What a Rancher Wants

by Sarah M. Anderson

The black eye Alex had given him was the least of his worries. “You actually called the sheriff?”

  “Papa said not to, then locked himself in his office. Something’s off and I don’t like it.”

  “Yeah,” Chance said, turning to the only other person in the room—the only person who wasn’t frantic. “Yeah, something sure as hell seems off. Where is she?”

  Joaquin didn’t respond. Not in words, anyway. But he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

  Suddenly, Chance wished to holy hell that he’d brought his shotgun. Screw that. He could do a hell of a lot of damage without one.

  He walked up to Joaquin, grabbed the man by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. That the big man didn’t offer any resistance only confirmed Chance’s suspicions. “Where the hell is she? You never let her out of your sight. For God’s sake, you sit in my living room when we’re in bed to make sure that no one bothers us.”

  “Man,” Alex whispered. “I don’t want to know that about my sister.”

  Joaquin dropped his eyes.

  “I’d have thought,” Chance said, ignoring Alex and giving Joaquin a little shake, “after all this time, you wanted her to be happy. That was why you let her be with me—it made her happy to ride and to work metal and to fall in love. But you never cared about her, did you? She was just some girl you had to watch. Just an assignment you had to complete. Tell me where she is, Joaquin, or you’ll rot in hell for the rest of this eternity and the next.”

  The big man was silent, as if Chance had already broken him but hadn’t realized it yet. “You know who took her and you let them do it,” he yelled in Joaquin’s face, hoping to get a reaction—any reaction—out of him. “You rat bastard, you let them do it.”

  “Correction,” a stern voice with a thick accent announced from behind Chance. He let go of Joaquin, who dropped like a sack of potatoes, and spun to face Rodrigo del Toro. “He did not go with Gabriella because I ordered him not to.”

  “Another sick little test? You disgust me. The way you treat your daughter—both your children—is nothing short of criminal.”

  Chance realized too late that he was shouting at Gabriella’s father, but he didn’t care. This man—this monster— had done something with her and Chance had to get her back.

  For his part, Rodrigo looked unmoved by Chance’s insults. Instead he turned to Alex. “This is the man you befriended?” He looked to Joaquin. “This is the man you allowed my daughter to spend time with?” Both times, he spoke as if Chance were a piece of crap he’d stepped in. “I held you to a higher standard, Joaquin. I entrusted you with the thing that was most precious to me and you failed. Your services are no longer required by the del Toro family.”

  “Gabriella is not a thing,” Chance growled. He’d never wanted to hit a man so hard in his entire life. One well-placed punch could take the older man down for good. “She’s a woman. Where the hell is she?”

  Not that Rodrigo was worried about getting punched. “When Joaquin told me of her involvement with a rancher like you, I knew I could not allow it to continue.”

  “What did you do, Papa?” Alex sounded as if his world was crumbling—and he couldn’t do anything but watch it go. Why the hell wasn’t he madder? Chance wondered. Why the hell wasn’t he freaking furious?

  “Raoul Viega came for her,” Rodrigo said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Clearly, Gabriella is no longer happy at Las Cruces and, equally clearly, she is ready to be married. Raoul is from a suitable class. His father is a valuable business partner. This will cement our ties and Raoul will keep her safe.”

  “You—what? You gave her to Raoul?” Chance could not believe the words coming out of this man’s mouth. Of all the bat-shit-crazy things he’d ever heard, treating your daughter like a party favor had to rank right up there.

  “She is my daughter,” Rodrigo replied in the haughtiest voice Chance had ever heard. “I will do with her as I see fit.”

  “The hell you will.” Chance spun back to where Joaquin sat collapsed on the couch, looking for all the world as if he’d been shot and was bleeding out. “I’m hiring—head of security at McDaniel’s Acres. New position—just opened up. You interested?”

  “Qué?”

  “He fired you. I’m hiring you. The first job I have for you is finding Gabriella. You in?”

  Joaquin gaped at him, so Chance turned to Alex. “You in?”

  “You would not dare,” Rodrigo threatened. “Alejandro, you would not dare go against my direct orders.”

  Behind him, Chance felt Joaquin get to his feet. He braced for a blow, but what came next was an even bigger surprise. “They left half an hour ago. I know his car.”

  Rodrigo’s face contorted with unmasked rage. “You will suffer for this, Joaquin.”

  Chance kept looking at Alex. Just yesterday, he’d told Chance that he knew what his father was like. Well, Chance did now, too. “You in? I can’t wait around all day.”

  “Alejandro!” Rodrigo roared.

  Alex dropped his head like a small boy who’d been beaten down one too many times. But then he lifted his head, his eyes lit with new fire. “My name,” he said to his father as he began walking toward the door, “is Alex.”

  “Let’s get gone,” Chance said, clapping his old friend on the back and doing his level best to ignore the threats in both Spanish and English that followed the three men out of the house. He shut the door to block the older man out.

  They had to get Gabriella before she made it south of the border. Even if she decided that he’d been nothing more than a great way to spend the time while she was stuck in Texas—even if she never wanted to see him again, he couldn’t stand by while some entitled business brat took her home and married her.

