sniffed, dragging her sleeve beneath her nose, as she pulled away from him. “Who? Billy Ray? Johnny? They’ve already got dates.” She gave her head a quick shake, then pressed her cheek on her knee and began tracing a path in the dirt with the tip of her finger. “No. No one will ask me to the Ball. Maybe to head or heel for them at the next roping competition, but never on a date.”
Because he suspected what she said was probably true, Forrest remained silent.
After a while, she lifted her head and turned to look at him. “Woody, do you think I’ll ever get married?”
The hopelessness in her voice touched his heart—and made him a little uneasy. The word “marriage” always had that effect on Forrest. He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know, Becky. I suppose you will, if you want to.”
She turned her gaze to the pasture, squinting hard, as if in doing so she might be able to see into the future. “I don’t think I will,” she murmured after a long moment. “All the guys just think of me as one of them, never as a female.” She choked back a laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob. “I can see it now. Thirty years old, a dried-up old maid and still working the Rusty Corral all by myself.”
Forrest dug his boot heels in the heat-dried grass, bringing himself alongside her. He looped an arm around her shoulders, and hugged her to his side. “Aw, now, Becky. It’s not as bad as all that.”
“No,” she said miserably, “it’s worse.”
Forrest heard the defeat in her voice, as well as the loneliness. “Tell you what, Becky,” he offered. “If you’re not married by your thirtieth birthday, hell, I’ll marry you.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. “Do you mean it?”
“Damn straight.” He pecked a kiss on her cheek, then scooted back against the trailer, dipping the bnm of his hat low over his eyes again. “Of course, by the time you turn thirty, you’ll probably be married and have a litter of snot-nosed kids hanging onto your belt loops.”
Or at least he hoped she did. Forrest Cunningham was a man whose word was as good as law...but he sure as hell wasn’t planning on getting married. Even the thought of marriage and spending the rest of his life saddled with one woman made him shudder in revulsion.
One
Royal, Texas 1999
West Texas.
Damn if it wasn’t the prettiest sight in the whole universe. And Forrest Cunningham should know. Over the years, his travels in the military and those as head of his family’s cattle empire had provided him with the opportunity to see a good portion of the world.
But considering how, at the moment, his view of West Texas was limited to the interior of the Royal Diner with its smoke-stained walls, cracked vinyl-topped bar stools, chipped Formica-topped tables and a beat-up jukebox that had been sitting in the same spot since the Fifties...well, even thinking West Texas was the prettiest sight in the world was probably grounds enough to commit a man.
But, then, Forrest was already questioning his sanity.
It had all started a little over two weeks ago while he and several other members of the exclusive Texas Cattleman’s Club had been on a secret mission in Europe to rescue a princess and her young son.
He snorted at the reminder of the woman whose rescue seemed to be at the core of his current level of discontent. A princess for God’s sake. He glanced in the direction of the counter where the woman in question worked.
Beautiful. That was the only word to describe Anna von Oberland. A mane of thick blond hair. Dark green eyes. A figure that would make any man stand up at attention. Hell, even with an apron tied around her waist she managed to look regal.
A princess.
He snorted again and gave his head a shake as he turned his gaze to the smudged window and the view of the Royal Diner’s parking lot where the wind was thickening the air with sand. A princess in Royal, Texas. Who’d have ever thought? But she was there. And she was a princess. Forrest could attest to both because he’d played a part in snatching her away from the squirrely prince who had wanted to force her into a marriage after her sister’s tragic death so that he could gain control of her estate and merge their kingdoms.
The rescue mission—code-named Alpha—had been the brainchild of Gregory Hunt. Gregory’s brother Blake and Sterling Churchill had made up the rest of the team. Hank Langley had footed the bill for the mission, though Forrest knew damn good and well Hank would have preferred to have been in on the action, rather than staying home and overseeing the operation from the comfort and safety of his office above the Texas Cattleman’s Club.
The thought of his old friend and owner of the private men’s club plowed a deeper row of discontent on Forrest’s brow. Hank Langley was one of his oldest friends and the most eligible bachelor in Royal...or at least he had been. Now Hank was a married man.
And Sterling, too. Who would have ever thought Sterling would walk down that long aisle again? Not after his first marriage had gone sour on him. But he had. And now he had a wife, same as Hank, and seemed as happy as a dog with a new bone. And he was going to be a daddy before long.
Sterling a daddy...
Forrest felt the sense of desolation digging its way deeper inside of him and tried to rope it in before he sunk into a blue funk so deep he couldn’t crawl out. Hell, he told himself, he had just turned thirty-five, was in the prime of his life, had more money than he could shake a stick at, and was the owner of the biggest ranch in West Texas. What did he have to feel blue about?
His shoulders slumped in despair. He didn’t need a psychologist to figure out the answer to that question. He’d already spent hours cogitating on the problem himself and he’d finally come up with the answer.
He needed a wife.
And children.
What was the use of having an empire if a man didn’t have somebody to pass it on to? Someone to carry on the Cunningham name?
The problem was there wasn’t a woman in the entire county whom he wanted to marry. He’d already made a list of all the eligible females he knew, and one-by-one had crossed through their names, ruling them out as possible candidates for the position of the future Mrs. Forrest Cunningham.
“Would you like more coffee?”
Forrest whipped his head around to find Anna standing beside his booth. She held up the coffeepot in silent invitation, its chipped and scarred handle a startling contrast to the graceful and delicate fingers curled around it. He wondered, not for the first time, if the Royal Diner was the best place to try to hide a royal princess. Anna von Oberland—dubbed Annie Grace by the members of the Alpha team in an effort to hide her true identity—stuck out like a rose in a patch of grease wood. He reared back, giving her room, and gestured toward his cup. “Yeah, you can warm it up for me.”
She leaned over to pour and Forrest noticed that her hand shook a bit. Before he could dodge the hot steaming brew that sloshed over the cup’s rim, it splattered across his lap, soaking quickly through his jeans and scalding his flesh.
Seeing
