The Last Chance Ranch (22 page)

The bubble, iridescent with the promise of all the things she’d missed and wanted so much, expanded to fill her entire being. “I am so in love with you,” she said softly, “that it almost seems like a dream.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I want babies, Ramón. Do you want more children?”

He laughed, triumphantly and grabbed her, kissing her face. “Yes, yes, yes. A dozen, if you want. Babies everywhere.” He kissed her again. “Oh, yes.”

“Well, okay, then.” She shrugged. “I guess I’ll marry you, then.” She flashed an evil grin.

He laughed and hugged her. Tanya, swept into the power of his embrace, overcome with joy, leapt on him and let him swing her around. “I can’t believe I found you,” she whispered into his neck. “I love you.”

Ramón put her down and took her face in his hands in that gentle, cherishing gesture she so loved. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Ramón.”

He closed his eyes and opened them again. “And I,” he said, bending to touch his lips to hers, “love you, Tanya.”

They were married in the church at Manzanares, an old Spanish adobe that had stood there for more than two hundred years. Tonio was best man, Desmary matron of honor. Zach, dressed in a new suit, was ring bearer.

Tanya wore a simple lace dress, long and white. She’d protested for weeks that she could not wear white, that it was only for first-time brides and virgins, but Ramón had unrelentingly asked her every day to change her mind. Exasperated, she asked him why white was so important to him. “A fresh beginning,” he said.

She capitulated, and standing in the warm room, her hand on his arm, she was glad. Ramón had broken with his usual black to don a white tuxedo that made him look almost too handsome to be real.

The old bell rang out in celebration as they emerged from the church, and as if nature, too, wanted a fresh start, thick snow had begun to fall. “Beautiful,” Tanya breathed.

“Yes, you are,” Ramón said. He kissed her.

The reception was held in the boys’ dining room, and it was as traditional as receptions came. A Spanish band played, and all the old ladies gossiped while children ran in circles in their patent leather shoes and toasts were lifted. The only nontraditional thing was the lack of alcohol served.

Teresa came in from town with her mother, a slim woman far younger than Tanya had expected, and Tonio danced with her all afternoon. “It’s love,” Ramón commented. “They seem so young.”

“They are,” Tanya said, and raised her eyes to her husband.

“Would you like to dance?” he said.

Gathering her veil and skirt, Tanya stood up. “Yes, I would. Very much.”

He waited for her, and took her lightly into his embrace, and Tanya, hearing the reception laughter and music swirl all around her, was suddenly transported to another wedding a long, long time ago. Remembering the youth who had kept her company, she said quietly, “We’ve come many miles to this day, haven’t we?”

Soberly, he nodded. “Yes.”

“Thank God you were there that day, Ramón. Think how our lives would be different if you weren’t.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to think of life without you, Tanyacita, never again.”

“Thank you, Ramón. You’re my knight in shining armor, you know.”

“And you’re my princess.” With a grin, he bent and kissed her in full view of everyone. “And I’m so glad I don’t have to pretend I’m not madly lusting for you every minute.”

A trio of boys sent up some catcalls. “Eeeh, Mr. Quezada!”

He grinned at them. “See what you get if you behave and mind your manners? An intelligent and beautiful wife!”

Tanya laughed and bowed, and they clapped. And then Ramón was swirling her away again and whispering what he would do with her when they were at last alone. And Tanya snuggled close, thinking of the days ahead with Tonio and Ramón, and babies and long winter nights. She sighed against him. “I’m home, at last.”

“Yes,” he replied against her temple. “Home at last.”

~~###~~

This is for the friend of my heart,
Sharon Lynn High Williams,
a tireless warrior for the lost children;
a lamp in the darkness, burning bright.
With love and admiration.

BARBARA SAMUEL O'NEAL

Barbara Samuel (also known as Barbara O’Neal) is the bestselling author of more than 40 books, and has won Romance Writers of America’s RITA award an astounding six times, and she has been a finalist 13 times. Her books have been published around the world, including France, Germany, Italy, and Australia/New Zealand, among others. One of her recent women’s fiction titles,
The Lost Recipe for Happiness
(written as Barbara O’Neal) went back to print eight times, and her book
How to Bake a Perfect Life
was a Target Club pick in 2011.

Whether set in the turbulent past or the even more challenging present, Barbara’s books feature strong women, families, dogs, food, and adventure—whether on the road or toward the heart.

Now living in her hometown of Colorado Springs, Barbara lives with her partner, Christopher Robin, an endurance athlete, along with her dog and cats. She is an avid gardner, hiker, photographer and traveler who loves to take off at dawn to hike a 14er or head to a faraway land. She loves to connect with readers and is very involved with them on the Internet.

You may read more about Barbara’s books at her main website, find her at her A Writer Afoot blog and on Facebook.

Visit Barbara on the Web!

