The Rancher
Chiara Campagna slipped into her host’s office and silently closed the heavy oak door, leaving the raucous party behind. Breathing in the scents of good bourbon and leather, she held herself very still in the darkened room while she listened for noise outside in the hallway to indicate if anyone had followed her.
When no sounds came through besides the pop song people danced to in the living room of Miles Rivera’s spacious Montana vacation home, Chiara released a pent-up breath and debated whether or not to switch on a lamp. On the one hand, a light showing under the door might signal to someone passing by that the room was occupied when it shouldn’t be. On the other, if someone found her by herself snooping around in the dark, she’d be raising significant suspicions that wouldn’t be easy to talk her way around.
As a prominent Los Angeles-based social media influencer, Chiara had a legitimate reason to be at the party given by the Mesa Falls Ranch owners to publicize their environmental good works. But she had no legitimate reason to be here—in Miles Rivera’s private office—snooping for secrets about his past.
She twisted the knob on the wall by the door, and recessed lighting cast a warm glow over the heavy, masculine furnishings. Dialing back the wattage with the dimmer, she left it just bright enough to see her way around the gray leather sofa and glass-topped coffee table to the midcentury modern desk. Her silver metallic dress, a gorgeous gown with an asymmetrical hem and thigh-high slit to show off her legs, moved around her with a soft rustle as she headed toward the sideboard with its decanter full of amber-colored liquid. She set aside her tiny silver handbag, then poured two fingers’ worth into one of the glasses beside the decanter. If anyone discovered her, the drink would help explain why she’d lingered where she most definitely did not belong.
“What secrets are you hiding, Miles?” she asked a framed photo of her host, a flattering image of an already handsome man. In the picture, he stood in front of the guest lodge with the five other owners of Mesa Falls Ranch. It was one of the few photos she’d seen of all six of them together.
Each successful in his own right, the owners were former classmates from a West Coast boarding school close to the all-girls’ academy Chiara had attended. At least until her junior year, when her father lost his fortune and she’d been booted into public school. It would have been no big deal, really, if not for the fact that the public school had no art program. Her dreams of attending a prestigious art university to foster her skills with collage and acrylic paint faltered and died. Sure, she’d parlayed her limited resources into fame and fortune as a beauty influencer thanks to social media savvy and—in part—to her artistic sensibilities. But being an Instagram star wasn’t the same as being an artist.
Not that it mattered now, she reminded herself, lingering on the photograph of Miles’s too-handsome face. He stood flanked by casino resort owner Desmond Pierce and game developer Alec Jacobsen. Miles’s golden, surfer looks were a contrast to Desmond’s European sophistication and Alec’s stubbled, devil-may-care style. All six men were wealthy and successful in their own right. Mesa Falls was the only business concern they shared.
A project that had something to do with the ties forged back in their boarding school days. A project that should have included Zach Eldridge, the seventh member of the group, who’d died under mysterious circumstances. The boy she’d secretly loved.
A cheer from the party in the living room reminded Chiara she needed to get a move on if she wanted to accomplish her mission. Steeling herself with a sip of the aged bourbon, she turned away from the built-in shelves toward the desk, then tapped the power button on the desktop computer. Any twinge of guilt she felt over invading Miles’s privacy was mitigated by her certainty the Mesa Falls Ranch owners knew more than they were telling about Zach’s death fourteen years ago. She hadn’t been sure of it until last Christmas, when a celebrity guest of the ranch had revealed a former mentor to the ranch owners had anonymously authored a book that brought the men of Mesa Falls into the public spotlight.
And rekindled Chiara’s need to learn the truth about what had happened to Zach while they were all at school together.
When the desktop computer prompted her to type in a passcode, Chiara crossed her fingers, then keyed in the same four numbers she’d seen Miles Rivera code into his phone screen earlier in the evening while ostensibly reaching past him for a glass of champagne. The generic photo of a mountain view on the screen faded into the more businesslike background of Miles’s desktop with its neatly organized ranch files.
“Bingo.” She quietly celebrated his lack of high tech cyber security on his personal device since she’d just exhausted the extent of her code-cracking abilities.
“Z-A-C-H.” She spoke the letters aloud as she typed them into the search function.
A page full of results filled the screen. Her gaze roved over them. Speed-reading file names, she realized most of the files were spreadsheets; they seemed to be earnings reports. None used Zach’s name in the title, indicating the references to him were within the files themselves.
Her finger hovered over a promising entry when the doorknob turned on the office door. Scared of getting caught, she jammed the power button off on the computer.
Just in time to look up and see Miles Rivera standing framed in the doorway.
