Chapter 11

11

Thala

I had never met such an insufferable human being in my life. Or maybe because I wasn't here in my capacity of royal princess where people had to hide their genuine feelings. According to Hank, he spent his childhood being raised by this uncle. In opposition, Hank was such an easygoing guy and I couldn't see him being raised by this man.

"Good, you're here," Jim told Hank when we arrived, then gave me a once-over without saying anything before he turned around and headed into the kitchen. "Pot roast is resting. Why don't you grab a drink, son, and ask your lady friend what she wants."

"The name is Tessa," I informed his back. "So you can stop calling me Hank's lady friend." We agreed Tessa Coleman was my incognito name. I was a medieval history professor. Hank made me study a whole cover for my stay. I found that exciting, and I intended to practice it on his uncle just to annoy the hell out of him.

"Whatever," he muttered.

I glanced over at Hank, who bowed his head and pinched between his brows.

"Sorry. Let me handle this," he muttered and made to follow his uncle.

"Hank." I stopped his forward progress. "It's fine." I grinned, and the look on his face nearly made me laugh.

"Please don't piss him off," he groaned.

"Me?" I asked innocently. "He doesn't have a heart problem, does he?"

I spoke that loudly enough that Jim hollered, "Healthy as an ox."

"Jesus." Hank looked like he wanted to turn around and leave, quite possibly without me. "Am I going to regret this?"

"Maybe," I returned sweetly. In all honesty, I hadn't anticipated this much fun since Petros returned from his first year at the university and snuck me out of the castle after colluding with our bodyguards. It was my fourteenth birthday and the following week was the start of my stringent physical training. He told me he had a blast at Oxford where he wasn't regarded as any different from the other students. He thought I deserved some freedom before my life became all about duty and service to Venusstea.

We made a road trip to Romania, pretending to be commoners.

I cherished that day.

When we returned, our mother, the queen, punished us. She fired our bodyguards and forbade Petros to come home during breaks for a full year. As expected, I started physical training the next week. I woke up at five a.m. and my body hit the bed at eight p.m. exhausted.

There was no room for pretending after that. Not for Amadea, Petros, and me.

We were the House of Targen.

Amadea was queen.

I was going to head the royal guard and be the spare heir.

Petros was going to lead parliament.

"Have you talked to Christian?" Jim asked over his shoulder.

"No," Hank replied. "I stopped by the winery and he wasn't there." He looked at me. "Christian's my cousin."

"He's a sly one," Jim commented.

"He's business-minded," Hank countered and walked to the fridge. "Soda or beer?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Soda. What are the choices?"

"What do you think my house is?" Jim cut in. "A restaurant? I only drink Coke, so that's what you're getting."

Obviously, he wanted to talk to Hank about a family problem, so why did he include me in his invitation? I reined in my scathing reply due to basic etiquette, but I had to remember I was playing the part of Tessa Coleman—medieval history professor from New York City.

Before I could frame my response, Hank said, "That's enough. You're rude and Th—Tessa asked a perfectly valid question." He left his place by the fridge and added, "We'll do this some other time."

Hank had his back to his uncle, so he didn't see his face fall, but I did. And I felt like a monumental bitch. Jim had been looking forward to his nephew's visit and I was the interloper.

"No, that's okay, I'll have a Coke." I walked past Hank into the kitchen, so I was facing Jim. I wasn't disguising my brittle smile, and my expression told him to play along. If Jim still shot me down, then this night was beyond saving. I bowed to no one except my sister, but Hank had done so much for me; I was doing this for him. "Besides, it would be a travesty not to partake in this pot roast."

Jim shot me his own tight smile. "Yeah, I made plenty. It'll go to waste."

I grabbed a potholder and lifted the lid. "And it smells heavenly."

"Thanks," Jim replied grudgingly.

I chanced a glance at Hank. He was eyeing us with amusement, letting us know he didn't buy our sudden camaraderie because it sounded as fake as a pair of bad actors in a soap opera. Then his gaze focused on me. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

Jim's relief was palpable. And as if knowing he was on thin ice, at least for the night, he clapped his hands together and said, "I have a good bottle of wine ready for us."

