The Cowboy and the Princess (22 page)
“You’re right,” the photographer put in, saying something for the first time. “She could be Princess Annabella’s twin sister.”
“Really?” Mariah narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see it.”
Feeling like a bug under a microscope, Annie shifted her weight from foot to foot and forced a pleasant smile.
“Peyton adores Princess Annabella and this way we’ll at least have something classy and elegant for my friends and family to enjoy.”
Annie did not know how classy hiring a fake princess was, but it did not sound particularly patrician to her.
“So let me see if I understand this correctly,” Mariah said. “Instead of the traditional wedding reception, you want an elaborate tea instead.”
“Not just any tea, but a
high
tea.” Melinda Messing raised her eyebrows when she said the word “high.” “We’ll have to schedule it for the official tea time. Four in the afternoon.”
“Then you mean low tea.” If there was one thing Annie knew, it was tea ceremony. Ten percent of her princess duties entailed going to or hosting charity teas.
“Oh, no, no.” Melinda Messing looked at her as if she was an uneducated hick. “I mean high tea.”
“Then you’ll want tea service at six or seven
P.M
.”
“Official tea time is at four
P.M.
,” Melinda Messing insisted.
“For low tea, yes.”
“That’s incorrect.”
“Low tea is traditionally held at four
P.M.
,” Annie explained patiently. She probably should have let it go, but of tea she was certain. “In Victorian times, the upper crust took their tea at four
P.M
. High tea was in the evening for the workers when they came home from the factories and fields. Heartier fare is served for high tea because it combines low tea and dinner into one meal.”
“You have your facts wrong,” Melinda Messing argued. “High tea is for royalty. Low tea is for the lower classes.”
“Nope,” Prissy said cheerfully. “Just Googled it on my smart phone. Annie’s right. Low tea is the elaborate tea ceremony. High tea is just a fancy way of saying early supper with tea service.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Check it out.” Prissy passed Melinda Messing her iPhone. To Annie, she leaned down to whisper, “Girl, where did you learn so much about flippin’ tea?”
Mrs. Messing looked down her nose at the phone, used her fingers to make the font bigger. “Well,” she said. “So it is.”
Annie waited for an apology.
“Then low tea is what we want,” the snobbish woman said to Mariah.
“Low tea it is,” Mariah said.
Annie raised a hand. “Actually, if the tea ceremony is to be a substitute for the traditional reception, then perhaps you should consider making it high tea served later in the day. It’s at a more traditional time and you can serve heartier food.”
“No.” Mrs. Messing shook her head. “The wedding day is going to be plain enough. We want to go all out with the tea.”
“Because it’s all about the show,” Prissy put in.
“Exactly.” Mrs. Messing passed the iPhone back to Prissy. “We won’t hold it in that horse barn either. There’s some lovely Victorian homes in this town, I’m sure you can find one that could host a tea-party wedding reception.”
“That can be arranged.” Mariah nodded.
Melinda Messing clasped her hands together like a prizefighter who had just won the bout. “Excellent. Now let’s talk menu. We want this as authentic as possible. Have any of you ever been to a Victorian high . . . er . . . low tea?”
Annie and the cameraman both raised their hands.
Everyone turned to stare at the cameraman.
“What?” He shrugged. “I like tea.”
“Linen tablecloths and tea napkins are a must. We’ll need china and silver service for a hundred.” Melinda Messing paused, stroked her chin, and rolled her eyes upward as if searching her memory for the details of teas she’d attended.
“You’ll have a hundred guests?” Mariah blinked.
“Yes, we’re keeping it small.”
“Small?” Prissy muttered just loud enough for Annie to hear. “I’d hate to see her idea of a big wedding.”
“A hundred guests aren’t going to fit in a Victorian home,” Mariah pointed out.
“Oh, we’ll have it in a backyard garden.”
“I’ve got a place in mind,” Mariah said. “It’s not a Victorian home, but rather a Victorian garden setting. It’s called Pandora’s Garden. In 1926 a British portrait painter moved with his bride, Pandora, to Jubilee—she was a fiend for cutting horses—and he built her an elaborate English garden. They’re both gone now, but the gardens remain as a local treasure run by their descendants. We could host the reception tea there.”
