A Royal Fortune. Judy Duarte

him. She pulled up first and slowed her horse to a walk as he did the same.

      He hadn’t enjoyed losing a race so much in his life.

      They were both out of breath, but her shirt was the only one that had come unbuttoned at the top. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way her breasts were heaving under the fitted plaid material.

      He lifted his gaze long enough to see her smile. Maybe making the wager was a bad idea. Now he owed her dinner, yet he didn’t know how he could sit across from her at a restaurant table and keep his thoughts strictly on the food.

      “So when is dinner?” she asked.

      “How about next Friday night? That way, we can avoid the New Year’s holiday, as well as the all-you-can-eat crowd.”

      “That works for me.”

      “I’ll pick you up at six.”

      “Sounds like a date,” she said. “But under the circumstances, maybe it would be best if I met you there.”

      He pondered her suggestion for a moment longer than he probably should have because she added, “Don’t you agree?”

      And in truth? Probably so. No need to set the paparazzi to thinking there was another British royal enamored with a Horseback Hollow local. “You’re right. Knowing the tabloids the way I do, they’d love to make something out of nothing.”

      “Well, they can’t blame you for eating dinner with a neighbor.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Oh, and please let Quinn know I’ll be bringing Amelia’s cutting horse over Friday.” Then she turned in the direction of her ranch.

      Jensen felt a bit like a heel when he and Trail Blazer headed in the opposite direction. He’d become adept at dealing with the tabloids. They printed blaring exaggerations about him all the time.

      But the truth of the matter was, he didn’t want Amber to get the wrong idea about them. He might be attracted to her, but that’s as far as it would go.

      So as they each headed home, the symbolism of them going their own ways at the fork in the road was both sad and true.

      * * *

      Bright and early Friday morning, on the second of January, Amber handpicked a filly she thought Amelia would like and brushed her until her coat shone. Then she loaded her in the trailer and drove her to the Drummond ranch.

      Along the way, she spotted two cars parked on the side of the road, neither of which she recognized. She slowed up, mostly because she was going to turn, but also because curiosity niggled at her.

      There seemed to be some whispering going on—a camera snatched out of one car and taken to another?

      Uh-oh. Jensen had mentioned the media had tried all kinds of tricks, wanting to snap photos of a pregnant Amelia. She turned into the drive, yet continued to check her rearview mirror.

      No cars...

      Wait. A light blue sedan was parked in the shade of an oak tree. A man climbed out of the rear passenger seat. He was wearing black slacks and a white shirt. And he carried a camera with a huge telephoto lens.

      The driver remained behind the wheel, but a second man got out, as well. And they proceeded to walk down the drive toward Quinn’s house.

      Nosy reporters.

      Amber pulled up close to the barn and parked, but she left her purse in the truck. Then she marched up to the front door and knocked, prepared to tell Quinn or Amelia or whoever answered that there was possibly a cameraman and a reporter nearby.

      Dang. Where was everyone? She knocked again.

      Maybe they weren’t home. Something told her they wouldn’t like those reporters trespassing. Jensen had implied as much last Friday. But what should she do? Run the paparazzi off? Did she have a legal right to do that?

      About the time she was going to walk away, the door swung open, and she looked up to see Jensen standing in the entryway.

      “You came just in time for all the excitement,” he said. “Just before dawn, my sister went into lab—”

      “Jensen!” Amber had to shut him up. And there was only one way she could think of that would do so quickly. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into a close embrace, whispering, “There are a couple of reporters skulking around right behind me. Play along.” Then she rose up on tiptoe and kissed him.