What a Rancher Wants
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?