“That sounds splendid. Yes, yes, yes. Let’s do that.” Melinda Messing face lit up with excitement.
“What time of year are you thinking?” Mariah asked. “Texas weather is only accommodating a few months out of the year for a pleasant outdoor experience.”
“Tell me about it.” The woman fanned herself with a hand. “It’s already like an oven outside and it’s only the beginning of July. Luckily, they’ve set the date for next April.”
“Lots of showers in April,” Mariah said.
“We’ll put up canopies just in case.”
“Okay.”
“Now, let’s talk menu.” Melinda Messing shifted her gaze to Annie. “What are some of your favorite tea items?”
“Water English cucumber with minted butter is traditional,” Annie said.
“On white bread?”
“Sourdough might make a nice twist.”
“Good idea,” Melinda said. “What else?”
“Roast beef with horseradish. Stilton cheese and pear in miniature pita pockets, smoked salmon with lemon-zested butter, Black Forest ham with grainy Dijon mustard,” Annie ticked off the menu of the last teas she’d hosted.
“Damn,” Prissy said. “You sure know a lot about tea sandwiches.”
Annie was on a roll. At last, here was something she was an expert on. “You want loose leaf tea, no tea bags. So you’ll need a hundred strainers or tea balls. You’ll need sugar cubes, lemon slices, milk.”
Everyone was staring at her now, jaws agape.
Annie smiled, enjoying herself. “For dessert you must have scones and clotted cream. End of discussion.”
“Yes, yes.” Melinda Messing nodded.
“I also recommend four other dessert options. Some classics are lemon squares, ginger pecan biscuits, lavender shortbread, and the Victoria sponge cake.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a sponge cake elevated to celestial status by orange zest, rosewater, raspberry jam, scraped vanilla bean, iced with a delicate sugar glaze and topped with fresh raspberries,” Annie rattled off.
Simultaneously, everyone—including the cameraman—breathed in a hungry sigh.
“As for teas,” she went on, “I recommend having three selections. Earl Grey is the old standby, but I favor Baroness Grey. It is a blend of high-grown Ceylon black tea infused with cornflowers, lemon peels, and rose petals and flavored—as is Earl Grey—with bergamot.” It felt good. This knowledge. Their admiration as they hung on her every word. She’d been hosting teas all her life and never considered it a useful skill until now.
“Wow,” Prissy exclaimed. “She’s the tea whisperer.”
Pride puffed Annie’s chest and she just kept talking, never stopping to consider she might be giving away more about herself than was prudent. “Then there is Darjeeling. It is a light golden tea from Northern India. It possesses a delicate muscatel note and it is sometimes referred to as the champagne of teas.”
“She
is
the tea whisperer.” Melinda Messing laughed.
Giddiness galloped over her. She did not know when to stop. “I also recommend Red Rooibos. It is an herbal decaffeinated tea with a fresh, sweet flavor.”
“You are a treasure and when Peyton sees how much you look like Princess Annabella, she’s going to be beside herself.” The cultured woman motioned to the cameraman. “Let’s get the photograph now.”
“Photograph?” Annie said, but no one answered her. The next thing she knew, she was standing beside Melinda Messing while the photographer snapped their picture.
When he was finished, the older woman turned to Mariah. “I could not be happier with the arrangements we made today. I want the menu exactly as Annie described.”
“Absolutely.”
“And Annie
will
be available for the tea. Perhaps she could be persuaded to wear a long, blond wig so she will look exactly like Princess Annabella and preside over the reception.”
“Of course she will,” Mariah said.
“It goes without saying that she’ll be well compensated.” Melinda Messing beamed.
“I . . . um . . .” Annie could not do this. She could not agree to do something she knew that she would not be able to do. “I will not—”
“Mind wearing a wig,” Mariah finished for her and shot her a please-do-this-for-me expression. “Right, Annie?”
“If Annie doesn’t participate, it’s a deal breaker,” Melinda Messing said in the petulant tone of someone accustomed to getting her way.
