urge to place her hands on her hips and stamp her foot like an irate fishwife. “Mr. McCauley, we need to start work immediately on the history of Belegovia, the itinerary and all the details that you will need to know as Prince Alexi.” And she sincerely doubted she could get any work done in a rattletrap truck strewn with paper rubbish and beer cans. Not that she’d actually seen any of that debris around Mr. McCauley yet…
“Then you come with me and start working. I’m driving my own truck to San Antonio or I’m staying right here.”
Stubborn man! She would have gladly strangled him if she didn’t need his neck to be free of bruises for the next few days. “Very well,” she said as civilly as possible under the circumstances. “Let me get my briefcase and I will begin instructions at once.”
“And bring me one of those Dr. Peppers, darlin’,” he called out as she turned away.
She gritted her teeth and shooed the other man back to the Land Rover. “Make a list of whatever you feel is most urgent for Mr. McCauley’s education. We’ll meet with him in the suite after checking in to the hotel. I trust we’ve already made arrangements to enter through the service elevators?”
“Of course,” Milos answered. “No one except for a few maids will see the prince enter the hotel.”
“Very good. Call me on my mobile if you think of any problems.”
After retrieving a cold can of the soda, her sun-glasses—a recent addition to her wardrobe caused by the unrelenting glare of the sun on the shining bonnet of the Land Rover—and her briefcase, she made her way with as much dignity as possible to the porch, where Mr. McCauley awaited. At least he was fully dressed. She should have thought to give him a selection from Prince Alexi’s wardrobe, but she’d been so shaken when she left his ranch to go into town that she hadn’t planned that far ahead. She sincerely hoped this was not an omen of things to come.
“Let’s be off,” she repeated, handing him the can.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Really, Mr. McCauley,” she said as he took her arm and steered her around the side of the house, “your sarcasm is unnecessary and inappropriate. I am the daughter of an earl, not a member of the royal family.” She took a deep breath as she rushed to keep up with his longer stride. “Prince Alexi would certainly never say such a thing to an employee.”
“I’m beginning to think this prince is a real bore.”
“Absolutely not! He’s a wonderful man.”
“He sounds like a sleazy toad who just ran off with my former girlfriend.”
“You claimed that you and Ms. Jacks were not that close.”
“That’s beside the point. I’m not real fond of this prince right now.”
Gwendolyn wasn’t real happy with him, either, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Mr. McCauley.
They stopped beside a huge, flashy pickup truck with a ram’s head emblem on the side. It was spotlessly clean, and the dark blue finish featured tiny, glistening metallic flecks that reflected the unrelenting Texas sunshine. The monstrous vehicle was so tall that it needed a step for passengers to climb inside.
Hank McCauley reached up, opened the door and gazed at the interior. “You just throw that gimmee cap in the back and boost yourself up into the dually. I’ll get us to San Antonio pronto.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What?”
“Did it ever occur to you that the rest of the world speaks English, while you are communicating in some language that is incomprehensible to the average person?”
Hank McCauley threw back his head and laughed. Of all the gall! Gwendolyn was sorely tempted to kick him in the shin, just as she’d done to Prince Alexi when they were school chums in England and he’d teased her about a particularly lovely little straw hat she’d worn…just once.
“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. McCauley said as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the steps of the monster truck. “You teach me proper English, and I’ll teach you Texan.”
She let out a gasp as she tottered on the step, bringing her eye to eye with the irritating cowboy.
“Easy does it, Lady Wendy.” His warm hands steadied her. “First lesson. This truck is a dually because it has dual wheels on the back. That’s for hauling horse trailers and other heavy equipment. Second lesson,” he said, his warm blue eyes crinkling in humor, “a gimmee cap is a cap with a logo that you get free from somebody who wants to sell you something. Like John Deere or Purina. Got it?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Now you get your cute little butt inside the truck and don’t touch anything. You can start lecturing me as soon as I get on the road.”
With that, he turned her around—quite effortlessly, she noticed—and actually patted her on the bottom!
“Well!” she exclaimed, but she was already pulling herself onto the seat. His chuckles faded as he walked around the back of the “dually.” He probably told every woman he met that she had a “cute little butt.” As if that were true praise. If he’d really been paying attention, he might have made a tasteful remark like complimenting her suit or her general appearance, not commenting on the size of her bum.
Irritating man, she thought as she “accidentally” placed her hand on top of the gimmee cap and squashed it flat.
BY THE TIME HANK DROVE into San Antonio, his head was spinning with details of Belegovian history, social protocol, current European nobility and a hundred other subjects he’d never heard of before. Lady Wendy had taken the opportunity to brief him on these subjects so she could start their “hands-on” instruction once they reached the hotel.
Hands-on, he remembered with a chuckle.
“Something you’d like to share, Mr. McCauley?” she asked from her side of the truck.
“Just thinking about all the stuff you have stored.”
“Don’t you dare say ‘in that pretty little head of yours,”’ she said in that upper-class British voice of hers that should have left him chilled. Instead, he felt real warm. Getting hotter by the minute.
“Why, I’m shocked that you’d think such a thing!” he said in mock indignation. “You make me sound like some sexist macho pig.”
Lady Wendy sniffed and straightened her spine. “I’m surprised you’re even familiar with the feminist slur.”
“I do get around,” he informed her as they slowed for traffic where I-35 branched off. “By the way, which hotel are we goin’ to?”
“The Hyatt Regency,” she informed him. “I believe it is on what is called the Riverwalk.”
“That’s right. Best of all, it’s just a block from the Alamo.”
“Ah, the Texas landmark.”
“Darn right! I take it you’ve never been.”
“This is my first trip to Texas,” she said in a tone that implied it would also be her last. She just didn’t appreciate the state’s wide variety of attractions. Hank felt a moral obligation to change her mind.
“Now, all this learnin’ and drivin’ has tired me out,” he informed her as he took I-37 toward down-town San Antonio. “After we get checked in, I’m gonna need a little nap.”
“Absolutely not! We have to begin immediately on fitting the wardrobe, learning the speech, mannerisms and posture of Prince Alexi, and heaven knows what else to get you ready for tomorrow!”
“Princess, if I don’t get a few hours of shut-eye, I’m not going to do you a bit of good tomorrow or anytime.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that when you stayed up all night, Mr. McCauley.”