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But rather than calling it a day, the older gent spun the woman in his arms and lowered her into a graceful dip that should have only been attempted by the most agile of professional dancers.
Jensen found it all rather amusing.
Apparently Amber didn’t because she handed him Lady Sybil’s reins, then strode across the yard, reached inside the vehicle and disconnected a cord, ending the song, as well as the impromptu dance. “What are you doing?”
“Practicing our moves for the upcoming dance contest at the Moose Lodge,” the elderly gent said. “I’m trying to talk Helen into competing with me, instead of with Harold Witherspoon, who don’t stand a chance of winning, even with a woman as pretty as Helen in his arms.”
Amber shifted her weight to one booted foot. “Gram, I thought you and Mary Trimble went to have breakfast with your quilting group.”
The older lady, who wore a green floral dress and a cream-colored sweater, turned to her granddaughter with flushed cheeks and a pleasant smile. “We did have breakfast, honey. But on the way, we learned that Martha Bradshaw’s relatives are all still staying at her house, which is where we usually go. So the group had a change of plans, and we decided to move over to the VFW instead. I ran into Elmer Murdock there, and he offered to give me a ride home so Mary wouldn’t have to.”
Amber’s grandmother, whose steel-gray hair had been woven into a French twist, fingered the side of her head and tucked a loose strand behind her ear before addressing Jensen. “I’m Helen Rogers. I recognize the horse you’re riding, but I don’t believe you and I have met.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I’m Jensen Fortune Chesterfield.” Then he turned to her companion.
The short, elderly man with a gray buzz cut reached out a weathered hand and gave Jensen a firm handshake. “Elmer Murdock, United States Marine Corps, retired.”
Jensen glanced at Amber, who didn’t look too pleased with the newcomer’s arrival.
“You Jeanne Marie and Deke’s nephew?” Mr. Murdock asked him.
“Yes. I’m in town staying with my sister, Amelia.”
The man’s clear blue eyes traveled up and down, studying Jensen hard, but not in a threatening manner. “Those are some pretty fancy riding breeches.”
“Thank you.”
“Where’d you find them? Might get me a pair like that.”
“Actually, I purchased them at a shop in Windsor.”
“Humph. That figures. You being one of them Fortunes from England and all.” Mr. Murdock crossed his arms, gave a little nod, then rocked back and forth. “You got any relatives that fought in the RAF?”
“Yes, sir. My father was a pilot in the RAF.”
“You don’t say.” Mr. Murdock stroked his chin. “He see any action in the war?”
“Which war?”
“Any of ’em. Personally, I was too young to fight the Germans. I had to earn my stripes over in Korea. But my older brother Chester went over early and helped get you boys out of that pickle in dubya dubya two.”
Clearly, Elmer Murdock was quite the spitfire, but Jensen was used to the bravado of elderly soldiers when it came to World War II and their role in it. “Then I thank both you and your brother for your service.”
“You’re welcome. The US of A has no match on the battlefield, which some of your kin found out for themselves back during the Revolutionary War.”
“Jensen,” Mrs. Rogers said, before the men lapsed into a patriotic rivalry, “I was just about to fix lunch. I hope you’ll join us.”
Jensen glanced at Amber, who still held Mr. Murdock’s music device in her hand. A frown marred her pretty face, but he didn’t think it was because he’d been invited to stay. Instead, he had a feeling it was because her grandmother had included Mr. Murdock.
And while Jensen probably ought to gracefully decline, he remembered hearing the ingredients of the franks and tots casserole Amelia planned to make for lunch, doubling the recipe so she could freeze the leftovers. Suspecting his odds for a tasty meal would be much better here on the Broken R, he said, “Thank you, Mrs. Rogers. I’d like that.”
Besides, he’d enjoyed his tour of the ranch and had found Amber even more intriguing. The cowgirl had been so animated when she’d explained their operation, and when she’d talked about animal husbandry, it had sounded as if she had an advanced degree. He couldn’t help wanting to spend more time with her.
“I’m so happy you’ll be joining us.” Mrs. Rogers flashed a smile at her friend, then hurried into the house.
Amber walked around the front of the early model Dodge Charger, assessing the vehicle that had delivered her grandmother home from Vicker’s Corners. “Is this your car, Mr. Murdock?”
