Читать книгу: «The Rancher's Christmas Princess»
A CHRISTMAS PRESENT.
FROM THE PAST.
Arabella Bravo-Calabretti came to Elk Creek, Montana, with a secret to deliver and a job to do. Being a Bravo Royale, she was going to do it right. Before she handed her best friend’s darling son, Ben, over to his unwitting father, they would all spend Christmas together. Only then could she be absolutely sure that rancher Preston McCade was ready to be a dad.
Or…was that really the reason Belle was hanging around? She and Preston were practically from different planets, yet the attraction was undeniable. Before long, someone was utterly in love with a rancher—and Christmas in Montana was presenting one surprise after another.
’Twas just before Christmas, and all over Elk Creek Tongues were a-flappin’ with the news of the week. A princess was visiting, with staff and a child, And seeking a rancher. Wasn’t that wild?
Now Belle (that’s the princess) had a story to tell And she wasn’t certain it all would end well She had to be sure that her friend’s child, a boy Would be raised by his father with love and with joy.
So Belle and her bodyguard, companion and babe Moved in with the ranchers, the Misters McCade And as Montana, and Christmas, and love worked their charms
Guess who fell passionately into whose arms?
Dear Reader,
It is the season of giving. And Arabella Bravo-Calabretti, Princess of Montedoro, has come to the small Montana town of Elk Creek bearing a gift beyond price. He’s eighteen months old and his name is Benjamin.
Horse rancher Preston McCade has a good life, a solid, stable, productive life. It’s a life he’s just fine with, though deep in his heart he has that nagging feeling that the most important things have passed him by. Once, he planned on marriage and a family. It didn’t work out. He hasn’t tried again.
But then he meets Princess Arabella and soon enough, the child named Ben. And all of a sudden, Christmas is more than just a day in December. Preston’s life is full of promise again and more than one miracle is within his grasp. He just needs to be brave enough to reach out and claim the love that’s waiting for him.
Happy holidays, everyone! May this blessed season bring you the most important gifts—the ones of love and family.
Yours always,
Christine
The Rancher’s Christmas Princess
Christine Rimmer
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oregon. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.
For MSR
Always
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Excerpt
Chapter One
News traveled fast in Elk Creek, Montana.
And the presence of a real, live princess in town? That definitely qualified as news.
Her Highness’s name was Arabella. Arabella Bravo-Calabretti. And her mother ruled some tiny, rich country in the Mediterranean Sea. Princess Arabella had taken three side-by-side rooms at the Drop On Inn on Main Street. Word was she had a baby in tow. She’d also brought along a big-eyed middle-aged lady and a bodyguard as well.
In Elk Creek, where things tended to get pretty quiet during the long, snowy winter, visiting royalty was big news indeed.
As a rule, horse rancher Preston McCade would have given no thought and less attention to any princess, in Elk Creek or otherwise. However, Her Highness Arabella had been asking questions—about him. She’d arrived in town on a Sunday in early December. Preston got a call that very evening informing him that the princess wanted to get in touch with him.
And on Monday morning bright and early, when he stopped in at Colson’s Feed and Seed to check on an order, Betsy Colson beamed him the biggest smile he’d seen on her freckled face in all the years he’d known her.
“Pres.” Betsy slid out from behind the counter. “You heard there’s a princess in town?”
“Good morning to you, too, Betsy.”
“I heard it from Dee Everhart who got it straight from RaeNell.” RaeNell and Larry Seabuck owned and managed the Drop On Inn. “She’s from Montedoro, this princess. You ever heard of Montedoro? It’s on the coast of France. They say it’s beautiful there. Palm trees. Casinos. Balmy beaches, the sun shining practically year-round.”
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.
Suddenly, she couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. She looked down at his hands bracketing the heavy coffee mug. They were strong hands, big hands. Capable. Calloused. Hardworking hands.
Was his life...difficult? Harsh? How harsh?
So very many things she needed to know. Too many, really. Obligation dragged on her like chains.
She composed her expression and then made herself raise her head again. “Yes, I’m all right. Thank you.” She glanced out the window. “It’s snowing again.”
He nodded. “You’d best not make your visit too open-ended. Stick around another week or so, you won’t be getting out of Montana until the spring thaw.”