"I can do wine," I told Jim, then glanced at Hank.

"I need a beer first," he said with a charming, crooked smile.

I tried not to blush. Hank's moods turned on a dime. I wondered if that was in his nature because of his work doing secret-agent stuff—to adapt—or maybe it was a product of his upbringing, spending his adolescent years with Jim. Or maybe a blend of both?

Where were Hank's parents? What happened to them, and why did he grow up with his uncle? It put me on guard immediately about what to ask. There seemed to be a minefield of drama in Hank's family history.

When Jim returned, he was uncorking a hefty bottle.

"Jim." Hank whistled. "Do you really want to open that bottle?"

"I haven't seen you in ten years, boy. Don't tell me what I can or can't open." He nodded to the Dutch oven on the stove. "Why don't you put that on the table? Set it on that iron trivet."

"Jim used to be the winemaker at a Calistoga winery," Hank informed me. We went through an arch into a dining room. A heavy dark wood table that could seat ten stood in the middle.

Unlike Hank's cabin, Jim's place wasn't an open space. It was fancier, but the A-line roof seemed to be a common architecture point shared between the cabins. A hallway led to other rooms. It was dark when we arrived, but come to think of it, the property seemed bigger too. Especially if he had a mule.

"Where's Edgar?" I asked.

"He can't come inside the house," Jim quipped. He filled the glasses with wine. Three place settings awaited us at the table, so I confirmed Jim definitely included me in his invitation.

"Bullshit." Hank tipped back his beer. "You sent me a picture of him inside the kitchen."

"He's stubborn."

"Sounds like someone I know," Hank shot back.

Jim coughed a laugh. "I earned my stubbornness."

Curiosity got me asking, "So, you don't work for the Buchanan Winery? That's the family-owned one, right? And if I'm overstepping—"

"Bah," Jim scoffed. "It's a common enough story in the valley. You'd hear it somewhere, so might as well get it from the horse's mouth."

Or mule.

"It all boils down to creative differences."

"But whose wine sells better?"

"Sit down and take a sip and tell me what you think."

"I'm not a wine connoisseur."

"You don't have to be. Just tell me what comes to mind first."

I relaxed into my seat and brought the goblet tentatively to my mouth, taking a measured sip. "Wow. That's…heavy…but I like it. Reminds me of black cherry, oak, and chocolate."

Jim grinned as if he approved of my description. "In answer to your question, Buchanan sells more, but mine gets more awards. They sell more because they're cheap. "

Hank cleared his throat. "That's kind of harsh."

"I'm speaking the truth," Jim countered. "Just like what the rest of your relatives want to do with this mountain. Make this a cheap tourist resort and destroy its beauty."

I wanted to point out that they were his relatives, too. "So, creative difference?"

"It's more than a creative difference, missy." He stared at the pot roast. "Well, what are we waiting for? Dig in."

I served myself first, then when I handed the spoon to Jim, he gestured toward Hank, who said, "I'm still enjoying my beer. Go ahead."

Jim wasn't the type to go into endless circles of courtesy, which gave me relief because I found that etiquette rule grating.

After Jim ladled chunks of meat and potato on his plate, he said, "So what do you do? How did you meet Hank?"

"I'm a visiting professor at Brown University for this semester. As to how we met…?" I glanced at Hank. "At an art gallery gala."

Jim frowned at his nephew. "What were you doing there?"

"Working security for a popular actress," Hank muttered. "Do not recommend."

"There was a gallery of ancient mythology and he was standing there looking bored and broody."

"Broody? I'm never broody."

"Debatable." I took a sip of my wine. "So, Hank invited me to the West Coast since I'm heading back to Oxford in the New Year."

"The UK is your home base?"

"Yes."

"You sound European but not British."

"Why don't you take a guess?"

"Eastern European. You have a hint of a Russian accent."

Okay, that was getting a bit too close. I had to remember I wasn't a career spy who could do accents. "Romania."

