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Chapter One
“What are we supposed to do with a princess? A princess? In Wyoming?”
The loudly posed question easily reached where Princess Isabella “Izzy” Noelle Rochevelle stood in front of the huge living room picture window in the main house of the Starry Sky Ranch, a working horse and dude ranch. She’d been doing her best to tune out the conversation happening in the adjacent den. Instead, she tried to focus on the admittedly jaw-dropping view of the jagged, snow-topped mountains that formed the Teton Range, rising straight from aspen and cottonwood-dotted fields like the spiked back of some giant, ancient creature. But even with the den’s double doors shut, the argument happening within was far from private.
Izzy tried not to let what was being said by the family she’d only briefly been introduced to affect her, to keep the invisible yet solid shield secure around her so she could present a serene façade. As she’d been taught. But grief, and the accompanying guilt, coiled so deeply throughout her that her very foundation was undermined. Habits she’d formed virtually since birth now felt foreign and difficult, if not impossible.
As if proving the point, she realized she was holding her hands in tight fists at her side, her shoulders drawn up and rigid. A posture that would have earned chastisement from the very person she so deeply mourned. Pulling in a lung-filling breath, she forced herself to relax, lowering her shoulders and unclenching her fists.
Once more in control, she clasped her hands loosely in front of her soft khaki-clad waist and returned to being a passive, and unintended, audience to the family drama playing out within the den.
“Shh, Ellie. Not so loud,” an older feminine voice chided.
Probably the mother, Clara Bell McCallister. Or maybe the family matriarch, Dorothy McCallister, the granddaughter of this ranch’s founder, Duchess Montaignac. The Duchess had divorced the great-great uncle of the present king, Adrien Rochevelle IV, Izzy’s father. He was now deeply mourning his late queen, Amera Rochevelle.
A searing pain lanced Izzy’s chest. A pain she’d been told would dull with time. Not the first lie she’d been told, but she knew the people seeking to comfort her after her mother’s death meant well.
Only her mother hadn’t simply died too soon, too unexpectedly, in a completely accidental plane crash. She’d died while on her way to a charity meet and greet Izzy had been slated to attend. But she had begged her mother to fill in for her so she could attend her boarding school roommate’s bachelorette party. Despite having a full calendar of engagements herself, her mother had smiled in that kind, knowing way she’d had and agreed to take Izzy’s place.
And now she was gone.
While he hadn’t said as much, Izzy was certain her father blamed her for his beloved’s death.
The tight grip of guilt and sorrow that had been slowly but steadily strangling Izzy since she’d first been given the news flexed around her throat. Six months had passed since they’d laid her mother to rest. But every trip down the palace halls, every person she’d spoken to, even the view out every window had brought memories that fed her grief and guilt until she’d been paralyzed by it.
Which was why she’d been allowed to come here. To Wyoming. A place she’d never been, occupied by people she’d never met. While no one expected her to get over losing her mother, or the crushing sense of responsibility she bore, there was an expectation that the utter change of scenery and routine would at least allow her to regain her sense of self enough to move forward with her life again.
Izzy didn’t have the same expectation, but because the last thing she wanted was to add to her father’s worries, she’d agreed to the sabbatical from her royal duties. Her two older brothers were more than willing and able to help their father fill the cavernous hole left by her mother’s loss as well as the slight dent Izzy’s absence created.
The knowledge that her absence wouldn’t create further hardship for her family should comfort her. Instead, it poked a very old, very festered wound.
Her gaze caught on the thick gray hair and imposing presence of Niko Montreve, the only royal protection officer to accompany her to Wyoming in the hope of avoiding drawing notice. She watched as Niko walked across the vast expanse of lawn in front of the large picture window. Was he walking the perimeter? Considering the size of the Starry Sky Ranch, he’d better pack refreshments.
At least he wasn’t wearing his usual black suit, polished loafers, and reflective sunglasses. The khaki tactical pants, black fishing shirt, and trail running shoes were a little less noteworthy.
They had both dressed the part of dude ranch guests, even though, out of an abundance of caution, all the other guests’ reservations had been abruptly rescheduled. While her father had generously compensated the McCallisters, the disruption clearly hadn’t earned her any points with her distant relatives.
Through the closed den doors, the voice of one of said relatives reached Izzy. “Is that why you asked us to rush home? To babysit Her Highness? Like we had to do with that one terminally needy actress who expected us to cover up all the mud so her boots didn’t get dirty?”
Izzy reflexively turned to stare at the den’s closed double doors, her ego pricked. The last thing she needed, or wanted, was to be babysat or coddled. The only thing she wanted was the lessening of the awful crushing pressure on her chest. And to be left alone.
“Jo, please.”
