Linda Goodnight - Prince Incognito

“Think of something other than a Love Ranch.”

“Just because Suzy tossed you over for Brad Holder and his oil wells is no reason to be sour on love.”

Carson’s blood did a slow boil at the mention of his ex-wife Suzy and the wealthy Brad. Suzy’s love had been true and forever—or so she’d said—until his finances had gone south.

“I’ll worry about this some other time.” He had a budget to wrestle, cattle to cull and a stupid birthday party to endure. “Discussion is closed.”

“No.” Teddi clamped a hand on each hip, earrings dancing in indignation. For all her flighty ways, she was nearly as stubborn as Carson. “This is my home, too. And keeping it intact affects me as much as it does you. The only way to bring in more guests is to come up with a marketing theme. And what is more appealing than romance?”

“Eating razor blades?”

She narrowed her eyes in speculation. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

Uh-oh. She had that look. He was about to be whopped upside the head with one of her universal relevance statements. “What’s it?”

“You, my darling brother—” she slapped a hand on his desk “—are scared.”

He frowned. “Of what?”

“That little four-letter word. L-O-V-E. You are so afraid of love that you couldn’t convince Romeo and Juliet to go out for free pizza.”

“Sure I could.” She was starting to make him mad. The very idea that he, a trail-hardened rancher and businessman, was scared of anything put a burr in his saddle. “I just don’t want to.”

“You could not.” Teddi slid onto the edge of his desk, crossed her legs and swung her foot back and forth.

“Could, too.”

“Not, not, not.” Her foot tapped with each consecutive not.

She was taunting him, darn her hide. And it was working. “Look. I had a bad experience, but I am not afraid of love.”

“Prove it,” she sang in her happy-go-lucky voice.

“How?”

“Do a little matchmaking between our guests.”

“No way.”

“See,” she said smugly. “I knew you couldn’t do it.”

Carson ground his teeth. Nobody told him he couldn’t do something. Not even his flibbertigibbet sister. “Wanna bet?”

“You won’t do it.”

“I said I would.”

“Okay, then. I’ll bet that you cannot get the next two single guests to fall in love.”

He stuck his nose in her face. “And if I do?”

“I will not say another word about a Love Ranch. But if you lose, I get to rename the ranch and send out the ads.”

He felt a smile coming on. “You’ve got yourself a bet.”

Teddi exploded off the desk and into his arms. She almost knocked all six foot two of him onto his jeanclad backside. “Oh, this is perfect. I’ll even help you.”

“Whoa, wait a minute.” What had he gotten himself into? “Why would you help me?”

“Because once you see how powerful love is, you’ll be hooked and you’ll want us to become the Love County Love Ranch.”

Carson was appalled. “No way. You said you’d drop the subject.”

“I will.” She gave him a sly glance. “If you still want me to. But first you have to make that match.” She danced around the office, and Carson knew the wobbly wheels inside her head were in full motion. “We have an absolute hunk of a guy here already.”

Carson stiffened. “If you mean Luc Gardner, he is off-limits.”

For once Teddi stood still, pinning him with a curious gaze. “He’s single, isn’t he?”

Yes, he was single and a lot more that a woman would appreciate, but Carson had promised to shelter his royal friend and give him a summer of privacy, not find him a wife. Lucky for him, Teddi had been away contemplating the mysteries of the universe the last time Luc had been to Oklahoma.

“Not Luc,” he repeated.

“Has to be. He’s the first single guy, and that was the bet.”

At the sound of a car door, Teddi rushed to the window and peeked through the gauzy curtain. She turned with a flourish and clapped her hands. “And there is a perfectly acceptable young woman—a little tacky-looking maybe but still a female—arriving down below right this minute.”

She sailed to him, kissed him on the cheek and rushed to the door, flinging it open with such exuberance Carson flinched.

“I’ll just run down and make her welcome.” She started out the door, then stopped, turned and pointed a finger at him. “You made a bet, Carson. You can’t renege. It would be very bad karma and upset the cosmic balance of this ranch.”

The cosmic balance, as Carson saw it, was already in bad shape. But he’d never reneged on a bet in his life. Much as he wished he’d kept his mouth shut, his word was his bond. He was about to push his royal college buddy down the road to romance.

He stifled a shudder.

Anything to keep from renaming his ancestral home the Love County Love Ranch.

Exiled.

With a huge groan of dismay, Carly Carpenter popped the trunk on her green Camry and dragged out the one bag she always carried on assignment along with her tape recorder and a laptop. On second thought, she shoved the recorder back inside. Who in Maribella, Oklahoma, would be worth taping?

She stared up at the sprawling three-story turn-of-the-century guest ranch located in the middle of ten thousand acres of nothing and wondered why on earth her sister, Meg, had picked this spot for her exile. Oh, she had said it wasn’t an exile, but Carly knew better. Meg’s husband, Eric, owner and head detective at Wright Stuff Investigations, would have fired her on the spot had Meg not sent her somewhere to hide until the smoke cleared.

“One little mistake,” she muttered. The night had been dark. She hadn’t even seen the flowerpot. Having finally caught Sam Kensel out of his wheelchair and neck brace, she’d been too excited to notice the open window. After all, the guy was suing his workplace for millions, claiming total disability from an on-the-job injury. And then there he was, big as Dallas, pumping hundred-pound weights like Arnold Schwarzenegger, sans neck brace, sans wheelchair and without a trace of pain on his face. She’d tiptoed closer, grappled for her camera and stumbled over the azaleas, through the open window and right into Sam Kensel’s private den.

Sure, the investigation was completely blown after seven long months of tailing, spying and secret recordings. Sure, her brother-in-law had lost a boatload of money and a healthy slice of his reputation as the best in the west. But was it her fault someone stuck a blasted azalea pot under the window? And wasn’t the embarrassment of being Carly the Klutz punishment enough?

“Sheesh.” She slammed the trunk only to discover the sleeve of her oversize shirt-jacket was caught inside. She yanked hard. Then heard a rip. Sadly she looked down at the shirt borrowed from her dad. She preferred baggy, oversize clothes, and his fit the bill. They made her feel shorter, instead of a gawky, lanky five-foot-nine tower of hair and arms and legs.

Not that she cared about such things as fashion. Not Carly Carpenter. She was a private investigator—or wanted to be—with no time for fancy fingernails or frilly clothes or afternoons spent in beauty parlors. Each morning she pulled her thick brunette hair into a wad at the nape of her neck with a rubber band, shoved one of those teeth-clamp thingies in it and hoped the mess stayed in place. It never did.

She shrugged, and the aforementioned hair tumbled forward. Big deal. Let the stuff fall.

Her job was her life, and she was good at it, though her brother-in-law and half of Dallas would argue that point. Somehow she had to get back into their good graces. Breaking a case was the best way, but where would she find a case worth investigating here amidst miles and miles of cows and grass? Sheesh, she could just see the headlines now. P.I. Busts Mayor for Midnight Cow Tipping.