Free Counterfeit Bride by Sara Craven Page A

him, her eyes widening involuntarily. He had discarded his hat and the poncho-like garment he had been wearing during the ride. The elegant urban suit had gone too, and he was wearing close fitting dark pants and superbly made riding boots. Another of those expensive dark-coloured silk shirts moulded his shoulders and chest. He looked the business man no longer, but very much the man of action, and Nicola realised suddenly that in this guise he was even more formidable. She felt the force of his attraction before, but now she had no charade to hide behind, no outraged grandee's novia to play. She was herself alone, and she realised with alarm that he was watching her in that same speculative way as at their first meeting, as if he was both amused and intrigued.
    For a moment their eyes held in silent challenge, then he gave a slight shrug and turned away.
    He said, 'I'll get a fire started. There's some food in my saddle bag. Perhaps you would get us a meal while I attend to Malagueno.'
    Again she rushed into speech. 'Where did you learn to speak such good English?'
    'Here and there. Where I could.'
    She said, 'You're not very communicative.' She forced a laugh. 'Have you got something to hide?'
    'No, chica,' he said softly. 'Have you?'
    He disappeared through a door at the back of the cabin, leaving her gasping. When he returned he was carrying a bundle of firewood which he arranged deftly in the fireplace, and coaxed into flame with his matches.
    'You certainly know how to make yourself at home,' Nicola commented, recovering a little. 'You mentioned Miguel. Does he own this place, and is he a friend of yours?'
    'He did, and he was.' He stood up dusting his hands together.
    'He's dead. I—I'm sorry.'
    He shook his head. 'Miguel is very much alive. I'll go and get that food.'
    Nicola sat down on one of the stools and stretched her legs out in front of her. There was no real warmth from the fire yet, but the flicker of the flames was in itself a comfort. And comfort was what she needed, because her unease was deepening with every moment that passed.
    Ramon had changed, and not just in exterior details like his clothes. His manner had changed too. It was cooler and more incisive. On the journey at times he had seemed a charming playboy, but there was no trace of that any more. Now, he was no one's second in command. He behaved like a man who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
    She thought, 'But of course he runs the ranch, and he's back on his own territory. That explains it.'
    But her explanation lacked conviction, and she knew it. There was something deeply wrong, something which was eluding her.
    'Que pasa?' She started violently and turned to find him watching her from the doorway, frowning. 'You are very pale. Are you ill?'
    Nicola shook her head. 'Reaction, I suppose.' She tried a weak laugh. 'It's been quite a day.'
    And could turn out to be quite a night too. She had tried to avoid looking at the bed in the alcove. Even with the curtain drawn, it was far from being a sanctuary.
    With an effort she turned to the articles he had just placed on the table—a can of some kind of stew, with, an opener, a packet of coffee, and a tin mug and plate.
    He met her gaze, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. 'I regret there are no tortillas. I apologise too that there is only one set of dishes.'
    That, she assured him silently, doesn't worry me half as much as the fact that there's only one bed.
    'There is a well in the yard at the rear.' He pointed to another door at the back of the cabin. 'I'll fetch you some water. There is also a hut there- -for your convenience.'
    'Thank you,' Nicola muttered, and he laughed.
    'The word is 'gracias,' he said. 'Perhaps after we have eaten I will give you a lesson in Spanish. You can hardly hope to traverse my country on the two phrases you have used so far.'
    'No,' she said weakly She had pushed her leather bag under the table hoping it would be less obtrusive