Jo, short for Josephine, was one of the twin McCallister daughters, with Eleanor “Ellie” being the eldest of the three siblings. While the briefing Izzy had been given regarding the McCallisters had admittedly been superficial, she did know that at twenty-nine, she was older than the eldest of the three daughters by a year. If anyone would be doing the babysitting, it would be her.
“That’s enough, girls.” The lone male in the group currently sequestered in the adjacent room, Mitch McCallister, finally spoke, his deep baritone not quite as easy to make out through the closed door as the women’s voices were, but his clear authority helped it carry. “Your mother, grandmother, and I asked you all to come home because we knew you would want to help a family member, no matter how distantly related, through a rough time in her life.”
“What do you mean, a rough time?” one of the daughters asked.
In a barely audible voice, Clara Bell said, “Her mother was killed in a plane crash. She’s come to mourn.”
Mitch added more firmly, “She needs us, and by God, we’re going to do everything we can to be of help. Am I understood?”
The soft, sympathetic replies were indistinct, and the lack of further outbursts led Izzy to believe Mr. McCallister was, indeed, understood.
Just as Izzy understood and didn’t blame them for their reluctance to welcome her onto their ranch or the disruption to their business and normal routines. She would simply have to minimize the impact of her presence by settling into ranch life as quickly as she could and find ways to lend a hand. Which might not be as easy as it sounded if everyone here treated her as if she might shatter.
A legitimate concern, unfortunately.
Any additional conversation was held in murmured tones Izzy couldn’t decipher, so her gaze returned to Niko, watching as he paused near the closest length of split-rail fencing and propped an arm on the top rail. At least two dozen horses of all colors grazed in the pasture beyond, their sleek coats gleaming in the bright June sun.
The ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth. Finally, he was stopping to appreciate the beauty of the unlikely place they’d found themselves, rather than only looking for threats. Having known him her entire life, Izzy could count on one hand the times she’d seen Niko relaxed and enjoying himself.
Then movement on the far side of the window caught her attention. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a brown cowboy hat, a tan barn jacket, well-worn jeans, and cowboy boots was leading a beautiful black-and-white horse, its muscles moving fluidly beneath its glossy splotched coat, toward where Niko stood. The lead rope, attached to the horse’s nylon halter, hung slack between them.
Clearly, Niko had spotted the cowboy’s approach and had stopped to watch him, not to take in the beauty that was the Starry Sky Ranch. She couldn’t help but sigh. Maybe he’d relax once he knew she would be okay here.
And she would be okay.
Somehow.
The cowboy led the horse right up to Niko, despite what Izzy had always considered the older man’s ominous and blatantly dangerous presence. They were too far away from where Izzy stood at the living room window of the sprawling main ranch house for her to be able to discern much of their conversation, but the friendly-looking tug the cowboy gave to the brim of his cowboy hat led her to believe Niko was at least being cordial.
She hoped so. The last thing she wanted was yet another person on this ranch to resent her presence.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, the cowboy turned his head to look toward the large picture window.
Only a lifetime of being the focus of strangers’ attention kept her from taking a reflexive step back. Besides, the chance of him being able to make her out past the glare of the late-morning sun on the window was slim to none.
But the knowledge didn’t stop her skin from prickling. She could swear his gaze was locked onto hers.
Niko must have said something to the cowboy, because he nodded and returned his attention to the older man. After another quick tug on the brim of his hat, the cowboy continued on his way, the gorgeous paint horse following without so much as a tug on the lead from the big man. Though if she wasn’t mistaken, the horse occasionally slightly favored its right front leg.
Izzy watched the man and horse, growing more certain she’d imagined him looking directly at her, and that he couldn’t have seen her standing within the house.
Then he looked back at her, his gaze locking with hers again. And despite the forty-odd meters of lawn separating them and the shadow created by his hat, she could swear a slight smile touched the corners of his mouth.
The step she reflexively wanted to take this time was toward the window, but the sound of the den doors opening behind her stopped her and sent her pivoting on her heel.
The McCallister clan, all six of them, filed from what she took to be the heart of their home and business to join her in the classically American West decorated living room. As a whole, they were an extremely attractive family. The father, somewhere in his fifties, was tall, with the sort of wiry build that seemed appropriate for a lifelong rancher. But he’d clearly inherited his build from his mother. The other women shared a strong family resemblance, despite their hair color, which ranged from emerging gray to honey blonde. Considering the two youngest were identical twins, their resemblance was a given. They all had heart-shaped faces, pert noses, and lovely, expressive eyes.
Dorothy McCallister, who had to be in her seventies, but didn’t look or appear to act her age, judging by her slim-fit jeans and chambray shirt, approached Izzy.
