Dell grinned and walked with them to the corral. Karla was as close to being a friend as anyone. Karla was strong, and Dell admired her ability to make painful decisions and move on them. The woman had recently divorced her husband when she discovered another woman in the picture, and struck out on her own despite her family’s objections. Unwilling to leave Allison in day care centers, she’d originally come to the ranch to apply for a day job. Rosa had been indignant that Dell had given Karla part-time work in the house, but helping with the teenagers had become a convenient excuse, and as their friendship had grown, Karla had become something of a fixture on the ranch, working or not.
Karla was in her usual high spirits, chatting lightly as they walked together. When they reached the corral gate, though, she paused a moment, looking up at Dell with curiosity in her eyes.
“So … where is he?”
“He?” Dell repeated, and Karla laughed.
“Ay, niña! — Jovi. Who else?”
Dell looked at her with some surprise. “You’ve met Jovani?”
“Met him? Dear girl, I propositioned him. I devoured him with my eyes. I asked him to marry me!” She laughed. “Unfortunately, he said no, and I haven’t seen him since. Where in the world did you find that gorgeous man?”
Karla’s enthusiasm surprised her — hadn’t this very same woman told her just two weeks ago that she had decided against joining an online dating service? That she’d decided she liked her independence, at least for the moment? And that if her resolve didn’t fail, she intended to die a “later-life virgin,” as she had put it?
When Dell didn’t immediately respond, the laughter faded from the other woman’s eyes. “You’re not pissed, are you?” she asked, setting Becky down in front of her. “I mean, I am mostly kidding.” Then she smiled again. “Except about the gorgeous part. And asking him out.”
Dell shook her head. “I’m not angry. Just a little startled. I thought you swore off men, Karla?”
“Oh, come on, Dell. We all claim to, but none of us do.”
“I have,” she retorted instantly, stubbornly, and was relieved Karla didn’t laugh at her cool pronouncement.
The woman merely shrugged. “I know you think you have, Dell. And Lord knows you’ve kept your vows longer than I’m likely to keep mine. But sooner or later you’ll meet a man.” She bent to pick Becky back up, settling her in the saddle in front of Allison and patting the pony’s neck then turning back to Dell. The man — the one you want. It won’t matter if he doesn’t want you.” Her teasing tone turned serious. “It won’t even matter if you can’t have him — if he’s married, or a sleazeball or a jerk — there’ll be a man even you’ll want.” She pushed the gate open and led the pony in, then paused and said over her shoulder, “Wouldn’t it be funny if that man were Jovani Treviño?”
• • •
A few minutes later, unsmiling and unamused by Karla’s parting words, Dell walked into the office and sat down at the desk. Somehow, knowing someone else used this office now made her feel awkward. Reminding herself she was the employer, she jerked the desk drawer open. A folded piece of yellow legal paper caught her eye, and she pulled it out, looking at it curiously. There was a scribbled name and a phone number with a Houston area code. One of the advantages to her old job — and her excellent memory — was that she rarely needed to look up an area code for any major center of commerce. The name beneath the phone number, in Jovi’s casual scrawl, meant nothing to her, nor did the words “not entirely sure.” But the hairs on her neck and arms bristled when her eyes moved to the Spanish words written just under that in the same, dark ink: la inalcanzable.
“Buenas tardes,” Jovi said from the doorway, and she started, dropping the paper and flushing guiltily. He lounged comfortably against the doorjamb, tall and imposing, his dark eyes unreadable as he watched her. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, either; in spite of his size and his worn leather boots, she hadn’t heard him until he spoke.
“Hello.” She stood, waving at the chair across from her. “Have a seat. I was just going to see what needed doing.”
She didn’t realize she’d left the paper on the desk until he settled into his seat and saw it. He picked the yellow scrap of paper up without comment, folding it and sticking it in a pocket, and gave her a guarded smile.
“I see Mrs. Gonzalez came. She seems to enjoy bringing her daughter over.”
