Fortune's Prince Page 5

  Despite everything, Quinn smiled. He tossed the wig on one of the picnic benches nearby. “Rocky’s not for sale, my friend.”

  “Even if I paid you twice what he’s worth?”

  They’d had this debate many times. Quinn knew Liam wouldn’t overpay and Liam knew Quinn wasn’t selling, anyway. “That bull’s semen’s worth gold to me.”

  “Oh.” The word was faint, brief and still filled with some shock.

  The knots tightened inside him again and Quinn turned to see Amelia standing beside him.

  Chapter Four

  Her fragility struck Quinn all over again, like a fist in his gut.

  The red dress that she was wearing was pretty enough, he guessed. But it was loose. And the straps over her shoulders couldn’t hide the way her collarbones were too prominent.

  She looked like she needed to sit at a table and stuff herself for a month of Sundays.

  As if she read his disapproving thoughts, her cheeks were nearly as red as the dress.

  The day of Toby’s wedding, she’d worn a strapless ice-blue dress that ended just above her perfect knees, and a weird little puff of some feathery thing on her head. When they’d ended up sneaking off for a drive in his truck, he’d teased her about it. She’d promptly tugged it off, and plopped his cowboy hat on her head, where it had slipped down over her eyes, and said she was in the market for a new look, anyway.

  His lips twisted, his eyes meeting hers. “You’re going to hear words like bull’s semen if you’re going to play around cowboys, princess.”

  Stacey, standing beside Amelia, rolled her eyes. “Good grief, Quinn. Manners much?”

  “It’s quite all right,” Amelia said quickly. She lifted her chin a little. “This is Texas, for goodness’ sake. Cattle ranch country. I certainly don’t imagine anyone stands around discussing tea and biscuits. Or, cookies, I guess you call them.”

  He nearly choked. Because they’d laughed together about that, too. Only she’d been naked at the time, and throatily telling him that she’d bet he’d enjoy teatime perfectly well if she served it up for him after making love.

  “Depends on whose cookies you’re talking about,” Deke said. “Jeanne Marie makes some oatmeal peanut-butter deals that are the talk of three counties.” His dry humor broke the faint tension. “Stacey girl, you wanna grab a tray for these steaks? They’re ’bout ready.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll take her,” Amelia offered quickly, reaching out her hands for Piper, and Stacey handed her over. She settled the wide-eyed toddler on her hip and tickled her cheek, making Piper squeal and wriggle. “Who is the prettiest baby girl here, hmm?”

  For some reason, Quinn’s neck prickled.

  He twisted the cap off his beer and focused on Liam. “Where’s your better half, anyway?” There was no sign of his friend’s red-haired fiancée.

  “Julia’s meeting with one of the suppliers over at the Cantina. She’ll be here as soon as she finishes up.”

  “Is the restaurant still going to open on schedule?” Amelia asked.

  Liam nodded. “Two weeks from now, right on track.”

  The Hollows Cantina was a big deal for their little town. It was owned and to be operated by Marcos Mendoza and his wife, Wendy Fortune Mendoza, who’d relocated all the way from Red Rock, a good four hundred Texas miles away. They’d hired Julia as an assistant manager and the establishment promised upscale dining that was intended to draw not only the locals from Horseback Hollow and nearby Vicker’s Corners, but as far away as Lubbock. Considering the Mendozas’ success with Red, a fancy Mexican food restaurant in Red Rock that was famous even beyond the state lines, Quinn figured they had a decent shot of success at it.

  He was reserving judgment on whether that all would be a good thing for Horseback Hollow or not. He wasn’t vocally opposed to it like some folks, nor was he riding around on the bandwagon of supporters, though he was glad enough for Julia. She’d always been a hard worker and deserved her shot as much as anyone did.

  He, personally, would probably still choose the Horseback Hollow Grill over the Cantina. Even on a good day, he wasn’t what he would call “upscale” material.

