His Forever Valentine

Did he think she was just a puppet for the front office? Someone whose true calling was just to rubber-stamp everything? To say whatever was expedient just to get things to move along in the direction that the production department wanted it to move? She couldn’t think of a more awful, colorless way to earn a living.

“Why would you think that?” she asked. “I’m not selling tickets to it.”

“No, what I thought was that you might think that would help convince someone to give you access to their property.”

She laughed. “That’s not what does the convincing,” she told him. “The money that the studio is willing to pay for the use of the property is supposed to do all the convincing on that level,” she told him.

“Money’s nice,” he readily agreed. “But it’s not at the top of my dad’s list.”

She laughed softly and to herself. “Money’s at the top of everyone’s list.”

If his father was going to have them shoot the movie here, she’d learn otherwise, Rafe thought.

For now, he decided to say nothing.

Chapter Three

Restless, Miguel Rodriguez was getting ready to drive out to the west end of his property to see if his son had had any luck in finding the break in the fence. It’d been a while since Rafe had driven out to try to locate the break—if there actually was one. One way or another, by Miguel’s calculations his son should have either called on that cell thing he liked to carry around in his pocket, or driven back by now.

The alternative was that someone was stealing their cattle, an explanation he would rather not entertain. Granted, cattle rustling was not entirely unheard of in this day and age, but he liked his neighbors and there hadn’t been a case of rustling in the area for quite some time.

The other alternative was that there were coyotes in the vicinity, hungry ones that could attack a cow and make short work of it. As a boy, he’d once seen a pack of coyotes bring down a full-grown head of cattle and systematically tear the flesh off the poor animal until there were only bones left. The bones were scattered to the extent that it would appear as if the cow had just vanished. Later, he realized that had he not been looking down on the scene taking place in a gulley, he might have served as the coyotes’ dessert.

Checking his pockets for the keys to his truck, Miguel thought he heard the front door open and close again. Miguel Jr. and Ramon were over at Eli’s, lending him a hand with the new quarter horses and, as far as he knew, Gabe and Alma were working in town as usual, so that only left one son unaccounted for.

“About time you got back, Raphael,” he called out, making his way to front of the house. “I was all set to call the sheriff’s office and have Alma send out a search party for you. Did you find the break?” Miguel asked as he walked into the living room.

Anything else he was about to say faded away as Miguel stopped in his tracks. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, his son was not alone. There was a very pretty redhead standing beside him.

“No,” Rafe answered. “I didn’t find the break yet.” Damn, he thought. Once he’d stumbled across Valentine and started talking to her, he’d forgotten all about the break in the fence that he was supposed to be looking for. He flashed his father a semi-apologetic smile. “But I found her.”

Miguel nodded as he made eye contact with the young woman. He knew the faces of all the people who lived around here and she definitely was not from around here—although, now that he looked closer, there was something vaguely familiar about her.

“I see. And she is much more interesting than a break in the fence,” Miguel agreed.

In his early sixties, Miguel Rodriguez was still a virile, powerful man, one who had been extremely handsome in his youth. People told him he still had humor in his dark eyes as well as a certain charm when he smiled.

And he was doing that right now.

Pausing a moment, Miguel glanced toward his son, then back at the attractive young woman he’d brought in with him.

“Since my son seems to have forgotten his manners, let me introduce myself. I am Miguel Rodriguez.” He took her hand in his. “Welcome to my humble home,” he said just before he bowed from the waist and ever so lightly kissed the hand he was holding, as was the custom of his forefathers. Still bowed, he raised his eyes to hers and asked, “And you are?”

Intrigued, Val couldn’t help thinking. She’d been born and raised in the land of make believe, accustomed to charm that oozed from the pores of exceptionally handsome men looking to make a name for themselves—or to seduce her for the space of a satisfying liaison or two. Handsome men whose charm—and subsequent nature—was as deep as a puddle on a sidewalk after a light spring shower.

