The Princess and the Cowboy

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

LOIS FAYE DYER

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 a household word. His energetic pace seemed miraculous after the heart attack that had felled him so recently.

“Ah, you’re all here. Excellent.” Harry waved his hand at his desk and moved briskly toward it. “Join me, boys.”

Justin laid the pool cue on the table, settled his Stetson on his head, tugged the brim lower and followed Harry. Neither he nor his brothers took one of the chairs facing the big desk, choosing instead to remain standing. Justin hooked his thumbs in his front Levi pockets and leaned against the wall once more. He was almost, but not quite, out of Harrison’s sight.

His father frowned at them all, swiveling his chair to stare at Justin. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Thanks, but I’ll stand.”

Harry swept the other three with the same frown.

Gray stood behind one of the chairs; Alex leaned against the wall by Gray while J.T. was separated from them all by the long credenza separating the seating areas.

Harry shrugged impatiently. “Very well. Stand or sit, it makes no difference to the outcome of this meeting.” He cleared his throat. “Since my heart attack last month, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this family. I’ve never thought a lot about my legacy, nor to having grandchildren to carry on the Hunt name. However, the heart attack made me face some hard truths I’d ignored—I could have died. I could die tomorrow.” He stood, rested his knuckles on the desktop and leaned forward, his face grimly intent. “I finally realized that, left to your own devices, you four never will get married, which means I’ll never have grandchildren. I don’t intend to leave the future of this family to chance any longer. You have a year. By the end of that year, each of you will not only be married, you will either already have a child or your wife will be expecting one.”

The silence thickened, lengthened.

“Right,” J.T. finally muttered, dryly.

Justin bit back a grin and looked past J.T. at Gray, noting the amusement flashing across his brother’s face. To Gray’s left, Alex merely lifted an eyebrow and sipped from his bottle of ale to drink.

“If any one of you refuses to do so,” Harry continued, as if he hadn’t noticed their lack of interest, “you’ll all lose your positions in HuntCom and the perks you love so much.”

Justin stiffened. What the hell?

Gray’s face lost all amusement. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious.”

“With all due respect, Harry,” J.T. spoke, breaking the brief, stunned silence, “how will you run the company if we refuse to do this?” He gestured at his brothers. “I don’t know what Gray, Alex or Justin have going on right now, but I’m in the middle of expansions here in Seattle, in Jansen and at our Delhi facility. If another architect has to take over my position, it’ll be months before he’s up to speed. Construction delays alone would cost HuntCom a fortune.”

“It wouldn’t matter, because if the four of you refuse to agree, I’ll sell off HuntCom in pieces. The Delhi facility will be history, and I’ll sell Hurricane Island.” Harry’s gaze left J.T. and met Justin’s without flinching. “I’ll sell HuntCom’s interest in the Idaho ranch.” He looked at Alex. “I’ll shut down the foundation if you refuse to cooperate.” Lastly, his hard stare met Gray’s. “And HuntCom won’t need a president because there will no longer be a company for you to run.”

Gray’s expression went stony.

“But that’s insane,” Alex said. “What do you hope to accomplish by doing this, Harry?”

“I mean to see you all settled with a family started before I die.” Harry’s eyes darkened. “With a decent woman who’ll make a good wife and mother. The women you marry have to win Cornelia’s approval.”

“Does Aunt Cornelia know about this?” Justin found it hard to believe his honorary aunt, the widow of Harry’s best friend, was a willing partner in his father’s crazy scheme.

“Not yet.”

Justin felt a surge of relief. When Cornelia learned what Harry was planning, she’d pitch a fit. She was the only one Harry was likely to listen to.

“So,” Justin said slowly. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Each of us has to agree to marry and produce a kid within a year…”

“All of you have to agree,” Harry interrupted. “All four of you. If one refuses, everyone loses, and life as you’ve known it—your jobs, the HuntCom holdings you each love—will be gone.”

Justin ignored all three of his brothers’ muttered curses and continued. “…and the brides have to each be approved by Aunt Cornelia.”

Harry nodded. “She’s a shrewd woman. She’ll know if any of the women aren’t good wife material. Which reminds me,” he added abruptly. “You can’t tell the women you’re rich, or that you’re my sons. I don’t want any fortune hunters in the family. God knows, I married enough of those myself. I don’t want any of my sons making the mistakes I made.” He drew a deep breath. “I’ll give you some time to think about this. You have until 8 p.m. Pacific time, three days from now. If I don’t hear from you to the contrary before then, I’ll tell my lawyer to start looking for a buyer for HuntCom.”

He rounded the edge of the desk and left the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

The four watched him go with varying expressions of anger and disbelief.

“Son of a bitch,” Justin said softly, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I think he means it.”

Chapter One

Lily Spencer sipped her first cup of organic green tea while standing at the kitchen island of her town house, the pages of the Seattle Times spread out over the white marble counter in front of her. Early-morning sun spilled through the window behind her as she read, slowly turning the pages and enjoying the peaceful, quiet moments before her daughter awoke.