“I think I shall have to take my chances as far as the weather goes, Mr. McCade.”
“Preston.”
She felt a smile blooming. Almost. “Preston.”
He nodded at her nearly full plate. “Eat. Your food will get cold.”
She wasn’t hungry. Not anymore. At the sight of him striding so purposefully toward her, her appetite had fled. Still, she picked up her fork again.
* * *
Pres sipped his coffee and tried not to stare at the princess across from him.
She was good-looking, all right. With all that shiny brown hair and those fine, almond-shaped whiskey-colored eyes. Her skin had a glow to it. He bet it was soft as velvet to a man’s touch. And she was classy, too. Polite. Soft-voiced. No wonder Larry had a crush on her.
His food came—a thick steak, four eggs, home fries, toast and a generous slice of hot apple pie on the side. He tucked into the meal, thinking that he liked the direct, no-nonsense way she’d met his gaze. She seemed kind of serious, though. Kind of sad. Like something was weighing on her mind.
Then again, he was pretty damn serious himself as a rule. After all, life was tough. Then you died.
“Have you lived here in Montana all your life, Preston?”
“Except for four years of college in Utah. I live at the family ranch. The McCade Ranch. It’s a ways out of town. We breed and train horses. Quarter horses, mostly, for ranch work.”
“The quarter horse. That most American of breeds. Great sprinters. So agile. Perfectly suited to work on a ranch.”
His opinion of her went up another notch. “You know horses.”
“My father was raised on a ranch,” she said. “In Texas. Near San Antonio. I have a cousin, Luke, who lives on that ranch now. Luke raises quarter horses, too, as a matter of fact.”
“Your father’s American, then?”
“He took Montedoran citizenship when he married my mother. But yes, he was born here in America. I’ve ridden since I was small. We all have, my brothers and sisters and me. My sister Alice is the true horsewoman of the family, though. Do you raise cattle also?”
“We do run cattle, yes. A small herd. But we’re mostly a horse operation. I’m in partnership with my dad and the ranch has been in the family for four generations. I’m pretty proud of our breeding program. Our horses are steady-natured, good for ranch work. They also perform well in rodeos across a range of events. We have two fine thoroughbreds standing at stud.” Whoa. He’d said a mouthful. As a rule, he wasn’t a man to fall all over himself bragging about his operation. He concentrated on his food again.
She asked, “Any brothers or sisters?”
“Just me and the old man.”
She leaned in a little. “You smiled. Because of your father?”
He shrugged. “You’d have to meet him. My father considers himself a charmer.”
“But he’s not?”
“I generally let people make up their own minds about that. But be warned. He’ll talk your ear off if you give him half a chance.”
“And your mother?”
“She passed on.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I was only a kid.”
“That must have been hard. For you. And your father.”
“Like I said, a long time ago.” He had a few questions of his own. One in particular: What was it she needed to see him about? But she seemed to want to...get to know him a little, for some reason. And he realized that was just fine with him. He was curious about her, too. “How about your family?”
She sipped her coffee. “Both of my parents are still living and in good health.”
“You said you had sisters and you mentioned brothers, too?”
“I have four sisters and four brothers.”
“That’s quite a royal family.”
“Montedoro is a principality,” she explained. “That means we, the ruling family, are not, strictly speaking, considered royal.”
“So your father’s not a king?”
“Actually, it’s my mother who rules Montedoro.”
Right. RaeNell had told him that, now that he thought about it. “You said your dad was born an American...”
She nodded. “They met in Los Angeles. My father used to be an actor. He did well for himself, even won an Oscar for best actor in a supporting role.”
“But he gave all that up when he met your mother?”
“Yes, he did. When my mother took the throne he became His Serene Highness Evan, Prince Consort of Montedoro—and no, my mother is not a queen. She’s the sovereign princess.”
“I see,” he said. Though he didn’t, not really. He only thought that her world and his were galaxies apart.
Which had him feeling suddenly awkward and foolish. He’d been talking way too much, acting like a rube, a hayseed way too full of himself, all puffed up to be having breakfast with this amber-eyed beauty from a long, long ways out of town.