“Sure is. I’m getting this beauty ready for the classic car show me and some of the boys down at the VFW are planning to put on next fall. We’re calling it Cruisin’ Vicker’s. All the cars have to be built in 1975 or earlier.”
While Jensen didn’t think this old heap would win any competitions, he kept his opinion to himself.
“The cars don’t have to be American made,” Murdock added with a sly nod at Jensen. “So if you want to ship one of your fancy MGs or Jaguars this way, you can.”
“That’s kind of you to invite me,” Jensen said, “but I’ll be in town only for a short duration.”
“Well, hopefully you’ll stick around for a few more weeks.” The old man patted the hood of the car. “I should have the new paint job done by then, and Rod down at R and J Auto Body promised he’d order a passenger-side door, too, since I can’t get the fool thing to open.”
“Rod Rogers?” Jensen asked, letting the old man know that he was picking up on a few names and business owners in the area.
“Yup. That’s him.”
“I don’t suppose he’s any relation to Roy Rogers,” Jensen said, more to tease Amber than anything.
“Shoot, no,” Murdock said. “But he might be related to Amber and Helen.”
Jensen turned back to the cowgirl he’d likened to Dale Evans, the one who’d told him she wasn’t related to either man, and winked.
“No,” she said. “I’m not related to Rod Rogers, the car mechanic, or to the singing cowboy.”
“Well, I’d rather be related to Rod any day over that mansy pansy Roy Rogers,” Mr. Murdock said.
“Really?” Jensen asked, “What’s wrong with Roy? I like the Western films he made.”
“Westerns?” Murdock humphed. “If you wanna watch an authentic Western, you go see something by John Wayne. Now there’s a real actor. ’Course, I like him in The Green Berets on account of that’s a good war movie, and I’m a military man myself.”
Amber rolled her eyes just as her grandmother stepped onto the porch. “Elmer, can you come help me with the sweet tea?”
“’Scuse me, you two. I gotta go help sweeten Helen up.” He raised his weathered hands in a sign of surrender. “What can I say? The woman sure does love my sweet tea.”
Mr. Murdock lumbered toward the house and Amber shook her head.
When he was out of earshot, Jensen said, “I take it you’re not a fan of Mr. Murdock.”
“I like him just fine. I’ve known him all my life. He’s a funny old codger, and I usually get a kick out of being around him. But now that he’s been spending more time with Gram, it just doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not that I don’t want my grandmother to be happy. I do. But it’s going to take a special man to take my pop’s place. And I just don’t think there’s one out there who won’t disappoint her.”
Or perhaps disappoint Amber?
In all honesty, Jensen knew just how she felt. His mother had lost her true love and soul mate when his father passed away, and he doubted she’d ever find another man to take his place.
“Besides,” Amber said, “those two are so different from each other. They have nothing in common and are complete opposites. It would never work out.”
“Are you sure about that?” Jensen asked. “I know Mr. Murdock seems a little...”
“Rough around the edges?” Amber said.
“Perhaps a bit. He’s certainly colorful.”
“Yes, and Gram is a quiet sort. She likes to stay home and bake and sew. Her idea of excitement is going to church or to an occasional movie in Vicker’s Corners. But then in walks Elmer Murdock—or should I say, ‘in charges Elmer.’ And now she’s doing all kinds of wild and crazy things.”
“Like what?”
“Going on hikes with backpacks—and just because he’d made a bet with some buddy that he could get Helen Rogers to agree to go with them.”
“And Mr. Murdock was able to talk her into it?” If that was so, then maybe the old girl had more feelings for him than Amber realized.
“Elmer told her that it was a charity event with all the proceeds going to the Wounded Warrior Project.”
“He lied to her?”
“Elmer Murdock may be a lot of things,” Amber said. “Eccentric and even annoying at times. But you’ll never meet a man more patriotic and more supportive of our troops and military. He’d never make light of something like that. The event was sponsored by the Moose Lodge. He won the bet and even turned over the five dollars to the charity, as well.”
“I’m not sure I—”
Amber slapped her hands on her hips. “My gram is seventy-five years old, Jensen. She shouldn’t be carrying backpacks and going on hikes with a bunch of military veterans as if they were picnics in the park.”
