What a Rancher Wants

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Gabriella felt herself sigh. Chance was correct. No matter how she tried to dress it up as part of her investigation into Alejandro’s abduction, seeing where Chance McDaniel lived had nothing to do with her brother and everything to do with the man riding next to her.

  At least he hadn’t said no. Just not today. That implied that he might very well show her his home at a later time.

  Because he anticipated more rides.

  They rode past the sunny house and on to a series of sheds and buildings, all made of corrugated metal. “What’s this?”

  “The shop area.” He rode up to the first building and dismounted, tying his horse to a post. “Here, let me help you.”

  She tensed, almost expecting him to lift her out of the saddle and definitely wishing he would. She would love to feel his callused hands settle around her waist—would love to feel them on her skin.

  But he didn’t. Perhaps ever-mindful of Joaquin, he took the reins and held Gale still while Gabriella dismounted. Then he kept a respectable distance between them as he led her into the first building. “Here’s where we keep the mowers and ATVs—we use this stuff every day around here,” he said, his voice echoing off the metal walls.

  “How...nice,” she replied, not knowing what else she was supposed to say.

  They walked to the next building. “The bigger tractors and implements are in here. We rotate planting cover crops and alfalfa in the fields. Over there’s my baler,” he said, pointing to a large, square machine.

  “Lovely.” As lovely as one could consider a baler. Whatever that was.

  They walked past the baler and through a door at the back of the building. Joaquin kept close, no doubt worried about an ambush.

  They entered what was clearly a workroom, the sounds of grinding metal filling the air. “Hey, Slim!” Chance yelled loudly, but the grinding didn’t let up. “Be right back,” he said to them as he headed toward the noise.

  Gabriella looked around. What a workroom, she thought in awe. Pegboards lined the walls with such a variety of tools as she had never seen—and that was saying something. She had a well-appointed workroom back on the estate in an outbuilding, but this was something on an entirely different scale. Clamps, pliers, screwdrivers and so much more hung from the pegboards in descending order. She had smaller tools, but some of those clamps were designed to hold posts together, it appeared.

  And those were just the tools on the walls. In her shop, she had a kiln and a small, portable furnace to melt her metal, grinders and other tools to shape the stones. Here, there were planers, lathes, saws and all manner of wood-working tools. Then, in the back, she spied a furnace—an honest-to-goodness furnace, the kind used to fire iron.

  Suddenly the grinding stopped and she heard an older male voice say, “Eh? Oh, Chance, my boy!”

  Then an older man that matched the voice came into view, a visor pushed back on his head, a dirty kerchief tied at his neck and a worn apron covering up his clothes. His steel-toed boots were so old that the steel was no longer covered by leather. He was patting Chance on the shoulder with a massive gloved hand.

  “Brought someone to meet you,” Chance was saying. He turned to Gabriella. “Gabriella, this is Daryl Slocum—also known as Slim.”

  Although he was probably well into his sixties—it was difficult to tell with the gear he had on—Slim rolled his eyes. “Never did cotton to the name Daryl.”

  What did “cotton” mean? Besides a plant they made fabric from.

  “Slim,” Chance went on before she could figure it out, “over there is Joaquin and this is Gabriella del Toro.” Slim gave her a sideways glance, which made Chance add, “Alex’s sister.”

  As realization dawned in Slim’s eyes, Gabriella felt uncharacteristically frustrated. Of course she was “Alex’s” sister—but she hated that being the thing everyone knew her by. She was always Alejandro’s sister or Rodrigo’s daughter. It was only when it came to her jewelry—her art—that she was Gabriella. That was how she preferred it.

  Slim nodded—actually, it was almost a bow. “Well, howdy do, ma’am. A pleasure.” But Slim made no move to shake her hand or—thankfully—hug her as Franny had done. “We sure were glad when they found Alex. I’ve been praying for him.”

  The sentiment caught her off guard. “Why, thank you. He is a little better.”

  At this, Chance gave her a quizzical look—one so brief she wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it. Then he was talking again. “Slim made the chandeliers in the bunkhouse.”

  “You did? Those were beautiful!”

  Slim blushed a deep maroon. “Shucks, it weren’t nothin’. Just testing out a few designs. And I bought the shades.” He said this last bit as if it made the ironwork little better than a pile of metal.

  “They were perfect for the space. Simply amazing.” She was being honest, too.

  “Gabriella here is an artist.” Chance motioned her closer. “Show him your stuff.”

  She frowned at Chance for the “stuff,” but she removed her jewelry and pieced it together for Slim.

  “I’ll be dipped—you made that?” Slim whistled long and low when she nodded, pleased with the compliment.

  At least, she assumed it was a compliment. She wasn’t sure what “dipped” meant in this context.

  “Gabriella’s going to be staying on in Royal for a bit longer,” Chance explained as Slim tried his hand at assembling the three crosses. “I thought she might need to borrow some tools.”

  What? Had he said—borrow tools?

  Slim grinned. “Sure. Lemme show you what I got—no gold or silver, but I got a little bit of everything.”