She fought the urge to tell him why she enjoyed bringing Allison, aware it would sound petty and controlling. But she frowned, nevertheless. “I thought we decided we’d get together this morning?” she ventured, after a moment. “I came down around eight-thirty, and you were gone.”
“Yep. Drove in to Laredo unexpectedly.” He didn’t seem at all repentant as he watched her from across the desk. “I assume that’s not a problem — we didn’t really discuss issues like sick leave or emergency time off.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dell said. “Is it your mother? If she needs you — ”
Jovi waved it off. “Everything’s taken care of.”
“We need to talk about the horses, then.” She leaned back in her chair, trying to put some distance between them. Even across the desk, his presence was distracting. His eyes glinted, and sun touched his hair, his mustache, creating tiny, fiery sparks mingled in with the darker browns. Damn Karla! Dell hadn’t needed anyone to call attention to Jovani’s good looks. Across from her, Jovi shifted slightly in his chair, then raised his arms and crossed them behind his head. His white shirt, partially unbuttoned, gaped a little, showing a patch of bronzed skin.
“I hope you don’t mind that I was at your desk,” she said after a moment. “It seems strange, sharing the office with someone else.”
“I can use the other desk,” he offered, waving a hand at the room’s second desk, unused in years except to hold an unorganized collection of old magazines and clutter. “And there’s no need to feel uncomfortable in your own office.” She regarded him thoughtfully. What he said was perfectly reasonable, but there had been something in his voice, some shadow of … something. Impatient with herself, she decided she was imagining it, due, no doubt, to Karla’s unexpected confidences. Stalling, she stretched — and knew she wasn’t imagining the way his eyes swept across the thin, blue fabric of the knit top she was wearing. She ignored the unspoken interest in his eyes and went on.
“I’m hardly ever here. It would be silly, really — although it would look better.” She hesitated, trying to find a way to ask about the words on the yellow paper without seeming nosy. “Do we have business contacts in Houston already?” she asked after a moment.
His lips twitched. “I do,” he answered, and then laughed out loud. “Why do the words ‘control freak’ suddenly come to mind, Ms. Rosales?”
“What do you mean?” she asked indignantly, flushing a little, because she realized her annoyance must have shown in her eyes in spite of her determination to mask it.
“You need to delegate, but you don’t like turning anything loose. You still want to be in charge.” He shook his head at her. “Maybe we can’t deny our heritage, Dell. I don’t know old Don Lionel, but you probably just did him proud.” Ignoring the anger replacing her annoyance, he pulled the scrap out of his pocket and waved it between them like a flag. “This actually is a business acquaintance of mine — nothing about the work I do here. Well, except that I had a job offer with a Houston company. I turned it down.”
“Hmmm.” Dell tapped a finger on her knee, leaning forward a little. “And just out of curiosity, since we’ve established that I’m nosy and controlling, what does la inalcanzable mean?” She held up a hand as Jovi started to answer. “Don’t tell me what it means — we both speak Spanish. Tell me why it’s written here on this paper.”
Jovi straightened in his chair, and his eyes bored into hers. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t g
oing to answer. “La inalcanzable.” He hesitated, but his eyes met hers unflinchingly. “It’s what I called Griselda — what I still call her, sometimes, when I remember. Is anyone more off limits than the boss’s wife?” His mouth twisted as he pocketed the note. “Satisfied, Dell?”
“Perfectly,” she returned crisply, and stood up. “Let’s look over the horses. I’ve reached a decision about some of them.”
His eyes swept over her again appraisingly, and when he stood up, she was struck again by how tall he was. He towered over her, and she was tall, even in the low-heeled sandals she’d worn today. She thinned her lips, willing herself to discard her vague apprehensions about the man. “Follow me,” she ordered, in her best control-freak voice, and walked out of the office.