Jim gave a satisfied slap on his leg. "I'm good with accents."

"So I see."

He glanced at his nephew. "He's never brought a girl home before."

"I also have been away for ten years," Hank reminded him.

Jim's gaze dropped to his plate, and he started digging into the pot roast. I sipped wine while giving Hank a look. He gave a shake of his head, drained his beer, and started eating as well. The clink of silverware punctuated the silence.

"So the two guys who came today…" I started.

"Still none of your—" Jim started.

Hank cleared his throat in warning.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with them," the old man finished. "Just enjoy the nice weather we're having in September. Plus, it's harvest time."

"She's already involved, Jim," Hank said. "She threw a knife at one of them because they threatened you, but what did you do?"

Jim rolled his lips. "I suppose…I owe you an apology."

"Oh, this invitation to dinner isn't it?"

"I wasn't looking at it that way, but I suppose," he grumbled. "I didn't like you stepping in. I just don't like strangers butting into our business." He turned to Hank. "You need to convince them we're not selling."

The two men stared at each other for a beat and whatever silent conversation passed between them made Jim push back from the table in disgust. "I don't believe it. You're siding with them." He picked up his half-eaten plate and went to the kitchen.

"Shit," Hank mumbled. "Sorry."

He stood and went after his uncle. I heard a crash in the kitchen, which sounded like Jim throwing his plate in the sink, followed by raised voices that quickly lowered into harsh whispers.

"Well, that took a quick turn." I decided to simply enjoy the wine.

Hank

Uncle Jim had grown more difficult as he got older, but I owed him a lot. When my parents died, I got passed from one Buchanan kin to the other because no one wanted to take care of the spawn of the Irish grifter who'd tainted their precious bloodline. The Buchanans could trace their heritage back to the Mayflower and the people who started the American railway mania in the 1800s.

We'd since diminished in wealth as industries became global, and the market crash of the 1980s took a chunk out of our net worth. Still, the Buchanan name was recognizable in the Pacific Northwest. "I know you want to get rid of your last legacy," Jim said. "But I'd buy it from you if you want."

"You already put me in your will for this one."

"I don't want to give it to any of them."

"Isn't it time for this feud to end?" I didn't even know what the feud was exactly about. Just that Jim refused to conform to their social standards and their short cuts in business—the winery for example.

He barked a derisive laugh. "Look who's talking."

"My case is different," I said. "They never wanted me."

"And you want to side with them?"

I dragged a hand down my face. "I'm not siding with them. I just want to get rid of Mom's place."

"She loved you," Jim said.

"So you say." My mother cheated on my dad and broke his heart. They had a tumultuous but short marriage. After Dad discovered her indiscretion, he became a drunk. He never raised a hand against me or Mom, probably because he thought he never deserved us. But he checked out from their marriage, our family, until one day he wrecked his car with a blood alcohol level of two and died. Mom lived with that guilt for another two years until a sleeping pill overdose killed her. The family painted it as an accidental overdose.

Bullshit.

Such was the way pretty Cecilia Buchanan died and the entire family, except Jim, blamed my dad for it even when he died first. They had wanted Mom to marry a powerful politician.

I was nine years old when I became an orphan and neither of my grandparents or any of my mother's eight brothers and sisters wanted me around. Not even after they had my last name changed to Buchanan. I guessed changing my name didn't alter the fact that I had my father's blood running through me. Only Jim stepped up and took me in. Although he had always been known as the black sheep, I never knew the entire story about why he never got along with my grandparents or the rest of his siblings, except Mom.

"Listen, past is past," I said. "Don't you want to start over somewhere and not have so much land? Tell you what, I'll find you a nice retirement home—"

"Fuck you."

I grinned. "Just kidding. But seriously, Jim, you're seventy-two. You've got a stubborn mule for company, and I'm worried there's no one here to help you if you have a medical emergency, or any emergency for that matter."

"I'd rather be buried here than leave. Take your lady friend to the honky tonk at Santa Rosa," Jim said.

"Don't change the subject, and her name is Tessa."