  Even though Gabriella followed Slim, she couldn’t absorb what he was showing her. All she could do was stare at Chance.

  He was providing her with tools—the very things she hadn’t taken the time to pack. Working on her jewelry and riding were the two things she’d missed most about Las Cruces—and Chance McDaniel was single-handedly giving her both. Without her having to ask. He just did it.

  She thought Slim was showing her industrial-size spools of wire, but all she saw was Chance. Then his gaze met hers and she was filled with that unexpected sense of coming home. The emotion was so strong that her legs felt a little weak.

  Of course Papa and Alejandro took care of her, but their definition of “taking care of her” was usually more limited to what was too unsafe for her to do—show her horses, attend university, date. To do anything outside of the patrolled walls of Las Cruces. Taking care of her was locking her up tight and giving her just enough to do to make her forget about being a prisoner in her own home.

  Chance? He showed her around. He introduced her to people who obviously cared for him. He didn’t keep himself separate from the staff the way Papa did. Instead he acted as if they were his family, and they the same.

  Perhaps she was being foolish. This was probably nothing more than Chance had done for Alejandro, after all—welcomed him onto his land and into his life. Perhaps this was the sort of man Chance McDaniel was—friend to one and all.

  But when Slim led them back through a row, Chance put his hand on her. It was a light touch—one that started at her shoulder, one that probably signaled nothing more than a polite “you go first.” But when she did, his hand did not leave her.

  Instead his fingertips floated over her shoulder and down her back, ending above her bottom before they moved sideways. Then, briefly, he rested his hand on her waist.

  The touch was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Luiz, the stable boy, had touched her with fumbling, unsure hands. Raoul, her frequent escort to public events, had always taken hold of her arm as if he already owned her. There had never been a moment in which he’d asked for permission—not from her. Her father had given Raoul permission to accompany her and that was all the permission he n
eeded.

  But Chance’s touch? It was something soft and gentle—confident but unassuming. His hand lingered at her waist for a moment longer, then they were through the narrow row and, with a final gentle squeeze, he withdrew.

  “I do a lot of wrought iron,” Slim was saying, but Gabriella found herself turning back to look at Chance.

  “You okay?” he asked in a tone of voice that felt every bit as confident as his hand had.

  “I...” She cleared her throat, thankful that Slim was now demonstrating his bellows. “I am surprised, that is all.”

  One of his eyebrows moved up, making him look playful. “A good surprise?”

  “One of the best I have ever had.” She wanted to do something completely rash, like throw her arms around his neck and show him exactly what she thought of his surprise—but then a blast of heat from Slim’s furnace hit her.

  “Any time you want to come out, you just give me a call. Slim here has been working on the ranch for close to fifty years. He’s got every tool known to mankind. Never throws anything away.”

  Then—in full view of both Slim and Joaquin—he reached over and ran his hand down the length of her arm, lightly squeezing before he withdrew and took a step away from her.

  Not a touch of ownership. A question. Asking permission.

  Suddenly she wanted to say yes in a way she’d never wanted to before.

  She glanced at Joaquin. The scowl on his face was more than enough to remind her that saying yes to Chance—heavens, just saying thank you in the way she wanted to—would be a challenge. How would she convince him to join her here on a regular basis? Working in the shop had nothing to do with investigating the ranch in regard to Alejandro’s disappearance.

  “So,” Slim said, seemingly unaware of the unspoken battle she was waging with herself. “Whaddya think?”

  “I have never worked in iron.” She did not want to refuse Chance’s gifts and it had nothing to do with not wanting to insult his honor. It had everything to do with the gratitude that filled her as she looked around the shop.

  She could ride. She could work—not as she normally did, but it would be a new skill all the same. And—most importantly—she could be free of the confines of Alejandro’s house.

  She could be here. With Chance.

  “Heck fire, I’ll teach you! We’ll start with the basics and then you can try your hand at some smaller pieces. I got some extra aprons—not sure if I’ve got one big enough for your husband there,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Joaquin is not my husband. He is my guard.”

  “Oh—right, my bad. I bet you all are a little jumpy after what happened to our Alex. Sure, bring him along. Franny’ll feed him if he helps out!”

  At this, Joaquin’s face turned a brighter shade of red, although nothing else about him changed. The others might not have noticed his blush, but Gabriella did.

  Maybe, Gabriella thought with a new hopefulness rising up in her, it would not be so very difficult to convince Joaquin to return to the ranch on a more regular basis after all.

  She looked at Chance and smiled. “My door is always open,” he said, and she knew he was trying to sound as if this open invitation was the sort he would make to any visitor to his ranch.

  But that’s not what she heard. Instead she heard an unspoken to you in there—“My door is always open to you.”

  Then he added, “All you have to do is ask, Gabriella. The answer will be yes.”

  Yes.

  The answer would be yes.

  Nine

  The look on Gabriella’s face was something to behold.

  As they said their goodbyes to Slim and headed back to where the horses were tethered, she kept those big beautiful eyes latched on to him with the kind of look that made him wish he was in a honky-tonk and it was Friday night.

