The Dark Prince's Prize

Chapter 19-2

Samara eyed the clock. It was already eight-thirty. The past two hours had flown by so fast that she wasn’t sure if it was the wine making her head spin or the speed with which the evening progressed. She feigned a yawn.

“I guess it is getting late. Let me help clean up,” Bear offered, seeing her cover her mouth.

She shook her head. “I’ve got this. Thankfully there’s a small dishwasher and most of the dishes and food have already been put up. All that’s left is the dessert plates,” she said, rising to her feet.

“You should have left the dishes for us to clean,” Adalard said.

She laughed. “If the kitchen was bigger, I would have taken you up on it. It was easier to wash everything as I went so I had more room. I’m used to it.”

“Dinner was fantastic. I haven’t had homemade spaghetti sauce—ever! Mom always bought the stuff in the jar,” Bear replied.

“My mom loved to cook. She would make her own sauce and can it. We had jars of it in the pantry growing up,” Samara reminisced.

“Well, if you ever have any extra, you could always send some my way. The guys in the bunkhouse would love it,” Bear stated with a cute, hopeful gleam in his eye. “That reminds me, tomorrow we are gathering the last of the yearlings to move south. Mason decided that with the early snows, it might be wise to move the schedule ahead a couple of weeks this year.”

“I’ll be there,” she promised, taking the last of the dishes from the men.

“I’m heading out. Do you want me to drop you by the main house?” Bear asked, looking at Adalard.

“That would be great!” she interjected before Adalard could respond.

She bit her bottom lip when Adalard gave her a surprised glare. Guilt tugged at her, and she turned her back to him and finished loading the dishwasher.

“Yes, I would appreciate a lift,” he answered.

She straightened and looked at him with a combination of surprise and relief. Wiping her hands along the sides of her jeans, she cast a covert glance at the clock again. She would be cutting it close. Hopefully whoever the guy from Vegas was, he would either show up late, or better yet, not at all.

“I’m really tired tonight. I had an early morning, grocery shopping, and dinner—especially dinner and the lovely wine. Wine always makes me sleepy. I need a good night’s sleep so I can be up early and fresh tomorrow to help,” she babbled before internally wincing.

She was a horrible liar. Forcing an apologetic smile on her lips, she waved for both men to head for the door. It might be better to just usher them out and keep her mouth shut before she had a meltdown and confessed the stupid stunt she was about to pull. She could already sense the pressure of Adalard trying to penetrate the wall she was struggling to keep between them.

“Thank you both for coming tonight,” she cheerfully said.

Bear pulled on his coat and awkwardly bent to kiss her. She turned her cheek to him at the last second. Her eyes connected with Adalard’s. He was studying her with an intense expression.

“Goodnight, Bear. I hope your grandma gets better,” she said.

“Yeah, so do I,” Bear replied, pulling on his hat. “I’m going to go warm up the truck. I’ll meet you downstairs,” he added with a touch to his hat.

Samara remained silent as Bear pulled open the door and departed down the stairs. She returned her attention to Adalard and waited as he pulled on his long jacket. She didn’t give him time to say goodbye. Instead, she rose on her toes and captured his lips.

“You’re not going to tell me what you are up to, are you?” he asked when she pulled away.

She gave him a shaky smile and shook her head. “Good night,” she murmured.

She stepped back and held onto the door. She swallowed when she saw the flare of emotion in his eyes. It was impossible to ignore that he wasn’t happy about leaving. She didn’t like it either, but she needed to handle this alone. It would be far too dangerous to pull Adalard into the mess that her brothers had created.

He stepped onto the landing, turned and faced her. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“You bet your a*s you will,” she promised.

She slowly closed the door after he started down the steps. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply to calm her nerves. Once she felt in control again, she hurried to her bedroom where she had hidden her cashbox. She retrieved the box, her coat, hat, gloves, and truck keys before pulling open the door and stepping out.

“Just get this over with, Samara, and never, ever look back again,” she muttered to herself as she pulled the door closed behind her.

* * * *

The two men in the truck silently watched as Samara pulled away from her loft apartment and headed toward the main driveway. Bear turned on the truck lights and grinned at Adalard who was sitting beside him in stony silence.

“Samara never could lie,” he shared.

“This has something to do with her brothers,” Adalard grimly responded.

Bear slowly pulled out, keeping enough distance between his truck and Samara’s so that she wouldn’t get suspicious. He tightened his fingers around the steering column and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. There was talk today about something going down tonight at the Cattleman’s. That was the reason I made up the story about my grandmother,” Bear confessed.

Adalard shot him a surprised look. “Your grandmother is not ill?”

Bear chuckled and shook his head. “Hell no! She’s on a cruise in the Caribbean at the moment with some of her lady friends,” he answered.