  “My mother has the grand opening on her calendar,” Amelia said. “I know she’s looking forward to it. Not only is Uncle James going to be there, but Uncle John, as well. It should be quite a family reunion.”

  Quinn stopped pretending an interest in his beer and looked at her. Ironically, the British Fortunes seemed too upscale for the Cantina. “And you? Is it on your calendar, too, princess? Maybe you’ll drag your fiancé along for the trip.”

  Amelia’s chocolate-brown eyes went from her cousin’s face to Quinn’s and for the first time since he’d met her, they contained no emotion whatsoever. “I’m not sure what I’ll be doing by the end of the month.” Her voice was smoothly pleasant and revealed as little as her eyes did.

  Her “royal face,” he realized.

  She’d talked about having one. Having had to develop as a little girl the ability to give nothing away by expression, deed or word.

  He’d just never seen it in person before. And not directed at him.

  Piper was wriggling on her hip and Amelia leaned over to set the little girl on her feet. She kept hold of Piper’s tiny hands as the girl made a beeline toddle for the wig sitting on the picnic bench next to them.

  “Keekee,” she chortled, and reached for the wig.

  Amelia laughed lightly and scooped up the wig before Piper could reach it and brushed the short thick strands against the baby’s face. “That’s not a kitty, darling. It’s a wig.”

  She’d crouched next to Piper and while the child chortled over the hairy thing, she glanced up at Quinn. “There was no need to return the wig to me, Quinn,” she told him. “You could have tossed it in the trash bin.”

  He really wished he would have.

  Liam tilted his beer to his lips but not quickly enough to hide his faint grin. “Thought the rat belonged to your sis’s kids.”

  “Here’s the tray,” Stacey announced, striding up with a metal cookie sheet in her hand that she set on the side of the grill.

  She was also carrying a big bowl of coleslaw under her other arm, and, glad of an escape route, Quinn slid his hand beneath it. “I’ll put it on the table before you drop it.” He turned away from the lot of them and carried it over to a folding table that had obviously been set out to hold the food.

  * * *

  Trying not to watch Quinn too openly, Amelia continued entertaining the sweet baby with the wig while everyone else seemed to suddenly spring into action organizing the food onto plates and the people onto picnic benches.

  Though she tried to avoid it, she somehow found herself sitting directly across from Quinn. He was hemmed in on one side by Delaney, Jeanne Marie and Deke’s youngest daughter, and Liam on the other. Amelia was caught between Jeanne Marie and Deke.

  If she didn’t know better, she almost would have suspected her aunt and uncle of planning it.

  Judging by the way Quinn noticeably ignored her, he was no more comfortable with the seating plan than she was. Fortunately, his friendship with Liam was evident as the two men dickered over the issue of Rocky’s studding abilities and whether or not the summer season would be wetter or drier than usual.

  “Have some more corn bread,” Jeanne Marie said, nudging a basket of the fragrant squares into her hands.

  Amelia obediently put another piece on her plate, and managed a light laugh when Deke tried to talk her into another steak, though she’d only eaten a fraction of the one on her plate. “If I ate all this, I’d pop,” she protested.

  “So, Amelia,” Delaney drew her attention. “What are you doing in Horseback Hollow, anyway?” Her eyes were bright with curiosity as she grinned. “Are you planning some secret mee
ting with your wedding gown designer? Texas has our very own Charlene Dalton. She’s based in Red Rock and I hear she did Emily Fortune’s gown.”

  “Delaney,” Jeanne Marie tsked, handing the corn bread across to her daughter. “You’re sounding like one of those nosy reporters.”

  Delaney made a protesting sound. “That’s not fair. None of us expected to find ourselves family with The Fortunes. If you can’t share some secrets among your own family, who can you share ’em with? It’s not like I’ll go tattling to the newspapers. And besides. I didn’t get to see Emily’s gown outside of pictures, ’cause she got married before we even knew we all were cousins!”

