a fit. She was no longer the headstrong thirteen-year-old who had rebelled whenever she could. She had accepted her lot, wrapped in a cocoon of safety, at her father’s command. His only concern was her well-being, after all.
Her well-being depended on a few hours away from her family. That was that.
She leaned back on the counter and waited. She knew that her attempts at cooking usually resulted in a smoke alarm going off. Plus, like any self-respecting male, forcing Joaquin to give his opinion on clothing and hairstyles ranked just below being shot. If she tried hard—and started trying on shoes—she could make him wish someone would kill him just to put him out of his misery.
She got out the bowls and the cereal before she set the milk on the table. “Perhaps I shall try pancakes again,” she mused. “They weren’t that bad last time, were they?”
They had, of course, been horrid—not even the dogs would eat them. They’d been less “cake” and more “biscuit” in texture—and of course she’d burned them. Papa and Alejandro had gamely tried them, as had Joaquin, who had suffered from indigestion for the next two days.
Joaquin shot her a surprisingly dirty look as he rubbed his chest. Clearly he was remembering the indigestion, as well. “I will kill him if he touches you,” he said, his voice creaky from lack of use.
Gabriella smiled. She’d broken him, which was no mean feat in and of itself. Joaquin was trained to resist torture, but no technique could defend against her attempts at cooking. “Of course,” she agreed, trying to contain her excitement. “Papa would expect nothing less.”
She finished her cold breakfast and went up to shower. Her heart was racing as she dressed and braided her hair back into a long, secure rope.
She wanted to get to McDaniel’s Acres as soon as possible, but she had one thing to do first.
Gabriella assembled a tray with not-too-burned toast, cold cereal, orange juice and a thermos of coffee and headed upstairs. She juggled the tray and knocked on the door. “Alejandro? It’s me. Gabriella.”
The door cracked open and Alejandro stood in front of her. He gave her a look that made her wonder if her knew who she was. He wore a rumpled white tee and plaid pajama bottoms.
Nothing had changed. Oh, how she wished that one day he’d wake up and be her brother again. She lifted his breakfast. “I brought you food. Are you hungry?”
Alejandro stared at her a moment longer, as if he wasn’t seeing her but through her. “Thank you,” he mumbled, stepping to the side so she could enter.
The room was a disaster. The sheets were in a heap on the floor, socks were everywhere and the television was on the blue screen. It looked as though Alejandro hadn’t left this room in weeks—because he hadn’t. “Your housekeeper, Maria, will be here today. She’ll prepare you lunch and tidy up this room. She will also do any laundry you require.”
This announcement was met with Alejandro slumping back onto his bed, staring at the blue screen.
Gabriella set his tray down and gathered up the remains of last night’s dinner. It hurt her to see her brother like this. At first, she’d been so relieved that he’d been found, but without his memory, it was almost as if he were still lost. Right in front of her, but still lost.
“I’m going to be visiting your old friend, Chance McDaniel, today,” she said, more to keep the tears at bay than anything else.
Then something unusual happened. Alejandro’s head snapped up and his eyes focused on her. For the first time in weeks, she felt as if he knew who she was. Or, at the very least, who Mr. McDaniel was.
Was that it? Did he remember something about Chance McDaniel—something connected with his abduction?
Just as her hopes began to rise, he said, “Everyone keeps talking about him, but...” He shrugged his shoulders and looked away.
This time, however, she wasn’t so sure that he didn’t know. His gaze had been too direct, too knowing. “He invited me out to ride at his ranch,” she continued, busying herself with gathering up his dirty clothes—and keeping a close eye on him. “Joaquin will be joining me, of course.”
Her brother was stroking his chin now, looking thoughtful—and very aware.
“Papa agreed,” Gabriella went on, fluffing his pillows. “He thought it would give me the chance to see if Mr. McDaniel has any place where he could hide a person.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shake his head. It was a small gesture, but it seemed as if Alejandro thought this little mission was foolish.
Gabriella couldn’t contain herself any longer. She fell on her knees in front of Alejandro, taking his hands in hers. “If you could tell me anything—something you remember, some sound, something—I will help you.” That unfocused blankness stole back over his face. “Don’t you trust me, hermano?”
At first she did not think he was going to respond. But then he disentangled his hands from hers and patted her on the cheek. “You are...”
Gabriella’s throat closed up. Did he remember her?
“You are a nice lady,” he finished. “Have fun riding.”
Then he was gone, flopping back onto his bed and grabbing the remote. Within seconds, the sounds of football filled the room.
Gabriella stood, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. If he was in there—and, for the first time in days, she had hope that he was—then one thing was painfully clear.
He didn’t trust her.
Gabriella pulled the door shut behind her and paused to collect herself. Alejandro had managed to say something to her, after all. If he suspected Mr. McDaniel had had a part in his kidnapping, surely he would not have told her to have fun riding with the man.
But he had. She was a nice lady, whatever that meant, and she should have fun.
So that was exactly what she was going to do.
Four
With Joaquin in the driver’s seat, Gabriella arrived at McDaniel’s Acres at 9:55 a.m. They drove under the rustic gate that welcomed visitors before they continued up a long, winding drive of blacktop.
Gabriella leaned close to the tinted windows in the backseat, trying to take in the magnitude of the land they were crossing.
Hills rolled in all directions. Clusters of trees followed what was probably an arroyo or creek, but there weren’t the old-growth forests that ringed Las Cruces. Instead low shrubs and those famous tumbleweeds dotted the landscape.
What would the hills look like in a few months? Would Texas bluebells cover the ground, color exploding everywhere? Or would grass grow in, deep and green—like Chance McDaniel’s eyes?
She straightened in her seat and glanced at Joaquin’s silent form in the front seat. She was not here to think about Mr. McDaniel’s eyes and she would not be here in a few months to see the spring bloom. She would be back at Las Cruces, riding her own horses and making jewelry and not attempting more pancakes under any circumstances. Alejandro would
