What a Rancher Wants

by Sarah M. Anderson

  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 h
ad 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.