The Untamed Argentinian

by Susan Stephens

  He could see her now without turning—her hair would be scraped back beneath a net under the hard hat she always wore for riding. He turned his head to confirm he wasn’t wrong—giving himself the excuse that he didn’t want any injuries on his conscience…

  Of course she was wearing a hard hat. Perversely, he wanted to see her with her red hair flowing free now.

  ‘Nero.’ She acknowledged him briskly without breaking step.

  He dipped his head briefly in response. He wouldn’t see her again until she supervised the quick changes from one pony to the next between the chukkas that divided the game. Bella would be working with Ignacio, which was a great honour for her. Ignacio traditionally worked alone. But Bella was different, his elderly friend had told him.

  ‘She has the heart of a gaucho—’

  He looked at Ignacio, standing by his side.

  ‘She reminds me of your grandmother…’

  Nero hummed and curbed his smile. Those few words were probably the longest speech he’d ever heard from Ignacio on any subject that didn’t include a horse. They were both staring at Bella, but he was remembering the grandmother who had brought him up, and whose portrait now hung in Bella’s bedroom. In her youth, Annalisa Caracas was said to possess the beauty of a pampered aristocrat. Nero knew she had the courage of a frontierswoman and rode like a man. Born to great wealth, Nero’s father had considered a life of ease his natural right and had allowed the estancia to slip into ruin, forcing his own mother to come out of retirement and turn it round. It was lucky for him and the ranch that his grandmother had stepped in, and Annalisa Caracas was firmly placed on a pedestal in his mind.

  Yes, Annalisa Caracas had been quite a woman.

  He was jolted out of these thoughts by Ignacio nudging him. Bella had just mounted up and was turning her small mare towards the freedom of the pampas. He shook his head and huffed a laugh as the gauchos cheered when she set Misty at the fence instead of taking her through the gate. The small mare sailed over and then tossed her head, and in spirit so did Bella.

  This was the first time in a long time, Nero realised, that he had stood with the other men to watch a woman ride.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE polo match loomed ever closer and excitement was reaching fever pitch on the ranch. But it was more than excitement, Bella realised. It was as if they were preparing for the battle of the century. No piece of turf or rail had been left unchecked and her young charges were bursting with excitement. A sense of purpose had gripped everyone on the estancia—yet these were people whose world revolved around horses and polo, and who should surely take this friendly game in their stride?

  Friendly game? Some hope, Bella mused. The team representing the neighbouring estancia were also world-class players, and although she didn’t usually get worked up where testosterone-pumped males indulging in feats of macho lunacy were concerned, this was different. This was polo. But today even her great love for the game wasn’t enough to stop her being anxious for Nero.

  As the day wore on people arrived from far and wide. The match had brought the great and good of Argentina in helicopters, private jets and impressive cars, but there was also a large contingent of unsophisticated vehicles—trucks, horseboxes, battered Jeeps, cars with cracked suspension, rusting wheel arches and dubious paint jobs, along with a clutch of horse-drawn carts, as well as whole families riding in convoy on their ponies, trailing mules behind them, loaded with supplies. Polo meant fiesta on the pampas. It was both an excuse for a party as well as an all too rare get-together for far-flung families. All these people needed shade and water and food, as well as the other facilities associated with a small mobile city, and Bella and the rest of the staff had worked tirelessly to ensure that the event was a success. She was thrilled to think that everyone had come to see Nero Caracas, their national hero, lead his team. Nero represented everything that was proud and fine and wonderful about Argentina—her adopted country, Bella reflected as she stared out across the pampas. That was exactly how she felt about Nero’s homeland—as if she belonged here.

  And that was enough daydreaming when there was work to be done. The air of expectation gripping the crowd had made the ponies skittish—particularly Colonel, the pony on which Nero had decided to finish the match. In Bella’s opinion, it would have been better to use Colonel in the first, or at least one of the earlier chukkas, rather than keeping the high-spirited horse until the end of the match, but Nero had overruled her saying his old faithful only needed time to calm down.

