Royal Escape: The Complete Series Read online

  But I don’t get a word out. I still haven’t spoken a single word to this woman, and she’s beaming at me, acting as though I’ve just offered her the job of a lifetime.

  “So? Where’s my room?”

  Clara

  They teach you a lot of things at business school. But there are certain things you can only learn out in the real world. Spend any amount of time working for large companies in New York and you’ll realize that all the principles and statistics they made you learn for your degree will only get you so far. At the end of the day, being successful in business is much more about confidence and attitude than it is about knowledge. This is especially true for women, since the business world in general is still mostly a boys’ club, and I swear most of the men I met at my job expected me to break down crying every other day. Or have to take a week off every time I had my period. Even Adam used to make jokes about it sometimes.

  But as much as I want to leave the old me behind, I’m grateful for that experience now. Men like to think they always know what they want, but they usually don’t. So you have to tell them. I might be out of my depth here, but if you spend enough time in the corporate world, you learn how to pretend that you’re qualified to do anything.

  I look at the man in front of me. I hadn’t expected to do things quite like this—just showing up out of nowhere and hoping I found him at home—but I didn’t really have a choice. I had thought my cell phone would work when I got to “downtown” Firebird Falls, but the service kept going in and out, which meant calling the number I’d scribbled down was out of the question. So I paid another visit to Bill, asking about whoever posted the ad, and after a little confusion about why I was interested he told me I needed to head out here to the Crowley ranch. He even sold me a map. I can’t remember the last time I used a real map, not GPS, but it got me here safely, at least.

  And so far, things are going well. I think.

  I peer up at the man. He’s very tall, and he’s much younger than I expected. I guess I thought the owner of a ranch would be grizzled and old, with a scraggly gray beard and weathered skin and a cowboy hat. This man hardly looks older than me, and he certainly doesn’t look weathered. But he has a very straight back and wide shoulders that I imagine must come from a lifetime of lugging around…whatever it is you lug around on a ranch. And his eyes are as blue as the sky overhead.

  I swallow, my cheeks warming slightly. He might look like a cowboy out of a cologne ad, but I do not need to be drooling over him. I’m here for the job, nothing more.

  And not even a week ago you were engaged to another man, I remind myself. Have you no shame?

  The silence has stretched out for an awkwardly long amount of time. It seems like the hunky cowboy is a man of few words.

  “My room, Mr. Crowley?” I prompt him again, firmly but with a touch of sweetness. Another thing I learned in my work is when adding that little feminine edge actually helps sometimes.

  He clears his throat and shakes his head, his brow crinkling.

  “I’m not Mr. Crowley,” he says. His voice is deeper than I imagined it would be. He also doesn’t have the cowboy drawl I expected. “I’m Nick.”

  “Just Nick?”

  His brow crinkles a little more. “Nick Smith.”

  Nick Smith isn’t exactly the rugged cowboy name I was anticipating. But I smile. “Do you have a room for me or not? Because that really is a deal-breaker, Mr. Smith. You can’t ask someone to be your ranch manager and then expect them to drive back and forth from town every day.” I cross my arms. “And I better have my own room. I don’t know what kind of situation you have out here, but you better not be expecting me to share a room with you. I’m not that kind of woman.”

  The accusation appears to startle him, and he jerks out of whatever trance he was in.

  “Of course not,” he says, face darkening. “There’s a room this way.”

  He marches inside, and I suppress a grin as I follow him. Relief rushes through me. I can’t believe I actually pulled this off. But apparently Mr. Smith can be led by the nose with the right combination of confidence and mild bullying. I should remember that he gets all offended when I suggest he might behave in a less-than-professional manner toward me—that may come in handy later.

  Like when he inevitably realizes I have no fucking clue what I’m doing on a ranch.

  His house is modest. And it might have had some charm, if there were actually any furniture.

  “You live very simply, huh?” I comment as he leads me through what it supposed to be the living room. A stone fireplace breaks up the timber walls, but otherwise the room is bare.

  “I just moved in,” he says.

  He doesn’t offer anything more than that. I follow him up a rickety set of stairs to the upper level, where two rooms branch off the landing. I glance in one and see a pile of blankets spread out on the floor. He leads me into the other, which is completely empty.

  I look around. It’s a decent-sized room, all things considered. And there’s a big window letting in lots of light. I can see for miles and miles through the glass, across pastureland to distant forest, all the way to purple mountains on the horizon.

  A girl could get used to a view like that.

  But there are things that have to be settled first.

  “I’ll need a bed, of course,” I tell him. “And a nightstand and lamp. And ideally a desk or vanity of some sort, unless you don’t mind me doing my business at the dining room table.” It was the only piece of furniture I saw when we walked through the house.

  His brow is still crinkled, his lips turned down into a frown as if it’s completely unreasonable for me to expect furniture as part of my room and board.

  “If you’re not going to pay me a proper salary,” I tell him, “I expect real furniture. You’re lucky anyone agreed to take this job at all, considering what you’re willing to offer in return.”

  His frown deepens.

