The Prince's Wedding Page 4

  "Maybe," Mrs. Winstead said grudgingly. "I suppose being a prince isn't all it's cracked up to be sometimes."

  Jessie turned that over and over in her mind as she retreated to her mother's old rocking chair with her son and Mrs. Winstead went about the business of preparing a meal, grumbling under her breath about the number of people there were to feed. Jessie smiled, knowing the woman was justifiably proud of her cooking, and that a few extra people were hardly a challenge to her skills.

  Jessie rocked in her mother's chair, coming down from that fever pitch of panic and nerves that had enveloped her from the moment her baby had been taken from her. When Luke went to sleep contentedly in her arms, her heart ached with a fullness she'd never experienced, and she knew she would lay down her life for this little being in an instant, no questions asked.

  But living for him was more difficult. She suppressed the nagging fear she'd been fighting ever since his father had put Luke back into her arms. What did she know about raising a child? For that matter, what did she know about taking care of a baby? She'd never even been around one, not a human one, anyway. She'd hand-raised many animal babies—foals, puppies, calves, rabbits, even a fawn once when she'd been a child—but she didn't know a blessed thing about human babies. And instinct could only do so much in today's complicated world. There was a very big difference between the instinct that told a mare how to take care of her baby and the instincts necessary to keep a human baby safe amid all the dangers of life.

  She wondered if Luke could sense how frightened she was.

  Poor little guy, she thought. You don't even have a mother who knows what she's doing.

  But she'd learn, she promised him silently. She would learn, and pray she didn't do any irreparable damage in the process.

  In what seemed like mere minutes, hours passed, and there was the sound of strong, male footsteps coming from the front of the ranch house. There were three male hands on the ranch, but still she knew who it was. She wasn't sure how, but she knew.

  She supposed the idea that she could hear a certain arrogance in the stride was fanciful. And she had no real reason to assume it was there—he'd done nothing any rich, powerful man wouldn't do. It was just that the change from the quiet, unassuming, almost shy man she'd known as Joe was so startling, and even more so now that they were back here in the place where she'd first met him.

  He hadn't been shy, she told herself, he'd just been lost, uncertain. It made him seem shy.

  She was right, of course, the footsteps were his. He stopped in the kitchen doorway. She looked at Luke a moment longer, wondering if she would ever be able to face his father with the ease she once had.

  Finally she lifted her gaze.

  The look of pure longing she caught on Lucas Sebastiani's face startled her. It vanished quickly, hidden behind a steady, neutral expression she'd never seen on Joe's face. She was left wondering what—or who—it had been directed at.

  "I've talked to the hands," he said, in a tone as neutral as his expression. "They checked up on the place and kept it in good shape, despite Ursula's treatment of them. Gant left a couple of weeks ago, but everyone else stuck it out. They all suspected something wasn't right."

  She was glad to hear it. Not every man was willing to work for a woman even in this day and age, and she'd honed her crew down to those to whom it didn't matter.

  "They respect you," he said, as if he'd read her thoughts. "And they all know you work as hard if not harder than any of them. You love this place and this life just like they do, and that's enough for them."

  "Thank you," she said, pleased.

  "There are a few things," he said, going on as if what he'd said had been simply fact, not a compliment. "As usual, there's fence to repair. The liver chestnut mare got a wire cut, but Barney says it's not serious. And the reservoir up on the flats is clogged again."

  Again Jessie's gaze shot to his face. As Joe, he'd suggested a way to fix the problematical reservoir permanently, with a supply and drainage system that was, for the moment, beyond her means. When she'd asked him how he'd known about such things, he'd gotten the strangest look on his face. And at last, rather forlornly, he'd answered simply, "I don't know."

  "I presume you remembered how you knew those things?" she asked.

  "Yes. There's an area of Montebello that has no water of its own. As my engineering project in college, I designed a system to deliver and store water from elsewhere on the island."

