Книга - Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door: Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door

Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door: Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door
Michelle Celmer

DONNA ALWARD


Honeymoon with the Rancher After his fiancée’s death, Tomas retreated to his Argentine ranch in search of peace…until socialite Sophia planted her stilettos in front of him and demanded to stay the week! She’s impulsive and unexpected, but could she be just what he needs?Nanny Next DoorSydney’s ex left her with nothing, but she will do anything to provide for her precious young daughter. Gorgeous sheriff Daniel’s Sydney’s new neighbour, who could give her the perfect opportunity…














HONEYMOON WITH



THE RANCHER

DONNA ALWARD



NANNY



NEXT DOOR

MICHELLE CELMER






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Reader,

I love to travel, and I don’t do it nearly as often as I like. So when I had the opportunity to include an exotic location in a book, I was in heaven!

Even better was writing about two people falling in love in a great new setting, and watching my heroine move out of her comfort zone as she tried new things—sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, and most of all learning some important lessons along the way—like trust. Love. And acceptance.

Welcome to Argentina—home of spectacular rainforests, the wide open pampas, and one reclusive gaucho named Tomas, who manages to capture Sophia’s heart beneath an ombu tree.

With love,

Donna






HONEYMOON WITH



THE RANCHER

DONNA ALWARD




About the Author


A busy wife and mother of three (two daughters and the family dog), DONNA ALWARD believes hers is the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mum and romance novelist. An avid reader since childhood, Donna always made up her own stories. She completed her Arts Degree in English Literature in 1994, but it wasn’t until 2001 that she penned her first full-length novel and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes warm, emotional stories for the Mills & Boon® Cherish™ line.

In her new home office in Nova Scotia, Donna loves being back on the east coast of Canada after nearly twelve years in Alberta, where her career began, writing about cowboys and the west. Donna’s debut Romance, Hired by the Cowboy, was awarded the Booksellers Best Award in 2008 for Best Traditional Romance.

With the Atlantic Ocean only minutes from her doorstep, Donna has found a fresh take on life and promises even more great romances in the near future!

Donna loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.donnaalward.com, visit her myspace page at www.myspace.com/dalward, or through her publisher.


To Liz Fielding: inspiration, mentor, and friend.

Thank you, Liz, for just being you, and for taking

me under your wise and witty wing.




CHAPTER ONE


“¿SEÑORITA? We are here.”

Sophia straightened in the seat and peered out the window at the vast plain, her eyebrows snapping together in confusion. Antoine had told her that Vista del Cielo translated into View of Heaven. She liked that idea. It conjured up images of wide blue skies dotted with puffy clouds, perhaps seen from a comfortable deck chair with a mimosa in hand. The sky was right, but looking out, Sophia saw nothing but waving grass and a dirt drive flanked by a row of trees. “This can’t be it. There must be a mistake.”

“No, señorita.” The driver’s accent was thick. “Esta Vista del Cielo.” He took his hand off the steering wheel and pointed at a small white sign at the end of the long drive.

A sickening, crawling feeling began in Sophia’s stomach. The pampas spread out before her, flat and brownish-green. She slid across the back seat and looked out of the other side of the car. It was exactly the same view. On either side the fields spread, endless and dull. Off to her right, one huge gnarled tree looked out of place standing alone, a leafy green sentinel. And ahead, a house. A nice house, but definitely not a hotel. The building was large, a sprawling one story that turned two corners. A low roof over a stone patio added cozy atmosphere and contrasted with white stucco. Flowers in colourful pots stood here and there all along the front patio and another twisted tree formed a soft canopy over one side. It was beautiful, but clearly a family home, not the four or even five-star accommodations Antoine usually insisted upon when booking his travel.

The driver pulled to a stop in front of a shed and put the car into Park. “Don’t leave,” Sophia commanded. “This is a mistake.” She fumbled for the Spanish words. “Por error,” she tried. “No … vayas.” She knew the grammar was incorrect but hoped he’d catch her meaning. Perhaps she should have spent longer learning some important Spanish phrases. She flashed him a smile. She had to find out exactly where she was supposed to be and then get the cab driver to take her there.

“Si, señorita,” he replied, and at last got out to open the door for her. This had to be wrong, all wrong. Where were the luxury rooms? The spa and gym? The dining area with a chef and wait staff?

For a moment her bravado failed her. She’d shored it up to make the trip alone, wanting—no, needing—to do this for herself. She’d wanted to find a way to stick it to Antoine for humiliating her so much. What could make a better statement than going on their honeymoon without him?

But that had all been based on things going smoothly and exactly to plan. She finally admitted to herself that she should actually have studied the plan a little more closely. She should have known the route. Especially traveling solo. What would she do now?

Then she remembered what had driven her to this point in her life and she steeled her spine. It had been wrong to accept Antoine’s proposal in the first place and discovering his indiscretion had been a disaster. Still, if she had to be thankful for anything it was that she’d found out before the wedding and not after. She had given him three years of her best work, all the while falling for his kind words and sexy smiles. She’d thought herself the luckiest woman ever when he’d asked her out the first time. Marriage had seemed like the next logical step. Everyone had said it was meant to be, and she’d believed them.

But now she knew that Antoine had wanted nothing more than a trophy wife, the proper person on his arm to look good for the public. It wasn’t enough for her. She hadn’t realized until that moment—walking in on him making love to his mistress—that she wanted more. She didn’t want the country club existence that was so important to her mother. She wanted more than appearances. She wanted respect, not betrayal. Love, not suitability.

Acceptance.

And in that defining moment, as her future had crumbled away, she’d found the courage to say no. And to walk away.

Which had led her here. Still, she was sure there had to be a mistake. She took a few steps forward, trying to make out the plaque on the front of the house. It was old and in Spanish, but she made out the words Vista del Cielo and the year—1935.

A roar and a cloud of dust had her swinging her head back towards the taxi, only to find the cabbie had dumped her luggage and was now driving back down the lane, tires churning up the dry earth like a dusty vapour trail.

“Wait!” She called after the taxi, running forward as fast as she could in her heels. But he didn’t pause or even slow down. In moments he was gone, leaving her stranded with her bags in the middle of Nowhere, Argentina.

Her heart pounded. No one had come from the house to greet her. The place looked abandoned. She took a breath. Told herself to calm down. She would find a way out of this.

What she knew for sure was that she would not panic. She would not cry or indulge in hysterics. She reached for her purse and the cell phone inside, but paused. No. She most definitely would not make a phone call home for her mother to bail her out of trouble. She could handle this on her own. Her mother had barely spoken to Sophia since she had cancelled the wedding. There was no question of asking Antoine, either. It would be a cold day in hell before she’d ask him for anything ever again.

She took a step forward, feeling the heel of one of her favourite Manolos sink into the soft earth. She gritted her teeth. Why was it that the first time in her life she did anything impulsive, it turned out like this? If it had happened to anyone else, she’d have had a good laugh at the comedy in the situation. But it wasn’t happening to someone else, it was happening to her. And the truth was, behind the designer shoes and the skirt and the French manicure, she was scared to death.

She’d been running on righteous indignation for weeks now, and, if she let it, being alone in a strange country could be the straw that broke her back.

“Hola,” a voice called out, and she turned her head towards the sound, her shoulders dropping with relief. At least someone was here who could explain the mix-up. Antoine had told her that they were staying at an estancia—a guest ranch—with all the amenities. It had sounded lovely and serene. But she knew Antoine. He never settled for anything except the best. She’d prepared for the trip based on that assumption, and now she wasn’t prepared at all. Sometimes it felt as though everything she thought she knew had been turned upside down, and it was hard to find her feet again.

A man stepped out of the shadows by the barn door and Sophia swallowed.

Whatever she had expected to find here in the middle of nowhere, it wasn’t this. The man approaching with long, lazy strides was perhaps the best looking male creature she’d ever clapped eyes on. He wore faded jeans and boots and a T-shirt that had seen better days. What was surprising was his face. He had a crown of thick, slightly wavy black hair and gorgeous brown eyes fringed with thick black lashes that most women would die for. The golden tone of the skin over his high cheekbones set his dark looks off to exotic perfection.

What was a man like that doing in a place like this?

“Hello,” she called out, attempting to calm her suddenly increased heart rate. She shrugged it off, telling herself that just because she’d sworn off men she wasn’t dead. She pasted on a smile, fighting to quell the anxiety swirling through her veins. “Perhaps you can help me.” After the incident with the cabbie, she felt compelled to add, “Do you speak English? ¿Hablas inglés?”

“Of course. What is the problem?” His black gaze looked at her suitcases, then her, and then slid down to her feet, to the peacock-blue pumps, one with a now very dirty heel. He raised an eyebrow as he examined the four-inch stilettos and a smile flirted with his lips before he looked back up. She schooled her features into a bland mask. She needed his help, and it didn’t matter a bit if he approved of her shoes or not. They would have been perfectly appropriate for the upscale accommodation she’d expected.

“I’m afraid I’ve been delivered here in error, and the taxi driver didn’t speak English. He simply dropped my bags and left. I was hoping you could help me sort this out?”

“Of course.”

She smiled, feeling much better knowing she had an ally. “I was supposed to arrive at the Vista del Cielo this afternoon. He claimed this is it, but I am sure he was wrong.”

“This is the Vista del Cielo, but you were not expected.”

Her smile faltered as alarm jolted through her body. “Perhaps there is another Vista del Cielo?” she suggested, trying desperately to sound pleasant and not panicked. “I am booked there for the next week.”

The man’s scowl deepened. “No, we are the only one. But we have no bookings for this week. We did, but it was cancelled last month.”

“This is a hotel, then.”

“An estancia, yes. A guest ranch.”

A guest ranch. This was no mistake, she realized with a sinking heart. She remembered Antoine’s voice as he’d teased her. It will be different, he’d boasted. Lots of privacy for a newly married couple.

Looking back now, the idea made her blush. The thought of being here alone with Antoine made her suddenly self-conscious in front of the man before her. Thank goodness she’d at least been spared that.

Still, it seemed inconceivable that Antoine, with his lavish tastes, would have booked them here. It looked quiet and peaceful—a definite bonus to her—but it still didn’t seem to compute with what she’d expected. “Where is the spa? The pool?” After her long dusty trip, the idea of dipping into the pool for a refreshing swim sounded heavenly. Perhaps a hot tub to soothe the muscles that had been cramped up in an airplane and then the taxi. She could nearly feel the bubbles on her skin already. Maybe this place was more rustic than she’d anticipated, but she knew Antoine would have demanded a certain standard.

“That’s why we had to cancel the reservations. There was a fire. I’m afraid the spa building as well as others were destroyed. Thankfully the house was spared.”

Everything in Sophia went cold and the polite smile slid from her face. “Fire?”

“Yes … we’ve cancelled everything until the repairs are made and things rebuilt. The pool made it through, but we’ve had to have it drained because of the ash and debris.”

Sophia felt a growing sense of despair. She stared around her, wondering how things could have gone so perfectly pear-shaped. Her gaze caught on the odd looking tree, standing like a solitary sentinel in the middle of the plain. It looked exactly as she felt. Alone. And lonely. She was beginning to understand that they were two completely separate things.

“Perhaps if you told me your name, we could sort it out,” he said, a little impatiently.

“The reservation was under Antoine Doucette.”

The man’s face changed as understanding dawned. “The honeymoon.” Then he looked confused again, looked at her cases, and back again. “And the other half of the happy couple?”

Sophia lifted her chin. She could do this. She could. She could get past the embarrassment and the hurt and explain dispassionately. She had faced worse in the last months. She’d faced Antoine, her family and friends, even the chokehold of the press closing in around her. She could handle one annoying Argentinian … whatever he was. Farmer? Gaucho? Who was he to judge her?

“I came alone. I’m afraid the marriage did not take place.”

“I see. I am sorry, señorita.”

His words said apology but his tone certainly did not. It was strictly polite and almost … cold. “Don’t be,” she replied, putting her hand on her hip. “I’m not.” It was only a half lie. She wasn’t sorry she had called off the wedding. Under the circumstances it had been the right thing to do.

But it had been far from easy. She’d bear the scars from it for a long, long time.

A huff of surprise erupted from his mouth, followed by mutterings in Spanish that she couldn’t understand. That made her angry. It made her feel inadequate and even more of an outsider, and she was tired of that feeling.

“Why were we not notified of the cancellation, then?” She pressed on, annoyed.

“I don’t know.” His brow furrowed. “Maria handles all the reservations and business. I can’t imagine her making a mistake.”

“Someone did. I’m here, aren’t I?”

And so she was. She had to convince him to let her stay. Antoine had thrown in her face how he’d not bought travel insurance and her breaking their engagement would cost him thousands of dollars. She’d told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about—after all, he was the one who’d been caught redhanded. She’d also spent money on a wedding that had never happened. The dress. The deposits for the printer, the reception, flowers, cake—all the trappings of a society wedding. His protests about the honeymoon money had fallen on deaf ears. It was only money. It would take a long time to replace it, but it would take longer to erase the pain of his betrayal. It was the betrayal that had hit her deep in her soul. She had been blind, had not recognized the signs. She had been left wondering if she could ever trust her own judgment again.

And now she was in Argentina with no place to stay.

