they both lay exhausted, unable to move. Belinda was aware of a fine sheen of sweat on his body and the musky smell of sex.
“I want to see you again,” the Cowboy murmured as he slipped to her side and drew her into his arms. He was already asleep before Belinda could answer him.
Which was just as well.
Belinda was appalled at what she had done. But she couldn’t regret it. What had passed between the Cowboy and his Princess was one brief shining moment when two souls blended into one. They might be strangers still, but they had found something more than physical satisfaction in each other’s arms. She would hold this magical afternoon close to her heart forever.
But there was no way she could see him again. He would be horrified if he knew the truth about her. And she would be ashamed for him to find out. She had to escape now, while he was asleep.
She dressed quickly and quietly and led her palomino a short distance away before she mounted him, so that she wouldn’t wake the Cowboy. When she was far enough away that the sound wouldn’t waken him, she kicked the mare into a gallop and raced back to The Castle.
The instant she stepped inside the kitchen door, she was greeted by her mother-in-law. Belinda plowed a hand through her hair, shoving it off her face, and tried a smile. It failed dismally.
“You’re late,” Madelyn said. She took one look at Belinda’s disheveled appearance and asked, “What happened to you?” There was more curiosity than accusation in her tone.
“I…my horse threw me,” Belinda said, brushing at the grass stains on her jeans.
“Your blouse is ripped. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Belinda flushed and clutched at the torn fabric. Getting thrown shouldn’t have torn three buttons off her blouse. “I’ll just run upstairs and change for supper.” She hurried from the kitchen and practically ran up the majestic circular staircase that led to her bedroom.
“There’s no hurry,” Madelyn murmured to Belinda’s disappearing back. There would be plenty of time before supper to ask about the love-bruise on her daughter-in-law’s neck.
THE COOL NIGHT AIR WOKE FARON. At first he didn’t know where he was. It all came back to him in a hurry. As he dressed himself, one thing quickly became apparent. His Princess was gone.
Faron was furious when he realized he didn’t know her name or how to find her. Nor could he track her in the dark. Besides, he had phoned The Castle from Casper, and Madelyn Prescott was expecting him for dinner.
He dressed quickly, muttering profanities when he realized half the buttons were gone from his shirt. He would have to change it when he got back to his truck. He took a look at the knees of his jeans and realized it probably wouldn’t hurt to change them, either. Not that he gave a damn what the Prescotts thought of him, but he had been taught manners around ladies that were hard to shed.
Faron whistled for his horse, and Sonny nickered a response. The quarter horse hadn’t drifted far. Faron mounted up and rode in the fading light of dusk back in the direction of his truck and trailer. There wasn’t any chance he would lose his way. He had learned young to look back every so often when he was riding the range to mark his trail. He easily found the landmarks that took him back to the highway.
Faron had gotten directions from Madelyn Prescott, and it didn’t take him long to find the formal entrance to King’s Castle. If the land had awed him, the house itself—The Castle—left him speechless.
As he stepped from his pickup he couldn’t help staring. Light poured from tall, narrow, leaded windows, and there were sconces on the outside stone walls that created an eerie silhouette on the plains. The house did indeed have crenels along the roofline and what appeared to be turrets at the corners.
When he cut the engine a cowhand came from the direction of the barn.
“I’m Toby, Mr. Whitelaw. Mrs. Prescott said I was to take care of your horse,” the cowhand said.
Faron backed Sonny from the trailer and watched long enough to make sure the cowhand knew what he was doing before he left his horse in Toby’s care.
Moments later Faron found himself on the front steps of The Castle. The three-story gray stone structure had a massive double wooden door headed by a stone arch that might once have been the gateway to a medieval castle. When Faron knocked, the imposing entrance was opened by a tiny, silver-haired lady dressed in black. He found himself looking into a pair of gray-green eyes the same unusual color as his own.
“Hello, Faron,” the woman said with a smile of greeting, “I’m your grandmother, Madelyn Prescott. We’ve been expecting you.”
Faron’s hat came off at once. He leaned over and kissed the old woman on the cheek. She smelled of lavender powder. Her skin had the softness of the very young and the very old. The wrinkles on her face gave her character, as well as age. Faron felt his throat tighten as he realized this woman was indeed his grandmother. It was true, then. He was a bastard.
Madelyn cupped her grandson’s cheek with her hand and searched his features looking for signs of Wayne. There was nothing of her son in Faron, but there was something of her. “You’ve got the Halliwell eyes, I see.”
“If you say so, ma’am,” Faron said. “Hope I’m not too late for supper.”
“Not at all. Belinda is still upstairs getting dressed. Perhaps you’d like to share a brandy with me in the parlor while we wait.”
“I’d be pleased to, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Madelyn.”
But Faron couldn’t bring himself to call his grandmother by her first name. It seemed disrespectful somehow. By what fond nickname would he have called her, he wondered, if he had known as a child that she existed? He had called his father’s mother Nanaw, and his mother’s mother Gram. “Would you mind if I called you Maddy?” he asked.
Her gray-green eyes quickly misted, and she pressed a fragile hand against her heart. “Why, that would be lovely, Faron.”
He frowned when she seemed to have trouble catching her breath. “Are you all right?”
“My health isn’t what it used to be. My heart, you know.”
“I didn’t know. Have you seen a doctor?”
“Oh, yes. I’m afraid in my case it’s just a matter of age catching up with me. Come along now. Belinda will be down soon, I’m sure.”
As Faron followed Madelyn, he stepped into a world of days gone by—an open drawing room with walnut woodwork, nineteenth century furniture of polished cherry and oak, lace curtains and brilliant chandeliers of sparkling crystal. Two broad stairways formed a sweeping arc leading to the upper floors.
Faron frowned at what he saw only because it represented his father’s wealth, which was the source of the current calamity in his life. It was not the setting in which he had expected to find his ogre of a stepmother. It felt too much like a home. He couldn’t help but admire the sense of history that was represented in the antique Western furnishings.
Faron and his grandmother had gotten only as far as the stairs when they heard the echo of footsteps.
“That will be Belinda,” Madelyn said.
Faron followed her gaze up the stairs. The composed, graceful young woman who came walking down the sweeping staircase was a far cry from the ugly stepmother found in fairy tales. In fact, she was his very own Princess.
Her glorious golden hair, which he had grasped in his fists while he came inside her mere hours ago, was bound up now in a stylish twist. Her sleek black silk dress showed off a lush figure with which he was intimately familiar. A long black chiffon scarf circled