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What a Rancher Wants
Sarah M. Anderson








Dang, there was that smile again—


the one that made Chance want to haul her off that horse and kiss her until they both felt like whooping and hollering.

Yeah, he knew what Gabriella was playing at. He was only too happy to play along.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, it dragged a different thought along for the ride. What if this—the sob story about her mom, the smiles, especially the kiss—all of it was just playing? What if she was playing him?

He’d thought her brother had been one of his best friends—a man he could trust with his life. Where had that gotten him?

What if she was just trying to muck up the works with her bright smiles and warm looks and sweet, hot kisses? What if she was trying to get him distracted or off balance?

What if she was using him?

But why? That was the question he couldn’t answer.

He wanted to protect her, by God.

But who would protect him from her?

* * *

What a Rancher Wants Texas Cattleman’s Club: The Missing Mogul novel —Love and scandal meet in Royal, Texas!


What a Rancher

Wants

Sarah M. Anderson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, she had plenty of encouragement to learn everything she could about the tribes of the Great Plains.

When she started writing, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and to see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.

When not helping out at her son’s school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband. Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com.


To Amy, who always appreciates a good Texasism—and a good Texan! The best kinds of friends are the ones where it doesn’t matter how long it’s been or where you are—you’re always able to pick up right where you left off.


Contents

Chapter One (#uec64811c-b831-528e-858e-f132302db0f4)

Chapter Two (#u71db5b0f-d224-5433-abf1-8f65aac91195)

Chapter Three (#uf3cad939-f54c-5643-9d51-676a4a5e4dc0)

Chapter Four (#u16f9d91a-d657-5761-9974-6f37db83a220)

Chapter Five (#ud62d7f2f-0445-5aaa-9414-31f8e4eac58f)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


One

“¡Dios mío!” Gabriella del Toro hissed under her breath. Blood welled up from the cut she’d inflicted upon herself with the can opener. She sighed. As if anything else could have gone wrong.

From his seat at the breakfast table, Joaquin, her bodyguard, looked up from his tablet. “I’m fine,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Just a cut.”

She looked down at the injury. She had not anticipated that fixing some broth and toast for her brother, Alejandro, would be so difficult. But then, everything was difficult right now. While she had spent time in the kitchen back at Las Cruces, the ancestral del Toro estate west of Mexico City, she’d never actually prepared anything more than tea and coffee. Their cook had thought that preparing meals was beneath the lady of the house, even if the lady had been only twelve. No one had thought to teach Gabriella the first thing about cooking since...her tía had tried to show her how to make tortillas from scratch.

Gabriella had been seven the last time Papa had taken her and Alejandro to see their mother’s sister. A full twenty years had passed since then.

As Gabriella rinsed the cut under the faucet and wrapped her wounded finger in a towel, she mentally bemoaned how this must look. She was the daughter of Rodrigo del Toro, one of the most powerful legitimate businessmen in all of Mexico. She was one of the most sought-after jewelry designers in Mexico City. She regularly transformed hunks of metal and pieces of rock into wearable art with a Mayan influence.

But at this moment, she was every heiress stereotype rolled into one. She couldn’t even open a can of soup.

The bleeding staunched, she went looking for a bandage. She heard Joaquin stand and trail her out of the kitchen, although he kept a polite distance. She’d rarely been apart from the large, mostly silent man since her father had hired him to protect her when she had been thirteen. She was now twenty-seven. Joaquin Baptiste was nearing forty, but he had showed no signs of slowing down. Secretly, Gabriella hoped he never would. He was far more concerned with her happiness than her father—or even her brother—had ever been. That, and he had never let any harm befall her. Even if it did make dating...challenging.

She walked to the bathroom and found a box of bandages in a cabinet, mentally cursing her clumsiness the whole time. The cut was on the edge of her index finger. It would make holding pliers while she shaped wire almost impossible.

Gabriella caught herself. Her pliers were not here, nor were any of her other jewelry-making supplies. It had not been possible to pack up all her tools. Besides, she had been under the impression that they would only be in America long enough to collect Alejandro.

Her poor brother. Her poor father, for that matter. The del Toro family was forever haunted by the specter of abductions, but they’d all thought Alejandro would be safe in Texas. Kidnappings for profit weren’t nearly as common in America as they were in Mexico, Alejandro had argued when Rodrigo had hatched this scheme to send him north to America to “investigate” an energy company he wanted to acquire. Alejandro had refused to bring Carlos, his personal guard. He had told Rodrigo he would not go if he weren’t allowed to do things the American way.

The thing that Gabriella still could not believe was that their father had relented and Alejandro had been allowed to live alone, as an American would. Alejandro had assumed the identity of Alex Santiago and come north alone a little more than two years ago.

Gabriella had suffered a bout of jealousy at that. She longed to be free to come and go as she pleased, but her father would not hear of it. She had stayed at Las Cruces, under constant watch of Joaquin—and Rodrigo.

At least, she had been jealous—until Alejandro had been kidnapped. However, the kidnappers had not demanded an exorbitant ransom, as was the usual custom. Instead, there had been no word from them—or Alejandro, until he had been found in the back of a coyote’s truck. Coyotes smuggled immigrants. Alejandro, the son of Rodrigo del Toro, had been thrown in with the poor things desperate to start a new life in America.

The kidnappers had not treated Alejandro well. Although his wounds were healing, he had no memory of the attack, which meant he had no information to give the law-enforcement officers who occasionally checked on him. The case had stalled. Alejandro had returned, mostly whole, to his home in Royal, Texas. Now that his life was no longer in immediate danger, Gabriella had gotten the sense that the police weren’t as dedicated to finding the criminals who had abducted him in the first place. Still, they were “requesting” that Alejandro remain in the country. Truthfully, Alejandro had showed no signs of wanting to go. He stayed in his room, resting or watching football—what the Americans called soccer.

Alejandro showed almost no signs of memory, except his love of football. He didn’t seem to remember her, or Papa. In fact, the only reaction they’d gotten out of him beyond a mumbled thank-you when she brought him his meals was when Papa had announced they would be returning to Las Cruces within the week. Only then had Alejandro sparked to life, insisting that he was not going anywhere. Then he had locked himself in his room.

So Rodrigo had set up temporary headquarters in a set of rooms in Alejandro’s home in Royal that had recently been home to Mia Hughes, the former housekeeper. Papa was simultaneously running Del Toro Energy and utilizing his vast resources to identify the culprits that had taken Alejandro. Rodrigo was not about to let anyone get away with assaulting any member of his family. Gabriella could only hope that, when he caught the perpetrators, he wouldn’t do something that would land him in an American prison.

Which meant that Gabriella had no idea how long the del Toro family would be trapped in this house together.

This was also why Joaquin was standing outside the bathroom as Gabriella tended her injury. If she had ever hoped of having the kind of freedom that Alejandro had tasted for two years, those hopes were now dashed. Her father would not allow her to go unguarded. Not after nearly losing his son.

Still, she was in America instead of in Las Cruces, and that was something. True, she had not seen much of America beyond the small private airport where the family jet had landed, or the dark night sky that had made it almost impossible to see this country where she suspected her brother had been his happiest. No, she’d mostly seen the Royal Hospital and then, the inside of Alejandro’s house.

Thus far, she was underwhelmed by America.

She longed to do something besides tend to a frustratingly silent Alejandro or to defuse her father’s angry outbursts. As much as she never thought she would say it, she missed Las Cruces. True, she had not been allowed to leave the estate’s grounds, but within its securely patrolled borders, she’d had far more freedom than she’d had in Royal, Texas. She’d been able to chat with the maids and the cook. She’d been able to go to her workshop and work on her jewelry designs. She’d been able to saddle up Ixchel, her Azteca horse and, with Joaquin, ride wherever she pleased on Las Cruces’ extensive grounds. It hadn’t been true freedom. More like a reasonable facsimile of freedom.

But it was still more than what she had at the moment. Here, she was trapped with an invalid, an irate father and Joaquin, who, bless him, had never been much for conversation. The only break in the monotony had been the brief appearances of Maria, Alejandro’s maid, as well as Nathan Battle, the local sheriff, and Bailey Collins, the state investigator who had been assigned to Alejandro’s case.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it.