She could go back to Buenos Aires. She could try to change her ticket and go home with her tail between her legs. Or she could book herself in somewhere and stay for the duration. It would mean taking most of her savings to pay for the hotel and food, but she’d have her dignity.

Wouldn’t Antoine have a laugh about that? And she could already hear her mother chiding, I told you it was a mistake to take that trip alone.

That hurt. At a time when she’d most wanted her mother’s support, it hadn’t been there. Margaret Hollingsworth had thought she was crazy to call off the wedding and a life of security. Sometimes Sophia wondered why she kept trying to gain her mother’s approval. Once, as a child, sad and missing her dad, she’d hidden in a cellar, not wanting her mother to see her tears. But she’d ended up locked in by accident, unable to get back out again. It had been hours before she’d been found, crying and terrified. Even now, she could still feel the dark, damp chill and hear her mother’s furious words when what she’d wanted was a hug and reassurance. It was a hurt that had scarred her heart that day, and she’d never forgotten it.

But she couldn’t spend her whole life seeking approval from someone else. She knew that now. It was time for her to stand up for herself. To make her own happiness. She straightened her shoulders. She’d make the best of it and move forward.

“I insist on staying the week,” she said clearly. “I did not receive notification that our booking was cancelled, and I have flown all the way from Ottawa. I have no intention of going back.” She leveled a gaze at him, hoping that she appeared to mean business when inside she was trembling. He had to let her stay. The savings she had put aside were what she had been planning to use as a security deposit for a new, cheaper apartment, necessary now that she no longer had her well-paid job with Antoine. But there was pride at stake here and she relaxed her shoulders, determined to see it through.

The man’s jaw hardened and his dark eyes glittered at her sharp command. “I am sorry, but we simply are not prepared for guests. I can arrange for you to go back to San Antonio de Areco. There is a hotel there. Or perhaps back to Buenos Aires.”

Which sounded lovely, she supposed. Her gaze caught the strange tree again. It gave her a strong yet peaceful feeling. This place wouldn’t be so bad. She would have time to relax and recharge. Besides, there was something in his dismissive tone that put her on edge. He was telling her what to do, and at some point she had to take charge of her own life. She’d been a people pleaser for years, always trying to do the right thing, not to create waves. This time it was up to her.

“But I want to stay here,” she insisted firmly.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, calling her bluff. “I could see it on your face from the first moment. It is fine. Estancia life is not for everyone.” He cast a disdainful look at her handbag and shoes. “Obviously.”

Sophia gritted her teeth. He didn’t think she could handle it? Obviously he hadn’t ever been mobbed by the press at Parliament Hill or been surprised by a photographer shoving a camera in her face outside a downtown club and taunting her about political scandal.

“I insist,” she replied. She looked around her at the plain surroundings. “Unless you can provide proof of the refund. In which case I am happy to pay the going rate if I am wrong.”

Consternation showed on the man’s face. She couldn’t bring herself to back down an inch even though the prospect of spending her savings made her blanch. She was doing all she could just to keep it together. She wanted him to let her stay. Not just to prove something to Antoine, who probably couldn’t care less. No, to prove something to herself. And most of all at this moment she wanted to be shown to her room, so she could close the door and decompress. Her legs suddenly felt weary—was it jet lag? And she had the oddest urge to cry. She was so tired. Tired of everything. Something had to give sooner or later and she really hoped that when it did, it would be in private. The past months seemed to catch up to her all at once, and she refused to cry in public.

The man stared at her for a moment, making her squirm inside. “I will try to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, you’d better come in.”

It wasn’t exactly gracious, but Sophia felt weak with relief. Surely there was someone inside who could help her with her bags while this … man went back to work. If they were running an estancia, someone must be here to cook and clean and make sure the amenities were looked after. It didn’t have to be fancy. A simple glass of wine and a hot meal would be most welcome.

Sophia held out her hand. “I’m Sophia Hollingsworth.”

“Tomas Mendoza.”

He took her hand in his and something twisted inside her, something delicious and unexpected. His hand was indeed firm, with slight callouses along the pads of his fingers. It was also warm and strong, and it enveloped her smaller, perfectly manicured one completely. It was a working man’s hand, she realized. Honest. Capable.

“Miss Hollingsworth, I do not know if you realize what you’re asking. Since we are shut down for another few weeks, the regular hosts of the estancia are away.”

She waited, not exactly sure what he meant.

He pulled his hand away from hers. “Maria and Carlos Rodriguez normally run the place,” he explained. “While I finish overseeing the repairs, they’ve gone to CÓrdoba to visit their son, Miguel. I will have to check the paperwork in the office for your reservation. At the same time, I need to make it clear that while they are away the full amenities are not available.”

Dear Lord. So she was stuck here with a handyman? And who was to blame? Herself. Why hadn’t she followed up before coming all this way? Another mistake to add to the list.

“And your job?”

He nodded at her. “I do what needs doing. I work with Carlos with the stock. Fix things. Do the trail rides.”

Trail rides? Would he expect her to do that?

“One of our selling points is an authentic estancia experience. Our guests are encouraged to work alongside us.”

She swallowed. If she backed out now she’d be giving in. Moreover, he’d know it. From deep inside came a need to rise to the challenge. But, for right now, the afternoon sun beat down on Sophia’s head and she grew more tired by the moment. “Could you just show me to a room for now? I’m feeling quite hot. The air conditioning was broken in the taxi, and I’m really just trying to make sense of what’s happened today.”

“Certainly.”

Tomas picked up two of her large cases, leaving the third, smaller carry-on, for Sophia. She put the strap over her shoulder and followed him along the gravel to the patio. He opened the front door and stepped inside, tugging her luggage in behind him.

For better or for worse, this was where she would be for the next week.

It could only get better from here, right? It would be what she made of it. She reminded herself of that fact as she followed Tomas down a hall and around a corner to her bedroom. His earlier polite smile had been replaced by a cool, emotionless expression. “You should be comfortable here,” he said stiffly, opening the door to a room and then stepping back to let her pass. She stepped inside and instantly felt the stress of the last few months drain away.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” It was simple and certainly no luxury suite. But it was brilliantly clean, meticulously cared for and suited her perfectly. The walls were pristine white, looking as though they’d been newly painted, and she immediately went to the open window that looked out over the grassy plain, stretching endlessly to the south. The air was clean, free of pollution and smog, and it refreshed her. More than that, the place was private, and privacy was something she craved quite desperately.

The bed was gorgeous, an intricately patterned iron bedstead adorned with linens the soothing colour of a summer sky. A basket of towels and toiletries sat on a low dresser, the plush cotton the same blue as the bedspread. Right now all she wanted was to sink into the bed’s softness and let the stress of the day drain away.

She turned back to Tomas, suddenly aware that they were standing in what was now her bedroom. The silence stretched out awkwardly. There was nothing inappropriate about being in here with him. He was filling the role of concierge and apparently so much more. So why did she suddenly feel so self-conscious?

“What a lovely room.”

“I am pleased you like it.” The hard gleam in his eyes softened just a bit, as if her approval validated her in some way. As soon as she glimpsed it, the gleam disappeared.

What would it take to win him over? It was going to be a very long week if this was the extent of their conversation.

“It’s so peaceful. Listen.” She went to the window again, trying to escape his keen gaze. She pushed aside the curtain with a hand, looking out, leaning her head back so that the warm breeze caressed her throat. “Do you hear that?”

He came closer behind her, so close she could feel his presence by her shoulder even though he had to be several inches away. “Hear what?”

She laughed then, a carefree, feel-good laugh that she felt clear to her toes. The sound was unfamiliar to her ears, but very, very welcome. Suddenly the situation didn’t seem so catastrophic. She had no one to please but herself this week. “That’s just it. Nothing. I hear nothing, and it’s wonderful.” She closed her eyes and let the sunshine and wind bathe her face.

When she turned back around, the severe look on his face had disappeared. He understood, she realized. That took away the self-conscious part of being alone with him but left in its wake the flicker of attraction she’d felt when holding his hand. A flicker she wasn’t sure what to do with.

She needed to escape his gaze and the nearness of him, so she moved to the dresser to touch the towels and trail her fingers over the wood. It was slightly scarred and Sophia loved how the markings added character to the piece. This was no sterile hotel room without a wrinkle or scratch. It wasn’t about perfection. It had a level of familiarity and comfort that simply said home. The kind of home she’d secretly always wished for and had never had.

“That’s the idea,” he replied. “The city has its charms. But sometimes a person needs to get away to where things are …” he broke off the sentence, and Sophia wondered what he had been going to say. The impression she got was that big problems became small ones here. She found herself curious about him. Who was Tomas Mendoza? Why did this simple life hold such allure to him?

“Less complicated?”

Tomas stared out of the window as the moment drew on. “Yes, less complicated,” he confirmed, but Sophia didn’t feel reassured. Had his life been complicated once? For all his good looks, there was a wall around him, as though no matter what, he would keep people at arms’ length. He was impossible to read.

“Just leave the bags,” Sophia suggested. “I think I would like to freshen up and have a nap.”

Sophia shouldered her tote bag and was just reaching for one of her suitcases when the tote slipped off her shoulder, catching on her elbow and knocking her off balance. Her heel caught as her right toe snubbed the edge of her biggest case and she lurched forward.

Straight into Tomas’s arms.

He caught her effortlessly, his strong arms cinched around her as he righted her on her feet. Without thinking, she looked up. It was a mistake. Her cheeks flamed as she realized his hand was pressed firmly against her lower back. It was tempting, having her body pressed close to his, but the real trouble was the way their gazes clashed. She had not been held in such an intimate embrace for a long time, and never with the nerve-tingling effect she was suffering now. A muscle in Tomas’s jaw tightened and Sophia’s breathing was so shallow her chest cramped. For a breath of a moment she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Really, truly kissed.

And behind that thought came the intimate realization that for the next several days, it was just the two of them here.

The thought tempted but also made her draw back. There was making a statement of independence by taking this trip alone, and then there was just being foolish. This was not why she had come. A holiday fling was not what she was looking for. She pushed away and out of his arms and straightened her blouse.

“In addition to poor fact checking, I think we can safely add klutz to my list of faults today,” she joked, but the quip fell flat as she saw the wrinkle between his brows form once more.

“I hope not,” he answered, pushing her suitcase into place at the end of the bed and straightening into that damnable rigid posture once more. “This is a working ranch, Miss Hollingsworth.” He’d reverted to her formal English name again, backing away. “The Vista del Cielo was established to give guests an authentic gaucho experience. Our guests live like the locals for the duration of their stay. In the absence of our other facilities, I do hope you take advantage of all the estancia has to offer.” Once again he looked at her shoes, then up at her tidy skirt and linen blouse, which was now wrinkled beyond recognition. “I hope you’ve brought other more … appropriate clothing.”

Sophia felt like an idiot. She’d been so sure and so blindly determined to soak up every entitled minute that she’d thrown her best things in her luggage and jetted off. Now this gaucho was issuing a challenge. She hated the indulgent way he looked at her clothes. She’d show him. She’d do everything on his damned list of activities!

She sniffed. It wasn’t as if she made a habit of falling down all the time, or worse, falling into men. She wasn’t incapable. But he had hit on yet another obstacle—her suitcases were packed with totally inappropriate clothing. Bathing suits for lounging around a pool, a selection of skirts and dresses, all with matching shoes for Michelin-starred dinners with a view. This wasn’t Tomas’s fault. It was hers, for not being more thorough. If she’d known what sort of establishment this was, she would have packed the proper things. Sometimes she felt as if she could do nothing right. She trusted in all the wrong things instead of relying on herself.

If she were determined to change, why not start now? She could fake it until she made it, right? She would show this Tomas that she could take on anything he dished out.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she replied, desperate to save face. Did helping out also mean horseback-riding? She felt herself go pale at the thought. She’d ridden a horse exactly twice in her life. The first time the mare had been led by her halter. The second time had been a few years later when a friend at school had asked her to an afternoon at a local stables where she took lessons. That time Sophia had held the reins. She’d managed a very choppy trot but had nearly panicked when the horse had broken into a canter. She thought she was probably twelve when that had happened.

But she wasn’t twelve any longer. She could handle herself better this time. She didn’t want to look like a fool in front of him. Not when he looked so very perfect.

“First I think I would like to rest,” she suggested, putting reality off a little while longer. When the time came, she’d go with him and she’d do just fine. “It has been a long flight and drive.”

“Very well. While you are resting, I’ll see what I can find out about this mistaken reservation.”

His insistence that she was wrong grated. “Mr. Mendoza …”

He paused by the door and looked back at her. “Yes?”

She gave him her sweetest smile. “I appreciate you accommodating me during an inconvenient time for you. I do apologize for the disruption.”

She tried a smile, an olive branch to smooth the way for the next few days. She knew that aggravating one’s host— especially a host who was already less than cordial—wasn’t the way to get the best service.

“Dinner is at seven,” he replied, unsmiling, and shut the door behind him.

In a fit of juvenile satisfaction, Sophia stuck her tongue out at the door before collapsing on the bed.




CHAPTER TWO


TOMAS had planned on a quick meal for one tonight but instead found himself making locro—a stew of beans, meat, corn and pumpkin. It was simple enough to make and something typically Argentinian for his guest.

