“GEMMA WESTFALL, HOW MANY BLACK eyes will it take for you to realize you’re a lady?” Reyna called from the back porch, watching the young woman trounce across the gravel drive in a tank top, running shorts, and beat up cowboy boots.

“At least one more.” Gemma smiled. She climbed the steps and kissed Reyna on the cheek. “Good morning, Rina,” she said, using the endearing nickname she made up.

“You’ve been sparring with Rico in the barn again, haven’t you?” Reyna held Gemma’s chin in her wrinkly, soft hand and studied the shiner spreading across the young woman’s cheek.

“Ha! He wishes. Kickboxing class.”

“In your boots? Mija…“

“I go barefoot when class starts. Besides, you’re the only real lady around here.”

“Come in and eat breakfast before you start.”

Before Gemma could respond, a loud thump followed by Spanish cursing hollered from the barn behind the house.

Gemma smirked.

“Maybe later. Sounds like Rico can’t handle the new mare by himself.”

Gemma turned on her worn boots and darted across the lawn to the barn, where Rico’s profanities were interlaced with a horse’s neighs and hoof stomping. Flinging open the barn door, Gemma stopped as Rico threw a bucket of feed across the stalls and kicked a stool. Though fluent in English, Rico only cursed in Spanish, and better than any sailor. A true cowboy.

“What happened?”

“She bit me, hijo de puta! Pinche caballo, she’s lucky I didn’t punch her back!”

Gemma scoffed. “You’d have better luck against me.” The stall’s bars rattled with every kick from the agitated horse. She eased her way to the stall and peered inside. Spooking an already freaked mare guaranteed a kick in the gut. Or worse.

Butterscotch made up for her small frame with spirit and temper. Gemma had fallen in love with her flawless honey coat and blonde mane, and had urged Reyna to buy her. Yet after two weeks, the horse wasn’t warming up to her new home. Or friends.

“No wonder they sold her so cheap,” Rico groaned while gripping his wounded arm. “You two were made for each other.”

Without a sideways glance, Gemma punched Rico in his other arm.

“Ow!”

“Now you won’t notice the other one as much.”

“It still hurts.”

“Then you got what you deserve. By the way, you left a rope in her stall.”

“So?”

“Ropes freak her out.”

“Well, I’m not going back in there again. Evil pendeja.”

“Sissy.” Gemma grabbed a dried biscuit from the bin by the door and slowly opened the gate, inch by inch to keep Butterscotch calm. Soothing voices always helped, and the treat was extra bribery. Glacially slow, Gemma held out her hand, waiting for Butterscotch to accept. After an awkward moment of eyeing her, the mare moved to her hand and ate the biscuit.

“Good girl,” she cooed. With her hand softly gliding along the horse’s side, Gemma reached for the rope on the far wall. The rope was frayed and light, and Gemma hid it behind her back while moving towards the gate. Butterscotch’s muscles relaxed under her fingers as soon as the rope disappeared.

Gemma slid the door closed. “You are such a pansy, Rico.”

A shout cut off Rico’s reply.

Reyna.

They both shot out of the barn toward the house, darting to Reyna’s aid. The older woman’s cries grew louder and Gemma’s heart raced, every synapse in her brain on overload. Her boot caught on a rock and she stumbled, twisting her ankle. Spears of pain shot up her calf, but she hobbled forward. Rounding the corner, they froze.

A tall, imposing man had wrapped his arms around Reyna. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but her smile couldn’t have been wider.

“Dios mio, it’s been so long!” Reyna cried.

Glancing at Rico, who only shrugged back, Gemma threw the rope on the ground.

“Jesus, Reyna! That scream could kill someone! We thought you were attacked by hyenas or something.”

The two pulled apart and Reyna wiped her eyes, still grinning like a silly debutante. The first good look at this stranger made Gemma think twice about cussing through her anger. He was older, not as much as Reyna, but infinitely more…menacing. His dark eyes were brooding, as if he’d seen much more of life than a normal man. A few gray streaks speckled through his hair, cut short, military style. He exuded an air of distrust, yet Reyna trusted him. Otherwise, she never would have hugged him.

