The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

by Sandra Marton

  Lucas looked at his grandfather. Do I look senile? he’d said, but Felix had just passed his eighty-fifth birthday…

  “Ah, Lucas, you are as transparent now as you were when you were a boy, trying to convince me to let you break your first horse.” Felix chuckled and wrapped an arm around Lucas’s shoulders. “I promise you, mi hijo, my mind is perfectly clear. You must trust me in this. I am not sending you on a wild-goose chase.”

  Lucas had sighed. “You really want me to go all the way to Texas for something we don’t need?”

  “If we did not need it, I would not ask you to go.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  Felix had raised one bushy white eyebrow. “Did I ask you to agree?”

  That had ended the discussion. Nobody gave Lucas Reyes orders but he loved his grandfather with all his heart. The old man had all but raised him and provided the only love Lucas had known.

  So Lucas had shrugged and said, si, he would go to Texas even though he did not deserve such a punishment.

  He’d meant it lightly but for some reason, Felix had laughed as if it were the best joke he’d ever heard.

  “Lucas,” he’d said, “I promise you, what awaits you in Texas is precisely what you deserve.”

  Now, looking at the empty road, the empty sky, the blinding sun and the woman sulking beside him, Lucas decided that his grandfather was wrong.

  Nobody deserved this.

  “Aren’t you going to start the car?”

  Delia’s voice was fraught with indignation. Lucas didn’t waste time answering. Instead he turned the key. Tromped on the gas pedal. Turned the key again…

  Nada.

  Muttering something that would have delighted the street urchins in Seville, he released the hood latch, opened the door and stepped outside.

  The heat hit him like a fist even though he’d expected it.

  Unlike Delia, who was decked out in a gender-challenged designer’s misbegotten notion of the Old West, Lucas had dressed for the realities of a Texas summer.

  Boots, of course. Not shiny and new but comfortable and well-worn. What else did a man wear when he was going to spend the day ankle-deep in horse apples? Boots and jeans, faded and washed to the softness of silk, and a pale gray chambray shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled up.

  In other words, he was sensibly dressed. It didn’t matter. One step from the car and he was drenched in sweat.

  “Ohmygod,” Delia screeched dramatically, “I’ll burn up if you don’t shut that door!”

  Lucas obliged, slamming it with enough force that the vehicle shuddered. Jaw set, he stalked to the hood, lifted it and peered inside. Then he got down in the dirt and looked at the car’s undercarriage. Neither action told him anything more than he already knew.

  This sad excuse for a car was roadkill.

  He dug his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and saw those dreaded words. No Service.

  “Mierda,” he muttered and banged his fist on Delia’s window. “Open the door!”

  She glared and cracked it an ungracious inch. “What?”

  “Do you have your cell phone?”

  “Why?”

  Could a man’s back teeth really shatter if he ground them together too hard?

  “Do you have it or not?”

  A put-upon sigh before she reached into the doll-size purse that hung from her shoulder.

  The purse was white leather.

  Everything she wore was white leather. The ridiculous sombrero perched on her artfully-coiffed hair. The tiny fringed vest. The tight pants. The boots with four inch stiletto heels. She looked ridiculous, Lucas thought and realized, with icy certainty, that what had been dawning on him for a while was true.

  Their affair had run its predictable course. As soon as they got back to New York, he’d end it.

  As if she’d read his mind, Delia all but slapped the phone into his outstretched palm. A glance told him she used a different wireless provider. Maybe there was hope.

  At least, when he flipped the phone open, he didn’t see the ominous No Service.

  But he couldn’t get a transmission bar, either.

  He held the phone at arm’s length. At shoulder height. He went through the inane dance steps of the frustrated wireless user.

  Nothing.

  Cursing under his breath, he went to the front of the car. To the rear. Trotted up the road. Down the road. Stepped across the narrow, gravel-filled culvert that ran alongside it. Stepped back into the road. Into the middle of the road…

  Miracle of miracles, a bar blinked to life on the screen.