Guest. He snorted, stirring the stew. What a mix-up. The first thing he’d done was check the books, but no notation had been made next to the name Antoine Doucette. Then he’d called Miguel’s number in Córdoba. Maria remembered the reservation, but couldn’t remember if she’d cancelled it. Tomas hadn’t pushed; Maria was still traumatized by the fire. When Miguel had suggested they visit, Tomas and Carlos had agreed it would be good for Maria to get away for a few days. Tomas wanted her to see things nearly as good as new when she came back. The spa building had to be reconstructed, but the other outbuildings were nearly repaired. If things went well, they could even have the pool refilled and working in another week.

But it was Maria’s words to him today that had caused him the most trouble. He’d explained the situation and Maria had instantly been sympathetic to Sophia’s plight. “Take care of that girl, Tomas,” she said firmly. Then she’d laughed. “She must be a real firecracker to take her honeymoon alone. She’s your responsibility now. You will see to things until we return.”

As if he needed reminding. He chopped into the pumpkin, scowling. Maria had been mothering him for so long that she sometimes forgot he was a grown man. He knew what his responsibilities were. They were impossible to forget.

“We’ll sort the rest out when Carlos and I come back. Maybe we’ll come Wednesday now.”

“There’s no need …”

But Maria had laughed. “She will be tired of your cooking by then. Wednesday. Just be nice, Tomas.”

“I would never …”

“Yes, you would.” Maria had laughed, but he knew she meant it. Maria and her family knew Tomas better than anyone else on earth. Too well.

Wednesday. That meant he had three days after today in which he not only had to do his work, but had to entertain Sophia as well. She’d put on a brave face, but he knew she had been expecting something totally different from what she was getting. He indulged in a half smile, but then remembered the look on her face when she’d thought he was going to send her away. She had been afraid behind all the lipstick and talk. And he had been just stupid enough to see it and go soft.

He turned down the heat and put the cover on to let the locro simmer. Going soft wasn’t an option for him right now. The estancia wasn’t due to reopen for another few weeks. There was still work to do—and lots of it. The boutique had to be restocked now that it was painted. The horses and the small beef herd Carlos raised still needed to be cared for. The storage shed behind the barn had been rebuilt since the fire, but the paint for the exterior was sitting in the barn, waiting for Tomas to have a few spare moments. As if. And the builders had had another job lined up, which was why it was taking longer for the pool house to be rebuilt.

With Carlos here, they could have muddled through just fine. But they’d agreed that getting Maria away for a few days—letting her visit her son—was a better course of action.

Tomas simply hadn’t counted on babysitting a spoiled princess and playing cook and maid. That was normally Maria’s area of expertise, and he and Carlos stuck to the outdoors. The estancia was a business that ran smoothly, just the way they’d planned, with everyone playing to their strengths. He could stay in the background, exactly where he liked it. He was polite and friendly to guests. They were only strangers passing through, asking nothing more from him than a trail ride and some local history. They made the same mistake Sophia had made today—assuming he was the jack-of-all-trades around the place. That was fine, too. He stayed a silent partner in Vista del Cielo and got the peace and isolation he craved. Carlos and Maria had their livelihood. Everyone was taken care of.

He heard a noise from down the hall and guessed that the princess was waking from her slumbers. He imagined briefly what she would look like asleep on the blue coverlet, her hair spread out in a great auburn curtain around her. He shook his head and reached for a pair of bowls from the cupboard. There was no denying she was beautiful. Stunning, actually, with her dark red curls and roses-and-cream complexion. Maybe she had a sense of entitlement about her and was used to getting her own way, but he could see why. She’d turned her dark eyes on him and said she was tired and he’d left her to nap without a word. Now he was finishing dinner and setting the table when the whole purpose of this place was for everyone to work together. It was one of their biggest selling points. A feeling of family.

And that was something he had no desire to feel with Sophia Hollingsworth.

“Something smells delicious.”

He nearly dropped the bowls when she appeared in the doorway behind him.

Her hair was down but slightly tousled from sleep, the curls falling softly over one shoulder. Heavy lidded eyes blinked at him and she was several inches shorter, thanks to the fact that she’d left her shoes in her room and appeared in bare feet. That was why he hadn’t heard her approach. His gaze stuck on ten perfectly painted coral toenails. She had extraordinarily pretty feet, and even without the shoes he could tell she had a great set of legs hiding beneath her straight skirt.

It was the princess, unwrapped, and he swallowed, realizing he found her very appealing indeed. At least physically.

That was the last thing he needed.

“Did you sleep well?” He turned away from her, putting the bowls on the table.

“Yes, thank you. I feel very refreshed.”

Her voice was soft and Tomas felt it sneak into him, down low.

“I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” she apologized, and he swallowed as the husky tone teased his ears. “Whatever you’ve cooked smells wonderful.”

“It’s nothing fancy.” He turned back to her and steeled his features. He would not be swayed by a pretty face and a soft voice. Damn Carlos and Maria. If they were here, they could handle Miss Princess and he would be in the barn where he liked it. “I do not usually do the cooking.”

“I’m not used to a man cooking for me at all, so that in itself is a treat.” She blessed him with a shy smile.

His pulse leapt and he scowled. His physical response to her was aggravating. “I expect you’re more accustomed to five-course meals and staff to wait upon you, right?”

A look of hurt flashed across her face and he felt guilty for being snide. He was just about to apologize when the look disappeared and she furrowed her brow. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, querida.” The apology he’d toyed with died on his lips and he reached into a drawer for cutlery. “You practically scream high maintenance. It is clear you are used to the best. Which makes your presence here alone all the more intriguing.”

“High maintenance?” A pretty blush infused her cheeks. She really was good, he thought. An intriguing combination of innocent ingénue and diva. Maybe a few days mucking around a ranch would be good for her. It had certainly done wonders for him.

She stepped forward, the soft, injured look gone. “I see,” she said. “You think I’m some sort of pampered creature who lives to be waited upon.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not even close.”

“Oh, come on.” He finished setting the table and turned to face her. “Designer clothes, perfect hair … You expected to arrive at some retreat or spa, didn’t you? Not a working estancia. Admit it.”

Her cheeks blazed now, not with embarrassment but with temper. “Okay, fine. Yes, this is not what I expected. You are not what I expected.”

He smiled with satisfaction. “No, I am not. If you’re not up to it, say so now. I’ll arrange for you to return to Buenos Aires tomorrow.” There, he decided, he’d given her a perfectly legitimate out. The few hours it would take to drive her back to the city would be worth it to have the rest of the week free to work. Better yet, she’d be gone before Maria and Carlos got back. Maria would get ideas into her head. She’d been prodding lately about Tomas getting away more. That he needed to stop hiding. That he should find a nice girl.

Not that a woman like Sophia, on her solo honeymoon would qualify in Maria’s eyes, but it would be better all around if the potential were erased altogether. Tomas didn’t want a nice girl. He didn’t want to get away more. He wanted the life he’d chosen here on the pampas. Simple and uncomplicated. He’d chosen it to help him forget.

His insides twisted. Some days now he tried to remember. Forgetting seemed so very wrong. Disloyal.

“And you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

Her saucy tone turned his head. “¿PerdÓn?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Mr. Mendoza? Get me out from under your feet? This wasn’t my mix-up. You think by threatening me with some honest work I’ll run and hide away somewhere where staff will wait on me hand and foot?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

She paused for a moment, then leveled him with a definitive glare. “No.”

“No?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No. I want to stay.”

“I checked the books and spoke to Maria, by the way.”

“And?”

“And the refund isn’t notated in the regular spot and Maria doesn’t remember. She said she will straighten everything out when she comes back on Wednesday.”

“And then Wednesday you will see,” Sophia replied confidently.

“You realize what I’m saying, right? People who stay at the estancia participate in all kinds of activities. Working with the animals, in the barns. Even in the house. They become one of the family. With the hard work and the benefits, too.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

He looked at her, all hairdo and perfect makeup and pedicured feet. “No, I don’t.”

“Then perhaps we’re in for a week of surprises.” She flashed him a superior smile. “Maybe now you can surprise me with what’s cooking in that pot. I’m starving.”

He’d expected her to heave a sigh of relief and take him up on his offer, not challenge him. He wasn’t sure whether he admired her spunk or was frustrated by it.

But time would tell. Let her enjoy her home-cooked meal and scented bath tonight. Tomorrow would be a different story.

What to wear was definitely a quandary.

Sophia went through the open suitcase one more time, looking for something suitable. Clothing lay scattered on the bed like seaweed on a sea of blue linen. She checked her watch. Tomas had said breakfast at seven sharp, and it was already quarter past. Being late gave him even more ammunition. There had to be something here she could wear!

She held up a pair of trousers the shade of dark caramel and frowned. The only shoes she had that would match were the Jimmy Choo sandals she’d bought on sale during her last trip across the border. Why hadn’t she thought to bring something more casual? A pair of sneakers. Yoga pants. But no, the only exercise wardrobe she’d packed was her swimsuits, thinking she’d be spending time beside the pool. Perhaps relaxing in a sauna. She looked in despair at the flotsam of clothes on the bedspread. How could she have been so stupid?

Seven twenty-five. She was so late. She remembered the way Tomas had looked at her last night and felt anger flow through her veins as she sifted through her suitcase again. He’d been patronizing. Granted, she hadn’t made the best impression, and yes, she’d been shocked. She grabbed a sundress out of her second open case and pulled it over her head, out of time for further deliberation. For the last three years she’d been treated that way. She hadn’t realized it then, but looking back now it was so very clear. She’d been more of a decoration than someone useful. That kind of treatment stopped today. It stopped with Tomas Mendoza and his superior attitude. If it took eating a little humble pie for breakfast, she’d do it.

She hurried down the hall to the kitchen. The smell in the room was to die for. A covered basket sat on the table and she lifted the towel. The rolls were still warm, soft and fragrant. Bread? He’d made bread?

She paused, her hand on the plate left at the place where she’d sat last night. She tried to picture Antoine making bread in the morning. The very idea was preposterous. He wouldn’t even have made pastry out of one of those cans in the refrigerated section of the grocery store. Heck, Sophia had never made bread from scratch in her life.

The breakfast was completed with a bowl of fresh fruit and coffee waiting in the pot, hot and rich.

She’d missed mealtime, and the thought stole the smile from her face. She’d have to eat quickly and then find Tomas. Showing up late was not the way to get off on the right foot. Hurriedly she buttered a roll and poured a half cup of coffee. When she was done she put her plate in the sink and the platter of fruit back in the fridge. She went outside, feeling the warmth of the morning soak into her skin as she searched for Tomas. She nearly ran into him turning a corner towards the outbuildings at the back.

“Oh!” she gasped, stopping short and nearly staggering backwards. She would have if he hadn’t steadied her with a quick hand on her arm. His warm grip sent a shaft of pure pleasure down to her fingertips. He let her go as soon as she was stable and dropped his hand.

“I see you’re up.”

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m late. I slept so well …” She would sweeten him up. She would let him know his garrulousness didn’t get to her. “My bed is very comfortable.”

“Apparently.”

The pleasure went out of Sophia like air from a balloon. But she wouldn’t give up yet. She’d kill him with kindness if that’s what it took. “The rolls were still warm. Did you make them?”

He stood back, looking at her as if he were measuring and finding her wanting. “Yes, I did. Maria showed me how long ago. When she returns you’ll have real cooking, not my second-rate impression of it.”

“I wouldn’t call your cooking second-rate. The stew last night was delicious.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

The politeness was a cold veneer, meaning little when she felt it wasn’t sincere.

“So what did I miss?”

“Today’s activity,” he remarked dryly, and swept out an arm.

Behind them was a utility shed. Beside it were supplies for painting—a large bucket of paint, two smaller cans and brushes.

“Painting?” This was a vacation. Shouldn’t there be guided tours? Even without the pool and other amenities, shed painting was hardly a unique Argentinian experience.

He shrugged. “You did say you were prepared to surprise me. So here we are. It needs to be done.”

He was trying to get the best of her. She was sure of it. He was planning on pushing her until she quit. But she would not be dismissed. She smiled, quite enjoying the liberating feeling of making up her own mind. If Tomas said paint, she’d paint.

Just not in a sundress and heels.

“I’ll need a change of clothes. I’m afraid I came unprepared for painting.”

He shrugged again and headed towards the paint supplies.

“Señor Mendoza!”

To her credit, she did a brilliant job of rolling out the ñ in señor. He turned around, surprise flattening his face. She reveled in that expression for a fleeting second before continuing. “If you will please find me something to wear, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Do I look like a clothing store, Miss Hollingsworth?”

He put the emphasis on the miss just as she had with señor and it had her eyebrows lifting in challenge.

“There were brochures in my room.” Oh, if she’d only thought to look at them at home before packing! Seeing them last night had made her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but there was nothing to be done about it now. “I know you have a boutique on site. Perhaps I might find something there?”

He scowled and she felt victory within her grasp.

“If you have any trousers at all, put them on. And meet me back here in five minutes.” With a put-upon sigh, he disappeared.

She had gotten the better of him, and while it was a small victory, it felt good. He had to know she was not a meek little sheep that needed caring for. She was discovering she had a daring, adventurous side she’d never known existed. Oh, perhaps painting a shed wasn’t very adventurous. But after being the girl who’d done as she was told, too afraid to do otherwise, all this felt absolutely liberating.

