Loe raamatut: «The Runaway Princess»

Chapter One

Her Most Serene Royal Highness Princess Alexis Mary Charlotte of the House of Chastain and the principality of Inbourg ran out of pavement and hope at exactly the same moment.

Dumbfounded, she stared over the hood of the compact car. Where had the road gone? She had been following this dratted ribbon of asphalt through Arizona’s White Mountains for hours now. It seemed like days. She’d seen nothing but trees, though she wouldn’t have been surprised to come upon the last remains of a hapless traveler propped against the base of a pine tree, his bony fingers holding a sign reading Abandon All Hope.

She sighed, leaned forward over the steering wheel and peered into the darkness.

Even after she had left the highway and turned off onto this side road, everything had seemed all right. She’d been sure that all she had to do was continue following it. Things would be fine once she reached Sleepy River. She’d been repeating it like a mantra since early that morning.

However, a few minutes ago, clouds had drifted in to cover the moon and these woods were desperately dark without its glow. This section of tall, dark pines was hardly ablaze with streetlights.

Squinting into the night, she tried to see something; a road sign, a blazed trail, a friendly native, anything around her besides trees, trees, and more trees.

She had long since left Morenci, the last town, far behind and she knew she couldn’t turn back. Wherever she was, she knew she was closer to Sleepy River than she was to Morenci, so she might as well keep going. She gripped the steering wheel and lifted herself up to gaze forlornly over the hood. She would keep going as soon as she figured out what had become of the road.

She knew she had taken exactly the right turns every step of the way as she followed the Coronado Trail, which had supposedly been scouted out by the Spanish conquistadors four hundred years ago.

“Too bad I don’t have one of them along to help me now,” she muttered in annoyance. A glance at the dashboard clock told her it was after eleven o’clock. The efficient little car, borrowed from her friend Rachel Burrows, was easy to drive, but every tense and aching muscle in her body told her it was time to quit.

But how could she? Somehow she’d managed to get herself lost—a rarity for her. She would have called for help if her cell phone hadn’t died on her. Besides which, she had a map and precise directions, and she was excellent at following both. Until a few days ago, her entire life had been a perfect model of direction-following.

In spite of that, she’d done something wrong because the paved road had petered out into nothingness leaving only a dirt track for her to follow.

“Oh blast and bother,” she groused.

With a discouraged sigh, she leaned her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. This had been the most impossibly longest day of her life and it was far from over.

Exhaustion nearly swamped her as she tried to recall exactly how all this had happened. Oh, yes. She’d been pursuing her dream; a dream of independence, self-reliance, having a career instead of being a glorified baby-sitter for her nephew. A dream of being her own person instead of the last of the three daughters of Prince Michael of Inbourg whose occupation seemed to be, as one tabloid so gracelessly put it, “Squandering the money of the citizens of Inbourg with marathon sessions of power shopping.”

Never mind that her sisters, Anya and Deirdre, had been photographed buying supplies for the disaster relief society they co-chaired. Tabloid reporters didn’t care about the truth, only about publishing the flashiest headlines. What would they think if they knew that Princess Alexis had taken a long-term substitute teaching job in a one-room schoolhouse in the mountains of Arizona? It didn’t matter what the truth actually was. Their assignment would be to put the most negative possible spin on it.

It would be bad if the tabloids discovered that she had come to the States on the pretense of spending several weeks pampering herself at a health spa. It would be disastrous if they learned she had installed Esther Wanfray, her lady-in-waiting, there in her place.

Oh, why was she thinking about that now? Alexis looked about in quiet desperation. She had to turn around, go back, and figure out where she’d gone wrong. Carefully, she put the car in reverse and started to back up.

A sickening thud and then a splintering of wood told her she’d hit something.

“What on earth…?” Quickly, she threw the car into drive and lurched forward. This time a jarring scrape on the front right fender split the air.

“Oh, no.” Horrified, Alexis stared straight ahead for an instant trying to think what to do next. Get out and take a look was the only thing that occurred to her.

She reached across the seat and scrambled in the glove compartment for the flashlight only to find to her astonishment that there wasn’t one.

Suddenly furious, she sputtered as she threw open the car door and hopped out, “Oh, Rachel,” she wailed. “Why don’t you carry a flashlight in your car?” She stood peering into the darkness beyond the beam of the headlights for a moment, then remembered a small book of matches she’d picked up somewhere. She didn’t know how much good they would be, but a little light was better than nothing.

