Stephanie made to follow him into a massive, rectangular living room with a two-story, open, timber-beamed ceiling and a bank of glass doors at the far end, flanking a stone fireplace. Amber moved with her, taking in a large, patterned red rug, cream and gold, overstuffed furniture groupings and a huge, round, Western-style chandelier suspended in the center of the room.
“You want me to show Amber a bedroom?” asked Stephanie. She was still wearing her bridesmaid dress.
“She’s probably hungry,” Royce pointed out, and both looked expectantly at Amber.
“I’m…uh…” The magnitude of her actions suddenly hit Amber. She was standing in a stranger’s house, completely dependent on him for food, shelter, even clothes. She was many miles from the nearest town, and every normal support system-her cell phone, credit card and chauffeur-were unavailable to her, since they could be traced.
“Exhausted,” Stephanie finished for her, linking an arm with Amber’s. “Let’s get you upstairs.” She gently propelled Amber toward a wide, wooden staircase.
“Good night, then,” Royce called from behind them.
“You look shell-shocked,” Stephanie whispered in her ear as they mounted the staircase.
“I’m questioning my sanity,” Amber admitted as the stairs turned right and walls closed in around them.
Stephanie hit a light switch, revealing a half-octagonal landing, with four doors leading off in separate directions.
“You’re not insane,” said Stephanie, opening one of the middle doors.
“I just abandoned my fiance and flew off in the middle of the night with strangers.”
“We’re not that strange.” Stephanie led the way into an airy room that fanned out to a slightly triangular shape.
It had a queen-size, four-poster brass bed, with a blue-and-white-checked comforter that looked decadently soft. Two royal blue armchairs were arranged next to a paned-glass balcony door. White doors led to a walk-in closet and an ensuite bath, while a ceiling fan spun lazily overhead and a cream-colored carpet cushioned Amber’s feet.
Stephanie clicked on one of two ceramic bedside lamps. “Or do you think you’re insane to leave the fiance?”
“He’s not going to be happy,” Amber admitted.
“Does he, like, turn all purple and yell and stuff?” Stephanie looked intrigued and rather excited by the prospect.
Amber couldn’t help but smile. “No. He gets all stuffy and logical and superior.”
Hargrove would never yell. He’d make Amber feel as though she was a fool, as though her opinions and emotions weren’t valid, as though she was behaving like a spoiled child. And maybe she was. But at least she was out of his reach for a little while.
“I hear you.” Stephanie opened the double doors of a tall, cherrywood armoire, revealing a set of shelves. “My brothers are like that.”
“Royce?” Amber found herself asking. In their admittedly short conversation Royce hadn’t seemed at all like Hargrove.
“And Jared,” said Stephanie. “They think I’m still ten years old. I’m a full partner in Ryder International, but I have to come to them for every little decision.”
“That must be frustrating.” Amber sympathized. She had some autonomy with her own credit cards and signing authority on her trust fund. She’d never really thought about independence beyond that.
Well, until now.
“There’s this stallion,” said Stephanie, selecting something in white cotton from the shelves. “Blanchard’s Run, out of Westmont Stables in London. He’s perfect for my breeding program. His dam was Ogilvie and his sire Danny Day.” She shook her head. “All I need is a million dollars.” She handed Amber what turned out to be a cotton nightgown.
“For one horse?” The price sounded pretty high.
“That’s mine,” said Stephanie, nodding to the gown. “You should help yourself to anything else in the dresser. There’s jeans, shirts, a bunch of stuff that should fit you.”
“If it’s any consolation,” said Amber, putting her hand on Stephanie’s arm, “I can’t see Hargrove ever letting me spend a million dollars, either.”
“And
“I’m leaving him-” Amber paused a beat, debating saying the words out loud for the first time “-because I don’t love him.”
Stephanie’s lips formed another silent O. She nodded slowly for a long moment. “Good reason.”
Amber agreed.
But she knew her parents would never accept it. And it wasn’t because they had some old-fashioned idea about the value of arranged marriages or about love being less important than a person’s pedigree. It was because they didn’t trust Amber to recognize love one way or the other.
And that was why Amber couldn’t go home yet. Nobody would listen to her. They’d all gang up, and she’d find herself railroaded down the aisle.
As usual, it was frighteningly easy for Royce to slip back into the cowboy life. He’d stretched out on his bed for a couple of hours, then dressed in blue jeans, a cotton shirt and his favorite worn cowboy boots. Sasha had quick- fried him a steak, and produced a big stack of hotcakes with maple syrup. After drinking about a gallon of coffee, he’d hunted down the three foremen who reported directly to McQuestin.
He’d learned the vet had recommended moving the Bowler Valley herd because seasonal flies were impacting the calves. A well had broken down at the north camp and the ponds were drying up. And a lumber shipment was stuck at the railhead in Idaho because of a snafu with the letter of credit. But before he’d had a chance to wade in on any of the issues, an SOS had come over his cell phone from Barry Brewster, Ryder International’s Vice President of Finance, for a letter from China’s Ministry of Trade Development. The original had gone missing in the Chicago office, but they thought Jared might have left a copy at the ranch.
So Royce was wading through the jumble of papers on the messy desk in the front office of the ranch house, looking for a letter from Foreign Investment Director Cheng Li. Without Cheng Li’s approval, a deal between Ryder International and Shanxi Electrical would be canceled, costing a fortune, and putting several Ryder construction projects at risk.
Giving up on the desk, and cursing out his older brother for falling in love and getting married at such an inconvenient time, Royce moved to the file cabinet, pulling open the top drawer. His blunt fingers were awkward against the flimsy paper, and the complex numbering system made no sense to him. What the hell was wrong with using the alphabet?
“The outfit seems at odds with the job duties,” a female voice ventured from the office doorway.
He turned to see Amber in a pair of snug jeans and a maroon, sleeveless blouse. Her feet were bare, and her blond hair was damp, framing her face in lush waves. There was an amused smile on her fresh, pretty face.
“You think this is funny?” he asked in exasperation.
“Unexpected,” she clarified.
“Well, don’t just stand there.”
“Should I be doing something?”
He directed her to the desktop. “We’re looking for a letter from the Chinese Ministry of Trade and Development.”
She immediately moved forward.
“Do you know what it looks like?” she asked, picking up the closest pile of papers.
He grunted. “It’s on paper.”
“Long letter? Short letter? In an envelope? Attached to a report?”
“I don’t know. It’s from Cheng Li, Foreign Investment Director. I need his phone number.”
She moved on to the next pile, while Royce went back to the filing cabinet.
“Have you tried Google?” she asked.
“This isn’t the kind of number you find on the Internet.”
She continued sorting. “I take it this is important?”
