Page 3 of Darla's Christmas Knight
Jimmy, Emmet’s partner in crime, shook with suppressed laughter.
Bobby braced. Those two were up to something.
“Um … yes. Thank you for asking … uh … Sir Robert.” Colt bowed his head in an awkward move and added, “Highness,” in a mumble.
Bobby closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. That damned knighthood King Gustav had saddled him with would be the death of him.
The partners in crime hooted with laughter.
Bug-eyed, Colt looked around, turning crimson from the neck up.
Bobby sent the old timers a scathing look and took pity on the kid. “Colt, don’t listen to their shit. Name’s Bobby Bell, nothing more. You’re my shadow today, and we’ll start by feeding the horses while these two clowns have the pleasure of mucking the stalls.”
That stopped the pair sniggering, and he countered their scowls with raised brows in a silent dare before focusing on Colt. “And if I ever hear you utter the words Sir Robert or fuckingHighness, which is totally incorrect,you’remucking stalls for the next year. Understood?” How the kid’s eyes stayed in their sockets as he vigorously nodded baffled Bobby. “With me, lad,” he ordered, and turned, heading back into the building and the relative coolness the vast structure offered.
He should’ve refused the fucking knighthood. It’d caused nothing but grief for him. But he’d done it for his parents. And every time it bit him in the arse, he thought of the pride on his parents’ faces as they watched King Gustav, the monarch of Andraste, bestow that dubious honor on him. Their pleasure was atonement for the heartache he had caused by turning his back on his homeland and consequentlythemall those years ago.
The rest of his day was filled by training Colt, and when he walked the short distance to his cabin with the sun dipping below the horizon, he was dirty, sweaty, and utterly knackered.
And figured the creature on his doormat a hallucination. Hestopped and viewed the feline with puzzlement. “What’s the deal, Tabby?”
Serious blue eyes returned his regard in complete silence.
Bobby shook his head — aloof little shit — and climbed the porch steps with a heavy tread, hoping the cat took flight. She rose and leisurely stretched.
And waited, facing the door.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He picked up the cat and retraced his steps, placing it firmly on the gravel path. “I have a stable full of animals to fret over and do not need a contrary housemate added to the mix.” But as Bobby straightened, she merely scampered back to the doormat.
Too tired to argue with a seven-pound scrap of bones, he trudged back up and opened the door. With her nose in the air and tail arcing high, his uninvited guest walked right on in. Bobby removed his boots, placing them in the corner behind the door for tomorrow. Despite his exasperation, his lips twitched into a reluctant smile as the cat explored the room. It wasn’t much — a rectangular open-plan area with a galley kitchen on the one end, and a couch, two armchairs, low table, and television on the other. A desk, bookshelves, and a fireplace took up most of the far wall. “Don’t get comfortable,” he grumbled, unclipping the holster. “You’re not staying.” He stored the weapon in the concealed biometric lockbox, placed his cellphone and wallet on the narrow hallway table, and hung his hat on one of the hooks above the table.
Turning right into the short hallway, Bobby shed his shirt and undershirt and entered the bathroom. A minute later he sighed in delight as cool water rained over his skin, sluicing away the daily grime. After a quick full body scrub, hair wash, and final rinse, he flicked off the water and blindly reached for a towel. And swore when something furry brushed against his ankles. He bit back a harsh rebuke when the feline started lapping the waterlingering around the drain. “Now you’re making me feel bad,” he muttered, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Come, Stripes.” Without waiting to see if the cat followed, Bobby plodded to the kitchen, filled a dessert bowl with water, and placed it on the floor. He watched in wry bemusement as the scrap of bones pounced on the liquid, spilling more than she drank. And he called himself a soft-hearted fool when he rummaged through the cupboard for a tin of tuna and scooped a quarter into a matching bowl. After a tentative sniff, the cat hunched down and started chowing. Loud purring filled the quiet. “You’re not a simple barn cat, are you?” He retrieved his cellphone, opened the chat group for the ranch, snapped a picture, and added a short message. “Anyone missing a cat?”
A few quick replies. “No.” “Will ask around.” “Nope.” And then from one of the ranch hands, “Found a feed sack with three dumped on the side of the road yesterday. One got away when I opened it. Took the other two to the shelter. Guess you found Houdini.”
“Houdini, huh? Pox on the fucker who abandoned you.” Bobby crouched low and stroked a finger over the bony head. The cat stopped eating and butted its head into his palm, purring louder. “But I still don’t want a housemate, Squirt, even though you walked a good five miles to reach the stables.”
He straightened and turned back down the hallway, this time entering his bedroom. Opening a drawer, the family photo on the top of the dresser reminded him of the conversation earlier with his younger brother, Stuart. His parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary was coming up late November, and his presence was expected on the islands. He’d go, of course. Fifty years of marriage was a major achievement, and he needed to make up for the many years he’d been missing. However (why was there always a however with family?), according to Stuart, their sisters (there were five of those!)andmother were in a matchmakingfrenzy. Stuart had recently broken up with his long-term partner, so the two brothers were the focus of the Bellerose female machinations. And Mama Bellerose wanted her long-lost son back in the island fold.
And that was not going to happen. His life was here now.
He dropped the towel and reached into the drawer for a pair of boxers. But instead of cotton, his hand brushed against something cool and silky.
His body stilled, knowing exactly what he’d touched. And before he could stop himself, he lifted the scrap of material and held it to his nose. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.
It no longer held her scent.
He gave a harsh laugh.
Of course not, you fool.
It wasyearssince the woman who’d bound the scarf around her head to protect her braids had slept in his bed.
Darla.
The one he’d walked away from.
Huffing, he snapped open his eyes.