"She seems uptight. Maybe that'll loosen her up."

I sighed. He was determined to change the subject by attacking me with his Thala commentary. "She's not uptight. You've been an ass to her."

"She's got some balls on her, though. You think you can handle her?"

Oh, I did want to handle her. My thoughts flashed back to the time she emerged from the bathroom, to her sleek, wet body that made me fight against my hardening cock. Shit. What the hell? It also reminded me it had been months since I had gotten laid. "We're enjoying what time we have."

"You've never had a serious relationship, have you?"

"Come on. Get another plate," I muttered. The one my uncle threw into his farmhouse sink had broken into pieces. Speaking of broken pieces, I didn't want to discuss my lack of relationships with my uncle. It had been a repetitive, if not annoying, subject. And he was one to talk. He wasn't a relationship guy either, and it was probably why we got along. Except women liked me and they steered clear of his grouchiness. "We've left Tessa long enough. I'll look at the offer and talk to Christian."

As I yanked him back into the dining room, he mumbled, "I should kick your ass for letting that bastard talk you into considering that offer."

"Everyone knew how I felt about Mom's cabin."

"You can't run away forever, son."

"I'm not running. It's who I am. Now, can we get back to dinner?" When we reached the table, Thala's plate was clean, and she was sipping on wine. She raised a brow at me.

"Sorry about that." I nudged my uncle to say something.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be an ass."

"No problem. You obviously had a private matter to discuss with Hank." She sat back in her chair. "I enjoyed the pot roast. I could leave—"

"No!" both my uncle and I said at the same time.

"It's a beautiful night to walk."

"No," I repeated more firmly. "Jim and I are done."

Her eyes shifted to my uncle.

"Hank and I have nothing else to discuss until he's talked to Christian."

"My cousin thinks I can convince Jim to sell. I admit it was wishful thinking on my part."

"What made you think you can convince me to sell in the first place?" Jim ladled food on his clean plate for a second time.

"It's been ten years. I would think you'd be ready for a change," I said.

"You kept in contact over the years?" Thala asked.

"An email here and there," I mumbled over a mouthful of pot roast. Damn. This was as good as I remembered. I'd inherited my obsession for food from Jim. He had a taste for fine wine paired with great food. After I joined the Navy and applied for the SEALs, I kept in touch with him sporadically. Then, after I'd joined Garrison's team and operated more in the Los Angeles area, I had more time to reconnect with the person who'd been like a parent to me. Although, I didn't tell him I was in LA. He would have insisted I visit him. I probably should have.

"And calls on birthdays and holidays," Jim said. "I talked him into renovating the cabin. Vacation rentals are all the rage these days."

"The company who wants to buy the cabins wants all or nothing?" Thala asked.

"I haven't read the proposal," I said.

"Not really, but they want my property the most," Jim said. "It's the biggest, with the best view."

"Wouldn't you consider selling it for the right price?" Thala pressed.

My uncle scowled at the princess. It was the wrong thing to say, but again, it was a valid question if not insensitive. But the princess was born from a stoic culture.

"No!" Jim sputtered. I gripped my fork and worried that he would stomp off with his plate again and throw it in the sink. But he stabbed a chunk of meat and shoveled it into his mouth instead and chewed furiously. He washed that down with wine and continued, "That's the whole point of why I wanted to talk to Hank. Are you dense or something?"

Fuck. Dinner was a bad idea.

"No," Thala said calmly. "But it's obvious that Hank wants to sell."

"He does, but it's for the wrong reasons and it's not something you'd understand because I doubt Hank told you about his mother."

"Jim," I cut in sharply. "Back off."

"She started it."

"And you're being rude again."

"She's not being rude butting into our business like that?"

Christ, I thought I was going to be the one ending up with a heart attack. What the hell was I thinking that Thala and my uncle would mix?

"If I did, then I apologize," Thala replied. "I will not mention it again."

"Thank you," Jim responded, as if he gave the last word.

There was a thoughtful look on Thala's face and the way she was circling her finger on the rim of the wineglass made me think there was something else she wanted to say, but I welcomed the peace for now.

