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Cindy's Prince
Cindy's Prince
Cindy's Prince
Ebook260 pages3 hours

Cindy's Prince

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Cindy has no room in her life for Princeton Edmund Highfield III and his snazzy Aston Martin. She's too busy raising her orphaned niece and nephew, juggling her job as a children's librarian, and keeping alive her dream of becoming an author of children's books.

Prince's friends believe he's out of his mind, chasing after a woman with a ready-made family who is absolutely not impressed with his status as society's most eligible bachelor.

But all Prince wants is to know what he must do to prove their story can have a happily ever after.

Other books by Christine Bush:
NEW COMMITMENT SERIES, in order
Promise Forever
When Love Prevails

NEW BEGINNINGS, in series order
Courageous Heart
Daring Heart
Patient Heart
LanguageEnglish
Release dateFeb 14, 2014
ISBN9781614175346
Cindy's Prince

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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
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    You will not find a cruel stepmother, fairy godmother, or any glass slippers in this updated tale of Cinderella. However, there is plenty of heart and a wonderful message for our times. This sweet, modern fable is a delight.

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Cindy's Prince - Christine Bush

better.

Chapter 1

Princeton Edmund Highfield stomped the accelerator of his beloved Aston Martin Vanquish with much more force than was his usual style. The Aston was his baby. The car surged with power and merged onto the expressway. The hazy August silhouette of Philadelphia lay like a picturesque postcard in the distance, and all around him, drivers vied for position on the busy, hectic highway. Man, he hated traffic. The cars ground to a halt.

He fumed, tapping a beat on the steering wheel. When James Bond drove his Aston Martin, he never had to deal with rush-hour traffic. He never had to deal with family pressure or stupid errands, either.

A bright red minivan sat to his right, a perky mom at the wheel. In the back seats, he could see the small heads of several rowdy kids. One, his face against the glass, made an obnoxious snarl at Prince.

He grimaced and returned his gaze to the stalled traffic, preferring to look at bumpers than the squished-face kids. He fought the urge to make an equally grotesque face back. He was an adult, after all, wasn't he?

His neck tensed as his temper ran hotter than the August sun scorched afternoon. Kids were aggravating. Traffic was aggravating. And why was he exposed to these aggravating things? Because his father, Hugh Highfield, head of the dynamic and successful Highfield Enterprises—and also perhaps one of the most aggravating men in the universe—had deemed it so.

You'll do it, and you'll do it today, young man!

His pulse hammered at the memory. Anger mingled with a large dose of shame. For the first time in his twenty-eight years, he yelled back at his father. I'm not your blasted puppet. I'll do it when I'm good and ready.

His outburst was probably long overdue. Although he sure believed in respect. His father was often a crude, controlling autocrat, and he was sick to death of being under his thumb, treated like a twelve year old errand boy. But that wasn't the man he wanted to be. So he was as angry at himself as he was at his dad. And he backed down. It's a simple task. Your brother sent this package from Iraq to the sister-in-law of a man who died in his command. She's somewhere in Philadelphia, raising her deceased sister's kids, but she keeps moving around, and no one has her current address. Benedict thinks she works at the library. Go find her. This is the least you can do after all the heroic things your brother has done...

So here he was. Prince grimaced and jammed on his brakes to avoid rear ending the car in front of him. His brother.

Benedict Highfield, his oldest, superhero sibling, was currently doing a second stint in Iraq. He was leading troops, flying commando missions and risking his life for flag and freedom. His picture was prominently perched on the center of the living room mantel in the family's Main Line mansion. The crisp beige uniform commanded respect, his piercing gaze demanded attention. Benedict was everybody's hero. He was even Prince's hero, though the truth was, he was sick and tired of being compared to his brave and focused oldest brother and coming up short.

The traffic started to move again, and Prince sighed and put the Aston Martin into gear. He looked down on the package on the seat, wrapped in plain brown paper and sealed with enough tape to hold Houdini hostage. The label read to Cindy Castle. He'd find her, and deliver her brother-in-law's effects. But he didn't have to like it!

