Her Cowboy Prince Read online

  Her Cowboy Prince

  Cowboy Princes #2

  Madeline Ash

  Copyright © 2020 Madeline Ash

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design: Dominic Brown

  ISBN-13: 978-0-6485809-4-2

  Cowboy Princes

  Book 1 - Her Cowboy King

  Book 2 - Her Cowboy Prince

  Book 3 - Coming 2021

  Note from the Author

  While Her Cowboy Prince can be read as a standalone, this series contains a significant overarching royal plot - so I highly recommend starting with Her Cowboy King!

  Mum

  For before, now and always.

  Contents

  Before

  Prologue

  Now

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Please Leave a Review

  Don’t Miss The King’s Cowboy

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Madeline Ash

  About Madeline Ash

  Before

  “He’s dead. All three of them are dead.”

  The phone crackled in Frankie Cowan’s ear as the words knifed between her ribs. Stunned, her breath gave a little hic and she halted on the dirt track that led to her friends’ ranch on the outskirts of Sage Haven. Dead?

  “Philip.” Dread shut her eyes and she almost lost her balance. “What are you talking about?”

  Her boss didn’t answer. His soft crying fed her panic.

  All three.

  Dead.

  No. The three cowboy brothers she’d spent years watching over couldn’t be—not while she’d been out of town—

  The ground pitched beneath her and she buckled, landing on her knees with a hand braced in front of her. This was a mistake. They weren’t gone.

  Kris isn’t gone.

  “Don’t make me guess, Philip,” she said, fear harsh in her voice. “Report.”

  “It collapsed.” He spoke through his tears. “The balcony. While they were banqueting. King Vinci. Prince Aron. And—and . . .” He made a noise of muffled grief, unable to finish, and she knew he meant the king’s middle brother, Prince Noel.

  She sank back on her shins in relief. Philip’s call wasn’t about the brothers she’d come to know in this quiet paradise in southern Montana, but their extended family in a kingdom halfway across the world.

  The king, his son, and his brother. The royal family of Kiraly.

  Except. If the royal family were dead, that meant—

  Her chest squeezed so tightly her ribs threatened to snap. “No,” she breathed.

  “Yes.” Philip’s own whisper was thin with pain.

  “What—” She broke off as her attention settled on the brothers’ ranch ahead. Oh, boys. Did they know yet? Were they inside with their father discussing it right now? “What’s going to happen?”

  The answer was obvious. Her heart raged against it.

  “Prince Erik is unwell,” she made herself say, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Erik was the cowboys’ father, youngest brother to the deceased king—and sudden heir to the Kiralian throne. “Too unwell. He can’t do it.”

  “Then you know the answer, Frankie.”

  She knew.

  It was going to destroy her life.

  “Your reports show Prince Markus is a good man,” Philip said, voice wavering. “A decent man.”

  Her guilt flared at Philip’s mention of her reports and she tightened her grip on the phone, pushing herself to her feet. She staggered a little as she moved off the walking track that ran between the road and the long front fence of the brothers’ property.

  “Mark’s steady,” she said about the kindhearted firstborn cowboy as she braced a shoulder against one of the many trees that lined the path. “But you can’t separate them. They’re triplets, for God’s sake—they can’t survive apart. It won’t work like this.”

  “They won’t be separated.”

  “Then how do you—”

  The answer kicked her in the chest.

  He wanted Kris and Tommy to leave Montana. Leave their ranch. No way. She could imagine Mark stepping up to his duty no matter how it tore him apart. But his brothers belonged here, in this small town dwarfed by the Rockies. The only home they’d known in their twenty-five years. It had shaped them, defined them—taught them to live with humility and decency and an unflinching passion for honest work.

  She’d kill to have been shaped by something so pure.

  “Philip—”

  “You’ve been promoted within the royal guard.” His words silenced her. “You’re now head of personal security to the new royal family.”

  Her heart stopped.

  She was what?

  “Congratulations.” The well-wishes fell like a deadweight on her shoulders.

  “No.” Of all things holy, no. “That’s your role—”

  “Not anymore. I must focus my attention on training and advising Markus. He’s never even visited Kiraly.” Philip paused as if that fact was only just sinking in. He made a faint sound of distress. “I don’t know if I can handle this.”

  “You can.” She offered him the confidence she lacked as she turned to press her shoulder blades against the tree trunk. “But you’ll need support, and that means replacing head of personal security with someone more experienced than me. Which, and you should be nodding along here, is basically everyone.”

  It had been four years since she’d traveled to Montana to prove herself capable of security. To get her foot in the door—not end up running the show. Had he lost his mind?

  “Give me something small,” she said. “Guard duty in the tourist precinct. Night shift at the gate.” People like her didn’t get put in charge. “I haven’t worked in the palace before. Promote someone else.”