She skimmed the business articles and flipped the page to the Seattle Life section. A photo of a jogger at Green Lake was prominently featured at the top of the page.

Lily caught her breath, the gently steaming mug held motionless halfway to her lips. She narrowed her eyes and stared, trying to make out the man’s features. But his face was partly turned away from the photographer.

Still, she knew with gut-deep conviction that the jogger was Justin Hunt. A gray tank top with a University of Washington logo left his broad shoulders and upper arms bare, the muscles of his thighs and long legs powerful beneath the hem of his black jogging shorts. Sunlight gleamed off sweat-dampened tanned skin.

She skimmed the brief caption beneath the photo, confirming her guess. The jogger was indeed Justin Hunt, in town for meetings the reporter speculated were important, since all four of the Hunt brothers had been seen in Seattle over the last twenty-four hours.

Lily leaned over the counter, her fingertips brushing the photo.

Then reality intruded and her lips firmed, compressing into a frown. She set her mug on the counter with a distinct clunk.

So he’s back in town. So what?

She’d stopped jogging at Green Lake after Justin had dumped her. The wide asphalt track that circled the lake had been her favorite spot to run, but the possibility that she might see him, either alone or with another woman, wasn’t one she cared to chance. Nowadays, she jogged along the waterfront, timing her visits to avoid the arrival of the cross-sound ferries and the wave of traffic from the passengers and vehicles they brought with them.

The baby monitor sitting on the counter next to the toaster crackled, followed by the subtler sound of rustling bedclothes.

Lily glanced at her wristwatch and smiled. Right on time, she thought.

“Ma-ma. Ma-ma.” Ava’s voice came clearly over the monitor.

Lily folded the newspaper and left the kitchen for her daughter’s bedroom. Ava looked up the moment Lily opened the door. She grinned with obvious delight and held up her arms to her mother.

“Good morning, sweetie.” Lily picked up the one-year-old toddler and cuddled her close. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Ava responded with a string of sounds interspersed with several “mamas,” chortling when Lily nuzzled her downy cheek.

Lily carried Ava downstairs, tucked her into her highchair and shook a handful of Cheerios onto the tray. As Ava carefully picked them up, one by one, and tucked them into her mouth, Lily switched on the kettle for her daughter’s morning oatmeal.

Justin is ancient history, she thought. He’s probably in town for a meeting at HuntCom, and will be gone soon.

She picked up the newspaper and dropped it into the recycling bin, determined to forget the photo.

And Justin Hunt, as well.

Twenty-four hours after the meeting with Harry, Justin drove away from his aunt Cornelia’s home in Queen Anne, dialed his cell phone and waited to be connected to his brothers. His conversation with Cornelia had convinced him there was a strong possibility Harry’s threat to sell the company was real. Cornelia was growing increasingly worried by Harry’s demeanor since the heart attack. Without prodding from Justin, she’d confided that Harry seemed uncharacteristically introspective. On several occasions, Harry had told her he wanted his sons to marry and have children. Cornelia was afraid Harry felt a need to right his wrongs, and that he was getting his fiscal and emotional affairs in order, preparing to die.

Privately, Justin thought the Old Man was too damned stubborn to die, but he didn’t tell Cornelia that. She was one of the few women he actually respected, and she genuinely cared for Harry.

Of course, he thought, she’d known Harry since they were kids. They had years of history between them.

“Justin? What’s up?” Gray spoke over a muted background of conversation and music.

“I’ve just left Cornelia’s. I think we should take the Old Man’s deal,” Justin said bluntly. “Here’s why.” With a few brief words, he told his brothers what Cornelia had told him. “I own sixty percent of the ranch and I want the rest of it. I’m not willing to chance Harry selling the other forty percent to anyone else.”

“You’re willing to let him choose your wife?” Alex’s tone was pure disbelief.

“No. Cornelia convinced me the Old Man’s heart attack might have scared him enough to believe he has to force us to marry and have kids for our own good,” Justin said. “I’m willing to tell him that’s what’s happening until we’ve had time to figure a way around this, or he realizes how crazy his demand is. But in the meantime,” Justin added, “I’ll do what’s necessary to keep him from selling the ranch. If that means looking for a wife, that’s what I’ll do.”

“He’s bluffing. He’d never sell the company,” Gray said with conviction. “Even if he does hold the controlling interest.”

Which is a damn shame, Justin thought. He and his brothers, together with Cornelia and her four daughters, all sat on the board, but even if they voted as a block, they couldn’t override Harry.

“I don’t see it happening,” J.T. agreed. “He spent his life building HuntCom. We all know the company is more important to him than anything else, especially us. I don’t believe he’d sacrifice it just to see us all married with babies.” Derision laced his words.

