What a Rancher Wants Page 7

  Franny not only didn’t believe the rumors but would take a wooden spoon to anyone who dared repeat them in her presence. “It took you long enough,” she began, wagging a finger at Chance as she scolded him. “’Bout thought I was going to have to eat the chicken all by myself.” Then she rounded on Gabriella and all of her mother-hen attitude melted into a warm, broad smile that matched her warm, broad body. “Well, now—is this our Alex’s sister?”

  Gabriella glanced at Chance. He could tell this announcement made her uncomfortable, but he doubted that Franny had noticed the same thing. Instead, Gabriella said, “Hello. Yes, I’m, um, Alex’s sister. Gabriella del Toro.” She held out her hand.

  But instead of shaking, Franny swallowed her up in a big old hug. Gabriella let out a little squeak.

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. We were so worried about Alex—why, that boy’s practically family out here.” Fran finally released her grip on Gabriella to wipe a tear from her eye. “I was so afraid some drug cartel had gotten him or something—that violence slips a little farther north every year. And then, everyone tried to pin it on our Chance—all because of a woman! Well, I never.” She clucked.

  “Ah, yes,” Gabriella said in a soft voice. “We do not believe it was a cartel.”

  Something in Chance hardened at her tone—and not the fun way, either. He’d never believed it’d been a cartel out for revenge—but then, he’d always believed that Alex had been a stand-up guy.

  What did Gabriella believe? She had to have heard the rumors—maybe the law officers still investigating the case had mentioned him as a suspect. Did she believe them?

  Damn that Alex Santiago—or Alejandro del Toro. Damn both of them. If he’d been up front from the get-go, none of this would have happened. If he could remember something—anything—Chance could get on with his life.

  “And who is this fine specimen?” Franny had finally noticed Joaquin. “My, my!” She walked over to him and squeezed his bicep. “Hello there. I’m Fran.”

  Gabriella giggled as Joaquin blushed and blushed hard. It was, hands down, the biggest reaction Chance had seen anyone get out of the man. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he offered in a tentative voice.

  “Now, you all sit yourselves down and let Franny get you some lunch.” She winked at Chance as she ushered Gabriella over to the table with him. “Best fried chicken in the state!”

  When she was gone, Gabriella turned to look at him. She kept on looking at him as he held out her chair for her and when he’d taken his seat across from her. Her gaze wasn’t distrustful, not entirely—but it was clear that Franny had said something that she hadn’t liked.

  Here it comes, he thought.

  But Gabriella waited until Franny had delivered salads and iced tea to both tables before speaking. “What did Franny mean, all because of a woman?”

  He considered his position carefully before continuing. “Alex had a lady friend.”

  This was not the answer she was looking for. “Do you mean Cara Windsor, whose father owns Windsor Energy?”

  Was that it? He’d been hearing the rumors—that Windsor Energy was the reason Alex had come to Royal in the first place. That would make sense, Chance figured. Maybe Rodrigo del Toro had wanted to check out his north-of-the-border competition. Industrial espionage.

  Had industrial espionage been why Alex had taken Cara? The thought burned at the back of Chance’s throat and Franny’s sweet iced tea did nothing to cool him down. Cara had taken quite a shine to Alex—so much so that Chance had felt the only honorable thing to do was to step aside and let nature take its course. Had that all been a lie, too?

  “I didn’t have a damn thing to do with Alex’s disappearance,” he heard himself say.

  “But you had been seeing this Cara Windsor.” Gabriella’s statement was quiet, as if she didn’t want Joaquin to overhear her.

  “We dated, but she was crazy for your brother. So I stepped aside. I cared for them both. Thought they’d be happy together.” How stupid had he been? Had they all been?

  Alejandro del Toro had been a mole from the very start. Chance had welcomed him into his life, onto his land—hell, into the Texas Cattleman’s Club as a friend. He’d given up his girl in the name of honor and friendship. Not only had he been burned, but Cara had, too.

