Читать книгу Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door: Honeymoon with the Rancher / Nanny Next Door - Michelle Celmer, Donna Alward - Страница 9

SHE was so lost in her ponderings that she didn’t notice a long drip of paint trickling down the side of the building. “Watch what you’re doing,” Tomas called. “You’ll want to swipe that drip.”

It annoyed her to be under his supervision and she gritted her teeth, taking the brush and swiping it down the side of the shed. She was nearly to the bottom when a movement caught her eye. She jumped backwards, sending the paint can flying. At the clatter, Tomas came running around the corner while Sophia stared at the grass, shuddering. “Kill it! Kill it, Tomas!”

Tomas held his paint brush aloft as he stepped ahead to see what the trouble was. When he saw it, he scowled.

“It’s a little wolf spider, that’s all.”

“Little?” she gasped. She shuddered and took another step back. Anything with a body bigger than a dime lost the right to be called “little” when it came to spiders, and this one was substantially larger than that. “You call that thing little?”

“It won’t bite you. Even if it did, it wouldn’t kill you.”

Wouldn’t kill her. There was a sense of relief knowing it wasn’t poisonous, but Sophia’s skin still crawled at the thought of the hairy eight-legged monster getting anywhere near her. She hated spiders. Hated them! The look of them. The thought of their legs on her skin. And the one at the base of the shed was the biggest she’d ever seen.

Tomas went forward and merely touched the spider with the end of his brush. The contact made it scuttle away to parts unknown. He picked up the paint can. Half the contents were on the grass, and wide white splashes went up the side of the shed, spatters on the glass of the window. He sighed, the sound impatient and aggravated.

He patiently took his brush and, with no concern for spiders whatsoever, moved it back and forth over the wall to blend in the spilled paint.

It made Sophia feel completely and utterly foolish. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I have a thing about spiders.” A huge thing. She knew she looked silly and the words to exonerate herself sat on her tongue. But she could not tell him why. It was too personal. Too hurtful.

“Maybe you’d like to work on the other side,” he suggested. “I can finish here.”

She would be a wreck trying to paint and watch for spiders at the same time. Maybe she looked like a diva, but even the thought of one crawling up her leg made her weak. Spiders and dark places were the two things she simply could not handle. “Will you check it for spiders first?”

He had to think her the most vapid female on the planet. But she could never tell him the real reason why she was afraid. The hours spent in the cellar had shaped her more than she could express. There’d been spiders there, too. Just small ones, but they’d crawled over her arms and she’d brushed them away, unable to see them. She’d held on to her tears that day until one had crept through her hair. It had completely undone her.

This was bad enough. She didn’t need to let Tomas see any more of her faults.

Tomas accommodated her indulgence and checked the wall, foundation and grass surrounding the area. “Satisfied?”

“Yes, thank you.” Sophia was embarrassed now. No wonder Tomas looked at her as though she was more trouble than she was worth. She dipped her brush and continued where Tomas had left off, determined to overcome the panic that still threaded through her veins. Not that she didn’t watch. She did. Her eyes were peeled for any sign of foreign creatures. But if another spider came by, she would not scream or throw her paint can. She would shoo it away, just as Tomas had done.

The sun climbed higher in the sky and the air held a touch of humidity. Sweat formed on Sophia’s brow as they worked on into the morning. She was beginning to appreciate all that went into a place like this. It wasn’t just meals and fresh linen and saddling a horse or two. It was upkeep, making sure things were well-kept and neat. The plain shed was starting to look quite nice, matching all the other buildings with their fresh white paint, and there was a sense of pride in knowing it was partly to do with her efforts. There was pleasure to be found in the simplicity of the task. It was just painting, with no other purpose to serve, no ulterior motives or strategies. The sound of the bristles on the wood. The whisper of the breeze in the pampas grass, the mellow heat of the late summer sun.

