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About that time, his mother approached the serving bowl for a refill of eggnog, which was unusual for a woman who watched her calorie intake. But apparently she was celebrating and throwing caution to the wind.
“It’s so good to see you happy, son.”
What was she talking about? Had he been smiling?
She slipped an affectionate arm around him. “Have I told you how delighted I am to have so many of my family together?”
The smile, which he must have been wearing, deepened. “Several times in the past hour.”
She lifted her free hand and fluttered her fingers in a little wave at her sister, Jeanne Marie, who wore a new pair of her signature stretch-denim jeans and an oversize Christmas-themed jumper.
Again, Jensen was reminded of the sisters’ differences. They’d grown up worlds apart—one on an English estate and the other on a small working cattle ranch—something that could be seen easily in their style of dress. Still, they shared many similarities, including a love that knew no bounds.
“This is what it’s all about,” his mum said. “Family.”
Jensen suspected she was talking about more than just a holiday reunion. She’d made no secret of her wish to see him and his siblings settle down. Hopefully, Amelia’s baby would take her mind off matchmaking.
But then again, it seemed that everyone else in the room had marriage on their mind. His four engaged cousins had planned a huge wedding for Valentine’s Day.
Jensen looked across the room, where Quinn stood next to Amelia, his arm wrapped around her. When she grimaced, Quinn immediately picked up on her discomfort, his expression growing as serious as a first-year pupil meeting his housemaster at Eton.
Amelia smiled, whispered something to her husband and placed his hand over her baby bump. His eyes grew wide and then he smiled, too.
Hopefully Amelia would breeze through labor with no snags or problems. But what if something went wrong during birth? What if...?
Jensen tried to shake his troublesome thoughts. What he really ought to worry about was the press infiltrating the couple’s privacy. They’d resorted to all kinds of trickery to learn whether the baby was a girl or boy. But Amelia and Quinn had chosen to be surprised at birth, which none of the reporters believed.
A rap sounded at the door just as laughter burst out at something Toby’s precocious daughter had said to her red-haired brother.
Jensen heard another noise, although no one else seemed to take note of it. Had someone knocked?
* * *
Amber Rogers stood on the Drummonds’ front porch and rapped on the door again. She’d driven to the Rocking U Ranch to deliver a gift for Amelia, Quinn’s new wife. It was a handmade baby blanket, although the sections Amber had quilted weren’t as neatly stitched as Gram’s.
But it was the thought that counted, right?
There were a whole slew of cars parked outside and a god-awful commotion going on inside the house, but apparently no one had heard her knock. So she rang the bell.
Moments later, a tall and sophisticated stranger swung open the door. He was wearing a well-tailored suit and tie—something so out of place and unexpected on a small Texas ranch that it caught her off guard and made her think about the back-to-back episodes of Downton Abbey she’d been watching with Gram.
Surely Lady Josephine hadn’t brought along her butler and the entire Chesterfield Estate staff.
But then she realized exactly where she’d seen the drop-dead gorgeous guy before—on the front page of a tabloid down at the Superette—and she swallowed. Hard.
Before she could think better of it, she blurted out, “Oh, it’s you.”
“I beg your pardon?” he said in a rich British accent.
Amber cringed inwardly. Obviously they’d never met, and she’d just implied that they had. Why did she always have to stick her foot in her mouth?
She opened her lips to apologize, but she merely stammered instead, her cheeks warming.
Dang. She could be such a goof at times.
“What do you want?” he asked—and not very nicely.
This wasn’t going at all well.
She lifted the wrapped gift. “I’m sorry. I brought this for Amelia...um...Mrs. Drummond...or should I call her Lady Amelia?”
Amber hadn’t meant to sound so uncertain, but Sir Jensen’s good looks, royal appearance and hoity-toity attitude had nearly knocked her out of her cowboy boots.
His eyes narrowed. “Do you know Mrs. Drummond?”
“Not really. I just—” Before she could explain that she’d only recently moved back home to Horseback Hollow, and that she was Quinn Drummond’s neighbor, the stuffy Brit snatched her package right out of her hands.
“I’ll see that she gets it,” he said. Then he shut the door right in her face.
Of all the nerve. He’d just dismissed her! She had half a notion to lean on the bell until someone else came to the door, someone who knew her. But she merely stood there, gaping, dumbfounded by the man’s rudeness.