She skipped to the house and came back moments later wearing the caramel trousers and a white linen blouse. It was as casual as she had in her cases, but she’d remedy that somehow. Tomas came back holding a navy bundle in his hands and she drew her eyebrows together, puzzled. It didn’t look like something from a boutique.

“Put these over your clothes,” he said, handing her a pair of paint-splattered coveralls.

“You’re kidding.”

“You don’t want paint on those clothes, do you?”

“No, but …”

“Anything from the boutique is brand new—you don’t want paint on those things, either, do you?”

Why did he have to be right?

She put on the coveralls, hating the baggy fit but zipping them up anyway. The sleeves were too long and she rolled them up. And felt ridiculous standing there in her sandals.

She caught a glimpse of a smile flirting with the corners of his mouth. “Sure, go ahead, laugh. I know I look silly.”

“Put these on,” he said, handing her a pair of shoes.

“What are these?”

“Alpargatas.”

She put on the canvas and rope shoes that looked like slipon sneakers. They were surprisingly comfortable.

“I believe I am ready.”

“I hope so. The morning is moving along.”

Like she needed another reminder that she was late.

She followed him to the shed, admiring the rear view despite herself. Today he was wearing faded brown cotton pants and a red T-shirt that showed off the golden hue of his skin, not to mention the breadth of his back and shoulders. He was unapologetically physical and she found herself responding as any woman would—with admiration. Seeing how capable he was made her want to succeed, too, even if it was just at the most menial task.

“Don’t you have horses to feed or something?”

He shook his head. “I did most of the chores while the bread was rising.”

“You didn’t need to make bread on my account.” She pictured his hands kneading the dough and wet her lips. He really was a jack-of-all-trades. It wasn’t fair that he was so capable and, well, gorgeous. A total package. It made her feel very plain and not very accomplished at all.

“I was up. In Maria’s absence, it is up to me to make sure you’re looked after.”

Great. He didn’t need to say the words obligation and burden for her to hear them loud and clear.

“Is there nothing you can’t do?”

“When the gaucho is out on the pampas, he is completely self-sufficient. Food, shelter, care of his animals … he does it all.”

“And have you always been so capable?”

A strange look passed over his features, but then he cleared his expression and smiled. The warmth didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Oh, not at all. It was Carlos who taught me. And I’ll be forever in his debt.”

Sophia wanted to ask him what that meant, but he reached down and grabbed a stick to stir the paint.

“Tomas?”

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up from his paint. He kept stirring while Sophia’s heart hammered. Getting the best of Tomas was one thing. But dealing with this relentless … stoicism was another. There was no sound here. Nothing familiar. All that she might have was conversation. It was the only thing to connect her to anything. And the only person she could connect to was Tomas.

“Could we call a truce?”

His hand stilled and he looked up.

“I know this is not what either of us planned. Can’t we make the best of it rather than butting heads?”

His gaze clung to hers and in it she saw the glimmerings of respect and acceptance and something that looked like regret. That made no sense. But it was all there just the same.

“I am not generally very good company.”

Sophia laughed a little. “Shocker.”

Even Tomas had to grin at that. She saw the turn of his lips as he bent to his work again.

He handed her a can and a brush. “I thought you could start on the trim. You probably have a steadier hand than I do.”

The shed wasn’t big, but it did have two doors that opened out and a window on each of the north and south sides. Sophia held the can in her hand and wondered where to start. The door and windows had been taped to protect against errant brush strokes. She stuck the brush into the can and drew it out, heavy with the white paint.

“You’ve never painted before, have you?”

She shook her head.

Tomas sighed. Not a big sigh, but she heard it just the same and felt a flicker of impatience both at him and at herself for not being more capable. “It was never …” She didn’t know how to explain her upbringing. Or her mother’s philosophy on what was done and what wasn’t. You hired people to do things like painting and repairs. They were the help. It had been made especially clear after Sophia’s father had moved out. It was then that Sophia’s mother had put her foot on the first rung of the social climbing ladder.

“We weren’t much for do-it-yourselfing,” was all she could bring herself to say.

He came over and put his hand on top of hers. “You’ve got too much paint on the brush. It will just glop and run. This way.”

Sophia bit down on her lip. His hand was strong and sure over hers, his body close. Her shoulder was near his chest as he guided her hand, wiping excess paint off the bristles. “There. Now, if you angle your brush this way …” He showed her how to lay the brush so the paint went on smoothly and evenly. “See?”

“Mmm hmm.” She couldn’t bring herself to say more. She was reacting to his nearness like a schoolgirl. His body formed a hard, immovable wall behind her and she wondered for a moment what it would be like to be held within the circle of his arms.

She pulled away from his hand and applied the paint to the trim, chiding herself for being silly. The purpose of the trip was to do something for herself, to show her independence. It was not to get besotted over some grouchy gaucho.

Tomas cleared his throat and went back to pick up his own brush.

As they put their efforts into painting the shed, Sophia stole a few moments to look around. The morning was bright, the air clear and fresh. The area around the barn was neat and trimmed and beyond it she saw a half-dozen horses or so seeking shade at one end of a corral, their hides flat and gleaming. Birds flitted between bits of pampas grass, singing a jaunty tune.

No traffic. No horns honking or elbows pushing. Also no shops, no conveniences, no restaurants.

It was stunning, but it was very, very isolated.

“How long have you been at Vista del Cielo?

“Three years.”

“You’ve worked for the Rodriguezes all that time?” She slid excess paint off her brush against the lip of the can, but looked around the corner when Tomas paused in answering.

“Pretty much.”

Hmm. Having him answer questions about the estancia wasn’t much easier than their previous conversations.

“It is quite beautiful here,” she persisted. “You can see for miles. And the air is so clear.”

“I’m glad it meets with your approval in some way,” Tomas replied.

She defiantly re-wet her brush and worked on the trim of the window as Tomas moved to the main section around the corner. If this was a working ranch, then she’d work. Just like anyone else. Just because she’d never had to didn’t mean she couldn’t. She continued swiping the paint on the wood. What would Antoine say if he could see his very perfect fiancée now? The idea made her smile. She might hate the baggy coveralls, but knowing Antoine would drop his jaw at the sight of her gave her perverse satisfaction. And the work was surprisingly pleasant. Simple and rewarding.

“Is the morning meal something the female guests would do with Maria?” she asked, more determined than ever to get Tomas talking.

“Sure,” he answered, filling his can once more with the white paint. “But not just the female guests. Everyone helps where they can. Before the fire, we had one guest who made cornbread every morning for a week. It melted in your mouth, even without butter. He said he got the recipe from his grandmother. But his wife, she was hopeless in the kitchen. She was terrific at rounding up cattle, though. Once she got started.”

Sophia grinned. “Well, well. A regular speech at last. I must make a note—cornbread makes Tomas talk.”

He sent her what she supposed was a withering look, but there was little venom behind it this time, and she laughed.

“What are you good at, Sophia?” He efficiently turned the verbal tables.

She swallowed. The question took her by surprise. The lack of an answer was even more shocking. Was she really so lacking in self-assurance she couldn’t recognize her own strengths? “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Her pride was stung. She had worked as Antoine’s assistant and had done a good job. She doubted Tomas would see it that way. “I’m good at answering phones and taking messages and keeping a schedule. I can type seventy-five words a minute.”

Resentment bubbled up once more at how Antoine had used her capabilities for his own purposes, with complete disregard for any true feelings she might have. She stabbed the brush back into the can. “I’m good at showing up on time in the appropriate outfit, and saying the right things.” She realized how empty and foolish that sounded. “I’m not good at much, it seems.”

“Those things have their place,” he said graciously, and she began to feel a bit better. “But not at an estancia.”

The bubble burst. “I’m beginning to see that.”

“Giving in?” he asked mildly.

She took out her brush and gave the window trim an extra swipe. “You wish. Maybe it’s time I learned a new skill set. How’m I doing?”

It felt wonderful to let some of the old resentment go, to look forward. When she got back to Ottawa, she’d make some changes. She’d already resigned her job and this time she’d do something she enjoyed. Truth be told, she hated politics. She frowned, her brush strokes slowing. She thought about all the private meetings she’d set up, the hand shaking and air kissing. It was all so fake. There wasn’t a man or woman among that crowd who wouldn’t stab you in the back if it suited them. Then she thought of the wardrobe sitting in her suitcases. Yes, she loved those pretty things. They had made her feel feminine and, in her own way, important.

But maybe, just maybe, she’d sold her soul a bit to get them. Maybe Antoine hadn’t been the only one to lie. Maybe she’d been lying to herself, too. Maybe she’d made up for the lack of the right things in her life by filling it up with stuff. Was she more like her mother than she thought? For years her mother had insisted Sophia participate in one thing or another, when all she had wanted was to curl up in her room with a good book. When had that shifted? When had status become so important to her, too?

How many other lies had she told herself?

She bit down on her lip and dipped her brush in the can. It was something to think about.




CHAPTER THREE


SHE was so lost in her ponderings that she didn’t notice a long drip of paint trickling down the side of the building. “Watch what you’re doing,” Tomas called. “You’ll want to swipe that drip.”

It annoyed her to be under his supervision and she gritted her teeth, taking the brush and swiping it down the side of the shed. She was nearly to the bottom when a movement caught her eye. She jumped backwards, sending the paint can flying. At the clatter, Tomas came running around the corner while Sophia stared at the grass, shuddering. “Kill it! Kill it, Tomas!”

Tomas held his paint brush aloft as he stepped ahead to see what the trouble was. When he saw it, he scowled.

“It’s a little wolf spider, that’s all.”

“Little?” she gasped. She shuddered and took another step back. Anything with a body bigger than a dime lost the right to be called “little” when it came to spiders, and this one was substantially larger than that. “You call that thing little?”

“It won’t bite you. Even if it did, it wouldn’t kill you.”

Wouldn’t kill her. There was a sense of relief knowing it wasn’t poisonous, but Sophia’s skin still crawled at the thought of the hairy eight-legged monster getting anywhere near her. She hated spiders. Hated them! The look of them. The thought of their legs on her skin. And the one at the base of the shed was the biggest she’d ever seen.

Tomas went forward and merely touched the spider with the end of his brush. The contact made it scuttle away to parts unknown. He picked up the paint can. Half the contents were on the grass, and wide white splashes went up the side of the shed, spatters on the glass of the window. He sighed, the sound impatient and aggravated.

He patiently took his brush and, with no concern for spiders whatsoever, moved it back and forth over the wall to blend in the spilled paint.

It made Sophia feel completely and utterly foolish. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I have a thing about spiders.” A huge thing. She knew she looked silly and the words to exonerate herself sat on her tongue. But she could not tell him why. It was too personal. Too hurtful.

“Maybe you’d like to work on the other side,” he suggested. “I can finish here.”

She would be a wreck trying to paint and watch for spiders at the same time. Maybe she looked like a diva, but even the thought of one crawling up her leg made her weak. Spiders and dark places were the two things she simply could not handle. “Will you check it for spiders first?”

He had to think her the most vapid female on the planet. But she could never tell him the real reason why she was afraid. The hours spent in the cellar had shaped her more than she could express. There’d been spiders there, too. Just small ones, but they’d crawled over her arms and she’d brushed them away, unable to see them. She’d held on to her tears that day until one had crept through her hair. It had completely undone her.

This was bad enough. She didn’t need to let Tomas see any more of her faults.

Tomas accommodated her indulgence and checked the wall, foundation and grass surrounding the area. “Satisfied?”

“Yes, thank you.” Sophia was embarrassed now. No wonder Tomas looked at her as though she was more trouble than she was worth. She dipped her brush and continued where Tomas had left off, determined to overcome the panic that still threaded through her veins. Not that she didn’t watch. She did. Her eyes were peeled for any sign of foreign creatures. But if another spider came by, she would not scream or throw her paint can. She would shoo it away, just as Tomas had done.

The sun climbed higher in the sky and the air held a touch of humidity. Sweat formed on Sophia’s brow as they worked on into the morning. She was beginning to appreciate all that went into a place like this. It wasn’t just meals and fresh linen and saddling a horse or two. It was upkeep, making sure things were well-kept and neat. The plain shed was starting to look quite nice, matching all the other buildings with their fresh white paint, and there was a sense of pride in knowing it was partly to do with her efforts. There was pleasure to be found in the simplicity of the task. It was just painting, with no other purpose to serve, no ulterior motives or strategies. The sound of the bristles on the wood. The whisper of the breeze in the pampas grass, the mellow heat of the late summer sun.

She sneaked glances around the side of the building at Tomas. He had mentioned that Carlos had taught him the ways of the gaucho, but he had said nothing about himself, about where he came from. He could dress in work clothes but there was something about him, a bearing, perhaps, that made her think he wasn’t from here. That perhaps he was better educated than he first appeared.

It was nearly noon when they finished the first coat, and Tomas poured what was left in their paint cans into the bucket, sealing the lid for another day and a second coat. “It’s going to look good,” he said, tapping the lid in place. He picked up the bucket and she watched the muscles in his arm flex as he carried it to the barn. She followed him, carrying the brushes, feeling indignation begin to burn. That was it? She’d worked her tail off all morning, and his only praise was It’s going to look good? She sniffed. Perhaps what Tomas needed was a lesson in positive reinforcement. Or just being plain old nice!

