The Rancher's Christmas Princess

Pres removed his hat and tapped it against his thigh to knock off the snow. “Speaking of weather, it’s supposed to snow on and off all day. Tomorrow, too.”

Betsy, who’d been trying to push him around since way back when she was two years ahead of him at Elk Creek Elementary, braced her fists on her narrow hips. “Did you hear what I just told you?”

“I heard yesterday. RaeNell called me out at the ranch to tell me some princess was looking for me.”

Betsy widened her eyes—and lowered her voice. “Dee said that RaeNell says that the princess wants to speak with you, Pres.”

“Well, then I’m sure she’ll be calling me. I told RaeNell to give her my number.”

Betsy’s pale brows drew together over her pointy nose. “What do you think a princess wants with you?”

“Not a clue. Any news on those supplements I ordered?”

“They’ll be in by Wednesday, guaranteed.”

“All right, then.” He turned for the door.

Betsy called after him. “She’s staying at the Drop On Inn, you know. You could just stop in there, find out what she’s after....”

“See you Wednesday, Betsy.” He put his hat back on and pulled open the door. Ducking under the mistletoe tacked to the door frame, he got out of there before Betsy could tell him more things he could be doing.

The snow had let up. And the Drop On Inn was down at the end of Main Street. He went ahead and walked over there before stopping in at Safeway to pick up a few groceries. He was kind of curious. Might as well find out what business this princess thought she had with him.

Larry Seabuck, slim and stooped with thinning gray hair, stood behind the check-in desk when Pres entered the motel’s pine-paneled lobby. “Preston, how’s the world treating you?”

“Can’t complain. I heard you had a visitor who’s looking for me.”

“The princess.” Larry said it reverently and just a tad possessively, too.

“What room is she in?” Pres took off his hat again.

Larry frowned. “RaeNell said she called you—and when you said it was all right, she gave Her Highness your phone number.”

“Could you buzz the lady’s room? Tell her I’m here and willing to talk to her.”

“Ahem. Well. She isn’t in just now.”

Pres rested an elbow on the check-in counter, which had fake Christmas garland tacked in loops all around the rim and a small tree decked with blinking lights down at the far end. “You’re looking a little squirrelly, Larry. Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?”

Larry’s wire-rimmed glasses had slid down his nose. He eased them back up. “Well, a woman of quality. An aristocrat. And she’s our guest. We’ve had two calls from reporters, asking if she’s staying here. She’s asked us to say she has no comment and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. We want to respect her privacy.”

Pres, who in recent years hadn’t found a whole lot to laugh about in life, suddenly realized he was suppressing a chuckle. “She good lookin’, this princess?”

“Uh. Well. Very attractive. Of course. Ahem. Yes.”

“Larry, I believe you are smitten. You better watch out. Someone will tell RaeNell.”

“Oh, now, Preston. It’s nothing like that.” Larry blinked several times in succession. “No, not at all.”

“Just tell me where I can find her. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

Larry pressed his thin lips together. “You don’t even know how to talk to a princess.”

“Suppose you clue me in, Larry?”

“Ahem. Don’t sit in her presence unless she invites you to. Call her ‘Your Highness’ the first time you address her. After that, call her ‘ma’am.’”

“She told you all this?”

Larry sniffed. “Of course not. I looked it up. On Wikipedia.”

“Well, all right. So where do I find her?”

Larry gave in at last. “Oh, have it your way. Breakfast. She’s at breakfast.” He threw out a pale, skinny hand in the general direction of the Sweet Stop Diner across the street.

“Thanks, Larry. You have a fine day.”

* * *

Belle saw him coming. He was tall and ruggedly handsome. He marched right up to the booth where she sat alone, removed his cowboy hat and addressed her politely. “Your Highness, I’m Preston McCade. I heard you’ve been looking for me.”

Her bodyguard, Marcus, who stood near the diner’s front door, watched her for a sign that he should intervene. Belle met Marcus’s waiting eyes and gave a quick shake of her head. Then she granted the large rancher a cool, pleasant smile. “Yes, I have been hoping to meet you, Mr. McCade.” She indicated the empty seat across from her. “Please, join me.”

Everyone in the diner was watching them. Belle could feel their breath-held regard. It was so quiet that a person could have heard a feather whisper its way to the floor as the rancher shrugged out of his sheepskin jacket and hung it up on the hook beside the booth along with his hat. Beneath the jacket, he wore a plain cotton shirt that was the same pale, cool blue as his eyes. His jeans were worn and his rawhide Western boots looked lived-in.

Blue eyes, she thought. A lovely light blue just like Ben’s....

“The usual, Pres?” the waitress called out from over behind the long counter.

“Sounds good, Selma.” He slid into the booth.

The waitress stuck an order on the metal wheel in the window to the kitchen. Then she picked up a coffeepot and sauntered over to the booth. Preston McCade turned his mug up and she filled it. She topped off Belle’s cup, too.

The rancher sipped and set down the mug. By then the waitress had left them. “Planning on being in town long, ma’am?”

“Please.” She spoke softly. “Call me Belle. My visit here is...open-ended.”

They regarded each other. His gaze was level and steady. He had strong, broad shoulders and a square jaw with a nice, manly cleft in it. She could see how Anne might have found him attractive. Any woman would.

And not only was he attractive, but there was also something steady about him. Something thoughtful and dignified and reserved. Her instinctive response was that he would be someone a person could depend on. She felt that it wouldn’t be difficult at all to come to like him, to respect him. She was glad for that. She’d been worried about what she would do if she didn’t like him.

She’d been worried about a lot of things. She was still worried, if the truth were known, just tied up in knots over this whole situation.

And her heart ached. For her lost friend. For sweet little Ben...

Oh, dear Lord. How could she do this? How could Anne have asked this of her? She shouldn’t have to do this....

“You okay, ma’am—I mean, Belle?” McCade spoke low, with what really did sound like honest concern. He was leaning toward her a little.