The Charmer in Chaps Read online

  Then he’d seen her coming out of the feed store as he and Nick were going in. She’d been struggling under the weight of a heavy bag of feed. “Hey,” he’d said, but she’d ducked behind another man who was exiting at the same time and escaped.

  Nick had looked at her sprinting across the parking lot then at Luca. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman run from you, Luca. What’d you do?”

  “Nothing,” he said, truly baffled.

  “You must be off your game, dude.”

  But he wasn’t off his game. There were at least two women blowing up his phone right now, not to mention the wild sex he’d had last night. Luca didn’t get it—why wasn’t this woman behaving the way women generally behaved around him? He riffled through his mental catalog of women again—it was a big one and encompassed a huge geographical area—and he could honestly say he’d never known a woman to look at him in the way she looked at him.

  It bugged him. It was like she found him . . . revolting.

  Nah. What reason could she possibly have to be revolted by him? She didn’t even know him.

  As he was standing there staring at her, she happened to glance up, and then jerked her gaze back to Randy.

  Okay, all right, that was just downright hurtful.

  Luca decided to clear it up then and there, and started in the direction of their table. Little Miss Hates-Me sat up a little straighter. She looked pretty damn gorgeous today, definitely a step up from the Who from Whoville he’d met on the county road. His first impression of her that day was that she was cute. But this woman was hot. Her coffee brown hair was in a sleek ponytail, and she was wearing a red dress that accentuated a very nice figure with curves in all the right places. He’d have to make a better impression, he supposed. What was her name? What. Was. Her. Name?

  She was listening intently to Randy as Luca strolled up to their table. She did not look up, did not acknowledge him in any way. Her fingers curled tightly around her napkin.

  Randy noticed him. “Luca!” He moved to stand up, but his bulk rattled the table, and the woman caught it.

  “Don’t get up,” Luca said, and put his hand on Randy’s shoulder. “I’m surprised to see you here. Didn’t know you were a coffee man.”

  “I’m killing a little time,” Randy said, and glanced at his watch. “Mariah and I have a meeting at the bank.” He suddenly looked up, remembering he was not alone. “Oh, sorry—this is Mariah’s friend—”

  “We’ve met,” the woman said cheerfully to Randy, still refusing to make eye contact with Luca.

  Anna? Emma? Something like that.

  “You have?” Randy asked.

  “We sure have.” She began to gather her things like a fire was spreading through the coffee shop.

  “Where was that?” Randy asked.

  “We met very briefly when I was riding the west side acreage,” Luca said. “She was broke down.”

  The woman smiled at Randy. “I think he means my car,” she said, and picked up her purse.

  Randy laughed. “Well, Luca, I hope you helped a lady out,” he said. “Have a seat. We’re just finishing up here.”

  “Have mine!” She stood, pushing her chair in Luca’s direction. “I’ve got to run. Thanks again, Randy. I’ll give you a call?”

  “Sure,” Randy said. “But hey, don’t run off—Luca won’t bite. Least not in public,” he added, and chuckled hard enough to make his belly jiggle.

  “Thanks, but I’ve really got to go,” she said. “Super busy.” She reached across the table to shake Randy’s hand. She barely looked at Luca when she said, “Nice seeing you again,” and started walking.

  “Yeah, I . . .” Luca didn’t finish his thought because she was already slaloming through the tables in her haste to get out of there, and he had hardly turned around.

  What the hell?

  Dumbfounded, he watched her walk out the door, and through the window he watched her jog across the street to her faded SUV.

  “Close your mouth or you’ll let the flies in,” Randy advised.

  Luca blinked. He gathered himself, hitched up his cool guy pants, and sat down across from Randy. “How do you know her?” he asked.

  “Mariah’s friend,” Randy said, referring to his wife. “She’s looking for work.”

  “Oh yeah?” Luca asked. “What sort of work?”

  “Accounting. Bookkeeping. She works part-time for some firm in San Antonio, part-time at Magnolia’s Bar and Grill, but she’s just moved out here and wants to hang out a shingle.”

