thought Rose was dead. Even her brother. Until recently. She had not lived an easy life. And for that misfortune, he pitied her. He even admired her strength and courage. But he was not yet ready to embrace her as family.
“I found the Scotch,” she said, smiling as she reentered the room, a bottle of fine aged Scotch in one hand, a crystal tumbler in the other. “I hope this suits you.”
Everything at the ranch was of the finest quality: the furnishings, the art adorning the walls, even the china and crystal. The Spanish-style house itself was solid and spacious and possessed over a dozen bedrooms that overlooked a glorious lake. And the Arabian horses housed in the stables were of superb breeding. His brothers certainly had not grown up wanting. Still, none of this compared to the opulent palace where Sharif had spent his twenty-nine years.
He wasn’t sure how that made him feel, or why it mattered. All three of his brothers seemed content. Genuinely happy. Sharif was the one who was suffocating from confusion.
After accepting the glass of Scotch Rose poured, he downed the liquor in one gulp. “I will go for that ride now,” he said, and stoically met her startled eyes. “What time shall I return for dinner?”
“Sharif.” His father’s sharp tone shook the air like sudden thunder on a clear night.
Rose laid a hand on King Zak’s arm, and his expression immediately softened. “We eat around seven. But it’ll start getting dark before then, so be careful.”
For a moment, his father’s gaze lingered on the American woman, and Sharif’s insides twisted at the longing he saw in those dark eyes. Anger and resentment sliced through him like a thief’s sharpened dagger.
“I shall not be dining with you tonight.” Sharif walked toward the French doors without another glance at them. “Be certain my bedchamber has been made ready for my return.”
Even at his father’s grunt of disapproval, he did not turn around. He continued out the door, and waved for his personal attendant to lag behind when the man rushed to accompany him. Sharif did not want anyone to see the pain his eyes surely could not hide.
“HE’S VERY ARROGANT.” Rose watched her youngest son stride proudly away, his head held high, his posture perfectly erect. When she realized what she’d said, heat flared in her cheeks and her gaze flew to King Zak’s face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound critical. I was merely making an observation, really. You’ve done a fine job with him. And you have my everlasting thanks. He is very well mannered and bright and handsome…”
King Zak smiled. “It is you who is responsible for his comeliness. He looks very much like you.”
Rose blushed again. “Thank you, but I think he looks more like Ibrahim.” Her gaze strayed out the window and she watched the way one shoulder dipped ever so slightly as Sharif walked. Remarkably like Ibrahim.
The memory of her husband was a knife in her heart, as though it had been only yesterday that his young life had been violently ripped away from hers.
“You are quite right,” King Zak said, drawing her attention again. He had a fierce, swarthy look, but kind eyes. “Sharif is sometimes arrogant. We indulged him too much. Especially Nadirah. She awaited a child for a very long time.”
He fell silent, staring out the window toward Sharif’s disappearing form, and Rose knew he was thinking about his wife, missing her, as Rose still missed Ibrahim.
“This behavior…” he said finally, waving a ringed hand, a large ruby catching the sunlight and sparking brilliant red flames. “It is not so much arrogance as it is fear.”
“Fear? Of me?”
“Of change.”
“Oh, King Zakariyya, I don’t expect anything to change. I want to be in his life, of course, but—”
“Please.” He took one of her nervous hands and sandwiched it between his. “It is not necessary to be so formal. And Zak is so much easier on the tongue, is it not?”
She nodded, and willed her cheeks not to color as she extracted her hand as gracefully as she could. “I hope he understands that I don’t expect him to welcome me overnight. I simply wish for the chance to get to know him, just as I’ve been getting to know the other boys.”
“He is a good man. A true king. But right now his identity is shaken. He needs some time. He is still growing up, I am afraid, but he would never let our people down. And he will not let you down. I am certain of this.”
As they both turned toward the window again, Rose prayed Zak was right. Sharif had already disappeared from sight. She felt his absence clear down to her soul.
“DAMN IT, LIVY, YOU CHEATED.”
Olivia Smith stopped laughing and glared at her friend and fellow ranch hand. “Mickey Farrel, you worm, I’ve never cheated once in my life, and you know it. Take it back.”
“I won’t.” He stooped to pick his hat off the barn floor and shook the hay off the battered gray rim before setting the Stetson back on his head.
She had a good mind to knock his hat off again. He was twenty-two, just a year younger than she, but he acted as if he were twelve. “Don’t try and weasel out of mucking out the stalls. You lost fair and square.”
“How come I always lose? Tell me that. You have to be cheating.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.” She walked over to get the shovel and thrust it at him. “The object is to knock the other person’s hat off without bodily contact. Which is exactly what I do. How could I possibly cheat?”
“All I know is I’m five foot ten and you’re only five two. So how in the blazes do you always whack my hat off first?”
“It’s called having a brain. Maybe you ought to use yours sometimes.”
Mickey muttered a foul word under his breath and grudgingly grabbed the shovel. “Why can’t you act like other girls, and not be such a tomboy and a bully?”
“I’m not a bully. You’re just a sore loser,” she said with a smug toss of her head so he wouldn’t know how much the remark stung. The truth was, she’d grown up with mostly boys at the orphanage where she’d been abandoned as a baby and she wasn’t sure she knew how to act like a girl.
Sometimes she wished she did know the right things to say, and had the proper clothes to wear, instead of her usual jeans and baggy shirts. Especially since Rose Coleman–El Jeved came to the ranch. She was so beautiful and poised that it was easy to imagine her as a queen just like in the fairy tales Livy read to the kids when she visited the orphanage. Except Rose had been a real life queen with a palace and servants and fine clothes and…
Livy straightened and grabbed her gloves. Wouldn’t Mickey and the rest of the guys laugh themselves silly if they knew about her foolish daydreams. “See you later,” she said. “I’ll be working with Khalid.”
Mickey stared, slack jawed. “You’re not leaving me to muck out all thirty stalls by myself.”
“Be grateful you don’t have all sixty to clean.” She strode off before she gave in and helped him as she usually did. She had something else in mind. Although she really