  "Did you ever build it?"

  "Yes. That's how I knew it would work, apparently. I knew that much, even if I couldn't remember the rest."

  She glanced down at her son, noticed as never before his resemblance to his father. "It must be a relief to you, to have your past back in place."

  "It is," he agreed, then added, "and it isn't."

  Cryptic, she thought. Like Joe had sometimes been. Only with Joe she'd always thought it was unintentional. Now she wasn't so sure.

  "I will build it now, if you like."

  She shook her head. "I still can't afford it."

  "Jessie," he began.

  She went still, knowing he was about to offer to pay for it himself. To his credit, he must have realized that was the wrong tack, because he stopped.

  This was something else she hadn't really had time to think about, that her Joe was now a man with resources beyond anything she'd ever dreamed of. But right now, all she could think was that the offer he'd almost made smacked of an effort to ease whatever guilt he felt from walking out on her.

  "You think that makes everything okay? You come back and throw money around? You think I can be bought?"

  A muscle along his stubborn jaw jumped. "I never said that."

  If he had, she thought, he would no doubt be offering all he could give. Joe might have been content to stay, to become part of the fabric of her life here as she'd always hoped he would. But Joe was as gone as if he'd died the night he had walked out on her. Prince Lucas Sebastiani—she didn't even know what his full royal name was, she realized—was a horse of another color altogether. A horse in designer slacks and silk shirts. She found herself longing for Joe's faded jeans and second-hand-store shirts, which had been all he'd been able to afford when she'd first hired him.

  "I was just trying to help," Lucas said, his voice tight. "I know you want and need that done, so why shouldn't I do it?"

  "What I want," she said slowly, "you can't give me."

  "Try me," he said, sounding almost desperate now.

  "The crown prince of Montebello can't give me what I want," she amended.

  Something weary flickered in his eyes once more. "It's who I am. My first loyalty must always be to Montebello."

  She saw both that he meant it and that it had cost him. He had a loyalty to his country that he would not forsake. This, she thought, was what had changed most. Joe had been fairly carefree, despite the burden of his amnesia. Lucas carried a responsibility that was almost a visible thing.

  And while that made her admire him, it also answered the question she hadn't dared ask. He would go back, back to that life, that glittering, glamorous life that to her was no more than a fantasy, a fairy tale that happened to be real enough to make the gossip columns and on occasion the nightly news.

  Even what had happened to him was the stuff of fantasy; the rich, royal, jet-setting playboy crashing his private plane, stricken with amnesia, recovering just in time to go undercover for an FBI anti-terrorist operation, then home to a glorious welcome for the prodigal prince.

  She much preferred Joe, itinerant ranch hand with no past and a future of his choosing.

  For a long, strained moment, Lucas stared at her. He started to speak, then stopped himself. "Let's not talk about it now," Lucas said at last. "There's time yet. Just heal and get well, Jessie."

  She appreciated his concern, but long after he'd left her there with their son still in her arms, she was still wondering what he'd been about to tell her. And why he'd changed his mind about it. />
  Something made her shiver, and she wasn't sure why. She shrugged off the feeling, telling herself nothing bad could possibly happen now that she had her baby back.

  Chapter 4

  It's one of the strangest sensations of my life, Lucas thought. Like being a stranger in a familiar land.

  He'd saddled up the big bay gelding he'd ridden when he'd been here before. He fancied the horse remembered him by the way he'd nudged Lucas's shoulder familiarly.

  It felt strange to be back in a Western saddle, since at home he rode with English-style tack. He had to confess, he'd missed the easy, long-legged way of Western riding. The big, solid quarter horse also seemed strange after the fiery, dish-faced Arabians that were his father's pride and joy.

  I'd like to bring home one or two of these horses, he thought as he leaned back to pat the powerful hindquarters that could accelerate the animal faster than any other horse over short distances. The combination of Arab endurance and quarter horse speed off the mark could be an interesting combination.