  Lucas grinned, pumped his fist in the air—and lost the bar. Easy, he told himself, easy. Move an inch at a time. Watch that screen…

  Yes!

  The bar was back. And another. And another…

  “Look ooouut…”

  His head came up. A horse the size of a brontosaurus was galloping toward him, a rider hunched over its neck. He saw the animal’s dilated nostrils, heard the pounding of its hooves…

  “Damn it, look ooouut…”

  The yell came from the rider. Lucas jumped back, stumbled and rolled into the culvert as the horse thundered past with barely an inch to spare.

  Lucas shot to his feet. He shouted; the rider looked back. Lucas saw a worn ball cap. A grungy T-shirt. Jeans. Boots.

  And a boy’s startled face.

  The rider was a kid, damn it, skinny and long-legged, riding without a saddle or stirrups. Was riding people down what passed for fun in this anteroom of hell?

  Lucas shook his fist. Let fly with a string of Spanish obscenities.

  The kid laughed.

  Fury welled in Lucas’s gut. If only the damned car worked! He’d jump into it, gun the engine, catch up to the horse. Pull the reckless brat off its back and teach him a lesson!

  A gust of wind swept down from out of nowhere, plucked at the dust rising in the horse’s wake. When it settled, horse and rider were gone.

  “Lucas? Are you all right?”

  He shot a look at the car. The near-collision had, at least, driven Delia out of it.

  “I’m fine,” he growled.

  “That horrid animal! I thought it had killed you.”

  Lucas dusted off his jeans. “And you wondered,” he said tersely, “how in hell you’d get out of here on your own.”

  “You’re in a horrible mood today, Lucas. I was worried about you. Yes, perhaps I did wonder…” Delia’s eyes widened. She giggled.

  “You find this amusing?”

  “Well, no. It’s just that you have something in your hair…”

  He reached up. Closed his fingers around a handful of tumbleweed and threw it aside.

  “I’m delighted to be the source of your entertainment.”

  “Don’t be such a grouch.” Delia slapped her hands on her hips. “You can’t blame me for—”

  “No.” His voice was flat as he walked toward her. “I blame only myself for our situation, Delia. Not you.”

  Her expression brightened. “I’m glad you understand.”

  Lucas reached into the car for his hat. Then he patted his thigh.

  “Put your foot here.”

  Delia gave a breathy laugh. “Lucas,” she purred, “do you really think this is the place to—”

  “Your foot,” he said impatiently.

  Smiling, she leaned back against the door, raised one leg and put it against his thigh. He grunted, took her foot in his hands and broke off the heel of her boot.

  “Hey!” Delia jerked her leg back. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea what I paid for these boots?”

  “No,” he said bluntly, “but I will, once I see my Amex bill this month.” His eyes met hers. “Or are you going to tell me I didn’t pay for that ridiculous outfit you’re wearing?”

  “Ridiculous? I’ll have you know—”

  Lucas squatted down, grabbed her other foot and snapped the heel off that boot, too.

  “Now you’ll be able
to walk.”

  “Walk?” Her voice rose. “Walk where? I am not walking anywhere in this heat, on this road, with pythons and wild horses and crazy people all around…Lucas? Lucas, where are you going?”

  He didn’t answer. After a moment, she came trotting up alongside him.

  “I hate this place,” she muttered. “Never take me to Texas again!”

  He would never take her anywhere again, he thought grimly. That was something else on which they could agree.

  Twenty minutes and a thousand complaints later, he heard the grumble of an engine. A red pickup appeared on the horizon.

  “Thank God,” Delia said dramatically, and sank down on the edge of the road.

  Lucas stepped into the truck’s path. It was going to stop, one way or another. The hot, endless trudge to nowhere was bad enough but if he had to spend another minute listening to Delia…

  The truck slowed. Stopped. The driver’s door opened. A kid stepped out and Lucas felt his blood pressure rise. Was it the one who’d almost ridden him down?

  It wasn’t.