The Philadelphia Public Library echoed as his footsteps traveled across the shiny marble floor. The air also had an intimidating and aged smell saying old books. It wasn't as if Prince hadn't ever been to a library. At prep school, and also in his days at Princeton University, he had spent many a night gathering information and studying—usually, of course, at the last possible minute—in the college library.

As a child, he had occasionally visited this main branch of the Philadelphia Public Library. But his family wasn't the type to hang out at a library or read stories. They were society people. Walking in the door made the memories flood back, the awe seeing room after book-filled room made him sigh. He noticed the hushed movements and voices, the sight of people reading, and searching the racks. He sniffed the library book smell permeating the place. He loved books.

The impressive stone building was gracious, a landmark of Philadelphia architecture and history. As a lifelong resident of the city of Philadelphia, Prince appreciated this. He had a major in American History. From the arrival of William Penn, through the birth of the Declaration of Independence, to the complex city today, he knew a lot about Philadelphia. Despite his father's rather vocal and persistent claim his youngest son was an unproductive and lazy rich kid, Prince knew he was a well-educated man, with a respect for knowledge. And that included a respect for libraries.

But not today. He didn't want to be here today. He wanted to find one Cindy Castle, complete his mission, and return to his beloved car. His car was parked illegally by a fire hydrant around the corner because he was hot and tired and could not find a nearby parking space. He refused to walk blocks in the oppressive heat to do this simple errand, which should take just a minute.

So he started across the expansive front lobby, his goal in mind. To the right of the doorway, a little girl sat on the marble tile, sobbing. To tell the truth, though he didn't know squat about kids, he assumed crying was pretty normal for a little kid. But for some strange reason, he stopped in his tracks.

A woman stood near her, face screwed up in concern, hands wringing. The mother? Probably. But not the point.

On the floor beside the little girl sat a young woman, wavy dark hair flowing down her back. The woman sat cross legged, the skirt of a flowing dress swirling around her.

He stared, feet screwed to the floor. The woman turned her head, her profile clear in the lobby light. His breath stopped. Despite the rush of air-conditioned coolness greeting him a second ago, a jolt of heat ran through him. He hadn't had a reaction to a woman like that in a good long time, if ever. He swallowed hard.

She looked into the little girl's distressed face, talking calmly and gently.

Prince could just barely hear her soft voice from where he stood, and its timbre made his mouth dry. He stood and watched, listened. Her eyes sparkled, face animated as she spoke. He had the totally bizarre thought that she was an angel by the way she comforted the little girl. The kid's tears subsided, as she gently stroked her cheek.

Finally, a hesitant smile appeared on the kid.

The angel woman stood then, and turned her head.

He squinted. He noticed what he hadn't seen before. What the devil was she wearing on her head? How the hell can a person look so sexy in Mickey Mouse ears?

So you just stay happy, Danni, she said. And remember you'll be back next week. No need to cry. She took off the ridiculous mouse ears and plopped them on the girl's head.

The little girl bounced out the door with her mother. The angel woman—minus ears—turned and walked back through the lobby, long flowered skirt swinging gently.

Puzzled by his whole response, he swallowed. He watched her go, forcing his thoughts back to his mission, attempting to ignore the fire still mysteriously raging. Strange. She was so not his type.

Prince took a deep breath, gathering some of his usual arrogance, and turned back to the white haired woman at the information desk.

Excuse me, I need to find one of your employees, he announced.

Shhh! whispered the woman, picking up the half-glasses she wore on a chain around her neck, and placing them on the bridge of her nose. This is a library, sir. We do not raise our voices here!

Yes, well, I am in a hurry. I need to locate—

Shhh! she said again, pointing to an aged sign hung on the wall. Quiet please.

Was she kidding? Yes, well, if you would just point out—

Shhh! she repeated, her whisper now more like a rasp. Have you no manners? Were you born in a barn?

No, I was born in a multimillion dollar estate on the Main Line, he wisely did not say. He had finally realized he was wasting time. I'm sorry, he whispered, and saw the old woman smile and nod her head. I'm looking for someone named Cindy Castle.

Why didn't you say so? she whispered back. You just missed her. I saw you standing there watching her. There she goes out the front door!

Funny how a simple minute lost can change a day. He turned toward the door, getting a glimpse of the young woman who had just left. Prince registered the image of long dark hair, thick and curly, tied at her neck. He saw the pale blue summer dress, long and flowing above sandaled feet.