  The sound of a motor that had seen better days roared to life. Her SUV began to coast down the street. As it passed Jo’s Java, Luca could swear that Anna or Emma glowered at him through the driver’s window.

  “You offering me a cupcake?” Randy asked.

  “Huh?” Luca turned his gaze from the window and glanced at the box. “Sorry, pal, those are for someone else.”

  “Oh yeah? Someone I know?” Randy asked, waggling his brows.

  Luca smiled.

  Randy laughed. “Going at it hard, huh?”

  “Trying to,” Luca said. “Speaking of which, I’m running late.” He stood up. “Good seeing you, Randy,” he said, and clapped Randy’s thick shoulder before walking out with a wave at Jo Carol.

  He drove to Karen’s house by rote, because his mind was stuck on the fact that Anna or Emma didn’t like him. He was mystified, could not grasp why, could not fathom what would make a woman unable to bear even the sight of him.

  Karen was standing behind her screen door when he pulled into the drive. She viewed the pink box he held in his hand with skepticism as he made his way to the door, one hand on her ample hip, one on the screen door handle, as if she were holding it closed. She stared hard at him. “Do you honestly think cupcakes are going to work with me, Mr. Prince?”

  “I do not,” he answered honestly. “But I’m optimistic and I’ve got nothing but hope going for me right now.” He held up the box. “They’re from Jo’s Java House.”

  “I know where they’re from,” she said. “There’s a big fat sticker right there,” she said, pointing to the box.

  “I’m sorry, Karen,” he said. “I don’t even have a good excuse for being so late. If you end this now, it’s my own damn fault.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, and folded her arms across her chest.

  Luca braced his arm high against the doorjamb and glanced self-consciously at his feet. Karen could read him like an open book. “I really am trying.”

  “Not hard enough,” she said curtly. She shoved the screen door open hard enough to force him back. “Give me those cupcakes,” she said as she grabbed the box from his hand, turned around, and marched off into the interior of her house.

  “Does this mean I can come in?” Luca called after her.

  “Just get in here!” she shouted from somewhere in the kitchen.

  Once a teacher, always a teacher.

  Luca stepped inside, put his hat on the little console next to the vase of paper flowers and beneath the hand-stitched sign that read, Welcome to our happy, crazy, fun (loud) family home. An array of framed family pictures cluttered the top of the table—pictures of Karen and her husband, Danny. Of her two grown kids, Dustin and Mandy, and their kids, a gaggle of babies and toddlers and boys in baseball uniforms and girls in dance costumes.

  Sometimes, Luca fantasized about what it would be like to have lived in this little farmhouse as part of this family. He imagined home-cooked meals that were not a fancy chef’s creation or pizza night when the strongest thing anyone drank was beer and there was no one to serve them. He imagined everyone sitting around the table doing homework or laughing at the day’s events without fighting.

  He followed Karen into her cheerful little kitchen with the strawberry print curtains, the tiled countertops, and the white GE appliances. As sh
e fit the cupcakes onto a serving plate, Luca noticed the kitchen table had two pads of paper, one thick book, and a colorful chart next to a pitcher of lemonade.

  “I’ve got to leave in forty-five minutes, so let’s make good use of our time.” She set the plate down on the table and fit herself into her seat.

  Luca took his place next to her. He reached for the chart, but Karen put a hand on his arm and pierced him with her brown-eyed gaze through her rectangular wire-rimmed glasses. “Now look here, mister. I’ve known you since you were in the sixth grade, and I know how you operate. I am not one of those silly girls who can be soothed with sweets and a handsome man’s pouty lips.”

  “Pouty lips? I don’t have—”

  “You best be on time from here on out, or you’re going to have to learn to read on your own.”

  He held up a hand, duly chastised and embarrassed for it. “Say no more,” he said contritely.

  She nodded to the chart. “Let’s begin.”