She took the matches from her purse, struck one carefully, and turned toward the back of the car to see what she had hit. The wind immediately blew out the match.

“Drat.” She struck another match and tried again. It blew out before she’d taken two steps, as did matches number three, four and five.

Frustrated, she glanced back into the car and spied the magazine she’d bought before boarding the plane to Phoenix. With a glad cry, she picked it up, tore out several pages and wrapped them into a roll. She then lit the end and had a crude but effective torch. Holding it carefully, she moved to the rear of the vehicle where she saw a splintered pole lying on the ground and on the end of it, tilting crazily skyward, was a mailbox.

“McTaggart,” she read, and then read it again. “McTaggart!” Astounded and relieved, her voice rose an octave. “I’m in the right place.” Whirling around, she held the torch up and tried to peer farther into the darkness. “But where’s the house?”

McTaggart was the name of the school board president. She was to pick up the key to her own cottage and to the schoolhouse from him. Now all she had to do was figure out where the house was.

She wasn’t lost, after all, she thought, elated. She had ended up exactly where she was supposed to be. She had reached Sleepy River community and, as she’d been promising herself all day, everything was going to be just fine.

Hurrying back to the front of the car, she looked for the house, but could see nothing and finally concluded it was farther down this dirt road. Hope and confidence surged. With the help of her trusty torch, she could find it, though she moved her hand farther down toward the end of the burning papers, and prayed the flame would last until she found the house.

In a rush, Alexis reached in and took her shoulder bag from the car, paused to lock the doors, then began moving forward cautiously. She paused to see what she’d scraped the car against when she’d pulled forward.

It was a vine-covered wall. If the moon had been out, she probably would have seen it as well as the mailbox. The damage to the car didn’t appear to be too bad.

As she straightened, she heard the crunch of gravel behind her, and then a deep male voice saying, “What the devil…?”

With a start of surprise, Alexis whirled. The sudden movement fanned the flare of the torch, sending a speck of burning paper flying down to scorch her hand. With a cry, she dropped the torch into the grass beside the wall.

Immediately, the dry grass burst into flames.

“Hey,” the man yelled. In the flare of light, she saw only shadows and had the impression of a large body flying past as he leaped forward to stamp out the flames. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, dropping her purse beside the car and jumping onto the flames. She stomped for all she was worth but the fire was moving faster than she was. “I…I didn’t see…”

Fire licked hungrily at the tinder-dry weeds and grass. Within seconds, the flames were moving too rapidly for the two of them to handle.

“Run to the house,” the man ordered. “There’s a triangle on the front porch. Ring it and yell ‘Fire.’”

“Yes, all right.” She started to scurry away, but then stumbled around and threw out her hands desperately. “Where’s the house?”

“Where’s the house?” he repeated, astounded. “Over there where the porch light is.”

Frantically, Alexis glanced around to see that, sure enough, not one hundred feet away stood a two-story ranch house with a porch light sending out a bright glow.

“How did that get there?” she gasped.

“It’s been there for seventy years!”

Alexis didn’t waste any more time. She dashed for the steps leading to the porch. At one end was a set of heavy redwood lawn furniture and at the other was an old-fashioned iron triangle of the type farm women had once used to call the family to supper. It hung suspended from a ceiling beam. An eight-inch rod swung from a leather loop which was threaded onto the open side of the triangle.

Shrieking, “Fire, fire, fire!” Alexis grabbed the rod and began beating the triangle until the sound rang out to who knew where.

Behind her in the house, she could hear shouts and the thumping of feet as lights were switched on. Having given the alarm, she abandoned the triangle and looked around for anything that could be used to fight the fire. She knew there was no use in trying to find a garden hose or bucket because that would waste a great deal of time. She spied a blanket folded up on a chair, snatched it up, and ran, full tilt back to the fire.

“Here,” she gulped, thrusting it at the man who was fighting the blaze. He took it without a word and began beating out the flames while she continued to pound at them with her feet. A minute later, two more men joined them, dragging a long garden hose. They turned it on and within seconds, the flames were doused.