  When they made it back to the horses, she turned to him. “You did this for me?”

  “Yup.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joaquin take hold of Beast’s reins. He wasn’t making any sudden moves toward his weapon.

  Gabriella didn’t seem concerned about whatever Joaquin may or may not be doing. She only had eyes for him.

  Which had been the point.

  She took a step closer to him. The space between them was only a couple of feet, but it sure felt a lot less than that. He could almost reach out and touch her again.

  He did no such thing.

  But God help him, he wanted to—and not as if he was afraid of who might be watching. He wanted to pull her into his arms and take the kiss that she sure looked as though she wanted to give him.

  “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.” Her voice was soft. Warm.

  Inviting.

  He stood rooted to the spot because if he moved, he knew he’d take what she was offering and he also knew that he’d get shot and he really wished he didn’t know both of those things at the same time. “Welcome,” he managed to say without pulling her into his chest.

  She shot him a look that took everything soft and sweet about her and turned it hard and needy in a heartbeat. “I would like for you to put your hands in your pockets.”

  If anyone else had asked him to do that, Chance would have known they were planning on punching him and he’d have had none of it. But Gabriella wasn’t going to crack him across the cheek because of Slim, was she?

  The light in her eyes said no. Hell, everything about her said no.

  So he did.

  Her gaze flicked back to where Chance was pretty sure Joaquin was still watching them. He could only hope the barrel of a gun wasn’t pointed at the back of his skull. “As you can see, he is not touching me,” she said in an all-too-businesslike voice.

  Then, before he could make any sense of that, she stepped toward him, flung her arms around his neck and kissed the holy hell out of him. Her teeth clipped his lower lip and he desperately wanted to tilt his head to the side so that he could taste her better—taste all of her—but he couldn’t move. He didn’t dare.

  When it ended—and damn it, it did end—she pulled away so quickly she almost stumbled. And he almost got his hands jerked out of his pockets to grab her.

  She regained her footing and took that all-important step away from him. “You see? He did not touch me.”

  She wasn’t talking to him. She was talking to Joaquin. It was almost as if she had something to prove and he was it.

  “I want to race back to the barn,” she announced, her color high and her eyes bright. “Straight back.”

  He knew she was asking her guard—not him—but he answered anyway. He barely managed to avoid saying darlin’ but somehow he kept that part in his head only. “All you had to do was ask. You knew the answer would be yes.”

  Man, that smile—her wanting to race—that kiss.

  They mounted up and took off, hell-for-leather. He could hear Gabriella’s laughter over the pounding of the horses’ hooves—even over the sound of Joaquin cussing in an interesting mixture of English and Spanish.

  Was he a greedy bastard? Maybe. Maybe that’s exactly why he reined Ranger in a bit, why he let Gale pull ahead. He couldn’t touch her—even she admitted as much with her request to put his hands in his pockets.

  But he sure as hell was going to watch her ride.

  Her backside fit into that saddle as though he’d had it custom-made for her. She rode low against Gale’s neck, no doubt urging the horse on faster. He had a hell of a view.

  She liked to ride. Hell, she loved to ride. She was interested in stuff like wrought iron. She saddled her horse. He’d be willing to bet a steak dinner she’d muck the barn. For a sheltered, refined woman, she wasn’t afraid of the hard work that made up most of his days.

  He’d never met another woman like her. Ca
ra hadn’t been willing to get a little dusty, a little dirty. Cara had never wanted to ride so hard the horses worked themselves into a lather.

  Gabriella let out a whoop as Gale charged over a small hill. They were close to the barn, but if he could, he’d watch her ride with this wild abandon all damn day.

  And all night. His mind took the view of Gabriella riding hard in the saddle and put it right into his big king bed. Oh, she’d ride him, all right. After that kiss, there wasn’t any doubt in his mind about it. He could only hope he could make her whoop and holler as much as racing did.

  Far too soon, the barn came into view. He had no idea if Joaquin was behind them—he hadn’t hung around to see if the big man had been able to keep up—but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His blood was pounding and he couldn’t remember feeling this damned happy.

  Gabriella slowed Gale to a trot, which meant he had to stop focusing on the way she filled out a saddle and start thinking with his brain again.

  “That was so much fun!” she said. “Can we do that tomorrow?”

  “You already know what I’m gonna say to that, don’t you?”

  She gave him the kind of look out of the corner of her eye that made him want to say to hell with Joaquin and guards and what her father might say if he knew she’d kissed him. All he wanted to do was to change course and lead her back to his home—the one that stood silent and empty out on the range, except for when the maid came to clean—and lead her up to his bed.

  She was a bright, shining star in the middle of his dark Texas winter and all he wanted to do was to bask in her light. Bask in her.

  But he also didn’t want to die today. So he went a different direction. “Have you managed to get out of the house? I mean, besides to come here.”

  Some of the light died in her eyes. It hurt him to watch. “I got a haircut, but otherwise, no.”

  “Tell you what. After we ride tomorrow, I’ll take you out. Royal’s a nice town. You should see it.”