HIS name was Lucas Reyes.At least, that was the name he preferred.He was also His Highness Prince Lucas Carlos Alessandro Reyes Sanchez of Andalusia and Castile, heir to a throne that had ceased to exist centuries ago, which made him the great-great-great-Dios, too many "greats" to count-grandson of a king who had been among the conquistadores who tamed a distant land.That land was America and as far as Lucas could tell, once you reached Texas you knew that those conquistadores only thought they had tamed the land.Or so it seemed on this hot summer afternoon.Lucas was driving his rented car along an unpaved excuse for a road beneath the glare of a merciless sun. Rain clouds hung on the distant horizon; at first, he'd foolishly thought they would bring some relief but the clouds seemed painted on an endless blue sky.Nothing moved, except for the car, and the engine seemed to require more effort to manage even that.Lucas tightened his hands on the steering wheel and mouthed a short, succinct oath.He was on his way to a place called El Rancho Grande.His grandfather had been in communication with its owner, Aloysius McDonough, who had assured them, via e-mail, this road would lead straight to it.And pigs can fly, Lucas thought dourly. The road was taking him nowhere except further into sagebrush and tumbleweed, and the only thing he'd seen thus far that was close to grande was an enormous rattlesnake.The sight of the snake had sent Lucas's mistress into near-hysteria."A python," she'd screeched. "Oh God, Lucas, a python!" He thought of pointing out that pythons didn't live in NorthAmerica, then decided against it. Delia wouldn't give a damn if the creature curled by the side of the road was an alligator. It would be just one more thing to gripe about.She'd spent most of the first hour telling him the landscape was dull and the rental car was horrible.At least they could agree on that. One glance at a map and Lucas had told his PA to arrange for a truck or an SUV but the girl behind the rental counter insisted his PA had booked what looked to Lucas like an anchovy tin on wheels. He'd protested but it got him nowhere.The car was all they had available. "But we might have something else tomorrow," the girl had said brightly.And spend more time on this fool's errand? Lucas snorted. That wasn't an option. So he'd signed for the anchovy tin, then listened to Delia whine when he said there was no room for her overnight suitcase, hanging garment bag, bulky makeup and jewelry cases in the mini-scule trunk."We're not going to be more than a few hours at the most," he'd said impatiently.Still, she'd protested and he'd finally told her she had two choices. She could leave everything on his plane or she could shut up and get into the car with whatever fit.She'd gotten into the car, but she had not shut up. She'd complained and complained about the stuff she'd had to leave behind, about the vehicle, about the road, and now she'd taken up a new refrain."When will we get there?"He'd gone from saying Soon to In a little while to We will get there when we get there, the words delivered through gritted teeth."But when?" she was in the middle of saying when the anchovy tin disguised as a car groaned in fishy agony and came to a stop.Then there was only silence. "Lucas, why did we stop? Why did you turn off the air conditioner? When will we get there? Lucas? When"He swung toward Delia. Under his cool hazel glower, she sank back in her seat. Still, she couldn't resist one last comment."IMarton, Sandra is the author of 'The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride (Harlequin Presents #2668)', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373126682 and ISBN 0373126689.