact which you’ll appreciate at 4:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.”

He nodded and took the key she offered. “Thanks.”

“There’s a cafeteria on site, but also a refrigerator and microwave and some dishes and cutlery in your room.”

He nodded again.

She tilted her head, and studied him as if he was a mystery she was trying to figure out. “When I told you I didn’t think you were right for the job, I thought that would be the end of it.”

“So did I,” he admitted.

“Why did you follow me to the birthing shed?”

“Curiosity. Impulse.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not entirely sure.”

“Well, I’m grateful you did,” she told him. “I could have lost both of them if you hadn’t been here.”

He touched a hand to her arm, to reassure her. When he felt the muscles go taut and heard her breath catch, he knew she was feeling more than just gratitude. Whether or not Jewel Callahan liked him, she wasn’t immune to him.

He let his hand drop away and kept his voice light. “She’s a beautiful filly.”

“‘The prettier they are, the more trouble they are.’”

His brows rose in silent inquiry.

“Jack Callahan’s words of wisdom,” she explained.

“I’m guessing you gave him a lot of trouble.”

Her cheeks flushed in response to the compliment, but there was sadness lurking in the depths of those stormy blue-gray eyes as she shook her head. “Not really.”

“Well, if I’d had to put money on it, I would have guessed the foal was a colt,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you said that she wasn’t due for another couple of weeks, and it’s been my experience that females are rarely on time for anything, never mind early.”

Her lips quirked at the corners, just a little. “I could pretend to take offense at that comment, except that I set my watch ten minutes ahead to help me get where I’m going on time.”

It was the first insight she’d given him of her character, and while it wasn’t a significant revelation, it was enough to give him hope that she might be warming up to him.

“Does it work?” he asked.

The smile nudged a little wider. “Usually.”

The foal, her hunger now sated, curled up in the straw to sleep, and Scarlett moved to the feed bucket for her own dinner.

“Of course, the process of birth doesn’t fit into any kind of schedule,” he acknowledged.

“You obviously have some experience with that,” she noted.

“I was eight years old the first time I saw a foal born.”

And a few years after that, he’d witnessed a breech birth, and the complicated and time-consuming process of turning the foal. Even now, so many years later, he remembered the profound sadness that had washed through him when the roan filly was finally pulled free of her mother’s womb. Even covered in what he’d referred to at the time as the slime of birth, he’d thought she was perfect and beautiful—and he’d known that her complete stillness was unnatural.

“You grew up on a farm?” she asked.

Her question drew him back to the present and made him want to smile. He’d never heard the royal palace described as such, but he supposed, in a way, it might be considered that. “The horses were more of a hobby than anything else.”

“How many?”

“It varied. Sometimes half a dozen, sometimes more than twice that number.”

“We have between eighty and a hundred here at any given time,” she told him.

“I guess that means I’m going to be busy.”

She nodded, her gaze drifting back to the mare and her foal. Another minute passed before she said, “This is a prestigious establishment. The races around here draw crowds from around the world and focus a lot of attention on Callahan. Two years ago, a former British prime minister was at the derby. Last year, it was the Princess Royal from some small country in the Mediterranean.”

“You have a point, I’m guessing, other than name-dropping.”

She nodded. “I can’t afford to make mistakes where the business is concerned.”

“You didn’t make one in hiring me,” he assured her.

“We agreed to a one-week trial period,” she said. “If we’re both satisfied with the way things are working out by the end of the week, we can discuss further terms.”