Victoria Chancellor - The Prince's Cowboy Double

“That’s beside the point. I’m not real fond of this prince right now.”

Gwendolyn wasn’t real happy with him, either, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Mr. McCauley.

They stopped beside a huge, flashy pickup truck with a ram’s head emblem on the side. It was spotlessly clean, and the dark blue finish featured tiny, glistening metallic flecks that reflected the unrelenting Texas sunshine. The monstrous vehicle was so tall that it needed a step for passengers to climb inside.

Hank McCauley reached up, opened the door and gazed at the interior. “You just throw that gimmee cap in the back and boost yourself up into the dually. I’ll get us to San Antonio pronto.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What?”

“Did it ever occur to you that the rest of the world speaks English, while you are communicating in some language that is incomprehensible to the average person?”

Hank McCauley threw back his head and laughed. Of all the gall! Gwendolyn was sorely tempted to kick him in the shin, just as she’d done to Prince Alexi when they were school chums in England and he’d teased her about a particularly lovely little straw hat she’d worn…just once.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. McCauley said as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the steps of the monster truck. “You teach me proper English, and I’ll teach you Texan.”

She let out a gasp as she tottered on the step, bringing her eye to eye with the irritating cowboy.

“Easy does it, Lady Wendy.” His warm hands steadied her. “First lesson. This truck is a dually because it has dual wheels on the back. That’s for hauling horse trailers and other heavy equipment. Second lesson,” he said, his warm blue eyes crinkling in humor, “a gimmee cap is a cap with a logo that you get free from somebody who wants to sell you something. Like John Deere or Purina. Got it?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Now you get your cute little butt inside the truck and don’t touch anything. You can start lecturing me as soon as I get on the road.”

With that, he turned her around—quite effortlessly, she noticed—and actually patted her on the bottom!

“Well!” she exclaimed, but she was already pulling herself onto the seat. His chuckles faded as he walked around the back of the “dually.” He probably told every woman he met that she had a “cute little butt.” As if that were true praise. If he’d really been paying attention, he might have made a tasteful remark like complimenting her suit or her general appearance, not commenting on the size of her bum.

Irritating man, she thought as she “accidentally” placed her hand on top of the gimmee cap and squashed it flat.

BY THE TIME HANK DROVE into San Antonio, his head was spinning with details of Belegovian history, social protocol, current European nobility and a hundred other subjects he’d never heard of before. Lady Wendy had taken the opportunity to brief him on these subjects so she could start their “hands-on” instruction once they reached the hotel.

Hands-on, he remembered with a chuckle.

“Something you’d like to share, Mr. McCauley?” she asked from her side of the truck.

“Just thinking about all the stuff you have stored.”

“Don’t you dare say ‘in that pretty little head of yours,”’ she said in that upper-class British voice of hers that should have left him chilled. Instead, he felt real warm. Getting hotter by the minute.

“Why, I’m shocked that you’d think such a thing!” he said in mock indignation. “You make me sound like some sexist macho pig.”

Lady Wendy sniffed and straightened her spine. “I’m surprised you’re even familiar with the feminist slur.”

“I do get around,” he informed her as they slowed for traffic where I-35 branched off. “By the way, which hotel are we goin’ to?”

“The Hyatt Regency,” she informed him. “I believe it is on what is called the Riverwalk.”

“That’s right. Best of all, it’s just a block from the Alamo.”

“Ah, the Texas landmark.”

“Darn right! I take it you’ve never been.”

“This is my first trip to Texas,” she said in a tone that implied it would also be her last. She just didn’t appreciate the state’s wide variety of attractions. Hank felt a moral obligation to change her mind.

“Now, all this learnin’ and drivin’ has tired me out,” he informed her as he took I-37 toward down-town San Antonio. “After we get checked in, I’m gonna need a little nap.”

“Absolutely not! We have to begin immediately on fitting the wardrobe, learning the speech, mannerisms and posture of Prince Alexi, and heaven knows what else to get you ready for tomorrow!”

“Princess, if I don’t get a few hours of shut-eye, I’m not going to do you a bit of good tomorrow or anytime.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that when you stayed up all night, Mr. McCauley.”

He narrowed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he doubted Miss High and Mighty noticed his anger. “Well, I wasn’t thinkin’ about much but saving Sandstorm’s life last night, Lady Wendy,” he answered with as little sarcasm as possible. Darn woman probably thought he’d been out drinking and chasing women. “Have you ever seen how much misery a horse can be in when they colic? You would have been walkin’ her all night and half the morning, too, if it would have saved her.”

“Colic? Like with babies?”

“Yeah, except it’s more serious with horses. They get down on the ground, first throw their head toward their bellies, then begin to roll ’cause they’re in such pain. They can get their guts all twisted and they’ll die. It’s not a pretty sight, I’ll tell you that.”

He exited the freeway and pulled the truck to a stop at the light, which gave him a chance to take a nice, long look at his passenger.

“No, I don’t imagine it would be,” she said with a little shudder. “I take it your horse is better this morning?”

“She’s fine. I dosed her until she was all cleaned out, then—”

Lady Wendy held up a hand. “That’s enough detail for me, Mr. McCauley.”

Hank chuckled, his anger gone as quickly as it began. The light turned green and he turned right. “The hotel’s just a few blocks from here. Do you want me to pull into valet parking?”

“No, we’ve made arrangements for Prince Alexi to enter through the service entrance.”

“But I’m not Prince Alexi yet.”

“Yes, but you look enough like him that people may recognize you.”

“They might also recognize me from my bronc-riding days.”

“Really? Are you somewhat of a celebrity, then?”

Hank chuckled again. “Just if you follow rodeo, Princess.”

“Please, stop calling me those ridiculous names. As I explained, I’m not royalty.”

“Yeah, but you sure are cute when you’re riled,” he said with a grin.

“I assure you, Mr. McCauley, I’ve never been called ‘cute’ in my entire life.”

As he stopped at the light to go around the block, he looked again at Wendy. She had a real aristocratic face, kind of narrow with what might be called sharp features. Her biggest assets, in his practiced opinion, were her eyes. He imagined they could get real warm and pretty, with the topaz color and golden highlights. But she didn’t use them to flirt. As a matter of fact, she didn’t play up any of her features, even that pale, pretty English complexion.

“I think you might be real cute if you’d smile more often.”

“I smile.”

“Naw, I’m not talkin’ about one of those stingy little polite smiles. I’m talkin’ about a big old, happy-to-be-alive kind of smile.”

He suspected she was blushing, because she looked down at her hands and fiddled with the buttons on her too-heavy suit jacket. “I don’t think we should be discussing my smile.”