by Donna Alward
Carlos and Maria had offered him a place. He’d ended up making it his home. When he thought of his other life, it was like thinking about a stranger. Everything seemed so very far away.
“Tomas…”
“No, no,” he said, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. He forced a smile when he felt none, knowing that he had to change the subject. He ran his hand through his hair. “My turn. How does a pretty, pampered woman like yourself end up with a broken engagement? Who broke it off? You or him?”
As soon as he asked the question, he was surprised to find he wanted her to admit she’d been the one to call it off. It should have made no difference to him. He wasn’t interested, so why did it matter if she was on the rebound or not? She hadn’t sounded particularly sorry when she’d explained arriving alone yesterday, but then pain manifested itself in many ways.
“I did,” she replied. She put down her last empanada and dusted off her fingers.
She looked so serious he felt compelled to tease her again, just to bring that light back to her eyes—even if it was anger. “What happened? Would he not keep you in the lifestyle to which you were accustomed?”
She raised her dark gaze to his, and he saw bleak acceptance. “Do you really think this is about lifestyle?” She smiled sadly. “If by lifestyle you mean affection and loyalty…” She looked down and cleared her throat before raising her head again. “Let’s just say he was enjoying marital benefits—without the benefit of the marriage.” She paused. “Or the wife.”
Understanding dawned. The dog had gone elsewhere, all the while planning a wedding with Sophia. “He was cheating?”
“We never should have gotten engaged,” she replied. “Both of us were settling for what looked good, I suppose. I’m ashamed of that. I should have seen…”
He recognized self-blame when he saw it and for the first time he felt sorry for Sophia Hollingsworth.
But she surprised him by squaring her shoulders and pinning him with a direct, confident look. “At least I had the gumption to kick him to the curb when I found him with his…”
Tomas rattled off a few words in Spanish. The words were similar enough to English that Sophia puzzled them out and she burst out laughing. “Oh, thank you for that. That’s perfect!”
Dios, she was beautiful, especially when she forgot herself and laughed like that. Her eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed rosy pink. How could her fiancé cheat on her? Why would he? She was a stunning, sensual woman, and he’d bet she had no clue of her own allure. He’d thought she was spoiled but now he was wondering if she’d just been sheltered. Either way, she hadn’t deserved to be treated in such a fashion.
“For a man to do such a thing—he has no honour. Why would he stray? You’re a beautiful woman.”
Her gaze struck his, and he felt the impact clear to his toes. For a long moment a rich silence enveloped the kitchen as his gaze dropped to her full lips.
This was exactly what he needed to avoid. He cleared his throat, searching for words to break the spell. “A bit spoiled, perhaps, but not unkind, I don’t think.”
“Gee, thanks,” she muttered, looking away. For a few seconds she studied her fingers and then she asked, without looking up, “You would never cheat on a woman, would you, Tomas?”
It was as if a cold breeze blew through the room and he froze. Cheat? No. But cheating was not the only way to wrong a woman. He’d failed Rosa in other ways. He rose from his chair and began gathering the dishes.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“It is nothing.” He ran some water in the sink for dishes. This conversation had to end now. And he had to stop looking at her as if she were his favourite sweet. “This afternoon we need to ride. I will do these if you will go to the closet and find some boots that fit. And a hat. You may borrow one of Maria’s, I think. The sun is already making itself known on your cheeks. You will also need some bombachas. They’re in a box in the office. First door on your right.”
“Some what?”
“Bombachas. Gaucho pants. You were right about the onsite boutique restocking—it is also on the agenda for this week.”
“Where are we going?”
“I need to check the cattle this afternoon. We will ride out along the pasture. It is not a hard ride, Sophia. You will be fine.”
Sophia looked down at her hands, torn between wanting to know about what had caused Tomas’s abrupt change of subject and knowing she should probably let well enough alone. And that moment when she’d told him about Antoine…there had been something in his eyes that had taken her breath away. She wasn’t used to a man having such a physical effect on her. There was a part of her that wondered if she could make it happen again, to feel that queer lifting in her chest when he settled his dark gaze upon her, or the shiver on her flesh the few times he’d touched her. She’d never felt anything quite like it before.
Not even with her fiancé. She looked down at her manicured nails, marred and slightly chipped from the morning’s work. She was beginning to understand that the spa days and shop ping sprees were only ways to cover what had been wrong from the start. Antoine had never loved her, and perhaps she’d never truly loved him, either. She’d only fancied herself in love.
It had hurt her incredibly that he’d taken a… No. She wouldn’t even think the word mistress. It was too lofty a title for the tawdry piece he was…well, doing what ever he was doing on the side. She’d even blamed herself for a while, thinking that if Antoine had been satisfied at home he wouldn’t have strayed. She had harsh memories of the things Antoine had said about her at the end. Like that she’d driven him to it. That she was an ice queen. Those words still hurt. Because on some level, she was afraid they were true.
But a man who loved her would have waited. He wouldn’t have resorted to an affair. Tomas’s words helped more than he could ever know. It hadn’t been her fault. It had been Antoine’s lack of character. And the way Tomas made her feel when he looked at her was anything but icy.
