What a Rancher Wants. Sarah M. Anderson

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      Three

      It took four days before Chance’s cell phone rang. He’d just gotten back to the barn from checking on the ponds for the cattle. When his phone rang, it played Alex’s ringtone. For a moment Chance thought it was Alex; that he had his memory back, that he wanted to tell Chance about everything—which may or may not include his sister.

      He handed Ranger, his horse, to Marty and grabbed his phone out of its holster. “Hello?”

      “Ah, yes—Mr. McDaniel?”

      Gabriella’s soft voice flowed around him. Chance was simultaneously disappointed that it wasn’t Alex and thrilled that she’d called. “I told you to call me Chance, Gabriella.”

      There was something of an awkward pause. He could almost see her trying to decide if she was going to call him what he wanted her to. Because he sure as hell wanted to hear what her accent would do with his name.

      But it didn’t look as if it was going to happen right now, so he redirected the conversation. “Any change in Alex?”

      “No. He is still...resting.” She sounded not awesome, frankly. Tired and worried, but underneath that, he could hear frustration. She was doing a damn fine job hiding it, but he could still tell.

      “Is your father still mad at me?”

      “Papa is only concerned with Alejandro’s well-being.” Her answer came without hesitation. In fact, it almost sounded as though she’d rehearsed it.

      He grinned. That was a yes, loud and clear. “So, you need to get out of the house for a while? I’ve got a beauty of a quarter horse named Nightingale that’d love to ride you around.”

      She didn’t say anything at first, but he heard her sigh—a sound of relief. Oh, yeah—he had her.

      His mind hurried to put images with the sounds coming across his phone. He could see her full, red lips slightly parted as she exhaled, see her thick lashes fluttering at the thought of going for a ride with him.

      Then, because apparently he enjoyed torturing himself, his mind turned those images in a different direction—her smooth hair all mussed up against a pillow as he coaxed little noises out of her. As she rode him.

      He went hard in his jeans at the thought.

      “You said you had a mule for Joaquin?”

      “Yup.” Chance walked down the aisle of his barn and stopped in front of Beast’s stall. The animal was a giant mule that came from a donkey crossed with a draft horse. Beast’s mother had been a Belgian, which meant he was a solid seventeen hands high and built like a tank.

      Chance had found that having a larger animal around meant more guests could take a trail ride—something that they’d appreciated. Most trail rides capped rider weight around two hundred fifty pounds, maybe a bit more. Beast let some folks who’d never been allowed on a horse to take their first ride—which was good for business. “This fellow can handle up to three fifty. Shouldn’t be a problem—if Joaquin eats a small breakfast, that is.”

      She laughed at this and again Chance was reminded of butterflies fluttering among the spring flowers. “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

      “When do you want to come out?” It was Thursday. The weekend was suddenly looking up. By a lot. “The forecast is calling for clear skies for the next few days.”

      “When are you available?”

      Hell, he was available anytime she wanted him to be. But then Marty walked over and said, in a quiet voice, “Don’t forget the wedding Saturday.”

      Damn. It was February, after all. The dude ranch business may have slowed down, but the destination wedding business СКАЧАТЬ