The Prince's Texas Bride. Victoria Chancellor

      “Where is Ranger Springs?” he asked as he reached for her CDs.

      “West of the truck stop, about twenty-five minutes.” She grinned. “In Texas, we often give distances in the minutes it takes to drive rather than the actual miles.”

      “I only visited Dallas. I have some business contacts there.”

      “I thought you were in the business of being a prince.”

      “I have some other interests.”

      “Really?” She glanced over and saw him flipping through her CDs. Garth Brooks, vintage Bee Gees, the music from Phantom of the Opera and a half-dozen other groups.

      He sighed as if he didn’t want to talk about himself. “Some investments of my own.”

      “Ah. So you’re not just another pretty face with a crown.” Maybe if she joked about his good looks, she wouldn’t keep thinking about how interested she was in him as a man.

      He laughed. “Thank you for the compliment, I think. I suppose that is the view of royalty, especially in Texas, where everyone values their independence.”

      Kerry nodded in agreement. “We’re big on independence, but fascinated by everything bigger than life. Rich folks. Movie stars. Royalty. My mother is one of the biggest fans of the British royals, but she doesn’t discriminate. When I give her your autograph, she’s going to be doing the happy-happy dance all around the living room.” Kerry chuckled as she imagined her mom squealing in delight. “As a matter of fact, I may have to keep that car seat cover just because you sat on it.”

      “Maybe you should bring me home and really make her day.” He slipped one of her favorite Dixie Chicks CDs into the stereo.

      Kerry shook her head. “I’m not sure her heart could stand it.” Maybe her heart couldn’t stand it, either.

      “Is she ill?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

      Kerry chuckled again. “No, she’s as healthy as a horse. And she’s not that old, either. She just turned fifty. I was exaggerating.”

      “That’s another trademark of Texans, isn’t it?”

      “Only when we’re talking to Yankees.”

      He laughed and turned up the volume on the CD player. “I’m having a good time, Kerry Lynn Jacks.”

      “I’m glad….”

      “Call me Alexi.”

      “That seems kind of wrong. I mean, just because you and I are on a road trip, you’re still a prince.”

      “Can you put that aside for a couple of days?”

      “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I can try.”

      “Please, try,” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

      She tried not to react, even though her skin felt suddenly overheated…and not from the warm May temperature. “Okay.” She passed a pickup truck heavily laden with bales of hay as she thought about forgetting that the man beside her was a prince. The name Alexi sounded so foreign. Maybe if she had a nickname for him, she wouldn’t think of him as the prince. And what about when they stopped, or got to her aunt and uncle’s house? She couldn’t call him by his real name without alerting everyone that the prince was slumming around Texas with a truck stop waitress he’d just met.

      “What’s your middle name?” she asked as the Dixie Chicks sang about women striking out on their own. What appropriate music. Kerry was just getting ready to start her new life. A professional life in which she would never have to wear a uniform again. And she’d have an apartment all her own. She could stay out late without anyone worrying. She could sleep late on Saturday morning and only wash dishes when she felt like it.

      “Which one?” Alexi asked, breaking into her fantasy. “I have several.”

      She made a face in his general direction. “Just tell me, okay? I need to call you something besides Alexi, or Your Highness, or whatever else is appropriate, because people are going to be a bit suspicious. They’ll either think I’m crazy as a loon for calling Hank a prince, or that you’re crazy for running off with me.”

      “My full name is Alexi Karl Gregor MacCulloh Ladislas.”

      “Wow.”

      “My sentiments exactly. While attending college in Boston, I rarely used anything but my first name, usually shortened to Alex. And I found the computer forms weren’t understanding about more than one middle initial.”

      “All your names sound real European except MacCulloh. Where did that come from?”

      “My mother is English. Her grandfather was from Scotland and honored him by giving me his surname.”

      “That’s nice, and it’s also perfect. Can I call you Mack? Anyone who hears us talking will think that you’re Hank McCauley.”

      “Ah, yes. The man who looks like me. Tell me, now that we’ve spent some time together, do you still think we resemble each other that closely?”

      She glanced over at him again. “Yes, you do, although your expressions are different. Hank’s more…well, I guess you could say he’s spontaneous. He’s also a big tease, and he’s a Texan through and through.” He also didn’t make her heart race with just a smile.

      Alexi was silent for a moment. Kerry glanced quickly at him and noticed he was frowning. Finally, he asked, “What does he do for a living?”

      “He trains cutting horses now, but he used to be a champion bronc rider. He’s retired.”

      “Retired…at what age?”

      “I guess he’s thirty-one now. Around your age, I suppose.”

      “You cut me to the quick,” he replied with mock indignation. “I’m a relatively young thirty.”

      Kerry chuckled. “Sorry. I wouldn’t want to add a whole year.”

      “I was dreading my thirtieth birthday enough. I can’t imagine the next one.”

      “I thought women worried more than men about aging.”

      “Oh, I’m not worried about getting older. It’s just that my father, King Wilheim, has decided that thirty is a magical number. It’s the age at which I should settle down and choose a bride.”

      “Choose a bride? That sounds so…archaic.”

      He shrugged, then rested his arm on the open window and stared at the passing flat plains dotted with patches of wildflowers and barbed-wire fences. “What can I say? I’m a prince. You can’t get much more archaic than that.”

      As she neared the intersection of Interstate 10, Kerry wondered if that was what this whole “road trip” incident was all about for Prince Alexi. Running away from his life. Running away from the responsibility of finding a bride.

      She wondered if the men in her life would always lack reliability and maturity. Her father had loved gambling and excitement more than his family. Hank was a nice guy, but he flirted and teased his way through life. And now she was on a road trip with a prince—a prince, for goodness’ sake!—who’d left his entourage with the drop of a hat. What did that say about him? That he didn’t care? Or that he couldn’t be trusted? Or maybe both.

      He certainly didn’t seem excited about marrying one of the “beautiful people” among the elite in Europe. He’d marry someone tall, slim and elegant and within a few years they’d produce the next generation of tall, elegant royalty. She’d never seen a photo of royalty in which the women were petite, freckled and “wholesome”—a description she’d heard from family and friends one too many times.

      The difference between Prince Alexi and her long-gone father, Kerry mused, was that dear ol’ Dad had run