The Rancher's Christmas Princess

He thought again about how he had nothing in common with her, how she was out of his league and way out of his reach. How he was only here to find out why she was asking around about him. He reminded himself how he had no interest in women anyway, not since his fiancée dumped him for that jackass Monty Polk over two years ago now.

Plus, RaeNell had mentioned a baby, hadn’t she? That the princess had a baby with her. She wore no wedding ring. But why would she bring a baby to Elk Creek unless it belonged to her?

He went ahead and asked her. “Belle, are you married?”

She answered without hesitation. “No, Preston, I’m not.”

Then what about the baby?

But he couldn’t quite get those words out. He’d been raised to mind his manners around a lady. And he didn’t know her well enough to ask her something as personal as that.

Instead, he shocked the hell out of himself by asking, “Would you have dinner with me?”

Chapter Two

The princess had agreed that he would pick her up at the Drop On Inn at seven. Pres was there right on time, freshly showered and shaved, wearing tan slacks and a sport jacket under his winter coat—and feeling like something way too close to a damn fool.

RaeNell was behind the desk, hanging miniature red balls on the little Christmas tree. “Lookin’ pretty spiffy there, Pres. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

He gave her a nod of acknowledgment and wondered how RaeNell knew that he was there to pick up Belle. Then he decided not to stew over it. RaeNell always knew way more than she had any business knowing.

She picked up the phone and pushed a button. “Hello, Lady Charlotte. Please tell Her Highness that Preston McCade is waiting in the lobby....Yes. Thank you.” RaeNell put the phone down. “She’ll be right down.”

“Great.”

RaeNell stood back to admire the little tree, then stepped close again to move an ornament to a spot nearer the top. “Where are you taking her? The Bull’s Eye? Of course you are. Where else you gonna get a decent steak in this town?”

Pres said nothing. He didn’t need to. RaeNell had always been perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation all by herself.

RaeNell folded her arms and braced them on the counter and pitched her voice to a whisper that somehow managed to ring out clear as a shout. “So what did she want from you? What’s it all about? Come on, you can tell me. You know I will never tell a living soul.”

“I don’t know what she wants from me, RaeNell. She hasn’t said yet.”

“But everyone saw you having breakfast with her, the two of you yakking away like you’re the best of friends.”

He only looked at her. He kept his expression untroubled, although he was at least as curious as RaeNell as to what it might be that Belle wanted from him. “Sorry, she didn’t say.”

The concrete stairs to the upper floor were visible through the window that gave a view of the parking lot. He watched Belle and her bodyguard descend.

RaeNell pasted on a big smile and stopped leaning on the counter. The bodyguard opened the door and Belle sailed through wearing a long wool coat. Beneath the hem of the coat he saw she wore black boots with low heels. At breakfast, she’d worn a cashmere sweater and tan pants, with tan boots to match. He liked the way she dressed. Simply and practically. Expensive, but not flashy.

She met his eyes. “Preston, hello.” The dark, cold Montana night suddenly seemed cozy, bright as a new day.

He offered his arm. She stepped up and took it. He felt like a million bucks—or maybe two million. The bodyguard opened the door for them.

As soon as they were outside where RaeNell couldn’t eavesdrop, he said, “The restaurant’s just down the street. We can walk, if you don’t mind a few snow flurries and a little gale-force wind.”

She gripped his arm a fraction tighter, moved in just an inch closer. He got a whiff of her perfume. It was like her. Subtle, but so tempting. “I would love to walk.”

He asked, “Your bodyguard have a name?”

“Marcus.”

“You can leave Marcus behind. I promise not to give you any reason to need backup.”

She let out a small, resigned sigh. “Marcus goes where I go. If I dismissed him, he would still follow us. He doesn’t take orders from me. His job is to protect me and he’s very...committed to his job.”

“Even if you don’t need protecting?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

“Sadly, in this day and age, you just never know. A little over five years ago, my brother Alexander was kidnapped in Afghanistan. He eventually escaped and he’s home safe and happily married now, but the kidnapping forced my family to face a few realities. Whenever we travel now, we have security round-the-clock.”

He’d read about her brother’s kidnapping. That afternoon, he’d spent an hour on the internet learning what he could about Belle and her family. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother.”

“He’s doing well now. Truly. But Marcus will be accompanying us.”

“Fair enough.”

She had her face tipped up to him. Her eyes seemed almost golden in the light that spilled out the lobby windows. She clutched his arm a little tighter. “Then shall we go?”

“This way.” He touched her gloved hand where it wrapped around his forearm. They started off down the street.

The bodyguard fell back several paces. It wasn’t that hard to pretend he wasn’t there.

* * *

The Bull’s Eye Steakhouse and Casino was in a brick storefront between the Upper Crust Bakery and Elk Creek Cleaners. The sign out front was a target with a giant red arrow sticking out of the center. Miniature multicolored Christmas lights framed the front windows and the door.

Inside, nothing had changed since the last time Pres ate there. The walls were paneled in bead board up to the chair rails and decorated with a lot of bad paintings of cowboys on trail drives. The tablecloths? Vinyl, printed with Western scenes. The chairs had red vinyl cushions and backs. There was a full bar. In the back was the “casino,” which consisted of two poker tables and a row of gambling machines. From the dining room, faintly, you could hear the never-ending sound effects from the machines.

The Bull’s Eye wasn’t exactly jumping that early December night. Pres had called ahead and told the owner which table he wanted. It was the one tucked into that quiet corner, across from the bar.

Daisy Littlejohn, the owner’s daughter, greeted them, waited for Pres to hang their coats and his hat on the coat tree by the door next to the Christmas tree and then led them to the table he’d asked for. Once they were settled in the red vinyl chairs, she handed them menus. “Wayne will be right with you.”

Wayne, the waiter, knew his job. They went through the business of ordering drinks and food. He got all that out of the way quickly. In no time, they were left alone with a bread basket and a nice bottle of red wine.

“It’s not fancy,” Pres said, “but I think you’ll like that rib eye you ordered.”

“I’m sure I will.” She sipped from her water glass.

Pres had ended up facing the door. The bodyguard stood by the row of chairs in front of the register, out of the way. He seemed to be good at blending in. Daisy was behind the register counter, fiddling with some receipts or something. She seemed totally oblivious to the big, silent fellow standing right there beside her.

“I looked you up on the internet,” Pres confessed.

Belle nodded, apparently not in any way surprised. “Did you find out anything interesting?”