The Cowboy and the Princess by Myrna Mackenzie Page A

said. “One morning a week, I deliver meals to shut-ins. Will you be all right here by yourself?”
    “Oh yes, I have tons of things to do,” Delfyne said, even though that wasn’t really true. There was no sense in making Lydia feel bad for doing the things she needed to do or to make her feel that Delfyne was dependent on her for company and guidance, even though she was.
    “You go. I have plans,” Delfyne said, whirling from the bed. Her bracelets rattled as she moved, and Lydia frowned.
    “When we make bread this afternoon, you’ll have to take those off. You’ll get them caught on the mixer and hurt yourself. They’re not real practical for a ranch.”
    “I know, but I love them. I’m a sucker for inexpensive trinkets,” she said, holding up her wrist with the silver, pink and lilac hearts dangling down. “I’ve been collecting them for a long time.” Princesses didn’t wear cheap jewelry in public. It was a total shame, in Delfyne’s eyes.
    “Go before I change my mind,” she ordered Lydia, using the tone and words Lydia often used with her and ending on a laugh that made the older woman smile.
    “Where on earth did Owen find a delightful fairy woman like you? You’re nothing at all like the women he usually hangs around with,” Lydia said, which made Delfyne’s eyebrows rise.
    “You’re right. Forget I said that. Owen’s taste is none of my concern, and I know that you’re not one of his women. Both of you have told me already, you’re the sister of an old college friend and you’re from the east. But, sweetie, much as I adore you already, you clearly have never done manual labor, so don’t try to do too much while I’m gone. And, Delfyne, don’t—”
    “Light the stove,” Delfyne said before Lydia could finish. “I won’t. That stove hates me.”
    “Stupid stove,” Lydia said with a laugh.
    When Lydia had gone, Delfyne tried to figure out something to do. What did ordinary women do with their time in situations like this? she wondered. What would Lydia do?
    Lydia would clean, of course. But then Lydia was so good at her job that there was really nothing much left in the cleaning department for Delfyne to sink her teeth into.
    “Except for the guest rooms that no one is staying in.” Delfyne said the words out loud and immediately ran to get some supplies. What did she need? What did Lydia use?
    A broom, a vacuum cleaner, some of those citrusy-smelling green cleaners Lydia seemed to favor. Maybe a bucket and some rags and a brush and…
    Within minutes Delfyne was hard at work scrubbing bathrooms and polishing mirrors, sloshing water and swinging a broom around.
    “What are you doing?” That low, deep voice caught her in midswing with her broom, and Delfyne jumped and whirled around. Dust swirled with her and she stepped in the dirt she had been trying to sweep up. She sneezed.
    Owen was leaning against the door frame, regarding her with those lazy blue eyes that seemed to see the things she kept hidden inside. He was also looking at her as if…
    She followed the path his gaze had taken and realized that her blouse was torn. It was a small tear, one she’d dismissed as insignificant when it had happened. Certainly not much of her skin was revealed. But Owen had noticed. Her body tightened with awareness and her breath hitched in an alarming way.
    “I’m—I’m sweeping,” she said.
    “I see that. But maybe I should have rephrased that question. Why are you sweeping?”
    “I’m learning.”
    “I pay Lydia to clean.”
    Delfyne frowned. “Lydia didn’t tell me to do this. She isn’t trying to get out of work.”
    “I didn’t say that she was. In fact, I would never accuse her of something like that, so…is it important for you to know how to sweep?”
    “It’s important for me to live, really live and to see how others live. To experience things I haven’t experienced.”
    “But not to damage yourself.”
    “I’m not damaged.”
    “You sneezed. Maybe