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But Elena del Toro had not been a docile victim. “She had fought them.” That point made Gabriella proud of her mother but, at the same time, it infuriated her. Elena had not gone as meek as a church mouse—but if she had, would she still be here? Would everything have been different?
Would Gabriella have more than a few hazy memories of her own mother?
“When?”
“I was four. Alejandro was eight.” She’d always been jealous of Alejandro. He had memories that Gabriella never would, after all. He remembered birthdays and Christmases, trips to visit Tía Manuela and church. All Gabriella had was a random collection of images, the strongest of which had always been of helping her mother choose the beads for the rosaries she made for the staff’s Christmas presents.
That had been what she had been doing the day of the abduction—journeying to a market to buy beads and supplies for the rosaries that she and Gabriella were going to make that day.
An act of kindness that had gotten her killed.
“He never told me.” There was a touch of hurt in Chance’s words.
“He...” She took in another breath of fresh air. At least she wasn’t trapped in the house, she told herself. At least she was on a horse. “He remembers more than I do. It is painful for us.”
“Of course.”
They fell into silence after that. Soon, she could see nothing but wilderness around her. The ribbon of trees she’d seen earlier was winding its way closer to the path they were on. The trees were trying to bud out. She could see the tips of the bare branches turning red with new growth.
Gabriella put thoughts of her mother out of her mind. It was not difficult—she’d had a great deal of practice. “We don’t have winter in Mexico City. This is all so different here. Even the horses are different.”
“Wait until they start shedding,” Chance said with a chuckle. “The mess is something.” They rode on in silence, then he said, “That hill over there? Nothing but bluebells in the spring.”
“I would love to see them.” Would they still be here in the spring, barricaded in Alejandro’s house and hoping that today would be the day he remembered?
“If you’re still here, you’ll have to come back.” He cleared his throat. “Do you know if you’ll still be here?”
She shook her head. Was he asking because he was trying to pinpoint the best time to make another attempt—or was there something more genuine in his tone? “Alejandro does not want to return with us.”
That still confused her, but now that she’d gotten out of the house and was riding across Texas, perhaps she could see why Alejandro wanted to stay.
“How is he today?”
“The same.” Chance did not need to know that his name had caused a flash of recognition in Alejandro. Not yet, anyway.
They rode on, with Chance pointing out the features of the land and Gabriella trying to imagine how it would wear its spring coat. “Is it different than your ranch?” Chance asked.
They were still riding side by side, with Joaquin several feet behind them. For the first time in a great long while, Gabriella had the illusion of freedom. She was riding across land that was not surrounded by fences and patrolled by armed guards. No other signs of civilization crowded the view.
“Yes,” she answered as the breeze played over her face. “We have far more trees. We do not have winter as a season—it does not get below freezing, except in very rare cases. Right now is a dry time.” The ranch would be wearing its shades of brown. “I had hoped to see snow.”
“We don’t get a heckuva lot of snow,” Chance replied. “Although when we do, it’s real pretty. Makes the world look all new.”
She looked at him as he rode. He sat tall in the saddle, one hand casually resting on his muscled thigh. He seemed perfectly at ease riding next to her. A true cowboy, she thought with a small smile.
He turned his head and caught the smile. “What?”
She could feel her cheeks flushing, so she quickly came up with a response to hide her embarrassment. “You said Alejandro would ride here with you?”
“Yup.” Chance’s gaze darkened. “He liked to race. Franny, my cook, would pack us a lunch and then we’d see who could make it to this shady spot down by the creek first.”
It was obvious from his tone that the memory hurt him—not the pain of what had happened, though, but the pain of what he had lost.
Without thinking about it, she reached across the distance that separated them and touched his arm. “He will come back to us.”
Chance met her gaze with nothing but challenge. “Which he is that? Your brother or my friend? Because I don’t think that’s the same man.”
Then he looked back over his shoulder. Gabriella did the same. Joaquin was only a few feet behind them.
She sighed in frustration. Just the illusion of freedom. Not the real thing.
Five
Was she pulling his leg? Or was Gabriella del Toro being honest with him? And, more importantly, would Chance be able to tell the difference?
After all, he’d thought that Alex Santiago had always been an up-front kind of guy, and see where that had gotten him? The main suspect in Alex’s kidnapping.
But Gabriella... She was something different. He didn’t want to think that she’d been lying to him, not about her mother. The pain in her eyes had been all too real to be an act.
He was pretty sure. Recently he hadn’t been the best judge of character.
He still couldn’t get his head around what she’d said. He’d sort of understood the need for a bodyguard—after all, Alex had been kidnapped by someone, and if his family was as wealthy as they said they were, Chance could see why the del Toros would need twenty-four-hour protection.
But her mother being kidnapped when Gabriella was four—and killed? Her father keeping her under constant surveillance ever since—and occasionally scaring the hell out of her?
Chance had not particularly liked the man at their first meeting. Now? He had no idea how he was supposed to not punch the living daylights out of Rodrigo del Toro without getting shot. To put his daughter through attempted kidnappings—some of which had obviously terrified her—was right smack-dab between cruel and unusual.
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