“My pleasure,” he murmured sardonically, giving her an insolent shrug when she turned to glare at his double-edged reply. “Hey, I’m just the hired hand, jefa. You lead, I follow.” He laughed as her frown became more pronounced. “There’s a lot to be said for following women bosses.” Shaking his head at her, he waved down the hall corridor. “After you.”
Clamping her lips together, Dell turned and walked toward the first stall, conscious of Jovi’s eyes on her with each step she took. It was a relief to stop at the first half-open stall door. The big, sorrel mare inside nickered and came over to have her head scratched. Dell put a hand on the mare’s broad cheek, reaching up to rub behind her ears with the other. The mare snuffled contentedly against Dell’s chest, then reached her muzzle up and blew against her cheek. The idea of selling this gentle old friend brought sudden tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away grimly.
“This is Red Sugar Cash,” she said. “She was my father’s favorite.”
He nodded. “Pete filled me in on names and a little history.” He reached out to pat the mare’s neck, his arm brushing warmly across her Dell’s shoulder. “She’s probably the best quarter horse on the place, too,” he noted. “There’s no reason to sell her — she’s healthy, and still young enough to have another colt or two. Even if she isn’t bred again, she’s gentle enough for your teenagers to ride.”
Dell turned to look up at him. “Well, well. I’m surprised at you, Jovi. Finding an excuse for me to keep a non-producer? I thought you’d give me that old saw about ‘out with the old, in with the new’ some men are so fond of.”
He ignored her barb, moving instead toward the next stall with a business-like air. “You pay me to be heartless, Dell. In my line of work, it’s absolutely necessary. Always has been.” He paused, looking down at her, before adding, “If you expect to make any money at all with the horses. But, believe it or not, I’m a big backer of retirement in green pastures. I can’t condone someone owning one of these animals for years and then shipping it off to the slaughterhouse when it doesn’t bring in the bread.” They stopped at the next door, and Jovi smiled ruefully, pointing into the shadows. The gray mare in the back of the stall looked at them with disinterest, then snorted at them with flattened ears and turned back to her hay.
“Now, Snow Mist here is another story,” he said. “We don’t like each other.”
“So I see,” Dell retorted, smiling a little at the mare’s behavior and shaking her head. “Come here, Snow,” she crooned, holding out a hand. The mare gave Jovi a baleful glare, but came over to Dell. Although she showed none of Sugar’s affection, she let Dell pat the wide, white blaze that ran down her face. “She doesn’t like men,” Dell noted, a trace smugly.
“There’s probably a name for that,” Jovi muttered, and Dell gave him a false smile.
“There is — intelligence.”
He laughed and reached gingerly into the stall to tug at the hay net.
“Snow’s not quite nine years old,” he pointed out, staying out of reach as the mare suddenly snapped at Dell, who swatted her muzzle gently and pushed her head away. “She has an excellent pedigree. She’d make a good broodmare — for someone raising quarter horses.”
“She was in the foal crop born the spring Papi died,” Dell said quietly. “He would have loved her and done wonders with her, but she’s not really trained. I never had time. Pete and Danny try, but they were really just hired to clean and feed. Neither had experience training, just as grooms.”
“She should go — and not because I don’t like her,” he insisted as Dell arched a brow at him. “She’s probably the most valuable mare on the ranch that you could part with. Unless you’ve decided to keep the quarter horses and Appaloosas and get out of Arabians,” he added. “Which, frankly, would make better sense in this part of the country.”
Dell sighed, bit her lip for a moment, and then impulsively laid a hand on his arm. “Let me show you something about good sense,” she said. She took him to the end of the corridor, temporarily ignoring the heads emerging from stall doors. At the end of the hall, she pushed open the door to the trophy room. Old trophies, most of them hers, were in cabinets and shelves, on tables and the floor. Ribbons, faded from the years, hung down the walls. She was surprised at how clean it all was, and he seemed to read her thoughts.
“I cleaned up a little,” he told her. “I thought it was important to see what the horses had done before.”