Embarrassment was evident in the pinch of her only slightly age-lined lips. “You’ll have to forgive us, Your Highness.”
Izzy held up a staying hand. “Please. Call me Isabella. Or, preferably, Izzy.” She re-clasped her hands, this time tightly. “And I’m the one who needs to beg forgiveness, Mrs. McCallister. I am aware of what an inconvenience my presence here at Starry Sky presents.”
“Pish,” the older woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We’re happy to have you for however long you need. And for cripes’ sake, call me Dot. We operate on a first-name basis around here.”
Forcing her grip on her fingers to relax as she held them in front of her, Izzy acknowledged her with a slight dip of her head. “Thank you, Dot.”
Tucking one side of her graying-blonde long bob behind her ear, Clara Bell McCallister stepped toward Izzy with her hands outstretched. “Yes, you are so very welcome … Izzy.” She only hesitated slightly before using the preferred nickname. “For however long you need,” she reiterated her mother-in-law’s statement as she gently took hold of Izzy’s hands.
But how long did one need to mourn the death of a cherished loved one? A death she was arguably responsible for? Izzy already knew she would never truly stop.
The familiar burn of tears had her blinking rapidly and raising her chin as she said, “I promise, I won’t burden you for an extended time.”
As powerless and heartbroken as she currently felt, she knew she would reach a point where she would miss her family, her home, her charities, where she felt useful, and she would need to return to her life.
As if in response to the thought of resuming her normal routine, a wave of the exhaustion she’d been fighting for weeks crashed over her.
Pulling in a shaky breath as she eased her hands out of Clara Bell’s loose grip, Izzy asked, “Would it be possible for me to retire to my quarters?”
“She can have my room,” the other twin, Louisa, said brightly. “I’ll just go back to my place.”
Clara Bell turned toward her daughter. “That won’t be necessary, Lou.”
From what Izzy had read about the family on her flight to the States, Louisa worked as a lawyer in nearby Idaho Falls, a little less than a two-hour drive from the family’s ranch.
Shifting her attention back to Izzy, Clara Bell’s soft smile deepened. “You’ll be staying in the Grand Teton cabin. It’s our nicest and largest guest cabin with a lovely view of the peak it’s named for.”
Izzy tried to object. “I don’t need—”
Dot interjected, “It also has an attached suite with a separate entrance. For your … man.”
Her man being Niko, the former elite soldier tasked with keeping her safe from any and all threats for as long as Izzy could remember. The man who was like a second father to her.
She gracefully accepted the McCallisters’ housing decision with a nod and smile.
Mitch McCallister stepped forward. “Follow me and we’ll get you settled.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mc—”
He sent her a look.
“Mitch,” Izzy amended and followed him out of the large main house that also served as the lodge for the guests of the Starry Sky Ranch.
Squinting against the bright Wyoming sun, she glanced around her, fully expecting Niko to suddenly appear to shadow her as he always had, but there was no sign of him. He must still be scouting around the other side of the ranch’s main house.
As they walked toward the luxury cabins sprinkled around a meadow off to the side of the big house, Mitch pointed out the currently empty log cabins, which were all named for the different peaks of the breathtaking mountain range dominating the skyline.
Izzy only paid partial attention, her thoughts consumed by what it would take for her to get through the near future. She could ignore the inconvenience her presence created for her hosts, playing the princess card to assure she was waited on hand and foot, as they undoubtedly expected of her. Alternately, she could simply shut herself away in her cabin, hiding from not only her pain but from life in general. Or she could make the best of the situation, using her time in Wyoming to heal her soul by keeping her body busy.
The last choice appealed to her the most. She would repay her distant relatives for their generosity by being of as much help as she could.
All without knowing a thing about western ranch life.
“Let’s check out that hoof of yours, Domino,” Gage Buchanan murmured to the big black-and-white American Paint gelding he’d been training to compete in reining at the Jackson Hole Rodeo. The horse dutifully followed him into the stable.
That morning, Domino seemed to be favoring his right front leg, but when Gage had run his hand down the leg, the horse had only shown sensitivity when his hoof was touched. Yet there didn’t seem to be any obvious sign of injury, and Domino hadn’t limped when Gage had walked him around the big house to test him on different surfaces.
Gage wanted to be sure, though, and because the gelding was a known nipper, he positioned Domino in the center of the stable’s aisle and clipped to his halter the black nylon lead lines permanently anchored on either wall. With his head secured, there would be no way for the horse to try to take a hunk out of Gage’s backside as he bent over, inspecting the hoof.
