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HONEYMOON WITH

THE RANCHER

DONNA ALWARD

NANNY

NEXT DOOR

MICHELLE CELMER

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I love to travel, and I don’t do it nearly as often as I like. So when I had the opportunity to include an exotic location in a book, I was in heaven!

Even better was writing about two people falling in love in a great new setting, and watching my heroine move out of her comfort zone as she tried new things—sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, and most of all learning some important lessons along the way—like trust. Love. And acceptance.

Welcome to Argentina—home of spectacular rainforests, the wide open pampas, and one reclusive gaucho named Tomas, who manages to capture Sophia’s heart beneath an ombu tree.

With love,

Donna

HONEYMOON WITH

THE RANCHER

DONNA ALWARD

About the Author

A busy wife and mother of three (two daughters and the family dog), DONNA ALWARD believes hers is the best job in the world: a combination of stay-at-home mum and romance novelist. An avid reader since childhood, Donna always made up her own stories. She completed her Arts Degree in English Literature in 1994, but it wasn’t until 2001 that she penned her first full-length novel and found herself hooked on writing romance. In 2006 she sold her first manuscript, and now writes warm, emotional stories for the Mills & Boon® Cherish™ line.

In her new home office in Nova Scotia, Donna loves being back on the east coast of Canada after nearly twelve years in Alberta, where her career began, writing about cowboys and the west. Donna’s debut Romance, Hired by the Cowboy, was awarded the Booksellers Best Award in 2008 for Best Traditional Romance.

With the Atlantic Ocean only minutes from her doorstep, Donna has found a fresh take on life and promises even more great romances in the near future!

Donna loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website at www.donnaalward.com, visit her myspace page at www.myspace.com/dalward, or through her publisher.

To Liz Fielding: inspiration, mentor, and friend.

Thank you, Liz, for just being you, and for taking

me under your wise and witty wing.

CHAPTER ONE

“¿SEÑORITA? We are here.”

Sophia straightened in the seat and peered out the window at the vast plain, her eyebrows snapping together in confusion. Antoine had told her that Vista del Cielo translated into View of Heaven. She liked that idea. It conjured up images of wide blue skies dotted with puffy clouds, perhaps seen from a comfortable deck chair with a mimosa in hand. The sky was right, but looking out, Sophia saw nothing but waving grass and a dirt drive flanked by a row of trees. “This can’t be it. There must be a mistake.”

“No, señorita.” The driver’s accent was thick. “Esta Vista del Cielo.” He took his hand off the steering wheel and pointed at a small white sign at the end of the long drive.

A sickening, crawling feeling began in Sophia’s stomach. The pampas spread out before her, flat and brownish-green. She slid across the back seat and looked out of the other side of the car. It was exactly the same view. On either side the fields spread, endless and dull. Off to her right, one huge gnarled tree looked out of place standing alone, a leafy green sentinel. And ahead, a house. A nice house, but definitely not a hotel. The building was large, a sprawling one story that turned two corners. A low roof over a stone patio added cozy atmosphere and contrasted with white stucco. Flowers in colourful pots stood here and there all along the front patio and another twisted tree formed a soft canopy over one side. It was beautiful, but clearly a family home, not the four or even five-star accommodations Antoine usually insisted upon when booking his travel.

The driver pulled to a stop in front of a shed and put the car into Park. “Don’t leave,” Sophia commanded. “This is a mistake.” She fumbled for the Spanish words. “Por error,” she tried. “No … vayas.” She knew the grammar was incorrect but hoped he’d catch her meaning. Perhaps she should have spent longer learning some important Spanish phrases. She flashed him a smile. She had to find out exactly where she was supposed to be and then get the cab driver to take her there.

“Si, señorita,” he replied, and at last got out to open the door for her. This had to be wrong, all wrong. Where were the luxury rooms? The spa and gym? The dining area with a chef and wait staff?

For a moment her bravado failed her. She’d shored it up to make the trip alone, wanting—no, needing—to do this for herself. She’d wanted to find a way to stick it to Antoine for humiliating her so much. What could make a better statement than going on their honeymoon without him?

But that had all been based on things going smoothly and exactly to plan. She finally admitted to herself that she should actually have studied the plan a little more closely. She should have known the route. Especially traveling solo. What would she do now?

Then she remembered what had driven her to this point in her life and she steeled her spine. It had been wrong to accept Antoine’s proposal in the first place and discovering his indiscretion had been a disaster. Still, if she had to be thankful for anything it was that she’d found out before the wedding and not after. She had given him three years of her best work, all the while falling for his kind words and sexy smiles. She’d thought herself the luckiest woman ever when he’d asked her out the first time. Marriage had seemed like the next logical step. Everyone had said it was meant to be, and she’d believed them.

But now she knew that Antoine had wanted nothing more than a trophy wife, the proper person on his arm to look good for the public. It wasn’t enough for her. She hadn’t realized until that moment—walking in on him making love to his mistress—that she wanted more. She didn’t want the country club existence that was so important to her mother. She wanted more than appearances. She wanted respect, not betrayal. Love, not suitability.

Acceptance.

And in that defining moment, as her future had crumbled away, she’d found the courage to say no. And to walk away.