Shakily thankful, Alexis slumped against the front of the car and put her trembling hands in front of her face. A minute. She only needed a minute to compose herself.

“Hey, miss, are you all right?” one of the men asked. It wasn’t the voice of the first one who’d startled her into dropping the torch.

She glanced up. Suddenly, the clouds parted, the moon shone down with a dim glow, and Alexis could see three men facing her. All of them were wearing hastily donned shirts, boots and jeans. The tallest of the three approached her furiously.

“Who are you and why are you trying to burn down my ranch?”

“I’m not…I’m…I certainly didn’t do this on purpose,” she defended herself, lurching upright once again. “You startled me by sneaking up on me.”

“You’re saying this is my fault?”

Alexis couldn’t make out his features very well, but there was no mistaking the anger in his voice and the furious thrust of his jaw. “I’m only saying I was startled,” she shot back, beginning to grow angry herself. “I was trying to find my way to the house, and…”

“Carrying an open flame?”

“I don’t have a flashlight. Making a torch was all I could think of to do after I knocked over that mailbox and ran into the wall.”

“You knocked over the…” With a strangled sound, he stalked behind the car and stood staring down at the shattered pole and the mailbox that now pointed skyward. The other two men followed and the three of them stood shaking their heads and speaking in low tones.

After a moment, the first man stomped back to her. “Who are you? Do I have enemies somewhere that I don’t know about and they sent you here to burn me out?”

“Oh, of course not,” she said, her annoyance growing. “I don’t know if you have any enemies or not. I don’t even know who you are. I was looking for Mr. McTaggart. Mr. Jace McTaggart.”

“Well, you found him,” the man snapped. He clapped his hands onto his hips and thrust his jaw forward.

Alexis’s heart plummeted to the scorched soles of her sneakers. She leaned forward and squinted at him, but she could barely see his face. What she saw didn’t look very promising.

“You’re…you’re Mr. McTaggart, the head…the head of the Sleepy River school board?”

“Yes, heaven help us, I am.”

“Oh.” Of course, she thought. Why not an attempt at arson to cap off this long, miserable day? Week? Month?

She didn’t fold easily, though. Three hundred years of royal blood flowed in her veins. Her ancestors had once held out for three weeks against Napoleon’s forces. Her grandfather had personally buried much of the royal treasury in a farmer’s field rather than surrender it to the Nazis. She could handle this.

With the regal nod she’d copied from her grandmother, she held out her hand and said, “How do you do? I’m Alexis Chastain, the new schoolteacher.”

Jace squinted through the darkness. “Alexis…?”

“Chastain,” she supplied. “I’m here to teach at Sleepy River Community School.”

He leaned forward and stared into her face, though he couldn’t see much even with the help of the moonlight. “No. I don’t know who you are, or what you’re trying to pull, but the teacher we’ve hired is named Rachel Burrows and she’s…”

“Not coming,” the woman said firmly. “I’m here instead.”

This was a nightmare, Jace assured himself firmly. The past few minutes when he’d awakened to the sound of a car stopping, followed by a muffled thump and splintering of wood, jumped into his clothes, and dashed outside to find a strange—emphasis on the word strange—woman holding a flaming torch were all part of the nightmare. He blinked, ran his hand over his face, and looked around. No. It all looked too real. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming. Whatever was going on, he had to figure it out because this was his ranch. He was responsible for it and everyone on it. Jace took a deep breath. “What do you mean that you’re here instead?”

“Rachel couldn’t come, so I’m taking her place.” She gave a firm little nod.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “That’s not how it works. See, how it works is that the school board interviews then hires a teacher who arrives when the contract says, and…what’s the matter?”

The woman, the one with the fancy name of Alexis Chastain, was copying the way he shook his head as she said, “I told you, she can’t come so I’m taking her place.”

“That’s impossible,” Jace began with heat and not a little frustration. “You can’t do that….”

“Boss,” one of the other men broke in. “Does this have to be decided now? Can’t we go into the house? It’s near midnight and she looks about ready to drop.”

Jace looked over at the brothers who’d worked for him since graduating from high school just over a year ago. He couldn’t see much in the gloom, but he knew Rocky was the one who’d spoken. No doubt, Gil was nodding in agreement. He glanced back at the woman. He didn’t think she looked ready to drop. Her hands were on her hips, her spine was straight as a railroad spike, and if she tipped forward, that outthrust chin of hers would spear him in the chest. As far as he could tell, she looked ready to argue.