  “And while you’re at it, you should get a real bed for yourself, too,” I go on. “And living room furniture. A well-managed ranch begins with the home.” Or it should, anyway. “If you can’t afford to furnish your own house, then tending your livestock is the least of your worries.”

  “I can afford to furnish my own house.” His voice is hard.

  “Then you live this way by choice?” I shake my head. “Mr. Smith, if you want a successful, flourishing ranch, you have to live like you already own one. Not like a college student who can hardly afford instant ramen.”

  He crosses the room to me so quickly that I don’t even have time to jump back. Suddenly he’s looming over me, and now that he’s so close, he seems so much taller than I originally thought.

  “Who exactly do you think you are?” he demands. His blue eyes are stormy, and they bore into me. “Who are you to come in here and continuously insult me?”

  I can’t help it—my breath catches in my throat. I wasn’t expecting such heated intensity from the brooding cowboy who so far hasn’t strung more than three words together at a time. For a moment, his intense gaze chases all other thoughts away. Those eyes could knock me right over if I let them.

  But if he thinks he’s going to intimidate me, he’s got another thing coming. I’ve faced down some powerful men at my job—men who thought women would crumble beneath a harsh word or sharp glance—and the only way to deal with arrogant bastards like that is to show them they aren’t getting to you.

  So the moment I find my breath again, I force my lips into a smile. “Who do I think I am? I’m the woman who’s going to change your life, Mr. Smith. By the time I’m done with this ranch, you’ll wonder how you ever survived without me.”

  My words seem to catch him by surprise. In an instant, the anger disappears from his face, replaced instead by something that looks like confusion. He straightens, still frowning slightly.

  I guess confidence and bravery won this time, I think. I wish I’d had as much confidence and bravery when it came to Adam. Or eve
n my parents. But I’m not going to think about them now. I glance out the window once more, letting the scenery fill me with joy and peace.

  “We can discuss the furniture more later,” I tell him. “For now, why don’t you show me the horses?”

  Nicholas

  What an odd woman. I’m used to being around strong women—my mother is one of the strongest I know. But there is something not quite right about this woman. For all her bluster, it seems there is something else just beneath the surface.

  But it’s no matter. I must remind myself that I came all the way here to avoid this sort of thing, not to find myself embroiled anew in the drama of some random woman.

  At least she barely lets me get a word in edgewise. I’m not sure how she hasn’t noticed my terrible accent. Perhaps because it takes me so long to say a word—I have to think about hiding my accent every time I open my mouth—she thinks I have some sort of speech impediment.

  If nothing else, her insistence on being in control of the conversation is helping me to hide my identity.

  “Well?” She places her hands on her hips, tilting her head.

  I look her up and down. If she weren’t so obnoxious, she might be somewhat attractive. But she’s clearly trying to be someone she isn’t.

  And aren’t you doing the same?

  I frown at the thought, still staring blankly at the woman before me.

  “Hello? The horses?” Her foot begins to tap impatiently.

  “I’ve not…” I clear my throat, trying to cover my slip into my formal tone. “I haven’t fed them yet. I suppose that can be your first test.”

  “Test?” She lifts a brow. “You think I need to be tested?” She shakes her head. “I already told you, Mr. Smith—”

  “Nick.”

  “Nick. I’m an expert with horses. I don’t think I need to be tested—”

  “You expect me to just hand you a job? You’ve no…” I clear my throat again. “You haven’t given me any references. You—”

  “I have references.” She lifts her chin. “Plenty of them.”

  I nod. “And I suppose you already know the phone service here is less than ideal. So forgive me, Miss…what was it?”

  “Weaver. Clara.”

  “Fine. Clara. If you’d like to work on my ranch—to live in my home—you’ll have to prove that you can do the job. And the horses need to be fed.”

  She smiles at me for a moment too long. “Fine. Lead the way.” She motions with her arm to the doorway behind me.

  I walk down the stairs and head for the back door, leading her to the barn.

  I can’t help but wonder why I put up an advertisement for help at all. I only have the two horses here, and it isn’t as though I haven’t been taking care of them on my own.

  I’d wanted to bring my horse from Montovia, but I didn’t quite consider the logistics of transporting a large animal from one continent to another. Copernicus is a fine animal, and I’d always thought he would do well with the open space of an actual ranch.

  But now that I’m thinking about it, I have no experience at all with western-style riding. I look over at the woman beside me, who I swear is growing giddy with excitement as we near the barn.

  One more thing I’ll have to try to hide. If she truly is the expert she claims to be, perhaps I’ll just allow her to care for the animals. If I avoid riding altogether, she’ll never have to know that my only experience is with dressage.

  “Oh my God!” She squeals as we enter the barn, racing over to the large black horse in the stall nearest the door. “She’s beautiful.”

  I can feel my eyebrows draw together as I watch her with the animal. After she pats her nose for a long moment, Clara turns to me. “What’s her name?”

  I frown. “I’ve not…I haven’t named her yet.”

  “Pomegranate.” She nods, turning back to the horse. “I’ll call you Pom for short.”

