The Runaway Princess. Patricia ForsytheЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Chapter Two
Pounding on the bedroom door and a loud male voice announcing, “Breakfast in ten minutes,” had Alexis springing upright as if the palace guards had shot off a cannon over her head.
Hand clutched to her throat,