you when you get back.”
Travis hung up the phone and shook his head. So Hank was finally seeking out some female companionship. Good for him. As far as Travis knew, Hank hadn’t been in a serious relationship for months. He’d sworn off women after he quit the circuit because the gossips of Ranger Springs could sure do a number on a man’s reputation if he wasn’t careful. Just look at what had happened to Grayson Phillips—they’d hounded the poor man into matrimony last year, not that Gray seemed to mind being married to Dr. Amy Wheatley, Travis recalled with a chuckle.
So Hank was going off with a woman for two days. Well, Travis sure hoped he had a real good, relaxing time. Nothing like a little R and R to put a smile on a man’s face.
Chapter Two
He might be a rogue and a scoundrel, but he was a man of his word. He was ready to go when she returned from the bank. A well-worn carryall sat next to his chair on the porch while a large, fat yellow tabby cat wove its way through his legs.
Presumably the “best mouser in the state of Texas.”
Gwendolyn stepped down from the Land Rover, motioning Prince Alexi’s valet to follow her. She’d prefer to make the introductions before they all climbed back into the vehicle for the short trip to San Antonio.
“Would you care to join us, Mr. Boedecker?” she asked the driver.
“You go right ahead, Lady Gwendolyn. I’ll get to know Mr. McCauley later.”
Yes, at least the two men would have something in common. Same state, same economy of language. They no doubt enjoyed activities like drinking beer and flirting with women.
Well, she thought, pulling her jacket straight and marching toward the porch, Mr. McCauley would not be flirting with women for the next few days. Not as Prince Alexi. She didn’t want any rumors to get back to King Wilheim, who was intent on his eldest son marrying a suitable woman from European nobility as quickly as possible. Gwendolyn prayed that no word of Alexi’s impulsive little trip with the truck-stop waitress reached the king’s ear.
Hank McCauley rose from the wooden chair, stretching until she was certain the pearl snaps on his shirt were going to pop open. Ridiculous idea. Why in the world did these cowboy types prefer shirts without proper buttons?
“Mr. McCauley, I’d like to present His Royal Highness Prince Alexi’s personal valet, Milos Anatole, who will be assisting you with clothing and personal grooming.” She gave a slight nod, and Milos, who was very proud of his position as attendant to the future king of Belegovia, stepped forward and bowed.
“No offense, Mr. Anatole, but I’d just as soon get dressed on my own.”
“Milos will be indispensable to you in making the correct wardrobe choice,” Gwendolyn pointed out.
“He can pick ’em,” McCauley drawled, “but I’m doin’ up my own buttons and zippers.”
She suppressed a smile, noticing that Mr. McCauley’s drawl became much more pronounced when he stressed his Texas roots and independent ideas. “I’m sure we all understand your need for privacy.”
He frowned at her, but she plunged ahead before he could make any further remarks. “Milos will also assist with your instruction and other details such as protocol and menu.”
“You just tell me where to go, when to be there and what to wear, you hear?”
Good heavens, but Hank McCauley was laying it on thick today! Perhaps he was trying to convince them all that he was as opposite to Prince Alexi as night and day. Well, she’d just see about that! When she was finished with him, he’d be able to stand next to the prince and confuse even close acquaintances.
She only hoped she could fool the paparazzi and the king.
“Well, let’s be off then,” she said cheerfully. “Mr. McCauley, I’d suggest you sit in the back where the windows are tinted darker until we work more on your princely bearing.”
“Whoa again, Lady Wendy. I’m perfectly willing to go with you and help out with this impersonation, but I’m not squeezing myself into the back seat of that vehicle and taking off for San Antonio. No self-respecting cowboy would get himself stranded in town with no way back home.”
“We will, of course, provide transportation when Prince Alexi returns.”
“Nope. I need my own truck.”
Gwendolyn resisted the urge to place her hands on her hips and stamp her foot like an irate fishwife. “Mr. McCauley, we need to start work immediately on the history of Belegovia, the itinerary and all the details that you will need to know as Prince Alexi.” And she sincerely doubted she could get any work done in a rattletrap truck strewn with paper rubbish and beer cans. Not that she’d actually seen any of that debris around Mr. McCauley yet…
“Then you come with me and start working. I’m driving my own truck to San Antonio or I’m staying right here.”
Stubborn man! She would have gladly strangled him if she didn’t need his neck to be free of bruises for the next few days. “Very well,” she said as civilly as possible under the circumstances. “Let me get my briefcase and I will begin instructions at once.”
“And bring me one of those Dr. Peppers, darlin’,” he called out as she turned away.
She gritted her teeth and shooed the other man back to the Land Rover. “Make a list of whatever you feel is most urgent for Mr. McCauley’s education. We’ll meet with him in the suite after checking in to the hotel. I trust we’ve already made arrangements to enter through the service elevators?”
“Of course,” Milos answered. “No one except for a few maids will see the prince enter the hotel.”
“Very good. Call me on my mobile if you think of any problems.”
After retrieving a cold can of the soda, her sun-glasses—a recent addition to her wardrobe caused by the unrelenting glare of the sun on the shining bonnet of the Land Rover—and her briefcase, she made her way with as much dignity as possible to the porch, where Mr. McCauley awaited. At least he was fully dressed. She should have thought to give him a selection from Prince Alexi’s wardrobe, but she’d been so shaken when she left his ranch to go into town that she hadn’t planned that far ahead. She sincerely hoped this was not an omen of things to come.
“Let’s be off,” she repeated, handing him the can.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Really, Mr. McCauley,” she said as he took her arm and steered her around the side of the house, “your sarcasm is unnecessary and inappropriate. I am the daughter of an earl, not a member of the royal family.” She took a deep breath as she rushed to keep up with his longer stride. “Prince Alexi would certainly never say such a thing to an employee.”
“I’m beginning to think this prince is a real bore.”
“Absolutely not! He’s a wonderful man.”
“He sounds like a sleazy toad who just ran off with my former girlfriend.”