Cindy Castle was the Mickey Mouse woman.

Prince was tempted to yell, but the door closed behind her. Besides, he was over thirty yards away, and he was in a library. One look at grouchy Madame Librarian at the desk cured that instinct. She might be armed. Prince turned and darted for the door.

He would have caught up with her, if not for the small red-headed woman who struggled to get a stroller filled with two noisy children up the three steps to the library door. Anyone could see the calamity waiting to happen. Anyone could see the woman needed help. Even Prince, who muttered under his breath and watched the slim brunette in the pale blue dress and sandals turn left at the sidewalk, and take off down the block. She could sure put on some speed in those Birkenstocks!

He sighed, and stopped at the bottom step, putting two hands out to stop the red-headed stroller lady. Wait. You can't do that alone. Let me help you. He handed her his paper-wrapped package. Here, hold that.

And with a gallant demonstration of strength and chivalry—thanks to hours spent at the gym—he hoisted the stroller up the steps, and deposited the happy children inside the library foyer, followed by their grateful mom.

How wonderful. Thank you so much! You are such a prince, she exclaimed. But he'd already darted back out the door, package back under his arm, gaze scanning down the block. He saw her, strutting in the distance. Should he run around the library and rescue his Aston Martin? If he did, he would lose her. Prince took off in a jog.

As he caught up, he saw she had no idea she was being followed. She didn't break her stride or turn around. Feeling a bit like Columbo, he decided against calling out, and continued following instead. Would she be heading home? Most probably. And where would that be?

Curiosity drove him forward. The message from his father had stated that the US government hadn't had her current address. So Prince would finish his delivery mission, jot down the address, and provide his brother with the contact information, and never have to deal with the eye catching, fast-walking, dress-flowing librarian again. Maybe.

Several blocks later she stopped, waiting at a corner sign denoting a bus stop.

He stepped up behind her, sweat trickling along his temple. The temperature was just too hot.

Within seconds, a bus pulled to the curb and the door whooshed open.

Hiya, Cindy! said the chubby bus driver, grinning at her, his dark face glistening in the late afternoon heat. Busy day at the library?

Hey, Bobby! she replied.

Her voice was soft and melodious, with a timbre that sounded like she was always ready to laugh.

Books, books, and more books. How about your day? She pulled coins from her pocket, and deposited them into the bus meter.

My day was people, people, people. You got the better end of the deal. I'll take books any old day. Here's your transfer. Bobby chuckled.

Cindy put it in her pocket, and stepped back a few feet to the middle of the bus, sitting next to a young teenager with braids.

Prince fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his money clip. How much? he said to the bus driver. He stood looking at Bobby, feeling like an idiot, fingers fidgeting with the bills in his packet. He didn't know how much to pay for a bus ride. Truth was, he had never been on a city bus. With an inward wince, he thought longingly about his Aston Martin, parked on the other side of the library, right in front of the fire hydrant.

Two bucks, sir, Bobby said, his face solemn.

His words gave no sign of reacting to Prince's question about the amount for bus fare. Prince pulled a twenty dollar bill from his money clip.

Exact change, sir, said the bus driver with a shake of his head.

It's the smallest I have, Prince said through clenched teeth. Surely you can make change?

Exact change, sir, repeated the driver. Everybody knows that. Or you'll have to give me your name and address, and the city will send you a bill.

Prince looked up to see about twenty-five sets of eyes staring his way with a range of emotions. He heard their mumblings. What a dope.

What planet is this guy from where he doesn't even know what he needs to ride a bus? Heat rose in his cheeks but he squared his shoulders.

One set of blue eyes laughed at him. The eyes, of course, belonged to the adorable brunette he was following. Nothing like keeping a low profile. James Bond, indeed.

He grimaced as the bus driver scrounged for his clipboard and pen. Several bus riders groaned out loud at the delay.

Suddenly, there was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see the teenager who had been sitting next to Cindy trying to get his attention.

Here, Mister. She waved two crumpled dollars. They're from Cindy. The girl turned to Bobby and handed him the money. She said it'd cost her more in babysitter fees if she was late getting home.

