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  From New York Times bestselling author Joan Johnston comes another story in the Hawk’s Way series, where the Whitelaws of Texas run free… till passion brands their hearts.

  Faron Whitelaw had some nerve calling Belinda Prescott a princess. A nearly bankrupt ranch was hardly a castle, and Faron, an ill-tempered cowboy who’d inherited half her kingdom, was certainly no prince. The man was lucky she didn’t make him sleep in the barn!

  Faron had been furious when Belinda had to inform him about the truth of his parentage. Suddenly, he wasn’t one of the Whitelaws of Texas, and he was taking his anger out on Belinda. He wanted to believe she was nothing more than a gold digger, but all she seemed to want was him …and that was the one thing he couldn’t give her.

  Previously published as The Cowboy And The Princess.

  HAWK’S WAY: FARON

  JOAN JOHNSTON

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  HE WAS A MAN WHO LOVED WOMEN. Blond or brunette, freckled or dimpled, witty or shy, Faron Whitelaw made it his business to discover the facet of each woman that made her uniquely beautiful. Needless to say, women found Faron irresistible. Even if he hadn’t been handsome, which he was, they would have loved him for the innate thoughtfulness that always made him give as much as he took. Any woman who passed through Faron Whitelaw’s life—whether in bed or out—received a gift that would remain with her a lifetime: the knowledge that she was a very special, desirable human being.

  In fact, Faron had never known a woman he didn’t like. Until now. At the age of thirty he had finally encountered the exception to the rule. He not only didn’t like Belinda Prescott, he was prepared to hate her with a passion. Because, despite the fact he had never laid eyes on her, the woman was personally responsible for turning his life upside down.

  “Want some company?”

  Faron looked up at his eldest brother from the chair where he sat slouched with a whiskey in his hand. “Not particularly.”

  Garth snorted. “Too damn bad.” He poured himself two fingers of whiskey and took the chair opposite Faron’s in front of the stone fireplace. He put his feet up on a sturdy rawhide-covered stool that had held generations of Whitelaw boots. “I can’t believe you’re making so much out of this.”

  Faron’s gray-green eyes narrowed. His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You’re not the one who just found out he’s a bastard.”

  Garth laughed. “Hell. I’ve been called a bastard all my life.”

  “That’s how you act. It’s what I am.”

  Faron’s voice was stark as he asked, “How could Mom have done such a thing? Having an affair with some rich sonofabitch…. Did Dad know?”

  Garth’s lips flattened. “He knew.” He paused and added, “So did I.”

  Faron stared into his brother’s dark eyes, stunned by the realization that Garth had lived for years with this awful knowledge. “How long have you known that I was only half your kin?”

  Garth looked away into the fire before he answered. “Since you were born.”

  “And you treated me like a real brother?”

  “You are my brother!” Garth snapped. “Nothing’s going to change that. Dad’s name is on your birth certificate. He raised you. Nothing else matters.”

  Faron sneered. “You haven’t read any of those letters from the widow—my stepmother—asking when I’m coming to claim my inheritance from my father.”

  “Forget it,” Garth advised. “There’s plenty of Hawk’s Way for both of us. You can stay right here in Texas, and we’ll keep on raising and training quarter horses, just like we always have.”

  Faron shook his head. “I’ve got a mind to meet Belinda Prescott. The lawyer said she was the one who talked my fa—Wayne Prescott into putting me in his will. Said she insisted I get half of everything. Otherwise, I might never have known what Mom…” Faron’s voice trailed off as his throat tightened up on him.

  He had been feeling too much since he had found out that his beautiful mother had indulged in a tawdry affair with a millionaire rancher visiting Texas from Wyoming and had borne a bastard son. It was a stunning revelation to Faron that he was only related on his mother’s side to his older brothers Garth and Jesse and to his younger sister Tate. He felt bereft, wrenched from the bosom of his family. An outsider. And it was all that Prescott bitch’s fault.

  “I never figured the money would mean so much to you,” Garth said in a quiet voice.

  Faron’s gray-green eyes turned cold. “It’s a good thing I grew up knowing how distrustful you are of everybody’s motives. Otherwise I’d have to stand you up and knock you down for saying that. I’d have given anything not to know the truth. I don’t want half that old man’s fortune. I just want things to be the way they were.”

  The way they never would be again.

  Garth swallowed half his glass of whiskey. But he didn’t apologize. Faron hadn’t expected him to. He began to understand a little better what had made Garth so cynical about women, why his older brother refused to trust the species, let alone love one of them. Faron might have felt the same way himself, if he had grown up knowing his mother had betrayed his father.

  Both his parents were dead now. His mother had died giving birth to his sister, Tate, when Faron was seven. His father had broken his neck coming off an ornery bronc when Faron was fifteen. He felt ill equipped to deal with this secret that had been kept from him for so many years.

  Faron tried to remember if his father—or mother—had treated him any differently than Garth or Jesse or Tate. But it was too painful to even think about that right now. He was still too shocked. And angry. And frustrated. He felt battered and needed to escape.

