His Inherited Bride. JACQUELINE BAIRD

stairs her eyes skimmed over his tall, impressive figure. Her heart skipped a beat, and it took all her self-control to walk towards him. Gone was the business suit, and in its place the three top buttons of his black checked shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned chest and dark curling hair. Black denim jeans clung to his long legs like a second skin, and the hair on the back of her neck began to prickle as she walked forward.

      He looked dark and somehow dangerous. Perhaps it was his very stillness or the cool arrogance of his expression as he waited for her to approach him that gave her the weird notion he resembled a large, sleek panther. A predator that had stalked her all day and he was now ready to pounce.

      With a brief shake of her head she stopped in front of him and glanced up into his hard face. ‘Let’s go, my time is limited and I do want to get back to Santiago tonight,’ she said firmly, and strolled on past him through the open front door and into the courtyard.

      ‘I am at your command.’ His husky chuckle followed her out into the brilliant light of the afternoon sun.

      Jules blinked, and then gasped, and ran across to where Sanchez stood holding the bridles of two horses. ‘You still have her.’ She sent a beaming smile Sanchez’s way, her green eyes sparkling. ‘Polly, my pony.’ She rubbed the neck of the small piebald mare with a gentle hand and pressed her lips to the silky coat. ‘I can’t believe she is still here.’

      Sanchez’s sombre face broke into a broad grin.’ Your father insisted we kept her in peak condition—’ he spoke in Spanish ‘—just in case you returned.’

      Jules blinked back tears, and nodded. ‘Thank you, Sanchez.’

      Rand watched the little scene played out and, with a cynical smile twisting his firm mouth, he took the bridle of his horse, a large black stallion, and swung himself into the saddle. Jules showed more emotion over a horse than she did over her own father.

      ‘I thought you were in a hurry, Jules,’ he prompted curtly, watching her cuddling the pony’s neck, and for a second he remembered the feel of those same slender arms around his own and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. ‘Mount up,’ he commanded gruffly.

      Jules did as she was told, and, gripping the reins in one hand, she took the small posy of flowers Sanchez held up for her with the other.

      ‘For your father.’

      Carlos Diez had been laid to rest in a small private burial plot situated in the lee of a small hill to protect against the elements. Jules stood over his grave while Rand held the horses off to one side, in the shade of a solitary old pine tree.

      Jules stared down at the polished marble headstone. It saddened her to think of her father dying alone without family, and the tears formed in her eyes and slid silently down her pale cheeks. Jules had never really known her father, not the inner man, what made him function, his hopes and fears. All she had seen in the few short months she had actually spent with him was a handsome old man, who had kindly given her Polly and encouraged her to learn to ride.