  He'd ridden a lot since returning to Montebello, on his own black Arabian. In the beginning it had been the only peace he'd found as he'd struggled to assimilate everything that had happened. When he'd thought Jessie and the child she'd never told him about were dead, it had been the only way he could feel close to her.

  When Luke had been brought to him, miraculously healthy and alive, he'd gone riding both when panic had filled him about being responsible for this tiny life and when he wanted to give thanks that some small part of Jessie still lived on this earth.

  So now here he was, riding a familiar horse over familiar ground, yet knowing and feeling that he was a completely different man than he had been then. He remembered the days on the ranch with perfect, wistful clarity. They were like some long ago, treasured childhood dream—except that there was nothing childlike about what he'd felt for Jessie Chambers.

  He rode on, memories coming back to him at a faster and faster rate, this hill, this stand of trees, this bend in the river. He remembered the long, hard days, the strenuous work that had left him exhausted at the end of the day. But it had been a pleasant sort of exhaustion, the kind that meant the satisfaction of ajob well done, and a peaceful night of sound sleep.

  He didn't know that kind of simple satisfaction anymore. Even the memory of it had faded amid the glitter of his other life. It was only now that he'd returned here that an echo of the feeling filled him. And a longing to experience it again, made more poignant by the realization he likely never would.

  He hadn't appreciated the simplicity of that life when he'd had it. And he probably would never have realized the lack he felt now had he not spent those quiet months here. But now that lack was an aching, empty place inside that he didn't think he could ever fill again.

  Unless he had Jessie. It was all tied up with her, and now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure how much of that peace had come from this place and how much had come from Jessie herself. Jessie and her love, a treasure he had had for all too short a time. A treasure that made all his wealth, his position, his much-envied title pale by comparison.

  He pulled the bay to a stop on a rise. He looked back, knowing that from here he could see the ranch house. He'd ridden up here before, in that time when the only past he'd had dated from the day he'd come to in the wreckage of a small plane, with no idea of who he was or why he was there. The smell of aviation gas had spurred him to quick movement, and he'd dragged himself away from the crash site just in time—the fire had begun barely moments after he'd got clear. He'd saved only the clothes he'd been wearing, including the distinctive ski cap he'd had on in anticipation of the weekend in Aspen, the cap that had led his sister Anna to believe he was still alive.

  But now all he thought about was the peace he'd felt then, looking back at the ranch from this spot. He remembered thinking he could make a good life here, even if he never remembered. But he had remembered, and while it had given him back what he'd lost, it had taken away what he'd gained in the interim.

  A small column of smoke rose from the chimney, and another from the flue of the woodstove that warmed the kitchen. It gave the place a welcoming feel. Hearth and home, Jessie had called it. And he realized that Jessie and this place were so intertwined that it mattered little which was the source of that peace.

  He thought of what life would have been like for Joe, coming home to this every night. Nothing more complicated to worry about than the range and the animals and beating a storm home. Knowing a warm, loving woman would be working right alongside you. And with the thought of warm, loving nights to get you through the days.

  But instead, here he was, a man out of place. Prince Lucas Sebastiani, with a kingdom as his birthright, the media and paparazzi as his constant companions, and the fate of his people someday in his hands.

  He wondered wearily if perhaps he hadn't been luckier as Joe.

  * * *

  Despite her worry about the ranch, it was two days before Jessie could tear herself away from baby Luke long enough to even step outside.

  She stood on the front porch, taking in the fresh morning air, looking out over the ranch land she loved. The Chambers ranch was and always had been a small but quality operation, raising mostly blooded cattle and horses for sale to other ranchers for improvement of their own stock. They'd done well with that approach, although there had been lean times, as any ranch had.

  She made herself, just for these moments, let go of the tension that filled her. Luke was napping, the air was clear and inviting, and she needed this. After that nightmare time in that awful cellar, expecting Gerald to kill her at any time, and after mourning the baby she'd barely held, and the man she hadn't been able to hold at all, she needed this badly.

