A Spanish Inheritance. Susan Stephens

thoughts. ‘I apologise, Don Alfonso,’ she said, composing herself. ‘Of course I will always be grateful to my father for entrusting me with the future of the finca.’ Even if he never acknowledged me in his lifetime, she added silently to herself. ‘I should not have raised my voice to you,’ she admitted candidly. ‘But you should know that I am quite determined to remain here. I intend to restore the house and all the ancillary buildings. Then I shall return the orange groves to a profitable working concern that will benefit everyone in the village.’

      ‘The orange groves!’ the elderly lawyer exclaimed in utter amazement. ‘But what do you know about fruit production? Forgive me, Señorita Wilson,’ he added, saving her the embarrassment of admitting the answer to that was nothing at all. ‘I mean no offence.’ Plucking a kingfisher-blue handkerchief out of his top pocket, he began dabbing away at imaginary moisture on his neck and high forehead, his concern all too evident.

      ‘None taken,’ Annalisa said evenly, wondering what on earth had prompted her insane proposition.

      ‘But even if you were to proceed against my advice you cannot possibly take on such a task alone,’ Don Alfonso insisted as he replaced the silk square in his pocket.

      ‘Why? Because I’m a woman?’

      He hesitated long enough for Annalisa to know she had struck a Latin nerve.

      ‘You do not have sufficient money,’ he insisted, bridging the controversial divide with sheer practicality.

      ‘I can do many of the jobs myself. I shall seek advice in the village…and I am not afraid of hard work.’

      ‘It is not the hard work that is my major concern—’

      ‘And I’ll find the money somehow.’

      Don Alfonso looked unconvinced as he shook his head. ‘I don’t doubt your good intentions, Señorita Wilson.’

      ‘Then what is your concern?’ Annalisa demanded.

      ‘The power and status of the family you have ranged yourself against may prove insurmountable,’ he explained patiently. ‘Please. Leave it a little while longer before you make a final decision to decline their generous offer.’

      ‘But I have no intention of accepting any offers. And I don’t need more time,’ Annalisa insisted. ‘My mind is made up, Don Alfonso.’

      ‘I beg you to reconsider—’

      ‘I cannot imagine why anyone could be so determined to buy up my land now when it has so clearly been neglected for years.’

      ‘It was in your father’s hands before he died,’ Don Alfonso reminded her. ‘No one knew why he insisted on hanging on to it. There were many offers during his lifetime—’

      ‘Which he refused?’

      ‘Yes, but—’

      ‘As I shall,’ she insisted, though quite where this sudden comradeship with the father who had abandoned her before she was born had come from she had no idea.

      ‘And nothing I can say will dissuade you from this course of action?’

      ‘That is correct.’

      Don Alfonso made a bemused sound and then murmured distractedly, ‘I cannot understand it…’

      ‘And I cannot understand why you are allowing yourself to be influenced by anyone’s interests other than mine.’

      He looked offended, and when he spoke again it was in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘We are talking about one of the most powerful families in all Spain, Señorita Wilson. Led by a man whom I should not wish to cross.’ He shook his head in a grave show of disapproval.

      Well, if that was meant to frighten her off it had missed its mark, Annalisa thought, firming her mouth. ‘You may feel the need to abide by this man’s dicta, Don Alfonso, I do not.’

      ‘You can have no idea of what you are taking on.’

      ‘So, tell me,’ Annalisa challenged. ‘Put a name to my opponent. We’re not discussing some mythical villain, I presume?’

      Her elderly advisor bowed his head in dignified acquiescence. ‘No, Señorita Wilson. We are talking about an exceptional man with a mind like a steel trap and a will of iron. I fear you will find Ramon di Crianza Perez a most formidable adversary.’

      Annalisa’s wide mouth softened, images of sun-kissed flesh and rippling muscles uppermost in her mind.

      Misreading her expression, Don Alfonso warned, ‘It would be a mistake to underestimate Ramon Perez.’

      ‘He’s not such a monster,’ she reflected absently.

      ‘You know him!’

      ‘I have—’ Annalisa stopped, taking care over her choice of words. ‘I met Señor Perez briefly. He seemed perfectly civil—’

      The lawyer’s frown deepened. ‘Forgive me, Señorita Wilson, but you are a young lady in her mid-twenties with limited experience—’

      ‘I am a working woman with a law degree,’ Annalisa returned sharply.

      ‘You would be most unwise to take Ramon Perez lightly.’

      I would be most unwise to take him at all, she reminded herself wryly. Apart from the knowledge that she would be playing well out of her league, Ramon Perez was a married man. ‘I shall treat Señor Crianza Perez exactly as I would treat anyone else,’ she said confidently.

      Don Alfonso shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that may not prove an effective tactic in this case.’

      ‘Well, we will just have to find a way to make Señor Perez understand that finca Fuego Montoya is not up for sale, Don Alfonso. This is my home,’ she said with a sweeping gesture. ‘And I intend to stay here for the rest of my life.’

      The lawyer sucked in a deep breath as he flagged up his defeat with his hands. ‘So be it, Señorita Wilson. If those are your instructions—’

      ‘They are, Don Alfonso,’ Annalisa said firmly.

      She was out in the yard when the low-slung black car screamed to a halt. Tossing back her wrist-thick ebony plait, Annalisa wiped her arm across her face as she waited for the dust cloud to settle. When she saw who was coming towards her she tensed. What on earth was Ramon Perez doing here? And why had she decided today of all days to emulate the local women by tucking her lightweight cotton skirt into her underwear while she worked?

      Her mind revolved like a Catherine wheel, throwing off excuses…the hen hutches needed repairing…her shorts were drying on the line…

      ‘Buenos días, señorita!’ Ramon called out as he strode towards her, swiping the thick coating of limestone dust off his close-fitting jeans.

      As he drew nearer she could see his sensuous mouth beginning to curve in the suspicion of a grin. And then he scanned her from head to foot.

      ‘I like your outfit,’ he commented approvingly.

      Damn! Damn! Damn! Annalisa thought, wrenching her skirt free.

      This was not the sort of meeting she had anticipated! She had instructed Don Alfonso to arrange something very different. Something cool and collected in the centre of town. In his shady, peaceful office—wearing suits, for goodness’ sake!

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping there was enough of a casual note in her voice to fool Ramon into believing she was as composed as he was. She smoothed the crumpled fabric to a modest length around her calves and plucked at the low-cut cotton top that had once been white. ‘I bought it in the village.’

      ‘I would never have guessed,’ he murmured, turning away to study the various outbuildings before she had a chance to gauge his expression.

      Even when the attention of those dark and disturbing eyes was deflected he had presence to spare, Annalisa