  The chart was a rudimentary learning tool, one that connected sounds in common words to the actual letters. The sounds were illustrated on the chart with ducks and teddy bears, choo-choos and swings.

  Unfortunately, Luca’s lifelong battle with dyslexia had caught up with him as an adult. It was amazing to him that a man with all the advantages he’d had in his life could arrive at the age of thirty and not be able to read worth a damn. Oh, sure, he could make out a menu or a greeting card. But reading about adult topics with dense, tiny text was mind-boggling to him. The letters danced around on the page, shifting and moving so that he couldn’t pin them down.

  When he was diagnosed with dyslexia in the fifth grade, his mother was so relieved he wasn’t a delinquent that she’d brushed off the learning disability. “You’re just going to have to work extra hard,” she’d said. “But you’re a Prince, and that’s what the Princes do—we work harder than anyone else.”

  “Leave him alone, Delia,” his father had said, and had tousled Luca’s hair. “He’ll be fine. It wasn’t like he was ever going to be book smart anyway, was it? Not my boy, Luca—he’s destined for great things and won’t have his nose in a book.”

  His father was right—Luca was never book smart, because he never really did conquer the dyslexia. He’d charmed his way through school, and when his charm didn’t work, his parents’ influence and a sizable donation had. He’d bounced from one school to the next, going wherever money could put him, until he’d run out of options and had to leave St. Mary’s Hall in San Antonio and ended up at the public Edna Colley High School in Three Rivers. He’d graduated by the skin of his teeth.

  His teachers, his parents, had all breathed a collective sigh of relief when he’d walked across that stage. All they’d wanted was for him to graduate—from their perspective, the hard part was over, the battle won. He didn’t need to worry about his illiteracy anymore, because he was a Prince. His future had already been handed to him.

  But it was at that point that he really started to bounce. From this so-called job to that woman. He never stayed in a job or with a woman long, because it was too shameful to admit he couldn’t read. And Luca was self-aware enough to know that his family’s wealth had made it possible for him to avoid settling on a life path. Otherwise, he’d probably be living on the streets of San Antonio about now.

  Luca could point to the precise moment he knew he had to wake up and do something about his disability. It was when his uncle Chet, of Chet Applewhite Chevrolet fame, had saddled Luca with that Sombra dealership. Uncle Chet had meant well—it was a job that, in his eyes, married Luca’s interests with an actual occupation. But sitting at a desk and selling cars was the last thing he wanted to do. He had realized that he’d be doing exactly that for the rest of his life if he didn’t face his aimlessness, admit his true desires, and conquer his shameful little secret.

  What he wanted was to be a naturalist. An environmentalist. A leader in ranchland conservation. But he couldn’t pursue that because he couldn’t read. He might not be book smart, but he desperately wanted to put his nose in a book.

  He would be eternally grateful to Karen, previously known to him as Mrs. Gieselman, his sixth-grade teacher. She’d taken a liking to him all those years ago and had finally agreed to tutor him as an adult after a fair amount of begging on his part.

  “You’ve always skirted by,” she’d said skeptically when he approached her about it the first time. “Why do you want to learn now?”

  Because he’d grown up. Because there were things he wanted to accomplish, and he was being held back by his inability to read documents—his attempts resulted in a major headache and only a cursory understanding. Luca had ideas. He had dreams. He didn’t know how he was going to do it all, but he wouldn’t accomplish a damn thing if he couldn’t even skim a contract for a new car. He needed to learn, to absorb.

  So he picked up the color-coded chart and began to review the letters and sounds, stumbling more than once, feeling like an idiot when he did.

  “Great job!” Karen said, grinning. “You’re getting it. You ready to read?” She picked up the book he’d been struggling to comprehend. “Let’s start where we left off last week,” Karen said. “Do you remember what the chapter was about?”

  Of course he did. “Conservation easements and Texas law.” When Luca had borrowed the book from the Saddlebush Land and Cattle Company, the family business headquarters, his brother Nick said it was the most boring book in the history of books.

