like your house,” she offered, an attempt at civility. “It’s very…homey.”
Something dark flitted through his eyes even though his tone was teasing as he responded, “As the head of King Alexander’s stables, I expect you’re used to finer accommodations.”
“Not at all. It’s not like I grew up in the palace.” That much was true. She hadn’t laid eyes on Marazur until a few short months ago. And arriving at the palace had been a shock. She’d grown up in a very modest middle-class neighborhood. She was used to worn furniture and chipped dishes, not antique settees and fine china. She was torn jeans and T-shirts; Marazur was linen and lace. “I had a typical middle-class upbringing, you might say. I’m just…ordinary,” she conceded.
“How did you get the job, anyway? You’re awfully young.”
“Too young?” She bristled, familiar with the refrain. It was easier to do battle on the age front than admit she was there because of Daddy.
“Obviously not. I get the feeling you know exactly what you’re doing.”
He didn’t make it sound like a compliment, but it was wrapped in politeness so it was hard to tell.
“I grew up around quarter horses, and I…” She paused, considered. She didn’t want him to know. He couldn’t know. There would be no more coffee breaks in the kitchen, and she’d missed them desperately. Even if southern Alberta was vastly different from Virginia, this kitchen held the same feel as the one she remembered, and she was hungry for those feelings again, no matter how bittersweet. Mrs. Polcyk refilled her cup, and the scent of the brew drew her back to the smell of strong coffee in the office at Trembling Oak; to the tin of cookies that had always seemed to make its way to the scarred wooden table. These were the feelings of home.
She didn’t want to be treated any differently. As long as he thought of her as Lucy, she could pretend she’d escaped, even for a little while. If he knew who she was, he wouldn’t take her seriously. And the truth was she needed him to believe in her competence. Needed him to know she was fully capable of doing this job.
“It was a case of knowing someone who knew someone, that was all.”
Brody’s jaw tightened. First she’d called his house “homey” as if she couldn’t come up with a better word. Then she’d all but admitted she’d got her job by knowing someone. Nepotism. He despised the word. It reminded him of someone else. Someone who’d once considered Prairie Rose Ranch a little too rustic for her taste. His fingers tightened around the handle of his cup.
Mrs. Polcyk put plates of warm strudel in front of them and bustled away to the refrigerator. Brody examined the square and told himself to forget it. It didn’t matter who or what Lucy Farnsworth was. She was not Lisa, and all that mattered was concluding their business. Being allied to the House of Navarro and King Alexander was what was important. It would mean great things for the ranch and the breeding program he’d worked so hard to improve since taking over.
Brody cut a corner off with his fork and popped the buttery pastry into his mouth. “Cherry. God bless her.” He sighed with appreciation.
Lucy smiled thinly, almost as if she were unaccustomed to it. What he really wanted to know was more about King Alexander and his plans. Allying himself to one of the greatest stables in Europe would be a huge coup. He’d be able to grow his breeding program the way he wanted, really put Prairie Rose on the map. He owed that to his father. He owed it to himself, and to Mrs. Polcyk.
“What’s it like? Working for someone so high profile?”
Lucy picked up her own fork to hide her surprise. Briefly she’d sensed Hamilton’s withdrawal and got the uneasy feeling he was somehow mad at her. Now he was asking questions. Prying veiled in small talk. If he really wanted to know about her, all he’d have to do was a bit of navigating online and he’d get the whole story. She would have to give him enough to keep him from doing that, and not enough to let the cat out of the bag.
She was in such a quandary that she took a second bite of strudel before answering, pressing the buttery layers with her tongue, letting them melt. She’d been around a lot of livestock men in her life, and conversation was usually not one of their finer points. She had to acknowledge that he was making an effort, and for the sake of amicability, she considered how to answer.
Working for King Alexander was stifling at times, knowing why she was there in the first place. Being told she belonged there, when she knew she didn’t. Yet it was glorious at others, like when she got to go riding through the fields without asking permission. Being able to hand pick her own mount, with no restrictions. That little slice of freedom was all that had kept her sane.
She couldn’t reveal any of that to Hamilton, not if she wanted him to respect her capabilities. Not if she wanted him to see her as more than Daddy’s girl flirting around with the horsies. She knew ranchers. Knew that was exactly what he’d think.
She squared her shoulders and forced a smile.
“His Highness has fine stables and the best in facilities and equipment. His tack room alone is half the size of your barn, all of it gleaming and smelling of rich leather. Navarro horses are in demand all over Europe, from riding horses for the privileged to show jumpers to racing stock. His staff is dedicated and knowledgeable. It’s a manager’s dream come true.”
“But?”
She put down her fork slowly, met his eyes while pursing her lips in puzzlement. “What do you mean, ‘but’?”
“But what are you leaving out?”
“Nothing. It’s a great operation.”
“Then why aren’t you meeting my eyes when you tell me about it?”
“I beg your pardon?” She felt color rise in her cheeks and took a deliberate sip of her cooling coffee. She’d been deliberately vague, and now he was calling her on it. She never had been good at hiding her feelings. Her mother always said Lucy had no face for poker and that Lucy had come by it honestly, as she hadn’t had one, either. It had been years before Lucy understood what she’d really meant.
“You’re avoiding looking at me. My mother always said that was a sign of a liar.”
She bristled. An hour. She’d known him barely an hour and he was calling her a liar! The mug came down smartly on the countertop. He couldn’t know who she really was. And if he did, pretending he didn’t was downright rude. Mrs. Polcyk looked over, then calmly went back to cutting vegetables.
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“Of course not. I’m just wondering what you’re not saying. This is my operation and my stock you’re looking at. I don’t get to travel to Marazur to check things out first. And when I get a sense that there’s more to a story, I want to know before I sign anything on a dotted line.”
She stood up from her stool. Dammit, even sitting he was slightly taller than she was. “You’re insinuating that I’m withholding something about the Navarro stables. I don’t appreciate that. The hotel is looking better and better. Navarro stables doesn’t need Prairie Rose Ranch, not as much as…” She looked around her and then back into his face, lifting her chin. “Not as much as you need Navarro. You aren’t the only stud operation in the world.”
The anger felt good, releasing. Even if she knew provoking
