The Rancher's Christmas Princess. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
pasted on a big smile and stopped leaning on the counter. The bodyguard opened the door and Belle sailed through wearing a long wool coat. Beneath the hem of the coat he saw she wore black boots with low heels. At breakfast, she’d worn a cashmere sweater and tan pants, with tan boots to match. He liked the way she dressed. Simply and practically. Expensive, but not flashy.
She met his eyes. “Preston, hello.” The dark, cold Montana night suddenly seemed cozy, bright as a new day.
He offered his arm. She stepped up and took it. He felt like a million bucks—or maybe two million. The bodyguard opened the door for them.
As soon as they were outside where RaeNell couldn’t eavesdrop, he said, “The restaurant’s just down the street. We can walk, if you don’t mind a few snow flurries and a little gale-force wind.”
She gripped his arm a fraction tighter, moved in just an inch closer. He got a whiff of her perfume. It was like her. Subtle, but so tempting. “I would love to walk.”
He asked, “Your bodyguard have a name?”
“Marcus.”
“You can leave Marcus behind. I promise not to give you any reason to need backup.”
She let out a small, resigned sigh. “Marcus goes where I go. If I dismissed him, he would still follow us. He doesn’t take orders from me. His job is to protect me and he’s very...committed to his job.”
“Even if you don’t need protecting?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Sadly, in this day and age, you just never know. A little over five years ago, my brother Alexander was kidnapped in Afghanistan. He eventually escaped and he’s home safe and happily married now, but the kidnapping forced my family to face a few realities. Whenever we travel now, we have security round-the-clock.”
He’d read about her brother’s kidnapping. That afternoon, he’d spent an hour on the internet learning what he could about Belle and her family. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother.”
“He’s doing well now. Truly. But Marcus will be accompanying us.”
“Fair enough.”
She had her face tipped up to him. Her eyes seemed almost golden in the light that spilled out the lobby windows. She clutched his arm a little tighter. “Then shall we go?”
“This way.” He touched her gloved hand where it wrapped around his forearm. They started off down the street.
The bodyguard fell back several paces. It wasn’t that hard to pretend he wasn’t there.
* * *
The Bull’s Eye Steakhouse and Casino was in a brick storefront between the Upper Crust Bakery and Elk Creek Cleaners. The sign out front was a target with a giant red arrow sticking out of the center. Miniature multicolored Christmas lights framed the front windows and the door.
Inside, nothing had changed since the last time Pres ate there. The walls were paneled in bead board up to the chair rails and decorated with a lot of bad paintings of cowboys on trail drives. The tablecloths? Vinyl, printed with Western scenes. The chairs had red vinyl cushions and backs. There was a full bar. In the back was the “casino,” which consisted of two poker tables and a row of gambling machines. From the dining room, faintly, you could hear the never-ending sound effects from the machines.
The Bull’s Eye wasn’t exactly jumping that early December night. Pres had called ahead and told the owner which table he wanted. It was the one tucked into that quiet corner, across from the bar.
Daisy Littlejohn, the owner’s daughter, greeted them, waited for Pres to hang their coats and his hat on the coat tree by the door next to the Christmas tree and then led them to the table he’d asked for. Once they were settled in the red vinyl chairs, she handed them menus. “Wayne will be right with you.”
Wayne, the waiter, knew his job. They went through the business of ordering drinks and food. He got all that out of the way quickly. In no time, they were left alone with a bread basket and a nice bottle of red wine.
“It’s not fancy,” Pres said, “but I think you’ll like that rib eye you ordered.”
“I’m sure I will.” She sipped from her water glass.
Pres had ended up facing the door. The bodyguard stood by the row of chairs in front of the register, out of the way. He seemed to be good at blending in. Daisy was behind the register counter, fiddling with some receipts or something. She seemed totally oblivious to the big, silent fellow standing right there beside her.
“I looked you up on the internet,” Pres confessed.
Belle nodded, apparently not in any way surprised. “Did you find out anything interesting?”
He buttered a hunk of bread. “I learned about what happened to your brother.”
She nodded. “It was terrible for all of us. We were sure he had died. But he returned to us. And it’s over now. His wife, who is like a sister to me, is expecting twins next month. They are very much in love, Lili and Alex.”
“I read that your Lili is a princess from the island country of Alagonia.”
“Yes. Lili’s the crown princess, the heir presumptive.”
He chuckled. She amused him to no end with her talk of princes and crowns, of thrones and titles. “And that means?”
“Lili’s an only child. If her father, the king, never has a son, she will rule Alagonia one day. She’s called the heir presumptive because it’s presumed that she will one day be queen, barring the birth of a male heir. If she were a man, she would be called the heir apparent and her position as first in line of succession would be secure, regardless of any future children her father might have.”
He studied her expression. “Somehow, you don’t approve of that?”
“Well, I think it’s somewhat...backward. As though men were born naturally superior to women, naturally more suited to rule and therefore should take precedence. Everyone in the modern world knows that’s completely untrue.”
Pres set down his butter knife. “You expecting me to argue that point with you?”
“Were you planning to?”
“Not a chance.”
She sent him a sideways look. “Good thinking, Preston.”
He moved on to a safer subject. “I also read that you’re a nurse, that you work with Nurses Without Boundaries.”
“Yes. In my family, we believe in being useful. I don’t do a lot of hands-on nursing, but I am able to help raise awareness—and necessary funds—to get supplies and medical personnel where they’re most needed around the world.” She was so damn easy on the eyes. He could have sat there across from her forever, listening to her beautiful voice, watching her face, on the lookout for a hint of a smile. And he really was impressed that she was a nurse. She’d gone and gotten herself an education in a useful profession, even though she probably had money running out her ears and would never actually need to work. “What else did you learn about me?” she asked.
He swallowed a bite of bread. “Your oldest brother, the heir to the throne, is a widower with two children.”
She picked up her wine, took a small sip. “What else?”
“Your second-born brother married a lawyer from Texas who happened to be the mother of his son.”
She chuckled. A beautiful sound. “That’s a long story. For another time.”
“None of your sisters are married. Neither is your one other brother, Alexander’s twin, Damien. I also read all about your mother and father and how they met.”
She