  “No.”

  His snap of authority made her cold.

  “You alone know these untrained princes, Frankie. You’ve spent time with them. You know the security they need. How they’ll respond to it—how to prevent trouble. I’ll train you, of course, but the job is yours and you won’t disappoint me.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sure your close friendship with Kristof will be advantageous.”

  Hardly. Her panic rose at the thought of Kris learning the truth. None of the brothers knew she was from Kiraly. That she’d deceived them. Monitored them. Reported their routines, plans and personalities back to Philip. They didn’t realize she knew that beneath their cowboy swagger, their hard-muscled bodies coursed with royal blood.

  She swallowed down a dry throat and said, “But we can’t stay friends.”

  Not once Kris became an active Prince of Kiraly.

  “Things will change.” Philip’s voice betrayed his exhaustion. “You’ll return here immediately. I’m organizing a private plane. You have two hours to get to the airport.”

  “Cut me a break. I just got back to town,” she said as her al
arm swelled. “From a job you sent me on.”

  “Yes. I assumed that was why I’ve been unable to reach you.”

  She froze. She closed her eyes against a wave of dismay. “How long ago did it happen?”

  “Yesterday.” Loss hung in his long pause. “Erik has already informed us of his intention to abdicate. Markus will bring the official letter. The boys are coming, Frankie. Together. They leave Montana tomorrow morning.”

  Thudding her head back against the trunk, she squinted at the spring sky. Spinning. The world was spinning so fast it was going to haul her guts up. “This is insane.”

  “I’ve thought that myself.”

  It was the thread of outrage in his unsteady response that finally wove her back to the start of their conversation. Horror met her there. “Philip,” she said. “Which balcony?”

  “Second floor, west wing.”

  “But . . . that was new, wasn’t it? Part of the renovations?”

  “Yes.”

  Her blood chilled as she breathed, “That shouldn’t have collapsed.”

  “No, it shouldn’t have,” he answered just as softly.

  “Shit.” She pushed away from the tree, but didn’t know whether to continue to the ranch or double back into town. This was too much. “What the hell happened?”

  “If only I knew.” Grief made him sound older than his sixty-five years. “I don’t have the resilience to find out. I can’t bear it. The authorities have already declared it a tragic accident—the result of construction shortcuts taken to meet the tight schedule and remain within budget. In a sense, I want that to be true, but . . . could you look into it?”

  Dazed, she lowered the phone, shaking her head. Could she?

  The ranch in the distance had become the closest thing to a home she’d ever known. The log and stone homestead, the surrounding meadows and mountains, and the three young men who’d ushered her into their midst. Identical, yet as comparable as three glasses of amber alcohol—each packing a wildly different experience. Mark was a reliable farmhouse ale, Kris a searing Fireball whiskey, and Tommy—well, he was a lone ranger’s drink—undeterminable, but with a potency that could strip the enamel off unwary teeth.

  Frankie had scarcely admitted it to herself, but recently, she’d toyed with the idea of staying for good. Leaving Philip’s employ and living out her life in Sage Haven—allowing herself to accept the dream it offered.

  Now that dream was impossible. Due to a tragic architectural failing or something more sinister, she couldn’t begin to guess. But having her first real shot at happiness go crashing down along with the balcony?

  That pissed her off enough that she wanted to know who to blame.

  Balling her free hand, she raised the phone to her ear. “We’ll keep this quiet,” she said, and set off along the track toward Sage Haven. “Mourn it as an accident and hope that’s exactly what it was.”

  And if it wasn’t?

  Protectiveness hit her bloodstream, pumping purpose through her body. If it wasn’t, then the murder of a royal family should be all the motivation she needed to track down the person responsible. But honestly—no one would escape punishment for messing up the lives of her boys.

  “What will you tell the princes?” Philip asked.

  Finally, she was thinking fast. “Nothing. They’ve got enough to worry about.”

  “But for their safety—”

  “They’ll get their own guards.” No one would touch them. Not on her watch. “Two each, at all times. More if they leave the grounds.”

  “Guards are already stationed throughout the palace.” Philip sounded unsure. “It’s never been protocol to shadow our royal family down every hall.”

  She glanced back at the ranch and its inherent safety. “These princes don’t know that.”

  There was a beat of silence. “I take it you’ve accepted the promotion?”

  Had she really been given a choice? Picking up her pace, she swallowed her doubt. It was time. To go back to Kiraly—to do what she’d once dared herself to do. Prove her worth. Find her value. If she focused on that, she might be able to ignore the bleakness rippling like an oil spill inside her at the thought of returning home.