Three seconds later—and yes, seconds because she’d counted them off as an attempt to hold her temper—the door swung open again. This time, Jeanne Marie peered out and broke into a smile. “Hi, sweetie. Come on in.”
Amber hesitated. “I’m not so sure I should.” Nor did she want to. Her mother had been longtime friends with Jeanne Marie, but even the woman’s warm welcome couldn’t lessen the insult of the snobby man’s bad manners. What a jerk.
“Don’t pay any mind to Jensen. He’s just an overprotective big brother.”
This was Horseback Hollow—not a Revolutionary War battlefield. What possible threat could Amber be? She was just trying to be neighborly. But she held her tongue before she popped off with something rude herself. Instead, she would graciously drop off the gift and make a proper excuse to leave. Once she’d shut the door, she could turn on her booted heel and stomp off. She’d never have to step foot on the Drummond place until the entire British side of the family—all except Amelia, of course—went back to their side of the pond.
Jeanne Marie took her hand and pulled her into the midst of the bustling holiday revelers. “Look who’s here, everybody!”
Amber never had been what you’d call shy. In fact, as a former rodeo queen and barrel racer, she was used to riding into an arena full speed with her flag flying. But she hadn’t expected to walk into a big ol’ family Christmas celebration.
Heck fire. Yesterday was the twenty-fifth. She’d known better than to show up then.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hadn’t meant to horn in on your family celebration. I thought by waiting until the twenty-sixth, I’d miss it.”
“With everyone having so many family gatherings to attend, this seemed to be the easiest way to get together.”
Amber glanced at Jensen, who’d answered the door like a jerk and now appeared rather sheepish. Well, bully for that. It served him right for being such a snob.
Amber knew how some of the wealthy British behaved, thanks to Gram’s recent addiction to the Downton Abbey series. And Jensen reminded her of the snooty upper crust.
Jensen approached Amber and reached out his hand in greeting, his sheepish expression morphing into one that was almost...dashing. “I’m sorry for being rude when I answered the door. We’ve been bombarded by some rather innovative members of the press, as well as the paparazzi lately, and I was merely trying to ward them off at the pass. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I’m Jensen, Amelia’s older brother.”
If Amelia’s handsome big brother thought that she’d acted like a fool at the royal sight of him, at least he was gentlemanly enough not to mention it.
And while Amber had always had a stubborn streak, she’d never been one to hold a grudge. Besides, it was the Christmas season—God rest ye merry gentlemen and all of that.
So she took his hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Apology accepted. We own a spread down the road a piece.”
“Do you raise cattle—like Quinn?” he asked.
“No. We breed and train cutting horses.”
“Really?” He seemed to perk up and ease closer. And he held her hand a moment longer. “I’d be interested in seeing your operation sometime.”
No kidding? Where did that come from? Not that she’d object. It’s just that...well, he’d gone from stuffy to friendly in zero to sixty, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Nor was she sure what to make of the warmth of his touch.
“Sure,” she said, withdrawing her hand from his. “You can come out for a visit. I’d be happy to give you a tour.”
“Would tomorrow be convenient?”
So soon?
She shook off her momentary surprise. “That’s fine. The Broken R is about four miles down the road. There’s a big green John Deere mailbox in front of a white wrought-iron gate. You can’t miss it.”
“Would there be a more suitable time for my visit?”
My, the man was certainly formal. And persistent. But then again, he was probably used to getting his way. With the ladies, too, no doubt. She smiled. “This is Texas. Our ranches are always open and ready to receive company. How about nine? Or is that too early for you?”
“I’m up bright and early. So that’s not a problem.”
A smile stole across her face. She wondered what time the royals considered early. She and every rancher she knew usually woke before dawn.
“So,” she said, “the press has been pestering y’all?”
“Like hounds on a fox. We’ve grown up with it, so we usually take it in stride. But they’ve taken great pleasure in the fact that Amelia has fallen in love with a cowboy. And now that she’s settled in Horseback Hollow and is expecting a baby, they’ve been making it extremely difficult on her.”
No wonder he’d thought Amber was up to something when she’d rang the bell.
“In fact,” Jensen said, “now that the birth is so close at hand, they’ve been especially wily and persistent.”
“Just so they can take photographs?” she asked.
“Yes, and to be the first to report whether the new little one is a boy or a girl.”