  “It’s all right,” Amelia said quickly. Not only could she sense her aunt’s sudden discomfort, but she was painfully aware of Quinn across from her. “I’m not...not planning any designer sessions.” She was loath to discuss her personal business in front of everyone, even if they were family. That just wasn’t the way she’d been raised. Even among her four brothers and sister, she didn’t get into whys and wherefores and the most personal of emotions. She hadn’t even divulged all the facts to her own mother about her “engagement,” though she knew Josephine had her suspicions.

  She tried not looking at Quinn, but couldn’t help herself. “I’m not planning anything.” It wasn’t exactly a public admission, but since she’d discovered she was pregnant with his child, it was entirely truthful.

  “’Scuse me.” He suddenly rose and extricated himself from the picnic bench and the human bookends holding him there.

  Amelia’s fingernails dug into her palms as she watched him carry his plate over to the table of food and make a point of studying the display.

  “Getting a microphone stuck in your face or a camera flash blinding you every time you go out in public would be a pain in the butt,” Deke said, as if nothing had happened. Then he looked around at the silence his unexpected input drew. His eyebrows rose. “Well. Would be,” he drawled in conclusion.

  And that seemed to be that.

  Nobody else broached the subject about Amelia’s unplanned appearance. Nor did the topic of the wedding come up again.

  And Quinn never returned to their picnic table.

  He stuck around long enough to have a piece of the three-layer chocolate cake when Jeanne Marie presented it, along with a peach pie that was so picturesque it might have come out of the kitchens at the Chesterfield estate. But whenever Amelia entered his vicinity, he exited hers.

  It was so plainly obvious that he was avoiding her that she felt herself receiving looks of sympathy from Stacey, Delaney and Liam’s fiancée, Julia, who’d arrived in time for dessert.

  She didn’t want sympathy.

  She wanted Quinn’s love.

  In the absence of that, at least his understanding.

  But clearly he wasn’t going to offer that, either.

  She saw him shake Deke’s hand, drop a kiss on her aunt’s cheek and exchange easily a half-dozen goodbyes with some of the others, without a single glance her way. And then he was walking away, heading out of sight around the corner of her aunt’s house.

  She swallowed and sucked all of her feelings inward until she felt reasonably confident that her expression was calm. She listened in on Toby and Angie’s conversation as they talked about the difficulties they kept encountering trying to adopt the three Hemings children Toby had been fostering ever since she’d first met him, and knew she made the appropriate nods and sounds when she should have. But a portion of her mind was wondering if she could get back home again without drawing undue media attention.

  Which was rather laughable to worry about now.

  The attention she’d draw once word of her pregnancy got out would thoroughly eclipse what she’d already garnered.

  And poor James. Instead of dealing with the embarrassment of a broken engagement, he would have to endure speculation over being the baby’s father. It wouldn’t matter that he wasn’t. It wouldn’t matter what statements were issued or what proof was given.

  Forever on, people would whisper. Every time either one of them did something to draw the attention of the media, the scandal would be dug up all over again, regurgitated on the internet or on gossip networks.

  They’d all pay the price and none more dearly than her and Quinn’s innocent baby.

  Her head swam dizzily and she excused herself, walking blindly. She instinctively followed the path that Quinn had taken, heading around the side of the house and away from all of the noisy gaiety.

  Going home was as impossible as staying in Horseback Hollow would be.

  The thought came over her in a wave and her knees went weak. She stopped, bracing herself with one hand against the side of the house.

  “Are you going to pass out again?”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Quinn’s voice. He was standing a few feet away, his hazel eyes alert, as though he was ready to leap forward if he had to.

  At least he didn’t hate her badly enough to allow her to collapse flat on her face.

  She let out a choking laugh at the thought, which only had him closing the distance between them, his expression even warier as he clasped her bare arms.

  She shivered, looking up into his face. The night they’d danced, she’d felt as if they’d known one another for all their lives. “I think I’m losing my mind, Quinn.” Even her voice sounded unhinged, shaking and pitched too high.