  If only she’d gone back years ago. She’d achieved what she’d set out to do the moment she found the princes hidden in this mountain-ringed valley. She shouldn’t have agreed to Philip’s suggestion that she stay and keep watch on them—she shouldn’t have allowed herself to get attached.

  But she hadn’t planned on volatile, sexy-as-hell Kris.

  No. Not Kris. Not anymore.

  Prince Kristof.

  She hadn’t braced for his tameless charm, wicked grin, and fast friendship. For her untrained heart to open for him. A truth she’d never told him—just as he’d never trusted her enough to share his royal heritage. For years she’d pretended she didn’t know. She’d waited, desperate for that sign she meant more to him than the rest of the clueless people in this town—more than the women he charmed into his bed. For years, Frankie had waited to share her own identity in return.

  Trust me, her heart begged whenever his blue eyes darkened with the desire he’d never quite acted on. Tell me.

  Now it was too late.

  If he told her today, it wouldn’t be out of trust. The situation had him cornered. It would pry the secret out of his big, rough hands with little care of what it meant to her.

  Shame bled into her hurt. Her secrets would air with his, though he’d call them by a dirtier name.

  Lies.

  She couldn’t handle that pain. Not today. Breaking into a run, she hurled that future confrontation from her mind.

  “I accept,” she answered. Because despite the unbearable strain it would cause between her and Kris, despite her fear and guilt and shortcomings, there was one thing the past four years had taught her. “I’ll protect these men with my life.”

  Kris Jaroka should have seen it coming.

  No lie lasts forever.

  He rolled his farm truck to a halt in front of Rose’s Diner and pulled the keys, twirling them around his index finger as he stepped out. A casual act to fool his gut into relaxing and his heart into slowing down, because he’d spent all morning fixating on this moment and had yet to imagine how it could end well.

  Didn’t matter.

  He was going to ask her anyway.

  Frankie. She was back in town. When not away on an investigative case, she lived in the main street of Sage Haven, renting a hidey-hole above the worst coffee-brewer in Montana. She didn’t seem to care that her apartment wallpaper puckered and tore or that the bathroom tiles were stained with he-didn’t-want-to-know-what. As long as there was coffee and food within reach, irrespective of quality, all was good for Frankie.

  He strode into the diner and nodded to the man behind the counter. A curtain blocked a staircase to the left of the register, and Kris slipped around it, taking the steps three at a time. Only two apartments were up here—the diner owner’s and Frankie’s—and naturally, hers was the one with scuff marks on the door, an apple sticker on the knob, and an old piece of paper taped beside it, reading: Not the restroom. Turn around, asshole.

  Nerves thundered through him. He slid a hand into the back pocket of his jeans, taking in his last breath as the cowboy she’d believed him to be.

  He knocked.

  “I’m busy!” Frankie snapped from inside.

  From her, that was close enough to permission to enter.

  He stepped into the tiny studio apartment, which was nothing more than a cramped living space with a double bed down the far end. An empty takeout box sat open on the kitchen counter, a scrunched napkin beside it.

  “Morning,” he said, kicking the door closed with his boot heel.

  She didn’t look up from where she stood side-on at the foot of the bed, stuffing a jewel-bright jacket into her backpack. A small blessing, because all it took was the sight of her to nudge his lust awake like a toe prodding a dozing beast. Stirrin
g, it focused lazily on her—then stretched wide with feral intent.

  Blood hot, Kris moved in and set his keys down, leaning a hip casually against the counter.

  It was getting worse. Harder to pretend their friendship was innocent, because desire had him craving her in every way imaginable. Ways he had yet to imagine. It was a mutual attraction he couldn’t act on. He recognized the lust in her eyes—had felt it hum and crackle between them for so long, the anticipation was daily torture—but she refused to outwardly acknowledge it and he wasn’t stupid enough to ruin their friendship by making a move she’d regret.

  But it was building. A mounting surge of chemistry toward an end point, a moment that wouldn’t be denied, a truth they were going to have to face head-on.

  Unless she was about to refuse his invitation.

  “Welcome home, angel,” he said, the phrase bitter in his mouth. Not home for much longer.

  “See, when you call me names like angel, the issue is that I can’t decide how to castrate you.” She yanked at the zip on her bag with one hand while the other ran amok in her short hair. It was the color of rust on a barbed-wire fence and just as spikey on top, with the sides and back trimmed close. “Not that I don’t want to.”

  “Whichever way you decide,” he said, touching the brim of his hat, “it’ll be a big job.”

  She faced him, head tilted and eyes narrowed.

  He grinned.

  Amusement flickered in her green eyes, but she crossed her arms. “What are you doing here?”

  His grin faded as his heart pounded.

  He was here to tell the truth.

  Denial jammed in his throat as he removed his hat. “Firstly, to check in on my favorite girl.”