What a Rancher Wants

The thing that Gabriella still could not believe was that their father had relented and Alejandro had been allowed to live alone, as an American would. Alejandro had assumed the identity of Alex Santiago and come north alone a little more than two years ago.

Gabriella had suffered a bout of jealousy at that. She longed to be free to come and go as she pleased, but her father would not hear of it. She had stayed at Las Cruces, under constant watch of Joaquin—and Rodrigo.

At least, she had been jealous—until Alejandro had been kidnapped. However, the kidnappers had not demanded an exorbitant ransom, as was the usual custom. Instead, there had been no word from them—or Alejandro, until he had been found in the back of a coyote’s truck. Coyotes smuggled immigrants. Alejandro, the son of Rodrigo del Toro, had been thrown in with the poor things desperate to start a new life in America.

The kidnappers had not treated Alejandro well. Although his wounds were healing, he had no memory of the attack, which meant he had no information to give the law-enforcement officers who occasionally checked on him. The case had stalled. Alejandro had returned, mostly whole, to his home in Royal, Texas. Now that his life was no longer in immediate danger, Gabriella had gotten the sense that the police weren’t as dedicated to finding the criminals who had abducted him in the first place. Still, they were “requesting” that Alejandro remain in the country. Truthfully, Alejandro had showed no signs of wanting to go. He stayed in his room, resting or watching football—what the Americans called soccer.

Alejandro showed almost no signs of memory, except his love of football. He didn’t seem to remember her, or Papa. In fact, the only reaction they’d gotten out of him beyond a mumbled thank-you when she brought him his meals was when Papa had announced they would be returning to Las Cruces within the week. Only then had Alejandro sparked to life, insisting that he was not going anywhere. Then he had locked himself in his room.

So Rodrigo had set up temporary headquarters in a set of rooms in Alejandro’s home in Royal that had recently been home to Mia Hughes, the former housekeeper. Papa was simultaneously running Del Toro Energy and utilizing his vast resources to identify the culprits that had taken Alejandro. Rodrigo was not about to let anyone get away with assaulting any member of his family. Gabriella could only hope that, when he caught the perpetrators, he wouldn’t do something that would land him in an American prison.

Which meant that Gabriella had no idea how long the del Toro family would be trapped in this house together.

This was also why Joaquin was standing outside the bathroom as Gabriella tended her injury. If she had ever hoped of having the kind of freedom that Alejandro had tasted for two years, those hopes were now dashed. Her father would not allow her to go unguarded. Not after nearly losing his son.

Still, she was in America instead of in Las Cruces, and that was something. True, she had not seen much of America beyond the small private airport where the family jet had landed, or the dark night sky that had made it almost impossible to see this country where she suspected her brother had been his happiest. No, she’d mostly seen the Royal Hospital and then, the inside of Alejandro’s house.

Thus far, she was underwhelmed by America.

She longed to do something besides tend to a frustratingly silent Alejandro or to defuse her father’s angry outbursts. As much as she never thought she would say it, she missed Las Cruces. True, she had not been allowed to leave the estate’s grounds, but within its securely patrolled borders, she’d had far more freedom than she’d had in Royal, Texas. She’d been able to chat with the maids and the cook. She’d been able to go to her workshop and work on her jewelry designs. She’d been able to saddle up Ixchel, her Azteca horse and, with Joaquin, ride wherever she pleased on Las Cruces’ extensive grounds. It hadn’t been true freedom. More like a reasonable facsimile of freedom.

But it was still more than what she had at the moment. Here, she was trapped with an invalid, an irate father and Joaquin, who, bless him, had never been much for conversation. The only break in the monotony had been the brief appearances of Maria, Alejandro’s maid, as well as Nathan Battle, the local sheriff, and Bailey Collins, the state investigator who had been assigned to Alejandro’s case.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it.

Gabriella wrapped the bandage around her finger, wishing she could wrap her head around the situation. For as long as she could remember, her world had been a safe, if constrained place. Now, with Alejandro’s kidnapping, discovery and subsequent memory loss, everything was turned upside down.

In the midst of feeling sorry for herself, the doorbell chimed.

Perhaps Maria had returned. Gabriella liked talking to her. It was a relief to have a normal conversation with another woman, even if it was mere small talk about the weather and groceries. Anything to break up the monotony of the days in Alejandro’s house.

She hurried out of the bathroom. Joaquin followed her to the door. They’d already reached an understanding that, in lieu of hiring more help—something her father was not interested in—Gabriella would answer the door and Joaquin would stand guard, ready to spring into action.

The bell chimed again, causing Gabriella to hurry. It couldn’t be Maria—she wasn’t that impatient. Which meant it was either the sheriff or the state investigator. Which meant her father would spend the better part of his afternoon raging at American injustices.

Resigned to her fate, Gabriella paused to catch her breath at the front door before opening it. She was, for the foreseeable future, the lady of the house. It was best to present the del Toro family in a positive light—all the more so because Maria had indicated that some members of the community were suspicious of the family of Alex Santiago. She checked her reflection in the hall mirror, thankful that the only thing out of place was the bandage on her finger, and affixed a warm smile to her face. She’d played the hostess for her father’s business dinners before. She knew her role well.

Neither Sheriff Battle nor Agent Collins stood on the front stoop. Instead it was a cowboy—a tall, broad cowboy wearing a heathered sports jacket, a dark gray shirt and a dark pair of jeans over his gray ostrich cowboy boots. The moment he saw her, he whipped his brown felt hat off of his head and held it to his chest.

Oh. Green eyes. ¡Dios mío! she had never seen eyes so green in her entire life. They were beautiful—the color of the spring grass at Las Cruces. For a moment looking into his eyes felt... It felt like coming home. His gaze affected her in a way she’d never before experienced.

“Howdy, ma’am.” His voice was rough around the edges, as if he’d been outdoors in the February wind for some time. As he looked at her, one corner of his mouth crooked up, as if he were not surprised to see her, just pleased. “I’d like to talk to Alex, if he’s up to it.”

She was staring, she realized too late. Perhaps that was because she hadn’t seen too many outsiders recently. But the way this cowboy—for there could be no doubt that was what he was—was looking at her had rooted her to the spot.

His smile deepened as he held out one hand. “I’m Chance McDaniel. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Miss...?”

Any homecoming died in the air between them. Chance McDaniel? What she knew of this man was limited, but it did nothing to endear him to her—or her father. According to Sheriff Battle and Agent Collins, Mr. McDaniel had been close friends with Alejandro—or rather, with Alex Santiago. However, he was also one of the leading suspects in Alejandro’s disappearance—a crime of which he had not been cleared.

What was he doing here? More to the point, what was she going to do about it?

Behind her, Joaquin moved, his hand slipping up under his jacket. Gabriella quickly remembered herself. She could not imagine what would have led a leading suspect to ask to speak to the victim of a crime, but she also couldn’t have Joaquin pulling a weapon on him. This wasn’t Mexico, after all.

With a quick look that had Joaquin stopping in his tracks, Gabriella remembered her warm smile. “Hello, Mr. McDaniel. Won’t you please enter?” Instead of shaking his outstretched hand, she stepped back, narrowly missing Joaquin, and motioned for Chance to enter.

He stood there for a beat too long before letting his hand fall to his side as he took long strides into the foyer. He moved with a confident ease, projecting strength with each step. Of course he was confident. Otherwise he wouldn’t have dared ask to see Alejandro.

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.”