  He made a rough sound. “You’re not losing your mind.”

  Where was her dignity? Her self-control? Her throat tightened even more, her voice almost a squeak. “But you don’t know—”

  “Shh.” His big warm hand slid around the back of her neck and he pulled her against his chest in a motion that felt both reluctant and desperate. “You’re going to make yourself collapse again. Is that what you want?”

  Her forehead rubbed against the front of his soft plaid shirt as she shook her head. She could feel the heat of his hard chest burning through the cotton. Could hear the rhythmic beat of his heart when she turned her cheek against him.

  He was holding her, though not cradling her. But her ragged emotions didn’t care. They only wanted her to burrow against him while he safely held everything that didn’t matter at bay.

  She’d never felt even a fraction of this need when she was with James. If only she had, things wouldn’t be in such a mess.

  Her fingers twisted into Quinn’s shirt lapel. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Well it’s gonna have to wait.” His hands tightened around her arms as he forcibly set her back a foot. “I only came back to warn you that there’s an SUV parked maybe a hundred yards down the road that’s not from around here. Has a rental car sticker on the bumper.” His fingertips pressed into her flesh and his gaze, as it roved over her face, was shuttered once more. “It’s probably nothing, but the strangers that’ve been coming around the Hollow these days usually stick to town. They don’t traipse out onto private property and park off the side of the road half-hidden behind the bushes.”

  She grasped at the shreds of her composure and came up with threads. His thumbs were rubbing back and forth over her upper arms and she wondered if he even realized it. “You think it’s a reporter.” Maybe even that dreadful Ophelia Malone had managed to catch up to her. The young paparazzo had sprung from nowhere after Amelia’s “engagement” and seemed determined to earn her stripes on Amelia ever since.

  “All I’m thinking is that the car doesn’t belong.” His thumbs stopped moving. He still held her arms to steady her, yet managed to put another few inches between them. “But I don’t figure any of the Joneses—Fortune Joneses,” he corrected himself, “deserve their lives intruded upon.”

  “Whereas this Fortune Chesterfield does?”

  His lips twisted and his brows lowered. “Do
n’t make me feel sorry for you, princess.”

  “I’m not trying to!” Despair congealed inside her chest and she lifted her palms to his face. She felt his sudden stillness and mindlessly stepped closer. “Please give me a chance to make things right, Quinn.” Feeling as powerless as a moth flying into a flame, she stretched up on the toes of her borrowed sandals and pressed her mouth to his jaw. The hard angle felt bristly against her lips. “That’s all I want. A chance.” She stretched even farther, pulling on his shoulders, until her lips could reach his.

  And for a moment, a sweet moment that sent her hopes spinning, he kissed her back.

  But then he jerked away.

  His hands felt like iron as he held her in place and took another step back, putting distance between them yet again. “Finish making one bed before you try getting in another.” His voice was low. Rough.

  “I was never in James’s bed,” she whispered. Her lips still tingled. “I’m not in it now. What can I do to make you believe me?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “Walk out to that SUV and see if it’s a reporter, and if it is, tell ’em what you told me. That the two of you aren’t engaged. Never were.”

  She swallowed. “And that would make everything all right? Between you and me?”

  He didn’t answer and her stomach sank right back to her toes.

  Of course it wouldn’t.

  He’d made up his mind where she was concerned and that was the end of it.

  It didn’t matter who was to blame for what as far as the “engagement” was concerned. James’s father had precipitated everything by announcing they were engaged. And she’d compounded the problem by not denying it when she could have.

  By talking to the paparazzi now, all she would succeed in doing would be hurting James, embarrassing his family, and by extension, her own.

  And in the process, she wouldn’t gain a thing where Quinn was concerned.

  She drew herself up. Lifted her chin. She was a Chesterfield. A Fortune Chesterfield. Even if her world was disintegrating around her, she needed to remember that fact. “That would be throwing James to the wolves.”