Dressed in a custom-cut tuxedo that suited his lean runner’s build perfectly, he held his phone in one hand before silently tucking it back in his jacket pocket. In the low light, his hair looked more brown than dark blond, the groomed bristles around his jaw and upper lip decidedly sexy. He might be a rancher, normally overseeing Rivera Ranch, a huge spread in central California, yet he was always well-dressed anytime the Mesa Falls owners were in the news cycle for their efforts to bring awareness to sustainable ranching practices. His suits were always tailored and masculine at the same time. Her blog followers would approve. She certainly approved of his blatant sexiness and comfort in his own skin, even though she was scared he was about to have her tossed out of his vacation home on the Mesa Falls property for snooping.
His blue eyes zeroed in on her with laser focus. Missing nothing.
Guilty heart racing, Chiara reached for her bourbon and lifted it to her lips slowly, hoping her host couldn’t spot the way her hand shook from his position across the room.
“You caught me red-handed.” She sipped too much of the drink, the strong spirit burning her throat the whole way down while she struggled to maintain her composure.
“At what, exactly?” Miles quirked an eyebrow, his expression impossible to read.
Had he seen her shut off the computer? She only had an instant to decide how to play this.
“Helping myself to your private reserves.” She lifted the cut-crystal tumbler, as if to admire the amber contents in the light. “I only slipped in here to escape the noise for a few minutes, but when I saw the decanter, I hoped you wouldn’t mind if I helped myself.”
She waited for him to call her out for the lie. To accuse her of spying on him. Her heartbeat sounded so loud in her ears she thought for sure he must hear it, too.
He inclined his head briefly before shutting the door behind him, then striding closer. “You’re my guest. You’re welcome to whatever you like, Ms. Campagna.”
She sensed an undercurrent in the words. Something off in the slight emphasis on her name. Because he knew she was lying? Because he remembered a time when that hadn’t been her name? Or maybe due to the simple fact that he didn’t seem to like her. She had enough of an empath’s sensibilities to recognize when someone looked down on her career. She suspected Miles Rivera was the kind of man to pigeonhole her as frivolous because she posted beauty content online.
As if making women feel good about themselves was a waste of time.
“You’re not a fan of mine,” she observed lightly, sidling from behind his desk to pace the length of the room, pretending to be interested in the titles of books on the built-in shelves lining the back wall. “Is it because of my profession? Or does it have more to do with me invading your private domain and stealing some bourbon? It’s excellent, by the way.”
“It’s a limited edition.” He unbuttoned his jacket as he reached the wet bar, then picked up the decanter to pour a second glass, his diamond cuff-link winking in the overhead lights as he poured. “Twenty-five years old. Single barrel. But I meant what I said. You’re welcome to my hospitality. Including my bourbon.”
Pivoting on his heel, he took two steps in her direction, then paused in front of his desk to lean against it. For a moment, she panicked that he would be able to feel that the computer was still warm. Or that the internal fan of the machine still spun after she’d shut it off.
But he merely sipped his drink while he observed her. He watched her so intently that she almost wondered if he recognized her from a long-ago past. In the few times they’d met socially, Miles had never made the connection between Chiara Campagna, social media star, and Kara Marsh, the teenager who’d been in love with Miles’s roommate at school, Zach Eldridge. The old sense of loss flared inside her, spurring her to turn the conversation in a safer direction.
“I noticed you neatly sidestepped the matter of my profession.” She set her tumbler on a granite-topped cabinet beside a heavy wire sculpture of a horse with a golden-yellow eye.
He paused, taking his time to answer. The sounds of the party filtered through to the dim home office. One dance tune blended seamlessly into another thanks to the famous DJ of the moment, and voices were raised to be heard over the music. When Miles met her gaze again, there was something calculating in his expression.
“Maybe I envy you a job that allows you to travel the globe and spend your nights at one party after another.” He lifted his glass in a mock salute. “Clearly, you’re doing something right.”
Irritation flared.
“You wouldn’t be the first person to assume I lead a charmed life of leisure, full of yachts and champagne, because of what I choose to show the world on social media.” She bristled at his easy dismissal of all the hard work it had taken to carve herself a place in a crowded market.
“And yet, here you are.” He gestured expansively, as if to indicate his second home on the exclusive Mesa Falls property. “Spending another evening with Hollywood celebrities, world-class athletes and a few heavyweights from the music industry. Life can’t be all bad, can it?”
In her agitation, she took another drink of the bourbon, though she still hadn’t learned her lesson to sip carefully. The fire down her throat should have warned her that she was letting this arrogant man get under her skin.