“Okay,” he said finally, giving her a wary look. “Gil, can you get this car out of here and park it up by the barn? Miss Chastain, give Gil your key and he’ll take care of the car for you.”

He was glad to see that she obeyed without question, meekly handing over the car key to Gil, who quickly started the vehicle and pulled away. Jace winced at the sound of metal scraping against the wall, then against the broken mailbox post, but Gil gave an apologetic wave and disappeared up the long, graveled driveway.

“I’ll put the hose away.” Jace took the end of the garden hose from Rocky and began looping it as he did a rope. He didn’t need to do this, but he always thought better if his hands were busy with something. What was he supposed to do with her? he thought furiously as he made loops in the plastic hose. Why hadn’t that Rachel Burrows girl they’d hired shown up as she’d promised? She’d signed a contract. Didn’t that mean anything? Blast it, he didn’t want to deal with this. He hadn’t even wanted to be head of the school board. He didn’t have kids. He would probably never even have kids. Why should he need to do the job?

Because it was his turn. In a community as small as Sleepy River, everyone took a turn at some job. This year, Jace was head of the school board.

Disgruntled, he nodded toward the other man. “Rocky, you take her up to the house.”

“I’ll go get your bag for you, miss,” Rocky said. “As soon as Gil parks your car for you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she said, and Jace could hear determination in her voice. She turned and stumbled around until she located her purse on the ground. She hitched the strap over her shoulder as she said, “I can take care of everything myself. If you’ll point me to the cottage I’m to occupy, I’ll be fine.”

Obviously, she thought that once she got inside the teacher’s cottage, they couldn’t dislodge her.

“It’s not ready,” Jace said.

“Not ready?” Now he heard a thread of panic in her voice. Hands thrust out, she turned from one to the other of them. “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t…I mean, Miss Burrows wasn’t expected until next week. No one’s lived in the cottage for a couple of years. It needs to be cleaned. No, I’ve got a guest room. You’ll stay there until we get this straightened out.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue further, but then snapped it shut. Rocky could be a gentleman when he wanted to and he turned on the charm now as he said, “Don’t you worry about a thing, miss. We’ll get you settled in and things will look a lot better in the morning.” Quickly, he took her arm and supported her as he guided her toward the ranch house. Jace could hear him talking quietly all the while, much as he did to a skittish filly.

Even as he wondered what in blazes he was going to do now, Jace finished winding up the hose and followed Rocky and Alexis to the house. Gil joined him as he reached the porch steps and the two of them walked inside together.

Jace nearly stumbled over his own size twelve feet at the sight that greeted him in the living room. Beside him, he heard Gil draw in his breath, and then choke out a cough.

Rocky was transfixed by the woman who stood, blinking in the glare of the overhead light Jace had flipped on when he’d run from the house. She didn’t notice the men because she was busy inspecting the very masculine-looking living room.

A sideways glance at Gil told Jace that he, too, was thunderstruck. Jace wouldn’t have been surprised to see the boys’ eyes begin to slowly twirl cartoonlike in their heads. Their jaws had gone slack. Jace hoped they didn’t start drooling.

He couldn’t blame them, though, he thought as his own gaze was drawn back to her. She was a beauty all right, he admitted grudgingly.

Curly chestnut hair cascaded to a slim waist. Her face was fine-boned with almond-shaped green eyes and lips as luscious as a fresh peach. She wore sage green slacks and a matching cotton sweater that, even streaked with soot, made her look cool and unruffled.

A feeling he hoped was dread stirred within him. Great, he thought. Just great. It didn’t matter what she called herself. He already knew her name. It was Trouble.

All this room needed was a chair made out of steer horns and cowhides, Alexis thought. The furnishings were dark, covered in scarred leather or faded Mexican serapes. There was a huge rag rug on the floor to lighten the somber mood of the room. For all its masculinity, the room felt invitingly comfortable. In fact, she wouldn’t mind curling up on that old sofa right now and falling asleep—after crying her eyes out for half an hour.