  The rider had been slender with big dark eyes and black curls tumbling over his forehead from under his hat. This boy was redheaded and chunky.

  “Howdy.”

  Flaking letters on the truck’s door spelled out El Rancho Grande. El Rancho Bankrupto, judging by the condition of the ancient vehicle.

  “Heard you folks might need a ride.”

  “And just who, precisely, did you hear that from?” Lucas said tightly. “A boy riding a war horse?”

  The kid chuckled. “That’s funny, mister.”

  “Everything around here is funny,” Lucas said, his tone low and dangerous.

  “I didn’t mean it that way, I only meant—”

  “For goodness’ sakes,” Delia said sharply, “will you stop being so touchy, Lucas? Of course we need a ride.” She shot a look at the truck. “But not in that—that thing.”

  The boy was looking at Delia as if he’d never seen anything like her before—which, Lucas thought grimly, he undoubtedly had not.

  “Get in the truck, Delia.”

  Delia snorted. “I am not getting into that—”

  Lucas said something ugly and hoisted her as if she were a sack of oats. She yelped as he dumped her unceremoniously on the truck’s bench seat.

  “In all honesty, Lucas—”

  “In all honesty, Delia,” he said coldly, “as soon as we reach a telephone, I’ll arrange for a car to take you to the airport.”

  “We’re going back to the city?”

  “You’re going,” he said. “Just you.”

  Delia opened her mouth. So did the kid who’d climbed behind the wheel. Lucas glared at them both as he got into the truck and slammed the door.

  “Just drive,” he told the boy.

  Delia’s eyes burned with anger but she didn’t argue. The kid was just as smart. He gulped, muttered, “Yessir,” and hit the gas.

  Two hours later, Lucas was feeling a little better.

  He’d finally arrived at El Rancho Grande—and yes, the name was definitely a poor choice but he was stuck here until the rancher he’d come all this distance to see showed up. They’d had an appointment but evidently appointments were just another source of amusement in this part of Texas.

  At least Delia was gone. That was something to celebrate.

  He’d tried to phone for a limo or a taxi and both the boy and an old man who’d introduced himself as the ranch foreman had looked at him as if he were crazy.

  “We ain’t got nothin’ like that here,” the foreman said.

  Delia had batted her lashes. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me,” she’d said, though her sweet tone had not matched the sly smile on her lips.

  He’d sooner have kept the rattler they’d seen on the road, especially when the rental company said they couldn’t get a replacement vehicle to him until the next morning.

  Bad enough he’d be stuck here overnight. He sure as hell wasn’t going to spend it fending off Delia.

  So he’d offered the kid with the truck a sum that had made the kid’s eyes bulge to retrieve her luggage from the car, then drive her to the airport. Then he’d closed his ears to what Delia wished him and watched the pickup bounce away.

  The foreman had watched, too.

  “Should be an interestin’ trip for the lady,” he’d said mildly.

  “Should be interesting for both of them,” Lucas had replied, and the old man had grinned.

  Then Lucas had asked the million-dollar question. Where was Aloysius McDonough? He might as well have asked about Godzilla, considering the old man’s wide-eyed reaction.

  “You come here to see Mr. McDonough?”

  No, Lucas had thought, I came for the scenery. Instead he’d smiled politely, or as politely as possible, all things considered.

  “Si. He is expecting me.”

  “Do tell,” the foreman had answered, spitting a thin brown stream of tobacco juice into the dry dirt. “Well, only thing I can suggest is that you hang around until this evenin’.”

  “McDonough will be back by then?”

  The foreman shrugged. “Just wait until evenin’, is what I’m sayin’. We got a guest room you can have, if you ain’t particular.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  The foreman had led Lucas into the house, through rooms that were shabby but clean to one with a narrow bed and a view of the unchanging land that stretched endlessly toward the horizon.

  “You want anythin’, just holler.”

  “I’m fine,” Lucas had answered. Then his eyes had narrowed. “Come to think of it…Do you have a boy working here?”

  The old man shifted his wad of chewing tobacco from one side of his jaw to the other.

