The Rancher's Request

If anyone else had said such a thing to him, he’d give him a mouthful of knuckles. But Lex was like a brother, so he simply glowered at the other man.

“I don’t need a woman to dance with—or anything else.”

Lex shot him a disgusted look. “Yeah. How many times have I heard that before?”

Fortunately for Matt, another woman, a brunette this time, approached the two of them and wrapped an arm around Lex’s. “C’mon, good lookin’,” she said to him with a cheeky grin. “You two can talk cattle tomorrow. I’ve been waiting for a dance!”

Matt watched the pair glide off into a quick two-step, then decided he’d had enough. It wasn’t that he was antisocial. He liked people in general. But he’d never been comfortable with merrymaking. Now that his sweet Erica was gone, he wouldn’t know how to take another woman into his arms and waltz her around the dance floor. It just wasn’t in him.

If he could make it to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, then slip outside without anyone noticing, he could wait out this reception in peace, Matt thought, as he left the loud din in the great room.

Even the hallways and connecting rooms were packed with people gathered together in loose groups while others were simply wandering around with drinks in their hands. He worked his way through the human jumble until he reached the kitchen, only to find it was just as chaotic as the rest of the house.

Scores of servants, most of them hired only for the occasion, were dealing with beverages, food and dirty dishes. He stopped just inside the room and looked around for the familiar face of Cook, the old woman who’d been the ramrod of the Sandbur kitchen for more years than he’d been alive. She was in her seventies now, but she could work rings around a woman half her age. Matt expected to find her slinging hash during this hectic celebration, so it was a surprise to see her seated at a worktable, a cup of coffee clutched in her bony hands.

Well, the old woman must finally be feeling her age, Matt thought, as he made his way over to the cabinet. The idea bothered him. She was like a grandmother to him and all his cousins. He didn’t want to imagine the ranch without her.

As he gathered up a cup and filled it from a huge silver coffee urn, he could hear her saying to someone, “Well now, I never was interested in money. That’s not to say I don’t like the stuff. Just never had much use for it. I got everything I need right here on the ranch. I don’t need to go around digging for treasure. The Saddler and Sanchez families already treat me like a queen.”

“I’m sure they do,” a younger female voice replied. “But it would be exciting, wouldn’t it, if a person did happen to find money buried on the ranch? I’ve heard the amount might be as high as a million dollars.”

His ears wide-open now, Matt slowly stirred a dollop of cream into his coffee while he waited for Cook’s response. It came with a snort and he turned around to see she was leaning across the table, her head tilted toward a young woman he’d never seen before. She had light blond hair that was twisted atop her head into a mass of cascading curls. Rhinestones adorned her slender neck and the skinny straps of her dark blue velvet dress. Her skin was shell-pink, her features perfectly etched. Without question, she was a very beautiful woman. Except for her nose, he thought. It appeared to Matt that she was trying to stick it in places where she had no right.

“Bah!” Cook exclaimed with a wave of her hand. “Miss Sara had more money than that before Nate died. But I don’t believe she buried any of it. Why would she? It’s a silly notion if you ask me.”

“Do you know anything about her husband’s death?” the blonde asked. “There’ve been rumors for years—”

“And that’s all they are,” Matt quickly interrupted as he stepped forward to where the two women were sitting. “Just rumors.”

The blonde looked up at him, her pretty rose-colored lips forming a perfect O. Across from her, Cook said, “Matt, this is Miss Juliet Madsen. She works for the newspaper in Goliad. Isn’t that somethin’?”

It was something all right, he thought grimly. His eyes narrowed skeptically on the woman’s face. “I’m Matt Sanchez, Miss Juliet. And I think you and I need to have a talk. Would you excuse us, Cook?”

“Sure. I need to get back to work anyway,” the old cook said.

His eyes still on the nosy guest, Matt placed his hand on Cook’s shoulder. “No. You stay put. Finish your coffee and rest. This won’t take long anyway.”

Juliet warily rose to her feet and followed the man through the busy kitchen and out the back door. Along the way, her heart was pounding as she eyed the man’s long legs, wide expanse of shoulders, and black hair inching over the back of his collar. She’d noticed him before, during the wedding ceremony. Actually, she’d more than noticed. Once she’d spotted him among the groomsmen, she’d hardly been able to observe anything else about the wedding. His hard looks were striking; so much so that just looking at him sent electrical shivers down her spine. Later, she’d learned he was a part of the wedding family, the eldest son of Elizabeth and Mingo Sanchez.