It sounded as though Mrs. Rogers might have enjoyed the outing, but Jensen didn’t mention it. Not when Amber was so clearly miffed.
And miffed indeed. A fire—sparked by fierce loyalty and compassion, no doubt—lit her eyes and revealed her true spirit.
A smile tugged at his lips. He’d never much liked to see a woman annoyed, but this one was actually quite lovely—perhaps because her annoyance wasn’t directed at him.
“And now this.” Amber swept her hand across the length of the muscle car. “What in the world was Gram doing, blowing around town in that green death machine?”
Poor Mr. Murdock. Amber wasn’t going to make this courtship easy for him.
“Perhaps she’s just having a bit of fun and it will all blow over soon.”
Amber let out a sigh. “I hope you’re right.”
When she looked up at him with soulful brown eyes, Jensen was taken aback—transported, actually—to that moment when Murdock arrived and Lady Sybil had acted up. When Jensen had stepped in to help Amber dismount and briefly thought of kissing her.
But that wouldn’t do.
It wouldn’t do at all.
“Well, we’d better put the horses away,” Amber said. “Then I’ll help Gram get lunch on the table.”
It would seem that Mrs. Rogers already had help with that task, but Jensen kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he watched the sexy cowgirl walk toward the barn, enjoying the way her denim jeans curved on her derriere.
He had to admit that Mrs. Rogers and Mr. Murdock didn’t seem any more suited for each other than he and Amber were.
Maybe Amber had realized his interest in her and this was her way of letting him know that she didn’t believe in the old adage that opposites attract.
If so, that was too bad.
Physically, Jensen was captivated by the cowgirl, but he was a rational man who understood that duty came first. And right now, his duty was to his family.
Besides, in a few weeks, six at the most, he’d be back in London, which was in an entirely different universe than Horseback Hollow. And he wouldn’t think of the beautiful Amber Rogers again.
Unfortunately, for the time being, he feared that he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else.
Chapter Three
Lunch went much better than Amber had expected—thanks in large part to Jensen’s presence. The Brit had a dry wit and a way of making everyone feel comfortable, a skill he must have perfected as an aristocrat attending various charity events and rubbing elbows with the lower classes. Not that she knew anything about the life he actually led, but she did glance at the headlines of the tabloids whenever she stood in the checkout line of the Superette, and so his social activities were no big secret, even if he didn’t have an official royal title.
Amber had expected the meal to be awkward, but unlike yesterday, Jensen hadn’t seemed the least bit snobbish today.
“Thank you for a lovely meal,” he said, as he rose from the table. “You’re a wonderful cook, Mrs. Rogers. I enjoyed that chicken salad. And your chocolate cake was one of the best I’ve ever had.”
“Why, thank you,” Gram said. “I’m glad you liked it. But please, call me Helen.”
“All right, I will.” He then reached across the table and shook Elmer’s hand. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Murdock. Good luck refurbishing that car. I hope you win the competition.”
Elmer stood as tall as his five-foot-four-inch frame would allow. “And just so you know, there’s been some talk about you English taking over Horseback Hollow. Some are downright pleased and giddy about it, while others are fretting about a British invasion. But I’ll have you know, you’re A-OK in my book.”
Jensen chuckled. “I’m pleased to hear that.”
“Come on,” Amber said. “I’ll walk you outside.”
Once they left the house and were out of earshot, she blew out a sigh. “I hope that wasn’t too trying for you.”
“Actually, I enjoyed myself. And I wasn’t just being polite. Your grandmother is a good cook.”
“I think so, too. But a man like you has eaten meals from the best chefs all over the world. So I have a feeling you’ve just gotten your fill of casseroles lately.”
He laughed—a hearty, resonant sound that lifted her spirits, making her forget all about the green Charger parked near the house or the man inside who’d insisted upon helping Gram with the dishes.
“You have a point,” Jensen said. “But that chicken salad was excellent. And so was the chocolate cake, which could rival any I’ve ever had the pleasure to eat.”
As they made their way to the barn, where they’d stabled Trail Blazer, he added, “I hope you didn’t take offense when I laughed at some of the things Mr. Murdock said. I know how you feel about him and your grandmother, so I hope you don’t think I was having fun at your expense. And I’m sorry if having me here made you uncomfortable.”
