do you have a minute?” Dante said sharply. He’d recognized her father and sounded angry.
“No, he doesn’t,” she retorted, shooting Dante a furious glance over her bare shoulder. She wouldn’t let her dad get drawn into this, wouldn’t let him face anyone’s ridicule. She held his hand between hers. “Go inside now. Please.”
“But I thought I heard a car,” her father said.
“You did. It was Dante Galván’s,” she choked, feeling a sense of doom. Things just kept getting worse.
“Who?”
“Dante Galván, from Buenos Aires.”
“Don’t know him.”
She saw Dante from the corner of her eye. His eyes were narrowed, his expression impossible to read. “It’s okay, Dad, and it’s late. Let me take you in.”
“Where’s your mother?”
Chest tight, heart aching, Daisy reached up to smooth the puckered pajama top. “Mom’s gone, Dad.”
“But she’s coming home soon.”
Her mother had been gone for twenty years. She’d died when Daisy was four, just hours after Zoe was born.
“Not that soon,” she answered gently, hating to see the confusion in his eyes, his eyes the same light blue shade as hers. Zoe’s irises were more lavender, while Daisy’s and her father’s were glacier blue. “Let’s go upstairs. Get you back to bed. Okay?”
Dante was waiting for her in the front hall when she came downstairs.
He didn’t speak, and she didn’t look at him. She stood there, waiting for whatever would come next.
A minute passed and then another. She couldn’t stand it, had to get through whatever pity—or scorn—he might express. She looked up. Dante’s expression was sober.
“He’s sick,” Dante said quietly.
“Yes. Alzheimer’s.”
“He’s been ill for awhile.”
Daisy didn’t answer, and Dante continued. “He must have been ill when he signed the contract with my father.”
“I imagine so.” She was so tired she was shaking.
“You should have told me.” He sounded angry, but whether with her or Tino, she didn’t know. “My father destroyed dozens of people with his greed. Chaos and destruction. That was my father’s legacy.”
Daisy clasped her arms around her. She felt moved to tears but she didn’t cry. She hadn’t cried in nearly twenty years. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. My father took advantage of your father. It makes me sick. It makes me—” he broke off, shook his head. “I swear to you, Daisy, I will not let my father’s legacy continue. His greed stops here. I cannot let his avarice destroy you.”
Overnight Dante took control of their lives.
He hired a housekeeper and a part-time nurse and sent for Clemente, one of his managers from his Argentina estancia.
“We can’t afford the help,” Daisy protested on learning what he’d done. She felt increasingly vulnerable. It was one thing to get help for Zoe and the house, but to send for his manager? He wasn’t going to replace her, was he?
“I’m paying the salaries,” he answered, dismissing her worries. “I can afford it.”
“But we’ll never pay you back.”
“No, you won’t, but the farm will. We’ll restructure the contract between Galván Enterprises and Collingsworth Farm.”
So it had happened. The farm was no longer a private family business. Dante was in charge. Daisy swallowed the lump in her throat. “So what will I be doing?” she whispered.
“Taking a crash course in farm management.”
“Where?”
“Argentina.”
Daisy did a double-take. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I couldn’t be more serious.”
He was serious. Nearly forty-eight hours later she was boarding his jet at dawn at Lexington’s executive airport. But she was still fighting him every inch of the way. “I don’t see the point in dragging me to Argentina to work your ranch when I have a farm of my own,” she said, settling into her leather seat.
“Management isn’t an innate skill, it’s an acquired knowledge, something that must be learned.”
“Yes, but I could learn at home. Under Clemente.”
“Felipe Gutierrez, my estancia manager, trained Clemente. He’ll train you. He is the best.” Dante took out a newspaper and turned his attention to the text.
Obviously, in his mind, the discussion was over.
Daisy wanted to argue but knew she’d already lost the battle. She was on the plane, wasn’t she?
They flew from Kentucky to Miami where they were scheduled to refuel before making the long hop to Buenos Aires.
Unfortunately, flying into Miami proved disastrous. Within an hour after arriving, hurricane warnings forced Miami’s air traffic control to temporarily shut down the runways.
Dante was immediately on his cell phone, pacing the executive terminal and making a stream of calls. He spoke in Spanish, a language Daisy had studied in high school for two years, which meant she could order a meal but not much else. Yet she didn’t need to speak his language to know he was furious, and with each successive phone call his voice grew sharper and his expression darker. Something was definitely wrong.
As he paced, Daisy overheard him say a woman’s name not just once or twice, but repeatedly. Then he snapped his phone closed. The phone rang again, he answered even more curtly, and again he ended the call abruptly.
She didn’t know what the issue was, but somehow she knew he’d win in the end. He picked his battles carefully, focused on the outcome and persevered.
Like with Carter at the Lindleys’. And then with her and the farm contract. When she’d met him yesterday at Pembroke, Pembroke and Brown, he knew exactly what he wanted and he got it. He was nothing if not shrewd.
With the new contract, he’d positioned himself as the controlling investor in Collingsworth Farm, owning a majority interest. He’d receive eighty percent of the future returns and would have the final say in all issues relating to farm operations, including replacing Daisy as farm manager in six months’ time if he didn’t feel proper progress was being made.
He hadn’t resorted to blackmail, she thought ruefully, watching him pocket his cell phone, but he’d come awfully close.
Dante turned and faced her. But he wasn’t looking at her. At least, he wasn’t seeing her. He was miles away, lost in thought. She’d never seen him so troubled and she resisted feeling a twinge of sympathy. If he hadn’t played hardball with her over the farm contract, she might have more empathy, but he was tough. He deserved what he got.
Suddenly he looked at her and saw her watching him. The heavy crease between his brows eased, and his jaw relaxed into a reluctant smile.
Her heart did a funny little flip. Why it did, she didn’t know, but even her pulse quickened and her lips curved into a reluctant smile.
He walked toward her, stopped in front of her chair. “I haven’t been good company,” he said rather apologetically.
She saw the fatigue in his expression, creases fanning from his eyes. He really did look tired. “Problems at home?” she guessed.
“Always.” He laughed and shook his head. “My family is like a soap opera.