She sneaked glances around the side of the building at Tomas. He had mentioned that Carlos had taught him the ways of the gaucho, but he had said nothing about himself, about where he came from. He could dress in work clothes but there was something about him, a bearing, perhaps, that made her think he wasn’t from here. That perhaps he was better educated than he first appeared.

It was nearly noon when they finished the first coat, and Tomas poured what was left in their paint cans into the bucket, sealing the lid for another day and a second coat. “It’s going to look good,” he said, tapping the lid in place. He picked up the bucket and she watched the muscles in his arm flex as he carried it to the barn. She followed him, carrying the brushes, feeling indignation begin to burn. That was it? She’d worked her tail off all morning, and his only praise was It’s going to look good? She sniffed. Perhaps what Tomas needed was a lesson in positive reinforcement. Or just being plain old nice!

She trailed behind him as they entered the barn. It was as neat as everything else on the estancia. The concrete floor was cool, the rooms and stalls sturdy and clean, the scents those of horses, fresh hay and aging wood. Tomas took the brushes from her and put them in a large sink. He started the water and began washing them out.

“You were a big help this morning.”

Finally, some praise.

“Except when I threw paint everywhere.”

“It is probably a good thing you didn’t see him jump,” Tomas commented.

She paled. “Jump?”

“Si. Wolf spiders—they don’t really spin webs. They jump, and they’re fast on the ground. Usually we don’t come across them in the daytime. He scooted away, but when they jump …”

“Do we have to talk about this?”

“I find it very interesting.”

He scrubbed at the brushes with a renewed energy. What he enjoyed was teasing her, she realized. There really was no need. She was already feeling quite foolish. She had no business being here. It was not her scene. The inside of her thumb was already blistered from holding the paint brush all morning.

Face it, Soph, she thought. He was right. You’re pampered and spoiled.

She wished Tomas didn’t see her flaws. The problem wasn’t with the estancia or Tomas. It was her. She was the one lacking. She didn’t want to be spoiled. What she wanted was validation. And somehow she wanted it from Tomas. She got the feeling that if she could earn his respect, she could earn just about anyone’s.

Tomas finished with the brushes and laid them to dry. He was enjoying teasing her too much, and it unsettled him. It felt strange, like putting on old clothes that were the right size but somehow didn’t fit just right anymore. He had left that teasing part of himself behind long ago. It disturbed him to realize it was harder and harder to remember those days. But seeing Sophia’s huge eyes as he spoke of the spider, and then the adorable determined set she got to her chin when she was mad.

He should not be reacting this way. And it wasn’t as if he was going to catch a break. Until Maria and Carlos came back, Sophia was his responsibility. Even his subconscious knew it. The bread making was not an attempt at being a good host. It was simply the result of waking far too early and needing to be busy to keep from thinking about her.

Which reminded him that it had been hours since they’d eaten.

“Come on,” he said, leading the way out of the barn. “Let’s get some lunch.” Surely a meal was a good, safe activity. If he couldn’t escape her, keeping occupied was the next best thing. And he was starving.

While Tomas got out the food, Sophia crawled out of the overalls and hung them on a peg. The meal was simple: a lettuce and tomato salad and cold empanadas that Tomas took out of the refrigerator. “Normally best when they are fresh and hot, but Maria made a batch before she left. It makes a quick lunch. I’ll cook a proper dinner tonight.”

He thought of the two of them sitting down to a meal together and frowned as an image of gazing at Sophia over candlelight flitted through his mind. It was too easy to stare at Sophia, admiring her heart-shaped face and the way her flame-tossed curls danced in the light. He hadn’t missed the way her trousers cupped her backside, or that with her shirt button undone at her throat he could see the hollows of her collarbone. He wished for some interference to keep him distracted, but there would be none. And he would not let on that she got to him in any way, shape or form.

“Maybe I can help you. Cooking is one thing I can manage. Usually.”

“Ah, so the princess has a skill.”

He was baiting her again, but it was the easiest way to keep her at arm’s length.