Considering her earlier fears about being caught spying, maybe she should have just laughed off his assumption that she had a shallow lifestyle and excused herself from the room. But resentment burned fast and hot.
“And yet, you’re at the same party as me.” She took a step closer to him before realizing it. Before acknowledging her own desire to confront him. To somehow douse the smug look in his blue eyes. “Don’t you consider attendance part of your job, not just something you do for fun?”
“I’m the host representing Mesa Falls.” His broad shoulders straightened at her approach, though he didn’t move from his position leaning his hip against the desk. “Of course it’s a work obligation. If I didn’t have to take a turn being the face of Mesa Falls tonight, I would be back at my own place, Rivera Ranch.”
His voice had a raspy quality to it that teased along her nerve endings in a way that wasn’t at all unpleasant. He was nothing like the men who normally populated her world—men who understood the beauty and entertainment industries. There was something earthy and real about Miles Rivera underneath the tailored garments, something that compelled her to get closer to all those masculine, rough edges.
“And I’m representing my brand as well. It’s no less a work obligation for me.”
“Right.” He shook his head, an amused smile playing at his lips, his blue eyes darkening a few shades. “More power to you for creating a brand that revolves around long-wearing lipstick and international fashion shows.”
This view of her work seemed so unnecessarily dismissive that she had to wonder if he took potshots as a way to pay her back for invading his office. She couldn’t imagine how he could rationalize his behavior any other way, but she forced herself to keep her cool in spite of his obvious desire to get a rise from her.
“I’m surprised a man of your business acumen would hold views so narrow-minded and superficial.” She shrugged with deliberate carelessness, though she couldn’t stop herself from glaring daggers at him. Or taking another step closer to hammer home her point. “Especially since I’m sure you recognize that work like mine requires me to be a one-woman content creator, marketing manager, finance director and admin. Not to mention committing endless hours to build a brand you write off as fluff.”
Maybe what she’d said resonated for him, because the condescension in his expression gave way to something else. Something hotter and more complex. At the same moment, she realized that she’d arrived a foot away from him. Closer than she’d meant to come.
She couldn’t have said which was more unnerving: the sudden lifting of a mental barrier between them that made Miles Rivera seem more human, or her physical proximity to a man who...stirred something inside her. Good or bad, she couldn’t say, but she most definitely didn’t want to deal with magnified emotions right now. Let alone the sudden burst of heat she felt just being near him.
Telling herself the jittery feelings were a combination of justified anger and residual anxiety from her snooping mission, Chiara reached for her silver purse on the desk. Her hand came close to his thigh for an instant before she snatched up the handbag.
She didn’t look back as she stalked out the office door.
Still shaken by his unexpected encounter with Chiara Campagna, Miles made a dismal effort to mingle with his guests despite the loud music, the crowd that struck him as too young and entitled, and the text messages from the other Mesa Falls Ranch owners that kept distracting him. Trapped in his oversize great room that took “open concept” to a new level of monstrosity, he leaned against the curved granite-topped cabinetry that provided a low boundary between the dining area and seating around a stone fireplace that took up one entire wall. Open trusswork in the cathedral ceilings added to the sense of space, while the hardwood floor made for easy dancing as the crowd enjoyed the selections of the DJ set up near the open staircase.
Miles nodded absently at whatever the blonde pop singer standing next to him was saying about her reluctance to go back on tour, his thoughts preoccupied by another woman.
A certain raven-haired social media star who seemed to captivate every man in the room.
Miles’s gaze followed Chiara as she posed for a photo with two members of a boy band in front of a wall of red flowers brought into the great room for the party. He couldn’t take his eyes off her feminine curves draped in that outrageous liquid silver dress she wore. Hugged between the two young men, her gown reflected the flashes of multiple camera phones as several other guests took surreptitious photos. And while the guys around her only touched her in polite and socially acceptable ways, Miles still fought an urge to wrest her away from them. A ludicrous reaction, and totally out of character for him.
Then again, everything about his reaction to the wildly sexy Chiara was out of character. Since when was he the kind of guy to disparage what someone else did for a living? He’d regretted his flippant dismissal of her work as soon as he’d said the words, recognizing them as a defense mechanism he had no business articulating. There was something about her blatant appeal that slid past his reserve. The woman was like fingernails down his back, inciting response. Desire, yes. But there was more to it than that. He didn’t trust the femme fatale face she presented to the world, or the way she used her femininity in an almost mercenary way to build her name. She reminded him of a woman from his past that he’d rather forget. But that wasn’t fair, since Chiara wasn’t Brianna. Without a doubt, he owed Chiara an apology before she left tonight.