“Actually, having you here made it easier. And to be honest, Elmer can be a real hoot at times.” Amber shook her head, then blew out a sigh. “It’s just that...well, besides the fact that I think they’re so unsuited—and that Gram deserves someone better than him...”
“Someone more like your grandfather?”
Amber glanced up at Jensen, caught the look of compassion in his eyes, the understanding. “Yes, there’s that, too. My grandfather was an amazing man, and I’m not ready for her to find a replacement. In fact, I doubt that I’ll ever be ready for that.”
Jensen slipped his hands into his pockets. “I know what you mean. I lost my father four years ago. He and my mother were soul mates, and I can’t imagine her ever finding another man to take his place.”
They stood like that for a moment, caught up in a shared moment—probably the only thing they really had in common. Then Jensen withdrew his pocket watch—a beautiful gold-embossed piece. She expected him to open it and check the time, yet he merely turned it over a time or two, then slipped it back into his pocket.
“Perhaps your grandmother is just enjoying a little camaraderie with Mr. Murdock and they’ve merely struck up a friendship of sorts.”
“You may be right. And if that’s all it is, I guess I shouldn’t worry. But Elmer always has some fool wager going on. And I’m afraid she’ll get hurt—emotionally, physically or even financially. Like I said, no good can possibly come from it.”
Jensen stiffened. “If the man has a gambling problem, I can certainly see your concern.”
“Well, it’s not as though he’s mortgaged his house or ran his credit into the ground. I think it’s all penny-ante stuff. But he’d wager a nickel or a postage stamp or the button off his shirt, just to make things competitive. And Gram is so honest and straitlaced, she wouldn’t take a shortcut home.”
Jensen placed his index finger under Amber’s chin in a move so sweet, so tender, that it should have been comforting—and it was—yet it stirred something in her blood, too. Something warm and sparkly.
“You’re a good-hearted woman, Amber Rogers.”
And...
She waited for what seemed to be the longest time for him to complete the thought—or maybe the connection he’d just made. But he did neither.
Doggone it.
But why would he? She and Jensen Fortune Chesterfield weren’t any better suited than Helen Rogers and Elmer Murdock. And she was a fool to even let her thoughts drift in that direction. Because, like Gram and her silly crush, no good could come of it.
* * *
On the last day in December, while Quinn spent the afternoon at home with Amelia, Jensen took the opportunity to go for another ride on Trail Blazer.
He was still getting used to the stockier quarter horse breed and the Western tack. And while he was an exceptional horseman, he was adapting slowly.
As he cantered along on the spirited gelding, he pondered the possibility of purchasing a saddle of his own to keep in his brother-in-law’s stable. In spite of his affinity for cowboy movies, he still preferred the English equestrian style for his own use.
He hadn’t anticipated doing much riding at all when he’d flown to Texas for his sister’s due date. But given the frequency of weddings and births taking place in America, he’d come to the realization that he would be most likely spending more time here in Horseback Hollow than he’d ever expected, so he didn’t see it as a foolish investment.
After he rounded a large oak tree, he spotted a lone rider galloping toward him. He recognized the long blond hair flowing beneath the rim of the cowboy hat and watched as the cowgirl urged her mount forward.
Amber Rogers was quite the horsewoman, and Jensen pulled back on his reins, slowing so that he could fully enjoy the sight of her.
“Good morning,” she said, as she pulled her horse alongside his.
“Hello, there. I thought I was still on Drummond land, but I must have crossed over onto your property line.”
“Actually, this is neither. The county owns this area. It’s full of riding trails, and if you follow this path far enough, you’ll end up at the Hollow Springs Swimming Hole.”
“A real swimming hole? Like that old movie with Marcia Mae Jones?”
At her confused look, he wondered whether Americans ever watched their own classic Western films.
But his excitement at seeing a true testament to the Wild West frontier couldn’t be diminished.
“I would love to see it,” he said. “How much farther do I need to ride?”
“About two miles. Come on.” She turned her horse toward the narrow trail. “I’ll take you up there.”
He followed her slow pace and tried to keep his eyes on the trail and not her shapely bum. Thank goodness she wasn’t riding at a quicker speed, otherwise he’d be completely useless ogling her graceful movements in the saddle.