“Right,” she said with a sinking heart and promised, “I will host your daughter’s wedding tea.”
But it was all a lie. By next April, she would be living in Dubinstein with Teddy, most likely pregnant with their first child.
It fully hit her then. What her future would be like. What she would be leaving behind in Jubilee—the cowboy way of life, the friends she’d made, this job she loved.
Brady.
Annie’s chest tightened. What had she gotten herself into? She should have kept her mouth shut, never revealed her knowledge of tea. Honestly, she hadn’t thought this far ahead. Her trip was to have been a lark. She had not expected to fall in love with these people. This town.
She would not be the only one suffering for her little adventure. When the truth came out, Chandler and Strawn would lose their jobs. Mariah would probably lose the Messing wedding. Everyone who’d befriended her in Jubilee would feel shocked, bewildered, betrayed.
It was only then that Annie understood the full consequences of what she’d done and she was deeply ashamed. She was going to have to break the news to everyone, and the sooner the better.
But how?
P
lagued by misgivings, Annie had almost forgotten about Brady and his problems until Mariah dropped her off at the cabin and she spied him sitting on the front porch rocking chair.
The minute their eyes met, she knew his problems were much bigger than hers.
She moved up the steps toward him.
He got to his feet, his movement setting the chair to rocking. His shoulders were slumped as if supporting the weight of the world, and half-closed lids hooded his eyes.
“You look as if you could use a hug,” she said.
“I wouldn’t say no to the offer.”
She wrapped her arms around him, pressed her head to his chest. He smoothed her hair with his hand and they stood on the porch listening to the beating of each other’s hearts and the cooing of the doves in the cottonwood trees. He smelled of horses and sunshine and hay. A smell she’d quickly grown to love.
“How did it go?” she murmured.
“It went.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m awaiting the results of the paternity test.”
“How do you feel?”
His body stiffened in her embrace. “I’m pretty much trying not to feel anything until there’s something to feel about.”
Annie nodded. “I suppose that’s the best policy.”
He untangled her arms from around him and stepped back to sit in the rocking chair, pulling her along with him. She ended up in his lap, his firm thigh muscles taut against her buttocks. Gently, he set the chair to rocking.
She told him about Melinda Messing and the Victorian tea. “She thinks I look like Princess Annabella,” she said, carefully testing the waters. She was going to have to tell Brady the truth sometime, but she had two more beautiful weeks left before she had to return to Monesta in time for her own wedding. Did she really want to cut that short by telling too much, too soon?
The longer you let it go on, the harder it’s going to be.
Yes, yes, she knew that.
“But you’re not going to be here come spring, are you?” he asked.
“I can’t.”
“That secret of yours again.”
“Yes.” The impulse to confide in Brady pushed at her, but if she told him now they would never make love. Never consummate the thrill ride of their attraction.
It’s too late. Far too late for that and you know it.
She had to leave. There was no question of being able to stay. Yet the thought of leaving without fully knowing him in the physical sense was too much to bear.
So when he tilted her head back and started kissing her, Annie did not resist. Resisting him was useless. His life force was too strong, her need for him devastating.
She kissed him back with every bit of passion she had inside her.
If you make love to him, it is just going to be that much harder to leave.
But she knew deep down inside that no matter what she did, she was not getting out of this unscathed. She broke the kiss, pulled back. “Brady, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Concern darkened his eyes. “Your secret?”
“Yes.”
His entire body tensed. “What is it, Buttercup?”
She moistened her lips. “I . . .”
Before she could go on, he placed an index finger over her lips. “Wait. Shh. If it’s bad news, let’s just let it lie for now. We’ve got a great weekend coming up. It’s Joe and Mariah’s Fourth of July party and it very well could be my last weekend as a childless man. If it can wait, Monday is soon enough to kick over that rock and dig around in each other’s secrets.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s just keep our mouths shut and enjoy each other’s company for a few more days. This might be the last good time we ever have together.”
“All right,” she whispered, because this was exactly what she wanted too. “All right.”
You might be a princess if . . . when you kiss Prince Charming fireworks go off.
