With the airstrip and the smell of the jet falling behind them, she exulted in the warmth of the sun on her back and the scent of lush meadow grass and wildflowers beneath her horse’s hooves as she chased after the hard-riding men. If this was to be her first test, no way was she going to fall short.
~~o0o~~
Seeing Rose in Argentina had affected him more than he’d expected. She belonged here why? He had no answer for that. Just that she did. He turned again to check she was still following them.
Did he doubt it?
No. He wouldn’t have left her if he had. He’d made sure she had the safest mount in the stable, a horse that could find his own way home blindfolded and knew how to avoid all the hazards—the snake holes, the prowling jaguars. Calisto was bomb proof. The old horse’s only goal, now he was on the move again, would be to return to his stable to eat.
Why had he left her?
Riding with a hard-on wasn’t a great experience. Did he need another excuse?
“She’ll surprise you all,” he told his men when they expressed concern about Rose’s age and experience.
Of course they laughed. Of course they asked him why she was here at all. These were men he’d grown up with. He was one of them. Their comments concerning Rose’s true value were crude and to the point. The stony look he gave them only made them laugh all the louder.
“You’ll bring her to the party,” one suggested, sliding him a look.
“The gaucho party?” He raised a brow. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Gaucho parties were heated events. If he invited her, Rose would either have to get with the program or face being shunned on the estancia. If he didn’t invite her, it was as good as telling these men that she wasn’t up for it—and if that were true, how could she keep up with them?
For once, his decision was easy. “I won’t be inviting her.”
He held up his hands as the expected roar of laughter rose about the thunder of horse hooves. “I won’t be here,” he reminded them. “I’ll be out inspecting the boundaries. You can invite her if you want her there.”
“You’d be happy for us to do that?” one of the men yelled as he exchanged amused glances with his friends.
“What do you think?” he yelled back. He was confident none of them would approach Rose.
He turned in the saddle one last time as they reached the towering gates marking the boundaries to his estate. His men turned too. Rose wasn’t far behind them. Rose was never far behind anything, he reflected with a wry shake of his head. His men were surprised she’d kept up with them. He was somewhat less so.
~~o0o~~
“A party? I’m definitely coming,” Rose confirmed. She was standing in line with Tom at the counter in the cookhouse. Tom wasn’t a threat of any kind. She was as aware as anyone on the ranch, with the notable exception of Miguel, Costanza’s father, that Tom and Costanza had something going on. Rose had been working on Dante’s ranch for ten days now and was beginning to get a feel for how things worked. Would Dante be back in time for the party? No one seemed to know. The only thing Rose could be sure about was that she had received a curt note forbidding her from attending the gaucho party. That seemed incredibly high-handed to Rose, and in a fit of pique, she’d torn it up and thrown it away. She worked for Dante. Her free time was her own. He probably wouldn’t make it back in time for the party anyway. That depended on which part of the boundary he was checking, the gauchos had told her. He could be away a couple of weeks, a couple of months, or as much as a year—though everyone doubted that, as there were polo matches pending, and his vigilante work took up a lot of his time too. At this point, everyone clammed up. The loyalty shown to Dante was extraordinary, which only made her more curious about him. She wished he would open up to her, but as there was no reason why he would…
“Hopefully, Dante won’t make it back in time,” Tom commented dryly as he lifted his tray of food. “It’s got to be the turn of visitors and grooms to thrash his team, and we stand a much better chance of doing that if he’s out of the way.”
“I’d love to try polo one day,” Rose admitted.
“We won’t be playing polo.” Tom laughed in a way that immediately caught her interest. “These are gaucho games,” he explained. “Dangerous and fiercely competitive.”
Which was probably why Dante had wanted her to stay away, Rose concluded. He wouldn’t want to risk losing the team’s horse whisperer to injury. “What do I have to do to take part?”
“You?” Tom stared down at her with surprise.
“Yes, me. Why not?” she asked, frowning.
“Dante would kill me if anything happened to you. Is that good enough reason?”
“Only for my value to the team, but I’m not going to get hurt.”
“I’ve seen you work with difficult horses,” Tom admitted, “and you are the ideal size for a jockey…”
“So stop thinking about it and tell me what I’ve got to do,” she insisted.
“I’d better warn you that the gauchos can hang on to a horse by their fingertips, or even by their teeth—and they don’t care too much who they ride off. The one thing they’ll never do is to admit defeat.”
“And you would?” she countered with a speculative glance at Tom. His slow smile told her everything she needed to know. “And neither will I,” she promised.