  “You are angry.” There wasn’t much comfort in Gabriella’s voice. Just an observation.

  “You’re damn straight I’m angry. I thought I had a friend, but it was an imaginary character named Alex Santiago. Then when he up and disappeared, everyone pointed their fingers at me, claiming I’d done it, maybe killed him because I was upset about Cara. Well, I am upset about Cara. I cared for her—enough to let her go—and it got us both burned. Maybe if I’d fought a little harder for her, he wouldn’t have had the chance to screw her over like he screwed me over.”

  He immediately felt like a jerk—but hell, yeah, he was mad. He’d been watching his temper for far too long. Something had to give.

  He waited. Gabriella would have something to say—but what? Denials? Defending her poor, injured brother? Accusing Chance of being as guilty as everyone said he was?

  He wanted her to do just that—give him a good reason to hate her, to hate the entire del Toro family. Hell, he was worked up enough he wouldn’t mind going a round or two with Joaquin—fists only, not guns. He was so damn tired of defending himself when he’d done nothing wrong. Not a single damn thing.

  Franny came back out with plates of her fried chicken and Chance took the opportunity to dig in. Few things in this world were as good as Franny’s fried chicken. Some people had encouraged her to open her own restaurant, but so far Chance had managed to hang on to her by taking care of the details—he provided the space and the staff and did the books, as well. All she had to do here was cook, which was fine by him.

  “How you all doing?” she asked as she cleared the mostly uneaten salad plates. Her voice was light, but Chance could see that she was concerned.

  He needed to stop grousing before he sent Gabriella scurrying home with horror stories about how short-tempered he was. “Better now that your fried chicken’s here.”

  “Go on, now,” she said, gently swatting his arm before bustling back to flirt—yes, flirt—with Joaquin.

  Gabriella watched her with amusement. “I do not think I have seen Joaquin blush that much in all our years together,” she said in that quiet voice of hers.

  He liked that quiet voice. He liked that she had things she wanted to say to him and only him. “Is that a bad thing?” Chance would never forgive himself if something bad happened to Franny.

  “No, I do not believe it is,” she said with a knowing wink.

  Chance felt his mood improve. “So,” he said, remembering where they’d left off before he’d lost his temper. “Tell me about Tres Cruces. Did you make that turquoise set you were wearing on Monday?”

  She nodded. He could tell she was pleased that he remembered. “I was so very young when my mother died, you understand.”

  For a second Chance was afraid he’d asked the wrong question, but she went on without missing a beat. “I have so few memories of her, but one thing that has always stuck with me was that Mama liked to make rosaries for the staff for Christmas. She would let me pick out the beads and help me string them on the wire. When I dropped them—and I always dropped them—she would laugh and we would make a game out of who could collect the most beads the fastest.” Her voice was softer, lighter—like a small girl lost in a happy thought. “I remember that clearly.”

  She smiled at the thought and he realized this was probably her most precious memory—and she’d shared it with him. It made him want to pull her into his arms and buy her more beads and take her on more rides—all so she could have a few more good memories. “So you learned from her?”

  “In
a way. It made me feel closer to her. I strung beads for a while, but soon I ran out of ideas and I wanted to try something new. Papa encouraged me, so there I was, this gap-toothed girl of ten, learning how to solder from one of the gardeners.”

  Chance whistled. “You were soldering at ten? I’m impressed.”

  “Alejandro used to tease me so,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “My fingertips were always stained and I had little burns in much of my clothing. I was quite a sight in church on Sundays!”

  They laughed, the tension of earlier gone. Maybe Chance would have to revise his opinion of Rodrigo del Toro—a little, anyway. Not too many fathers would let their daughters take up metalwork at an age when most girls were playing with dolls and painting their nails. “So you’ve been making jewelry for years?”

  She shot him a sly look that made his blood pump faster. “Not all of it was a success, you understand.”