“I’m so sorry, Gemma. Esta es mí sobrino, Stefano.” When Gemma stared back blankly, Reyna continued. “Como se dice? Nephew.”

The man smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He held out his hand and studied Gemma. She was hardly in a gracious mood because of her ankle, but she wouldn’t dare disrespect Reyna.

Hobbling over, she shook Stefano’s hand, ignoring the pain in her foot. “Gemma,” she bit out. The man’s grip was strong, so she tightened hers as well.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he replied with a thick accent and eloquent tone. “What did you do to yourself, niñita?”

Any softness in Gemma’s eyes disappeared instantly. Little girl? She would have slugged anyone else for that. But she held it back. A limping, black-eyed woman shouldn’t break any knuckles. “I tripped.”

“Please, let me introduce my friend.” Stefano stepped back and another man stepped forward whom Gemma hadn’t noticed earlier. He’d waited by the silver jeep during the whole greeting, but now that he’d caught her gaze, this man was impossible to overlook.

Even if she ignored the way he stood, like a pitchfork stuck up his backside, she couldn’t mistake his espresso eyes, soft cheekbones and perfectly shaven jaw—like those models on a GQ magazine. Every strand of his wavy midnight hair was perfectly placed with more than enough gel. Even his gray pants and buttoned shirt were too perfect—he’d stepped off the page and onto a ranch in Primrock, Texas. Aka, nowhere. Those prissy black loafers wouldn’t last ten minutes out here.

City boy. Damned gorgeous city boy.

“This is Miguel.”

The fancy-pants man gave a slight bow, but paused as she held out her hand. He took it and turned her knuckles up, as if he intended to kiss them.

Soft hands. Too soft.

“Señorita.”

His eyes held hers for a little too long. Interest and calculating. And something else about his gaze annoyed her. Condescension, maybe. That’s right, black eye means tread carefully.

“Miguel, this is mi tía, Reyna Lawson.” Stefano smiled.

“Señora.” The way he moved, even the way the title slipped off his tongue was off. Too formal, practiced, and distant. It crawled up Gemma’s spine. Even more unnerving was Reyna’s response. She held his hand differently, detached, and gave him an extra long look. Like studying a painting with hidden objects.

“Miguel…” She threw a gaze at Stefano, who only returned it with an indiscriminate nod. “Where are you from?”

“Colombia,” Miguel answered. The half-smile disappeared.

Colombia my ass. He won’t look Reyna in the eye and answered too quickly. These guys are hiding something.

“Rico’s family is in Colombia, too,” Reyna motioned for Rico to step forward. “Rico Valéncia has worked here for many years as a ranch hand. I have known him since he was a teenager, wandering around, looking for work and causing trouble.”

Rico took off his hat and shook both men’s hands. Miguel’s haughty air with every greeting kept scratching up Gemma’s back.

“Is Señorita Gemma your…daughter?” Stefano asked.

Who in their right mind would think that? I’m as Caucasian and blonde-haired as a girl can get.

“In every way but blood,” Reyna beamed. “She’s helped me on the ranch for many years. We are family out here.”

“Is this…” Miguel blurted. “Normal ranch attire?”

Gemma looked down and realized he meant her workout shorts and tank top. Combined with the tattered brown boots, it wasn’t a great first impression. But Fancy Pants hadn’t given a stellar intro either.

“If it was, would you have a problem with that?” She shoved her hands on her hips, staring him down. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Insult someone on their own property?

But instead of back-pedaling, the man actually scowled back at her with a touch of humor on his lips. As if he were insulted—and amused simultaneously. Asshole!

“Por favor, Gemma,” Stefano bowed his head toward her. “He meant no disrespect. Please, let us go inside so we may fix your foot.”

“I’ve twisted enough ankles to fix it myself, thanks.” Gemma turned on her good heel and limped toward the house. “Tell your friend to mind his manners on a Texas ranch, or he’ll get shot.”