Gabriella wrapped the bandage around her finger, wishing she could wrap her head around the situation. For as long as she could remember, her world had been a safe, if constrained place. Now, with Alejandro’s kidnapping, discovery and subsequent memory loss, everything was turned upside down.

In the midst of feeling sorry for herself, the doorbell chimed.

Perhaps Maria had returned. Gabriella liked talking to her. It was a relief to have a normal conversation with another woman, even if it was mere small talk about the weather and groceries. Anything to break up the monotony of the days in Alejandro’s house.

She hurried out of the bathroom. Joaquin followed her to the door. They’d already reached an understanding that, in lieu of hiring more help—something her father was not interested in—Gabriella would answer the door and Joaquin would stand guard, ready to spring into action.

The bell chimed again, causing Gabriella to hurry. It couldn’t be Maria—she wasn’t that impatient. Which meant it was either the sheriff or the state investigator. Which meant her father would spend the better part of his afternoon raging at American injustices.

Resigned to her fate, Gabriella paused to catch her breath at the front door before opening it. She was, for the foreseeable future, the lady of the house. It was best to present the del Toro family in a positive light—all the more so because Maria had indicated that some members of the community were suspicious of the family of Alex Santiago. She checked her reflection in the hall mirror, thankful that the only thing out of place was the bandage on her finger, and affixed a warm smile to her face. She’d played the hostess for her father’s business dinners before. She knew her role well.

Neither Sheriff Battle nor Agent Collins stood on the front stoop. Instead it was a cowboy—a tall, broad cowboy wearing a heathered sports jacket, a dark gray shirt and a dark pair of jeans over his gray ostrich cowboy boots. The moment he saw her, he whipped his brown felt hat off of his head and held it to his chest.

Oh. Green eyes. ¡Dios mío! she had never seen eyes so green in her entire life. They were beautiful—the color of the spring grass at Las Cruces. For a moment looking into his eyes felt... It felt like coming home. His gaze affected her in a way she’d never before experienced.

“Howdy, ma’am.” His voice was rough around the edges, as if he’d been outdoors in the February wind for some time. As he looked at her, one corner of his mouth crooked up, as if he were not surprised to see her, just pleased. “I’d like to talk to Alex, if he’s up to it.”

She was staring, she realized too late. Perhaps that was because she hadn’t seen too many outsiders recently. But the way this cowboy—for there could be no doubt that was what he was—was looking at her had rooted her to the spot.

His smile deepened as he held out one hand. “I’m Chance McDaniel. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Miss...?”

Any homecoming died in the air between them. Chance McDaniel? What she knew of this man was limited, but it did nothing to endear him to her—or her father. According to Sheriff Battle and Agent Collins, Mr. McDaniel had been close friends with Alejandro—or rather, with Alex Santiago. However, he was also one of the leading suspects in Alejandro’s disappearance—a crime of which he had not been cleared.

What was he doing here? More to the point, what was she going to do about it?

Behind her, Joaquin moved, his hand slipping up under his jacket. Gabriella quickly remembered herself. She could not imagine what would have led a leading suspect to ask to speak to the victim of a crime, but she also couldn’t have Joaquin pulling a weapon on him. This wasn’t Mexico, after all.

With a quick look that had Joaquin stopping in his tracks, Gabriella remembered her warm smile. “Hello, Mr. McDaniel. Won’t you please enter?” Instead of shaking his outstretched hand, she stepped back, narrowly missing Joaquin, and motioned for Chance to enter.

He stood there for a beat too long before letting his hand fall to his side as he took long strides into the foyer. He moved with a confident ease, projecting strength with each step. Of course he was confident. Otherwise he wouldn’t have dared ask to see Alejandro.

Upon seeing Joaquin glowering off to one side, Mr. McDaniel offered up a, “Howdy, señor.”

Behind his back, where he could not see it, a small smile danced across Gabriella’s lips. She had not believed that real cowboys would actually speak in such colloquial language. It should have sounded ridiculous, but with Mr. McDaniel’s rough-edged voice, it sent shivers down her spine.

Joaquin did not respond, of course. He stood like a statue at the edge of the room, his gaze trained on Mr. McDaniel.

Mr. McDaniel obviously knew his way around the house. He headed straight for the living room before seeming to remember himself. He paused and turned back to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, Miss...?” As he said it, his gaze worked its way up and down Gabriella.

She could see him taking in her crisp white shirt—thankfully unstained with the failed efforts at lunch—and her slim black pants underneath the knee-length, coral-colored sweater-coat that contrasted perfectly with the heavy rope of turquoise and silver she wore around her neck, with earrings to match. He was trying to determine if she was the new housekeeper or not, Gabriella decided, as if every woman of Hispanic origins came to America to be a maid. However, she knew that very few maids dressed as she did. Which assumption would he go with?

If this man had been anyone other than the prime suspect in Alejandro’s disappearance, she would have hurried to put him at ease. She decided to let him wait. After all, she’d had to wait to learn if her brother was even alive. Someone else should feel as anxious as she had, even for a solitary minute.

She said, “May I get you some tea?” in her nicest tone.

Instead of looking irritated or even uncomfortable, Mr. McDaniel gave her the kind of grin that he probably used to get the average woman to fall all over him. Well, he was about to learn that Gabriella was not the average woman, even if she did suddenly feel a bit unsettled at the warmth in his eyes. “Much obliged, ma’am.”

Gabriella motioned him to the living room and then walked slowly and deliberately into the kitchen. Thankfully, making tea was her specialty and she already had a pitcher of iced tea steeping. It only took a minute to assemble a tray of two glasses and some biscuits. The whole time, she strained to hear any other noise coming from the house. If Alejandro had heard the door, he gave no indication of venturing downstairs to see who it was. But it also appeared that Papa had not heard the visitor arrive, which was probably for the best.

If Mr. McDaniel had had something to do with Alejandro’s disappearance, there was a chance that Gabriella could “sweet talk” it out of him, as the Americans would say. If Papa stormed into the room and began making accusations, who knew what would happen?

She knew Papa would be furious that she had not let him handle the visitor personally. She was well-versed in the art of gentle conversation, after all, and had been told she was a beautiful woman on numerous occasions. She could handle a man like Chance McDaniel. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was in actual danger. Joaquin was with her.

Mr. McDaniel had been sitting in the chair that faced Joaquin, apparently engaging in a staring match. But when Gabriella entered with the tray, he quickly stood. “Thank you for the tea.”

Gabriella set the tray on the table, but neither of them made a move to pick up a glass. Instead she found herself staring at Chance McDaniel again, wondering what kind of man he was—the kind who would befriend a foreigner or the kind who would attack an unarmed man?

She sat in the leather armchair opposite the one he’d claimed. Joaquin moved forward to stand behind the back of her chair, an unmistakable warning in his presence. If this Mr. McDaniel tried anything, he wouldn’t live to regret it.

A fact that he seemed to understand. Without another word, he sat, his gaze never leaving her face.

As she let the moment stretch, she again noted the way his presence left her feeling...unsettled. He’d dropped his hat on a side table. She could see his dark blond hair. He wore it quite short, but that apparently did nothing to stop the way it laid in waves on his head. He was freshly shaved but, aside from the boots and the hat, wore no other adornment.

He does not need any, she thought. The thought warmed her.

Finally he began to shift in his seat. She should not delay anymore, lest Papa burst into the room, ready to avenge his son.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. McDaniel. Alejandro had spoken of you to me.” A touch of color deepened on Mr. McDaniel’s cheeks. ¡Dios mío! he was more than attractive. “I am Gabriella del Toro, Alejandro’s sister.”

This pronouncement hung in the air like a cloud ready to burst with rain. “I was not aware that Alex had a sister,” he finally said. There was no mistaking the hurt undertone in his voice. “But then, I guess that there’s plenty I didn’t know about Alex. Like that his name is Alejandro.” He looked to Joaquin over her shoulder. “Are you his brother, then?”

Gabriella laughed lightly. “Joaquin? No. He is my personal bodyguard. As I’m sure you can understand, Mr. McDaniel, the del Toro family must take every precaution.”