  Faron played with the frayed seam at the knee of his jeans. “I just want to see the place where my fa—Where he came from,” Faron said. “I can’t explain it except to say that I feel like there’s a hole inside me now that needs filling. Maybe I’ll find something in Wyoming that’ll give me the answers I need.”

  “Give my regards to Belinda Prescott,” Garth said with a caustic smile.

  “Your greetings will have to wait,” Faron said grimly. “I’ve got a few things to say to Mrs. Prescott myself.”

  * * *

  BELINDA PRESCOTT FELT GUILTY AS SIN. She should be in mourning. Her husband of eight years had been buried a mere four months ago. She should be home wearing black and recounting the memories of her too-brief marriage. Instead she was riding the fastest horse in the stables across Wayne’s Wyoming ranch, King’s Castle, enjoying the early spring sunshine and feeling finally, at long last, free. Because for six of the past eight years, The Castle had been a prison and Wayne her jailer.

  It hadn’t started out that way, of course. She had met Wayne when she was a waitress in a short-order diner in Casper that he frequented. She had worked the graveyard shift trying to make ends meet, and he had often come in for a midnight breakfast. They had started talking, and one thing had led to another.

  Wayne had found out that she was supporting three sisters. He was more than willing to accept a beautiful and youthful bride in exchange for a substantial trust fund for each of her siblings. She and Wayne had each known exactly what they were getting into. Twenty-year-old Belinda had willingly said her wedding vows with a man old enough to be her father. It was a small enough sacrifice to make so her sisters could have better lives.

  She had been too young and desperate at the time to realize the ramifications of selling herself—body and soul—for money. In the years sin
ce, she had regretted her devil’s bargain, but never so much as now, when she was finally free of Wayne and ready to go on with her life. Belinda had given up something besides her youth to marry Wayne—she had lost her innocence. She was no longer credulous, gullible or naive. She would never trust another man. The lessons Wayne had taught were hard, and he had been brutally thorough.

  She spurred the mare beneath her into a lope and lifted her face to the sun. She didn’t want to remember. But she couldn’t forget.

  Wayne had been such a gentle husband. At first. Then his heart had started causing him trouble. He had needed to take medication to keep him alive, and the medication had made him impotent. He had felt less a man and had sought other ways to relieve his frustration. He had begun to gamble. Then he drank to forget his huge gambling losses.

  Slowly but surely he had become less gentle and more unreasonable in his demands. His fortune had dwindled until all that was left was The Castle, the land and a few prime head of breeding stock. And a twenty-eight-year-old wife who had learned that sometimes the price of security comes too high.

  Belinda pulled the mare to an abrupt stop and wiped tears from eyes that were too blurred to see the grassy prairie around her. Her chest felt leaden—not because of sorrow, but because she felt none. God help her, she had felt only relief when the heart attack killed Wayne. It was difficult for her to look Wayne’s mother, Madelyn, in the eye. Because Madelyn truly grieved, and Belinda could not.

  At least she had been able to do one good thing. She had convinced Wayne to leave half of everything to his son. If it hadn’t been for Wayne’s mother, Belinda would have urged Wayne to leave his entire ranching empire to Faron Whitelaw. But Belinda had no money of her own. She hadn’t had any trust fund put in her own name when she had married Wayne. He had gambled nearly everything else away. She had to have some way to take care of Madelyn, who had become as precious to her as her own mother.

  Over the years, as Wayne had become more cruel, Madelyn had often stepped in to act as a buffer between her son and his wife. Madelyn had been appalled when she caught Wayne slapping Belinda. She had threatened to call the police if her son ever threatened Belinda with violence again. The two women had never spoken about Wayne, but they had shared other confidences, other hopes and dreams. Which was why Belinda had been determined to light a fire under her stepson that would goad him into moving north as soon as possible.

  Belinda wondered what Faron Whitelaw would do when he learned the other conditions of Wayne’s will. Her brow furrowed in concern. She had to hope that he would want his half of King’s Castle enough to do what had to be done. She was counting on it. She was willing to do her part. She only hoped he would be willing to hang around long enough after he showed up to do his.

  Otherwise they were both going to lose everything.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FARON SPOKE SOFTLY AS HE UNLOADED the quarter horse gelding from the trailer. He had pulled his pickup well off the highway near a pasture gate. “I know it’s been a long trip, Sonny. We’re both tired of traveling. Just take it easy, boy. According to that old man at the gas station in Casper we’re standing on Wayne Prescott’s land. Just be patient a few more minutes until I get you saddled up, and we’ll take ourselves a look-see.”

  The horse nickered as though he understood Faron and stood patiently while Faron brushed him down and saddled him up. It had been a long drive from northwest Texas to northeastern Wyoming. As Faron stepped into the saddle he thought of what the white-haired gent at the gas station had told him about his father’s land.