She trailed behind him as they entered the barn. It was as neat as everything else on the estancia. The concrete floor was cool, the rooms and stalls sturdy and clean, the scents those of horses, fresh hay and aging wood. Tomas took the brushes from her and put them in a large sink. He started the water and began washing them out.

“You were a big help this morning.”

Finally, some praise.

“Except when I threw paint everywhere.”

“It is probably a good thing you didn’t see him jump,” Tomas commented.

She paled. “Jump?”

“Si. Wolf spiders—they don’t really spin webs. They jump, and they’re fast on the ground. Usually we don’t come across them in the daytime. He scooted away, but when they jump …”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“I find it very interesting.”

He scrubbed at the brushes with a renewed energy. What he enjoyed was teasing her, she realized. There really was no need. She was already feeling quite foolish. She had no business being here. It was not her scene. The inside of her thumb was already blistered from holding the paint brush all morning.

Face it, Soph, she thought. He was right. You’re pampered and spoiled.

She wished Tomas didn’t see her flaws. The problem wasn’t with the estancia or Tomas. It was her. She was the one lacking. She didn’t want to be spoiled. What she wanted was validation. And somehow she wanted it from Tomas. She got the feeling that if she could earn his respect, she could earn just about anyone’s.

Tomas finished with the brushes and laid them to dry. He was enjoying teasing her too much, and it unsettled him. It felt strange, like putting on old clothes that were the right size but somehow didn’t fit just right anymore. He had left that teasing part of himself behind long ago. It disturbed him to realize it was harder and harder to remember those days. But seeing Sophia’s huge eyes as he spoke of the spider, and then the adorable determined set she got to her chin when she was mad.

He should not be reacting this way. And it wasn’t as if he was going to catch a break. Until Maria and Carlos came back, Sophia was his responsibility. Even his subconscious knew it. The bread making was not an attempt at being a good host. It was simply the result of waking far too early and needing to be busy to keep from thinking about her.

Which reminded him that it had been hours since they’d eaten.

“Come on,” he said, leading the way out of the barn. “Let’s get some lunch.” Surely a meal was a good, safe activity. If he couldn’t escape her, keeping occupied was the next best thing. And he was starving.

While Tomas got out the food, Sophia crawled out of the overalls and hung them on a peg. The meal was simple: a lettuce and tomato salad and cold empanadas that Tomas took out of the refrigerator. “Normally best when they are fresh and hot, but Maria made a batch before she left. It makes a quick lunch. I’ll cook a proper dinner tonight.”

He thought of the two of them sitting down to a meal together and frowned as an image of gazing at Sophia over candlelight flitted through his mind. It was too easy to stare at Sophia, admiring her heart-shaped face and the way her flame-tossed curls danced in the light. He hadn’t missed the way her trousers cupped her backside, or that with her shirt button undone at her throat he could see the hollows of her collarbone. He wished for some interference to keep him distracted, but there would be none. And he would not let on that she got to him in any way, shape or form.

“Maybe I can help you. Cooking is one thing I can manage. Usually.”

“Ah, so the princess has a skill.”

He was baiting her again, but it was the easiest way to keep her at arm’s length.

“Everyone has skills. Just because they’re not like yours doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

She was right and he felt small for belittling her. What was getting into him? She was, he acknowledged. He’d been hiding behind his estancia duties for too long. With all the reconstruction after the fire, he was aware that things around the Vista del Cielo were changing. It wasn’t the same place he remembered from when he’d first come here. Back then it had been simpler. Full of life and possibility. And Rosa. Her dancing eyes, her laugh had been in every corner. Now there were times he could barely recall her face; the memory seemed like a shadow of her real self, like a reflection in the water that could disappear with the drop of a pebble on the surface. Rosa was slipping further and further away, and damned if he didn’t feel guilty about it.

And he was taking it out on Sophia.

“I’d appreciate the help,” he offered as a conciliation.

As they sat down to the meal, Sophia looked at him curiously. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Tomas looked up at her briefly, and then turned his attention to the platter of empanadas. “No.”

“Where are you from, then? Where did you learn English? It’s practically perfect. A hint of an accent, but otherwise …”

“Why do you need to know?”

Sophia huffed and toyed with her empanada. “I was just making conversation, Tomas. You do know what that is, right?”

Si, he’d been right. His social graces were so rusty they were almost nonexistent. Small talk. One didn’t make small talk out here. But it had been part of his life once. He should remember how.

“I grew up in Buenos Aires, and went to private school in the U.S. for a few years. Then I came back and studied Engineering.”

“Studying in the States?” Sophia’s fingers dropped the pastry pocket as she gaped at him. “You have a degree in Engineering?”

He nodded, reminding himself to be very careful. He didn’t like talking about himself, or the man he’d once been. Keeping it to plain old facts was plenty. “Yes, Mechanical Engineering. You’re surprised.”

“I am. How does a Mechanical Engineer end up working as a hired hand at an estancia?”

The explanation was long and unpleasant for the most part, and Tomas definitely wasn’t sharing. It was better that she thought him simply the help. She’d look at him differently if she knew he was part owner of Vista del Cielo. And it would open up a lot more questions he had no desire to answer.

“This was where I wanted to be,” he replied simply.

“It is quite a leap from engineering to the Vista del Cielo,” she commented, biting into the pocket of spicy beef.

“Right.”

Tomas went on eating, silent again. This hadn’t always been his life. He’d let obligation and duty dictate until one day the price was too high. He’d let so many people down. His mother and father, who had such hopes for him and the family business. His brother, who was supposed to work by his side. And most of all, Rosa.

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 on-site 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 shopping 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 anything, 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 some 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 unseated 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 just 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.

“Not exactly,” she replied, staring out at the waving grasses. She’d blush again if she looked at Tomas. She was twenty-five years old and still a virgin. There was no way on earth she could say that.

“So, he was someone to keep you in shoes and handbags?” He tipped the brim of his hat back a little, his mischievous gaze settling on her face.

“Absolutely. More than that, it was stability.” Something had changed between them. There was no malice in his accusation. She knew he was teasing, and she welcomed it. A teasing Tomas was far preferable to a grouchy one, even if his teasing did hit rather close to home at times. It was easier to take than the stares of disapproval. “Like Carlos and Maria, my mother was poor. My grandmother was a war bride from England and life on a Canadian farm wasn’t all she’d dreamt it would be. She eventually divorced my grandfather. My mother fell into what she called the same trap, and she and my father split up when I was eight. Mom didn’t handle poverty with the grace and humour of your friends, Tomas. She was alone. She was the one who made sure I had the opportunities and schooling and met all the right people.”

Tomas nudged his mount forward, keeping the pace at a steady walk. “So you came here to throw it in your ex’s face.”

Had she? Perhaps in a way, but the trip had been far more about her than it had been about Antoine. “If I had wanted to throw it in his face, I would have gone to the media and given them all the details. It wasn’t necessary. Calling off the wedding was damaging enough. Even without making an official statement, I had reporters in my face. It is big news when a high-profile party member is embroiled in a scandal—even if it’s not quite clear what the scandal is.” She angled him a wry smile and he smiled back.

“You’re tougher than I thought,” Tomas admitted. “Maybe I underestimated you, Sophia Hollingsworth.”

“Maybe you did. But the real reason I came was because I was looking for someone.”

He turned his head towards her again. “Who?”

A lump formed in Sophia’s throat as she gripped the reins. The horse perked up at the feel of her hands through the leather.

“Me,” she replied, and nudged the mare along and down the path leading to the creek.




CHAPTER FOUR


TOMAS followed her, his eyes trained on her back as it swayed gently with the motion of the horse. She had taken the initiative and started down the path before him, rather than follow behind. There was definitely more to Sophia than he thought. More than the designer shoes and air of supremacy she’d put on yesterday, or the panic she’d exhibited this morning during the spider episode. She was not experienced with horses. He’d known it from the start and had wanted to push her, test her. Not in a dangerous sort of way, after all he’d given her Neva, the gentlest mare in the stable. It was his job to gauge someone’s experience and give them a proper mount. But he’d wanted to shake her up a bit. He’d nearly expected protests when she’d seen the gaucho saddle. But she hadn’t said a single word. Just mounted and followed him.

She’d shown some pluck, and he liked that.

Maybe they had more in common than he’d thought. The thought niggled. He didn’t want to find common ground. Maybe they had both felt pushed into a life of appearances. Tomas had lived that way once. For his father, money and status were everything. The biggest mistake of his life was going along with it as long as he had. He was far happier here, at Vista del Cielo.

Sophia just hadn’t found her place yet, but it wasn’t his job to show her. The words of assurance sat on his tongue but he remained silent, knowing that if he offered them to her, it would open him up to more questions. He wasn’t sure where life was going to lead him and he didn’t want to get into it with Sophia. Too many people offered their opinions as it was. As much as he loved it here on the estancia, his family kept asking when he was coming back. It was a question he could not answer. The idea of going back to Buenos Aires and taking his place at Motores Mendoza held little appeal. Lately he’d been feeling disconnected, and it unsettled him. Going back to Buenos Aires and the family business would sever that connection completely, and he couldn’t do it.

“It is beautiful here,” Sophia called from ahead of him. “So open and free.” She reined in a bit so his horse’s head was at her flank. “The big things melt away, don’t they.”

He exhaled slowly. Perhaps she was faking her riding experience, but there was no faking the approval he heard in her voice. “It does tend to put things in perspective,” he replied carefully, pleased that she understood but still on his guard. Somehow the words tethered the two of them together, and that made him uncomfortable. “I have done a lot of thinking riding along this path.” And he had, ever since the first visit when Miguel had brought him home to meet his family.

He’d walked in the door and everything in his world had changed. Everything. He had been greeted warmly. And he had laid eyes on Rosa and it was as though the world stopped turning.

The path grew steeper as they descended to the creek bed. She was being cautious, he noticed, knowing the criollo horses’ nimble feet could more than handle the narrow path. At the bottom the mare gave a little hop and he heard a squeak come from ahead.

He watched the curve of Sophia’s bottom as it swayed with the lazy stride of the mare. This morning he’d been sorely tempted to reach out and pull her into his arms when she’d seen the spider. Her alarm had been real, not put on, and he’d felt oddly protective of her. He shook his head. They would keep the pace slow, that was all.

A little further down the bed was a lee, sheltered from the wind. Tomas and Miguel had come here often to build a fire and share mate. He urged his horse forward and past Sophia, leading the way. If she didn’t take a break, she would be sore in the morning from sitting in the saddle too long. This was the perfect place to rest. He had been here many times since coming to the estancia.

He dismounted and waited for her to follow, then tethered both horses to a low bush. “Come,” he said, and held out a hand to help her over the scrabbly rocks. “I want to show you something.”

She put her hand in his and his body tightened.

It was a trusting move and he hadn’t expected the sweetness of it. The sharp-tongued cobra of yesterday had disappeared … when? When she’d come to the kitchen in her bare feet? This morning, when she’d blinked up at him in the baggy coveralls?

Her hand was small and soft and a lump formed in his throat. When was the last time someone had put their hand in his so trustingly? A long time. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember. So many things he’d taken for granted and brushed off, not realizing how important they would become later. Things like the last time he had held Rosa’s hand, kissed her lips. The last time he’d said “I love you” and heard her say his name. Those moments were gone forever, leaving a vacuum in their place.

They went to the curve in the hill where two flat rocks waited. “Oh!” she exclaimed, letting go of his hand and moving forward delightedly. Sophia went to the first stone and perched upon it, her hands on her knees.

She looked about eighteen years old. Where was the high fashion barracuda in stilettos demanding he make good on the reservation? It had been false bravado. He understood that now. The woman before him was an enchanting sprite with flaming curls and bright eyes. This was the real Sophia. Her excitement was fresh and genuine and far more difficult to resist.

“This is so neat! You can’t even see it from above!”

“Which made it perfect for staying hidden.” He followed her, moving towards the twin boulders, his boots crunching on the gravel.

“Who were you hiding from?”

“Mostly Carlos and Maria. Miguel and I would grab a couple of horses and come out. He was in a hurry to finish school and go to the city. I was dying to get out of the fast pace and expectations and this became my second home. He still loves it—I don’t think you can take the pampas out of the boy. But he is working in Córdoba now, teaching at one of the universities.”

He sat on the other stone and stared at the bubbling creek.

“Do you normally bring guests here on the trail rides? It’s lovely.”

“No, not usually.” He suddenly knew this was a bad idea. The last thing he needed to do was start doing special things with her. She was no different than any other guest. She couldn’t be.

“And so you have made your home with Maria and Carlos, working the estancia with them.”

Tomas smiled. She made it sound so simple, when it wasn’t. Not at all. He could tell her that he was joint owner, but for some reason he didn’t want to.

“I prefer it to being with my own family. I know, that sounds awful, as if I don’t love them. And I know in my way I do. But what you said before, about looking for someone … I understand that. It is when I am here that I feel most myself. If somehow a trip here is managing to give that to you, too, I’m glad. Sometimes …” He thought about what she’d told him only minutes before. “Sometimes being here I remember I don’t have to try so hard.”