But this Miguel Rodriguez’s charm seemed to come as naturally as breathing. Val smiled at the still dark-haired man. He was somewhat shorter than his son, but he appeared to be every bit as powerfully built. Muscles, no doubt, that had come from hard work. She had huge respect for someone like that. Her usual wariness, brought on by years of having to deal with plastic people out only for their own interests and advancement, slipped away like a feather gliding on an unexpected breeze.

“Valentine Jones,” she told Rafe’s father with a smile.

Miguel’s eyes shone with appreciation as they slid over her.

Val caught herself thinking, Like father, like son while Miguel told her, “Con mucho gusto. That means—”

“I know a little Spanish,” she responded. “I know what that means.”

“Excellent.” Miguel nodded his approval. Slowly releasing her hand, he stepped back. “May I get you something to drink? Perhaps something to eat?”

She liked his generosity. The man was extending his hospitality to her and he had no idea what she was doing there yet.

“No, thank you, Mr. Rodriguez,” Val began.

Rafe knew how carried away his father could get, exuding Latin charm from every pore. He came to Val’s rescue.

“Val’s here on business, Dad,” Rafe interrupted before his father could get rolling.

The interested look in Miguel’s eyes only grew. “Oh?” His eyes shifted back to the young woman, taking quiet measure of her. “And what business would that be? You cannot be with the bank because all the payments are up to date,” he stated just in case this lovely creature with the sharp blue eyes was with the establishment that held the mortgage to his property. That would explain why he didn’t recognize her. She had to be from out of town. Somewhere up north would be his guess.

“I’m not with the bank,” Val confirmed. “I’m in the business of making movies, sir.”

Miguel’s smile broadened. He slanted a glance toward his son. “Ah, so you have brought me a movie star, Raphael,” he said to his son.

Val was quick to correct his mistake—if he’d actually made it. This one, she sensed, was a born flatterer. “I’m not a movie star, Mr. Rodriguez. I work behind the scenes.”

Smooth, she couldn’t help thinking. And still every bit of a charmer. She had a feeling that in his day, Miguel Rodriguez had been a force to be reckoned with and that no woman could resist him.

“That is a shame,” Miguel told her with genuine feeling. “You should be in front of the camera, not behind one. Come, sit,” he encouraged, gesturing toward the oversize tan leather sofa in his living room.

“Thank you.”

Walking in front of the older man, Val took a seat on the sofa. Rather than sit beside her, the man she had come to see took a seat on the matching armchair that was positioned kitty-corner to the larger piece of furniture. Looking at him, Val thought of him as a ruler, holding court.

Rafe sat down on the sofa beside her—just close enough to make her aware of his presence even if she wasn’t looking directly at him.

“Now then, what can I do for you, Miss—I’m sorry,” he apologized, leaning in toward her and creating a very personal space between them. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Valentine Jones,” Val repeated. Taking a business card out of the pocket of her jeans, she handed it to the older man.

Miguel glanced at the card, then raised his eyes to hers. She could feel him scrutinizing her. But it wasn’t the kind of scrutiny that made her want to squirm. On the contrary, though she wasn’t sure just what he was thinking, he made her feel welcomed and right at home. Because of the nature of her work, Val had the ability to adjust to almost any surroundings, but inside, there was always this wariness.

She didn’t really feel it this time.

“You know,” Miguel told her thoughtfully, “you remind me of someone, the way you hold your head and that beautiful hair of yours. You make me think of an actress. A very pretty lady, but I cannot recall who.” He raised his wide shoulders in a helpless shrug, then let them fall. “Getting older has its drawbacks, I am afraid,” he confided with a smile. “When I was younger, I would have known immediately.”

She knew exactly who he was talking about. It wasn’t the first time she’d been told that she reminded a person of someone they had once seen on the screen.

“People say I look like my mother,” she told Miguel.

The old man nodded a bit absently. “Many children look like their parents. My daughter, Alma, looks very much like my late wife.”