Even though she’d definitely been on his computer when he’d entered his office earlier. He’d seen the blue glow of the screen reflected on her face before she’d scrambled to shut it down.
“How do you know Chiara Campagna?” the woman beside him asked, inclining her head so he could hear her over the music.
He hadn’t been following the conversation, but Chiara’s name snagged his focus, and he tore his gaze away from the beauty influencer who’d become a household name to stare down at the earnest young pop singer beside him.
He was only on site at Mesa Falls Ranch to oversee things for the owners for a few weeks. His real life back at Rivera Ranch in central California never brought him into contact with the kind of people on the guest list tonight, but the purpose of this party—to promote the green ranching mission of Mesa Falls by spreading the word among celebrities who could use their platforms to highlight the environmental effort—was a far cry from the routine cattle raising and grain production he was used to. Just like his modern marvel of a home in Mesa Falls bore little resemblance to the historic Spanish-style main house on Rivera Ranch.
“I don’t know her at all,” Miles returned after a moment. He tried to remember the pop singer’s name. She had a powerful voice despite her petite size, her latest single landing in the top ten according to the notes the ranch’s publicist had given him about the guests. “But I assume she cares about Mesa Falls’s environmental mission. No doubt she has a powerful social media platform that could help our outreach.”
The singer laughed as she lifted her phone to take a picture of her own, framing Chiara and the two boy band members in her view screen. “Is that why we’re all here tonight? Because of the environment?”
Frowning, he remembered the real reason for this particular party. While the green ranching practices they used were touted every time they hosted an event, tonight’s party had a more important agenda. Public interest in Mesa Falls had spiked since the revelations that the owners’ high school teacher and friend, Alonzo Salazar, had been the author behind the career-ending tell-all Hollywood Newlyweds. In fact, the news story broke at a gala here over Christmas. It had also been revealed that Alonzo had spent a lot of time at Mesa Falls before his death, his association with the ranch owners drawing speculation about his involvement with the business.
Tonight, the partners hoped to put an end to the rumors and tabloid interest by revealing the profits from Hollywood Newlyweds had gone toward Alonzo Salazar’s humanitarian work around the globe. They’d hoped the announcement would put an end to the media interest in the Mesa Falls owners and discourage newshounds from showing up at the ranch. There’d been a coordinated press release of the news at the start of the party, a toast to the clearing of Alonzo’s good name early in the evening, and a media room had been set up off the foyer with information about Alonzo’s charitable efforts for reporters.
But there was something the owners weren’t saying. While it was true a share of the book profits had benefited a lot of well-deserving people, a larger portion had gone to a secret beneficiary, and no one could figure out why.
“So the threat of global warming didn’t bring you here tonight,” Miles responded with a self-deprecating smile, trying to get back on track in his host duties. He watched as Chiara left behind the band members for one of the Mesa Falls partners—game developer Alec Jacobsen—who wanted a photo with her. “What did? A need to escape to Montana for a long weekend?”
He ground his teeth together at the friendly way Alec placed his hand on the small of Chiara’s back. Miles remembered the generous cutout in her dress that left her completely bare in that spot. Her hair shimmered in the overhead lights as she brushed the long waves over one shoulder.
“Honestly? I hoped to meet Chiara,” the singer gushed enthusiastically. “Will you excuse me? Maybe I can get a photo with her, too.”
Miles gladly released her from the conversation, chagrined to learn that his companion had been as preoccupied with Chiara as he was. What must life be like for the influencer, who’d achieved a different level of fame from the rest of the crowd—all people who were highly accomplished in their own right?
Pulling out his phone, Miles checked to see if his friend and fellow ranch owner, Gage Striker, had responded to a text he’d sent an hour ago. Gage should have been at the party long ago.
Miles had sent him a text earlier:
How well do you know Chiara Campagna? Found her in my study and I would swear she was riffling through my notes. Looking for something.
Gage had finally answered:
Astrid and Jonah have known her forever. She’s cool.
Miles knew fellow partner Jonah Norlander had made an early exit from the party with his wife, Astrid, so Miles would have to wait to check with him. Shoving the phone back in the pocket of his tuxedo, Miles bided his time until he could speak to Chiara again. He would apologize, first and foremost. But then, he needed to learn more about her.
Because she hadn’t just been snooping around his computer in his office earlier. She’d been there on a mission. And she hadn’t covered her trail when she’d rushed to close down his screen.
Somehow, Chiara Campagna knew about Zach. And Miles wasn’t letting her leave Mesa Falls until he figured out how.
Copyright © 2021 by Joanne Rock