  If only she could learn to calm down when it came to Nero, Bella reflected as he strode towards her down the pony lines. Surely, she should have got used to how he looked by now, but the sight of him still thrilled her—she still filled her eyes with him as she might have feasted them on a work of art. Nero was brutally beautiful, but he was more than that, she thought as her heart banged painfully in her chest. Oh, to hell with it—he was the sexiest man alive!

  ‘Ready?’ he said briefly.

  ‘Ready,’ Bella confirmed.

  They had both checked the ponies numerous times. They were both professionals doing the job they did best, but that didn’t cut off the electricity between them, or reduce her concern for Nero’s safety in what was certain to be a fiercely competitive match.

  And then the polo groupies arrived. Argentina was no different to the UK when it came to girls managing to look as if they had just stepped out of the fashion pages of some glossy magazine in this most workmanlike of settings. And here they were, complete with high heels and short flirty skirts, picking their way across a carpet of cobbles and horse manure. If she’d tried wearing shoes like that she’d have been up to her ankles in muck by now. She had to hand it to them, Bella thought as they clustered round Nero, the girls were groomed to the max. She couldn’t blame them for their fascination. Polo was a savage game for rugged men, and horses as high-spirited could be found anywhere in the world. But as the girls fluttered round, and Nero, the king of the game, continued to ignore them and got on with his swift, practised preparations, she almost felt sorry for them. Almost, but not quite. Bella understood the tensions of the match and didn’t expect Nero to pay her any attention, but the girls didn’t understand that and thought all they had to do was look pretty and stick around long enough for Nero to turn and reward them with a smile…

  He’d better not reward them with anything, Bella thought, feeling unusually moody as Nero turned to ask her for his stick. She passed it to him and, resting it over his shoulder, he cantered away without another word.

  Taking her heart with him.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Bella told herself sternly. What was the point of giving her heart to Nero when he’d sooner have a bag of carrots for his ponies?

  There was a tense air of expectation around the field of play. Everyone was geared up for action at the highest possible level and the game promised to be riskier than Bella had imagined. It soon became clear that, as she had suspected, this was no civilised knock-about between old friends, but a long-standing grudge match with no quarter offered by either side. There was battle fever between the players and, though Bella expected to feel on edge, she had not imagined longing for the match to finish so she could be sure Nero was safe.

  Just let them all get through it in one piece, Bella thought as her gaze fixed on Nero. More the warrior than ever, with his tanned face grim beneath his helmet and his thick black hair curling beneath it, his muscles pumped and flexing and his strong hands on the reins, Nero looked invincible as he cantered round the field. That light grip was so deceptive. There was such power and certainty in it…and his powerful thighs, so subtly yet firmly controlling and directing his pony’s movements.

  She was jealous of a horse now?

  The referee was speaking to each team. Silence fell other than the champing of bits. Anthems were played. The ball was positioned. Ponies jostled, and Nero hooked the first play clear.

  The players thundered down the field with Nero t
aking an early lead. He was easily the most skilful rider. But even Nero wasn’t invulnerable, and he couldn’t evade all the opposing team’s dirty tricks.

  The other team’s sole aim appeared to be to ride Nero off the field, and when two horses came cannoning towards him Bella screamed out a warning along with the rest of the crowd.

  Nero would never risk his horse. Nero would rather risk himself—

  A collective sigh rose from the crowd as Nero corkscrewed out of trouble, but it had been a narrow escape and, as the game continued, Bella grew increasingly anxious. The opposition wasn’t interested in playing the game, they just wanted to create havoc with Nero in the centre of it. This wasn’t about an elbow in the ribs or a well-placed knee in an attempt to unseat him, every action they took was designed to put Nero Caracas out of the game for good.

  Yet Nero had never appeared stronger or more in control, Bella thought, taking comfort from his confidence as he leapt effortlessly from the back of one pony to the next between chukkas. This required split-second timing between groom and rider, with the groom having the next pony ready when the tired pony came cantering in, and no way was she going to let anyone have this responsibility—this was hers, and for once in his life Nero didn’t have time to argue with her.