They were quiet for a few moments. He looked over at Sophia. She was gazing out over the creek and the waving grasses, her expression utterly relaxed, her hands resting on her knees.

“I know what you mean about trying hard out here. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I didn’t think so when I first drove up. It wasn’t what I was expecting. But now I think perhaps the estancia is well named. View of Heaven … yes. I think your pampas might have a way of winding itself around a person’s heart.”

And just like that, Sophia started winding herself around him. She understood what it was he felt about the pampas, about Vista del Cielo. It was the last thing he expected and the sensation was pleasant and disturbing all at once.

“I think I’ve been trying hard for a long time,” she continued. “To please people. To be what they wanted me to be. I don’t even really know what I want.”

He nodded. “But you have time. You’re what, twenty-four, twenty-five?” He traced a fingernail over the rock’s surface. “This is a whole new beginning for you. You get to decide who you want to be.”

Her smile was wide. “Thank you, Tomas.” She tipped her campero back further on her head. “I sometimes worry that I’ve taken this trip for revenge. It’s not a very attractive quality. After what you just said … I hope that instead I use it as a springboard for doing things better.” He saw a glimmer of moisture in her eyes. “Living honestly, if that makes sense.”

Oh, it made sense all right. And at least her catastrophe was only a cancelled wedding. She had no need of the remorse that Tomas still felt about his own personal wake-up call.

“Anyway,” she changed the subject lightly, “I am looking forward to meeting Maria and Carlos.” She stretched out her legs and tilted her face up to the sun.

“You will like them,” he answered quietly.

“Do you suppose their son will ever have children? Is he married? My grandmother always joked that grandchildren were the bane of her existence. She didn’t like kids any more than she liked farm life.” Sophia chuckled.

Tomas did not know how to answer. She was just making simple chatter, but the subject of grandchildren was a painful one. As the silence stretched out, he searched for a safe topic of conversation. He thought about giving her a spiel on the history of the gaucho but suspected she’d see clear through his motive to deflect the conversation away from himself. “Or maybe you.” She kept on, oblivious to the sickening churning he was feeling in his gut. “Maybe you will have children and will bring them out here to visit.”

The innocently spoken words were like a knife in his heart.

He and Rosa had sneaked out to this spot on occasion too. If he had been any other boy, Carlos and Maria would have had a fit. But not with Tomas. They had trusted him to take care of Rosa. To keep her safe and cherish her. Sophia’s words were nothing that he had not thought of a million times since Rosa’s death. Time, and yes, even healing, could not erase the awful responsibility he felt.

“Tomas?”

He hadn’t noticed her rising from her rock and coming to his side. Her small hand lay on his forearm and when he turned his head she was watching him, her dark eyes wide and worried. Her skin was creamy and her hair was a mass of flaming waves. But it was the concern, the gentle way she touched him and his reaction to it that caused pain and resentment to rip through his insides.

“Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head, knowing she was not to blame. It was him, all him. Take a breath, he commanded himself. Sophia was a guest. That was all. He should still be grieving. He shouldn’t be thinking of her this way.

“I think it is time we got back. I wanted to get the boxes moved into the boutique this afternoon.”

She bit down on her lip and his gaze was drawn to it, unerringly, inevitably. Soft and pink, it regained its shape as her teeth released it.

He got up from the rock and straightened, staring unseeingly at the creek. He would not touch her. He would not kiss her or take her in his arms.

“Why do you shut people out all the time, Tomas? Or is it just me? For a few moments I think you’re going to relax and then you wrap yourself in layers again.”

She was right, and he refused to respond. What could he possibly say that would be appropriate? That he was contemplating how soft her skin might be beneath her blouse? The only thing he could do was remain silent.

“Did she hurt you that badly?” Sophia pressed him. “I asked about you before, but maybe it was the other way around. Did someone cheat on you the way that Antoine cheated on me?”

“What?” He swung his head around. “No. Never!”

But the question had revealed a chink in his armor. “So there was someone else,” Sophia prodded.

She would not let this go, and what had begun as a relaxing afternoon changed into something painful and raw. Why was he finding it so hard to treat her like a guest? He should be pointing out landforms and local history and instead they were talking about failed relationships. How had he lost control so easily? How had she managed to get under his skin?

She thought he was some romantic gaucho figure, someone honorable and upright. But he wasn’t. She had to stop looking at him this way—with a soft understanding, as if she knew … She didn’t know.

He’d made peace with what had happened. He’d accepted the blame. And he’d moved on to the kind of life he’d wanted, throwing himself into developing the estancia. Good, honest, put-your-back-into-it work. So why did Sophia have to show up now and make him want things he had no right wanting?

Two days. Two days and Maria and Carlos would be back. His duty would be discharged and he could be back behind the scenes where he belonged.

He retrieved Sophia’s horse and brought the mare to her, holding the reins while she used the height of the rock to get her feet in the stirrups. “Hold her steady,” he commanded, going to get his gelding and swinging up into the saddle.

Even with her own set of troubles, he still saw Sophia as naive. She’d had a rude awakening with this Antoine, but he knew deep down she still believed in a forever kind of love. In happily-ever-afters. Tomas had known for a long time how the world worked. Those who succeeded at love and marriage and happiness … they were just lucky. The majority of people wandered through life trying to figure out how they’d gotten so lost.

“Let’s get back,” he said tersely, nudging his horse forward and up the hardened slope. They needed to move on before he said something he’d really regret.

Like the truth.

Sophia gripped the reins in fingers slippery from the afternoon heat. Her thighs already ached from exercising unused muscles. She nudged the mare with her heels and followed Tomas up the slope and on to the level table of the pampas. He was already a bit ahead, and Sophia gritted her teeth.

She had done just fine during the first part of the ride, so she nudged the mare into a trot and hoped for the best. First he had clammed up when she’d asked a simple question. Now he had deliberately gone ahead and he hadn’t looked back to check on her once. That particular fact agitated her. His bossiness was just another way of keeping that stoic, annoying distance. If he thought he could shake her that easily, that he could just ride off without another word, he had another think coming.

Her thighs burned as she tried to hold on to the saddle. Don’t let me fall off, she prayed as she jounced along at a trot. Finally she caught up with Tomas.

“You might have waited.”

Tomas looked over, his dark eyes shaded by his campero. Sophia felt a momentary flash of annoyance and attraction together, which only served to irritate her further. She should not find him attractive at all. He was a closed-mouthed, stubborn man who kept setting her up to fail. She was just about to tell him so when a puff of wind stirred up a dust devil in front of them.

Tomas’s gelding shied and Tomas quickly settled him, but Sophia’s mare took a scare and bolted, Sophia clinging helplessly to saddle and reins. Hooves pounded against the earth. She tried to keep her posture, but her feet bounced in the stirrups, bumping against the mare’s side, unintentionally prodding her to go faster. Then Sophia heard Tomas shout in Spanish as the mare leapt forward, heading straight for the estancia at breakneck speed.

Sweat poured down her spine now and she could see the gate in front of her. If they didn’t slow down soon …

Tomas shouted again. Desperately she pulled on the reins but their length was uneven in her damp palms and the mare shifted abruptly to her right. Everything seemed to slow as she felt the horse plant its feet, throwing her from the saddle. There was a sense of weightlessness as she flew through the air and a fear in knowing she was likely to be hurt.

When Sophia hit the ground, every last breath of air was forced from her lungs and she felt several seconds of panic as they refused to work. Finally new oxygen rushed in, painful and a blessed relief all in one.

Tomas reined in beside her and jumped off his horse, leaving the reins dangling from the bridle.

“Sophia!” Tomas knelt beside her and she felt his hands behind her shoulders as she tried to sit. “No, lie down,” he commanded, gently placing her on the grass. “Catch your breath, and tell me you’re all right.”

His face swam before her eyes as she inhaled and exhaled, trying to steady her breathing to somewhat near normal even though her chest felt as though someone was stepping on it. Lying down helped. Tomas’s hat was on the grass beside them and she saw a slight ring around his scalp where the band and sweat had flattened his short dark curls. He was beautiful, she realized. In an unreal sort of way—dark and mysterious and perfect. She felt horribly dirty, provincial and awkward. She’d tried to fake knowing what she was doing, but she’d been unequal to the task, just as she’d been at painting this morning. She’d failed yet again. All she’d had to do was stay in the saddle for another fifteen minutes and she would have been home free.

Now she looked like a prize idiot next to Tomas’s stunning looks, self assurance and.

Oh Lord. The way he was looking at her right now. Like he cared. His lips were unsmiling, his eyes dark with anxiety. How long had she wished for someone to look at her in just this way? As though if something happened to her it would be a catastrophe? Antoine certainly never had. He’d acted as if her feelings, her needs, counted for nothing.

And counting for nothing hurt, dammit. She finally acknowledged to herself that Antoine’s betrayal of her had hurt most because she had felt inconsequential. Had felt that she didn’t matter.

Tomas’s hand reached behind her head and cradled it in his hand, cushioning it from the hard earth. “Sophia, please,” he said roughly. “Tell me where it hurts.”

His plea broke through every defence she’d erected since walking into the hotel room and seeing Antoine with his mistress. Her whole life hurt right now. She had never felt so alone. And the worst part of it was that she knew she couldn’t make sense of any of it until she figured out who she was. It was a horrible, horrible feeling to realize that she’d lost herself along the way. She was like a boat bobbing aimlessly on the sea with no direction. And it had taken this rough-and-ready gaucho to make her see it. Maybe she’d looked like a fool just now, but there was no mistaking the genuine concern in his eyes. She held on to that, letting it be a beacon in the darkness.

I hurt everywhere, she thought, and she felt the telltale sting of tears behind her eyes. And the last thing she wanted was for him to see that. She’d lost enough face today.

She gripped his forearm with her hand and pulled herself up to sit.

“It’s my fault,” Tomas berated himself sharply. “I never should have gone off ahead. I knew you were inexperienced.” He brushed a piece of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “You were doing wonderfully. You have more pluck than I gave you credit for.”

Sophia’s face softened. Did Tomas blame himself? That was ridiculous. He couldn’t have known the mare would run off.

“I’m fine,” she insisted, knowing that nothing was broken, only bruised. There was an ache in her hip from landing on the hard ground, and she suspected she would be stiff later, but the greatest harm had been done to her pride. And yet his words stirred something warm inside. Had he actually said she’d been doing wonderfully? She had been faking the whole way, trying to remember what she’d learned about riding in those two childhood rides. So she hadn’t fooled him. But she hadn’t made a disaster of it, either. At least not until the end.

“At least you know I never do things halfway,” she replied. She looked around. Both horses were standing a few metres away, looking utterly unconcerned about Sophia’s welfare. Her campero had flown off and was lying in the dust.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, and he went to the horses, gathering the reins and tethering them to the fence. He snagged her hat and came back, sliding an arm under her knees and picking her up while the campero dangled from his fingers. Her breath hitched as he stood and gave a little bounce, adjusting her weight in his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you inside, what do you think?”

It was heavenly being in his arms, the primitive physicality of it thrilling. She was held closely against the wall of his chest, so close that she could see a single bead of sweat gather at the hollow of his throat. She wanted to reach out and touch it with the tip of her finger, but didn’t have the courage to take such initiative.

He began carrying her towards the house. No man had ever done such a gallant thing for her before, and it would be very easy to get swept away. But this was definitely not standing on her own two feet and the last thing she wanted was to look like some helpless female. She’d done that enough today. “Please, put me down. I can walk.”

“You took quite a fall, Sophia.” His chocolatey eyes were still heavy with concern and a tiny wrinkle marred his brow.

Her arms had gone around his neck by instinct and her body bobbed with every long stride of his legs. “Then let me walk it off. Nothing is broken, Tomas. This is silly.”

They reached the gate and she stuck out a hand, grabbing on to the metal bar and pulling them to a halt. “Let me down. You can walk me to the house if you want.” His gaze caught hers for long seconds. “The fault is mine. I felt I had something to prove, but I was wrong. I should have asked for help. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she apologized.

He gave in and gently put her down. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

She did hurt. She missed the feeling of being held in his arms already, and she ached all over. Her left hip pained when she put her weight on it. But it was just bruising. “Nothing serious. I’m more humiliated than anything.”

They took slow steps to the house. Tomas remained right by her side, slowing his strides to match hers, his right arm always near in case she needed support. “I’m the one who should apologize, Sophia. You are inexperienced with horses, and I knew that. This is all my fault. I should not have ridden ahead.”

“Why did you?” She hobbled along, looking up at him from beneath her campero, the hat resting crookedly atop her head.

“I …”

“You’re going to put that wall around yourself again, aren’t you? Fine. I get it. You are allowed to ask questions. I’m not. Loud and clear, Tomas.”

“Dios, your tongue is sharp!” He bristled beside her. “You might have been killed, do you understand? What if Neva had gone down? What if she’d rolled on you?”

He turned on her, anger darkening his face now. “I should have stayed with you. You might have broken your neck.”

“Oh, what would you care? You’ll be glad to be rid of me, admit it!” she shot back. She instantly felt bad for saying it. “Tomas, I’m …”

But he never gave her a chance.