“Everyone has skills. Just because they’re not like yours doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

She was right and he felt small for belittling her. What was getting into him? She was, he acknowledged. He’d been hiding behind his estancia duties for too long. With all the reconstruction after the fire, he was aware that things around the Vista del Cielo were changing. It wasn’t the same place he remembered from when he’d first come here. Back then it had been simpler. Full of life and possibility. And Rosa. Her dancing eyes, her laugh had been in every corner. Now there were times he could barely recall her face; the memory seemed like a shadow of her real self, like a reflection in the water that could disappear with the drop of a pebble on the surface. Rosa was slipping further and further away, and damned if he didn’t feel guilty about it.

And he was taking it out on Sophia.

“I’d appreciate the help,” he offered as a conciliation.

As they sat down to the meal, Sophia looked at him curiously. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Tomas looked up at her briefly, and then turned his attention to the platter of empanadas. “No.”

“Where are you from, then? Where did you learn English? It’s practically perfect. A hint of an accent, but otherwise …”

“Why do you need to know?”

Sophia huffed and toyed with her empanada. “I was just making conversation, Tomas. You do know what that is, right?”

Si, he’d been right. His social graces were so rusty they were almost nonexistent. Small talk. One didn’t make small talk out here. But it had been part of his life once. He should remember how.

“I grew up in Buenos Aires, and went to private school in the U.S. for a few years. Then I came back and studied Engineering.”

“Studying in the States?” Sophia’s fingers dropped the pastry pocket as she gaped at him. “You have a degree in Engineering?”

He nodded, reminding himself to be very careful. He didn’t like talking about himself, or the man he’d once been. Keeping it to plain old facts was plenty. “Yes, Mechanical Engineering. You’re surprised.”

“I am. How does a Mechanical Engineer end up working as a hired hand at an estancia?”

The explanation was long and unpleasant for the most part, and Tomas definitely wasn’t sharing. It was better that she thought him simply the help. She’d look at him differently if she knew he was part owner of Vista del Cielo. And it would open up a lot more questions he had no desire to answer.

“This was where I wanted to be,” he replied simply.

“It is quite a leap from engineering to the Vista del Cielo,” she commented, biting into the pocket of spicy beef.

“Right.”

Tomas went on eating, silent again. This hadn’t always been his life. He’d let obligation and duty dictate until one day the price was too high. He’d let so many people down. His mother and father, who had such hopes for him and the family business. His brother, who was supposed to work by his side. And most of all, Rosa.

Carlos and Maria had offered him a place. He’d ended up making it his home. When he thought of his other life, it was like thinking about a stranger. Everything seemed so very far away.

“Tomas …”

“No, no,” he said, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. He forced a smile when he felt none, knowing that he had to change the subject. He ran his hand through his hair. “My turn. How does a pretty, pampered woman like yourself end up with a broken engagement? Who broke it off? You or him?”

As soon as he asked the question, he was surprised to find he wanted her to admit she’d been the one to call it off. It should have made no difference to him. He wasn’t interested, so why did it matter if she was on the rebound or not? She hadn’t sounded particularly sorry when she’d explained arriving alone yesterday, but then pain manifested itself in many ways.

“I did,” she replied. She put down her last empanada and dusted off her fingers.

She looked so serious he felt compelled to tease her again, just to bring that light back to her eyes—even if it was anger. “What happened? Would he not keep you in the lifestyle to which you were accustomed?”

She raised her dark gaze to his, and he saw bleak acceptance. “Do you really think this is about lifestyle?” She smiled sadly. “If by lifestyle you mean affection and loyalty.” She looked down and cleared her throat before raising her head again. “Let’s just say he was enjoying marital benefits—without the benefit of the marriage.” She paused. “Or the wife.”

Understanding dawned. The dog had gone elsewhere, all the while planning a wedding with Sophia. “He was cheating?”

“We never should have gotten engaged,” she replied. “Both of us were settling for what looked good, I suppose. I’m ashamed of that. I should have seen …”

He recognized self-blame when he saw it and for the first time he felt sorry for Sophia Hollingsworth.