Bobby laughed and deposited the bills. Go sit down, Buddy. It's your lucky day.

Prince sat in the seat right behind the bus driver, a tell-tale flush creeping up his neck. He turned to look at Cindy, leaning out into the aisle to catch her attention. I'll pay you back, he said, waving his twenty dollar bill.

Instead of responding, she pointed to the sign on the window where he sat—Handicapped Only.

Of course. He sighed, as the bus stopped again, doors opening with a whoosh.

An aged woman with a walker climbed on.

Package under his arm, he stood and moved toward the back of the bus. The only open seat now was the one next to Cindy. He sat, trying to ignore how his heart hammered as if he had just scored a winning goal in a soccer game.

Thanks. I owe you. I feel kind of stupid, not knowing the bus drill. First time on a city bus.

She turned sideways, and met his gaze.

He got the full flash of her baby blues. If he was an ice cube, he'd be a puddle on the bus floor. What was this?

Are you from North Dakota or something? she said with a grin. Or Antarctica? How have you never ridden a bus? Or is that a most original pickup line?

He could feel his face get hot, not because he cared about the bus thing, but because his mind had been running through dialogue to prolong the contact. Pick-up line? Not on purpose, but if it worked... despite the fact she was so different, and his response definitely so unexpected. She was like a magnet, pulling him, attracting him in a way he'd never experienced when meeting a woman before. And he'd met a lot of women. A lot. He didn't want this interaction to end before he figured it out.

Philadelphia born and bred. But out on the Main Line. He saw the look of contempt flash across her face as her eyes narrowed. There was something sensitive there.

Ahh. She gave him a knowing smile. The Main Line. No need for busses for the rich and famous. So here you are, slumming in the great northeast. And riding a bus. Quite an adventure.

The voice didn't resonate the same way now, though she was still polite, still smiling. Now his stomach churned, like he had screwed up big time, and somehow it mattered. She had lost her sparkle. She had judged him a snob, and a cheapskate to boot. The churning got worse.

The two bucks, I'm good for it, I promise. Do you have change for a twenty? Or if you give me your name and address, I'll mail you a check.

The blue eyes were laughing again. Forget it. No way I'm giving you my name and address. And no, I don't have change for a twenty. Pay it forward, give it to the next person who needs it. She waved a hand in the air. Though you'd be hard pressed to find another human being who didn't know how to ride a bus. Better go back to the Main Line. It's dangerous out here! With a laugh, she stood, took a few quick steps down the aisle, and bounded off the bus as it jolted to a stop.

Startled, he jumped up and followed. Feeling like a football player facing the defensive line, he kept his package securely under his arm, weaving through the crowded bus to the doorway. Wait! he called to Bobby, as the door pulled shut.

Bobby waited, hand on the door release knob, shaking his head.

Thanks! Prince called as his foot hit the pavement, and he took off through the crowd, seeking the dark head in the light blue dress.

Good luck, buddy! chuckled Bobby as he pulled the door closed and the bus left the curb.

Prince saw her immediately, standing in a small line just a few strides away. What was she waiting for? He groaned as the truth hit. Another bus pulled to the curb, and she got on. Two passengers stood before him. Was there time to get change? Absolutely not. He wasn't going to lose her now, not when he'd come so far. Not when he'd even taken a bus to follow her! He stepped onto the bus behind her.

Here's my transfer, she said gaily to the driver.

His turn. Exact change, or a transfer ticket, the white-haired bus driver said to him when he saw the twenty dollar bill. His lips were pressed into a thin line.

It's all I have. Let me do that name and address thing.

Are you some kind of a wise guy? the bus driver said through clenched teeth.

This bus driver sure wasn't as jovial as the last. Prince shuffled his feet.

You wanna put in two dollars, or you wanna put in your fancy twenty or you wanna get off my bus, or you wanna wait for the cops? His finger pointed toward the door.

Prince swallowed, having sudden visions of the phone call to his rather pompous father for bail money over an arrest for a two dollar bus charge. He started to drop in the twenty, when a slim hand on his arm stopped him.

I've got it, said the angel in blue, who deposited two dollars, slipping the twenty from his fingers.

She was so quick she could have been a pick pocket. Let her keep the twenty. Small price to

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