Amber, who’d always been as curious as she’d been stubborn couldn’t help but turn to the handsome British royal and ask, “Which is it going to be?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t breathe a word of the secret. But Amelia and Quinn have decided to be surprised.” Jensen crossed his arms and tossed her a cocky smile, reminding her of a Cheshire cat and making her heart scamper.
Fortunately, before she had to decide what to do about it, Jeanne Marie approached. “Can I get either of you a cup of coffee? Or maybe you’d rather have Jensen pour you some of Amelia’s eggnog? You can have it with rum or without.”
“You might fancy a cup with rum,” Jensen said. “It’s quite good. And a holiday tradition in our family. I’ll pour you a spot.”
Amber thanked him.
“It’s been fun blending our holiday traditions,” Jeanne Marie added.
“I guess change isn’t always a bad thing.” Amber wished she would eventually come to believe that herself.
Jeanne Marie sighed. “I don’t know about that. When it comes to family, it’s been fun. But not when it comes to our town and community.”
“Are you talking about Cowboy Country USA?” Amber knew where Jeanne Marie was going with that. The town had seemed to split in its support of the new Western theme park that was being built near Vicker’s Corners. Some thought it would draw tourists and business to Horseback Hollow and others were staunchly against its construction because they feared it would make a mockery of the Western life they held dear.
“Now, I’m not one to get political,” Jeanne Marie said. “And I’m not about to make a fuss down at city hall or give speeches in Town Square on Founder’s Day. But I like Horseback Hollow just the way it is.”
Amber understood her concern—and that of the others, too. But she was excited to have an amusement park so close to home. She loved roller coasters and thought it would be cool to show the tourists from the rest of America how their country counterparts lived.
She’d also been approached by the casting department of Moore Entertainment about starring in their Wild West Show. And she was going to accept the offer because it would provide her with an opportunity to rope and ride again in an arena, while not having to leave Gram to run the ranch alone. She hadn’t told anyone, though. No need to risk getting run out of town on a rail.
Besides, she wouldn’t hurt Jeanne Marie for the world. The woman had become a second mother to her after her own mama had passed.
When Jensen returned, Jeanne Marie and Lady Josephine excused themselves and went to find seats closer to all the holiday activity.
“Here you go, Miss...” Jensen paused as he handed Amber a glass of eggnog, along with a holiday napkin. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your last name.”
“It’s Rogers,” she said, as she took the drink and thanked him.
Jensen—Lordy, the man was handsome—tossed her an earth-tilting grin. “Are you any relation to Roy?”
“You mean Rod, who owns the R and J Auto Body in Vicker’s Corners? No, I’m afraid not.”
“Actually,” he said, “I was referring to Roy Rogers, the old-time movie star.”
Amber stole a glance at the Brit. Who in America, especially the state of Texas, wouldn’t know who Roy Rogers was? She just hadn’t expected Jensen to. But rather than point out their obvious cultural differences, she said, “I’m afraid that was a bit before my time.”
“It’s before mine, as well. But since I’m an American Western film buff, I’m familiar with all the old movie stars, such as Tom Mix, Randolph Scott, John Wayne...”
She crossed her arms and shot him a playful grin. “So you assumed that, just because I’m a cowgirl, that I should be familiar with all things Western, even from sixty and seventy years ago?” He probably also thought she sang on her horse as she cantered along in her fringed pink vest à la Dale Evans.
“I’m sorry. It appears that I’m making all kinds of false assumptions today.”
“Apparently so. But you don’t have to be so formal. You can call me Amber.”
“Well, Miss Amber Rogers, if you’ll excuse me, it looks like that eggnog needs to be replenished again.”
That seemed an odd job for a man—especially a fancy-pants one like him, who was just a guest in the house anyway. Was he trying to get away from her?
As much as she’d wanted to avoid him in the past, she was a bit sorry to see him go. He was actually charming—when he wanted to be.
As he made his way to the punch bowl, which was indeed nearly empty, he was stopped several times along the way—first by one of his cousins, then by one of the children. He would smile and comment, yet he appeared to hold back, to remain somewhat aloof.
He’d seemed to lower his guard with her, though, but just for a moment. And only when they’d talked about old movies and horses.
She couldn’t help watching as he moved through the house, chatting with his family, yet milling about looking as neat and formal as his professionally pressed suit.
Jensen was a looker—if you liked the fancy and stylish kind of man who could grace the cover of a men’s fashion magazine.