But she surprised him by squaring her shoulders and pinning him with a direct, confident look. “At least I had the gumption to kick him to the curb when I found him with his …”

Tomas rattled off a few words in Spanish. The words were similar enough to English that Sophia puzzled them out and she burst out laughing. “Oh, thank you for that. That’s perfect!”

Dios, she was beautiful, especially when she forgot herself and laughed like that. Her eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed rosy pink. How could her fiancé cheat on her? Why would he? She was a stunning, sensual woman, and he’d bet she had no clue of her own allure. He’d thought she was spoiled but now he was wondering if she’d just been sheltered. Either way, she hadn’t deserved to be treated in such a fashion.

“For a man to do such a thing—he has no honour. Why would he stray? You’re a beautiful woman.”

Her gaze struck his, and he felt the impact clear to his toes. For a long moment a rich silence enveloped the kitchen as his gaze dropped to her full lips.

This was exactly what he needed to avoid. He cleared his throat, searching for words to break the spell. “A bit spoiled, perhaps, but not unkind, I don’t think.”

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered, looking away. For a few seconds she studied her fingers and then she asked, without looking up, “You would never cheat on a woman, would you, Tomas?”

It was as if a cold breeze blew through the room and he froze. Cheat? No. But cheating was not the only way to wrong a woman. He’d failed Rosa in other ways. He rose from his chair and began gathering the dishes.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“It is nothing.” He ran some water in the sink for dishes. This conversation had to end now. And he had to stop looking at her as if she were his favourite sweet. “This afternoon we need to ride. I will do these if you will go to the closet and find some boots that fit. And a hat. You may borrow one of Maria’s, I think. The sun is already making itself known on your cheeks. You will also need some bombachas. They’re in a box in the office. First door on your right.”

“Some what?”

“Bombachas. Gaucho pants. You were right about the on-site boutique restocking—it is also on the agenda for this week.”

“Where are we going?”

“I need to check the cattle this afternoon. We will ride out along the pasture. It is not a hard ride, Sophia. You will be fine.”

Sophia looked down at her hands, torn between wanting to know about what had caused Tomas’s abrupt change of subject and knowing she should probably let well enough alone. And that moment when she’d told him about Antoine … there had been something in his eyes that had taken her breath away. She wasn’t used to a man having such a physical effect on her. There was a part of her that wondered if she could make it happen again, to feel that queer lifting in her chest when he settled his dark gaze upon her, or the shiver on her flesh the few times he’d touched her. She’d never felt anything quite like it before.

Not even with her fiancé. She looked down at her manicured nails, marred and slightly chipped from the morning’s work. She was beginning to understand that the spa days and shopping sprees were only ways to cover what had been wrong from the start. Antoine had never loved her, and perhaps she’d never truly loved him, either. She’d only fancied herself in love.

It had hurt her incredibly that he’d taken a … No. She wouldn’t even think the word mistress. It was too lofty a title for the tawdry piece he was … well, doing what ever he was doing on the side. She’d even blamed herself for a while, thinking that if Antoine had been satisfied at home he wouldn’t have strayed. She had harsh memories of the things Antoine had said about her at the end. Like that she’d driven him to it. That she was an ice queen. Those words still hurt. Because on some level, she was afraid they were true.

But a man who loved her would have waited. He wouldn’t have resorted to an affair. Tomas’s words helped more than he could ever know. It hadn’t been her fault. It had been Antoine’s lack of character. And the way Tomas made her feel when he looked at her was anything but icy.

Sophia sat, nonplussed at the abrupt change as Tomas banged dishes around in the sink. Only moments ago they’d been talking about her and even laughing a little about her situation. And in a flash, the curtains were drawn again and Tomas was locked away.