After that almost blowup, dinner proceeded without a hitch. Thala didn't mention anything about the property sale again and neither did Jim.

Then the princess and I behaved like a couple and asked Jim for recommendations in the valley, like which wineries and restaurants to visit, especially with grape harvest in full swing. He mentioned the honky tonk in Santa Rosa again, thankfully leaving out the commentary about Thala needing to loosen up.

As he walked us to the door, he mentioned a good burger joint. "And there's the Valley Fall Festival," he added. "That's this Saturday."

I didn't realize how tense I was until we got into the SUV. "Thanks for putting up with Jim."

"I could have been more sympathetic."

"Seriously?" I chuckled and gunned the engine. "No. Don't. Sympathy is the last thing that works with my uncle. Call him out on his shit. You handled him just fine."

"Thanks," she said. But like earlier when I thought she had something more to say, the silence was heavy with her unspoken thoughts.

I backed away from the house, my headlights flashing over Edgar standing in one corner staring at us.

"Does he just roam the area?" Thala asked.

"According to my uncle, pretty much."

Our Expedition returned to the road headed back to my cabin. "We should hit that burger joint tomorrow. We didn't get to do that on our road trip."

"We had a burger."

"Which you didn't eat, so that doesn't count. Now that you have your disguise, we could go into a restaurant and you're going to enjoy it the way it should be eaten. Sizzling and right off the grill."

"Hmm," she hummed, not in agreement, but in a noncommittal way. When Thala and I embarked on our Northern California trip, food was one highlight I wanted her to experience. But she didn't seem into food like I was, leaving me in a strangely deflated mood.

The two minutes it took to get back to the cabin felt like ten minutes, and there still was a feeling she wanted to tell me something. "Okay. What's wrong? Something's up with you."

"It's not my place to say."

"But you're itching to say it, anyway."

"I think it's unfair for your uncle to expect you not to sell." She said those words in a rush.

A spark of anger ignited inside me and I felt defensive of Jim. "You're right. It's not your place to say."

"See, I knew that would make you mad."

"I'm not mad."

"Yes, you are," she said. "You don't understand how it's so nice to have the freedom to do as you please. There's no law shackling you to your cabin, and it's something you can sell."

"You're saying my uncle is shackling me to this place?" I gritted.

"Isn't that true? You don't want this place."

I waited until the vehicle reached the cabin before I said anything. But it wasn't enough time for me to squash my surging temper. I cut off the engine and faced her. "You don't know me. You don't understand my relationship with Jim. So what the fuck do you know about being unfair?"

As soon as the expletive left my mouth, I regretted it. Thala froze and her face closed off.

"Like I said. It's not my place to say."

She shoved out of the vehicle and took quick steps up the porch to the cabin. I followed more slowly, feeling a little testy, and made her wait for me to open the door.

Which I didn't immediately do so either. We stared at each other in the darkness.

"What are you waiting for?" she snapped.

"You're pissed at me."

"Shouldn't I be? I've been trying to keep my opinions to myself. But you had to push, and when I told you, you snapped my head off."

"It's a sensitive topic," I said. I slotted the key in and opened the door. Thala hurried through before I even flicked on the lights. Then she spun around, invaded my space, and poked my chest. "You don't know how lucky you are that you're not tied to a legacy of duties and responsibilities where you have no escape. Ones you've been consigned to since birth."

Shit. In a way, I'd been an insensitive jerk when it finally sunk into me that despite Thala's exalted status as princess, that status came at a price.

"Princess…" I sighed heavily. Her face was so close, her eyes so luminous, they were like magnets drawing me in, and I was helpless to do anything except lean closer, my mouth a hairbreadth away from hers.

I wanted to kiss her.

To stop being an ass and hug her.

But before I could act on that overwhelming impulse, she took a step back. She held my gaze for a second, two seconds, and then spun on her heel and stalked to the bathroom.

The slam of the door marked the end of our moment.

It was probably for the best, but a shard of loss lodged itself uncomfortably inside me.