What a Rancher Wants

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Paul glanced across the space and met Chance’s eyes before he turned a mercenary look to Gabriella. Something cold flittered over his face and, with a smile that bordered on cruel, turned back to his conversation. The whole thing had taken ten seconds, tops, but a worried pit in Chance’s stomach made him think there’d been something else going on—something beyond Paul Windsor feeling justified that Chance as a kidnapping suspect proved that he’d never been good enough for Cara.

  Chance didn’t like this. He didn’t like always feeling guilty until proved innocent and he sure as hell didn’t like feeling the same way about Gabriella. He didn’t want to think she was anything like her brother. He wanted to believe that she’d been nothing but up front with him—that everything she’d said was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  Except that every time he started to believe that, she’d do something that threw her whole character into question. Such as tell Sam Gordon instead of Chance that her brother was Alex and not Alejandro.

  Damn it all.

  He skipped the rest of the tour and ushered them toward the restaurant. For a Monday, the place was hopping. Over half the tables were full, and warm laughter filled the room. As the server lead them to a table—for three, double damn it—the laughter died off as people watched him walk with the traitor Alex’s sister and her armed thug.

  It made a part of him ache. Would he ever get to feel as though he was part of this again? Or would he always be tainted by someone else’s guilt?

  Yeah, this had been an epic mistake. But it was too late now. Everyone knew he was here and, between Sam Gordon and Paul Windsor, they probably all knew who Gabriella was, to boot. He had no choice but to brazen this out. McDaniels did not tuck tail and run.

  He let Joaquin have the seat with his back to the wall and held the chair for Gabriella so that she could have a nice view of the room. He put his back to the room as a sign to Joaquin that he wasn’t worried.

  They placed their orders and waited. Long gone was the easy conversation from the picnic lunch today. Instead Gabriella sat with her hands primly folded in her lap, her shoulders back and that blankly pleasant look on her face. To a stranger—to most of the people in this room—she would look perfectly normal.

  But he could tell she wasn’t. Her lips were pressed together extra hard, without a trace of the easy smile that she favored him with.

  At least Joaquin pretty much looked and acted the same as always—grumpy, borderline violent and put out to be here.

  Every so often, Chance would hear his name. He’d crane around in his seat only to realize that no one was talking to him—they were talking about him. All of Paul Windsor’s cronies appeared to be working overtime to spread God only knew what kind of rumors about him. Or Gabriella. Or, worse yet, him and Gabriella. He didn’t want to guess what they were saying about Joaquin.

  No one came over to talk. Sam Gordon had been a fluke, that much was obvious. Instead people waved at him and went back to whatever gossip they were intent on spreading like manure on a field.

  The waitress brought their food. After several minutes of silent eating, Gabriella set her knife and fork aside and folded her hands in her lap again. “What’s the matter?” Had this evening gone so wrong that even the food had not lived up to expectations?

  She sighed, but her shoulders didn’t slump down in defeat. Just a lone little weary sigh. “Is it that they are afraid of me? Or you?”

  “I don’t think they’re afraid of either of us. Maybe Joaquin.” At this, the big man managed to actually look guilty. “Sorry. It’s just...this is a small town. Word gets around fast.”

  “Ah.” She dropped her gaze, the barest hint of color in her cheeks. “We are the evening’s entertainment?”

  “It’s my fault. I thought...” Well, he’d thought people might be decent, or at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

  He decided to change the subject. “He wants to be called Alex now, does he?”

  The color in her cheeks deepened. Why did she have to be so beautiful? Why did he have to be so attracted to her? Why couldn’t things be simpler, as they’d been long before Alex Santiago had mucked up his world?

  “He seems to respond better to that name. I’m...” She swallowed. She was about to lie to him, he realized. He could see it coming and couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “I’m hoping it will help his recovery to stick to the name that draws a more positive reaction from him.”

  “Is that a fact.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. By now her cheeks were redder than a tomato in August. But she lifted her head, that blank pleasantness almost a challenge to him. “I do not wish to speak of him tonight.”

  That meant she wasn’t going to try to backtrack out of her lie. But it also meant she wasn’t going to tell him another one. “Well, you just let me know when you do wish to speak of him, okay?”

  The look of pain that bled the beautiful right out of her blush made him feel like a jerk. But he wasn’t the one who was being jerky here, was he? She’d told the lie. She expected him to go along with it? He was an honest fellow. He was not the bad guy here.

  Yeah, dinner had been a mistake.

  “It’s not like that.” Her voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear her.

  “You tell me what it’s like, then. You know why we’re the evening’s entertainment? It’s because your brother—him of which we do not speak—rolled into town and decided I was an easy mark. He set me up, stole my girl and disappeared, leaving me to deal with the wreckage.”

  Joaquin shot him a look and Chance realized that his voice might have gotten a little louder. Okay, a lot louder. But damn it, he was tired of being the one everyone gossiped about. He wanted his name cleared so things could go back to normal.

  Back to being lonely.