She didn’t feel it was the time to push. She stared at Tomas’s back at the sink, so straight and rigid and unwelcoming. Perhaps he would relax during their ride. She guessed he was the type that would feel most at home out riding the pampas with the wind and wide open space for company.

Unlike her. Her heart quailed. She had known since arriving that she would end up on horseback. But she hadn’t thought it would be today. For a second she considered confessing her inexperience to Tomas. But when she looked at him, his jaw was set in a tight line. He was shutting her out.

That was his right, after all. They were strangers, really, simply in the same place at the same time due to circumstance. He didn’t owe her anything and she didn’t owe him anything, either. And yet she was so tired of being shut out. Of being in the background, patted on the head. She was sick and tired of her role as ‘behaving appropriately’ because she was too afraid to do anything else. Wear the right clothes, meet the right people, say the right things. And for whose benefit? Certainly not for hers. For her mother’s ambition that Sophia would raise them above their station—and mostly for Antoine’s political aspirations. He’d insisted that his success was hers as well, but she knew now that was a bunch of claptrap.

She wanted a success of her own. Even if meant riding a stupid horse across the pampas to impress a stubborn Argentinian. She wanted the disdain in his eyes to turn to admiration.

She found the box in the office and took out a pair of gray trousers, crestfallen at the pleating and narrow bottoms. They certainly weren’t in vogue, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Then it was on to the closet for black boots and a hat with a rounded brim to shade her eyes. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’d like to freshen up. Put on some sunscreen before we go out.”

“Take your time,” Tomas replied. “I will have to saddle the horses anyway.”

Sophia detected a note of satisfaction in his voice, as though he was pleased he’d diverted her questions. It only made her more curious and determined to find out what secrets he was hiding. He’d skilfully changed the subject, but she wanted to know what had led him to leave his life in the city for one of isolation in the pampas. A loner like the gaucho, relying on no one but himself.

She stood in the kitchen minutes later, feeling a bit conspicuous as she looked up at a framed picture on the wall. The woman in it was relaxed and happy, astride a black horse and beautiful in full gaucho gear. Sophia wondered what it would be like to be that comfortable in her own skin. And she wondered who it was. Maria, perhaps? Whoever, the picture made her feel somewhat foolish as she left the house and walked across the yard in her outfit. The boots were new and stiff and she felt ridiculous in the black hat that shaded her eyes, as though she was dressed up for Halloween. All she needed now was a poncho and a donkey, she thought.

And then she saw Tomas, waiting beside two horses. She blinked, looking at him with new eyes. He looked so different, so exotically handsome. He too had proper boots and a hat and a bandana tied around his neck. He looked the part of a romantic gaucho, while she felt like a complete imposter.

She inhaled and stepped forward. She could do this. It was simply a matter of faking it until it was true. She’d had lots of practice growing up.

“You look very authentic,” he commented. So the ice man thawed a little, Sophia thought irritably.

“I feel sort of silly.”

“Don’t—you look the part. And you will appreciate the gear when you have been in the saddle beneath the sun.” He smiled from beneath his hat. “Perhaps tomorrow if there’s time, we can go into San Antonio de Areco and you can purchase a few things there to get you through the week. I don’t expect your designer clothes will hold up well otherwise.”

She knew he was right. She couldn’t swan about in Chanel and Prada all week, and to be truthful the idea of a pair of plain old comfortable jeans was heavenly. How long had it been since she’d lounged around in comfortable clothes, enjoying the sunshine as she had this morning? The thought perked her up.

“Are you ready?”

She swallowed, remembering there was still the issue of her riding skills to conquer.

She approached the mare and tried to appear confident. It seemed to her this horse was slightly shorter than the others she’d ridden—or perhaps she was just taller now. Either way, it helped alleviate some of her anxiety. With a bright smile she took the reins and then stopped short at the sight of the saddle.

“Problem, Sophia?”

It was unlike any saddle she’d ever seen. There was no saddle horn, and the whole thing was covered with an unusual padded skin and then cinched again. “This is different.”

