‘The ranch?’ she parroted, her eyes widening in puzzlement.
‘Don’t worry, I have made all the arrangements. After missing your father’s funeral I knew you would want to visit his grave as soon as possible,’ he said and she could only agree.
CHAPTER THREE
JULES slid into the back seat of the car and briefly closed her eyes. Her father’s grave… She sighed and opened her eyes, feeling guilty. It should have been her making the suggestion, not Rand Carducci. She had given him yet another black mark to hold against her. At the rate she was going she would be lucky if the man would even give her the time of day, let alone money.
Still she straightened in the seat as Rand slid in beside her; now was the ideal opportunity to state her case. Whatever her father had belatedly bequeathed her, could she convert it into money and how fast? That was basically what she wanted to know. If not she would just have to swallow her pride and ask outright for money. It was at least an hour’s drive to the Diez property. With a bit of luck she could reach some agreement with Rand by the time they arrived at the hacienda. A quick visit to her father’s grave and maybe even back to England on the next plane tomorrow. There was no real reason for her to stay a week.
Feeling much more optimistic, Jules turned slightly and looked at him. He was smiling, a good omen, she thought, but before she could open her mouth he forestalled her.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Jules, but I have some work to catch up on.’ His brief smile vanished as he lifted a leather briefcase onto his lap and flicked the lid open.
‘Of course not.’ Bang went her plan to get everything sorted before they arrived at the ranch. The great Rand Carducci had much more important business to attend to than her problem. On his list of priorities she obviously came very low in the pecking order. She supposed she should be honoured he had even deigned to spend the afternoon with her—but she didn’t feel it. Instead she felt resentment simmering inside her.
‘I can always reacquaint myself with the scenery, I suppose,’ she said sarcastically. But her sarcasm was wasted on him.
‘You do that.’ And without so much as glancing at her, he lifted a sheaf of papers from the briefcase and, in moments, with an elegant gold pen in his hand, he was completely involved in his work.
Through the thick fringe of her eyelashes Jules studied him at her leisure, her eyes roaming over his profile, noting the typical frown, and down over his broad shoulders, slightly hunched as he studied the papers he was holding. Jules discovered that her gaze was riveted to his long-fingered, elegant hands, her pulse rate increasing as she stared at them. Gentle but exciting, she guessed, and abruptly she tore her eyes away and looked out of the window. Where on earth had the erotic thought come from? she wondered with a shiver.
Fixing her attention on the passing scenery, the land dry and parched with the heat of the summer, she was vividly reminded of the first time she had travelled this way. Then she had been bursting with enthusiasm and hope, longing to meet her father, and now eleven years later she was returning to visit his grave.
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. He had loved this land with a passion, a commitment he had never been able to feel for anything or anyone else. Certainly not her, or her mother, Jules thought sadly; she could only pray it had been enough for him in the end.
As for her, unless her father had made some monetary provision for her in the codicil to his will so she could help her mother, she might very soon end up bankrupt or, worse, an orphan.
Her mother had recovered well from her operation and was working part-time, and looking forward to the treatment that they both hoped would seal her recovery. But she had not been happy at Jules coming here. Her mother thought it seemed mercenary, and that they did not need anything from the man as they had done very well on their own. It was only when Jules had said it was probably only an ornament or the like that she had been left, but the all-expenses-paid holiday was worth having and she could do with a break before her mother started her treatment, that Liz had agreed. Liz had no idea of Jules’ cash-flow problem, and Jules had no intention of telling her.
Stifling a sigh, she turned a narrow-eyed glance on Rand. It was all in the hands of this one man, and she was beginning to get the distinct impression he was deliberately avoiding discussing her father’s estate. Three hours later Jules was convinced of it…
They had arrived at the Diez ranch mid-afternoon. Sanchez, the estate manager, had been at the hacienda to meet them. Rand had been greeted with a hug, and Jules had rather tentatively held out her hand. She had been worried how her absence from the funeral would look to a man who had spent decades working for her father.
But she need not have worried as Sanchez ignored her hand and gave her a big hug as well; that did much to relieve her anxiety in returning to the ranch. Sanchez was the man who had taught her to ride a horse, and she had spent many a happy hour roaming over the ranch with him in the past.
Sanchez’s wife, Donna, the housekeeper, was equally welcoming, and to Jules’ amazement Donna was very obviously pregnant. She congratulated her and was rewarded with a smile and a hug. To Jules’ knowledge Donna had to be at least forty and had been trying to have a baby as long as Jules could remember.
Ten minutes later, seated in the salon, a glass of champagne in her hand Rand had insisted she drink in a toast to her return, Jules glanced around her, the memories rushing back.
She had been so impressed by the house as a teenager, but she was nowhere near as impressed now. The building, the furniture and fittings were beautiful, and immaculately cared for exactly as she remembered, but with maturity she realised the house lacked any sense of home. A portrait in oil by a famous Dutch artist dominated the hall, but there were no personal photographs, and nothing to say who had lived here.
‘So, Jules, how does it feel to be back, dare I say, home?’
The voice was cool, the words faintly mocking. She glanced up at Rand standing in front of the elegantly carved fireplace, one hand idly twisting the champagne flute between his long fingers, the expression in his black eyes impossible to read.
Out of nowhere came the conviction that this was a man who would dare anything to get what he wanted. He was poised like some mighty eagle, his physical strength evident beneath the impeccably tailored pale grey suit, waiting to rip her to shreds given the chance.
Jules chose her words with care. ‘The house has not changed at all. But it is not, nor ever will be, my home; that is not why I am here,’ she said calmly, and was astonished how normal her voice sounded.
‘No, of course, you are here to visit your father’s grave.’ There was a gleam of mocking amusement in his black eyes, and Jules felt a sudden surge of pure anger. Damn him, he had been playing around with her all afternoon, and she was sick of it. Slamming her glass down on the table, she leapt to her feet.
‘Look, Rand,’ she began, walking towards him, ordering herself to control her anger, instinct telling her she could not afford to lose her temper with him. She managed to resist the temptation by curling her hands into fists at her sides as she stopped in front of him.
‘You might have all the time in the world for visiting. Whatever, but I don’t.’ Her cool expression did not betray a thing but her mind was working frantically. ‘I have a very busy work schedule and I want to get back to England as soon as possible, so can we get down to business now?’ She looked at him with candid green eyes, trying to see him as a business acquaintance, nothing more. For some reason her body sensed its weakness next to his, and she didn’t like the feeling. She wanted to get away from his disturbing presence and fast. ‘What exactly did my father leave me, and is it negotiable?’ And she hoped like hell it was more than the ornament