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The toddler had Lily’s eyes. And his hair and dimple.
Justin dragged his gaze from the little girl and met Lily’s. Emotions chased across her expressive features – surprise replaced by swift guilt that was quickly banished by the defiant lift of her chin.
Then she slammed the door shut.
Shock held Justin paralysed for one stunned moment before he pounded on the door panels. “Lily!”
The door flew open.
“What do you want? What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I’m in town. I wanted to say hello.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the little girl. “What’s her name?”
“Ava.” Lily gathered the toddler closer, her stance protective. “You’ve said hello, now I want you to leave.”
“Not until you tell me about Ava. She’s mine, isn’t she?”
For Christine Flynn, Patricia Kay
and Allison Leigh – such good friends…
LOIS FAYE DYER
lives in a small town on the shore of beautiful Puget Sound in the Pacific Northwest with her two eccentric and loveable cats, Chloe and Evie. She loves to hear from readers and you can write to her c/o Paperbacks Plus, 1618 Bay Street, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA. Visit her on the web at www.LoisDyer.com and www.SpecialAuthors.com.
Dear Reader,
I was delighted when I was asked to join three close friends in writing THE HUNT FOR CINDERELLA mini-series – the four of us had a wonderful time brainstorming ideas for our connected books. I fell in love with all of the brothers, but especially with the youngest, Justin, and writing his story gave me a chance to combine my favourite kind of hero – a cowboy – with a heroine from the big city.
The stories are set in Seattle, Washington, one of my favourite cities. One sunny weekend I caught a cross-Sound ferry to the Seattle suburb of Ballard, where my daughter and I browsed the shops along Ballard Avenue. I knew instantly it was the perfect neighbourhood for my heroine’s Princess Lily Boutique.
I hope you’ll enjoy reading The Princess and the Cowboy as much as I loved writing it. And come back to the Pacific Northwest next month, in The Millionaire and the Glass Slipper by Christine Flynn, to follow another Hunt brother hunting for his Cinderella!
Warmly,
Lois Faye Dyer
www.LoisFayeDyer.com
The Princess and the Cowboy
LOIS FAYE DYER
MILLS & BOON
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Prologue
Justin Hunt leaned against the library bookcase, one shoulder brushing a thick, leather-bound volume of Shakespeare. His fingers curled lightly around the narrow end of a pool cue, the heavier end of the cue resting on the floor. His Stetson lay on a nearby chair and his well-worn Levi’s were faded above his dusty black cowboy boots. When he’d dressed at 4 a.m. to work cattle on his Idaho ranch, he hadn’t expected he’d be summoned to Seattle for an emergency family meeting.
He tried to remember the last time he and his three brothers had gathered together here at their father’s house. Had to be a month or more ago, he thought—probably on the night Harry had had his heart attack.
“Well, hell. Talk about out of practice,” Gray said with disgust as he missed a shot, and the four ball rolled across the green felt instead of dropping into a pocket. “Looks like you’re up, Justin.”
Justin shoved away from the wall of glossy cherry-wood shelves and walked slowly around the antique pool table, gauging the position of the remaining balls. The entire room was brightly lit. A Tiffany lamp hung directly over the table’s felt surface. A dozen or more sconces gleamed at regularly spaced intervals between the bookshelves lining the walls. Brass lamps glowed atop polished tables grouped with club chairs in comfortable, inviting seating areas on the oriental rugs. At the far end of the library was Harrison Hunt’s mahogany desk. Cleverly recessed lighting in the boxed ceiling illuminated the glossy surface, the high-backed leather chair and the semicircle of straight-backed chairs before it. The desk faced the wall of windows and French doors that let out onto the patio overlooking the estate’s private beach on Lake Washington. Across the lake, the Seattle skyline glowed against the night sky.
Justin leaned over the pool table. He’d long since grown accustomed to playing pool in the luxurious library because Harry had had the felt-covered table installed there when his sons were teenagers. His attempt to lure the boys into sharing the room with him while he worked from home had been successful but whether it resulted in a stronger parent-child relationship was up for debate.
In any event, Justin rarely noticed the opulent surroundings of his father’s home. The high-tech mansion he and his brothers had dubbed “The Shack” as teenagers had been his home from the age of twelve until he’d left for college at eighteen. But tonight the familiar surroundings seemed to hold a sense of foreboding, as if the room held its breath, waiting.
“Does anybody know why the Old Man called this meeting?” Justin asked as he tapped the six ball and watched it roll smoothly into the corner pocket.
Gray, the oldest of the brothers at forty-two, shrugged his shoulders. “My secretary said he wouldn’t tell her the reason.”
“Harry called you himself? Me, too.” Sprawled in a deep leather armchair several feet from the pool table, the lanky six-foot-three Alex was Justin’s closest brother in age. At thirty-six, he was only two years older than Justin. Alex waved his half-empty bottle of Black Sheep Ale at the fourth brother, seated in a matching armchair only a few feet away. “What about you, J.T.? Did you get the message from his secretary, or from Harry personally?”
Thirty-eight years old and as tall and lean as the rest of them, J.T. rubbed his eyes, yawned, and leaned forward. “From Harry.” Elbows on his thighs, he held his tumbler of hundred-year-old Bourbon loosely in one hand. “I told him I’d have to cancel a week of meetings in New Delhi and spend half a day on the corporate jet to get home in time, but he insisted I be here.” He ran his hand through his dark hair and looked at Justin. “What about you?”
“I was at the ranch when he called. He told me the same thing he told you—I had to be here. No excuses.” Justin frowned, searching each of his brothers faces in turn. “He refused to tell me what the meeting was about. Did he tell any of you why he wanted to talk to us?”
“No.” Gray shook his head, as did Alex and J.T.
Before Justin could respond, the hall door burst open and their father strode into the room. Harrison Hunt’s six-foot-six frame was trim, his black hair barely showing any gray. Horn-rimmed bifocals framed his blue eyes but didn’t conceal the intelligence of the man who’d invented the computer languages and software that had made HuntCom