“We keep to a gaucho saddle. It’s not too difficult. I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

She resolutely put her toes in the stirrup and gripped the top of the saddle where she’d been hoping to find a saddle horn. On the second bounce she got it, and settled into the seat.

It felt different than the western saddles she remembered, but Tomas was right. It was fairly comfortable. The blanket cushioned her bottom.

With ease Tomas mounted up and flashed her a smile. “Neck rein, like in western riding,” he instructed. “You do know how, right?”

Sophia resisted the impulse to bite down on her lip. It would be like learning all over again, but she would do it. After the spider incident of the morning, she would not let him see another weakness. This time she’d conquer her fear.

She put her right foot in the stirrup—somehow he’d managed to get the length just right—and with a nudge of her heels to the horse’s side, followed him out of the corral and towards the sweeping plain surrounding the estancia.

For the first few minutes they kept to a nice, sedate walk. Sophia felt the breeze on her face and the sun on her back as they took the path through the maze of green pasture and pampas grass. Once the trail opened up, though, Tomas spurred his mount to a smooth canter and without any urging, Sophia’s horse followed their lead.

The jolt of the motion and the unusual saddle nearly unseated her, but she gripped with her knees and after a few tense moments she settled into the rhythm of the stride. Not comfortably—she was too inexperienced for that—but she thought she might just manage to stay on top and not end up on her bottom in the dirt. Tomas slowed and eventually she caught up to him, fighting to control her breath and her heartbeat and act as though she did this every day of her life.

She envied Tomas. In comparison to her clumsiness and insecurity, he seemed as if he could do anything with ease. His hands held the reins loosely, unlike the death grip she seemed to have on the leather. His back was straight, his bearing almost regal. He looked like a god of the pampas up there, and the idea did funny things to her insides. For a woman so newly determined to be independent, the idea of having someone like Tomas as a protector was dizzying.

Oh, this was crazy. She was being romanced by the idea of some reticent cowboy and a South American version of the lawless West. She gave a small frown as she came back to earth. The distance she’d put between herself and her life back in Ottawa gave her perspective, and she knew she’d let herself be guided—pushed, molded, nudged—through life for too long. Did she even know who she was anymore? Wouldn’t this week be a good time to find out?

“What do you think?”

Tomas reined in and swept his arm out in introduction to the wide, grassy plains below them. Cattle dotted the landscape, peacefully grazing. To their left, the stream the taxi had followed to the estancia twisted and wound like a silvery snake.

It reminded her of the rolling land she’d seen once when she had gone to Alberta for a student conference. As the bus had driven them from Calgary to Banff National Park, they’d passed rolling land like this, dotted with round bales of hay, horses and cattle. The estancia was a taste of that cowboy culture with a twist. There were no Stetsons and spurs here, but when Sophia looked over at Tomas, his brown eyes gleaming beneath his gaucho campero, she realized that some allures translated through language and location.

“It’s gorgeous,” she admitted, always aware of the animal beneath her, ready to adjust the tension of the reins if she needed to. “It’s so open and free. Wild and a little intimidating.”

Tomas got a little wrinkle in his brow. “You surprise me, Sophia. I expected more of a city-girl perspective from you.”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Tomas,” she remarked, pleased when the wrinkle got a little deeper. It was encouraging, knowing she had the ability to throw him a little off balance too. “You can be anything you want to be out here, can’t you? There are no limits.”

She saw him swallow and look away. “That’s how I feel about it too. It is not so much frightening, but that there is a vastness to respect, si? I never knew what I was missing until I made friends with Miguel and he invited me to visit. The pampas … it is in my soul.” He looked back at her, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Maybe being here all the time has made me forget that. It is good to see it through your eyes again.”

“Then why don’t you look happy?”

Sophia kept a firm grip on the reins as she watched Tomas’s face. For a moment she thought he was going to say something, and then a muscle ticked in his jaw and she knew the moment had passed.

“This Miguel—he is Carlos and Maria’s son?”