  “We’ve got a lot of road to cover. Call Nathan back and tell him what we know. Maybe one of his cop buddies can get their car stopped before they hit the border.”

  “Done. I’ll follow you in my car.” Alex was dialing before Joaquin got the car door shut.

  “Keep up,” was all Chance said. Then they were gone.

  Sixteen

  “I want,” Gabriella said in the most level voice she could manage, “to go home.”

  Raoul snorted in the way that had always reminded her of a pig snuffling in its trough. “We’ll be home soon enough. You will enjoy Casa Catalina. Your father will have your things sent over. You will want for nothing.”

  “I want,” she repeated with a little more force, “to go back to Alex’s house. Right now.”

  Raoul snorted again. Then he reached over and grabbed her thigh with more pressure than was comfortable. “You will grow to love Casa Catalina. You will grow to love me. We shall be married next week.” And he squeezed her thigh hard enough to leave marks through the jeans she’d hurried into this morning, half-asleep when Joaquin had come into her room and told her to get dressed.

  It hurt, but she refused to let a whimper of pain escape her lips. She would not let this man know that she was terrified of what he was saying. “When my papa finds out what you have done...” But even as she said it, she knew it was not the case.

  “I’ll have you know, muñequita, that he called me yesterday and told me to come get you. He said you weren’t safe in America anymore.”

  Muñequita. Little doll. It was supposed to be a term of endearment, but it grated on her very last nerve. A little china doll to be locked behind glass, protected from everything. Protected from life. A doll was all she was to her father and that’s all she was to Raoul.

  With a final squeeze, Raoul took his hand off her leg.

  Gabriella kept her mouth shut. Arguing was pointless. Obviously, Raoul would not be swayed from the path he and her father had agreed on. She was to b
e married within a week to this man, who would lock her up on a different estate and only touch her when he wanted to, not when she wanted him to. That, of course, would be never. The only man she wanted to touch her was Chance. Raoul may think he’d have an easy time of it now that she was no longer a virgin, but she would fight him every step of the way.

  Starting now. What were her options? She could hit him with something. She had grabbed her purse on her way out to the garage, where Joaquin had said someone was waiting for her. She’d foolishly hoped it was Chance making some grand romantic gesture. Instead she’d found herself being roughly shoved into the open door of Raoul’s Porsche. Joaquin had closed the door, narrowly missing her foot, and then Raoul had been backing out of the garage, locking the doors as he went.

  Texas was a large state and, as far as she could tell, Raoul was obeying all traffic laws. He probably thought it prudent to avoid getting pulled over by a police officer. Soon, they would be near Midland, Texas—if she could only get out of the car, there was a chance she could find someone who would help her. She had her phone—surely a 9-1-1 call would bring the police?

  If she hit Raoul, he might lose control of his car and wreck—which would kill them both.

  For the first time in her life Gabriella understood how her mother must have felt when she’d been taken from the market so many years ago. Would Gabriella risk death to get back to the man she loved, as her mother had done to get back to her? Or was it better to go along quietly and wait for a better opportunity to happen?

  If she did not hit Raoul, what were her other options? Midland was approximately four hours from Ciudad Juarez, the closest border crossing. Raoul probably had his family plane on the other side of the border—on this short notice, he probably hadn’t been able to get clearance to land in America without arousing the suspicions of drug-enforcement officers.

  Raoul might stop at a restroom before they crossed the border, especially if she threatened to relieve herself in the seat of his favorite car. She could try to slip away then. Or she could cause a scene at the border crossing. It might get her arrested and searched by the American customs officials, but it would keep her from getting on a plane with Raoul. Once he had her in Mexico, on his personal property, it would be much, much harder to get free of him.

  What would her mother have done? She would have hit Raoul. She would not have waited for the just-right time. Mama would have been frantic to get back to her children, Gabriella realized. For so long, Gabriella had felt anger toward her mother for not going along—for not living to tell the tale. But now she understood. Fear had driven Mama to desperate measures.

  Still, if she were going to hit Raoul, it would be better if he were not driving.

  They were nearing the edge of Midland now. Billboards advertising fast-food restaurant were visible in the distance. But they were still far away from anything that resembled hustle or bustle, especially this early on a Saturday. She should wait until they were in a more populated area—safety in numbers and all that.

  Unexpectedly a blue pickup pulled up alongside the Porsche. Odd, Gabriella thought as the vehicle started honking, that looks like Chance’s truck.

  The truck shot forward and then came to a screeching halt some hundred feet in front of Raoul’s car, blocking the road entirely.

  “¿Qué carajo?” Raoul sputtered, swerving wildly.

  Joaquin got out and began to walk toward the car, almost as if he wanted Raoul to run him down in the line of duty.

  “¡Mierda!” Raoul cried, jerking the wheel so violently that Gabriella was sure the Porsche went up on two wheels. They spun in a tight circle before coming to a rest in the middle of the road.