  “Mr. Prescott had him a kingdom, all right. Called his spread King’s Castle. Miles and miles of the prettiest grassland you ever did see,” the old man had said. “That big old house is set off in the middle of nowhere. Near three stories high, made of gray stone, with them little pointy things on the roof like some storybook castle. Even called it The Castle, Mr. Prescott did.”

  Now, as Faron surveyed his father’s domain, he was humbled by its vastness, awed by its richness. On this warm, surprisingly summerlike day in May, blue grama grass and wheatgrass flowed in waves over the rolling hills as far as the eye could see. This was cattle country, but there was a wealth of riches under the ground, as well. Oil. Natural gas. And coal.

  Faron gave the horse his head and let him run. He felt the power of the animal beneath him, taking him farther into an untamed wilderness. He urged the animal on, as though by running faster he could escape the oppressive feelings that had haunted him since he had learned the truth about his birth.

  It had taken him a week to put his things together after he had told Garth he was leaving. He had received yet another letter from Belinda Prescott asking him whether he was coming. She had sounded desperate. It made him wonder why she was so anxious for him to visit King’s Castle. He had unbent enough to tell her he was coming, but he hadn’t given her a definite date. His wire had simply said, “I’ll be there when I get there.”

  Faron rode some distance from the highway, until there was nothing to remind him of the civilized world he had left behind. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he spied a blond woman riding a palomino in the distance. Horse and rider presented a stunning picture. Her waist-length hair, flying like a gonfalon behind her, was the same magnificent gold as the horse’s mane and tail.

  He shouted to attract her attention. When she turned her head to stare at him, Faron drew breath with an audible gasp. She was incredibly beautiful. Ethereal. Like some fairy princess. He wondered for a moment if he had conjured her in his imagination.

  But the shock on her face was real. And the sound of the palomino’s thundering hooves as she galloped her horse away was real.

  Intrigued, Faron pursued his elusive golden princess. He dug his heels in and urged his mount to a run. The quarter horse was bred for speed over short distances, and Faron quickly overtook the woman. He grabbed the palomino’s bridle and hauled her horse to a stop.

  The woman stared at him wide-eyed, wary.

  Faron smiled. It was a smile that said, “You can trust me. I won’t hurt you. I find you absolutely lovely.”

  But his elusive princess—who else but a princess would he find on King’s Castle land?—wasn’t the least bit impressed.

  “Let me go,” she said in a breathless voice. “Please.”

  He let go of the bridle but said, “Don’t go. Stay and talk with me.”

  She took her lower lip between her teeth. He could see her distress, the struggle to decide. “We’re strangers,” she said at last. “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “If we talk, we won’t be strangers for long,” he promised. “Please.”

  “I have to go home.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “All right, then. No names. I’ll call you Princess. You can call me…Cowboy.”

  He thought he saw the hint of a smile curl her lip, but she flattened it out damn quick. Faron stepped down from his horse and walked around its head to stand at her side. He tipped his Stetson back and smiled up at her. “I’ll help you down.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to object. Before she could say anything Faron had got hold of her tiny waist. He could feel the tension in her as he lifted her off the horse. She met his gaze for an instant with frightened eyes before she lowered her lashes, and he realized that she expected him to take advantage of the situation. Maybe he should have dragged her down the length of him. He sure as hell had wanted to bad enough.

  She clearly had a body made for loving. She was nearly as tall as he was. Her head came all the way to his chin, which was surprising because he was well over six feet. She was wearing a long-sleeved man’s shirt tucked into fitted Levi’s, but both shirt and jeans showed off a figure that was fully feminine. Her boots were well used but expensive, ostrich if he wasn’t mistaken.

  He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping when she glanced up at him again. She ha
d eyes a rare violet color. Her complexion would have earned the envy of a pale pink rose. As he stared at her, stricken by emotions he couldn’t name, he saw her cheeks darken to a redder rose.

  “I should go home,” she said. But she sounded less sure about leaving. She was worrying that full lower lip again with pearly white teeth.

  Faron slipped her hand through his crooked arm, took the reins of both horses and started walking toward a meadow of spring wildflowers. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it, Princess?”

  He could feel the tension in her, and he kept talking in an attempt to show her he wasn’t a threat to her. At least not yet.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he urged.

  She eyed him from beneath lowered lashes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  For the first time, her lips curved in a genuine smile. Sweet and kind of sad. “Three sisters.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “All younger. You?”

  Faron opened his mouth to say two brothers and a sister, then realized he would have to qualify that—half brothers and a half sister. He frowned. Damned if he would. “I’ve got two older brothers and a younger sister.”

  He felt her relax almost immediately. Amazing how having a family made him seem less dangerous. Little did she know. His family was about the most unruly bunch he knew. “What are you doing way out here?” he asked.

  She looked off into the distance. “Running from my problems.”

  He was tempted to make a flippant retort, but her honesty spurred him to equal sincerity. “Me, too.”

  She looked up at him again from beneath those dark lashes, to see if he was telling the truth. He realized she hadn’t once looked at him directly and figured she must be used to hiding her feelings. But from whom? And why?