He nodded. “We became friends in university. An unlikely pair. Me from the city and him from the pampas.”

Tomas laughed, but Sophia heard sadness behind it. “You weren’t happy?”

“Maria and Carlos welcomed me like I was family. They were determined that Miguel have a better life. They might have been bitter about being poor, but instead they were just happy.”

“And it isn’t like that in your family?”

He laughed, but it sounded a bit forced. “No.”

Sophia relaxed more in the saddle now, getting used to the shape and feel of it. “After she divorced my father, my mother was always very aware of the distinction of money … and the importance of opportunity. Hence my engagement to Antoine. A lawyer turned politician, full of money and ambition and the promise of power. He was everything she wanted in a son-in-law.” In a flash of clarity, Sophia realized that her mother had wanted for her what she’d never quite had for herself. Sophia blinked, staring over the waving pampas grass, feeling some of her resentment fade as understanding dawned. “Mother just wanted security for me. When we announced our engagement, she was in heaven.”

“And were you? In heaven?”

She thought back to the day she’d started working on Antoine’s campaign staff. “I was dazzled for about thirty seconds. And then I was just practical. Antoine had a lot to offer. And he was charming and connected. He treated me well and I fancied myself in love with him, I suppose. We skated along and after a suitable amount of time he proposed. I would have a good life and he’d have a good wife for the campaign trail.”

“Sounds passionate,” he remarked dryly.

It hadn’t been, and Sophia hoped she wasn’t blushing. In this day and age it seemed unbelievable that in two years of dating and being engaged, she and Antoine had never slept together. Something had always held Sophia back. At the time she’d thought it sensible and cautious, considering how stories exploded through the news about the private lives of public people. Looking back now, though, she wondered if there hadn’t been more to her decision she hadn’t considered, if she hadn’t put Antoine off for a bigger reason that even she hadn’t understood. Looking at Tomas, feeling the thrill that zapped through her at the mere sight of him, she was beginning to see a glimmer of her reason. She’d overlooked an important ingredient—chemistry.

“Not exactly,” she replied, staring out at the waving grasses. She’d blush again if she looked at Tomas. She was twenty-five years old and still a virgin. There was no way on earth she could say that.

“So, he was someone to keep you in shoes and handbags?” He tipped the brim of his hat back a little, his mischievous gaze settling on her face.

“Absolutely. More than that, it was stability.” Something had changed between them. There was no malice in his accusation. She knew he was teasing, and she welcomed it. A teasing Tomas was far preferable to a grouchy one, even if his teasing did hit rather close to home at times. It was easier to take than the stares of disapproval. “Like Carlos and Maria, my mother was poor. My grandmother was a war bride from England and life on a Canadian farm wasn’t all she’d dreamt it would be. She eventually divorced my grandfather. My mother fell into what she called the same trap, and she and my father split up when I was eight. Mom didn’t handle poverty with the grace and humour of your friends, Tomas. She was alone. She was the one who made sure I had the opportunities and schooling and met all the right people.”

Tomas nudged his mount forward, keeping the pace at a steady walk. “So you came here to throw it in your ex’s face.”

Had she? Perhaps in a way, but the trip had been far more about her than it had been about Antoine. “If I had wanted to throw it in his face, I would have gone to the media and given them all the details. It wasn’t necessary. Calling off the wedding was damaging enough. Even without making an official statement, I had reporters in my face. It is big news when a high-profile party member is embroiled in a scandal—even if it’s not quite clear what the scandal is.” She angled him a wry smile and he smiled back.

“You’re tougher than I thought,” Tomas admitted. “Maybe I underestimated you, Sophia Hollingsworth.”

“Maybe you did. But the real reason I came was because I was looking for someone.”

He turned his head towards her again. “Who?”

A lump formed in Sophia’s throat as she gripped the reins. The horse perked up at the feel of her hands through the leather.

“Me,” she replied, and nudged the mare along and down the path leading to the creek.