When the trail widened and he pulled up alongside her, she said, “I didn’t realize you were such an avid rider.”
“Did you already have set expectations of me?”
“I really didn’t know what to expect. The gossip magazines show you walking the red carpet and attending fabulous parties all over Europe. Of course, you’re rarely smiling in those pictures, so I didn’t know whether you disliked the photographers or if you’re just one of those stoic Brits who doesn’t know how to cut loose.”
Did he really come across as that stuffy? Sure, he didn’t always fancy the parties and the social commitments that came along with being a Fortune Chesterfield. But he smiled. Occasionally.
At least, he used to. Before his father’s death. Yet, he didn’t think mentioning this served any purpose. At the very least, it would put a damper on the present mood.
“Well, even the Brits know how to have fun,” he said.
“And what, Mr. Jensen Fortune Chesterfield, do you do for fun?”
“I play polo. I attend the symphony. And I’m thinking about taking flying lessons.” There he went with another reminder of his father. But instead of maintaining that painful topic, he changed the subject. “What do you do in your leisure time, Miss Amber Rogers—no relation to either Roy or to Rod?”
“I suppose you could say that I train and ride horses.”
“From what I read online, you were one of the best barrel racers last year on the pro circuit.”
“Oh, come now, you of all people know you shouldn’t believe every news story you read.” A flush of pink stole up her cheeks.
Was she embarrassed by her achievements? Or humbled by them? The tabloids had certainly exaggerated or downright lied about the things they often reported. But he assumed what he’d read about her was true.
“So then you haven’t won several national titles?” he asked, wanting to hear more about her rodeo life.
“Not national titles. Just a few state ones. I was on track to go to the nationals in Las Vegas, but midseason, Pop passed away, and I left rodeoing to come back to the ranch and help Gram run things.” Her eyes dimmed somewhat and took on a wistful gaze into the distance.
So he’d been right. She was being modest. From all accounts he’d read, she’d done very well in a short period of time and showed enough promise that the papers had expected her winning streak to continue. But she gave it all up rather quickly, and Jensen was learning the reason.
“Your grandparents raised you?” he asked.
“I was actually born in Lubbock, but my father died when I was five, and my mother and I moved in with his parents, Gram and Pop, after the funeral. Pop was a retired rodeo cowboy who bred and trained cutting horses. He was the one who trained me and encouraged me to follow my dream.”
It sounded similar to Jensen’s own father, who had encouraged him to play polo rather than follow family tradition and join the Royal Air Force. In fact, he and his father had been in the process of purchasing a polo farm and investing in a couple of prize mares from Argentina when Sir Simon died four years ago, taking some of Jensen’s dreams along with him.
“So you’ve put your future on hold to help run the family business,” he said.
“Pretty much. Besides the rodeo, I’ve never had much of a plan for my life. I mean, it’s not like Horseback Hollow is jumping with opportunities for barrel-racing rodeo queens. I always figured I’d end up back on the Broken R someday anyway, working with horses. I suppose you can say that I just started doing that a bit earlier than I expected.”
Jensen nodded. “When my father passed away, it forced me to step back and look at my life and what I ought to be doing with it. Someone had to take over the reins of the family investments and enterprises, as well as Chesterfield Ltd., and since I’d been educated and groomed to do so, I took the helm. Fortunately, I can handle a lot of it remotely—although, with the time difference, I’m working online and on Skype at some strange hours.”
“When do you sleep?” she asked.
“I find the time. I also take a nap now and then. The most important thing to me has always been my family, and now that my father’s gone, the responsibility of looking after them has passed along to me. Hence the reason I was so rude to you when you came to see Amelia the other day. I fear I’m terribly overprotective.”
Amber smiled. “I can understand that. I never had any siblings. You’re very lucky to have such a big family.”
“I try to remind myself of that, although it does take quite a bit of getting used to. As you may know, we only recently met all of our Fortune cousins, so I’m still coming to terms with such a large addition to the family.”
“But your British side of the family wasn’t all that small.”
No, it wasn’t. His mother had been married before—to Rhys Henry Hayes. It hadn’t been a happy union and had ended in divorce. The one good thing, though, was that it had produced Oliver and Brodie, Jensen’s older brothers.