cowboy—for there could be no doubt that was what he was—was looking at her had rooted her to the spot.
His smile deepened as he held out one hand. “I’m Chance McDaniel. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Miss...?”
Any homecoming died in the air between them. Chance McDaniel? What she knew of this man was limited, but it did nothing to endear him to her—or her father. According to Sheriff Battle and Agent Collins, Mr. McDaniel had been close friends with Alejandro—or rather, with Alex Santiago. However, he was also one of the leading suspects in Alejandro’s disappearance—a crime of which he had not been cleared.
What was he doing here? More to the point, what was she going to do about it?
Behind her, Joaquin moved, his hand slipping up under his jacket. Gabriella quickly remembered herself. She could not imagine what would have led a leading suspect to ask to speak to the victim of a crime, but she also couldn’t have Joaquin pulling a weapon on him. This wasn’t Mexico, after all.
With a quick look that had Joaquin stopping in his tracks, Gabriella remembered her warm smile. “Hello, Mr. McDaniel. Won’t you please enter?” Instead of shaking his outstretched hand, she stepped back, narrowly missing Joaquin, and motioned for Chance to enter.
He stood there for a beat too long before letting his hand fall to his side as he took long strides into the foyer. He moved with a confident ease, projecting strength with each step. Of course he was confident. Otherwise he wouldn’t have dared ask to see Alejandro.
Upon seeing Joaquin glowering off to one side, Mr. McDaniel offered up a, “Howdy, señor.”
Behind his back, where he could not see it, a small smile danced across Gabriella’s lips. She had not believed that real cowboys would actually speak in such colloquial language. It should have sounded ridiculous, but with Mr. McDaniel’s rough-edged voice, it sent shivers down her spine.
Joaquin did not respond, of course. He stood like a statue at the edge of the room, his gaze trained on Mr. McDaniel.
Mr. McDaniel obviously knew his way around the house. He headed straight for the living room before seeming to remember himself. He paused and turned back to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name, Miss...?” As he said it, his gaze worked its way up and down Gabriella.
She could see him taking in her crisp white shirt—thankfully unstained with the failed efforts at lunch—and her slim black pants underneath the knee-length, coral-colored sweater-coat that contrasted perfectly with the heavy rope of turquoise and silver she wore around her neck, with earrings to match. He was trying to determine if she was the new housekeeper or not, Gabriella decided, as if every woman of Hispanic origins came to America to be a maid. However, she knew that very few maids dressed as she did. Which assumption would he go with?
If this man had been anyone other than the prime suspect in Alejandro’s disappearance, she would have hurried to put him at ease. She decided to let him wait. After all, she’d had to wait to learn if her brother was even alive. Someone else should feel as anxious as she had, even for a solitary minute.
She said, “May I get you some tea?” in her nicest tone.
Instead of looking irritated or even uncomfortable, Mr. McDaniel gave her the kind of grin that he probably used to get the average woman to fall all over him. Well, he was about to learn that Gabriella was not the average woman, even if she did suddenly feel a bit unsettled at the warmth in his eyes. “Much obliged, ma’am.”
Gabriella motioned him to the living room and then walked slowly and deliberately into the kitchen. Thankfully, making tea was her specialty and she already had a pitcher of iced tea steeping. It only took a minute to assemble a tray of two glasses and some biscuits. The whole time, she strained to hear any other noise coming from the house. If Alejandro had heard the door, he gave no indication of venturing downstairs to see who it was. But it also appeared that Papa had not heard the visitor arrive, which was probably for the best.
If Mr. McDaniel had had something to do with Alejandro’s disappearance, there was a chance that Gabriella could “sweet talk” it out of him, as the Americans would say. If Papa stormed into the room and began making accusations, who knew what would happen?
She knew Papa would be furious that she had not let him handle the visitor personally. She was well-versed in the art of gentle conversation, after all, and had been told she was a beautiful woman on numerous occasions. She could handle a man like Chance McDaniel. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was in actual danger. Joaquin was with her.
Mr. McDaniel had been sitting in the chair that faced Joaquin, apparently engaging in a staring match. But when Gabriella entered with the tray, he quickly stood. “Thank you for the tea.”
Gabriella set the tray on the table, but neither of them made a move to pick up a glass. Instead she found herself staring at Chance McDaniel again, wondering what kind of man he was—the kind who would befriend a foreigner or the kind who would attack an unarmed man?
She sat in the leather armchair opposite the one he’d claimed. Joaquin moved forward to stand behind the back of her chair, an unmistakable warning in his presence. If this Mr. McDaniel tried anything, he wouldn’t live to regret it.
A fact that he seemed to understand. Without another word, he sat, his gaze never leaving her face.
As she let the moment stretch, she again noted the way his presence left her feeling...unsettled. He’d dropped his hat on a side table. She could see his dark blond hair. He wore it quite short, but that apparently did nothing to stop the way it laid in waves on his head. He was freshly shaved but, aside from the boots and the hat, wore no other adornment.
He does not need any, she thought. The thought warmed her.
Finally he began to shift in his seat. She should not delay anymore, lest Papa burst into the room, ready to avenge his son.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. McDaniel. Alejandro had spoken of you to me.” A touch of color deepened on Mr. McDaniel’s cheeks. ¡Dios mío! he was more than attractive. “I am Gabriella del Toro, Alejandro’s sister.”
This pronouncement hung in the air like a cloud ready to burst with rain. “I was not aware that Alex had a sister,” he finally said. There was no mistaking the hurt undertone in his voice. “But then, I guess that there’s plenty I didn’t know about Alex. Like that his name is Alejandro.” He looked to Joaquin over her shoulder. “Are you his brother, then?”
Gabriella laughed lightly. “Joaquin? No. He is my personal bodyguard. As I’m sure you can understand, Mr. McDaniel, the del Toro family must take every precaution.”
Mr. McDaniel nodded. “How is he? Alex, I mean.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I was hoping to talk to him, if he was feeling up to it.”
Gabriella detected nothing deceptive in his voice or his posture. “Alejandro is still recovering from his ordeal.” Then, to Joaquin, she said, “Devrions-nous dire à Papa première ou Alejandro qu’il est ici?” in French. Should we tell Papa first or Alejandro that he’s here?
She’d chosen French because she assumed that an American cowboy living in Texas probably spoke enough Spanish to catch what she said. Therefore, she was completely unprepared when Mr. McDaniel said, with great effort, “Je peux dit moi” in an accent that was so bad he was almost unintelligible. However, she was fairly certain he’d meant to say, I can tell them myself. What he’d actually
