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Overview
So when she inherits her grandmother's place in the Rio Grande Valley, she settles in for good—until her tall, dark and handsome neighbor offers to buy her out. She tells Marcelo Fuentes she'll never leave.
Marc offers to buy Kayla's land because her house is gone. He doesn't have the heart to tell her she's living in his storage building. Soon the rancher is falling for the feisty newcomer, and is unprepared for her fury when she learns the truth. How will Marc convince Kayla that the only home she needs is…in his heart?
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781460319123 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Harlequin |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2013 |
| Series: | Heartsong Presents Series |
| Sold by: | HARLEQUIN |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 192 |
| File size: | 346 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Marcelo Fuentes followed the trail of dust through the binocular lens, his curiosity piqued by who dared trespass on his land. He urged his horse around a clump of mesquite bushes to get a better look.
"Whoa, boy. Stand still." Raising the binoculars, he focused again, disbelief mingling with surprise at what he saw. A red Mercedes convertible raced along the dirt track. Idiota! Who in their right mind would drive that fast along an unused, rutted road in such an expensive car?
The horse blew through its nostrils and stomped, causing him to lose sight of the vehicle. He spurred the horse into a gallop, determined to confront the trespasser and set him straight on a few things. Mainly that he was on private property, and that he should treat his vehicle like a woman—with great care and attention. Not send it barreling down a rutted track.
He arrived just in time to see a suitcase disappear inside the door of his line shack.
"Hey!" he shouted. He almost fell off his horse as the intruder stepped outside.
"Well, 'hey,' yourself."
He closed his mouth with a snap. A beautiful woman, not a man, stared back at him. Hands on her hips, she gave him a big Texas smile, making her honey-brown eyes squint. Her hair, swept back into a catch of some kind, was the color of rich honey.
"I don't suppose you carry a hammer with you?" she asked.
"Beneath the sink. Left side." Marcelo shook his head as if to clear the cobwebs. What are you thinking, man, to give an intruder—albeit a gorgeous one—directives on where to find your supplies?
She reappeared seconds later with a sign and prepared to nail it to the outside wall. He slid from the horse and strode to the steps.
"Now, wait just a minute, here." He had to stop this and quick, no matter if she looked like an angel.
"Just a minute, Tex." She tapped the nail a few times till it was secure, then hammered it all the way home. The words read, As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. "That's the only family heirloom I have. It belonged to my grandmother. I only met her a few times, but this was her motto. I figure if it worked for her, it will work for me."
She walked to him and shook his hand, her grip firm.
"I'm Kayla Guerrero. Now, who are you and what are you doing on my land?"
He cast an approving glance over her face. He recognized the plaque. It hung over his neighbor's door until the house flooded a couple years back. By then, his neighbor was in a rest home and passed away two weeks later. He himself had salvaged the little wooden sign after the house had caved, and he'd given the piece to the family attorney. This must be the granddaughter. The lawyer said someone would arrive to claim ownership. He just hadn't said it would be two whole years later.
"Excuse me!" Her voice reclaimed his attention, her smile wavering only slightly. "You are?"
"Wondering if you'd like to sell the property you inherited?" He pointed northeast of where they stood.
"Sell my property? Not on your life!" She spoke as if Marcelo had insulted her.
"You have twenty head of cattle and three horses. That's a lot of work for a woman. Your land has the only natural water source around for miles. I could use that here on my ranch. I'll pay top dollar."
"Not interested. This is family land. I intend to settle here, put down roots. Maybe we could work out a deal with the water. You care for the animals and in return I'll grant you water rights." A sparkle returned to her eyes. She seemed so proud of her suggestion, happy that she'd thought so quickly on her feet.
"Miss, this is the twenty-first century. You don't settle for water rights. You own the water. That's why I'd like to purchase the land. Unless you have loads of money, there is nothing you can do to improve your property, and it's already in a sad state of disrepair."
The woman started to speak several times then held up her hand signaling him to wait. She disappeared into the shack then reappeared, striding forward till they were almost nose to nose.
"Get on your horse and get off my property." She spoke through gritted teeth.
The situation proved too humorous for Marcelo. In spite of himself, he chuckled. "Or what?" he challenged.
She extended her right arm, fingers clutched tightly around a can of mace poised roughly two inches from his eyes.
"Or I'll tell the sheriff there's a blind man staggering around in my yard."
Marcelo figured his mama hadn't raised any fools and his poppi always declared a good run better than a bad stand any day, so he did as the crazy woman asked. He got on his horse and rode off into the sunset. Literally. He squinted against the sun's evening rays and noticed that the cattle he'd fed moments before still munched on the sweet-smelling hay he'd tossed over the fence, uninterested in the tableau before them. She hadn't even thanked him. She probably didn't realize they were her cows.
He turned in the saddle, glancing back at her. She stood defensively, a small pink camouflage canister grasped in one hand, the other raised to shade her eyes. He waved a brief salute; she stiffened and haughtily tossed her head. Marcelo could hold it no longer. Laughter floated up from his throat, rocking his shoulders, deep and jovial. He planned to have the last word with this beautiful spitfire.
He topped the small rise that hid the back of the ranch from Route 281 bypass traffic. He'd chosen the western section of land he and his brothers had inherited. Juan Antonio, the middle son, had chosen the eastern section near the Gulf of Mexico. He'd planted sugar cane. Raoul, the youngest, had been left with the family hacienda, the middle acreage known as the Citrus Queen. Grapefruit, the main crop, along with oranges and lemons, supplied livelihood for fifty-plus workers, and they had squeezed by with a fairly decent crop yield this past winter. Even though the brothers went separate ways with their inheritance, it was understood that the land belonged to the three of them and in time of need, help was guaranteed.