  When her head stopped spinning, she realized Raoul was trying to open the glove box. Of course—she should have realized he probably had a weapon with him. The moment he got it open, she slammed it shut on his fingers. He howled. Seconds later, the driver’s door opened and Raoul was unceremoniously jerked out of the car.

  Then her door opened and Chance was there. He held out a hand for her. “Are you okay, babe?”

  “Take your hands off me, idiota!” Raoul shouted from the other side of the car.

  “I got you,” Chance said, his voice low and reassuring. “You can get out now. He can’t touch you again.”

  She took his hand and was surprised to see that her arm was trembling. He helped her out of the car and pulled her into a strong embrace. Her whole body started to shake.

  “I got you, babe,” he said as he walked her away from the Porsche. “I got you.”

  “Chance,” she managed to say, but her throat closed up, pushing her dangerously close to crying. And she would not let Raoul see her cry.

  “She is mine!” Raoul yelled across the highway. “¡Es mía!”

  “I’m taking her back where she belongs.” Heavens, was that her brother? Had he been in the truck?

  “She’s coming to Mexico with me,” Raoul all but snarled. “That is what Rodrigo and I agreed upon.” He then made a little squeaking noise. Had Joaquin hit him? Or had Alex?

  “Are you okay?” Chance asked again. His arms were still around her, his chest warm against hers. It was still early enough that there wasn’t any other traffic on the road.

  “Some bruises,” she admitted, trying to block out the sounds of Raoul and Alex arguing about who had the right to take her to which home.

  She didn’t want anyone to take her. She just wanted to go.

  Chance pushed her back so he could look at her. “I called Nathan. He’ll arrest him for battery and attempted kidnapping.”

  She gasped as she got a good look at his face. “What happened?” she asked as she touched the massive black eye that covered half his face.

  His smile was crooked, which made him wince. “Your brother punched me because I made you cry.”

  “¡Dios!” The tears tried to move up again, but the sounds of shouting reminded her that she couldn’t fall apart, not yet.

  “I want you to hear it from me,” he went on, completely ignoring the argument behind him, “that there’s nothing going on between me and Cara. She’s got a problem and she needed a shoulder to cry on and some advice—nothing more. I would never step out on you.”

  She knew that, of course—but to hear him say it made her weak not with fear but with relief. “I know. I talked with her last night. We met at the diner. She explained her...problem to me.” She grinned up at him. “What does ‘step out’ mean?”

  His smile got wider. “Cheat, babe. I’d never cheat.”

  Behind them, the sound of the fight was getting louder. “What do you want to do?”

  Part of her wanted him to sweep her off her feet and carry her away from all of this—Raoul, Joaquin, Alex. From her father, who’d arranged this “marriage.”

  “Because whatever you want,” he said, his poor bruised face quite serious, “the answer is yes.”

  He was asking her. Not even Alex was asking what she wanted—he was still arguing with Raoul about who got to do what with her.

  “If you want to go with this cabrón,” Chance said, pronouncing the profanity in Spanish perfectly, “then I’ll step aside. If you want to go back to Alex’s house and stay with your father, that’s fine, too.”

  “I do not want to do either of those things. I never want to see Raoul again.”

  That time, Chance did not wince through his grin. “Done.” He turned. “Joaquin! See that Raoul leaves. Alone.” />
  “Sí,” Joaquin replied, shoving Raoul toward the Porsche.

  “Wait—I think Raoul has a gun in the glove box.” She could see him firing at all of them as he drove away, not caring who he hit.

  One of Chance’s eyebrows—the one over the unbruised eye—jumped up. “Check the glove box first,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  Gabriella watched in amazement as Joaquin did exactly what Chance asked of him. He shoved Raoul roughly at Alex, who caught the man and held him tight. The Joaquin went through the car, starting with the glove box. He pulled out the handgun but found nothing else.

  Chance kept a strong arm around her shoulder, but he didn’t try to shield her from the scene in front of them. It was then that she saw Alex’s red Ferrari behind Raoul’s car. Raoul was completely blocked in. For some reason, it made her happy that her brother had come with Chance, even if he was arguing that Gabriella should go back with him.

  Chance turned back to her, that twinkle in his eyes. “Will you get in the truck so I can move it? I don’t want to be in Raoul’s way as he leaves.”

  She nodded and climbed up. Alex went back to his car to move it, as well, but Joaquin stood on the shoulder of the road, Raoul’s gun aimed at the area where Raoul’s knee probably was on the other side of the car door.

  Chance slid into the driver’s seat and moved the truck off to the side of the road. Raoul roared past them, making a variety of offensive hand gestures as he went.

  Then it was quiet. Gabriella looked in the rearview mirror. Joaquin crossed the road, his eyes trained on Raoul’s rapidly disappearing car.

  “What happened?” Chance asked, reaching over—but not taking her hand. Waiting for him. Asking permission.

  She didn’t hesitate. She entwined her fingers with his. “Joaquin woke me up and hurried me downstairs. Before I knew it, I was in the car and Raoul was driving off. He said...he said my father called him because I wasn’t safe in America anymore.”