Sophia sat, nonplussed at the abrupt change as Tomas banged dishes around in the sink. Only moments ago they’d been talking about her and even laughing a little about her situation. And in a flash, the curtains were drawn again and Tomas was locked away.
She didn’t feel it was the time to push. She stared at Tomas’s back at the sink, so straight and rigid and unwelcoming. Perhaps he would relax during their ride. She guessed he was the type that would feel most at home out riding the pampas with the wind and wide open space for company.
Unlike her. Her heart quailed. She had known since arriving that she would end up on horseback. But she hadn’t thought it would be today. For a second she considered confessing her inexperience to Tomas. But when she looked at him, his jaw was set in a tight line. He was shutting her out.
That was his right, after all. They were strangers, really, simply in the same place at the same time due to circumstance. He didn’t owe her anything and she didn’t owe him any thing, either. And yet she was so tired of being shut out. Of being in the background, patted on the head. She was sick and tired of her role as ‘behaving appropriately’ because she was too afraid to do anything else. Wear the right clothes, meet the right people, say the right things. And for whose benefit? Certainly not for hers. For her mother’s ambition that Sophia would raise them above their station—and mostly for Antoine’s political aspirations. He’d insisted that his success was hers as well, but she knew now that was a bunch of claptrap.
She wanted a success of her own. Even if meant riding a stupid horse across the pampas to impress a stubborn Argentinian. She wanted the disdain in his eyes to turn to admiration.
She found the box in the office and took out a pair of gray trousers, crestfallen at the pleating and narrow bottoms. They certainly weren’t in vogue, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Then it was on to the closet for black boots and a hat with a rounded brim to shade her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’d like to freshen up. Put on som
e sunscreen before we go out.”
“Take your time,” Tomas replied. “I will have to saddle the horses anyway.”
Sophia detected a note of satisfaction in his voice, as though he was pleased he’d diverted her questions. It only made her more curious and determined to find out what secrets he was hiding. He’d skilfully changed the subject, but she wanted to know what had led him to leave his life in the city for one of isolation in the pampas. A loner like the gaucho, relying on no one but himself.
She stood in the kitchen minutes later, feeling a bit conspicuous as she looked up at a framed picture on the wall. The woman in it was relaxed and happy, astride a black horse and beautiful in full gaucho gear. Sophia wondered what it would be like to be that comfortable in her own skin. And she wondered who it was. Maria, perhaps? Whoever, the picture made her feel somewhat foolish as she left the house and walked across the yard in her outfit. The boots were new and stiff and she felt ridiculous in the black hat that shaded her eyes, as though she was dressed up for Halloween. All she needed now was a poncho and a donkey, she thought.
And then she saw Tomas, waiting beside two horses. She blinked, looking at him with new eyes. He looked so different, so exotically handsome. He too had proper boots and a hat and a bandana tied around his neck. He looked the part of a romantic gaucho, while she felt like a complete imposter.
She inhaled and stepped forward. She could do this. It was simply a matter of faking it until it was true. She’d had lots of practice growing up.
“You look very authentic,” he commented. So the ice man thawed a little, Sophia thought irritably.
“I feel sort of silly.”
“Don’t—you look the part. And you will appreciate the gear when you have been in the saddle beneath the sun.” He smiled from beneath his hat. “Perhaps tomorrow if there’s time, we can go into San Antonio de Areco and you can purchase a few things there to get you through the week. I don’t expect your designer clothes will hold up well otherwise.”
She knew he was right. She couldn’t swan about in Chanel and Prada all week, and to be truthful the idea of a pair of plain old comfortable jeans was heavenly. How long had it been since she’d lounged around in comfortable clothes, enjoying the sunshine as she had this morning? The thought perked her up.
“Are you ready?”
She swallowed, remembering there was still the issue of her riding skills to conquer.
She approached the mare and tried to appear confident. It seemed to her this horse was slightly shorter than the others she’d ridden—or perhaps she was just taller now. Either way, it helped alleviate some of her anxiety. With a bright smile she took the reins and then stopped short at the sight of the saddle.
“Problem, Sophia?”
It was unlike any saddle she’d ever seen. There was no saddle horn, and the whole thing was covered with an unusual padded skin and then cinched again. “This is different.”
“We keep to a gaucho saddle. It’s not too difficult. I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”
She resolutely put her toes in the stirrup and gripped the top of the saddle where she’d been hoping to find a saddle horn. On the second bounce she got it, and settled into the seat.
It felt different than the western saddles she remembered, but Tomas was right. It was fairly comfortable. The blanket cushioned her bottom.
With ease Tomas mounted up and flashed her a smile. “Neck rein, like in western riding,” he instructed. “You do know how, right?”
Sophia resisted the impulse to bite down on her lip. It would be like learning all over again, but she would do it. After the spider incident of the morning, she would not let him see another weakness. This time she’d conquer her fear.
She put her right foot in the stirrup—somehow he’d managed to get the length just right—and with a nudge of her heels to the horse’s side, followed him out of the corral and towards the sweeping plain surrounding the estancia.