  There was no basis for her sense of dread, Bella reasoned sensibly as the next chukka got underway. This was sport at the highest level and she couldn’t expect it to be soft or easy. She should just relax and enjoy it. To see Nero at full stretch like this was a rare indulgence. She was watching out for risks around him, anticipating trouble even before it occurred. Nero shared this sixth sense and he used it to wheel and dodge his way out of trouble, while he controlled the field of play and kept his pony safe.

  She was beginning to relax and enjoy the match, and shouted herself hoarse with the rest of the crowd when Nero whacked a ball halfway down the pitch and went charging after it. The other riders were in hot pursuit, but not fast enough to stop Nero smacking a goal between the posts. Rapturous applause greeted him as the teams changed ends, and within moments Nero had galloped in at the end of the chukka to change his shirt. Tugging it over his head, he displayed an obscene wealth of muscle to which Bella had to appear unmoved. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she now had to tell Nero something he wouldn’t want to hear. ‘I’ve substituted Colonel.’

  ‘No—’ Nero was scowling at the horse whose reins she was holding. ‘Colonel doesn’t have many matches left in him and I won’t deny him this game.’

  ‘But he’s in a lather, Nero.’ She shot an anxious glance towards the big bay it was taking two men to hold.

  ‘It’s your job to calm him down.’

  And while she was still absorbing this piece of arrant nonsense, Nero mounted up.

  ‘Colonel has been waiting for this moment, haven’t you, boy?’ he crooned, and she had to grit her teeth as the pony became both instantly alert and instantly cooperative.

  ‘You’ll never tame him, Bella.’

  Was Ignacio talking about Nero or the pony? she wondered. ‘It’s a fantastic match,’ she said distractedly. Even with Ignacio at her side, she had to brush off her growing sense of unease.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Ignacio said, following her gaze onto the field. ‘Nero and Colonel have a special bond.’

  She hoped so.

  ‘I just wish this game didn’t have to be quite so violent,’ she confessed, voicing her fears.

  ‘When you have some of the best players in the world on the field, competition is only to be expected,’ Ignacio told her with a shrug.

  Yes, but this was more than competition, Bella thought. This was war.

  She’d never had this much invested in a match before, Bella reasoned as she leaned on the fence to watch. Ignacio had remained with her as if he sensed she needed company. There was only one man Ignacio was interested in watching, and that was Nero. She realised Ignacio couldn’t have cared more deeply for Nero if he had been his own son.

  ‘We’re ahead,’ Ignacio cheered as Nero swung his polo mallet and fired off another goal. The applause was deafening, but this became the cue for the game to become even rougher, and the crowd groaned when one of the riders was unseated.

  Bella stared anxiously onto the field and only relaxed when she could see that both pony and player were unharmed. Her gaze flew to Nero, whose expression was thunderous beneath his helmet. She guessed he was furious at the risks the opposing team were taking with their horses. He glanced towards her and patted Colonel’s neck as if he wanted to reassure her that they were both okay. She had to admit Colonel had never looked more alert or more impatient to enter the fray again. And Colonel’s rider had never looked so savage, or so brutally attractive. She found a smile, though her eyes must have betrayed her concern and, with a brief nod, Nero wheeled away.

  They were well into the first play when the ball changed direction suddenly and a tightly bunched group of riders came thundering down the field towards Bella and Ignacio. Everything happened so fast—Ignacio grabbed her arm and threw her clear but, in doing so, he lost his balance as well as valuable seconds, while tons of horseflesh continued crashing towards them. Nero rode straight into the melee to save them. People were screaming as Bella went back to catch hold of Ignacio. Shoving him to the ground beneath her, she protected him with her body. For a moment it was all a terrible confusion of flailing hooves and rearing horses, with the additional obstacles of boots, feet, thighs, bridles and polo mallets. How they survived it, Bella would never know. Her first clear thought was seeing Ignacio safe on the other side of the fence as Nero swept her from the ground and threw them both clear of the mayhem. ‘Thank God,’ she gasped against his chest.