A low noise that sounded like undisguised irritation broke off her interest in the living room. She turned to see all three men staring at her. To her surprise, she realized Gil and Rocky were twins. They appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties, with dark eyes and thick black hair that looked as if it needed attention from a barber who knew his way around a haystack. Both men were staring at her as if they were in a trance. She’d had that look turned on her before and she automatically began to stiffen her spine and give them a cool look, but then she realized that they only saw her as an attractive woman, not as a marriageable princess. Gratefully, she gave them a warm smile that seemed to buckle their knees.

“Gwarp,” they said in unison and leaned on each other for strength.

Laughing softly, she looked at Jace McTaggart who was scowling ferociously. Her amusement died an instant death. This most definitely was not a man to be charmed. In fact, right now he looked mad enough to spit bullets.

Everything about him looked tough. He could fit right into an old western movie where it was often hard to tell heroes from villains.

This man could have played on either side of the law.

He was tall, at least six feet two, with broad shoulders that strained the seams of a white T-shirt, muscular arms and big hands that rested now at the waist of unbelted jeans that rode low on his hips.

His face would have invited comment anywhere. His dark brown eyes were deep-set and searching, his nose was long and straight over a firm mouth. Even his hair, as dark and rich as mahogany, was straight, swept away from his broad forehead, and precisely cut. It was as if nature had put him together using a ruler and T-square, leaving off any softening effects. She felt a jolt of dismay, followed by a surge of warmth when his eyes lifted to meet hers.

“Miss Chastain,” he began. “You don’t belong here, but we’ll discuss that in the morning. Right now Rocky is going to fetch your bag while Gil shows you to the guest room.” He nodded toward the back of the house. “It’s right through there and it has its own bathroom.” He gave his two young employees a significant look. “As well as a lock on the door. Feel free to use it.”

Alexis wanted to argue, to tell him she certainly belonged here, but she was too tired. “All right,” she said with a meekness that surprised her.

“Rocky. Gil,” Jace said. “Get moving.”

The two men finally seemed to come out of their trances. With a blush, Rocky turned and plunged toward the front door, but was brought up short by the sight of a pile of rags beside it.

“Hey, Jace,” he said, bending to pick it up. Alexis recognized it as the blanket she’d grabbed off the front porch. “What’s this?”

Jace glanced at it. “That’s what Miss Chastain grabbed to fight the fire she started.”

She gave him a disgruntled look. She thought she’d done pretty well to find something to use.

Rocky held it up and she could see that it was an old quilt, streaked now with dirt and mud, and with long scorch marks running its length. “But isn’t this…?”

Jace’s direct gaze swung back to Alexis. “The heirloom quilt my great-grandmother made out of her wedding dress,” he said.

When she shut the guest room door behind her five minutes later, Alexis’s face was still burning with embarrassment.

How could she possibly have known that quilt was an heirloom? And what on earth had it been doing lying on a chair on the front porch if it was so important? Her family certainly never left such things thrown around, she thought self-righteously. Not that it would be easy to do so with one of the fifteenth-century tapestries that filled her family home.

Still, Alexis felt terrible about the ruined quilt and she knew she’d need to make up for it somehow, along with any other fire damage she had caused.

This was not an auspicious beginning to her new job.

She was too tired to think about that right now. Reaching up, she rubbed her temples with her fingertips, then looked at the room which was hers for the night.

Like the rest of the house, it was decidedly masculine. The bed had an old-fashioned iron bed frame and a high mattress covered with a black-and-blue plaid bedspread. A fifties-style lamp with a tiered shade in Chinese red stood on a rickety table that had been painted a cheerful yellow. A faded rag rug much like the one in the living room covered an oval section of floor beside the bed.

The riotous color scheme didn’t matter to her. Cleanliness was the most important thing and this room definitely looked clean. Stark, she thought with a grim smile as she set her suitcase on the bed and flipped it open, but certainly clean.

Delighted with the luxury of a private bathroom, Alexis quickly prepared for bed, then climbed gratefully between the covers. Even as she drifted off to sleep, she pictured Jace McTaggart’s face as he’d told her she didn’t belong in Sleepy River.

Tomorrow she would prove him wrong, she thought as she drifted into exhausted sleep. She appeared to be on some kind of quest to prove a number of people wrong. She might as well add him to the list.

Alexis thought of his snapping dark eyes, firm jaw, and emphatic statement that she didn’t belong. In fact, she would put him at the top of the list.