The Spaniard's Untouched Bride. Maisey Yates

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       PROLOGUE

      HE DOESN’T HIRE WOMEN.

      Camilla Alvarez looked into the mirror at her decidedly plain reflection. She was a woman, that much was true. Though, she had never been considered a beauty. Even so, she imagined that as far as Matías Navarro was concerned, she was a woman.

      Her cheeks were still wet with tears, her eyes glittering with more. It was unthinkable. Losing her father suddenly as she had to a heart attack, and then losing the ranch, as well. And all the horses...

      It was her heart. And, shattered though it was, fractured as it was now, she couldn’t lose it. She could not.

      But the horses, the rancho, everything was being sold to cover her father’s debts. Everything was going to Matías Navarro.

      He had been one of her father’s fiercest competitors. His racehorses were the only steeds that could compete with those of Cesar Alvarez.

      And now Matías owned them.

      Because apparently, their rancho had been in debt, the supposed millions of dollars that her family possessed nothing more than smoke and mirrors. All mortgaged to extremes and behind on every payment.

      Her father had been an idealist. A man completely laser-focused on his ranch, his animals, his workers. With little time or thought given to anything else. She didn’t even have to ask herself how it had happened. She knew. Her father hadn’t liked the situation, and so he had ignored it.

      Collectors had been hounding Camilla ever since Cesar’s death. And her mother—predictably—had gone off to France, taking shelter under the wing of one of her many lovers.

      She had always flaunted them in the face of her husband, but Camilla supposed that now that Cesar was dead, her mother felt it was all justified seeing as she clearly had an insurance policy.

      Camilla had nothing. Nothing but the rancho. The place she had grown up in, grown wild in. Her mother had rarely been in residence, and for most of Camilla’s life, it had simply been her and her father.

      And he had allowed her to do whatever she wanted. To run barefoot. To ride until she reached the end of the property, and then beyond. Roaming all over the Spanish countryside as she pleased.

      Her mother, an American heiress who had never settled well into the rural country life, had seen it all as beneath her.

      Camilla had seen it as everything. And now it was gone.

      She had begged, pleaded, as her horses had been led away from the property by members of Matías’s staff for them to let her go, too. If she was going to lose the rancho, as long as she could be with the horses, as long as she could be with Fuego, she could survive it.

      She had told them she would do anything, any job.

      But the stone-faced man guiding her favorite black stallion into the trailer had simply shaken his head and told her that Matías Navarro did not hire women.

      And indeed, the evidence had been all around her that it was the truth. There was not a single woman among Matías’s staff present at the rancho.

      Her father was gone. Her horses were gone. Soon, she would be evicted from the rancho, with nowhere to go. There were no provisions made for her. She had nothing. Nothing and no one. She had never been able to count on her mother during good times, she had no illusions that she would be able to count on the woman now that things were difficult.

      Camilla knew one thing. She knew horses.

      She knew those horses. She loved those horses.

      Fuego was going to be the next champion on the European racing circuit, she was confident in that. But no one else could handle him. No one else could ride him, and he had some way to go before he was ready for anyone else to try.

      Matías Navarro would find out soon enough that his new acquisition was essentially useless to him. If the horse could not be broken, then he was worthless.

      And without the horses... Her life felt worthless.

      She looked back in the mirror, examining her face. She was not classically beautiful. Her mother had always despaired of her heavy bone structure, the angular nature of her jaw and chin. Not feminine, her rather spindly mother had declared.

      For the first time, though, Camilla was completely pleased with this assessment of her looks. Because it was going to be an asset to her now.

      She opened up the drawer in the vanity and pulled out a pair of scissors. Then she touched a lock of glossy, black hair, and ruthlessly stretched it tight, cutting it close to her ears.

      Yes, she had found her solution.

      Matías Navarro did not hire women. But perhaps he would hire a new stable boy.