After shucking his barn jacket and hanging it on a hook, he ran a hand down the back of Domino’s front leg, checking again for any tenderness as well as encouraging the paint to raise his hoof. As soon as he did, Gage placed Domino’s hoof between his legs to hold it in place and pulled a hoof pick from his back jeans pocket to thoroughly clean the underside of the hoof of dirt and any rocks or debris that could be bothering the big gelding.
He did his best to focus on the task, to not let the questions the man he’d encountered on the front lawn of the main house intrude on his thoughts or drive his shoulders back up with tension. And failed.
How had the man, clearly an operator of some kind with an accent Gage hadn’t been able to immediately place, known that Gage had served? Was it simply because game always spotted game? Perhaps. But regardless, Gage didn’t like it.
Didn’t like it at all.
He lived here at the Starry Sky Ranch and worked exclusively with the reining horses specifically because he wanted his past to stay exactly where it was—in the past. Horses didn’t ask questions, which made them perfect company.
Not seeing any cracks or signs of bruising on any part of Domino’s hoof, he released the horse’s leg and stepped back, his brow furrowed.
“Everything okay with Dom?” Ollie Peterson, one of the other horse wranglers, asked as he entered the stable through the open double doors. Like a lot of ranch hands who spent their lives working outside, Ollie’s skin seemed to be permanently tanned and weathered, making him look older than his age. But his complexion was the only thing about Ollie that aged him. Despite being two years younger than Ollie’s thirty-four, Gage always felt like an old man around the perpetually chipper wrangler.
“Looks like it.” Gage patted the large white patch of hair on Domino’s shoulder. “I could have sworn he was favoring this right leg when I first went to get him ready to work with him this morning, but he seems fine now. And I couldn’t find any sign of something that might be bothering him.”
“He’s probably just trying to get out of being taught how to slide stop.”
Gage grunted at the very real possibility. Horses could be wily that way. But he didn’t want to risk the health of the best competitive reining cattle horse he’d had the opportunity to train, so Domino would be getting a rest day.
As Ollie brought out the wheelbarrow and mucking pitchfork, he said, “Hey, did you hear that there will only be two guests this month? Maybe longer?”
The unsettled tension that had gripped Gage earlier returned, tightening his shoulders. He wasn’t part of the dude ranch side of the Starry Sky’s operation, but he was fully aware of how important that revenue was. He traded the hoof pick for a curry brush off of a shelf on the wall. “I didn’t. Why? Everyone else cancel?”
“No.” Ollie opened the chest-high door on the last stall, empty because all the pack mules and horses, other than Domino and Marigold, had been turned out to pasture at dawn. As he pushed the wheelbarrow into the stall, Ollie continued, “Mitch told me that the two who are here paid to have everyone else either rescheduled or reimbursed. I guess they wanted the whole dude ranch experience to themselves.”
As Gage ran the stiff grooming brush over Domino’s sleek coat, the image of the beautiful woman standing at the picture window in the main house’s living room appeared in his mind. While she had been dressed similarly to the man Gage had encountered outside, there had been something about the way she’d held herself, the way her dark hair was slicked back into a knot or something, that niggled at him. For some reason, she hadn’t struck him as being the dude ranch type, even if the experience was exclusive.
A loud, masculine shout of pain yanked Gage from his thoughts and made Domino’s head jerk against his restraints.
Ollie lurched out of the stall he’d been cleaning. “What was that?”
Gage was already moving toward the stable doors. “I don’t know. But sounds like someone’s hurt.”
The sounds of agony and what was undoubtedly cursing in a foreign language had both Gage and Ollie breaking into a run as they left the stable.
Rounding the large building’s corner, Gage spotted the older gentleman he’d briefly spoken with earlier seated on the ground with one leg deep in a hole in the ground and his face contorted with pain.
Skidding to a halt next to the man, Ollie said, “Are you okay?”
At the same time, Gage took a knee to assess the situation. “What happened?”
Gripping his leg above the knee, the guy said, “I was checking the outbuildings when the ground simply gave way under my foot. Are there prairie dogs native here?”
Gage let out a breath. “Yes, but it’s more likely Uinta ground squirrels around here. About the same size as prairie dogs and burrow all over the place. The ground must have given way into a shallow tunnel.”
Ollie moved to stand behind the man and bent to grab him under the armpits. “Let’s get you out of that hole.”
“No!” The man stopped Ollie. “I must have twisted as I fell. I’m afraid my tibia, at the very least, is broken.”
Gage met the older man’s gaze. The knowing look in his sharp brown eyes confirmed what he’d suspected. Former, or maybe even current, military.
“Oh, crap. I’d better get some help then.” Ollie straightened and pulled his phone from his pocket.
His gaze never leaving Gage’s, the injured man said, “Until my replacement can arrive, I’m going to need you to watch over her, Warrant Officer Buchanan.”
End of Excerpt