Mr. McDaniel nodded. “How is he? Alex, I mean.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I was hoping to talk to him, if he was feeling up to it.”

Gabriella detected nothing deceptive in his voice or his posture. “Alejandro is still recovering from his ordeal.” Then, to Joaquin, she said, “Devrions-nous dire à Papa première ou Alejandro qu’il est ici?” in French. Should we tell Papa first or Alejandro that he’s here?

She’d chosen French because she assumed that an American cowboy living in Texas probably spoke enough Spanish to catch what she said. Therefore, she was completely unprepared when Mr. McDaniel said, with great effort, “Je peux dit moi” in an accent that was so bad he was almost unintelligible. However, she was fairly certain he’d meant to say, I can tell them myself. What he’d actually said was, I can tell me.

Again, a smile crossed her lips. “You speak French.”

More color came to his cheeks. She felt herself leaning forward to get a better look at him. “Not as beautifully as you do, but yeah, I took a couple of years in high school.” His eyes twinkled. “My Spanish is better. I’m assuming that was the point?”

He had her. “Indeed,” she admitted, impressed. A man who spoke in “howdys” and “ma’ams” who also conversed in Spanish and attempted French—with a sense of humor? With a compliment—she spoke French beautifully?

Gabriella could see how her brother would have befriended this man. Alejandro was drawn to people who had an easy way. She wasn’t different, except that instead of making friends at work or on the social scene, that meant that she’d become fast friends with the hired help at Las Cruces.

What kind of cowboy was Chance McDaniel? Did he know how to ride? She glanced at his hands. They were clean, but rough with calluses. He was a man who was not afraid of hard work.

A shiver ran through her body. She thought she’d done a fine job of hiding it from Mr. McDaniel, but then his eyes widened and what had twinkled in them...changed. Deepened.

In that instant it became clear that Chance McDaniel was indeed a threat. To her, though—not necessarily her brother. Because the way that this man was looking at her—as though he was coming home, too—was something she had not expected.


Two

So Alex had a sister. Just another lie. Add it to the pile.

As mad as Chance wanted to be at the man he’d called friend, he couldn’t quite get a grip on anger. Instead he was lost in the depths of chocolate-brown eyes.

Gabriella del Toro. He wanted to say her name out loud, to feel the way the syllables rolled over his tongue like single-malt whiskey. He didn’t. Not now, anyway. The guy standing over her looked as though he might shoot Chance if he dared sully her name.

He needed to get back on track here. He knew the del Toro family had been in Alex’s house for several weeks now—Nathan Battle had shared that over a drink at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. But no other gossip had trickled down. Nathan was being tight-lipped about the whole damn thing, except to say that, as far as the local law was concerned, Chance was in the clear.

That meant the state investigator still considered him a suspect.

As did the del Toro family, apparently. Chance had to admit he was impressed. Gabriella del Toro may look like a polished socialite, but she’d made him sweat like a seasoned pro. He could only hope she hadn’t realized how uncomfortable he’d been, what with that “personal bodyguard” trying to kill him with looks alone.

This whole situation was still something he couldn’t get his head around. Alex was back, safe and sound, but without much of an idea of who he was—hell, who anyone in Royal, Texas, was. The whole town was still on high alert, suspicious of anyone who might have ever had a bone to pick with Alex Santiago. This apparently included him.

“So, your bodyguard speaks French?” He honestly didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to talk to Alex again; find out if he remembered anything else. As much as he hated to admit it, the odds were decent that someone in Royal had done this to his friend. The only other option was that Mexican drug violence was bleeding its way far north of the border.

“Of course,” Gabriella said, as if every meathead in the world spoke several languages. “Since he joined me for my lessons, it was only natural that he learn with me and the other children at home.”

“More brothers and sisters?” How could he have ever felt that he knew Alex? The man had done nothing but lie to him from the moment he’d arrived in Royal. Chance had thought he’d been friends with the man. Hell, he’d even done the honorable thing and stepped aside when Alex had showed an interest in Chance’s lady friend, Cara Windsor. Or had that been part of the setup, too? Because if Alex had wanted to destroy Chance’s life, he was doing a damn fine job of it.

“Oh, no, Mr. McDaniel.” Gabriella had a soft laugh, delicate. Made him think of a butterfly landing quickly on a flower before moving on. “My tutors taught the children of our staff. We almost had enough students for a regular school.” Her features softened. “My mother believed it was our duty to educate those who serve us.”

Alex had never mentioned his mother. But then, he hadn’t mentioned a sister, either. “It must have been hard on your mother when Alex went missing.”

A shadow crossed Gabriella’s face, blocking out the light of her smile. “She has been dead for twenty-three years, Mr. McDaniel.”

Okay, so maybe Alex had a good reason for not talking about his mother. “My apologies. I didn’t know.”

She tilted her head in appreciation, and then the shadow was gone. Her behavior was refined, her manners impeccable—even when she’d let him sweat, she’d been perfectly polite about it.

Chance was suddenly possessed—there wasn’t another word for it—to ask if Gabriella rode horses. Alex had come out to McDaniel’s Acres, Chance’s homestead, to ride on numerous occasions. Alex had talked about his stables back home; how he’d always loved the freedom of riding.

Cara Windsor had never enjoyed riding with Chance. She didn’t like the smell of the barn, had no particular talent for riding and was too terrified of being stepped on to consider brushing down a horse.

Chance had finished sowing his wild oats years ago. Since then, he’d worked on making McDaniel’s Acres a profitable piece of land. He’d like to have someone to ride with him, someone to take his meals with—and share his bed with. But the land had taken all his time and there weren’t too many women left in Royal who’d cotton to his way of life. Ranching the land—even if it was a dude ranch and the bunkhouse was now a five-star hotel where city folks paid a hefty price to be pretend cowboys for the week—was still a hard life, full of early summer mornings and cold winter nights.

“Do you ride horses?” Chance wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the bodyguard’s glare got meaner. “Alex would come out to the ranch and we’d ride.”

He thought he saw a small smile ghost its way across Gabriella’s very full lips. “I ride.”

Two simple little words that had the immediate effect of cranking his temperature up a notch or two. “You should come out to the ranch sometime—McDaniel’s Acres. This part of Texas is beautiful—the best way to see it is from horseback.”

He wanted to think that he was asking only because he was concerned with clearing his name. If he couldn’t talk with Alex and see what he remembered, the next best thing he could hope for was to talk with his beautiful sister. Maybe he could find out if anything about Alex had been on the level or if their entire friendship had been nothing but lies.

But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that spending some time out on the range with Gabriella had the potential to be fun.

“That would be out of the question, I’m afraid.” She was back to blushing again, which made her look innocent. Which gave him some not-so-innocent thoughts. “I never go anywhere without Joaquin.”

The big man grunted in agreement. Hey, what did Chance know—the bodyguard was capable of something besides glaring.

Chance made a snap decision. “He can come along. I’ve got a mule that can handle him. The more, the merrier.” Which was a bold-faced lie, but he knew damn good and well that he wasn’t going to find out anything today. “If you want,” he added.

“How big is your ranch?” She leaned forward, causing the white shirt she was wearing to gape at the neck.

If Alex were here, he’d punch Chance in the arm for ogling his sister. As it was, Chance half expected to be shot. “About 400 acres. We’ve got cattle as well as some chickens, a few sheep and goats, and a few alpacas—the kids love them. And horses, of course. I run a dude ranch and hotel on the property,” he added, hoping that made him sound more like a businessman making a pitch and less like a love-struck teenager angling for a date. “We give trail rides all the time. I’d be happy to show you around.”

This was mostly true. He did lead trail rides—when it wasn’t the middle of February. The winter hadn’t held a great deal of snow to this point, but the wind could be vicious. He had no idea why he thought a ride with a refined woman such as Gabriella del Toro would be a good idea in this weather.

Oh, right—because he was hoping to find out something more about Alex.

He hoped she’d say yes. He hoped she could handle herself on a horse. Hell, he just hoped he wasn’t about to be shot. Chance looked down at Gabriella’s hands. Despite her polished appearance, he saw that her nails weren’t long and manicured, but short and bare. Her hands were delicate, with long, thin fingers that showed signs of heavy use—and a bandage on her index finger. “Did you hurt yourself?”