For the first few minutes they kept to a nice, sedate walk. Sophia felt the breeze on her face and the sun on her back as they took the path through the maze of green pasture and pampas grass. Once the trail opened up, though, Tomas spurred his mount to a smooth canter and without any urging, Sophia’s horse followed their lead.
The jolt of the motion and the unusual saddle nearly un-seated her, but she gripped with her knees and after a few tense moments she settled into the rhythm of the stride. Not comfortably—she was too inexperienced for that—but she thought she might just manage to stay on top and not end up on her bottom in the dirt. Tomas slowed and eventually she caught up to him, fighting to control her breath and her heartbeat and act as though she did this every day of her life.
She envied Tomas. In comparison to her clumsiness and insecurity, he seemed as if he could do anything with ease. His hands held the reins loosely, unlike the death grip she seemed to have on the leather. His back was straight, his bearing almost regal. He looked like a god of the pampas up there, and the idea did funny things to her insides. For a woman so newly determined to be independent, the idea of having someone like Tomas as a protector was dizzying.
Oh, this was crazy. She was being romanced by the idea of some reticent cowboy and a South American version of the lawless West. She gave a small frown as she came back to earth. The distance she’d put between herself and her life back in Ottawa gave her perspective, and she knew she’d let herself be guided—pushed, molded, nudged—through life for too long. Did she even know who she was anymore? Wouldn’t this week be a good time to find out?
“What do you think?”
Tomas reined in and swept his arm out in introduction to the wide, grassy plains below them. Cattle dotted the landscape, peacefully grazing. To their left, the stream the taxi had followed to the estancia twisted and wound like a silvery snake.
It reminded her of the rolling land she’d seen once when she had gone to Alberta for a student conference. As the bus had driven them from Calgary to Banff National Park, they’d passed rolling land like this, dotted with round bales of hay, horses and cattle. The estancia was a taste of that cowboy culture with a twist. There were no Stetsons and spurs here, but when Sophia looked over at Tomas, his brown eyes gleaming beneath his gaucho campero, she realized that some allures translated through language and location.
“It’s gorgeous,” she admitted, always aware of the animal beneath her, ready to adjust the tension of the reins if she needed to. “It’s so open and free. Wild and a little intimidating.”
Tomas got a little wrinkle in his brow. “You surprise me, Sophia. I expected more of a city-girl perspective from you.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me, Tomas,” she remarked, pleased when the wrinkle got a little deeper. It was encouraging, knowing she had the ability to throw him a little off balance too. “You can be anything you want to be out here, can’t you? There are no limits.”
She saw him swallow and look away. “That’s how I feel about it too. It is not so much frightening, but that there is a vastness to respect, si? I never knew what I was missing until I made friends with Miguel and he invited me to visit. The pampas…it is in my soul.” He looked back at her, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Maybe being here all the time has made me forget that. It is good to see it through your eyes again.”
“Then why don’t you look happy?”
Sophia kept a firm grip on the reins as she watched Tomas’s face. For a moment she thought he was going to say something, and then a muscle ticked in his jaw and she knew the moment had passed.
“This Miguel—he is Carlos and Maria’s son?”
He nodded. “We became friends in university. An unlikely pair. Me from the city and him from the pampas.”
Tomas laughed, but Sophia heard sadness behind it. “You weren’t happy?”
“Maria and Carlos welcomed me like I was family. They were determined that Miguel have a better life. They might have been bitter about being poor, but instead they were ju
st happy.”
“And it isn’t like that in your family?”
He laughed, but it sounded a bit forced. “No.”
Sophia relaxed more in the saddle now, getting used to the shape and feel of it. “After she divorced my father, my mother was always very aware of the distinction of money…and the importance of opportunity. Hence my engagement to Antoine. A lawyer turned politician, full of money and ambition and the promise of power. He was everything she wanted in a son-in-law.” In a flash of clarity, Sophia realized that her mother had wanted for her what she’d never quite had for herself. Sophia blinked, staring over the waving pampas grass, feeling some of her resentment fade as understanding dawned. “Mother just wanted security for me. When we announced our engagement, she was in heaven.”
“And were you? In heaven?”
She thought back to the day she’d started working on Antoine’s campaign staff. “I was dazzled for about thirty seconds. And then I was just practical. Antoine had a lot to offer. And he was charming and connected. He treated me well and I fancied myself in love with him, I suppose. We skated along and after a suitable amount of time he proposed. I would have a good life and he’d have a good wife for the campaign trail.”
“Sounds passionate,” he remarked dryly.
It hadn’t been, and Sophia hoped she wasn’t blushing. In this day and age it seemed unbelievable that in two years of dating and being engaged, she and Antoine had never slept together. Something had always held Sophia back. At the time she’d thought it sensible and cautious, considering how stories exploded through the news about the private lives of public people. Looking back now, though, she wondered if there hadn’t been more to her decision she hadn’t considered, if she hadn’t put Antoine off for a bigger reason that even she hadn’t understood. Looking at Tomas, feeling the thrill that zapped through her at the mere sight of him, she was beginning to see a glimmer of her reason. She’d overlooked an important ingredient—chemistry.
