Love and Lies at The Village Christmas Shop. Portia MacIntosh

      BEFORE GWENDOLYN COULD come up with any more coherent arguments for using the service entrance, Hank McCauley had placed a cowboy hat on his head, jumped down, grinned at the parking attendant and walked around the truck toward her. Good heavens! What was the man thinking? They couldn’t just march in the front door and—

      “Get your pretty little self on down here, darlin’,” he ordered with a smile. As soon as she unfastened the seat belt, he grabbed her around the waist and swung her to the pavement. Before she got her balance, he’d retrieved his carryall and grasped her arm. “I just can’t wait to get checked in to our room.”

      “Really!”

      “Yeah, really,” he said with a wink, making the two closest luggage handlers grin widely.

      “Nice to see you again, Mr. McCauley,” one of them called out.

      “Good to be here, Ramon.”

      She looked around, half expecting to see a dozen paparazzi ready to snap their photo. The headlines tomorrow would read “Prince Seduces PR Lady at San Antonio Hotel.” King Wilheim would have a coronary. But no one was there except bellhops and other people checking into or out of the hotel. As a matter of fact, no one paid them much attention except the parking attendants.

      “They know you at this hotel?” Gwendolyn whispered as they swooshed through the revolving door. “Why didn’t you say something?”

      “You didn’t ask,” the irritating man replied.

      She wanted to stamp her foot, frown and fume, but they were traveling through a spacious lobby toward the check-in desk. “How am I going to explain your presence here?” she asked, hoping the multitude of large plants and columns hid their arrival from most of the people inside the hotel.

      “Just go on and check in. I’m going to make a little detour to the gift shop,” he said, nodding toward the glassed-in store just off the lobby. “Come get me when you’re finished, darlin’,” he said before sauntering off in that rolling gait, his hips and long legs moving easily beneath the worn denim.

      “Can I help you?” someone on the other side of the desk asked. Gwendolyn blushed, ashamed she’d been caught staring at that exasperating cowboy’s…departure.

      “Yes,” she said crisply, pushing her hair behind her ears and squaring her shoulders. “I’m Lady Gwendolyn Reed, checking in Prince Alexi’s party.”

      A few minutes later, she found Hank McCauley paying for a large bag of merchandise at the gift shop register. She wondered if he’d charged it to the room or paid cash or used his own personal credit card. Apparently he wasn’t as broke as she’d assumed earlier if he could afford to stay at this hotel on a regular basis.

      She waited for him beside the door, unwilling to endure more “darlin”’ taunts. As if someone would really believe they were a couple!

      He gave her a heart-stopping grin. “Ready to go upstairs?”

      “Ready to get started with your training?”

      He chuckled. “You’re tough, you know that?”

      “One of us has to be focused on our goal, and since that is my job, I’m the one who must insist on staying with our plan.” And staying away from any heart-stopping kisses, pats on her “cute little butt,” or any further manhandling by this blatantly sexist cowboy.

      He was nothing like any Englishman she’d ever known…except in one regard. He obviously thought women should be decorative in and out of the bedroom, and quiet otherwise. His attitude bordered on that of a feudal lord who had his pick of willing wenches. Very soon, Mr. Hank McCauley was going to learn that Lady Gwendolyn Reed was no man’s willing wench.

      “I still think you haven’t thought this through,” he said, breaking into her private thoughts. It took her a moment before she realized he meant the substitute prince plan.

      “I have very little choice,” she said, stopping at the glass-and-brass lift beside an indoor waterway and focusing on her job, not her personal feelings. The water was quite pleasant, but she took little solace in the gurgling sounds. Every minute that passed left her closer to tomorrow’s public engagements. She couldn’t afford a hint of scandal to reach the ears—or the cameras—of the European paparazzi. Much less reach inside the palace in Belegovia.

      Hank McCauley made a halfhearted attempt to hide a yawn. She supposed he really was tired after staying up all night with the horse. Perhaps she could give him an hour or so for a nap while she arranged her materials. They needed a place setting for a five-course dinner, a sampler of appetizers and a selection of wines. And Milos needed to start measurements in case alterations were necessary to the two suits Hank—as Prince Alexi—would wear tomorrow. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to purchase shoes. She doubted San Antonio stores carried the Italian style Alexi preferred.

      “If you would like, you may take a nap while I gather what I’ll need to continue our training.”

      The lift doors opened and a family of five exited. She and McCauley entered, only to be followed by an older couple who smiled and nodded. Her substitute prince tipped his hat, just like the hero in a Western movie.

      “Whatever works best for you, darlin’, he drawled, “but you’re always welcome to join me for my nap.”

      The older couple smiled at the cowboy as if he’d made a profound statement of worldly importance. Gwendolyn closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Would she ever become accustomed to his outrageous behavior?

      Chapter Three

      Hank awoke groggy and disoriented, a gentle tapping sound penetrating his foggy brain. He wasn’t in his own room back at the ranch, but this big bed was sure comfortable. He stretched, his hands coming in contact with his hat. He’d been wearing it when he’d gone upstairs to the suite. At the Hyatt Regency in San Antonio.

      The big suite reserved for Prince Alexi of Belegovia.

      The tapping sound stopped. He blinked, focusing on the door. Sure enough, it opened just enough for Lady Wendy to poke her aristocratic nose around the corner. One slim hand held on to the darkly stained wood as if she were dangling for her life.

      “Mr. McCauley, are you decent?”

      “Darlin’, I’m about as decent as I get.”

      She looked into the room, her eyes reflecting a cautious curiosity. He immediately noticed that she’d pulled her hair back into the severe style she favored.

      He couldn’t wait to mess it up again.

      Whoa! He shouldn’t be thinking along those lines. He’d kissed her once, but that needed to be the end of it. Lady Wendy Reed was just a little too sweet, a little too elegant for his white-bread taste. She’d be gone from his life faster than he could say lickety-split.

      “I hope you had a pleasant rest, Mr. McCauley, because we need to begin your instruction.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him much. He looked down, but sure enough, the buttons on his Levi’s were all done up, so that couldn’t be it. Either he’d offended her somehow, or she didn’t trust herself to watch him. Either way, it didn’t bode well for their working relationship.

      She sure as hell wasn’t calling him “Hank,” as he’d asked. She was keeping it real professional with “Mr. McCauley.”

      He might have overdone the good old boy routine just a bit. Maybe she didn’t want to get too familiar with a slightly broken-down bronc rider who had a smart mouth and a low threshold for boredom. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Sure. Let me just splash some water on my face and I’ll be right out.”

      “Very good,” she said crisply, pulling the door closed behind her.

      She couldn’t wait to give him a princely makeover, as if he were inadequate as he was. He didn’t