Princess Wanted - The Complete Book Set: An Alpha Billionaire Prince Trilogy (5 page)

Chapter Two - Jody

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very little girl when they are growing up wants a pony of their own, and Jody Crane was different in only two respects: firstly, she would have said horse rather than pony, and secondly, she knew the difference.

It might seem odd to some that Jody should have so fervently desired a horse of her own since she had, to a large extent, grown up around them. Her Uncle was Syrus Crane, owner of one of the Crane Stables in Texas, trainer of many winners, and, most importantly, the man who controlled the bloodline of Sagebrush and Desert Flower, from whom a disproportionate number of those winners were descended. A man with such ready access to horses would surely not deny his beloved niece. But a person did not rise to the position of Syrus Crane without taking horses extremely seriously. His horses were not pets, they were working animals, and until Jody was old enough to look after one properly then she would not be getting one.

Or at least, that had been the plan. But in fact, on her twelfth birthday, long before a girl was, to Uncle Syrus’s mind, mature enough to look after a horse, Jody got a foal as a present. And not just any foal, one directly descended from Sagebrush and Desert Flower, an animal theoretically worth a tremendous sum of money and surely a future champion. But sometimes, to borrow a metaphor form another sport, Mother Nature throws a curve-ball.

“Animals are like people,” Uncle Syrus had said, “some are good, some are bad, some have something wrong with them, and others are just dorks. And no amount of genetics can change it.”

Catcher (as Jody had named him, having just finished reading Catcher in the Rye) was not a runt. There was, as far as anyone could see, nothing actually ‘wrong’ with him, but he was one of nature’s dorks, destined forever to be the recipient of whatever the horse equivalent of a wedgie is. He might, in the fullness of time, be useful breeding stock owing to his illustrious bloodline (and assuming the mares would give him the time of day), but he would never be a race winner.

Which did not make Jody love him any less. To her, he was perfect. Which pleased Uncle Syrus greatly, for he loved his horses, even the dorks, and was delighted to be able to give Catcher a happy and well-loved life, as far away from the race track as it was possible to keep him.

Jody and Catcher grew up together, and while he might never grow into a stallion to turn heads, Jody had grown up to be one of the most beautiful girls in Texas, not to mention one of the best horse-women. As soon as she was old enough she began working for her Uncle and it was assumed she would inherit the Stable on his death. She was also largely responsible for training another horse to come from the Sagebrush and Desert Flower bloodline: Silmarillion.

Unlike Catcher, Silmarillion was everything that his genetic predisposition suggested that he would be. From an early age he was beating records and had become the most closely guarded secret of the Crane Stables. He would not hit the racing circuit until they were good and ready, and when he did they would make a fortune.

Which was why Silmarillion was not racing at Belmont today. He was there because horses that only encounter the atmosphere of a race day the first time that they race, lose that race. Uncle Syrus insisted that all his young horses got plenty of time at the tracks on the big days, just to get them used to the noise and the bustle. That way they were not spooked when it was their turn to race. So it was that Jody happened to be walking Silmarillion across the paddock when, to her right, she saw a man vault the fence and fall flat on his face. She suppressed a giggle but kept staring. It was not so unusual to see people climbing the fence, but they were usually people who worked with the horses and this man was too well-attired for that. In fact he was too well-attired for almost everything.

As Jody watched, stewards rushed forwards to stop the man.

“It’s alright,” said the man as he got to his feet. “Very kind of you, but I’m fine.”

As the stewards laid hands on him, the man seemed to realize that they were not good Samaritans coming to his aid, and he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s okay, I’m Prince Christof.”

This seemed to make up the minds of the stewards: clearly not just a fence-jumper, but also a lunatic. They manhandled the protesting ‘Prince’ out of the enclosure and on in the direction of the main gate, keeping an eye out for the men in white coats who were surely out looking for him.

Jody shook her head in amusement; it took all sorts to make a world. Still, Prince was one of the few jobs for which the man had been appropriately dressed. And it was hard to imagine where someone mentally unbalanced would have got the money to buy such expensive clothes. There was also no denying that he looked the part in ways other than sartorial: he had a face that all Princes should have, a face that looked as if it had been bred for handsome with as much care as Silmarillion had been bred for speed. Jody sighed to herself: why were all the good ones married, gay or crazy enough to believe they were royalty. Of course there was always Pete, but… Well that was a train of through she could leave for another day.

About an hour later, Jody left Belmont via the owners’ entrance, still walking Silmarillion beside her, making sure he got as much time out in the hubbub as possible.

“Excuse me!”

Jody turned at the voice to see the well-dressed ‘Prince’ approaching her. At this proximity he was even more handsome than he had appeared at a distance (which Jody would not have thought possible) but, be they ever so handsome, she was not that comfortable around crazy people, and began glancing about for a steward.

“I’m sorry,” the man said as he jogged up. “Terribly sorry. Frightfully rude I’m sure, I just had to tell you how incredibly beautiful I think you are.”

It would not have been the first time that someone had said it to Jody, although most of them had been slightly drunk and in a Texas bar, but as she opened her mouth to give her standard ‘flattered but no thank you’, she realized that the well-dressed man was not actually addressing her.

The man patted Silmarillion’s neck. “You weren’t racing today were you? I’d have noticed if you were. Gosh you are beautiful. ” He now seemed to notice Jody for the first time. “You’re very pretty too. I mean to say, just… absolutely. Sorry. Funny how it’s easier to say these things to a horse isn’t it? Don’t you find? No? Just me? Right. now I’m embarrassed.”

“Are you English?” asked Jody.

