She recalled how she’d locked her arms around his neck, and blushed. Wasn’t every day a girl got cradled in the arms of a prince.
Gemma jerked away from the mirror. What was she doing?
“Come on, kids,” she said to the dogs. “Let’s feed the rest of the herd.” The five of them moved on her whistle and darted toward the barn. They knew the routine.
She’d just opened the barn door when she heard tires popping over the gravel drive. A large black truck parked under the maple. Buck? Wasn’t he on stage at the celebration? But it wasn’t her friend and singer who stepped out from behind the wheel. It was the prince.
“I’m sorry,” she called, feeling a bit more shaky than she liked. He seemed more handsome in the late afternoon shadows than when he carried her across the finish line. And she’d missed his graceful gait before. “We gave at the office.”
Ha, ha, funny, right? And dumb. But what was he doing here? She tugged at her stained top and ran her hand over her hair, remembering her reflection. Then she glanced around, seeing her place as he might see it. A dump. At least it washerdump.
“Excuse me. Gemma? It’s me, John.” He hesitated as if deciding whether to turn back for the truck. His humble, self-deprecating demeanor gave her the same gushy, girly sensation from before. If she swooned, ole Blue better catch her.
“It’s a joke. You know, what you say to telemarketers or door-to-door salesmen. ‘We gave at the office.’” She walked toward him with the sentry of dogs. “Surely you’ve heard of it.”
“Yes? No? Which answer will make me sound more impressive?”
“Too late.” She stopped several feet away, observing, arms folded. He wanted to impress her? “So, how can I help you?” She leaned to one side, looking toward the passenger side of the truck. “Where’s your Gunner?”
“He stayed behind. I, um, just want to see if you’re all right.” He pointed to the dogs. “Who have we here?”
When he bent down, Marcus, the old bull dog, and Tweedy, the mama collie, trotted forward as the welcoming committee. They loved people and would happily escort any would-be burglar into the house and straight to the Walmart-purchased dinnerware. Blue, however, hung back, taking a stand in front of Gemma.
“Marcus, Barksy, Hal, Tweedy, and Blue. All rescues.”
Once Marcus and Tweedy survived the stranger, Hal and Barksy went in for a good neck ruffle and ear rub. Ole Blue, he waited, a small grumble in his throat.
“This is Blue, you say?” The prince knelt in front of the brown-and-white pit bull and slowly, gently offered his hand. “How are you, mate? I’m a Blue as well. House of Blue. Lauchtenland.”
Blue looked up at Gemma. “He’s safe. Go on.”
Blue inched forward for a sniff. “Take your time, boy. I understand.” John sat on his heels, barely breathing it seemed, surrendering to the sniffs and inspections of a former fighter. When Blue raised his snout to John’s face, Gemma jumped in between.
“Blue, come here. It’s okay.”
But instead of doing what she feared, baring his teeth in warning, or worse, burying his teeth in John’s cheek, he gave him an approving lick. Not one, but many.
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “He hates men and you’ve won him over in five minutes. Prince, I’m impressed.”
Call it what you will, but if Ole Blue liked a man, he was the real deal.
“What’s his story?” Blue fell against John as he ran his hands over his scars.
“A fighter. Barely survived his last one. Someone at the event rescued him and had the fortitude to call the authorities. The ring was busted a week later.”
“I’ll never understand human cruelty.” Since Blue, Marcus, and Tweedy approved, the remaining two jostled for the prince’s attention. He inspected each dog, ruffling their smooth coats again and again, and touched his nose to theirs.
“Barksy and Hal were also fighters. Rescued in the raid. When the sheriff’s deputy brought them here, Blue went nuts, like it was old home week. Marcus, the bull dog, belonged to an old drunk who left the poor thing tied to a tree. Tweedy, the collie, was dropped off by a family who couldn’t care for her anymore.”
John rose up, surveying the house around to the barn and toward the back of the property where Gemma’s equine rescues grazed under a tree by the pond. She wanted to raise her arms as if to “hide” what he saw—her run-down place—but it was too late.
“You run an animal rescue?”
“A small one. I started with the dogs and cats. Blue arrived first and he was a rough diamond. So wounded and scared. Seriously, I’m amazed he’s taken to you. Took my daddy six months to walk past him without Blue growling and snapping.”
“I suppose wounded souls know one another,” he said, coming alongside Gemma and looking toward Hercules, Whinny, and Silver. He drew a long, deep breath, then exhaled. “Beautiful.”
Beautiful? What was beautiful? As far as Gemma was concerned,hewas beautiful. The most beautiful thing on the property at the moment. Including Whinny, who was a stunning, young thoroughbred.