Matt shut the door behind them and Juliet looked around to see they were on a backyard patio that was partially covered with an arbor. Far above the slatted wood and drooping honeysuckle vine, a weak afternoon sun was trying to shove its way through the overcast skies.

Chilly air brushed her exposed skin and she wrapped her arms protectively around herself as she waited for him to speak.

“First of all, I don’t know who invited you here,” he began, “but that’s really beside the point. You—”

“What is the point, Mr. Sanchez?” she quickly interrupted, thinking it would be better to go on the offensive before he took the upper hand. “Geraldine Saddler kindly invited me to the wedding so that I could cover the event for the Fannin Review. You find something wrong with that?”

He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets as he stepped toward her and Juliet was glad. He had big hands; the kind that wouldn’t let you forget that you’d been touched. Not that he would ever do such a thing to her, but from the furious look on his face, she wasn’t sure what might be going through his mind.

“No,” he said in a low, smooth voice. “I don’t find anything wrong with you taking down wedding details. But that’s not what I overheard you discussing with Cook.”

Hot color stung her cheeks. So she’d been caught. What could she say that wouldn’t make her appear like an indifferent, nosy reporter?

She drew in a bracing breath and let it out. “I was only chatting with the woman and the rumor as you call it—about the buried treasure on this ranch—just happened to come up.”

His nostrils flared like a winded horse and his green eyes narrowed dangerously on Juliet’s face. In all her twenty-five years, she had never faced such a man before. She had to fight the urge to race back into the house and run for cover.

“I’m sure the subject just came up out of the blue,” he quipped with sarcasm.

She licked her lips and tried not to let her shivers turn violent. “Well, not exactly, but I was just speaking to her about the ranch—off the record, of course.”

He took another step toward her and Juliet found her eyes frozen to his hard features: the square jaw, strong, dented chin and chiseled lips that were presently pressed into a tough, menacing line. This man wasn’t exactly handsome, she decided, but he was damned sexy. Dangerously so.

“Of course,” he said mockingly.

He might as well be touching her, she thought, as she felt his eyes sweep up and down her body. He’d certainly already undressed her with his visual assault.

“Is there anything wrong with talking about the legend of Sara Ketchum’s money?”

“Sara Ketchum just happened to be my grandmother. I don’t want her memory sullied by some tawdry story in the pages of the Fannin Review.”

She tried to look as innocent as possible. After all, she’d not gotten any sort of information out of Cook, and even if she had, Juliet wasn’t so sure she would use it. She’d already warned her editor that she didn’t like prying into people’s personal lives. For one thing, it caused incidents just like this.

“So you think that’s what I was doing?” she asked carefully. “Trying to dig up information for the newspaper?”

“What else?”

The woman didn’t answer, but there was really no need, Matt decided. She looked guilty as hell. Beautiful, but guilty.

She shrugged one bare, elegant shoulder and he realized with all the skin she was showing in that skimpy dress, she was probably freezing. His eyes skittered once again over the plunging neckline and exposed cleavage of her breasts, then purposely zeroed back on her face. She wasn’t dressed all that differently than many of the other female guests roaming around the ranch house, but she damned sure looked different, he thought. Her tall, voluptuous figure was enough to send a man’s blood pressure skyrocketing.

“Maybe I was just personally interested,” she suggested coolly.

Matt snorted. From the sound of her voice, she was from North Texas. She had that certain twang that separated her from the Southern folks of the state. And she wasn’t interested in his family; she was interested in her job.

“Where are you from?” he asked bluntly.

Her brows lifted. “Why, I live in Goliad.”

Goliad was only about twenty minutes to the east of the Sandbur. He slowly shook his head. “You’re not a native around here.”

“No. Actually, I’m from Dallas. I moved from there a few months ago when I came to work for the Fannin Review.”

“Then someone should have told you that the folks down here don’t appreciate anyone taking advantage of their hospitality.”

She sucked in an outraged breath. “That’s not—”

“Don’t bother to deny it, Miss Madsen. We both know what you were trying to do and I’m telling you flatly, right now, that there is no story here. And even if there were, I wouldn’t let you get anywhere near it. Understand?”