That pink blush graced her cheeks. She dropped her gaze, but then looked up at him through thick lashes. “Just a cut. I was attempting to prepare some soup for Alejandro.”

Attempting? He grinned at her. “When you come out for a ride, we’ll have dinner. Franny Peterson is the best cook in Royal—she makes dinner for my guests. She’d be delighted to meet Alex’s family. They always got along famously.”

Her smile tightened. “Alejandro often visited your home?”

“Yup.”

“Was he...?” She looked down at her bandaged hand, unable to finish the sentence.

This must be so hard on her, he realized. Then he remembered—he hadn’t come here to flirt with Alex’s sister, no matter how fun it might become. He had a purpose here. “How is he? Any better?”

Everything that had been warm and light about Gabriella shut down on him. She didn’t so much as move, but he felt the walls that went up between them.

Gabriella said, “He is much the same,” in a voice that was probably supposed to sound as though she wasn’t giving anything away. But he heard the sadness in her tone.

Gabriella appeared to care for her brother. For some reason, that made Chance happy. He didn’t know why.

“Can I see him?”

Joaquin stiffened behind her as Gabriella said, “I do not think that would be wise, Mr. McDaniel. He is still healing. The doctors have said he needs quiet and darkness for his brain to recover from the trauma he’s suffered.”

“Mr. McDaniel is my father. Call me Chance. Everyone does. Even Alex.”

Then she looked up at him, the full force of her brown eyes boring into him. “I do not think that would be wise, Mr. McDaniel.”

Hell, he’d overstepped, but he couldn’t figure out which thing had been too far. He couldn’t tell which part had pushed her over the edge. Was it the familiarity of using his given name—or of calling Alex by his American name? Whatever it had been, he was losing her. “I just thought that if he, you know, saw me, it might jog his memory. He might remember who I was.”

Lots of women had cried on Chance’s shoulder in his time—he was the kind of guy that women felt comfortable enough with that they could occasionally pour their hearts out to him. But when Gabriella del Toro lifted her gaze to his face, he was sure he’d never seen a sadder woman in his life.

“I had hoped that, as well.”

It shouldn’t have bothered him this much—he had known Gabriella for all of twenty minutes. But the pain in her voice cut right through him and, just like that, he felt the same way he’d felt when he’d first heard that Alex had gone missing—as though a part of him had been hacked off with a rusty saw.

He wanted to go to her, offer her a sympathetic shoulder to lean on. He wanted her to know that, despite what she might have heard, he’d had nothing to do with Alex’s disappearance—that he only wanted what was best for his friend. And his friend’s family.

But he also didn’t want to bleed today. So instead of risking the wrath of Joaquin the bodyguard, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and fished out one of his seldom-used business cards. It was a little worn around the edges because he needed them so rarely. Everyone in Royal knew him and how to get ahold of him.

But if Alex couldn’t remember Chance—couldn’t remember his own sister—then there was zero point in expecting him to tell Gabriella what Chance’s phone number was. He held the card out to her. “If anything changes—if you need my help in any way, here’s my number. I can be here in twenty minutes if Alex needs me.” He swallowed, hoping he wasn’t about to find himself thrown out of the house. “If you need me.”

She stood. For a moment he thought she would once again tell him that she didn’t think that a wise idea, but then she took the offered card. Her fingertips grazed the edge of his—a small touch, but one that made him want to smile again. “Thank you.”

“Who are you?” a voice thundered from behind him. Then he asked the same thing in Spanish. “¿Quién es?”

Chance barely caught the look of alarm on Gabriella’s face before he spun around to see the man who could only be Alex’s father filling the kitchen doorway. The older man stood with his feet spread, his hands on his hips and his chest puffed up. He was nearly as tall as Chance was—maybe a few inches shorter than Alex. He could have been Alex’s twin, if it weren’t for the lines etched into his forehead. Same black hair, same build—but the face was all different. Alex had an easy smile and warm eyes—the kind of guy a man could knock back a beer or two with on a Friday night.

This was not a man who probably ever knocked back a couple of beers. No doubt about it, this was the senior del Toro. Rodrigo. Nathan had said the old man was a force to be reckoned with. He hadn’t been lying.

“Papa,” Gabriella said in a soft—but not weak—voice. “This is Chance McDaniel, Alejandro’s friend.”

He sure did appreciate her putting it in those terms, as opposed to mentioning that he was also the lead suspect in Alex’s disappearance.

Not that she needed to. Rodrigo’s eyes blazed with an undisguised hatred at Chance’s name. “¿Qué está haciendo aquí?” he snarled as Gabriella went to stand next to her father. Chance felt Joaquin come up behind him; probably just close enough to grab Chance if he made a funny move.

What was Chance doing here? Rodrigo must not be as perceptive as his daughter. Gabriella had assumed that Chance spoke Spanish, but Rodrigo had incorrectly assumed Chance did not. So he said, “Hola, Señor del Toro. Alex hablaba bien de usted.” Alex spoke well of you.

Or at least, that’s what he hoped he’d said. Alex had always spoken in crisp English, much the way Gabriella did. Chance had never had private tutors, unless one counted the hired hands on the ranch—and they’d spent more time teaching him to cuss in Spanish than to make polite greetings.

When this didn’t get him shot, he added in his most polite business voice that he had come to see Alex. And he made damn sure not to flinch in Joaquin’s direction when the big man huffed. This would be a bad time to show any sign of nerves or fear. So Chance kept his face calm and his gaze steady. He may be a cowboy, by God, but he was a McDaniel and no one—not even Rodrigo del Toro—was going to stare him down.

Then he saw the corners of Gabriella’s mouth curve into a small smile. Even if Rodrigo hated his guts, at the very least, Chance had said what she’d wanted to hear.

“You are not welcome in this house,” Rodrigo said, switching back to English. His accent was thicker, less crisp—but his words flowed easily.

“Papa,” Gabriella said as she put a hand on his arm.

“Gabriella,” he shot back. She pulled her hand away and cast her gaze to the ground. “You are not welcome in this house,” he repeated, his voice a notch louder.

That did it. Chance could handle a man trying to bullshit him, but to speak to his daughter in such a callous manner? Nope. Not happening. “Last I heard, this was still Alex’s house and I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that I’ve spent more time here than you have. I’m welcome here until Alex says otherwise.” He saw the look of alarm on Gabriella’s face. “Señor,” he said in his most dismissive voice.

Still, he wasn’t stupid. He’d worn out his welcome in a big way. Before Joaquin could grab him by the scruff of his neck, he snatched his hat off the side table. “Ms. del Toro, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He then turned to Joaquin and was unsurprised to see the man’s fists swinging by his sides. “Keep up the good work, Joaquin.”

He heard footsteps behind him and tensed, expecting a blow of some kind. He was surprised, however, when Gabriella slipped past him to reach the door before him. She opened it and stood to the side with a confused look on her face. “I will tell Alejandro you stopped by,” she said.

Chance glanced back over his shoulder. Joaquin was fewer than five feet away—for a big man, he could move like a cat when he wanted to, apparently. Rodrigo del Toro had not moved from the doorway, though. He stood there with his arms crossed, glaring as if he possessed laser vision or something. Chance couldn’t help himself. He tipped his hat to the older man, knowing it’d piss him off.

Then he turned back to Gabriella. “I hope he won’t be too mad.” That got him a worried smile telling him exactly how bad Rodrigo would be after he left. “Call me for anything. The offer to ride stands.”

She did not meet his gaze, but he saw the delicate pink that rushed to her cheeks.

“Gabriella,” Rodrigo roared.

“Goodbye, Mr. McDaniel.” She shut the door behind him.

Chance walked out to his truck and then turned to look at Alex’s house. He didn’t see Alex’s face in any of the upper windows.

He had a feeling he’d be hearing from Gabriella. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but soon. The way her eyes had lit up when he’d talked about riding the range? Yeah, she was going to call—especially if she was stuck in that house with a silent shadow of a bodyguard and a raging father. Not to mention a brother who didn’t remember her.