“We’re in the middle of a buyout,” Gray said. “There’s no way he’d consider selling the company until it’s finished, and that might be months away. He’s bluffing.”

“How can you be sure?” Alex asked. “What if you’re wrong? Do you want to chance losing everything you’ve worked for over the past eighteen years? I know I sure as hell don’t want to see the foundation shut down…or run by someone else.”

“The only baby Harry’s every cared about is HuntCom. There’s no way he won’t do what’s ultimately best for the company,” Gray said. “He always does.”

“I sure as hell hope you’re right,” Justin muttered. “Where did he get the idea it was time we all went hunting for brides?”

“A Bride Hunt,” J.T. grinned. “Sounds like one of those reality shows.”

“Yeah,” Alex put in dryly. “A really bad reality show.”

“You know this won’t work unless all of us are in,” Gray said.

“And it won’t work for any of us unless we come up with a contract that ties Harry’s hands in the future,” Justin added. “We have to make sure he can never blackmail us like this again.”

“Absolutely,” J.T. put in. “If he thinks he can manipulate us with threats, he’ll do it again in a heartbeat.”

“So we need an iron-clad contract that controls the situation.” Justin could tell from J.T. and Alex’s tones that they were considering whether to join him. He wasn’t so sure about Gray. “If all Harry threatened us with was loss of income, I’d tell him to go to hell, and walk. But I’m not willing to lose the ranch. Nor do I want to be the cause of another heart attack that might kill him. What about the rest of you?”

The brief silence that followed his question was finally broken by Alex. “If it was just money, I’d tell him to go to hell, too. But it’s not, is it?”

“It’s about the things and places he knows matter most to us.” J.T. sounded grim.

“Part of Harry’s demand was that the brides not know our identity until after we’re married. How are you going to find an eligible woman in Seattle who doesn’t know you’re rich, Justin?” Gray asked.

“I’ve been out of state for most of the last two years, plus I’ve never been as high profile as the rest of you.”

“Yeah, right,” J.T. scoffed. “There isn’t a single one of us who hasn’t had our picture in the paper or in a magazine.”

“But not as often as Harry,” Gray said thoughtfully. “He’s the public face of HuntCom. I’ve got to give the Old Man credit, he’s deflected as much publicity from us as he could.”

“True,” Justin agreed. “So, how about it, Gray? Are you in?”

“Face it, Gray,” Alex said. “Harry holds all the cards.”

“He always has.” J.T. sighed audibly.

“Okay, fine,” Gray finally said. “But the only way to tie the Old Man’s hands is by outvoting him in the boardroom. I’m not agreeing to anything without an iron-clad agreement, in writing, that he’ll transfer enough voting shares to each of us so that he can’t pull this again the next time he gets some wild hair. If we can’t back out, neither can he. Nor can he start adding on more conditions just because he feels like it. The only thing he’s ever understood is HuntCom. Once he’s no longer squarely in the driver’s seat, then I’ll start believing he’s really concerned about us passing on the family name—no matter how concerned Cornelia seemed.”

Justin rang off, dropping the cell phone onto the seat next to him. He’d never wanted to get married, let alone have a kid.

If Harry expected hearts and flowers with some sappy version of true love along with Justin’s cooperation, the Old Man was in for a rude awakening. Hell, Harry’s threats and demands were downright bizarre.

The morning after the conference call with his brothers, Justin woke early. Just before 6 a.m., he carried a mug of coffee, a writing pad and a pen out to the deck. Several streets below, sunlight sparkled on the waters of Puget Sound. An ocean freighter lumbered slowly through the deep water toward the Port of Tacoma to the south. Its ponderous size and speed made the boxy white-and-green Washington State ferry appear sprightly and swift as it neared Colman Dock on the Seattle waterfront.

Much as he loved his Idaho ranch, Justin couldn’t deny the Pacific Northwest was stunningly beautiful on this sunny July morning. He tipped his chair back, propped his bare feet on the seat of a neighboring chair, ankles crossed, and wrote a name in capital letters at the top of his potential-bride list.

Lily Spencer.

She probably never wants to see me again, he thought, remembering the Tiffany bracelet she’d returned the morning after he’d broken off their affair. The box was unopened, his note still sealed in its envelope. The messenger who brought back the items had told his secretary Lily herself had written Return To Sender in black script across the front of the envelope.

Justin had left Seattle the next day and had rarely returned over the following two years. Long days spent in punishing physical labor had exhausted his body but hadn’t stopped his mind from thinking about her. Finally, after months of pain, the ache in his chest where his heart was went numb. He figured that meant he was finally over her.

But you haven’t stopped thinking about her. You haven’t forgotten her.

He tuned out the small voice in his head and went back to his list-making, forcing himself to write despite the distaste he felt for the task.

He jotted down the names of three unmarried women before he stopped abruptly, frowning at the list. Every one of them was a business connection he’d met through HuntCom. They all knew he was billionaire Harry Hunt’s son.