  “Ain’t you just seen Davey?”

  “Not him. A different kid. One who rides a black stallion without giving a damn for anybody else.”

  Nope, the foreman said, he and Davey were the only hands.

  Then he’d cackled like a deranged duck. Lucas could hear the sound of his laughter even after he shuffled out of the room.

  Now, standing on a sagging porch, Lucas sighed. Who knew what passed for humor in a godforsaken place like this?

  Besides, what did it matter? This time tomorrow, he’d be on his way home.

  Assuming, he thought irritably, Aloysius McDonough showed up. Where in hell was he? Where was the supposed wonder-mare? Truth was, he doubted if there were any horses here. The corrals were empty; the outbuildings were all in bad shape. The breeze that had come up might just—

  What was that?

  Lucas cocked his head. He could hear a sound on the wind. A horse. Yes. A whinny. Faint, but distinct.

  Maybe McDonough was back.

  The sooner he saw the mare—assuming one even existed—and told a couple of polite lies about what a fine animal she was but how, unfortunately, he wasn’t buying horses right now, blah blah blah…

  Definitely the sooner he got this over with, the better.

  Lucas stepped off the porch and started briskly toward the outbuildings. He was right about their condition. The first, a storage shed, was on the verge of collapse. The barn that came next wasn’t any better.

  The third building was a stable, in better shape than the other two. It needed paint and some of the boards would have benefited from a hammer and nails but when he peered in the open door, he saw the signs a horseman learns to recognize as evidence of responsible care.

  The floor was clean, the two empty stalls to his left were well-swept. A stack of buckets stood beside a hose and across from stacked bales of hay.

  There it was again. The soft whinny of a horse. Yes, there was an animal here.

  The mare, he hoped.

  Mystery solved.

  Lucas hesitated. Protocol demanded a man wait to be asked onto another man’s property. He frowned. To hell with protocol, which also demanded that McDonough should have been here to greet his guest.

/>   Quietly, so he wouldn’t spook the mare, he stepped inside the stable, looked past the row of empty stalls and saw a tail, a rump…

  The horse danced back and Lucas’s eyebrows rose.

  This was not a mare. Hell, no. It was a stallion. No doubt about that, judging from the rest of what he could see.

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed. Not just a stallion. A black stallion.

  He took a step forward. A floorboard creaked under his weight and the stallion snorted. Metal tinkled. The animal must still be bridled and tossing its head.

  “Easy,” a voice said softly. “Easy, baby.”

  Baby? A misnomer if ever he’d heard one, but the voice was right. It was a husky voice. A boy’s voice.

  Lucas knotted his hands into fists and strode quickly to the stall. The horse sensed his presence before the kid standing next to it and whinnied with alarm.

  Too late, Lucas thought grimly.

  He’d found them. The rider and the beast that had ridden him off the road.

  The kid, back to the aisle, was still oblivious, holding on to the stallion’s bridle with one hand, speaking softly to the creature as he stroked its ears with the other.

  “Such a charming picture,” Lucas snarled, clapping his big, callused hand over the boy’s.

  “Hey,” the boy said indignantly.

  “Hey, indeed,” Lucas said with grim satisfaction, and swung the kid around.

  It was him, all right. Beat-up ball cap. Grimy T-shirt. Dirty jeans, dirtier boots…

  Except, when the kid’s cap fell off, Lucas’s jaw dropped.

  The rider wasn’t a boy.

  She was a woman.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A WOMAN?

  Maybe not. Maybe she was a teenaged brat. It was difficult to tell.

  The rider’s face was smeared with dirt, one streak angling across a sharp cheekbone, another across the bridge of her nose. Her hair, a long, heavy braid of inky-black, fell over her shoulder and across her breast.

  Lucas’s gaze followed the path of that braid…and knew she was most definitely a grown woman.

  Her T-shirt was sweat-soaked. It clung to her body, the cotton wet and all but translucent as it molded her rounded breasts and taut nipples.