What a Rancher Wants

by Sarah M. Anderson

  But if Alex couldn’t remember Chance—couldn’t remember his own sister—then there was zero point in expecting him to tell Gabriella what Chance’s phone number was. He held the card out to her. “If anything changes—if you need my help in any way, here’s my number. I can be here in twenty minutes if Alex needs me.” He swallowed, hoping he wasn’t about to find himself thrown out of the house. “If you need me.”

  She stood. For a moment he thought she would once again tell him that she didn’t think that a wise idea, but then she took the offered card. Her fingertips grazed the edge of his—a small touch, but one that made him want to smile again. “Thank you.”

  “Who are you?” a voice thundered from behind him. Then he asked the same thing in Spanish. “¿Quién es?”

  Chance barely caught the look of alarm on Gabriella’s face before he spun around to see the man who could only be Alex’s father filling the kitchen doorway. The older man stood with his feet spread, his hands on his hips and his chest puffed up. He was nearly as tall as Chance was—maybe a few inches shorter than Alex. He could have been Alex’s twin, if it weren’t for the lines etched into his forehead. Same black hair, same build—but the face was all different. Alex had an easy smile and warm eyes—the kind of guy a man could knock back a beer or two with on a Friday night.

  This was not a man who probably ever knocked back a couple of beers. No doubt about it, this was the senior del Toro. Rodrigo. Nathan had said the old man was a force to be reckoned with. He hadn’t been lying.

  “Papa,” Gabriella said in a soft—but not weak—voice. “This is Chance McDaniel, Alejandro’s friend.”

  He sure did appreciate her putting it in those terms, as opposed to mentioning that he was also the lead suspect in Alex’s disappearance.

  Not that she needed to. Rodrigo’s eyes blazed with an undisguised hatred at Chance’s name. “¿Qué está haciendo aquí?” he snarled as Gabriella went to stand next to her father. Chance felt Joaquin come up behind him; probably just close enough to grab Chance if he made a funny move.

  What was Chance doing here? Rodrigo must not be as perceptive as his daughter. Gabriella had assumed that Chance spoke Spanish, but Rodrigo had incorrectly assumed Chance did not. So he said, “Hola, Señor del Toro. Alex hablaba bien de usted.” Alex spoke well of you.

  Or at least, that’s what he hoped he’d said. Alex had always spoken in crisp English, much the way Gabriella did. Chance had never had private tutors, unless one counted the hired hands on the ranch—and they’d spent more time teaching him to cuss in Spanish than to make polite greetings.

  When this didn’t get him shot, he added in his most polite business voice that he had come to see Alex. And he made damn sure not to flinch in Joaquin’s direction when the big man huffed. This would be a bad time to show any sign of nerves or fear. So Chance kept his face calm and his gaze steady. He may be a cowboy, by God, but he was a McDaniel and no one—not even Rodrigo del Toro—was going to stare him down.

  Then he saw the corners of Gabriella’s mouth curve into a small smile. Even if Rodrigo hated his guts, at the very least, Chance had said what she’d wanted to hear.

  “You are not welcome in this house,” Rodrigo said, switching back to English. His accent was thicker, less crisp—but his words flowed easily.

  “Papa,” Gabriella said as she put a hand on his arm.

  “Gabriella,” he shot back. She pulled her hand away and cast her gaze to the ground. “You are not welcome in this house,” he repeated, his voice a notch louder.

  That did it. Chance could handle a man trying to bullshit him, but to speak to his daughter in such a callous manner? Nope. Not happening. “Last I heard, this was still Alex’s house and I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that I’ve spent more time here than you have. I’m welcome here until Alex says otherwise.” He saw the look of alarm on Gabriella’s face. “Señor,” he said in his most dismissive voice.

  Still, he wasn’t stupid. He’d worn out his welcome in a big way. Before Joaquin could grab him by the scruff of his neck, he snatched his hat off the side table. “Ms. del Toro, it was a pleasure to meet you.” He then turned to Joaquin and was unsurprised to see the man’s fists swinging by his sides. “Keep up the good work, Joaquin.”

  He heard footsteps behind him and tensed, expecting a blow of some kind. He was surprised, however, when Gabriella slipped past him to reach the door before him. She opened it and stood to the side with a confused look on her face. “I will tell Alejandro you stopped by,” she said.

  Chance glanced back over his shoulder. Joaquin was fewer than five feet away—for a big man, he could move like a cat when he wanted to, apparently. Rodrigo del Toro had not moved from the doorway, though. He stood there with his arms crossed, glaring as if he possessed laser vision or something. Chance couldn’t help himself. He tipped his hat to the older man, knowing it’d piss him off.

  Then he turned back to Gabriella. “I hope he won’t be too mad.” That got him a worried smile telling him exactly how bad Rodrigo would be after he left. “Call me for anything. The offer to ride stands.”

  She did not meet his gaze, but he saw the delicate pink that rushed to her cheeks.

  “Gabriella,” Rodrigo roared.

  “Goodbye, Mr. McDaniel.” She shut the door behind him.

  Chance walked out to his truck and then turned to look at Alex’s house. He didn’t see Alex’s face in any of the upper windows.

  He had a feeling he’d be hearing from Gabriella. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but soon. The way her eyes had lit up when he’d talked about riding the range? Yeah, she was going to call—especially if she was stuck in that house with a silent shadow of a bodyguard and a raging father. Not to mention a brother who didn’t remember her.

  He hoped Gabriella was as good as her word and told Alex that Chance had come by.

  That would make her better than her brother.

  Because as of now, his word meant nothing to Chance.

  Three

  It took four days before Chance’s cell phone rang. He’d just gotten back to the barn from checking on the ponds for the cattle. When his phone rang, it played Alex’s ringtone. For a moment Chance thought it was Alex; that he had his memory back, that he wanted to tell Chance about everything—which may or may not include his sister.

  He handed Ranger, his horse, to Marty and grabbed his phone out of its holster. “Hello?”

  “Ah, yes—Mr. McDaniel?”

  Gabriella’s soft voice flowed around him. Chance was simultaneously disappointed that it wasn’t Alex and thrilled that she’d called. “I told you to call me Chance, Gabriella.”

  There was something of an awkward pause. He could almost see her trying to decide if she was going to call him what he wanted her to. Because he sure as hell wanted to hear what her accent would do with his name.

  But it didn’t look as if it was going to happen right now, so he redirected the conversation. “Any change in Alex?”

  “No. He is still...resting.” She sounded not awesome, frankly. Tired and worried, but underneath that, he could hear frustration. She was doing a damn fine job hiding it, but he could still tell.

  “Is your father still mad at me?”

  “Papa is only concerned with Alejandro’s well-being.” Her answer came without hesitation. In fact, it almost sounded as though she’d rehearsed it.

  He grinned. That was a yes, loud and clear. “So, you need to get out of the house for a while? I’ve got a beauty of a quarter horse named Nightingale that’d love to ride you around.”

  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 th
e 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. An
d 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.