way to overlook Selena. Smart, cheeky, independent, and optimistic to the point of craziness, she was her own woman. Anyone who challenged that soon learned the other lesson of that red hair. Beware!
‘Besides,’ Selena said, coming to her clincher argument, ‘I don’t like millionaires. They’re not real people.’
Ben scratched his head. ‘They aren’t?’
‘No way,’ Selena said, like someone articulating an article of faith. ‘They have too much money.’
‘Too much money is what you could do with right now. Or a miracle.’
‘A miracle would be easier,’ she said. ‘And I’ll find one. No—it’ll find me.’
‘Darn it, Selena, will you try to be a bit realistic?’
‘What for? What good did being realistic ever do me? Life’s more fun if you expect the best.’
‘And when the best don’t happen?’
‘Then think of another best and expect that. Ben, I promise you, somewhere, somehow, a genuine twenty-four-carat miracle is heading my way.’
Leo Calvani stretched his legs as far as he could, which wasn’t far. The flight from Rome to Atlanta took twelve hours, and he travelled first class because if you were six foot three, and forty-two inches of that was leg, you needed all the help you could get.
Normally he didn’t consider himself a ‘first class’ kind of man. Wealthy, yes. Afford the best, no problem. But frills and fuss made him nervous. So did cities, and fine clothes. That’s why he travelled in his oldest jeans and denim jacket, complete with scuffed shoes. It was his way of saying that ‘first class’ wasn’t going to get him.
An elegant stewardess hovered over him as solicitously as if he didn’t look like a hobo. ‘Champagne, sir?’
He took a moment to relish her large blue eyes and seductively curved figure. It was an instinctive reaction, a tribute paid to every woman under fifty, and since he was a warm-hearted man he usually found something to enjoy.
‘Sir?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Would you like some champagne?’
‘Whisky would be better.’
‘Of course, sir. We have—’ she rattled off a list of expensive brands until Leo’s eyes glazed.
‘Just whisky,’ he said, with a touch of desperation.
As he sipped the drink he yawned and wished the journey away. Eleven hours gone and the last was the worst because he’d run out of distractions. He’d watched the film, enjoyed two excellent meals and flirted with the lady sitting beside him.
She’d responded cheerfully, attracted by his handsome, blunt-featured face framed by dark-brown hair with a touch of curl, and the lusty gleam in his blue eyes. They’d enjoyed a pleasant hour or two until she fell asleep. After that he flirted with the air hostesses.
But for the moment he was alone, with only his thoughts of the coming visit to occupy him. A couple of weeks on the Four-Ten, Barton Hanworth’s ranch near Stephenville, Texas, enjoying wide-open spaces, the outdoor life, riding, attending the nearby rodeo, was his idea of heaven.
At last the great jet was descending to Atlanta. Soon he’d be able to stretch his legs, even if only for a couple of hours before squeezing his protesting frame onto the connecting flight to Dallas.
Ben pared the bill to the bone because he was fond of Selena, and he knew her next few dollars would go on Elliot’s welfare. Any cents left over would buy food for herself, and if there were none, she’d go without. He helped her hitch the horse trailer onto the back of the van, kissed her cheek for luck and watched as she eased her way carefully out of his yard. As she vanished he sent up a prayer to whichever deity watched over crazy young women who had nothing in the world but a horse, a clapped-out van, the heart of a lion and a bellyful of stubbornness.
By the time Leo boarded the connecting flight at Atlanta jet lag was catching up with him and he managed to doze until they touched down. As he unfolded his long body he vowed never to get on another aeroplane as long as he lived. He did that after every flight.
As he came out of Customs he heard a booming voice.
‘Leo, you young rascal!’
Leo’s face lit up at the sight of his friend advancing on him with open arms.
‘Barton, you old rascal!’
The next moment the two men were pummelling each other joyfully.
Barton Hanworth was in his fifties, a large amiable man with grizzled hair and the start of a paunch that his height still disguised. His voice and his laugh were enormous. So were his car, his ranch and his heart.
Leo made sure to study the car. In the six weeks since this trip was planned he’d spoken to Barton several times on the telephone, and never once had his friend missed the chance to talk about his ‘new baby’. It was the latest, the loveliest, the fastest. He didn’t mention price, but Leo had checked it online, and it was the costliest.
So now he knew his duty, and lavished praise on the big, silver beauty, and was rewarded by Barton’s beaming smile.
Since Leo travelled light it took barely a moment to load his few bags, and they were away on the two-hour journey to the ranch near Stephenville.
‘How come you flew from Rome?’ Barton said, his eyes on the road. ‘I thought Pisa was closer for you.’
‘I was in Rome for my cousin Marco’s engagement party,’ Leo said. ‘Do you know him? I forget.’
Barton grunted. ‘He was at your farm when I came to Italy two years back, and bought those horses of yours. What’s she like?’
‘Harriet?’ A big grin broke over Leo’s handsome face. ‘I tell you, Barton, if she weren’t my cousin’s fiancée—well, she is, more’s the pity.’
‘So Marco drew the prize and he’s hog-tied at last?’
‘Yes, I think he is,’ Leo said thoughtfully. ‘But I’m not sure if he knows it yet. If you believe him, he’s making a “suitable” marriage to the granddaughter of his mother’s old friend, but there was something very odd about that party. I don’t know what happened exactly, but afterward Marco spent the night outside, sleeping on the ground. I went out for a breather at dawn, and saw him. He didn’t see me, so I vanished.’
‘No explanations?’
‘He never said a word. You know, Marco’s last engagement got broken off in a way nobody ever talks about.’
‘And you think this one’ll be the same?’
‘Could be. It depends on how soon he realises he’s crazy about Harriet.’
‘What about your brother? Isn’t he going the same way?’
‘Oh,
