What a Rancher Wants

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.