“!Maldita idiota! I cannot figure you out. You panic at the sight of a spider, but when the danger is real …”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before giving me a skittish horse that runs at the least little thing!”

“I gave you the calmest horse in the stable!” They were standing in the middle of the yard now, shouting.

“Do you treat all your clients this way?” She scoffed, her voice ripe with derision. Her blood was up now and it felt marvelous! All the righteous anger she’d channeled into cancelling the wedding and reorganizing her life came bubbling to the surface. “Oh wait … I’m the only one. Remind me why that is again?”

“!Cállate!” He shouted. “Enough!”

And then he gripped her arms in his strong hands and kissed her.

The pain in her hip disappeared as his lips covered hers. Passion, a passion she hadn’t known she even possessed, exploded within her and she reached out to hang on to his shirt. He braced his feet, forming a solid wall for her to lean against, and in return she twined her arms around his ribs and over his shoulder blades, craving the feel of his body against hers.

This was what had been missing, she realized with a shock. Pure, unadulterated physicality. The kind of force that rushed in like a hurricane and frightened the hell out of her.

She shuddered and the fingers gripping her arms eased. His mouth gentled over hers until his lips played, teased, seduced.

It made her want to weep. How was it that even in anger this stranger seemed to know exactly what she needed? How did he know that she needed gentleness?

“Are you still angry at me?” she whispered as their lips parted. She couldn’t make herself meet his gaze; instead she stared at his mouth as though she hadn’t seen it before. Full lips, crisp in their perfection, soft when they needed to be soft, firm when they needed to be commanding …

“Yes,” he admitted, letting out a ragged breath. “Are you still angry at me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “Because I’m tired of being angry.”

“I shouldn’t have shouted. You scared me, Sophia.”

“I scared myself.”

She risked a look up at him then. His eyes were dark with concern again and she marveled at it—why should he care about her? Who was she to him? But she wasn’t about to argue. At the moment, sad as it was, he was all she had.

He turned from her and they began walking towards the house again. Sophia’s legs felt like jelly after the kiss, but she forced one foot ahead of the other.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier when I mentioned going riding?”

“I didn’t want you to know.” She raised her chin. “After the way I showed up yesterday, and then my overreaction this morning … I didn’t want you to think I was some vapid female who couldn’t handle as much as a broken nail. I didn’t expect to be racing across the pampas, either.”

She wouldn’t look at him, but to her right, she heard a soft chuckle. “You are very stubborn, Sophia Hollingsworth.”

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

This time he really did laugh, and the sound reached in and expanded inside her. She knew it was ridiculous. She had made a miscalculation and now she was limping back to the house, dirty and with dented pride claiming that stubbornness was an attribute and not a fault.

“I didn’t foresee that happening. I was a very poor tour guide today. If nothing else, I should have asked you about your experience instead of assuming.”

“And what would you have done differently? Stop blaming yourself.” She stopped and put a hand on his arm. His solicitousness was lovely, but it wasn’t required. “It was the wind, that’s all.” Her body warmed as their kiss was still foremost in her mind. “And … about what happened before … I don’t want you to fix things, Tomas. I came on this holiday to be my own solution. Please don’t take this as an insult. I’m coming to understand I have spent far too long being at the mercy of other people. I need to prove to myself that I am capable, too.”

“And just what did this afternoon prove?” He raised an eyebrow, challenging.

They were at the house now and Sophia paused with her hand on the door.

What did it prove? Perhaps that the appreciation she had for Tomas had blossomed into full-blown attraction. And it had proved that the feeling was mutual. The potential in that stopped her in her tracks. It was an exhilarating, terrifying thought.

She took a careful breath. “It proved I am in dire need of a hot bath. And perhaps a glass of wine.”

“I think the Vista del Cielo can handle that.”

But Tomas waited a moment before backing away. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can call a doctor.” His hand rested on her shoulder and she tried not to like the heat of it there—but she did anyway. She could protest all she wanted, but it felt good to be cared for, taken care of, even just a little. The simple touch made her wonder what it would be like if he came inside with her, maybe kissed her again. Would it be as good the second time? Better?

“Truly, I’m fine, thank you.” She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to see him smile, and feel the way his gaze fell on her, warm and approving in the Argentine sun. She wanted him to touch her cheeks with his lips again and maybe slide that small distance to her mouth. Her gaze fell unerringly on his lips too and then back up to his eyes. She’d give up her soak in the bath for that.

“I will see you later. I must look after the horses if you are all right.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She wasn’t going anywhere, not yet. But in another week she would be on a plane headed back to Canada. That much would not change no matter how enamored she became of her surroundings. She took one last approving look at his retreating figure. All of her surroundings.




CHAPTER FIVE


“WHAT are you doing?” Tomas asked, stepping into the kitchen. He’d spent a long time in the barns, avoiding Sophia after their kiss. Needing to clear his mind. It hadn’t worked. The taste and feel of her stayed with him until there was no more tack left to polish. He’d put things off a little longer by having a quick shower. Now he’d come to the kitchen to scrounge something to eat, never expecting to find Sophia there. He’d figured she’d be exhausted from her eventful day.

“Making dinner. You were busy in the barn, and I was cleaned up, so.” she broke off the sentence, turning around to face him as she wiped her hands on a towel. “I didn’t know what sort of food you were used to, so I put together a cold meal. I hope that’s okay.”

Tomas stepped forward, just enough to catch the perfumed scent of her skin. She should have been dead on her feet after the extraordinary day they’d had. Instead he found her here looking like an ad in a magazine. She wore a dress that managed to hug her figure yet appear elegant, drawing his gaze to the soft curve of her hips. Her hair was up in some sort of twist that looked simple and casual and that he expected took a great deal of talent to arrange. Silver and amethyst earrings dangled at her ears. And the shoes were back. Lower heels this time, but he raised his eyebrows at the sandals that blended shades of pink, lime green and turquoise. They should have been garish. Instead, they complemented everything, making her look young and stylish.

Like the woman who had arrived yesterday. Tomas knew he should be relieved. It was easier to distance himself from her when she looked like this—foreign and out of his league.

But he missed how her eyes had glittered up at him from beneath her campero and how cuddly she’d appeared in his coveralls. “You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“But you said everyone pitches in. I ditched you earlier—literally. And my bath was very refreshing. I fear today’s activities have left me starving.”

She smiled up at him and he felt his breath catch. This was wrong. It was purely physical. But it was just attraction. Nothing more. He could handle it. Another few days and she’d be gone. Just a blip on the libido radar until things got back to normal.

“How is your hip?” he enquired politely, ignoring the way his pulse had quickened and moving to help with the preparations. She’d already laid out a selection of cold meats from the fridge, as well as cheese and sliced vegetables. The food was placed strategically on a platter, in sections and precise layers that made it a work of art.

“Sore, but the bath helped, and the scented salts, too. They are a lovely addition to the room, Tomas. It should be mentioned to Maria. A nice touch.” She put the last few slices of tomato in place and stood back. “There. All that is missing is slicing the bread.”

“I can do that. You should get off your feet.” Tomas felt off balance at the change in their conversation. In some ways it felt polite and distant, and yet there was a comfortableness to it that made it seem that they’d known each other far longer than a couple of days. And then there was the kiss that neither of them had mentioned. It stood between them, a lump of something that was hard to ignore. They had both retreated to their respective corners since then, looking for solid footing. Had it affected her as strongly as it had him?

He sliced the bread and Sophia laid it on a plate around a small bowl of herbed butter. “Let’s eat outside,” Tomas suggested. He wouldn’t feel so closed in if they ate in the backyard. “I can light a fire. We often do in the evenings.”

“That would be lovely.” Again she smiled, warm and polite, and Tomas got the sneaky suspicion that it was her friendly meet-the-politician smile.

It was no more than he deserved, and he should be glad she’d taken a step back. But he hated it.

They carried the food outdoors, and while Sophia went back into the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and glasses, Tomas began laying a fire.

This formality was exactly what he’d wanted. So why did it feel so awkward?

After the meal he insisted on doing the cleaning up and sent Sophia to rest her hip. When the last dish was dry and back in the cupboard, he found her in the living room, curled into a corner of the sofa, sleeping.

She looked so innocent with her lashes on her cheeks and her lips relaxed in slumber. Her shoes were on the floor and her dress had slid up her thigh, revealing the soft skin to his gaze. Gently, so as not to wake her, he ran his finger up the smooth length, stopping at the hem and drawing back. He didn’t know what to make of her. One moment fragile, the next stubborn as a mule. Today he’d felt he’d let her down. He knew she could have been seriously injured, and he’d expected her to retreat to spoiled form. But instead she’d risen above it and had proved her mettle.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, and as her eyes opened and focused on his he felt the burning start, deep in his gut.

“It’s time for bed,” he said quietly.

For a few moments something hummed between them. The memory of the afternoon’s kiss seemed to sizzle in the air. Her eyes had the same hooded, dazed look now as they’d had then, and he swallowed, resisting the urge to reach out and run his thumb over her cheekbone.

He had the most irrational thought of taking her down the hall to the family quarters and tucking her beneath his sheets before crawling in beside her and holding her close. Her dark eyes showed the slightest hint of alarm as if she understood the direction of his thoughts even though no words had been spoken.

But that was wrong, and crazy, and definitely not what Maria had meant when she’d ordered him to look after their guest. He stepped back and cleared his throat.

“Sleep well, Sophia,” he said, and gathering all his willpower, walked down the hallway alone.

Sophia dug in her pitchfork, wrinkled her nose and, holding her breath, deposited the soiled straw in the wheelbarrow.

When she’d heard Tomas rise this morning, she’d hurriedly hopped out of bed and pulled on the bombachas of yesterday. She would not be late. She was determined not to lag. She put her hand on her still-aching hip. She’d show Tomas she was made of sterner stuff. Last night she’d been exhausted and still reeling from Tomas’s kiss. Putting on the dress and shoes and making dinner was the best way to keep her guard up, to show him a tumble from a horse would not defeat her. And neither would a most heavenly kiss from her sexy gaucho. What she wanted and how far she was prepared to go were two very different things.

The kiss had nearly been repeated before bed last night. She had seen it in his eyes, and for a few seconds she had leaned the slightest bit towards him, her nerve endings on high alert. In the end he’d backed away. She should have been relieved. Would he expect her to be a woman of the world? She knew she was an anomaly—a virgin at her age. The pull to him was undeniable, but her hesitancy was equally strong.

She’d lain awake a long time thinking about it, and this morning she’d awakened tired but more determined than ever to pull her weight. To prove that she was up to any challenge he could throw at her.

But that was before she’d realized that the first chores of the morning were mucking out stalls and feeding the horses. Now Tomas had turned the stock out into a nearby pasture to graze while they shoveled manure. There was no other polite way to put it. She put another forkful in the barrow as Tomas strode up the corridor whistling. It was obscenely early to sound so cheerful. When she saw his boots stop beside her, she turned with a scoop of dirty straw and was deliberately careless so that a bit fell on his boots with a plop.

Then, calm as you please, she deposited the rest in the wheelbarrow.

“Thank you for your help this morning,” Tomas said, shaking off his foot, unconcerned. “You’re really getting into the swing of things now, aren’t you?”

The sun was barely up and Sophia was dying for a first cup of coffee, and the sooner they finished the sooner she could have it. But despite the unpalatable chore, the dew on the grass and the early morning birdsong somehow made everything rosier. “It’s not so bad.”

He took the pitchfork from her hand. “I’ll get rid of this. There’s fresh straw over there to put in the stalls.”

Sophia spent the next fifteen minutes putting down the layer of straw, all the while listening to Tomas’s cheerful whistling. After the hours she’d spent puzzling out what exactly their kiss had meant, Tomas was acting as if nothing had happened at all. She shook out the last of the straw and dusted off her hands.

“Are you ready for breakfast?” Tomas came back around the corner and Sophia straightened, bracing her lower back with both hands. There had been a communion to working with him this morning. A satisfaction of working together, much like that she’d felt yesterday as they’d painted the shed. Her stomach grumbled and Tomas smiled at her. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She followed him back to the house as the sun peeked over the rolling hills, colouring the pampas with a fresh, warm glow. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the open space that was at once youthful and timeless. Each day started anew, with the flaws of yesterday behind it. As they reached the door she closed her eyes and let out a breath. Antoine, her mom, her friends—they would be appalled at the fact that she’d spent her first daylight hours cleaning a dirty horse barn. And yes, it had been an unusual experience. But not a bad one.

As she and Tomas pulled off their boots, Sophia realized she was perhaps made of more than she was given credit for. Perhaps she simply hadn’t tried because it had been safer that way. Secure. No risk, no loss.

“What’s so funny?” Tomas’s voice broke through her thoughts as he went to the sink to wash up. She joined him there, sharing the soap as they washed their hands beneath the running water.

“Two days ago when I arrived, I didn’t plan on shoveling … well, you know.”

“You did a fine job for a beginner.”

She dried her hands and gave him the towel. “Thank you, but now I want to know what’s to eat. All that fresh air has given me an appetite.” She would kill for bacon and eggs, the sort of breakfast that never passed her lips anymore. Perhaps it was the combination of hard work and fresh air. Perhaps it was knowing that she need not hold to the conventions of the past at Vista del Cielo. Either way, she was famished.