  No. He pushed back against that thought, against the thought of Gabriella astride Gale. Against the quiet of the picnic lunch today. So what if he’d had more fun in the past week than he’d had in months? So what if Franny adored her and Slim thought she was “somethin’”? So what if Gabriella had kissed him as though her life depended on it—and if he’d thought of nothing but ever since?

  None of that mattered. She’d go back to Mexico and he’d still be here in Royal, dealing with the wreckage.

  Too late, he realized the restaurant was silent. Everyone was listening to them now.

  “Let’s just go,” he said. It came out as a snarl, but what the hell.

  “Yes.” She stood, as composed as ever. Only the slightest downturn at the corner of her mouth gave her away. “Let’s.”

  The drive home was painful. He pulled up in front of Alex’s house. In the dark, the place had a malicious look to it, as if it had already eaten Alex and was waiting to swallow Gabriella, too.

  He put the truck in park but didn’t shut it off. Which made him feel even worse. He was being a jerk now, not even offering to walk her to the door. That’s why she had an armed guard, right?

  “Joaquin,” she said in her all-business voice. “Please go check on Alex.”

  The big man huffed behind Chance and made no move to exit the vehicle.

  “Now, please. I wish to speak to Chance alone.” It was the most polite order he’d ever heard anyone give.

  Yeah, Chance said silently to himself. He had a few things he wanted to say without risking a near-death experience. Get out of the truck, man.

  Joaquin didn’t.

  Gabriella turned to glare at her guard. “I am twenty-seven years of age, Joaquin. I have the right to have a private conversation without having it reported back to my father. Stop treating me like a child or I will have you reassigned.” She leaned back, her voice dropping a dangerous octave. “And I will have you reassigned.”

  Man, if he’d thought
the silence had been heavy before, it was downright crushing now. But he didn’t want to say anything. This was clearly between the two of them and it sure looked as though Gabriella could defend herself.

  Then, unexpectedly, Joaquin yielded. The truck door opened and shut, and he was gone. He crossed in front of the truck and shot Chance a mean look before he walked up the path to the front door. But the door didn’t open. So they weren’t truly alone.

  Before Chance could determine how much Joaquin could see from his perch on the porch a good fifty feet away, Gabriella grabbed him and hauled his face down to hers. The kiss this time was different—instead of the happy-to-the-point-of-ecstatic kiss that she’d given him yesterday, this one had an edge to it. As though she was trying to prove something.

  He couldn’t tell who she was trying to prove it to—him or herself.

  Well, she could keep on trying. He wasn’t playing this game. He kept his hands on the wheel.

  When her tongue traced his lips, his resolve started to waver. It wavered a whole hell of a lot more when she slid her fingers up into his hair. The feeling of her hands on him did some mighty funny things to him. In fact, the things that were happening below his belt were freaking hilarious.

  He couldn’t think. Well, he could, but that wasn’t thinking in a right sense. Instead of thinking about whether or not he could trust her, he was thinking about the way her teeth felt as she nipped at his lower lip.

  She pulled away. He couldn’t believe how much it hurt to let her do it, but he kept his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Hell, he was lucky he hadn’t snapped the whole thing off the steering column at this rate.

  “Do you want me?” she breathed as she ran her fingers over his cheeks. Her chest was heaving and, in that top, that was saying something. She sounded seductive—hell, she was seductive—but there was something else in her eyes. It almost looked as though she was afraid of what he might say.

  Was it a trick question? Because the answer was yes. She may be setting him up but he wasn’t sure he gave a damn.

  Don’t be an idiot. He hadn’t asked enough questions when he’d let Cara go. He needed answers almost as much as he needed to pull her into his arms.

  “I want the woman who likes to ride and work metal and laughs like butterflies in the breeze. I don’t want the woman who hides lies behind a blank smile.”

  He felt her pull away, even though her hands stayed on him. “I am the woman who rides and works metal.” Then she let go of him—but only long enough to duck under his arm that was still holding on to the steering wheel for dear life. She straddled him. Her slim black skirt—the one that made her backside look even better than a pair of jeans ever could—bunched up at her hips. “That’s who I am.”

  His arms were shaking from the effort of not touching her. Because he wasn’t. No way in hell. She was doing this. She was doing all of this.

  She leaned her forehead against him. Her thighs—strong from years of riding—gripped his and he felt the tantalizing heat of her center through his jeans. How strong did one man have to be? Because a lesser man would wrap his arms around her and take what she was offering.

  But taking a woman with an audience—if Joaquin was still watching from the stoop or if he’d gone inside and alerted Alex or her father of what was happening—was too stupid of a risk to take. So, even though it was the most painful thing he could remember doing—way more painful than getting kicked by that calf in the shin when he was ten—he kept his hands on the steering wheel.

  It only got worse when she kissed him again—a kiss that started out soft and gentle and maybe even a little hesitant—just like her. Then it got hot, fast. Her hips ground down on his and she pressed those beautiful breasts against his chest. Only some lousy clothes separated them. That was not a whole lot and way, way too much.

  He pulled his head back, but the rest of him had no place to go. She had him pinned. “Don’t lie to me, Gabriella. I won’t stand for it.”