  The animal seems to take a liking to her, giving her a bow of its head.

  “See? She loves me already!” Clara doesn’t look at me as she speaks, her attention fully on the horse. “And who is this beside you, Pom?” She walks over to the next stall, patting the larger horse on the nose as well. “What’s your name, big guy?”

  “Please don’t—”

  “Majestic.” She nods, mostly to herself before she turns to me. “He looks royal, doesn’t he?”

  I lift a brow, looking at her for a moment. She doesn’t know, does she?

  Before I can finish my thought, she turns back to the horse. “Maybe not Majestic. Maybe Prince…something. Prince Neptune?” She shakes her head. “What do you think, Nick?”

  “I think…I think they’re hungry.” I nod toward the hay in the corner. “They’ll need their meal before they go outside.”

  Clara gives me a plastic smile. “Right.” She nods, though it seems as though she’s trying to convince herself. “Right.”

  “Go on, then—”

  “Why don’t you let me take care of these beauties? You can go back to the house and…and do whatever it is you do.”

  “This is what I do.” I lift a brow. “You don’t actually know anything about horses, do you?”

  “I do. I know everything there is to know about horses.”

  “What was the name of your childhood horse—”

  “What was the name of your childhood horse?” She cocks her head.

  “Copernicus. Fine animal. I’m hoping to bring him here soon.” I lift my brow again. “And yours?”

  “I… Why does it matter? You don’t actually need to know any of the personal details of my life, you know.” She turns back to the larger of the two horses, petting it on the nose again as she coos at it.

  I watch her for a moment before I stride over to the stalls. “Miss Weaver…”

  “Clara.” She doesn’t look away from the horse.

  “You don’t have any experience running a ranch.”

  She blinks a few times, but still doesn’t look away from the animal.

  “I…” I let out a long, slow breath, trying to remember to speak in my American voice. “I don’t really want to teach you—”

  “I know horses can sleep standing up. I know they eat hay. I know they need to be brushed daily. I know they need exercise. I…I know…” Tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

  Part of me—the brotherly part, I suppose—wants to pull her into my arms and let her cry against my shoulder. But I dare not touch her. Instead, I stand there like an idiot, watching her cry as she continues to pet the horse.

  She still won’t look me in the eye, and her voice has dropped to little more than a whisper. “Please, Nick. You don’t understand. I need this. I need this more than I can explain.”

  Clara

  He just stands there, watching me weep like an idiot.

  And since he’s not saying anything, I can’t keep myself from carrying on.

  “I’ve read Vitner’s Guide to Equine Care cover to cover,” I tell him through my tears. “And Margaret Morse’s entire Horse and its Rider series—even the one about medical care, which most people skip.” Back when I was fourteen, when I still allowed myself to fantasize about things, I dreamed about becoming a vet one day. I even took notes on all the books I read in a spiral-bound notebook with a purple horse on the front.

  Nick still doesn’t say anything, so I turn and look at the horse in front of me again. He’s a beautiful blue roan, and he watches me with dark eyes. I gently stroke his cheek with the back of my fingers.

  “You’re definitely a Prince,” I murmur to him.

  “What did you say?”

  I glance back at Nick. Strangely, he looks almost startled.

  “Your horse,” I say. “I think his name is Prince. Just Prince.” I give the beautiful gelding another stroke down his cheek, then wipe my face with the back of my other arm. My tears are still flowing, but they’ve slowed.

  I can feel Nick watching me, but he doesn’t say anything else. I stubbornl
y refuse to look at him.

  If he won’t give me the job, then he has to say it outright, I tell myself. I’m not going to make this easy for him. I need this too badly.

  “You don’t know anything about managing a ranch,” he says finally, as if repeating himself a few more times will change my mind.

  “I know about managing,” I tell him. “I know about budgets and inventory and how to organize time and resources. I’m sure there are plenty of people around here who know about livestock, but you won’t find anyone who’s as good as I am at the rest.” I sniff and wipe the last of my tears from my face. “Give me a trial period. A month, just to show you what I can do.” A month to figure out what I’m doing with my life. “If you still don’t think I can handle the job after that, then you can fire me. In the meantime, all it will cost you is a room in your house and some food.” A month of room and board gives me the chance to look for other work in this area, too, if it looks like it’s going to be necessary.

  I turn fully to face Nick, propping my fists on my hips in what one of my business school professors told me was a ‘power pose.’

  “One month,” I tell him. “You won’t regret it.”

  He looks like he already does. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it again. I continue to stare him down, refusing to even blink.

  Finally, he shakes his head, and my heart leaps at the look of resignation in his eyes even before he speaks.

  “One month,” he says through clenched teeth. “And I warn you, my standards are quite high. I’m not here to partake in charity.”

  In spite of myself, I have to bite back a smile. He might own this ranch, but I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing, either. He doesn’t even sound anything like a cowboy! Who says stuff like ‘partake in charity’? What a weirdo.

  But I have a job. For now, at least. And that’s the important thing.

  “You won’t regret this,” I tell him again. “I promise.”

  His response could most accurately be described as a grunt.