As if he read her mind, Tomas took eggs from the fridge. “I will fry some eggs and there is the bread from yesterday.”

Her mouth watered at the thought of a fried-egg sandwich. “That sounds perfect.”

They worked together to prepare the meal, and once they sat at the table Tomas asked, “How’s the hip?”

Sophia chewed and swallowed. It still pained, but she didn’t want it to keep her from whatever Tomas had planned for the day. Now that she had made a success of something, she wanted to build on the momentum. The sense of accomplishment was addictive. “It’s a little sore, but I’m no worse for the wear.”

“Since the chores are done, I thought you might like a trip into town. You can find some clothes there, perhaps some souvenirs to take back home with you.”

“What about the shed? We still have to put on another coat of paint.” But Tomas shook his head.

“I decided it can wait. We should be back later this afternoon and I can paint it then.”

“Are you sure?”

Tomas swiped his bread across his plate. “Yes, I’m sure. You helped this morning. It is your vacation after all. If Maria were here, she would take you on a day trip to town. In her absence, it’s my job.”

Sophia felt her excitement deflate. This was nothing more than Tomas living up to his responsibilities once again. Making up for yesterday, too, she supposed. It had nothing to do with actually wanting to spend time with her. It was his duty. His job.

Still, a day in town sounded fun. She didn’t want to spend her whole trip on the estancia. She wanted to see new things. And perhaps she could purchase some comfortable clothes. But first she’d have to have a shower to get rid of the barn smell.

“Just give me twenty minutes to clean up.”

Back in Canada, it would have taken her three times that long to be ready for a day out. Sophia smiled as she took her plate to the sink.

In Argentina, nothing was the same.

“Me, too,” Tomas replied. As Sophia went back to her room to gather fresh clothing, she told herself she would not think about Tomas’s dark, lean body beneath the shower spray.

Sophia’s feet were beginning to ache from all the walking, but it had been worth it. She wiped her lips with a paper napkin and then crumpled it, tossing it into a nearby garbage bin. They’d stopped at a sausage cart for lunch, grabbing a snack to tide them over before heading back to the estancia for the afternoon. The chorizo had been suitably spicy and the bread chewy and fresh. Beside her, Tomas gave a satisfied sigh and she smiled.

“That was delicious.”

“Not fancy, but one of my favourites.” He too wiped his mouth and disposed of the napkin.

The afternoon was hot and Sophia soaked in the heat, enjoying the feel of it on her skin. Tomas had proven a better tour guide than she’d expected. They’d spent the morning visiting the Gaucho Museum and browsing the silver shops, admiring the craftsmanship. She’d bought two casual outfits and a pair of silver earrings for her mother as a gift. Meanwhile, Tomas had taken her to a local bodega where he’d picked up several bottles of Malbec, claiming it was Maria’s particular favourite. Once they’d stowed their packages in the estancia’s SUV, he’d suggested a quick lunch of grilled sausage wrapped in a bun. It had been perfect. They had munched while walking along the river. Now, with the shops closing for the afternoon, they ambled along the pathway.

A group of boys were playing soccer ahead, their shouts a happy sound in the peaceful quiet. “This is such a lovely town,” Sophia said. “Honestly, Tomas, the more I see you here the more I understand. I’m a city girl, where things are vibrant and rush, rush, rush. But here, it’s …” She broke off, confused. “It’s hard to explain.”

But Tomas nodded. “That’s what staying at the Vista del Cielo is all about, remember? Maybe sometimes I take the quiet and slower pace for granted.”

He paused and faced her, taking her hands in his. “Sophia …”

He stopped and his jaw tightened. His fingers clasped hers tightly as she looked up into his face, falling under the spell of his dark gaze as her heart began to pound. Did he possibly know how attractive he was, how magnetic? They didn’t even have to be close to one another for her to feel the pull. It had been there yesterday, too, even as they’d shouted at each other.

But now, as he held her hands in his, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to throw caution to the wind and take things a step further. A holiday romance had been the very last thing on her mind when she’d left Canada. But faced with Tomas. The trouble was that he wasn’t just a sexy, enigmatic gaucho anymore. She knew what it was like to see him smile. Her heart still caught when she remembered the look in his eyes as he’d cradled her head in his hand yesterday, asking if she was all right.

And her body practically sang at the memory of feeling his lips on hers. She couldn’t deny the possibility of a brief romance held a certain allure. But as soon as she thought it, she dismissed it. What if she flirted? Tried to get him to kiss her again? Then what? What would he expect? Maybe nothing. But maybe a whole lot more than she was comfortable with. In some ways, she’d already bitten off more than she could chew with this trip. Tempting Tomas might definitely turn into more than she could handle, and if she were honest with herself, she just wasn’t ready.

“Is there something you want to say?” She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

For a long moment his gaze plumbed hers, but then he released her hands. “Just … it seems strange to be saying this, but seeing your view of the town, the pampas.” He paused, then offered a small smile, just a faint curving of his lips that reached out and held her in its grasp. “I had forgotten how to appreciate it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Me? I’ve done nothing. I know I came across as a bit of a princess, Tomas …”

His warm chuckle sent tingles down her arms.

“I’m really not. Not deep down.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead merely inclined his head towards the path. “Let’s walk.”

And there he went again, poking his head out of his shell just a little bit before turtling in again. It frustrated her even though she knew it was probably for the best.

They resumed walking along the path. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very good company. I hope Carlos and Maria don’t plan on using me as a tour guide very often.”

“Don’t be silly. I arrived unexpectedly and threw a monkey wrench into your week.”

“You’re our guest, Sophia.”

He’d said our and not my and Sophia felt the difference. She watched the boys kick the ball around, one rushing in to score a victorious goal. Another boy, smaller, scuffed his toe on the ground in frustration. Sophia knew how that felt. It was like trying to gain Tomas’s approval. It was a rare commodity, and somehow she felt it was worth striving for. A romance was out of the question. There was so much potential for things to go wrong. But she somehow wanted to think that they were friends of a sort. Someone who was a friend to the new and improved Sophia.

“I … I’d like to think maybe we’re friends,” she said quietly.

“Friends?” he asked, and she heard the surprise in his voice. Didn’t he have friends? Was it so incomprehensible?

“Sure,” she smiled as their steps slowed even further. “Amigos. I mean, you know more about me than you normally would about a guest, right? Far more than ‘where are you from, what do you do?’”

“I suppose.”

But did friends get that twirling of anticipation from simply knowing they were going to be together? She knew they didn’t. There was more between them. The question was, were they going to ignore it or explore it? Which did she really want? This was supposed to be a simple trip, uncomplicated. And Tomas was one big sexy complication.

They kept on until they reached the Puente Viejo, a gorgeous salmon-pink bridge spanning the river. They stood at the crest of it and rested their arms on the ledge, looking down at the smooth water.

“Sophia,” Tomas began, and she looked up at him, surprised to see his brows pulled together in a pensive frown when they were in one of the most beautiful, relaxing places she could remember.

“What is it?”

“As friends, I feel I should apologize for kissing you yesterday.”

“It has bothered you,” she acknowledged. Was this why he’d spent hours in the barn rather than coming to the house? Was it why he’d brought her to town today? Guilt?

“I was very out of line yesterday, Sophia. You gave me such a scare. I fear my actions made you uncomfortable.”

Oh yes. In the most heart-stopping, glorious way, but there was no way she was going to tell him that. Especially when he clearly didn’t feel the same. With Tomas it was always duty first. She could resent him for that if it weren’t so darned admirable.

“It’s okay, Tomas.” Sophia forced a smile when she felt none. “I know it was just a reaction. The fall scared us both. I know it wasn’t real.”

Tomas didn’t respond and the silence was more awkward than any words might have been. Was there any clearer confirmation? She needed to say something, something to dispel the tense atmosphere. Was Tomas thinking about it as she was? Clearly he regretted it. He was not interested in her. She, on the other hand, was remembering the kiss quite differently. She was feeling quite giddy about it, which wouldn’t do at all.

“I’m afraid I’m not a great host,” Tomas said, relaxing just a little. Sophia supposed clearing the air about the kiss was a relief to him. Tomas linked his fingers together over the railing. “Maria is much better at this sort of thing. She knows how to make people at home.”

What would Maria say if she knew Tomas had held Sophia in his arms? Or that Sophia had kissed him back as though she was dying of thirst and he was cool, reviving water?

“She’d flay me alive,” Tomas continued, almost as if he’d heard Sophia’s question. “For letting you take a fall like that.”

“It sounds like she cares about you. As a mother would.”

He laughed then, quietly, but it was warm and heartfelt, and Sophia loved how it changed his face.

“Maria is the heart and soul that keeps this family together,” he said easily. “I’m afraid of what she’d say if she saw you. She’d be meddling in the first five minutes.”

“Why?”

This time when Tomas met her gaze, he said nothing, but then he didn’t have to. The memory of their kiss was suddenly front and centre again, the diversion shattered. “Do you have experience with meddling mothers?” Tomas said it quietly, his magnetic gaze never leaving hers, with tacit acknowledgement that they were attempting to change the subject.

Which made the attraction they were trying to ignore simmer all the stronger.

Sophia forced a laugh. “Are you kidding? My mother is the biggest meddler of them all. She was the one that introduced me to Antoine. And she pushed me into a country club wedding.”

“Don’t all girls want a fancy wedding?” Tomas stood tall and turned to face her, resting against the bridge.

She shook her head. “Not all girls. I didn’t. Not a big production with two hundred guests, a photographer and a champagne fountain. I would have chosen something far simpler.”

“I still find it hard to believe this Antoine let you get away.”

“Oh, he didn’t. He just thought he could have everything,” she replied. And he had. Antoine had never considered that he would get caught. And even if he had, the expectation was that she’d fall in line just as she always did.

“It’s made me think about my gram a lot,” Sophia admitted. “Gram hated her life on the farm. She’d had a very different childhood in England. But I don’t think she ever got over leaving her husband. He was the right man in the wrong place, you know? She always sort of regretted leaving him, I think.” Sophia touched her finger to one of the amethyst earrings she’d always loved and sighed. “She gave me these when I was a girl. They’d been a gift from him. I think having them caused her more pain that she’d admit. Gram always said she didn’t know what was worse—a love that was impossible or one that was practical and suitable. After what happened with Antoine, I think I realized that practical and suitable really isn’t love at all. It was hard to understand at the time, but now I know that his infidelity broke my spirit, but it didn’t break my heart.”

“I’m glad he wasn’t the great love of your life. You would have been far more hurt if it had been otherwise.”

“Like you were?”

“What makes you say such a thing?” He conjured up a look so innocent Sophia couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I get it. You won’t talk about it. That’s okay.”

“I can’t, that’s all.”

What was so awful he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it? But then, Tomas wasn’t the type to do much talking anyway. What little bits she got from him were too small to let her piece them together to get a complete picture. She traced a finger over the pink stone of the bridge. “Why is it parents—and grandparents, I suppose—think they know best?”

Disappointed by his silence, she pushed away from the bridge. “Well, at least you’re not hiding a mistress somewhere.” Suddenly her gaze narrowed. “Are you?”

He laughed, and relief flooded through her though she couldn’t quite imagine why. “No,” he chuckled, “I’m not hiding a mistress of any sort.” He folded his arms. “Would it truly matter if I were?”

His soft question shattered the silence and she inhaled, held her breath. And then she turned her gaze up to him again and her chest constricted. “Yes,” she murmured. “It would. It would destroy the good opinion I have of you, Tomas.”

“Good opinion?” His mouth dropped open in surprise and then he shut it again just as quickly.

She wanted to tell him why but didn’t know how without feeling like an idiot. How did she tell him what it meant for him to pay her the smallest compliment? How it restored her confidence when he wondered how Antoine could have let her get away? And the kiss aside, she had seen the worry and fear on his face as he’d leapt off his horse and come rushing to her side after she’d fallen off Neva. Yes, good opinion.

And to elaborate would make her look like a girl with a crush—starstruck by her knight in shining armor.

Sophia noticed a small girl standing on tiptoe a few meters away, her hands on the edge of the bridge. She swung her arm and two coins dropped into the water. When they sank to the bottom, the girl ran off, pigtails bobbing, to clasp her mother’s hand and continue across the bridge.

“What’s she doing?” Sophia asked, intrigued.

“Many people stand in this very spot and throw coins in the water,” he said quietly. “They toss them in and make a wish.”

Once again Sophia went to the edge and looked down. She wondered what the little girl had wished for. Tomas came up behind her. She felt his body close to hers, felt as though every place they nearly touched was alive. “What about you?” she asked quietly, trying to still the sensations coursing through her. “Have you made wishes?”

He pulled back, putting space between them and she sighed, shaking her hair back over her neck. Why was it she always seemed to ask the very thing that would break the spell?

She wondered how often he might have stood here in the past. She wondered what he had wished for. Did he believe in wishes at all? Or did he think this was just a tourist trap and a pretty story?

It took a while for him to answer, but when he did, his voice was low and rough from behind her. “I did, a long time ago.”

“What did you wish for?”

Tomas sighed, and moved slowly to stand at the edge of the bridge, looking down into the water. “Things that could never be.”





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