What a Rancher Wants Page 5

  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.

  He snuck a glance at Gabriella out of the corner of his eye as they rode down the path. She didn’t look as though she was about to start sobbing, which was a small comfort. Chance prided himself on his honest dealings with the fairer sex, but crying women always made him nervous.

  Her shoulders were back, her head up. Instead of jeans and cowboy boots, she was wearing a pair of buck-colored riding pants that fit her better than any glove ever could and English-style riding boots. She wore what appeared to be a sweater underneath a long jacket—not quite the barn-coat style he wore, but much more tailored to her shape.

  Not that he was noticing her shape, but in that outfit, how could he not? She’d been stunning when he’d first seen her, but the long sweater-coat she’d had on had hidden some of the curves that were now highlighted. The woman had a hell of a body—the kind that made him want to slide his hands down her hips and hold on tight.

  She was something different—not like women here. If a local woman had a body like that, she’d either be forever dieting to lose that elusive last ten pounds or dressed to maximize her assets—to use her body as a weapon.

  Gabriella appeared to be neither of those things. Instead she looked stunningly regal, not cowered or afraid. Maybe that was because of the man behind them who probably had Chance in his sights. But maybe it was because she wasn’t that bothered by the little story she’d told.

  That thought depressed the hell out of him, but he wasn’t exactly sure why.

  Then she spoke. “Can I... Can I see the picnic spot?” Her voice quivered a bit, as if she was trying to master her feelings.

  “You wanna race?” He didn’t know what else to say. There was something bothering him about her little story—well, there was a hell of a lot that bothered him about it. But there was something that didn’t add up.

  She gave him a knowing smile. “I would love to, but I doubt that Beast would be able to keep up with your quarter horses and Joaquin will not appreciate being left behind.”

  Then he realized what it was—the bodyguard.

  “Hey, if you’re father’s such a hard-ass—” She shot him a scolding look. “Pardon my French,” he quickly added. “But if your father is so concerned with his family’s safety, how come Alex didn’t have a bodyguard up here? Aside from Mia, he lived alone. No armed thugs anywhere.”

  If anything, Gabriella blushed harder, which had the unfortunate side effect of making Chance forget what he’d asked. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember a woman looking nearly as beautiful up on horseback as she did right now. Although she’d been a little skittish around Beast, she was perfectly at ease. Her long, lean legs gripped the saddle as if it was second nature to her.

  Cara had never been as comfortable in the saddle as Gabriella was—and that was something that couldn’t be faked. It would almost be worth getting plugged in the back just to watch her ride, hell-for-leather.

  “As I’m sure you can appreciate, Mr. McDaniel—”

  “Chance.”

  She turned to look at him, a warm smile on her face. “Chance.”

  The way she said his name—as though she was savoring a fine wine—made something clench low in his gut. In that moment he honestly didn’t care if her brother was a habitual liar or her father was a sadistic control freak. He didn’t much care if she was making up heart-wrenching stories to jerk him around. All he wanted to do was to see if she’d kiss him back, because he sure as hell wanted to kiss her.

  “As I’m sure you can appreciate,” she went on, a coy smile curving her full lips upward, “neither Alejandro nor I has always enjoyed, shall we say, the full protection our guards provide.”

  “Teenage rebellion?”

  She nodded as the horses continued toward the picnic spot. “When Alejandro took a job at Del Toro Energy upon completing his studies, he moved to an apartment in Mexico City. He still had a guard, but he was allowed to come and go as he pleased. He went to clubs and events all over the city. He was very popular.”

  He heard a faint note of pain in her voice, one that said, loud and clear, that she had not been allowed to do any of those things. And just like that, Chance wanted to deck Rodrigo for keeping his daughter under what sounded like house arrest for her entire life. “He was popular here, too. A great guy.” Or he had been, anyway.

  She nodded in appreciation of that. “I am glad to hear it. When Papa wanted him to come north, Alejandro said he would not do it if he had to bring Carlos with him—that was his guard. He said Americans did not live like that.”

  He wanted to be known as an American, not a Mexican, Chance thought. Just part of the act.

  “Of course,” she mused, “he was still abducted, so I am not sure how sound his theory was.”

  “We’re here,” he said as a smaller trail branched off from the main path. Chance urged his horse forward to lead the way through the trees.

  For every question Gabriella answered, he had another three. She had a good enough reason that Alex hadn’t had a bodyguard in Texas—but why the hell had his father wanted him to come here in the first place? And why under an assumed name?

  Had anything—the drinks at the club, the picnics by the creek—about Alex Santiago been real? Or had it all been part of some grand plan? Ruining his good name couldn’t be it, although it sure felt personal on a bunch of different levels. But he’d never heard of Rodrigo del Toro before the man had showed up in Royal, causing a ruckus and bossing around the locals, so Chance didn’t think that was it.

  If it had all been fake, how much of what Gabriella said was trustworthy? Everything about her said genteel and proper—a noblewoman in the twenty-first century. She blushed easily but didn’t lose her cool. She spoke of her life with a measure of reserve, without blatantly angling for sympathy.

  Hell, he didn’t know what to make of her.

  So he stopped and dismounted near the creek. It was so low as to be nonexistent—not enough rain or snow this winter to balance out the last few years of drought that had savaged Texas. Chance sighed heavily. Trucking in water for his cattle wasn’t cheap or easy, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have any animals for his dude ranch. People might still come for the rustic bunkhouse hotel or the trail rides—when the temperatures weren’t over a hundred degrees, that was—but it wouldn’t be as many.

  Damn, but they needed rain.

  “Need help?” he asked he
r, but before the words were out of his mouth, she was on the ground, loosening Gale’s cinch and patting the horse on the neck. She grinned at him over Gale’s neck. Right. She could handle herself.

  So, feeling obligated, he turned to Joaquin. “How about you?” The big man on the big horse shook his head.

  “He is fine,” Gabriella translated. “He is better able to monitor the situation from horseback.”

  “Plus, no mounting block,” Chance said, half to her and half to the guard.

  “True.” She said it, but Joaquin nodded in agreement.

  He had to hand it to her—he could easily believe that Joaquin had been shadowing her for more than a decade. They had the kind of unspoken understanding that only came with years of constant contact. He found himself wondering how old Joaquin was. He had to be too old for Gabriella, didn’t he? Surely Rodrigo del Toro wouldn’t have tolerated his daughter being attracted to someone who was basically hired help?

  The picnic spot was a small clearing on the edge of what used to be his creek. There was enough space for the horses to graze, but the trees stood tall here, blocking out the worst of the Texas heat in the summer.

  “Have you lived here your whole life?” she asked as she walked around.

  He wished he’d had Franny pack a lunch for them. He didn’t want to take her back to the bunkhouse, to know that other ears were listening.

  “Yup.” He pointed to the low branch that reached across the creek bed. “See that rope burn? I used to swing into the water here. Over where that shallow puddle is? When the creek was full, that was my swimming hole—almost seven feet deep.”

  He picked up a rock and tossed it into the puddle. It made a depressingly small plunk. The creek hadn’t been full in years. Man, he wished it would rain.

  “Did you and Alejandro swim?”

  Chance chuckled. “Nope. I think he waded in once.” Then, because he couldn’t help the vision that floated up in front of his eyes of Gabriella in some sort of swimsuit, he asked, “Do you swim?”

  She didn’t answer right away, instead, bending over and picking up a rock of her own. “We have a pool on our estate.” She threw the rock, hitting the dead center of his swimming puddle.