A
fter their talk on the porch, Brady withdrew, claiming he was too exhausted to be good company, and spent the night in his trailer along with Trampas. Annie had to admit she was relieved. If he had stayed, she knew they would make love. Suddenly, the thing she wanted most seemed just out of reach and she was too afraid to grasp for it, because she feared it would come up dust in her hands.
All day on Saturday, they both helped Joe and Mariah and the ranch hands set up for the Fourth of July bash on Sunday.
When had she become so adept at deception? All she’d ever wanted was a bit of an adventure. A chance to taste life as an ordinary person. A vacation, if you will, from her royal duties.
But with dawn had come the start of a new day and a change of attitude. Annie couldn’t wait to experience this all-American event—fireworks, delicious food cooked on the grill, and time spent in or around water. Her time left was short, so she made up her mind to be happy and take things as they came. Today, she was going to enjoy herself. Monday was soon enough for problems.
The guests started arriving at Mariah and Joe’s house around noon. Annie wore a dress she borrowed from Mariah, since she never got around to spending her paycheck on a new dress of her own. Not with everything else that had happened. It was nice though. Borrowing clothes. It made her feel ordinary.
The dress was pink and made her stand out with her black hair. She’d had to dye it again last week when the blond started peeping through. The dress had cap sleeves, a fitted bodice, and a soft flowy shirt that twirled around her thighs when she walked. She did not miss the hot look in Brady’s eyes when she swirled into the room.
Soon the house was full and Annie met so many people she couldn’t keep them straight. The party trailed out the back door to the patio and pool area. Cooling fans and open-air tents had been set up to keep the guests comfortable and shaded from the Texas heat. Country-and-western music rocked from the sound system. The grill was smoking, the smell of mesquite in the air.
Kids were already jumping into the pool, splashing and thrashing about. Cordy and Ila played lifeguards, sitting poolside, stealing kisses now and again. Lissette was in the shallow end of the pool, holding her son in her lap. Prissy and Paul lay in hammocks on the far side of the yard. Joe and Brady had gone off somewhere. Probably talking about horses.
“Did you bring a swimming suit?” Mariah asked, hoisting a tray full of cut vegetables.
“No,” Annie said. She’d never swum in public. There was a pool at the palace and the family owned a secluded beach. Even though she wanted to go in and cool off, she felt shy about exposing so much bare skin in front of strangers.
“I’ve got a bikini you can borrow if you want to take a dip.”
“You are too generous.”
“Nonsense. I know what’s it like to be broke and the new kid on the block.”
Annie did not quite understand the idiom, but she got the gist of it. “Maybe later. Could I help you with something?”
“Grab that fruit platter from the fridge, thanks.”
Annie retrieved the fruit platter and trailed after Mariah as she took the appetizers to the patio.
“I noticed you’re not spending much time with Brady. Is something wrong?” Mariah bumped aside an empty patio chair with her hip and settled the vegetable tray on the table along with the other food that guests had brought.
“No, no.” Annie forced a smile. She wasn’t going to mention the baby. It wasn’t her place. “Everything’s fine.”
“I am so happy you two found each other.” Mariah plunked down in the chair, pulled out another one for Annie. “Sit, sit.”
Annie put the fruit platter beside the vegetable tray and sat down beside Mariah. They chatted for a while and eventually Annie relaxed.
Joe and Brady joined them in the backyard, bringing in slabs of meat like hunters and slapping it on the grill. They cooked and played with the children. From time to time, Brady would glance over and catch Annie’s eye and smile. He was in the same frame of mind as she. He’d decided to make the best of their day. Enjoy the moment. He was good at that. He had taught her a lot in their short time together.
Without being asked, he brought her a glass of iced tea and leaned down to kiss the side of her neck briefly before trailing off again to jump into the pool to play with the kids. The spot on her neck tingled. The brand of his lips lingering.
Annie took a sip of tea and watched him through half-closed eyes. This was happiness. Being with friends. Cooking out. Enjoying a holiday. A languidness seeped over her. She felt dizzy with the joy of the moment. Just for today, everything was perfect.