He hoped Gabriella was as good as her word and told Alex that Chance had come by.

That would make her better than her brother.

Because as of now, his word meant nothing to Chance.


Three

It took four days before Chance’s cell phone rang. He’d just gotten back to the barn from checking on the ponds for the cattle. When his phone rang, it played Alex’s ringtone. For a moment Chance thought it was Alex; that he had his memory back, that he wanted to tell Chance about everything—which may or may not include his sister.

He handed Ranger, his horse, to Marty and grabbed his phone out of its holster. “Hello?”

“Ah, yes—Mr. McDaniel?”

Gabriella’s soft voice flowed around him. Chance was simultaneously disappointed that it wasn’t Alex and thrilled that she’d called. “I told you to call me Chance, Gabriella.”

There was something of an awkward pause. He could almost see her trying to decide if she was going to call him what he wanted her to. Because he sure as hell wanted to hear what her accent would do with his name.

But it didn’t look as if it was going to happen right now, so he redirected the conversation. “Any change in Alex?”

“No. He is still...resting.” She sounded not awesome, frankly. Tired and worried, but underneath that, he could hear frustration. She was doing a damn fine job hiding it, but he could still tell.

“Is your father still mad at me?”

“Papa is only concerned with Alejandro’s well-being.” Her answer came without hesitation. In fact, it almost sounded as though she’d rehearsed it.

He grinned. That was a yes, loud and clear. “So, you need to get out of the house for a while? I’ve got a beauty of a quarter horse named Nightingale that’d love to ride you around.”

She didn’t say anything at first, but he heard her sigh—a sound of relief. Oh, yeah—he had her.

His mind hurried to put images with the sounds coming across his phone. He could see her full, red lips slightly parted as she exhaled, see her thick lashes fluttering at the thought of going for a ride with him.

Then, because apparently he enjoyed torturing himself, his mind turned those images in a different direction—her smooth hair all mussed up against a pillow as he coaxed little noises out of her. As she rode him.

He went hard in his jeans at the thought.

“You said you had a mule for Joaquin?”

“Yup.” Chance walked down the aisle of his barn and stopped in front of Beast’s stall. The animal was a giant mule that came from a donkey crossed with a draft horse. Beast’s mother had been a Belgian, which meant he was a solid seventeen hands high and built like a tank.

Chance had found that having a larger animal around meant more guests could take a trail ride—something that they’d appreciated. Most trail rides capped rider weight around two hundred fifty pounds, maybe a bit more. Beast let some folks who’d never been allowed on a horse to take their first ride—which was good for business. “This fellow can handle up to three fifty. Shouldn’t be a problem—if Joaquin eats a small breakfast, that is.”

She laughed at this and again Chance was reminded of butterflies fluttering among the spring flowers. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“When do you want to come out?” It was Thursday. The weekend was suddenly looking up. By a lot. “The forecast is calling for clear skies for the next few days.”

“When are you available?”

Hell, he was available anytime she wanted him to be. But then Marty walked over and said, in a quiet voice, “Don’t forget the wedding Saturday.”

Damn. It was February, after all. The dude ranch business may have slowed down, but the destination wedding business was still moving along at a decent clip. “We’re hosting a wedding on Saturday night for a party from Houston.” Double damn it. Saturday would have been a great time to get to know Gabriella a little better—or at least to figure out if all the del Toros lied as much as Alex did. “How about...?” His mind spun. Saturday was out. “Sunday afternoon?”

“That would not be possible.” He couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t said, “Mr. McDaniel.” Of course, she also hadn’t said, “Chance.” Still, it was progress. “It is Sunday, after all.”

Ah. He hadn’t considered that. Alex had gone to the local Catholic church on occasion, but the way Gabriella said it made it clear that she was more than just an occasional churchgoer. Did that make her more honest than her brother? Or just more guilty when she lied?

He could feel this opportunity slipping through his fingers. There was no way in hell Rodrigo del Toro would let him back in the house, which meant this was the only way possible to find out what the hell was going on.

That only left him with one choice. “How about tomorrow morning? We’ll be setting up for a wedding, but I’ve got a good crew. We can head out around...say, ten, then have lunch?”

Say yes, he thought. Please say yes. God, how he wanted to know if she rode or if she was the kind of “rider” who just thought horses were pretty.

She was silent, but that didn’t mean everything was quiet on her end. Although it was faint, he was pretty sure he heard Rodrigo shout, “Gabriella!” followed by a string of Spanish that Chance couldn’t make out.

“Ten tomorrow,” she said simply before the call ended.

Chance grinned down at his phone. He knew he needed to keep his eyes peeled and his defenses up. Alex had screwed him over pretty damn badly and while McDaniel’s Acres was still operating in the black, he hadn’t had as much local business because of all the rumors.

He needed to find out what Alex remembered. That had to be his first goal tomorrow. It should be his only goal, too. Tomorrow should have nothing to do with wanting to hear Gabriella’s tongue roll over his name, nothing to do with wanting to roll his own tongue over a few other things. This was about clearing his name, damn it.

Still. She’d called. They were going to ride.

Yup. The weekend was looking much better.

* * *

Gabriella was up early the next morning. She was usually up by six-thirty, but today she was out of bed at a quarter to six.

She would have liked to have had a cup of coffee without waking Joaquin, but as he slept in the living room—the better to hear anyone breaking in—she had no choice but to get him up early.

“Buenos días, Joaquin,” she said the moment she entered the living room. Joaquin did not appreciate people trying to sneak past him. The first time she’d tried that—she’d been fifteen and dying to get out of the house—he’d grabbed her by the calf so hard that she’d had bruises for weeks. He’d apologized profusely, of course—he had been dead asleep and had not realized it was his charge sneaking around instead of a villain.

Without hesitation, Joaquin sat up from the couch, his eyes already alert as he scanned the room.

“I awoke early,” she explained as he removed his gun from underneath the pillow he’d been sleeping on and slid it back into its holster. “Nothing is wrong. Coffee?”

Joaquin nodded and scrubbed a hand over his face. Then he stood and began his morning perimeter check, prowling around the house as silent as a breeze, checking the locks and windows. Of course Alejandro had had a security system installed, but security systems could always be bypassed. Gabriella knew he wouldn’t attend to any of his needs until he was confident the del Toro family was safe.

Gabriella made the coffee extra strong. She was excited about the day in a way that she had not felt since she’d convinced Papa to allow her to accompany him north to America.

Finally she was going to see something of Texas—something more than the lovely vista visible through Alejandro’s windows. From horseback, no less! Back home at Las Cruces, she’d ridden every day. In the few weeks she’d been here, she hadn’t seen a horse. Stir-crazy, she thought was the American phrase for it. Because that’s what she was. And that’s why she was up before the sun.

Joaquin appeared in the kitchen. He accepted his mug of coffee and sat at the table, his tablet in front of him. Joaquin was forever scanning news sites, looking for any information that might pose a threat to the del Toro family.

But he didn’t power the device up. Instead, as he sipped his coffee, he looked at Gabriella.

She knew that look. True, Joaquin was not much of a talker, but he’d been with her long enough that he rarely had to say anything to communicate with her. Right now, he was wondering if he should let her go for a ride with Chance McDaniel.

“Maria will be by today to straighten up,” Gabriella said defensively. “She’ll be preparing a week’s worth of dinners. If Alejandro needs me, she knows how to get ahold of me. And Papa will be here. Alejandro will not be alone.”

Joaquin raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t enough to convince him, so she went on. “You heard what Mr. McDaniel said—he has over 400 acres of land. We’re merely seeing if there’s anywhere he could have hidden Alejandro away for a few weeks. An outbuilding or an abandoned cabin, perhaps.”

That got her an even more skeptical look. Joaquin was clearly thinking that the local law enforcement had probably already scoured the land and had turned up nothing.

Gabriella sighed in frustration. If she couldn’t convince Joaquin, there was no hope in convincing her father. “We’ll be having lunch,” she went on, hoping to sound like a dispassionate investigator instead of a younger version of herself, chafing at the restrictions that kept her safe. “I’ll have the chance to talk with his staff, see if they have anything to say about him or Alejandro.”

Joaquin shook his head, a motion of pity.