  “You should have seen the first fence I put up by myself. Not a straight line for a mile.”

  Something in her eyes...deepened. “A country mile?”

  He grinned at her. She was a quick study—intelligent, beautiful and talented. Man, if things were different, he’d do a hell of a lot more than just take her out for a morning ride and then feed her fried chicken. Dinner with candles, a nice wine—maybe a long drive home on a slow country road? Too damn bad things weren’t different. “Sure seemed longer when I was digging those post holes.”

  Behind him, he thought he heard Joaquin snort. Yeah, he forgot—they weren’t exactly alone. What a pain in the backside. “So you make everything by hand?”

  She nodded as she ate. “I have gallery shows in Mexico City. Most of my pieces are one-of-a-kind creations and I do a great deal of custom work. More than enough to keep me busy.”

  “Are you working here?”

  “No,” and the way she said it made it pretty clear that she missed it. “I was operating under the impression that we would not be in America long enough to pack up my tools and supplies.” The more she talked, the sadder she looked. “I appear to have been mistaken.”

  Boy, no wonder she looked depressed. As far as he could tell, she spent her time riding her horse and making amazing jewelry. But at Alex’s house? She had access to neither of those things.

  “Any time you want to come out and ride,” he offered, “you let me know. I’m hosting a wedding tomorrow, but I’ll make time to hit the trail with you.”

  Her big eyes looked up at him with undisguised gratitude. “Thank you.” Then she leaned forward. “I must admit, I was jealous of Alejandro coming to America, but this is the first time I’ve been able to get away from the house and see anything.”

  “I can show you around. For a town this size, there’s a lot to do. We’ve got some good restaurants.” He kept his voice level.

  She didn’t reply for a moment. Instead she looked at him through her thick lashes, her lips curved into the kind of smile that practically begged a man to come on over and kiss them. “Are you asking me out to dinner?”

  The question felt like a trap because, yeah, he was asking her out to dinner. “I’m sure Alex would want to know that his little sister is enjoying herself in Texas—seeing the sights, that sort of thing. Not much point in coming to America if you’re going to be stuck in a house.”

  He must not have done such a good job of covering his tracks, because she shot him a look that was all kinds of hot and not a whole lot of innocent. “Joaquin will have to come along, of course.”

  “Of course.” He tried to make it sound as if it was no big deal—just an armed chaperone. But if that was what it took to get her out of the house, then so be it.

  Gabriella del Toro wasn’t exactly a woman he could trust and, beyond that, she wasn’t exactly in play, what with being a beautiful Mexican heiress with a domineering father and a lying, cheating dirtbag for a brother. She would only be here for as long as Alex couldn’t remember who’d kidnapped him, then she’d be back south of the border again, locked up in her little castle and he’d never see her again.

  But she’d unsaddled her horse. She soldered for fun. She spoke three languages.

  And—this was the important part—she was sitting over there looking as if dinner was exactly what she had in mind.

  “I think,” she said, and he heard something new in her voice—soft, yes, but now it was mixed with what sounded like desire, “that dinner would be lovely.”

  Yeah, lovely.

  Just like her.

  Seven

  When was the last time she’d had a date?

  Gabriella mulled this question over on the drive back to Alejandro’s house. Dating had been, by and large, a phase of life that she had skipped. She’d kissed a few grooms in the stable, but that had usually been retaliation against her father and his many rules. And they had never progressed past a few kisses—the grooms had been far more worried about being caught than Gabriella had been.

  Then there had been her quinceañera, which had been a two-day-long festival her father had hired a party planner to orchestrate. Everything about her fifteenth birthday had been planned, including who her chambelanes, or dance partners, would be. Her father had chosen the son of one of his business partners, Raoul Viega, to be her first dance.

  Ah, Raoul. That was probably as close as she could come to having dated. He was the same age as Alejandro and had attended the same university, although the two men had never been close friends. Raoul had been her escort at various points throughout the years, accompanying her to formal parties for Del Toro Energy and dinners at Los Pinos, the presidential estate.

