What a Rancher Wants. Sarah M. AndersonЧитать онлайн книгу.
up before the sun.
Joaquin appeared in the kitchen. He accepted his mug of coffee and sat at the table, his tablet in front of him. Joaquin was forever scanning news sites, looking for any information that might pose a threat to the del Toro family.
But he didn’t power the device up. Instead, as he sipped his coffee, he looked at Gabriella.
She knew that look. True, Joaquin was not much of a talker, but he’d been with her long enough that he rarely had to say anything to communicate with her. Right now, he was wondering if he should let her go for a ride with Chance McDaniel.
“Maria will be by today to straighten up,” Gabriella said defensively. “She’ll be preparing a week’s worth of dinners. If Alejandro needs me, she knows how to get ahold of me. And Papa will be here. Alejandro will not be alone.”
Joaquin raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t enough to convince him, so she went on. “You heard what Mr. McDaniel said—he has over 400 acres of land. We’re merely seeing if there’s anywhere he could have hidden Alejandro away for a few weeks. An outbuilding or an abandoned cabin, perhaps.”
That got her an even more skeptical look. Joaquin was clearly thinking that the local law enforcement had probably already scoured the land and had turned up nothing.
Gabriella sighed in frustration. If she couldn’t convince Joaquin, there was no hope in convincing her father. “We’ll be having lunch,” she went on, hoping to sound like a dispassionate investigator instead of a younger version of herself, chafing at the restrictions that kept her safe. “I’ll have the chance to talk with his staff, see if they have anything to say about him or Alejandro.”
Joaquin shook his head, a motion of pity.
Fine. Have it your way, she thought. “If I don’t get out of this house—even for a morning—I will make your day a living hell, Joaquin. I will make you help organize my closet and debate a new hairstyle and do some online shopping and I will ask you if you think those pants make my bottom look large. And then I will experiment with new ingredients in the kitchen and ask you to try the new soup or the new dessert. Is that what you want?”
She did not often throw a fit. She was no longer the headstrong thirteen-year-old who had rebelled whenever she could. She had accepted her lot, wrapped in a cocoon of safety, at her father’s command. His only concern was her well-being, after all.
Her well-being depended on a few hours away from her family. That was that.
She leaned back on the counter and waited. She knew that her attempts at cooking usually resulted in a smoke alarm going off. Plus, like any self-respecting male, forcing Joaquin to give his opinion on clothing and hairstyles ranked just below being shot. If she tried hard—and started trying on shoes—she could make him wish someone would kill him just to put him out of his misery.
She got out the bowls and the cereal before she set the milk on the table. “Perhaps I shall try pancakes again,” she mused. “They weren’t that bad last time, were they?”
They had, of course, been horrid—not even the dogs would eat them. They’d been less “cake” and more “biscuit” in texture—and of course she’d burned them. Papa and Alejandro had gamely tried them, as had Joaquin, who had suffered from indigestion for the next two days.
Joaquin shot her a surprisingly dirty look as he rubbed his chest. Clearly he was remembering the indigestion, as well. “I will kill him if he touches you,” he said, his voice creaky from lack of use.
Gabriella smiled. She’d broken him, which was no mean feat in and of itself. Joaquin was trained to resist torture, but no technique could defend against her attempts at cooking. “Of course,” she agreed, trying to contain her excitement. “Papa would expect nothing less.”
She finished her cold breakfast and went up to shower. Her heart was racing as she dressed and braided her hair back into a long, secure rope.
She wanted to get to McDaniel’s Acres as soon as possible, but she had one thing to do first.
Gabriella assembled a tray with not-too-burned toast, cold cereal, orange juice and a thermos of coffee and headed upstairs. She juggled the tray and knocked on the door. “Alejandro? It’s me. Gabriella.”
The door cracked open and Alejandro stood in front of her. He gave her a look that made her wonder if her knew who she was. He wore a rumpled white tee and plaid pajama bottoms.
Nothing had changed. Oh, how she wished that one day he’d wake up and be her brother again. She lifted his breakfast. “I brought you food. Are you hungry?”
Alejandro stared at her a moment longer, as if he wasn’t seeing her but through her. “Thank you,” he mumbled, stepping to the side so she could enter.
The room was a disaster. The sheets were in a heap on the floor, socks were everywhere and the television was on the blue screen. It looked as though Alejandro hadn’t left this room in weeks—because he hadn’t. “Your housekeeper, Maria, will be here today. She’ll prepare you lunch and tidy up this room. She will also do any laundry you require.”
This announcement was met with Alejandro slumping back onto his bed, staring at the blue screen.
Gabriella set his tray down and gathered up the remains of last night’s dinner. It hurt her to see her brother like this. At first, she’d been so relieved that he’d been found, but without his memory, it was almost as if he were still lost. Right in front of her, but still lost.
“I’m going to be visiting your old friend, Chance McDaniel, today,” she said, more to keep the tears at bay than anything else.
Then something unusual happened. Alejandro’s head snapped up and his eyes focused on her. For the first time in weeks, she felt as if he knew who she was. Or, at the very least, who Mr. McDaniel was.
Was that it? Did he remember something about Chance McDaniel—something connected with his abduction?
Just as her hopes began to rise, he said, “Everyone keeps talking about him, but...” He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.
This time, however, she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t know. His gaze had been too direct, too knowing. “He invited me out to ride at his ranch,” she continued, busying herself with gathering up his dirty clothes—and keeping a close eye on him. “Joaquin will be joining me, of course.”
Her brother was stroking his chin now, looking thoughtful—and very aware.
“Papa agreed,” Gabriella went on, fluffing his pillows. “He thought it would give me the chance to see if Mr. McDaniel has any place where he could hide a person.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. It was a small gesture, but it seemed as if Alejandro thought this little mission was foolish.
Gabriella couldn’t contain herself any longer. She fell on her knees in front of Alejandro, taking his hands in hers. “If you could tell me anything—something you remember, some sound, something—I will help you.” That unfocused blankness stole back over his face. “Don’t you trust me, hermano?”
At first she did not think he was going to respond. But then he disentangled his hands from hers and patted her on the cheek. “You are...”
Gabriella’s throat closed up. Did he remember her?
“You are a nice lady,” he finished. “Have fun riding.”
Then he was gone, flopping back onto his bed and grabbing the remote. Within seconds, the sounds of football filled the room.
Gabriella stood, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. If he was in there—and, for the first time in days, she had hope that he was—then one thing was painfully clear.
He didn’t trust her.
Gabriella pulled the door shut behind her and paused to collect herself. Alejandro had managed to say something to her, after all. If he