  She walked to the main barn, taking a deep breath as she went in, savoring the familiar earthy smells of hay and grain and horses. She'd never realized how much she loved those smells. How much they meant home to her. So much seemed new, and more precious than ever because she'd come so close to never seeing, hearing or smelling it again.

  As she walked the length of the barn, she stopped at each stall to greet the horse inside. Lucy, the little sorrel, tried to nip as usual. Buddy, the big pinto who had three times tossed Joe on his backside, nuzzled her so enthusiastically he nearly knocked her over.

  And then she heard the familiar, demanding whinny that made her smile. Brat, her baby, the mare she'd raised since she'd been foaled seven years ago, was making her irritation widely known. How dare she, the horse's indignant vocalization seemed to say, come into the barn and greet those other horses first?

  With a laughing apology to Buddy, she hurried to the end stall.

  "I'm sorry, honey," Jessie crooned lovingly as she rubbed under the buckskin mare's jaw. The horse had a long, dramatic registered name derived from the names of her sire and dam, but it had quickly given way to the frequently used appellation she now answered to.

  Brat snorted energetically, but wasn't quite ready to forgive her just yet. The horse eyed Jessie somewhat balefully until she tugged two sugar cubes out of her pocket and gave them to her. Forgiving her at last, Brat nudged her with a velvety nose.

  "Have you been good?" Jessie asked as she patted the sleek neck. "Or have you been giving Barney a bad time?" She cringed just thinking what might have happened had not Barney kept the horses at his own small farm when Ursula had tried to sell them.

  The mare blew gustily at her, nudging her again.

  "You need a good grooming," Jessie said frankly, examining the mare's dusty and disheveled coat and mane. "I suppose you made it too difficult, Brat."

  She would have wondered if the head wrangler had been slacking off if she didn't know his dedication to his job, and didn't know perfectly well that Brat made grooming a misery for anyone except her. If it wasn't for the animal's amazing intelligence and incredible cow sense—she'd taken the county championship her first year of cutting competition—she wouldn't be worth the trouble
to many. But Jessie loved her sassy personality and her honey-and-black good looks, and the bond that had grown between them was something she treasured.

  Jessie slid back the latch on the lower half of the stall door. Brat stamped a hoof as if to say "About time!" She danced eagerly as Jessie led her out of the stall.

  Moments later she had the horse secured in the cross ties, and went to get her bucket of grooming tools. She'd have to begin with the curry comb, she thought, the mare had obviously found some mud to roll in somewhere.

  She had one flank nearly free of dried mud when she heard the barn door slide open, followed by quickened footsteps. She looked up over Brat's back to see Lucas approaching. Glowering. Apparently at her.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  His imperious tone irritated her. She looked from him to the horse to the tool in her hand with an exaggerated expression of puzzlement. "I think it's called grooming a horse."

  He grimaced. "I can see that. Why?"

  "Because it needs doing," she pointed out in exasperation, for the moment forgetting she was addressing royalty. "What is your problem?"

  "My problem is that you're just out of the hospital and have no business riding a horse all over creation!"

  She drew back slightly. He'd sounded almost irate at the thought. It was rather touching, really. "Riding. Grooming. Two different things."

  "You weren't going riding?"

  She shook her head. "I wasn't. I know I'm not ready. But she doesn't like anybody but me to groom her."

  "I know."

  She blinked. And suddenly remembered he did know—he'd seen her deal with the horse before, and had seen the frustration of the others who'd tried. How odd, she thought. She'd almost forgotten he was Joe, so completely had he changed.

  Had he still been Joe, she would have assumed it was concern for her that had set him off. But this was Prince Lucas of Montebello, and she wasn't sure what his motivation was. She supposed he still felt something for her, although she wasn't sure what. He had come for her, after all, and had arranged all this.