  “Did you read it?” Luca had asked, surprised.

  “Of course I did,” Nick said impatiently, as if it was required reading for every man and Luca had missed the assignment again.

  Luca was desperate to read it, to know what his brother knew. He wanted to know everything he could about land conservation and ecosystems and minerals and soil and grass and wildlife refuges. He wanted to do something meaningful with his life, and to him, that meaningful thing was taking care of what God had given them.

  Karen helped herself to a cupcake, then held up the plate to him and said, “I still don’t see why we can’t accomplish your goals with a good romance novel or a mystery.”

  “Because I want to know this stuff,” Luca reminded her. “I want to put these principles into practice.”

  She shook her head. “I always knew the Princes had more money than the US Treasury, but if you ask me, it’s a waste of good land to let it sit and do nothing but grow weeds.”

  That’s not what conservation was about, but Karen was not alone in her opinion. Everyone in Luca’s family felt the same way—why conserve land when you could make money from it?

  “All I know is, I am never going to get back the hours I’ve spent on this book with you.” She winked at him. She was over her mad. “Turn to page sixty-three.”

  Luca forgave Karen her narrow view of the world. But he’d lived a good chunk of his life outdoors with Brandon. They’d camped out under the stars of Texas’s big sky, searching for Indian hieroglyphics or arrowheads, inventing invading armies creeping toward them through the woods, imagining monsters clawing their way up from the spring. They would pull the stalks from the yucca plants and turn them into swords and guns. They rode horses down to the river and swam, hunted for rabbits and squirrels, and generally ran wild over tall grass prairies and wild-flowered hills.

  He’d never tired of it. If anything, the land had only become more magical to him the older he got. But the land was changing. It was overused and depleted, beaten up by drought and erosion and rapid development. Wildlife didn’t come around as it once had. Some birds and reptiles were in danger of extinction. Grasses didn’t grow as tall. Trees were stunted and springs and lakes dried up.

  He began to read, clumsily. Laboriously. “The Texas snow . . . bell, or St-st wreck—”

  “Styrax,” Karen said.

  “Styrax is the . . . most . . . threet?”

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sp; Karen pointed to one of the sounds on the chart.

  Luca stared at it. Then at the word. “Threat . . . threatened,” he said, pleased with himself. “One of the most threatened na . . . tive . . . spee-sis.”

  “Species,” she said, and pointed to the chart again.

  It was so hard, like part of his brain was an unformed, unused blob. He thought of Hallie, who devoured novels, and wished reading came as easily to him.

  He looked at the sentence he just read, his mind memorizing the letters. The Texas snowbell is one of the most threatened native species. He knew where a patch of it grew on the ranch. He knew where everything was on that ranch, all seventy-five thousand acres.

  He had a painting that hung in his room at the ranch, rescued from a trash heap intended for burning when he was twelve. He’d shown it to his paternal grandmother, and she’d laughed. “This is the work of your great-great uncle, Leroy Prince. What a character he was! He used to take the farm girls down to the potting shed and diddle them there.”

  “Dolly!” his mother had yelled from her place behind the enormous, marble-topped kitchen island. “You do not have to voice every thought aloud to these kids.”

  “Oh, who cares,” Grandma had said with a flick of her wrist. “Lucas will hear about it eventually.”

  “I don’t know why he would, as you are the only person who keeps that sort of family lore alive, and for the thousandth time, his name is Luca.”

  “It ought to be Lucas,” his grandmother had said, and had winked at Luca as if they shared the same desire.

  “For the love of God, you know I named him Luca because Charlie’s cousin Lucy named her baby Lucas a month before I had mine. She did that on purpose,” she’d added for Luca’s benefit, pointing an accusing finger at him, as if he’d somehow brought this tragedy to her by entering this world a month too late.

  “Good ol’ Leroy,” his grandmother had said, ignoring her daughter-in-law. “He wasn’t what you’d call a good citizen, but he was a decent artist.”

  “I found it on the burn pile,” Luca had reported.