What A Rancher Wants. Sarah M. Anderson

let loose with a string of curse words quite unlike anything Gabriella had ever heard—at least, not all at once. The sudden explosion of sound should have been alarming but instead Gabriella found herself grinning and then giggling. She cast a glance back at Joaquin, who was as impassive as ever.

      “—lower than a rattler’s belly in a wagon rut!” Chance finished with a flourish. “Can you tell me why, on God’s green earth, a man would do that to his own daughter?”

      “He had Alejandro’s guards tested, as well,” she told him, wondering when she had become the focus of his attention—and wondering if that was necessarily a warning sign. If it was, surely Joaquin would have rounded on Chance by now.

      That statement did not seem to appease Chance’s temper. “You’ve got to be pulling my chain. Why?”

      He didn’t know. She found a measure of relief in that—the more time she spent with Chance, the less she suspected him in Alejandro’s disappearance. Or, at the very least, the less she suspected him of targeting the del Toro family for its fortune. He may have still had a hand in Alejandro’s disappearance, but she could not believe that he had known that Alex Santiago was Alejandro del Toro.

      Gabriella opened her mouth to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. The memories were too hard to deal with, even after twenty-three years. But he sat there, still, those beautiful eyes of his staring at her, expecting an answer.

      When she could not give him one, she turned her horse back up the trail and urged her to a fast walk.

      Apparently, Chance was in no mood to let her walk away from him—even if it was on horseback. He came level with her in moments, his mount easily keeping pace with Gale. “Who?” he asked, his tone more gentle than before.

      “Our mother,” she replied, trying to keep her own voice level. She couldn’t risk a glance at him, though, so she kept her eyes focused on the land around them. “According to the police, she was killed when she tried to escape.” Very few kidnappings ended that way—dead people were worth nothing, while living people were worth money. And wasn’t money the whole point?

      But Elena del Toro had not been a docile victim. “She had fought them.” That point made Gabriella proud of her mother but, at the same time, it infuriated her. Elena had not gone as meek as a church mouse—but if she had, would she still be here? Would everything have been different?

      Would Gabriella have more than a few hazy memories of her own mother?

      “When?”

      “I was four. Alejandro was eight.” She’d always been jealous of Alejandro. He had memories that Gabriella never would, after all. He remembered birthdays and Christmases, trips to visit Tía Manuela and church. All Gabriella had was a random collection of images, the strongest of which had always been of helping her mother choose the beads for the rosaries she made for the staff’s Christmas presents.

      That had been what she had been doing the day of the abduction—journeying to a market to buy beads and supplies for the rosaries that she and Gabriella were going to make that day.

      An act of kindness that had gotten her killed.

      “He never told me.” There was a touch of hurt in Chance’s words.

      “He...” She took in another breath of fresh air. At least she wasn’t trapped in the house, she told herself. At least she was on a horse. “He remembers more than I do. It is painful for us.”

      “Of course.”

      They fell into silence after that. Soon, she could see nothing but wilderness around her. The ribbon of trees she’d seen earlier was winding its way closer to the path they were on. The trees were trying to bud out. She could see the tips of the bare branches turning red with new growth.

      Gabriella put thoughts of her mother out of her mind. It was not difficult—she’d had a great deal of practice. “We don’t have winter in Mexico City. This is all so different here. Even the horses are different.”

      “Wait until they start shedding,” Chance said with a chuckle. “The mess is something.” They rode on in silence, then he said, “That hill over there? Nothing but bluebells in the spring.”

      “I would love to see them.” Would they still be here in the spring, barricaded in Alejandro’s house and hoping that today would be the day he remembered?

      “If you’re still here, you’ll have to come back.” He cleared his throat. “Do you know if you’ll still be here?”

      She shook her head. Was he asking because he was trying to pinpoint the best time to make another attempt—or was there something more genuine in his tone? “Alejandro does not want to return with us.”

      That still confused her, but now that she’d gotten out of the house and was riding across Texas, perhaps she could see why Alejandro wanted to stay.

      “How is he today?”

      “The same.” Chance did not need to know that his name had caused a flash of recognition in Alejandro. Not yet, anyway.

      They rode on, with Chance pointing out the features of the land and Gabriella trying to imagine how it would wear its spring coat. “Is it different than your ranch?” Chance asked.

      They were still riding side by side, with Joaquin several feet behind them. For the first time in a great long while, Gabriella had the illusion of freedom. She was riding across land that was not surrounded by fences and patrolled by armed guards. No other signs of civilization crowded the view.

      “Yes,” she answered as the breeze played over her face. “We have far more trees. We do not have winter as a season—it does not get below freezing, except in very rare cases. Right now is a dry time.” The ranch would be wearing its shades of brown. “I had hoped to see snow.”

      “We don’t get a heckuva lot of snow,” Chance replied. “Although when we do, it’s real pretty. Makes the world look all new.”

      She looked at him as he rode. He sat tall in the saddle, one hand casually resting on his muscled thigh. He seemed perfectly at ease riding next to her. A true cowboy, she thought with a small smile.

      He turned his head and caught the smile. “What?”

      She could feel her cheeks flushing, so she quickly came up with a response to hide her embarrassment. “You said Alejandro would ride here with you?”

      “Yup.” Chance’s gaze darkened. “He liked to race. Franny, my cook, would pack us a lunch and then we’d see who could make it to this shady spot down by the creek first.”

      It was obvious from his tone that the memory hurt him—not the pain of what had happened, though, but the pain of what he had lost.

      Without thinking about it, she reached across the distance that separated them and touched his arm. “He will come back to us.”

      Chance met her gaze with nothing but challenge. “Which he is that? Your brother or my friend? Because I don’t think that’s the same man.”

      Then he looked back over his shoulder. Gabriella did the same. Joaquin was only a few feet behind them.

      She sighed in frustration. Just the illusion of freedom. Not the real thing.