Fine. Have it your way, she thought. “If I don’t get out of this house—even for a morning—I will make your day a living hell, Joaquin. I will make you help organize my closet and debate a new hairstyle and do some online shopping and I will ask you if you think those pants make my bottom look large. And then I will experiment with new ingredients in the kitchen and ask you to try the new soup or the new dessert. Is that what you want?”

She did not often throw a fit. She was no longer the headstrong thirteen-year-old who had rebelled whenever she could. She had accepted her lot, wrapped in a cocoon of safety, at her father’s command. His only concern was her well-being, after all.

Her well-being depended on a few hours away from her family. That was that.

She leaned back on the counter and waited. She knew that her attempts at cooking usually resulted in a smoke alarm going off. Plus, like any self-respecting male, forcing Joaquin to give his opinion on clothing and hairstyles ranked just below being shot. If she tried hard—and started trying on shoes—she could make him wish someone would kill him just to put him out of his misery.

She got out the bowls and the cereal before she set the milk on the table. “Perhaps I shall try pancakes again,” she mused. “They weren’t that bad last time, were they?”

They had, of course, been horrid—not even the dogs would eat them. They’d been less “cake” and more “biscuit” in texture—and of course she’d burned them. Papa and Alejandro had gamely tried them, as had Joaquin, who had suffered from indigestion for the next two days.

Joaquin shot her a surprisingly dirty look as he rubbed his chest. Clearly he was remembering the indigestion, as well. “I will kill him if he touches you,” he said, his voice creaky from lack of use.

Gabriella smiled. She’d broken him, which was no mean feat in and of itself. Joaquin was trained to resist torture, but no technique could defend against her attempts at cooking. “Of course,” she agreed, trying to contain her excitement. “Papa would expect nothing less.”

She finished her cold breakfast and went up to shower. Her heart was racing as she dressed and braided her hair back into a long, secure rope.

She wanted to get to McDaniel’s Acres as soon as possible, but she had one thing to do first.

Gabriella assembled a tray with not-too-burned toast, cold cereal, orange juice and a thermos of coffee and headed upstairs. She juggled the tray and knocked on the door. “Alejandro? It’s me. Gabriella.”

The door cracked open and Alejandro stood in front of her. He gave her a look that made her wonder if her knew who she was. He wore a rumpled white tee and plaid pajama bottoms.

Nothing had changed. Oh, how she wished that one day he’d wake up and be her brother again. She lifted his breakfast. “I brought you food. Are you hungry?”

Alejandro stared at her a moment longer, as if he wasn’t seeing her but through her. “Thank you,” he mumbled, stepping to the side so she could enter.

The room was a disaster. The sheets were in a heap on the floor, socks were everywhere and the television was on the blue screen. It looked as though Alejandro hadn’t left this room in weeks—because he hadn’t. “Your housekeeper, Maria, will be here today. She’ll prepare you lunch and tidy up this room. She will also do any laundry you require.”

This announcement was met with Alejandro slumping back onto his bed, staring at the blue screen.

Gabriella set his tray down and gathered up the remains of last night’s dinner. It hurt her to see her brother like this. At first, she’d been so relieved that he’d been found, but without his memory, it was almost as if he were still lost. Right in front of her, but still lost.

“I’m going to be visiting your old friend, Chance McDaniel, today,” she said, more to keep the tears at bay than anything else.

Then something unusual happened. Alejandro’s head snapped up and his eyes focused on her. For the first time in weeks, she felt as if he knew who she was. Or, at the very least, who Mr. McDaniel was.

Was that it? Did he remember something about Chance McDaniel—something connected with his abduction?

Just as her hopes began to rise, he said, “Everyone keeps talking about him, but...” He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

This time, however, she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t know. His gaze had been too direct, too knowing. “He invited me out to ride at his ranch,” she continued, busying herself with gathering up his dirty clothes—and keeping a close eye on him. “Joaquin will be joining me, of course.”

Her brother was stroking his chin now, looking thoughtful—and very aware.

“Papa agreed,” Gabriella went on, fluffing his pillows. “He thought it would give me the chance to see if Mr. McDaniel has any place where he could hide a person.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. It was a small gesture, but it seemed as if Alejandro thought this little mission was foolish.

Gabriella couldn’t contain herself any longer. She fell on her knees in front of Alejandro, taking his hands in hers. “If you could tell me anything—something you remember, some sound, something—I will help you.” That unfocused blankness stole back over his face. “Don’t you trust me, hermano?”

At first she did not think he was going to respond. But then he disentangled his hands from hers and patted her on the cheek. “You are...”

Gabriella’s throat closed up. Did he remember her?

“You are a nice lady,” he finished. “Have fun riding.”

Then he was gone, flopping back onto his bed and grabbing the remote. Within seconds, the sounds of football filled the room.

Gabriella stood, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. If he was in there—and, for the first time in days, she had hope that he was—then one thing was painfully clear.

He didn’t trust her.

Gabriella pulled the door shut behind her and paused to collect herself. Alejandro had managed to say something to her, after all. If he suspected Mr. McDaniel had had a part in his kidnapping, surely he would not have told her to have fun riding with the man.

But he had. She was a nice lady, whatever that meant, and she should have fun.

So that was exactly what she was going to do.


Four

With Joaquin in the driver’s seat, Gabriella arrived at McDaniel’s Acres at 9:55 a.m. They drove under the rustic gate that welcomed visitors before they continued up a long, winding drive of blacktop.

Gabriella leaned close to the tinted windows in the backseat, trying to take in the magnitude of the land they were crossing.

Hills rolled in all directions. Clusters of trees followed what was probably an arroyo or creek, but there weren’t the old-growth forests that ringed Las Cruces. Instead low shrubs and those famous tumbleweeds dotted the landscape.

What would the hills look like in a few months? Would Texas bluebells cover the ground, color exploding everywhere? Or would grass grow in, deep and green—like Chance McDaniel’s eyes?

She straightened in her seat and glanced at Joaquin’s silent form in the front seat. She was not here to think about Mr. McDaniel’s eyes and she would not be here in a few months to see the spring bloom. She would be back at Las Cruces, riding her own horses and making jewelry and not attempting more pancakes under any circumstances. Alejandro would be safe and things could go back to normal. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Everything to return to normal?

She thought back to her conversation with Alejandro. This was the most animated she’d seen him since...since Papa had told him they would all be returning to Las Cruces as soon as the hospital had released Alejandro. Alejandro had snapped to life for a brief moment to say that under no circumstances was he leaving his home or Royal, Texas. Then he had lapsed back into his blank silence.

What if Alejandro did not want things to return to normal? What if, despite his abduction, he wished to stay in America?

That may very well be the case. But why? That was the question that Gabriella had little hope of answering on her own.

She smiled. Today, she was not on her own. She was going riding—with her brother’s stilted blessing—with Chance McDaniel. She would find out as much as she could about her brother’s life in Texas—and about Mr. McDaniel himself.

Joaquin slowed as they approached a sign. Its four arms pointed in two directions. The Bunk House, Swimming Pool and Deliveries pointed west; Trail Rides pointed north. Joaquin kept heading straight north.

Off to the west, she could see a large building that appeared to be made out of rough-hewed logs. It stood three stories tall, with a wide porch that looked as though it probably saw a great deal of activity during the summer. Even from this distance, she could see workers hanging garlands from the beams. Those must be for the wedding, she thought. It looked lovely, but if she were to get married here, she’d make sure to wait for the spring bloom.

Then the road took them farther away from the house and deeper into the ranch. A series of buildings appeared. Within moments, they were parked in front of a massive barn, its bright red color a beacon in the otherwise gray surroundings. Several smaller buildings were arranged behind the red barn. Some horses were loose in paddocks around the barns, some were scratching against posts. They all had that fuzzy look of animals in late winter.

Joaquin pulled up next to a deep blue pickup, got out and came around to open Gabriella’s door for her. Upon exiting the vehicle, she walked over to where one horse was rubbing its head on a post. “Itchy?” she asked, and was rewarded by the horse—a palomino—leaning his head into her hands.