  When she turned to look, everything was slowly returning to normal. Reins were being gathered up, boots stuck back in stirrups and horses were being turned by their riders to calm them and give each other space. It was only then that Bella realised Colonel was still on the ground. ‘I told you not to ride him,’ she cried out as grief and shock exploded inside her.

  Dumping her on her feet, Nero returned to his horse. ‘Get away from him,’ he snapped when Bella would have joined them.

  Ignoring Nero’s instruction, she quickly checked Colonel over. ‘I think he’s winded.’

  ‘And you know this for sure?’ Nero’s voice was ice. His eyes were unforgiving.

  For some reason, Nero blamed her for this, Bella realised. ‘I’m using my professional judgement,’ she said as calmly as she could.

  He flashed something at her in Spanish that sounded ugly. It didn’t need a translation. She understood him perfectly.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ he snarled, moving to block her out.

  ‘We should help Colonel up as soon as we can,’ she said, glancing around to enlist the help of Ignacio and the other gauchos.

  ‘Are you going to lift him?’ Nero rapped without turning to look at them as he knelt at his horse’s head. ‘Where’s the vet?’

  ‘Coming—he’s coming,’ Ignacio soothed in their own language.

  Bella looked round with relief as the vet came running up.

  Ignacio grabbed her arm. ‘I want to thank you, Bella, for what you did—’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied, holding Ignacio’s gaze. ‘We helped each other. It could have been so much worse—’ Though she doubted Nero would see it that way, Bella thought, staring at him, shoulders hunched and tense as he crouched over his horse.

  The game had been suspended and uneasy murmurs swept the crowd while the vet made his examination. When he had finished, Nero drew him aside so they could talk in private.

  Knowing no boundaries when it came to the animals under her care, Bella followed them. She waited until there was a pause in the conversation, and then she touched Nero’s arm. ‘This wasn’t your fault, Nero.’

  The look Nero gave her should have warned her to leave it, but she was too upset by the fact that Nero had risked Colonel by riding the horse into the collisio
n to save her. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘For what?’ Nero’s fierce black eyes drilled deep into her confidence.

  ‘For saving me.’

  The aggressive stare narrowed. Did Nero regret his actions? Turning away, he resumed his conversation with the vet in rapid Spanish, leaving Bella on the sidelines until Ignacio offered to translate for her.

  Thank goodness Colonel wasn’t so badly injured he would have to be destroyed. For all their power and bulk, horses were such fragile animals, but iced bandages followed by a stint in the hydrotherapy unit would be enough on this occasion.

  They all stood round as a team, supervised by the vet, arranged a sling to hoist Colonel onto the recovery vehicle. Nero stood apart from the rest as the transport drove slowly away. The space between them might as well have been a continent, Bella thought.

  Once the field was clear the game would be restarted. It was good news for a crowd relieved to discover there had been no serious casualties. Applause followed Colonel in his transporter across the field, though Nero remained staring after it with an expression that suggested the sky had just fallen in. ‘It will be his last match,’ he said to no one in particular.

  And Nero blames me for that, Bella realised.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘THE game is about to restart, Nero,’ Bella prompted gently.

  Nero didn’t turn until the transporter had disappeared and then he said, ‘Where’s my next horse?’

  She flinched at the tone of his voice. There wasn’t an ounce of compassion in it. Nero was angry with himself, but he blamed both of them for bringing Colonel’s career to an abrupt close.

  And she was also badly shaken, Bella realised as she offered to bring a fresh horse up. A near fatal accident had almost taken out Ignacio, an elderly man she considered her friend now. Waiting for the vet’s verdict had left her in pieces. And the children! How must they be feeling? ‘I’m sorry—you’ll have to excuse me,’ she said, waving to one of the grooms.