It felt as if she’d stepped into the pages of a book or into the reel of a movie. Her version of
Roman Holiday
.
Annabella’s Texas Holiday
. So simple and lighthearted. For now. She felt soft and the world shone sweet and pink like a peach blossom.
She rolled the happiness around on her tongue. It tasted like iced tea with lemon and sugar. Summer in Texas, Mariah told her, meant sweet iced tea. She was drinking summer, sipping Texas, ingesting holiday magic. She pushed aside the melancholia waiting in the wings like a velvet curtain ready to fall at the end of a play. For now, she was onstage.
The day wore on. They ate. They drank. Toasts were made. Finally, Mariah persuaded Annie to come into the pool. She donned Mariah’s red and white polka dot bikini and she splashed with the kids, lighthearted and happy.
Brady and Joe were sitting poolside in white lawn chairs. The kids were trying to get Annie to dive from the board. She stood, dripping wet, at the end of the board, trying to decide if it was something she really wanted to do or not.
“Jump, jump, jump,” chanted the kids.
“Look at her,” Brady said to Joe. “Annie has the mannerisms of English royalty.”
Annie’s cheeks heated at the overheard conversation, and just to prove she was as ordinary as everyone else, she ran and jumped off the diving board into the circle of cheering children. She hit the water with a loud smack and came to the surface just in time to hear Joe laugh.
“Right,” Joe said. “A belly-flopping English princess.”
Brady dived into the pool then and they all played Marco Polo. During the game, his eyes kept straying to Annie’s.
As the sun edged toward the horizon, Annie got out of the pool, slipped into one of the cabanas, and changed back into her pink dress. She wore matching sandals today, something else borrowed from Mariah, instead of her cowboy boots. When she stepped from the cabana, there stood Brady looking darkly handsome in faded Wranglers and a white short-sleeved shirt, his damp hair swept back off his forehead and smelling of Texas summer.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello,” she whispered, looking into the face she had quickly come to cherish. She had no right to fall for him, but fairness didn’t factor into her feelings.
Mothers were getting their kids out of the pool for watermelon, apple pie, and ice cream that Ruby was serving for dessert. Joe and Cordy and Paul had gone out into the pasture to get ready for the fireworks display. Cordy belonged to the volunteer fire department and he’d brought a water truck into the field, just to be on the safe side.
“C’mon.” Brady held out his hand.
She took it.
He put an index finger to his lips. “Shh.”
Annie struggled not to giggle. “What is it?”
“We’re going to slip off.”
“We are not going to watch the fireworks show?”
“Buttercup, where we’re going you’ll be able to see the whole sky without craning your neck and besides, we’ll be making some fireworks of our own.”
Annie’s heart skipped a beat. Ever since he’d found out he might have fathered a child, Brady had not mentioned sex. But now here he was, leading her away in the gathering darkness, leaving their friends behind.
He guided her around the back of the house, crouching down, still holding on to her hand and keeping his index finger over his mouth as they dodged from car to car trying to remain out of sight of the men in the field and the women and children in the backyard.
Annie could not stop the giggle from bubbling up her throat.
“Shh,” Brady said, but he was laughing too, his chest heaving from trying to hold in the sound.
The last rays of sun tipped the trees. Fireflies scooted through the gathering twilight, twinkling up there in the sky with their ghostly glow. Slinking and duckwalking as fast as they could, they made it to the barn. Inside, it was hot and stuffy and smelled strongly of horses.
“We cannot see fireworks from inside here.” Annie’s nose itched. She had been taught it was crass to scratch one’s nose, so she wriggled it instead. Horses shifted in their stalls, munching oats. Some of the ranch hands must have just fed them. The air tasted dusty.
“C’mon.” Brady guided her to the back of the barn, his palm against her hip. There was a ladder leading to the hayloft. “You first.”
“You just want to look up my dress.”
“I want to be here to catch you if you were to slip and fall, but yeah, the looking-up-your-dress thing is a perk.”
Holding her skirt flat against her fanny with one hand, she climbed the ladder using her other.