Gabriella smiled as some of the weight seemed to lift itself off of her shoulders. The breeze, while cool, felt fresh on her face—hinting at the spring that was coming. The horse groaned in appreciation as she rubbed his ears. A great deal of fur was coming off in her hands, but she didn’t mind. Oh, how she had missed her horses—the smell was enough to lift her spirits.

“Lucky horse,” a deep, slightly raspy voice said from behind her.

Gabriella spun to see Chance McDaniel tying a horse to a hitching post. His fingers moved smoothly, but his eyes were trained on her.

Oh, she thought with a small gasp. The man who had come to the door a few days ago had looked like a cowboy, yes—but almost a formal one. But the man who stood in front of her today? Pure cowboy. He wore a denim shirt under a light brown barn jacket. She was sure he was wearing jeans, but they were obscured by the worn black leather chaps that hugged his legs. Those weren’t show chaps—no, the leather had that broken-in look that said he’d worn them often. Daily. The hat was the only thing that was the same—brown felt.

That and his eyes. The green was more vivid than she remembered. And the way he looked at her? Not as if he was a wolf and she the lamb. Too many men had looked at her that way—as though she was to be sacrificed on the altar of her father’s business, a merger to be made between bottom lines and not between hearts.

No, Chance McDaniel looked at her without a single dollar sign in his eyes. Instead there was something else. Something that was almost... Well, certainly not joy at seeing her. That would not be possible. Nonetheless, it was something that made her body warm, despite the breeze.

Gabriella could not help the wide smile that broke over her face. “Mr. McDaniel.”

He notched an eyebrow in clear challenge. “What’s it going to take to get you to call me Chance, Gabriella?”

Her name sounded differently when he said it—gone were the smoothly flowing vowel sounds. Instead he stretched the ah into a harder a. It should have sounded grating, but she liked the rougher sound. No one else spoke her name like that. Just him.

Joaquin stepped in front of Gabriella before she could formulate a proper response to Chance McDaniel’s familiarities.

“Howdy, Joaquin.” Again, Chance was not seemingly put out by the bodyguard’s presence. “Let me go get Beast.” Then he patted the beautiful roan quarter horse he’d hitched to the post. “This here is Nightingale— although we call her Gale for short. I hope you like her.”

Then, with a little nod of his head, he turned and headed back to the barn.

Joaquin gave her a look that said, Is he for real?

Gabriella responded by shrugging. It would be lovely if Chance McDaniel was “real.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bag of carrot bits she’d mutilated in the kitchen last night. She walked up to Gale and held out a carrot. Gale sniffed, then snatched the treat.

“Ah, hello,” she said as Gale sniffed her hair. “Would you like another?” She palmed another carrot, which Gale all but inhaled. “That’s a good girl.”

She heard the sound of hooves—large hooves—clomping on the ground. Gabriella looked up to find Chance staring at her. That warmth coursed through her body again, but she wasn’t about to let anyone know that. Not even the horse. “Yes?”

“Making friends?”

“But of course.” Gabriella’s cheeks flushed hot as he continued to stare at her. “It worked,” she added as Gale nudged her with her nose.

Then she noticed the animal he was leading. Gale was perhaps sixteen hands high, but the mule—Beast, Chance had said—made the quarter horse look like a child’s pony. It wasn’t that the animal was that much taller than Gale, for he wasn’t, perhaps another hand—no more than four more inches. But Beast clearly outweighed the quarter horse—perhaps by as much as half a ton.

She gasped, more than a little afraid of an animal that large.

Chance grinned at her. “Nothing to be scared of. Beast is as gentle as a kitten.” He patted the big animal’s neck before giving Gabriella a look that had nothing to do with horses. “You should make friends with him, too.”

Far more than her cheeks flushed as Gabriella took a few hesitant steps toward Beast. His long ears—almost twice as long as Gale’s—swiveled toward her. “Hola, Beast,” she said, holding out a carrot on the flat of her palm. She’d long ago learned it was best to keep her hand as flat as possible. Holding a carrot or a sugar cube by her fingertips had gotten her nipped quite badly on the finger when she’d been six.

Beast’s enormous lips scraped the carrot off of her hand, causing her to giggle. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

“One of the best,” Chance agreed. He was almost shoulder to shoulder with her, his voice far smoother than she’d heard it yet.

One of Beast’s plate-size feet stamped at the earth, which caused Gabriella to jump. If she hadn’t known any better, she would have thought she’d felt the shock waves from the impact. Chance laughed. “He likes you,” he said, that twinkle in his eye.

“How can you tell?” She’d been stepped on by horses before, but Beast looked as if he would break every bone in her foot. She was in no mood to find out.

“If he didn’t, he’d back up. He’s predictable like that.” Chance handed the reins to Joaquin. “There’s a mounting block over there.” Then he turned to Gabriella, that same twinkle shining brightly. “Let me help you up.”

He crouched next to Gale’s side and laced his fingers together. Gabriella hesitated—she could swing into the saddle by herself—but if she wanted to make friends with Chance, she needed to be friendly. So she placed her foot in his hand and let him boost her up onto the horse’s back. Once she was in the saddle, he put his hand on her calf, right above her riding boot, and guided her foot into the stirrup.

Her breath caught at the too-familiar touch. She hardly knew this man and still had not ascertained if he was a danger to Alejandro or to her—but the way his hand had felt strong and sure against her leg had not felt like a risk. Instead it had felt...safe. Which was ridiculous. She did not need his help getting settled into the saddle. He started around to the other side of the horse, but Gabriella quickly put her foot in the stirrup.

Then he untied the reins and handed them to her. “Be right back,” he said, leaving her in a state of unfamiliar confusion.

People, as a rule, did not touch her. To do so was to invite Joaquin to beat them senseless. And yet, Chance McDaniel had put his hands on her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She turned the horse until she could see Joaquin, who had indeed used the mounting block and was now sitting astride Beast. He gave her a look that said, “Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” she replied, although she wasn’t sure how true that was. “You?”

Joaquin looked down at the ground and managed to nod his head.

“You okay up there, big guy?” Chance came trotting out of the barn on a dappled gelding. When Joaquin nodded again, Chance asked, “What do you ride at home?”

“Joaquin rides an Andalusian and I prefer my Azteca, Ixchel.”

“I know what an Andalusian is, but what’s an Azteca?” As he asked, he pointed his horse away from the barn. Gabriella fell in stride next to him, with Joaquin bringing up the rear.

“A mix of Andalusian, quarter horse and Mexican crillo,” she explained. “Ixchel is a paint. She is a well-trained animal. I always wanted to show her, but...” That had been another source of rebellion when she’d been fourteen and fifteen. Other girls in her social circle were making weekend trips to competitions and talking of Olympic dreams—all activities that were forbidden to Gabriella.

“Why didn’t you?” Chance kept his gaze forward. His posture was relaxed, but she could hear something in his voice that was far more than casual curiosity.

“Papa said that the competitions were not secure enough and he could not guarantee my safety if I went.”

That got a reaction out of him. “Beg pardon?”

“Joaquin is an excellent bodyguard, but in a crowded space filled with horses and people, he cannot control the situation the way he can at Las Cruces. That’s our family estate,” she hurried to add.

“Wait, so—are you telling me that you don’t have a bodyguard because of what happened to Alex?”

She could not decide if she liked the confusion in his voice. On the one hand, it was quite clear that Chance McDaniel had not known that—which was good because it meant that he had not done any surveillance or research into the del Toro family’s comings and goings.

However, on the other hand, the way Chance said it made it clear that the idea of constant security sounded like more than a little overkill.

“Joaquin has been with me for fourteen years,” she said, knowing that would only add fuel to Chance’s curiosity.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. Mexico is not a safe place for the wealthy. People are kidnapped for exorbitant ransoms. It’s a business.”

He appeared to mull over this information as the trail lead them farther and farther away from the buildings. “Is that normal, then? To have a bodyguard for a decade and a half?”

“Oh, I have had a guard my entire life. Papa hired Joaquin after he bested my former guard, Raul.”

She felt as if she might be giving too much away—this was the sort of information that could be used to help formulate an abduction—but it didn’t feel as though she was feeding him the things he wanted to know. Instead he seemed genuinely shocked.