“No. Educated there,” the man clarified. “I’m from a little European country you’ve probably never heard of.” He stuck out a hand. “Chris.”

Without really thinking about whether it was a good idea, Jody took the hand and shook it. “Jody. And this is Silmarillion.”

“Like the Tolkien book?”

“Yes!” Jody grinned – nobody ever knew that. “Have you read it?”

“No.” Chris shook his head firmly.

“How did you get back here?” asked Jody. Generally the track authorities were pretty good at keeping trespassers out.

“I just told them who I was,” Chris explained, he seemed to be getting more confident as he spoke. “There was a bit of a misunderstanding earlier – my fault as much as theirs; I’m used to everyone knowing who I am and behaving accordingly – and I think they wanted to make up for it once they found out I was telling the truth.”

“That you’re a Prince?”

Jody thought that she had successfully kept the ‘pull the other one’ tone out of her voice but apparently not, as Chris pulled a face.

“You don’t believe me either.”

Jody shrugged. “I’ve never met a Prince before.”

“I’ve never met a redhead before, doesn’t mean I think you’re wearing a wig.”

“You’ve never met a redhead before?”

Chris shrugged. “We don’t really get them in my country. Genetics I guess.”

“But you said you were educated in England.”

“Yes, but it was a very exclusive school.”

“And they didn’t admit redheads?!”

“I don’t know if it was an absolute rule…”

Jody shook her head; she wasn’t falling for this. “You’re making it up. Just because I wouldn’t believe this nonsense about you being royalty (still don’t by the way), you wanted to make a point and redhead was the first thing you thought of, and now you wish you’d picked something else, because it’s just too ludicrous to think that anyone might have made it to whatever age you are without having met a redheaded girl, cos let me tell you: we’re everywhere.”

Chris let to the speech wash over him. When it was over he looked Jody up and down, gave a little smile and said, “Well, there are redheads, and then there are redheads.”

Perhaps it was the depth of meaning he managed to convey in those few words, perhaps it was the way in which his eyes lingered on her, but Jody found herself blushing. The slightly awkward man, tripping over himself and eulogizing a horse had vanished behind a confidant and really rather sexy man, whose gaze could only be described as smoldering.

“I should go.” Suddenly Jody felt very much on the back foot and almost walked into Silmarillion as she turned, having forgotten the horse was there.

“Oh no, don’t go.” Chris put out a hand to stop her. “I’d love to hear more about Silmarillion.”

“Would you?”

“My father owns horses.”

“Does he?”

“Quite a few actually.”

“Indeed.”

“About three hundred.”

Jody raised an eyebrow. “Three hundred?”

“More if you count the ones used by the palace guard.”

“Of course.” Jody nodded. “And when you say your father, you of course mean… the King.”

“Yes.”

“Of this little European country.”

“You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Oh I’m sure I’ve never heard of it,” Jody agreed, “if only because you’re making it all up!” It was easier for her to be confident when he was persisting in this lie about being a Prince than it was when he was talking about her hair. For some reason that made everything go a bit fuzzy.

Chris sighed. “It’s not like you get a card. Or a badge. Something to prove you’re royal. I mean my father could just show you his face on a bank note.”

“Sure.”

There was a brief pause, this part of the conversation having reached an impasse.

“Why wasn’t he racing today?” asked Chris, indicating Silmarillion.

“We’re not ready to race him yet.”

Chris nodded. “Acclimatizing him to the track atmosphere? Good idea.”

He might not be a Prince, Jody thought to herself, but he clearly knew racing.

“But you are going to race him?” Chris continued. “You’re not selling him.”

Jody shook her head. “I’m sure his Majesty would like him very much, but no. I don’t think any amount of money in the world would induce me to part with Silmarillion.”

A flicker crossed Chris’s face. “He’s… he’s yours?”

His tone was more or less a mirror of Jody’s on a day, not so long ago, when she had said: ‘He’s… he’s mine?’, and Uncle Syrus had smiled and nodded and said, ‘You’ve earned him. Happy birthday.’. In truth Jody tried not to think of Silmarillion as belonging to her, simply because it was rather like walking around with a million dollars on the end of a bridle. She preferred to think of him as just another of her Uncle’s horses, and she treated him as such, but in truth, he was one hundred percent hers.

“Quite a birthday present,” breathed Chris, his eyes travelling over the magnificent Silmarillion.

“I daresay the King has been similarly generous to you on occasion.”

Chris shrugged. “He’s paid my debts a few times.”

“Generous man.”

“You have no idea.”

Jody smiled. Prince or not, crazy or not, handsome or not, she found Chris to be surprisingly pleasant company. There was something almost unworldly about him. It could be true could it? He couldn’t really be…?

She shook her head free of the ridiculous thought. “I have to go.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. But it was nice meeting you.” Jody began to walk away.

“Have dinner with me.”

Jody stopped and looked back at the Chris, his eyes were fixed on her with that unbreakable confidence that seemed at its most potent when this subject came up.

“I can’t.”

“I don’t mean tonight.”

“When?”

Chris grinned. “Anytime you want, anywhere you want.”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Then why did you ask when?”

Jody fumbled with responses in her mind: why
had
she asked when?

“I have a boyfriend,” she said finally, side-stepping his question.

“No you don’t.”

“What?”

Chris shook his head with confidence. “You don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Excuse me,” Jody went on the offensive, “there are some people in the world who find me quite attractive and might even consider me to be a bit of a catch, so while you may find it hard to believe I have a boyfriend…”

“I don’t find it hard to believe that you might have a boyfriend,” said Chris, holding up his hands. “You are stunningly beautiful and any man in his right mind would be delighted to be your boyfriend. Never-the-less, you don’t have one.”