‘Okay, you two,’ Dante interrupted, holding up his hand as he prepared to mount his pony. ‘Let’s call a halt to this. We’ve got training to do. As I understand it, Cesar is asking our permission to court Sofia with the intention of making an honest woman of her—a princess, in fact. We can hardly deny him that opportunity.’
Sofia’s brothers agreed with a knowing laugh. When they finally quietened down, Xander said, ‘Have you ever asked permission to do anything in your life, Cesar?’
‘Never,’ he admitted bluntly. ‘But this is different. This is Sofia.’ And these were men of honour that he was proud to call friends.
‘Are you sure you know what you’re taking on?’ Raffa asked with amusement.
‘I’ve got some idea, but I’ll take her in spite of her faults.’ This ended in a chorus of good-natured catcalls, and then he added, ‘Because I love her with all my heart.’
‘Should we start the training now?’ Sofia suggested, a warm note in her voice as she winked at Jess and gave him a lingering smile.
Suitor-in-training would be an accurate description for him. How good it felt. Triumph surged through him as he sprang into the saddle and wheeled his hot-wired pony around.
By the end of that day’s training Sofia was mentally and physically exhausted. It had been almost impossible to keep her mind on training after Cesar’s impassioned declaration. She kept glancing at him as if to make sure this new, improved Cesar wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Nope. He seemed pretty real to her. Her brothers said nothing more about it, and it was a thrill to feel much of their camaraderie returning. Cesar saying she was innocent was enough to convince them. She couldn’t thank him enough for that. She’d take brotherly love any day over a flashy diamond ring.
When the session ended, Cesar dismounted first. Handing his reins to a groom, he insisted on helping her down. ‘You’ve worked so hard your legs will buckle under you.’
‘My legs will obey my commands,’ she insisted, stubbornly as usual.
Wrong. Her legs did not obey. They buckled. Cesar’s hand steadied her, but he made no move to crowd her or do any more than set her firmly on her feet.
‘See you at supper,’ he said.
So much for romance, she reflected wryly, wondering how and when Cesar’s idea of wooing would actually show itself.
Before cleaning up for the evening ahead, she went to check on the ponies. Bran trotted along at her heels. She stopped at one of the stalls where a pony belonging to Cesar was receiving attention. Glad of something to take her mind off Cesar, she sent the groom away to enjoy her supper and set about applying the poultice herself. Soft words and the cooling relief soon had the pony’s ears pricked again.
‘Problem?’
‘Cesar!’ She wheeled around at the sound of his voice. ‘No. She’ll be fine for the match if you rest her tomorrow.’
‘I guess we’re all feeling the strain of Jess’s training,’ he observed.
Sofia was feeling the strain of something. She smiled faintly. Cesar didn’t appear to be any the worse for wear as he rested back against the wall of the stall. In fact, he had never looked more startlingly dynamic, with his deep tan, close-fitting breeches and plain dark polo shirt. His thick black hair was all messed up and catching on his stubble, while his eyes, his lips—everything about him... He was so hot it felt like being hit by an electric charge. She dropped her gaze, only for it to land on well-worn leather riding boots hugging hard-muscled calves. Swallowing deeply, she looked away to concentrate on the pony. ‘See you in the ranch house when I’ve finished here—’
‘Change of plan,’ he announced, pulling away from the wall. ‘I’m cooking tonight.’
‘You’re...?’
‘You can close your mouth now,’ he said, his lips curving in a grin. ‘My mother the Queen taught me some campfire specials.’
‘That seems unlikely.’
‘My mother is a very surprising woman.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ There was something shining in Cesar’s eyes—a warmth she hadn’t seen before, and affection. And was that hope that she’d agree to his suggestion? A campfire supper was a small thing, but it marked a big step forward in their relationship. She wanted nothing more than to be close to him, normal with him, and what better way than singeing sausages over a campfire? Did she really mean that much to him? He couldn’t have been more forthright when he spoke to her brothers,
‘See you around eight o’clock—lower field,’ he instructed.
She smiled inwardly at his tone of voice. Some things never changed.
Give him a chance, her inner voice insisted.
‘Lower field?’ she queried. That was one she hadn’t heard of.
‘Anyone will tell you where to find me. Don’t be late.’
‘I won’t,’ she promised softly.