“Spoilsport,” he accused, his voice filled with smiles.
The first fireworks went off with a shriek and a boom.
The hayloft was dark and mounded with earthy, sweet-smelling straw. Annie could barely make out her hand in front of her face. Brady scaled the ladder behind her, then moved to open a set of wide double doors. Moonlight poured in just as another rocket went off, showering the sky with vivid yellow sparks. From here, it was like having nature’s big-screen television set right in front of them.
Brady took a pitchfork, rearranged the loose hay in a big pile near the open doors. Once he had it to his liking, he sat cross-legged, took Annie’s wrist, and tugged her down beside him. “Lean back.”
She leaned back against the prickly straw, kicked off her sandals, felt the rough boards of the loft beneath her feet. Another rocket went off and then another; the smell of gunpowder drifted in on the wind. In the distance, they could hear their friends applauding and making noises of approval.
It was warm and sticky up here, but Annie did not mind. Brady cradled her in the crook of his arm and she inhaled his masculine scent. He kissed the soft indention where her ear connected to her head. She had never seen fireworks so close or been in such a private and primal place as this hayloft, Annie in her borrowed pink dress with the snug-fitting bodice, at the other edge of the world from Monesta, the other edge of an imaginary future—the edge of simplistic beauty and Brady’s mouth; the rim, the summer border of holiday bliss.
She was crazy with happiness. Delirious with it. Sick. And now Brady was kissing her and holding her hand.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing me up here.”
“But not as beautiful as you.” His fingertips tracked over her bare arms.
At first, she felt nothing but a slight tickling, but she trusted him. He was a man who knew how to make a woman feel good. So she waited, held her breath, readied herself for the sensation she knew he would deliver.
And then it came.
The pressure, rolling in on waves heavy as ocean swells. She closed her eyes and let the swells encompass her. She felt his mouth play over her body, nibbling and kissing, licking and swirling. The pleasure was beautiful, sublime. She wanted it to last forever, but then Brady stopped and sat up.
She opened her eyes. “What is it?”
“Everything’s changed.”
“I know.” She sighed. They hadn’t been able to keep the focus on happiness. The moment was only a moment and then there was another one and in
this
moment, the fantasy faded, dimmed.
He reached out a tender hand and brushed an errant lock of hair from her forehead. “We have to talk.”
“I know.”
A rapid fire of firecrackers went off in the background, but neither one of them was looking. Their gazes were hung on each other.
“You’ve got your secrets that you don’t want to talk about,” Brady said, “and I’m trying to respect that, but if we’re going to be closer, if we’re going to take this relationship to the next level, we really have to be honest with each other. I’m not going to push you, but it’s time I told you about me.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Annie said, fear supplanting her earlier delight. She was toeing a tightrope here, wanting to hold on to the dream, to have her proverbial cake and eat it too.
It was an impossible dream, but so sweet. How she wanted to hold on to it!
She wanted to beg him to please, please stop talking and just kiss her, but she knew Brady was going to have his say. It was time. The least she could do was listen. She owed him that. He’d given her so much. This sweet memory she could hold on to for the rest of her life.
A tumble of emotion swelled in her. She blinked, turned her head from him, looked at the sky. More fireworks exploded, a burst of red, white, blue, green. They popped, shattered, and for one brief second it was the most beautiful explosion, and then just as quickly as they had ascended, the sparks sputtered, spent, fell to earth.
Brady let out a pent-up breath, pushed fingers through his unruly hair.
“There is no need to unburden yourself to me,” she said.
“If you don’t want to be my sounding board, I understand,” he said. “But I really do want to tell you.”
“All right,” she murmured, feeling both trapped and privileged to hear his story.
“I told you that I ran away from home when I was fifteen,” Brady began.
She burrowed her toes into the hay, pressed the soles of her feet against the boards, brought her knees to her chest, pulled the hem of her skirt down over her knees, hugged herself. “Yes.”
“I didn’t even have a driver’s license, much less a car, so I hitchhiked.”
“That is why you picked me up on the side of the road? Because you remembered what it was like to be alone on the side of the highway.”