She led him over to the wall behind the still-cluttered desk at the far end and pointed. Two framed oil paintings took up a large section of the paneled wall. Both paintings were of stallions running across green pastures.
“The one on the left is champion Edwards Go Jet,” she said, motioning at the bay quarter horse. “He was Dad’s first stallion, and his get are still winning points in halter and Western pleasure and performance classes.”
“I’ve heard of him,” Jovi said evenly. “I believe the ledger shows he died, what, six years ago?”
“Yes. But look at him. Then look at Mojave.” She swept her hand at the picture of the black Arabian flashing across a field, head up, eyes wild as he raced.
“Hmmm. Magnificent.”
“Free. Spirited.” She turned to him, her eyes intense. “Quarter horses keep their heads — they’re supposed to. In Western pleasure, some of them almost drag their noses. They’re so … so sensible. So useful.” She shook her head. “I can’t trade that” — she pointed at the Arab — “for that. I don’t see how anyone could.”
After a moment, her shoulders hunched in a small shrug, and she reached up to straighten a trophy of a rider taking a high fence.
He studied her thoughtfully. “We’re not just talking about horses, are we?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“When I went to Columbia, it was all right. I really felt … okay. But I spent a summer at UT up in Austin — and would you believe my roommate moved out when she found out I was Mexican-American?”
He gaped a little, and she nodded. “I’m light-skinned and have money, so I get by. But I’ll never forget that summer.” Her voice hardened. “And I won’t ever forget a dude ranch I visited. The woman who ran it had help from Mexico — illegal aliens.” She turned away, looking at the pictures again, anger hardening her tone. “She used to joke at dinner about having ‘out-of-state contractors.’ But when she cursed them out, they had to just stand there with their heads down and put up with it. Because they had families back home, babies that needed food.” She turned back to him grimly. “She never knew I spoke Spanish. She has no idea how much I found out about Beto and Lolo and the other illegals who worked there, and she wouldn’t have cared anyway. It made a terrible impression on me, seeing them leading the horses — the quarter horses — over to all those laughing, uncaring people, and I wanted to shout at them to hold their heads up. But they couldn’t, because she would have picked up a phone, called Immigration, and then found somebody else who was hungry.” She drew a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair, tousling it. She glanced across at Jovi, tight-mouthed and still. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth, as if her pain
and anger gripped him as well. “The saddest part is I realized the dude ranch owner wasn’t a lot different from my grandfather. Or my mother. They were as arrogant and cold, and they humiliated just as many employees and associates. My father spent the last years of his life walking with his head down — but he loved my mother until the day he died.”
Jovi couldn’t think of anything to say, and he watched her silently as she turned away, almost shaking with agitation, to look blankly at one of the walls, decorated with the fading cascade of ribbons. “I could have grown up to be her,” she said so softly he almost couldn’t hear her. “To be them.”
“But you didn’t,” he countered gently. “You grew up to be a woman who cares — apparently passionately — about people with problems.” And then, trying to ease the mood, he grinned. “And about Arabians, obviously.”
She smiled sheepishly and glanced again at the pictures before turning to face him. “Yeah. I want to keep the Arabians, Jovi. All of them. And the two Thoroughbreds. Red Sugar Cash. Those are non-negotiable. We’ll do what we have to with the others.”
He nodded. “In that case, let’s finish our tour. But this time, you follow me!”
She laughed, but was a little disconcerted, as she walked out the door behind him, to find herself wishing his jeans fit just a little tighter.
Chapter Six
The night was silent and sultry. Dell sat up in bed, listening for whatever sound had jolted her from her dream. She frowned, remembering abruptly what she had been dreaming, glad the room was empty and dark. Heat singed her cheeks as she blushed, remembering the passionate moments she had just shared with a brooding, annoying man named Jovani Treviño. Inalcanzable? Friends who’d given her the nickname so long ago had been dead wrong. In the dream, she’d been a wanton, lost in the power and passion.
Unattainable Page 5
