What a Rancher Wants. Sarah M. Anderson

      Four

      With Joaquin in the driver’s seat, Gabriella arrived at McDaniel’s Acres at 9:55 a.m. They drove under the rustic gate that welcomed visitors before they continued up a long, winding drive of blacktop.

      Gabriella leaned close to the tinted windows in the backseat, trying to take in the magnitude of the land they were crossing.

      Hills rolled in all directions. Clusters of trees followed what was probably an arroyo or creek, but there weren’t the old-growth forests that ringed Las Cruces. Instead low shrubs and those famous tumbleweeds dotted the landscape.

      What would the hills look like in a few months? Would Texas bluebells cover the ground, color exploding everywhere? Or would grass grow in, deep and green—like Chance McDaniel’s eyes?

      She straightened in her seat and glanced at Joaquin’s silent form in the front seat. She was not here to think about Mr. McDaniel’s eyes and she would not be here in a few months to see the spring bloom. She would be back at Las Cruces, riding her own horses and making jewelry and not attempting more pancakes under any circumstances. Alejandro would be safe and things could go back to normal. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Everything to return to normal?

      She thought back to her conversation with Alejandro. This was the most animated she’d seen him since...since Papa had told him they would all be returning to Las Cruces as soon as the hospital had released Alejandro. Alejandro had snapped to life for a brief moment to say that under no circumstances was he leaving his home or Royal, Texas. Then he had lapsed back into his blank silence.

      What if Alejandro did not want things to return to normal? What if, despite his abduction, he wished to stay in America?

      That may very well be the case. But why? That was the question that Gabriella had little hope of answering on her own.

      She smiled. Today, she was not on her own. She was going riding—with her brother’s stilted blessing—with Chance McDaniel. She would find out as much as she could about her brother’s life in Texas—and about Mr. McDaniel himself.

      Joaquin slowed as they approached a sign. Its four arms pointed in two directions. The Bunk House, Swimming Pool and Deliveries pointed west; Trail Rides pointed north. Joaquin kept heading straight north.

      Off to the west, she could see a large building that appeared to be made out of rough-hewed logs. It stood three stories tall, with a wide porch that looked as though it probably saw a great deal of activity during the summer. Even from this distance, she could see workers hanging garlands from the beams. Those must be for the wedding, she thought. It looked lovely, but if she were to get married here, she’d make sure to wait for the spring bloom.

      Then the road took them farther away from the house and deeper into the ranch. A series of buildings appeared. Within moments, they were parked in front of a massive barn, its bright red color a beacon in the otherwise gray surroundings. Several smaller buildings were arranged behind the red barn. Some horses were loose in paddocks around the barns, some were scratching against posts. They all had that fuzzy look of animals in late winter.

      Joaquin pulled up next to a deep blue pickup, got out and came around to open Gabriella’s door for her. Upon exiting the vehicle, she walked over to where one horse was rubbing its head on a post. “Itchy?” she asked, and was rewarded by the horse—a palomino—leaning his head into her hands.

      Gabriella smiled as some of the weight seemed to lift itself off of her shoulders. The breeze, while cool, felt fresh on her face—hinting at the spring that was coming. The horse groaned in appreciation as she rubbed his ears. A great deal of fur was coming off in her hands, but she didn’t mind. Oh, how she had missed her horses—the smell was enough to lift her spirits.

      “Lucky horse,” a deep, slightly raspy voice said from behind her.

      Gabriella spun to see Chance McDaniel tying a horse to a hitching post. His fingers moved smoothly, but his eyes were trained on her.

      Oh, she thought with a small gasp. The man who had come to the door a few days ago had looked like a cowboy, yes—but almost a formal one. But the man who stood in front of her today? Pure cowboy. He wore a denim shirt under a light brown barn jacket. She was sure he was wearing jeans, but they were obscured by the worn black leather chaps that hugged his legs. Those weren’t show chaps—no, the leather had that broken-in look that said he’d worn them often. Daily. The hat was the only thing that was the same—brown felt.

      That and his eyes. The green was more vivid than she remembered. And the way he looked at her? Not as if he was a wolf and she the lamb. Too many men had looked at her that way—as though she was to be sacrificed on the altar of her father’s business, a merger to be made between bottom lines and not between hearts.

      No, Chance McDaniel looked at her without a single dollar sign in his eyes. Instead there was something else. Something that was almost... Well, certainly not joy at seeing her. That would not be possible. Nonetheless, it was something that made her body warm, despite the breeze.

      Gabriella could not help the wide smile that broke over her face. “Mr. McDaniel.”

      He notched an eyebrow in clear challenge. “What’s it going to take to get you to call me Chance, Gabriella?”

      Her name sounded differently when he said it—gone were the smoothly flowing vowel sounds. Instead he stretched the ah into a harder a. It should have sounded grating, but she liked the rougher sound. No one else spoke her name like that. Just him.

      Joaquin stepped in front of Gabriella before she could formulate a proper response to Chance McDaniel’s familiarities.

      “Howdy, Joaquin.” Again, Chance was not seemingly put out by the bodyguard’s presence. “Let me go get Beast.” Then he patted the beautiful roan quarter horse he’d hitched to the post. “This here is Nightingale— although we call her Gale for short. I hope you like her.”

      Then, with a little nod of his head, he turned and headed back to the barn.

      Joaquin gave her a look that said, Is he for real?

      Gabriella responded by shrugging. It would be lovely if Chance McDaniel was “real.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bag of carrot bits she’d mutilated in the kitchen last night. She walked up to Gale and held out a carrot. Gale sniffed, then snatched the treat.

      “Ah, hello,” she said as Gale sniffed her hair. “Would you like another?” She palmed another carrot, which Gale all but inhaled. “That’s a good girl.”

      She heard the sound of hooves—large hooves—clomping on the ground. Gabriella looked up to find Chance staring at her. That warmth coursed through her body again, but she wasn’t about to let anyone know that. Not even the horse. “Yes?”

      “Making friends?”

      “But of course.” Gabriella’s cheeks flushed hot as he continued to stare at her. “It worked,” she added as Gale nudged her with her nose.

      Then she noticed the animal he was leading. Gale was perhaps sixteen hands high, but the mule—Beast, Chance had said—made the quarter horse look like a child’s pony. It wasn’t that the animal was that much taller than Gale, for he wasn’t, perhaps another hand—no more than four more inches. But Beast clearly outweighed the quarter horse—perhaps by as much as half a ton.

      She gasped, more than a little afraid of an animal that large.

      Chance grinned at her. “Nothing to be scared of. Beast is as gentle as a kitten.” He patted the big animal’s neck before giving Gabriella a look that had nothing to do with horses. “You should make friends with him, too.”

      Far more than her cheeks flushed as Gabriella took a few hesitant steps toward Beast. His long ears—almost twice as long as Gale’s—swiveled toward her.