They probably would, too, he thought with a sigh, changing hands on the phone as he paced his hotel suite.
First there were problems with the Zimco acquisition, and now trouble was brewing with his young half sister, seventeen-year-old Anabella.
It had not been a good day so far and it was about to get much worse because he was forced to deal with his stepmother who couldn’t roll out of bed without at least one or two good stiff drinks. It was now almost noon in Argentina, which meant Marquita must be halfway through a liter of vodka by now.
If he didn’t care it would be so much easier. He could walk from his family, walk from the unbelievable debt his late father had left them, walk away from all of it and just do what he pleased.
Unfortunately, what pleased him was knowing he wasn’t like his father. What pleased him was providing for his younger sisters. What pleased him was proving that he was as unlike his father as possible.
The screech of Marquita’s voice in his ear brought him back to the moment. The phone dangled from his fingers as he paced the floor of his suite. Marquita was drunker than usual for noon. She must have finished her liter and started on a new bottle already.
“What’s Anabella done now?” he asked with exaggerated patience.
Countess Marquita Galván immediately launched into an incoherent diatribe, gibberish words about Anabella and boys and running away from school.
Dante closed his eyes and drew a slow, deep breath. “Where is she?”
“At school, of course. She can’t come here.”
“Why not?” he asked. “She is your daughter.”
“Because I can’t deal with her. I can’t handle her problems. I have problems of my own.”
Yes, liquor, laziness, extravagance. His jaw hardened, a muscle popping close to his ear as he fought to contain his anger. Why had his stepmother ever had children? How could she have three and then abdicate all responsibility?
He suddenly pictured Tadeo, the lost one, the half brother who’d never made it to eighteen. Dante’s heart felt wrenched. It actually felt broken in places. Would he never get over Tadeo’s death? Would he ever be able to think of Tadeo without wanting to scream?
Tadeo was a great kid. Smart, funny, compassionate, sensitive. Sensitive. And it had killed him.
Dante was damned if he’d let Marquita’s indifference destroy Anabella, too. “I’ll be back in a couple days. Leave Anabella to me. I’ll call the headmistress. I’ll work this out.”
“Thank goodness,” Marquita breathed with relief. “I have a massage at two. I’d hate to miss that.”
“That’d be a real tragedy.”
Dante hung up, paced the suite another half dozen times before hesitating in front of the mirror hanging over the fireplace mantel.
Dark hair, light eyes, wide mouth. But he didn’t see himself. He saw his father. Dante looked just like his father. It was a curse, he thought, a curse because he was constantly reminded that his father had not only failed him, but had failed all of them—his father had brought them all to the brink of destruction and abandoned them there.
Dante felt his father’s sins again. Dante had saved the Galván family corporation from disaster, turned the bleak financial picture around, but that success meant nothing if he couldn’t save Anabella.
And he couldn’t do that here. He had to get back to Buenos Aires, which meant straightening out this mess with the Collingsworths and closing the door on what had been a very bad business deal.
Resolved on action, Dante picked up the phone, looked up the Collingsworth phone number, then punched in the seven digits. A soft voice answered on the second ring.
“Daisy Collingsworth?” he said sharply. He didn’t want to be harsh, but he didn’t like what he was going to do. He didn’t want to nail the Collingsworths to the wall, but he couldn’t afford to waste more time here. He needed to get on a plane. Needed to return home. One had to be tough to survive, he thought cynically. One had to take no prisoners.
“This is Zoe. Did you want Daisy?”
Zoe. Her voice was so gentle, almost tender, and he realized she couldn’t be much older than Anabella.
His gut burned. His chest tightened. He felt like hell. “Yes. Is she available?”
He waited a good several minutes before someone picked up the phone. “This is Daisy.”
Daisy’s voice was firmer than Zoe’s, a little huskier but no less feminine, and Dante suddenly pictured Daisy as she’d faced him at the track—pink T-shirt outlining full breasts, long legs sheathed in tight denim and the barest, softest lips he’d ever seen.
She was tall, blond and beautiful. And while her blue eyes looked cool, he’d seen enough of her temper to know she burned fire.
“Dante Galván here,” he said, and then almost smiled when he heard her swift inhale. “It’s time to get serious, muneca.”
CHAPTER TWO
HE WAS already at the track office when she pulled into the driveway. As she slammed the truck door shut behind her, Daisy caught a glimpse of Count Galván through the office window, and her stomach did a sudden wild free fall.
Perhaps her father had liked working with the Galváns, but she didn’t. It wasn’t just the issue of the stud fee. It wasn’t an issue of trust, as much as one of personal dislike. The Galváns weren’t known for their ethics, and Daisy despised anyone who took advantage of the weak. But that’s how Dante’s father had operated. Tino Galván preyed on struggling businesses, pumped them up with cash or promises of financial assistance and then later moved in for the kill, seizing not just the investment but the small business itself.
Dante was sitting on the edge of her desk reading a stack of paperwork when she walked through the door. She recognized the papers as their yearly farm report, a dismal record of all the losses they’d incurred in the last year. She couldn’t help shuddering inwardly, recalling that disastrous fire. The losses had been horrifying. On paper the farm was an absolute disaster. But she refused to let him see her fear. “Found what you wanted?” she asked grimly.
He made a rough sound and gave his head a silent, derisive shake. “It’s worse than I thought.”
Daisy felt heat sweep through her, embarrassment and shame. “It’s been a hard year.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” He tossed the report onto the desk next to him, the paper sliding to a far corner. “You don’t have any income. What happened to your great new breeding program? Where are your boarders? Your investors?”
She hated that she had to defend their business, especially to him, and still found it inconceivable that they owed his family so much money.
Nearly half a million dollars for a stud fee? Highway robbery, that’s what it was. Daisy couldn’t hide her hostility. “We have plenty of boarders. We’re training more horses today than ever before.”
“Pet ponies, not thoroughbreds.”
“Our work may appear trivial to you, but we’re a respected farm—”
“Without a competent manager,” he softly interrupted.
“I am the manager.”
“My point, exactly.”
The gloves were off. He wasn’t worried about hurting feelings any longer, or bloodying noses. It was war, and he intended to win.
He pushed off the desk and moved to the window. His narrowed