His Forever Valentine. Marie Ferrarella

talk to your father?” Val did her best not to appear too excited, but unlike her mother, she had never been a very good poker player.

      “Why wouldn’t I be?”

      “I don’t know you yet,” she said truthfully. “I thought maybe you got your kicks out of leading outsiders on.”

      “I don’t,” he assured her. The way he said it made her think he meant it. Or maybe she just wanted to believe that people in a place like this were really the salt of the earth. Uncomplicated and kind hearted. She could use that sort of thing about now.

      Rafe saw her looking around uneasily. “Something the matter?”

      “I’m just wondering if another bull is going to come galloping out of nowhere if I start to head toward my car.”

      “Nothing to worry about,” he answered. “Jasper’s our only bull right now. Leon passed on.”

      “Leon,” she repeated. These people definitely did not give their bulls normal names. “Another non-functioning bull?” was her first guess.

      The thought made Rafe laugh. “On the contrary, Leon functioned all too well for his own good. I think the poor guy wore himself out and spread himself a little too thin among the ladies.” He grinned. “My dad said that he would rather romance the ladies than eat.”

      “Are we still talking about the bull?” she deadpanned. “Or have we moved on to your father?”

      This time Rafe laughed heartily for a couple of minutes. When he finally stopped, he said, “I think my dad’s going to like you, Valentine Jones.”

      If that’s what it took to secure filming rights, she was ready to be downright adorable. “Well, for the sake of Cowboys and India, I certainly hope so.”

      He looked at her, a little bemused. “Cowboys and India?” he asked. What was that?

      She nodded. “I guess I didn’t mention it. That’s the name of the movie we’re making. It’s about a dude ranch,” she explained, adding, perhaps in hindsight unnecessarily. “It’s a romantic comedy.” Because he said nothing, she felt compelled to tell him, “I read the script. It’s really pretty good.”

      “Are you required to do that?” he asked, curious.

      “To read the script?” she guessed. “No, not really. But I like to so I can get a feel for the kind of setting I’m looking for. It helps me when I’m scouting out locations.”

      That wasn’t what he was referring to. Rafe shook his head. “No, I mean are you required to say that the script is pretty good?”

      Did he think she was just a puppet for the front office? Someone whose true calling was just to rubber-stamp everything? To say whatever was expedient just to get things to move along in the direction that the production department wanted it to move? She couldn’t think of a more awful, colorless way to earn a living.

      “Why would you think that?” she asked. “I’m not selling tickets to it.”

      “No, what I thought was that you might think that would help convince someone to give you access to their property.”

      She laughed. “That’s not what does the convincing,” she told him. “The money that the studio is willing to pay for the use of the property is supposed to do all the convincing on that level,” she told him.

      “Money’s nice,” he readily agreed. “But it’s not at the top of my dad’s list.”

      She laughed softly and to herself. “Money’s at the top of everyone’s list.”

      If his father was going to have them shoot the movie here, she’d learn otherwise, Rafe thought.

      For now, he decided to say nothing.

      Chapter Three

      Restless, Miguel Rodriguez was getting ready to drive out to the west end of his property to see if his son had had any luck in finding the break in the fence. It’d been a while since Rafe had driven out to try to locate the break—if there actually was one. One way or another, by Miguel’s calculations his son should have either called on that cell thing he liked to carry around in his pocket, or driven back by now.

      The alternative was that someone was stealing their cattle, an explanation he would rather not entertain. Granted, cattle rustling was not entirely unheard of in this day and age, but he liked his neighbors and there hadn’t been a case of rustling in the area for quite some time.

      The other alternative was that there were coyotes in the vicinity, hungry ones that could attack a cow and make short work of it. As a boy, he’d once seen a pack of coyotes bring down a full-grown head of cattle and systematically tear the flesh off the poor animal until there were only bones left. The bones were scattered to the extent that it would appear as if the cow had just vanished. Later, he realized that had he not been looking down on the scene taking place in a gulley, he might have served as the coyotes’ dessert.

      Checking his pockets for the keys to his truck, Miguel thought he heard the front door open and close again. Miguel Jr. and Ramon were over at Eli’s, lending him a hand with the new quarter horses and, as far as he knew, Gabe and Alma were working in town as usual, so that only left one son unaccounted for.

      “About time you got back, Raphael,” he called out, making his way to front of the house. “I was all set to call the sheriff’s office and have Alma send out a search party for you. Did you find the break?” Miguel asked as he walked into the living room.

      Anything else he was about to say faded away as Miguel stopped in his tracks. Unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, his son was not alone. There was a very pretty redhead standing beside him.

      “No,” Rafe answered. “I didn’t find the break yet.” Damn, he thought. Once he’d stumbled across Valentine and started talking to her, he’d forgotten all about the break in the fence that he was supposed to be looking for. He flashed his father a semi-apologetic smile. “But I found her.”

      Miguel nodded as he made eye contact with the young woman. He knew the faces of all the people who lived around here and she definitely was not from around here—although, now that he looked closer, there was something vaguely familiar about her.

      “I see. And she is much more interesting than a break in the fence,” Miguel agreed.

      In his early sixties, Miguel Rodriguez was still a virile, powerful man, one who had been extremely handsome in his youth. People told him he still had humor in his dark eyes as well as a certain charm when he smiled.

      And he was doing that right now.

      Pausing a moment, Miguel glanced toward his son, then back at the attractive young woman he’d brought in with him.

      “Since my son seems to have forgotten his manners, let me introduce myself. I am Miguel Rodriguez.” He took her hand in his. “Welcome to my humble home,” he said just before he bowed from the waist and ever so lightly kissed the hand he was holding, as was the custom of his forefathers. Still bowed, he raised his eyes to hers and asked, “And you are?”

      Intrigued, Val couldn’t help thinking. She’d been born and raised in the land of make believe, accustomed to charm that oozed from the pores of exceptionally handsome men looking to make a name for themselves—or to seduce her for the space of a satisfying liaison or two. Handsome men whose charm—and subsequent nature—was as deep as a puddle on a sidewalk after a light spring shower.

      But this Miguel Rodriguez’s charm seemed to come as naturally as breathing. Val smiled at the still dark-haired man. He was somewhat shorter than his son, but he appeared to be every bit as powerfully built. Muscles, no doubt, that had come from hard work. She had huge respect for someone like that. Her usual wariness, brought on by years of having to deal with plastic people out only for their own interests and advancement, slipped away like a feather gliding on an unexpected breeze.

      “Valentine