  She nodded, looking sad and sensual at the same time. That, almost more than her sweet body or sweeter face, made him want to wrap her up and hold her tight. “This is the truth, Chance. I ride. I work metal. And you make me laugh. That’s who I am. That’s who I get to be with you.” Her fingers traced a path from his cheeks to his jaw, as though she was exploring him when what she was really doing was burning him with her touch. “No one else. Just you.”

  He shouldn’t believe her. She was setting him up and sooner or later, he was going to fall—hard.

  Hell, he was already falling for the woman who’d had smudges of soot on her forehead the whole time they’d sat by the bank of his dry creek. He was already falling for the woman who was perfectly comfortable chatting with Franny or working with Slim, for the woman who saddled her own horse and rode hell-for-leather.

  He wanted that woman to be the one in his arms. God, he’d never wanted anything so bad.

  Then she said in a breathy whisper, “That’s who I am, because of you,” and he felt lost to her.

  This time, he was the one doing the kissing. He managed to keep his hands on the wheel because if he didn’t, he’d be pulling her shirt over her head and trying to get his buckle undone and filling his hands with her soft skin.

  Yeah, it was probably going to get him beat to a pulp, but he didn’t give a damn. It was worth it to feel her passion surging against him, to feel the heat of her body setting his on fire. He wanted to bury himself in her and make her cry out with pleasure. He wanted to surrender himself to her in a way that he had never wanted to before. Anything was worth this moment with her.

  Anything she asked of him was hers.

  So when she said, “Can I come back to the ranch tomorrow?” all he could do was kiss her again, feel the way her body fit over his.

  “You already knew the answer. All you had to do was ask.”

  Her face lit up into a wide smile, the kind that couldn’t be faked. “Thank you.” She said it in words and with another kiss.

  He needed to say good-night to her and walk her to the door. But he couldn’t help taking another kiss from her. And another. And just one more. He couldn’t quite get enough of her. Everything about her overrode his better judgment. Even if things were as normal as possible—Gabriella was still Alex’s little sister. And a man had to tread lightly when it came to making out in a truck with his best friend’s sister.

  Then, unexpectedly, a light came on in the house. It wasn’t a spotlight that hit them in the truck or anything, but it meant someone was moving around in the front of the house. Someone who might see them.

  Both Chance and Gabriella reacted at the same time, jolting against each other. Which made him groan in frustration. Another day with Gabriella, another night in unsatisfied agony.

  “I should go,” she said in a near whisper.

  “Yeah.” No.

  She slid off his lap and lifted her bottom off the seat so she could pull her skirt back down.

  How far gone was he? So far that he almost slid his hand up her exposed leg, almost cupped that curvy bottom in his hands and almost pulled her right back onto his lap.

  “I’ll walk you up.” It was the least he could do. Plus, it’d give him another few minutes of being close to her.

  They got out of the car. She adjusted her skirt one final time, then held out her hand to him. They walked up to the front step, where Joaquin stood, waiting. He glared at Chance extra hard, but Chance ignored the big man. “You want to do some more work in the shop tomorrow?”

  One of her fingers traced over his knuckle. It sent a jolt of heat through him that not even Joaquin could temper. “But of course.”

  “What time can I expect you?” The more important question was, what time would she leave? She’d come home today to change for the date disaster. He had no desire to repeat dinner at the club. But that
didn’t mean he was out of options.

  When she didn’t answer immediately, he jumped into the gap. “Franny would be happy to make us dinner, or we could try Claire’s.” Even in the dim light, he could see the look of terror cross her face. “Claire’s is different. Quieter.” More dimly lit, more private. People went to the TCC to see and be seen. People went to Claire’s when they didn’t want to look at anyone but the other person at their table. And he didn’t want to look at anyone but Gabriella.

  He hadn’t been to Claire’s since...well, since he’d given Cara his blessing to start seeing Alex. They’d had their first date at the restaurant, and it had seemed fitting to bring the relationship full circle. Since then, he hadn’t had anyone he wanted to take.

  Plus, at Claire’s it wouldn’t be a big deal if Joaquin sat at a different table. No more of this three’s-a-crowd crap.

  “If you say Claire’s will be fine, I trust you.” He could see that the prospect of another outing into greater Royal still made her nervous, but at least she wasn’t hiding behind that blankness again.

  “I’ve got meetings all morning with people about a wedding—including a tasting for lunch. If you came out after lunch, we could go straight to dinner.”

  She frowned, her lips twisted into a displeased grimace. “In case you didn’t notice, by the time I get done at the furnace, I’m in no shape to be seen.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Before he could stop himself, he reached up and touched her forehead, where she’d had the smudge earlier this afternoon. Her lips twisted even more, but he could see that she was trying hard not to smile at him—and failing. “But don’t forget, I live right there. You could use my shower to get cleaned up.” He swallowed, knowing full well Joaquin was memorizing every word.

  The look on her face made it real clear that she didn’t want to come all the way back here. He understood—he’d gone out with a girl in high school who’d had a rough dad. Their dates had always started the minute the final school bell rang. Coming home had meant another chance to be stopped by her father. Obviously it was the same for Gabriella.