www.BarbaraSamuel.com
www.AWriterAfoot.com
www.BarbaraONeal.com

~~~

Please enjoy excerpts of some of Barbara's other Books:

Excerpt: Light of Day
Excerpt: Summer's Freedom
Excerpt: Jezebel's Blues
Excerpt: In The Midnight Rain
Excerpt: Breaking the Rules
Excerpt: Walk in Beauty
Excerpt: Rainsinger
Excerpt: A Minute to Smile

Additional titles, including those from other genre, are listed at the end of the excerpts or click
HERE
to jump there.

Barbara is very active writing new books and converting her backlist into eBooks. To find the most up to date information, please visit her website.

(Excerpt)

by
Barbara Samuel

One

T
he car rumbled up next to Lila, a beautiful old Mercedes, black, with modest fins at its tail and a smoothly purring engine. It gleamed like polished glass in the silvery light of the overcast day. She’d loved the model since childhood, when the wife of a rich neighbor had driven one home from Dallas.

Only after she’d admired the car in all its detail did she notice the man behind the wheel—and he startled her. The lines of his face were as spare as those of his automobile. Harsh, slanting cheekbones cast shadows over the lean flesh of his cheeks. A broad, high forehead met straight slashes of brows even darker than the heavy black of his hair. His nose would have overpowered another face, but on this man, it was the only possible nose to balance the square, hard chin.

Lila grinned. If she’d been one to admire severe and arrogant men, he’d have been a prize. Instead, she thought he looked in need of a little whimsy to chase the scowl from that intelligent brow.

She flicked her wrist on the accelerator of her bike, revving the engine of her motorcycle into harmonious vibration with the car. He still didn’t notice her next to him, so with a toss of her head, she whistled, loud and long, in admiration of the car.

Black eyes, fathomless without the mark of a pupil, met hers. Lila felt her heart do an odd thump, and was suddenly thankful the helmet she wore hid most of her face. He lifted his chin in the slightest of acknowledgments, and Lila saw there was danger in his eyes—danger and power, and something else she couldn’t even name.

An impatient honk sounded behind her, and Lila glanced, startled, at the traffic light. Seeing it had turned green, she let go of the brake and pulled ahead easily.

It was impossible to resist one peek in her rearview mirror at the man in the finned Mercedes. Maybe, she thought as her heart thudded, there was something to be said for that darkly elegant type, after all.

A light rain had begun to fall from the Seattle sky as she pulled into the parking lot of The Shell and Fin, an elegant seafood restaurant she’d formerly managed with some success. A year ago, unable to placate the alcoholic owner, she’d quit to become a free-lance dessert maker, and now she sold tortes and other rich delights to them.

Rather than clip the helmet under the seat as she ordinarily would have, Lila dashed for the kitchen door to the restaurant. She hoped the storm would blow over. The Pacific Northwest boasted a great many advantages, but the weather was definitely not among them. One day she’d give in and buy a car.

In the kitchen, confusion reigned. Three women, dressed in the slacks and neat blouses that made up the uniform of the waitresses, huddled around a steam table, trading short bursts of murmured outrage. Off to one side, Lila saw another woman throwing clothes from a locker into a plastic bag. “Georgia,” she said in surprise. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fired,” Georgia spat out. “Along with half of the crew.”

“Who fired you?”

“Oh, that big shot that took over.”

Confused, Lila frowned. “What big shot?”

Georgia slammed the locker and pushed past Lila. “Ask somebody else to fill in the details, sister.”

Lila glared at the retreating back. “Good riddance,” she murmured to herself. Georgia had never been the best employee. Hired in an emergency, she’d managed to hang on to her job only through a kind of dogged ingenuity. But half the crew? Who else was fired? And who’d done the firing?

“What’s going on?” she asked the cluster of people around the steam table.

The head waitress, Charlene, a fiftyish woman with a rock-solid group of faithful customers, said, “A new owner took over Monday morning. He’s turned everything upside down.”

“Is he any good?”

“Damn good,” said Gerald, a portly man in chef’s whites. “I think he could turn the place around. They say that’s what he’s done everywhere he’s gone.”

Lila nodded, crossing her arms. “Great.”

Another waitress rolled her eyes. “But he’s fired almost everybody.” She ticked off the problems on her fingers. “We’ve got no bartender, one bus kid and one dishwasher to see us through the weekend. How are we going to get through on that?”

Smiling good-naturedly, Lila lifted her hands, palms open to signify her distance. “I’m just here to check on the desserts.”

The three women exchanged a strange glance. Lila narrowed her eyes. “What is it? Am I going to be relieved of my responsibilities, too?”

A deep voice, with the nasal but somehow sensual undertones of a native Frenchman, interrupted with the answer. “Actually, no, Miss Waters. If I may have a moment of your time, I’ll explain my hopes for you.”

With a ripple of intuition, Lila knew before she turned that the precise diction and lilting accent would belong to the severe man in the Mercedes. Embarrassed but determined not to show it, she swallowed a smile and turned.

The black eyes caught her hard where she stood, knocking the amusement from her chest like a bullet. He stood just inside the door to the dining room, possessed of the kind of long-bred elegance found only in the children of wealthy fathers or in men who’d striven to overcome their beginnings. As Lila measured him, she couldn’t decide which he might be.

An aura of ruthlessness about him suggested a self-made man, and yet his gaze was cool. It took in her leather flight jacket, her wild hair and long, swinging earrings—and dismissed them. He lifted an eyebrow in question. “Well?”

Again at a disadvantage over her open staring, she nodded. “Certainly.”

As he turned to lead the way to his office, Lila shot a quizzical glance at the other women. Charlene shrugged.

In the transformed office, he said, “Please, sit down.”

She settled in a functional, vinyl chair and folded her hands, waiting. He rounded a heavy walnut desk, smoothing an errant lock of hair from his forehead as he sat down. Behind him rain slapped with gray fury against the windows that looked toward Puget Sound.

He didn’t speak for a moment, and Lila found herself uncharacteristically nervous. He wasn’t a particularly large man, but in the small confines of the room, behind a closed door, she felt again that ripple of danger.

Which was ridiculous, she decided sensibly. Severe didn’t mean dangerous. She realized that he had a generous mouth between the hawkish nose and solid shelf of chin. He didn’t look cruel, as she had imagined at the traffic light.

“I’ll be frank, Miss Waters.” He tossed a pen he’d been holding onto a stack of papers. “There are considerable problems with this establishment, far more than my firm had anticipated.” He paused. “I’m told you once managed it all rather well.”

“I did,” Lila said briskly. “But if you’re about to offer me the position, I’m afraid my answer will have to be no.”

“You won’t even consider a temporary assignment?”