There was a small silence while the wind seemed to hold its breath. Even the chestnut stopped snorting and rearing while Colby stared in horror at her brother. 'Are we talking about the same De La Cruz who came to this ranch and
'Well,' he hedged, 'it was Juan Chavez who brought the horses over, sixteen of them. We had to take them, Colby. He's paying top dollar and we need the money. You said your-self Clinton Daniels was pushing us about the mortgage.'
'Not their money,' Colby snapped impatiently.
She reached out to shove her hand affectionately through his jet black hair. 'It isn't your fault. I should have expected something like this and warned you. Ever since that family showed up, that De La Cruz person has been nothing but trouble. I wrote the letter to the Chevez family for Dad nearly three years ago. Isn't it a blooming miracle they're finally getting around to answering it?' Colby swung around to face the chestnut, watching it carefully with wary eyes. 'This horse is probably their way of getting rid of me so they can have you. With me out of the way they might have a chance at taking you and Ginny with them back to their South American hell-hole.
Colby was short and slender with soft full curves, large deep green eyes fringed with lacy dark lashes, and an abundance of long silky hair. Shapely arms deceptively hid strong muscles. White scars marred the deep tan on her arms and on her small hands, showing the years of labor. Paul, watching the dimple melt into the corner of her mouth, felt a surge of pride. He knew how she hated her scars, her hands, yet they were so much a part of her. Unorthodox, free, untamable, so natural, there was no one like Colby.
'They live on a multi-million-dollar ranch,' Paul pointed out. 'Posh. Probably a swimming pool, no work. Beautiful women. Sounds like a tough life to me. Maybe it's a conspiracy and I'm in on it.'
'Are you telling me you can be bribed?'
He shrugged his wiry shoulders, winking at her with a little mischievous grin. 'If the price is right you never know.' He tried to waggle his eyebrows and failed. 'You don't have to worry, Colby,' Paul offered suddenly, 'I don't think Mr. De La Cruz knew Juan brought the horses to us. In any case'-he shrugged pragmatically-'money's money.'
'So it is, my boy.' Colby sighed.
At seventeen Colby had shouldered sole responsibility for the ranch, her eleven-year-old brother, and six-year- old sister after a freak small plane accident had left their mother dead and Armando paralyzed. She had done so without a murmur of protest. Two years after the accident, her stepfather had insisted Colby write to his family in Brazil and ask them to come out quickly. He had known he was dying and he had put aside his pride to ask for help for his children. No one had answered, and their beloved father had died surrounded by his children, but without his brothers and sisters. Now, at sixteen, Paul could appreciate what these last five years had cost Colby. He did his best to take some of the load from her, knowing, for the first time in his life, what it was like to really worry about someone else. Each time Colby was thrown from a horse, he found his heart beating overtime.
Colby never complained, but he could see the signs of strain, the weariness growing in her. 'You want to take a break? The sun's down,' he suggested hopefully. No doubt Colby was bruised from head to toe. His eagle eyes noticed she was cradling her left arm.
'Sorry, hon.' Colby shook her red head regretfully. 'I can't let this one get the idea he's boss. Let's get back to it.' Without a trace of fear she entered the corral and caught the reins of the huge animal.
Paul watched her as he'd done a thousand times in the past, her small slender figure, fragile looking beside a half wild horse, yet totally confident. She had built such a reputation for herself as a trainer, many of the top rodeo riders brought their newest acquisitions to her from all over the United States. Normally, she spent weeks, months, gentling them patiently. She had a special affinity for animals, horses in particular. Colby's methods were usually harder on her than the horses. It was when she had to break them fast, like now, that Paul worried the most.
Their ranch was small, mainly for horses-the few cattle and acres of hay were for their own personal use. It was a hard life, but a good one. Their father, Armando Chevez, had come to this country when he was buying horses for his wealthy family in Brazil, looking for new bloodlines for the enormous ranches they had in South America. He had met and married Virginia Jansen, Colby's mother. Their match was not looked upon fondly by his family and he had been virtually disinherited. Colby never told her father she had found the letter from the Chevez patriarch stating he was to leave the 'promiscuous, money-hungry American woman with her bastard daughter' and return home at once or he would be considered as if dead by the entire family. Colby had no idea who her birth father was and could care less. She loved Armando Chevez and thought of him as her true father. He had loved her and protected and cared for her as if she was his own blood. Paulo and Ginny were her family and she guarded them fiercely. She was determined they would have the ranch when they came of age, just as Armando Chevez had planned. It was the least Colby could do for him.
It had been a long afternoon and seemed an even longer evening. Paul was clenching his teeth and swearing softly under his breath as again and again the big chestnut broke his grip on the bridle and Colby was sent crashing to the ground or into the fence with bone-jarring force.
Ginny arrived and placed a picnic basket filled with a thermos of lemonade and cold fried chicken on the ground, then sat down outside the corral waiting patiently, one fist jammed into her mouth, her large brown eyes, round with anxiety, fixed on her sister.
Colby tightened her hold on the reins, her delicate features set with determination. Ducking her head she wiped the thin trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth onto her sleeve. Beneath her she could feel the powerful muscles of the horse begin to bunch, to stiffen. Paul took a step forward, his hand clenched so tight on the bridle his knuckles were white. The animal's huge head attempted to drop. Colby fought it up expertly. Even as the struggle took place Paul marveled at Colby's control. Then the horse once again broke free of Paul's grip and threw itself from side to side, rearing, bucking, whirling, and crow-hopping.
Ginny leapt to her feet, clutching the railing as she stared in awe at the expertise with which Colby anticipated the chestnut's every move. Twice Paul was certain the horse was going to fling himself over backward. But Colby was determined to remain in control, her entire being concentrated on the horse.
Rafael De La Cruz parked his truck near a cliff overlooking the entire valley. Behind him the mountains rose steeply, covered thickly in pine and fir. The woman nestled beside him touched him with a scarlet-tipped fingernail, very reminiscent of a bloody talon. He stared at it a moment then leaned over her abruptly, dispassionately, and pushed her hair away from the pulse beating strongly in her neck. He tried to recall what her name was, someone who was thought important in the small world he inhabited at the moment, but no one to stir his interest. All that mattered to him was the steady sound of her heartbeat calling to him.
She was prey like all the rest of them. Healthy. Strong. A woman who wanted to sleep with someone rich and powerful. There were so many of them, women who were drawn to the De La Cruz brothers like moths to flames. She tilted her head at him and he immediately captured her gaze, mesmerizing her. It was almost more trouble than it was worth.
Rafael sank his fangs deep into her neck and he fed. He drank his fill, all the while fighting down the beast threatening to rise, demanding the kill, whispering of ultimate power, whispering of emotion, of