“What do you mean, ‘bested’?” His voice was level, but there was no mistaking the concern.

She warmed at his tone. Perhaps she shouldn’t find it comforting that he was worried about her. Perhaps this was him on a fact-finding mission about how the del Toro family operated.

But she didn’t think so. “All of the guards in our family have to withstand tests, if you will, of their ability to keep us safe. If they fail in their mission, they are replaced.”

Chance pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, which caused her horse to stop, as well. “What?” His tone was not pleased.

“It is not as bad as it sounds.” But this defense didn’t strike her as being particularly truthful.

“Doesn’t that scare the hell out of you?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Usually the attempts are not very serious.”

“But not always.”

“No,” she replied softly. “Not always.”

The last time, the “pretend” kidnappers had taken their assignment a bit too seriously. Gabriella had been driving into Mexico City to meet with a gallery owner about showing her latest collection of jewelry when... Of course, their car was completely bulletproof, so Gabriella had not been in real danger. Or so she told herself time and time again.

“How bad was it?”

The sound of Chance’s voice—low and with a slight rasp to it—called her back from her fear. She looked into his eyes and again was struck with that odd sense of coming home. “Joaquin defended me with honor—as he always does.”

“How many times has this happened?”

The look on Chance’s face wouldn’t let her go. He was serious but underneath that was a different emotion—fury. “Usually once a year.”

Chance let loose with a string of curse words quite unlike anything Gabriella had ever heard—at least, not all at once. The sudden explosion of sound should have been alarming but instead Gabriella found herself grinning and then giggling. She cast a glance back at Joaquin, who was as impassive as ever.

“—lower than a rattler’s belly in a wagon rut!” Chance finished with a flourish. “Can you tell me why, on God’s green earth, a man would do that to his own daughter?”

“He had Alejandro’s guards tested, as well,” she told him, wondering when she had become the focus of his attention—and wondering if that was necessarily a warning sign. If it was, surely Joaquin would have rounded on Chance by now.

That statement did not seem to appease Chance’s temper. “You’ve got to be pulling my chain. Why?”

He didn’t know. She found a measure of relief in that—the more time she spent with Chance, the less she suspected him in Alejandro’s disappearance. Or, at the very least, the less she suspected him of targeting the del Toro family for its fortune. He may have still had a hand in Alejandro’s disappearance, but she could not believe that he had known that Alex Santiago was Alejandro del Toro.

Gabriella opened her mouth to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. The memories were too hard to deal with, even after twenty-three years. But he sat there, still, those beautiful eyes of his staring at her, expecting an answer.

When she could not give him one, she turned her horse back up the trail and urged her to a fast walk.

Apparently, Chance was in no mood to let her walk away from him—even if it was on horseback. He came level with her in moments, his mount easily keeping pace with Gale. “Who?” he asked, his tone more gentle than before.

“Our mother,” she replied, trying to keep her own voice level. She couldn’t risk a glance at him, though, so she kept her eyes focused on the land around them. “According to the police, she was killed when she tried to escape.” Very few kidnappings ended that way—dead people were worth nothing, while living people were worth money. And wasn’t money the whole point?

But Elena del Toro had not been a docile victim. “She had fought them.” That point made Gabriella proud of her mother but, at the same time, it infuriated her. Elena had not gone as meek as a church mouse—but if she had, would she still be here? Would everything have been different?

Would Gabriella have more than a few hazy memories of her own mother?

“When?”

“I was four. Alejandro was eight.” She’d always been jealous of Alejandro. He had memories that Gabriella never would, after all. He remembered birthdays and Christmases, trips to visit Tía Manuela and church. All Gabriella had was a random collection of images, the strongest of which had always been of helping her mother choose the beads for the rosaries she made for the staff’s Christmas presents.

That had been what she had been doing the day of the abduction—journeying to a market to buy beads and supplies for the rosaries that she and Gabriella were going to make that day.

An act of kindness that had gotten her killed.

“He never told me.” There was a touch of hurt in Chance’s words.

“He...” She took in another breath of fresh air. At least she wasn’t trapped in the house, she told herself. At least she was on a horse. “He remembers more than I do. It is painful for us.”

“Of course.”

They fell into silence after that. Soon, she could see nothing but wilderness around her. The ribbon of trees she’d seen earlier was winding its way closer to the path they were on. The trees were trying to bud out. She could see the tips of the bare branches turning red with new growth.

Gabriella put thoughts of her mother out of her mind. It was not difficult—she’d had a great deal of practice. “We don’t have winter in Mexico City. This is all so different here. Even the horses are different.”

“Wait until they start shedding,” Chance said with a chuckle. “The mess is something.” They rode on in silence, then he said, “That hill over there? Nothing but bluebells in the spring.”

“I would love to see them.” Would they still be here in the spring, barricaded in Alejandro’s house and hoping that today would be the day he remembered?

“If you’re still here, you’ll have to come back.” He cleared his throat. “Do you know if you’ll still be here?”

She shook her head. Was he asking because he was trying to pinpoint the best time to make another attempt—or was there something more genuine in his tone? “Alejandro does not want to return with us.”

That still confused her, but now that she’d gotten out of the house and was riding across Texas, perhaps she could see why Alejandro wanted to stay.

“How is he today?”

“The same.” Chance did not need to know that his name had caused a flash of recognition in Alejandro. Not yet, anyway.

They rode on, with Chance pointing out the features of the land and Gabriella trying to imagine how it would wear its spring coat. “Is it different than your ranch?” Chance asked.

They were still riding side by side, with Joaquin several feet behind them. For the first time in a great long while, Gabriella had the illusion of freedom. She was riding across land that was not surrounded by fences and patrolled by armed guards. No other signs of civilization crowded the view.

“Yes,” she answered as the breeze played over her face. “We have far more trees. We do not have winter as a season—it does not get below freezing, except in very rare cases. Right now is a dry time.” The ranch would be wearing its shades of brown. “I had hoped to see snow.”

“We don’t get a heckuva lot of snow,” Chance replied. “Although when we do, it’s real pretty. Makes the world look all new.”

She looked at him as he rode. He sat tall in the saddle, one hand casually resting on his muscled thigh. He seemed perfectly at ease riding next to her. A true cowboy, she thought with a small smile.

He turned his head and caught the smile. “What?”

She could feel her cheeks flushing, so she quickly came up with a response to hide her embarrassment. “You said Alejandro would ride here with you?”

“Yup.” Chance’s gaze darkened. “He liked to race. Franny, my cook, would pack us a lunch and then we’d see who could make it to this shady spot down by the creek first.”

It was obvious from his tone that the memory hurt him—not the pain of what had happened, though, but the pain of what he had lost.

Without thinking about it, she reached across the distance that separated them and touched his arm. “He will come back to us.”

Chance met her gaze with nothing but challenge. “Which he is that? Your brother or my friend? Because I don’t think that’s the same man.”

Then he looked back over his shoulder. Gabriella did the same. Joaquin was only a few feet behind them.

She sighed in frustration. Just the illusion of freedom. Not the real thing.


Five

Was she pulling his leg? Or was Gabriella del Toro being honest with him? And, more importantly, would Chance be able to tell the difference?

After all, he’d thought that Alex Santiago had always been an up-front kind of guy, and see where that had gotten him? The main suspect in Alex’s kidnapping.

But Gabriella... She was something different. He didn’t want to think that she’d been lying to him, not about her mother. The pain in her eyes had been all too real to be an act.

He was pretty sure. Recently he hadn’t been the best judge of character.

He still couldn’t get his head around what she’d said. He’d sort of understood the need for a bodyguard—after all, Alex had been kidnapped by someone, and if his family was as wealthy as they said they were, Chance could see why the del Toros would need twenty-four-hour protection.

But her mother being kidnapped when Gabriella was four—and killed? Her father keeping her under constant surveillance ever since—and occasionally scaring the hell out of her?

Chance had not particularly liked the man at their first meeting. Now? He had no idea how he was supposed to not punch the living daylights out of Rodrigo del Toro without getting shot. To put his daughter through attempted kidnappings—some of which had obviously terrified her—was right smack-dab between cruel and unusual.




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