Come on now. Exactly what business did she have with him? Whatever it was, she sure wasn’t in any rush to get down to it. He pushed his plate away, wiped his mouth and set his napkin on the table.
The princess could take a hint. “I wonder if we might speak in private...” she cautiously suggested. He couldn’t say he blamed her for wanting to take the conversation elsewhere. The low murmur of other voices filled the diner now. But he had no doubt that every ear in the place remained cocked toward their booth.
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?”
He buttered a hunk of bread. “I learned about what happened to your brother.”
She nodded. “It was terrible for all of us. We were sure he had died. But he returned to us. And it’s over now. His wife, who is like a sister to me, is expecting twins next month. They are very much in love, Lili and Alex.”
“I read that your Lili is a princess from the island country of Alagonia.”
“Yes. Lili’s the crown princess, the heir presumptive.”
He chuckled. She amused him to no end with her talk of princes and crowns, of thrones and titles. “And that means?”
“Lili’s an only child. If her father, the king, never has a son, she will rule Alagonia one day. She’s called the heir presumptive because it’s presumed that she will one day be queen, barring the birth of a male heir. If she were a man, she would be called the heir apparent and her position as first in line of succession would be secure, regardless of any future children her father might have.”
He studied her expression. “Somehow, you don’t approve of that?”
“Well, I think it’s somewhat...backward. As though men were born naturally superior to women, naturally more suited to rule and therefore should take precedence. Everyone in the modern world knows that’s completely untrue.”
Pres set down his butter knife. “You expecting me to argue that point with you?”
“Were you planning to?”
“Not a chance.”
She sent him a sideways look. “Good thinking, Preston.”
He moved on to a safer subject. “I also read that you’re a nurse, that you work with Nurses Without Boundaries.”
“Yes. In my family, we believe in being useful. I don’t do a lot of hands-on nursing, but I am able to help raise awareness—and necessary funds—to get supplies and medical personnel where they’re most needed around the world.” She was so damn easy on the eyes. He could have sat there across from her forever, listening to her beautiful voice, watching her face, on the lookout for a hint of a smile. And he really was impressed that she was a nurse. She’d gone and gotten herself an education in a useful profession, even though she probably had money running out her ears and would never actually need to work. “What else did you learn about me?” she asked.
He swallowed a bite of bread. “Your oldest brother, the heir to the throne, is a widower with two children.”
She picked up her wine, took a small sip. “What else?”
“Your second-born brother married a lawyer from Texas who happened to be the mother of his son.”
She chuckled. A beautiful sound. “That’s a long story. For another time.”
“None of your sisters are married. Neither is your one other brother, Alexander’s twin, Damien. I also read all about your mother and father and how they met.”
She gave an elegant shrug. “How did your parents meet?”
“My dad was six, my mom was five. It was her first day of kindergarten.”
“Ah,” she said. “Love fated from childhood.”
“I don’t know about that. The story goes that he chased her around the playground. She ran away screaming, tripped and needed seven stitches in her chin. She didn’t let him near her for years after that.”
“At least it was a memorable meeting.”
“It certainly was.”
Wayne brought their salads. They ate, talking easily. Of her life. Of his. The steaks came—and were terrific as always. He told her he was an agriculture major in college. She said she’d gotten her nursing degree in America, at Duke University.
He knew that this dinner was supposed to be an opportunity for her to get down to whatever it was that she needed to discuss with him. Didn’t matter. It felt like a date to Preston. A real date. A successful date, the kind of date that has a man thinking he will ask this woman out again. The kind of date that makes the world seem new and fresh and full of promise.
He kept reminding himself that it really wasn’t a date. That any minute now, she was going to get down to it, to tell him what was going on.
But she didn’t tell him. They had coffee and the Bull’s Eye’s famous bread pudding.
And she remained not the least forthcoming as to why she’d been asking around town about him. He probably should have been more bothered about that, should have pushed at her to get on with it.
But he wasn’t all that bothered and he didn’t feel like pushing. He was enjoying himself too much. By the time he’d swallowed the last of his bread pudding, he was starting to think he didn’t really care if she ever told him why she’d been looking for him.
The bodyguard was still waiting patiently by the door when they went to get their coats. Pres helped Belle into hers.
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