  She had kissed Raoul, of course. Occasionally because she had wanted to, often because he had kissed her first—but mostly because she’d felt that each kiss was a small act of rebellion. A dare to Joaquin to report her activities back to her father, as he had always done about everything else.

  To his credit, Joaquin had never related her “dates” to her father in the exact way that they happened. But Raoul had grown bored with simple kisses and Joaquin’s presence had not allowed anything more...exciting to occur. Soon, Raoul had only taken her out when polite society dictated it, and those events had grown further and further apart. She had last seen him at her most recent gallery opening, eight months ago—and he’d accompanied a beautiful blond woman to the event.

  Gabriella had gone with her father.

  She’d been so miserable. Alejandro was in Texas—with no guards, no surveillance—and she had been stuck at Las Cruces, going places with Joaquin and her father. She knew she had no right to complain—she had never been cold or hungry, never been treated as chattel—but she’d still fallen into a deep depression after that. She didn’t want to retreat further into herself—further away from the rest of the world. She’d wanted more than that.

  She didn’t want it on her father’s terms, no matter how well-meaning those terms were.

  Which is how she’d wound up in Texas, having lunch with Chance McDaniel. On her terms.

  Raoul had always resented Joaquin’s necessary presence, making rude comments about her guard when he could clearly hear them. Perhaps that was why Joaquin had never allowed Raoul and Gabriella to be alone long enough for anything else to happen besides those quick kisses.

  But Chance? Well, that was different. It was quite clear that Chance was not exactly enamored with Joaquin accompanying her on the ride, but he had done an admirable job of including Joaquin.

  Gabriella looked at Joaquin. He was tapping his fingertips on the steering wheel as he navigated the vehicle back to Alejandro’s house. She leaned forward and caught the sound of humming—faint, but unmistakable.

  She smiled with joy. He may never say it out loud—and certainly not in so many words—but Joaquin had enjoyed himself today, as well. What had been his favorite part—the ride or th
e meal? Or had it been the cook, Franny?

  Excellent. If Joaquin had had a nice time and Gabriella’s safety had never been in question—which, despite a rather strong set of hugs from Franny, it hadn’t—then there could be no good reason not to return to McDaniel’s Acres for another ride.

  For the first time since she’d arrived in Texas, happiness flooded Gabriella. This was why she’d come, after all—to get off the estate, to see something new. To taste the freedom that Alejandro had enjoyed for two years.

  Lost in this pleased state, they arrived back at the house and Joaquin escorted her inside. At first she didn’t notice anything amiss, but then she heard it—a deep male voice that sounded as if the speaker hadn’t talked for years, coming from the kitchen.

  She rushed past Joaquin to find Alejandro sitting at the kitchen table. He’d showered and shaved since the morning, and had dressed in a white button-up shirt and clean jeans. He was drinking a cup of coffee and talking to Maria, the housekeeper, as if this were a normal Friday. When she entered the room, he looked up and smiled at her.

  As though he knew who she was.

  “Alejandro!” But that was all she could say as she threw herself at him. Her throat closed up and she was suddenly crying. He was back, the brother she remembered—not the stranger who’d come home from the hospital.

  Wasn’t he? As she clung to his neck, she waited for some sign from him that he did, in fact, remember her beyond the nice lady who brought him breakfast. For a moment nothing happened and she lost all hope. Nothing had changed, except he’d left his room. That was it.

  But then he said, “Hi, sis,” and hugged her back. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You know me?” she demanded, trying to keep herself composed. But then he leaned back and looked her in the eyes and she saw him. Her brother.

  “I couldn’t forget my little sister.”

  She almost cried. Alejandro was here. “I have been so worried about you,” she said as she hugged him again. “You must tell me what you remember.” Then, before she could stop herself, she added, “You must tell me if Chance McDaniel had anything to do with it.”