Which had led her here. Still, she was sure there had to be a mistake. She took a few steps forward, trying to make out the plaque on the front of the house. It was old and in Spanish, but she made out the words Vista del Cielo and the year—1935.

A roar and a cloud of dust had her swinging her head back towards the taxi, only to find the cabbie had dumped her luggage and was now driving back down the lane, tires churning up the dry earth like a dusty vapour trail.

“Wait!” She called after the taxi, running forward as fast as she could in her heels. But he didn’t pause or even slow down. In moments he was gone, leaving her stranded with her bags in the middle of Nowhere, Argentina.

Her heart pounded. No one had come from the house to greet her. The place looked abandoned. She took a breath. Told herself to calm down. She would find a way out of this.

What she knew for sure was that she would not panic. She would not cry or indulge in hysterics. She reached for her purse and the cell phone inside, but paused. No. She most definitely would not make a phone call home for her mother to bail her out of trouble. She could handle this on her own. Her mother had barely spoken to Sophia since she had cancelled the wedding. There was no question of asking Antoine, either. It would be a cold day in hell before she’d ask him for anything ever again.

She took a step forward, feeling the heel of one of her favourite Manolos sink into the soft earth. She gritted her teeth. Why was it that the first time in her life she did anything impulsive, it turned out like this? If it had happened to anyone else, she’d have had a good laugh at the comedy in the situation. But it wasn’t happening to someone else, it was happening to her. And the truth was, behind the designer shoes and the skirt and the French manicure, she was scared to death.

She’d been running on righteous indignation for weeks now, and, if she let it, being alone in a strange country could be the straw that broke her back.

“Hola,” a voice called out, and she turned her head towards the sound, her shoulders dropping with relief. At least someone was here who could explain the mix-up. Antoine had told her that they were staying at an estancia—a guest ranch—with all the amenities. It had sounded lovely and serene. But she knew Antoine. He never settled for anything except the best. She’d prepared for the trip based on that assumption, and now she wasn’t prepared at all. Sometimes it felt as though everything she thought she knew had been turned upside down, and it was hard to find her feet again.

A man stepped out of the shadows by the barn door and Sophia swallowed.

Whatever she had expected to find here in the middle of nowhere, it wasn’t this. The man approaching with long, lazy strides was perhaps the best looking male creature she’d ever clapped eyes on. He wore faded jeans and boots and a T-shirt that had seen better days. What was surprising was his face. He had a crown of thick, slightly wavy black hair and gorgeous brown eyes fringed with thick black lashes that most women would die for. The golden tone of the skin over his high cheekbones set his dark looks off to exotic perfection.

What was a man like that doing in a place like this?

“Hello,” she called out, attempting to calm her suddenly increased heart rate. She shrugged it off, telling herself that just because she’d sworn off men she wasn’t dead. She pasted on a smile, fighting to quell the anxiety swirling through her veins. “Perhaps you can help me.” After the incident with the cabbie, she felt compelled to add, “Do you speak English? ¿Hablas inglés?”

“Of course. What is the problem?” His black gaze looked at her suitcases, then her, and then slid down to her feet, to the peacock-blue pumps, one with a now very dirty heel. He raised an eyebrow as he examined the four-inch stilettos and a smile flirted with his lips before he looked back up. She schooled her features into a bland mask. She needed his help, and it didn’t matter a bit if he approved of her shoes or not. They would have been perfectly appropriate for the upscale accommodation she’d expected.

“I’m afraid I’ve been delivered here in error, and the taxi driver didn’t speak English. He simply dropped my bags and left. I was hoping you could help me sort this out?”

“Of course.”

She smiled, feeling much better knowing she had an ally. “I was supposed to arrive at the Vista del Cielo this afternoon. He claimed this is it, but I am sure he was wrong.”

“This is the Vista del Cielo, but you were not expected.”

Her smile faltered as alarm jolted through her body. “Perhaps there is another Vista del Cielo?” she suggested, trying desperately to sound pleasant and not panicked. “I am booked there for the next week.”

The man’s scowl deepened. “No, we are the only one. But we have no bookings for this week. We did, but it was cancelled last month.”

“This is a hotel, then.”

“An estancia, yes. A guest ranch.”

A guest ranch. This was no mistake, she realized with a sinking heart. She remembered Antoine’s voice as he’d teased her. It will be different, he’d boasted. Lots of privacy for a newly married couple.

Looking back now, the idea made her blush. The thought of being here alone with Antoine made her suddenly self-conscious in front of the man before her. Thank goodness she’d at least been spared that.

Still, it seemed inconceivable that Antoine, with his lavish tastes, would have booked them here. It looked quiet and peaceful—a definite bonus to her—but it still didn’t seem to compute with what she’d expected. “Where is the spa? The pool?” After her long dusty trip, the idea of dipping into the pool for a refreshing swim sounded heavenly. Perhaps a hot tub to soothe the muscles that had been cramped up in an airplane and then the taxi. She could nearly feel the bubbles on her skin already. Maybe this place was more rustic than she’d anticipated, but she knew Antoine would have demanded a certain standard.

“That’s why we had to cancel the reservations. There was a fire. I’m afraid the spa building as well as others were destroyed. Thankfully the house was spared.”

Everything in Sophia went cold and the polite smile slid from her face. “Fire?”

“Yes … we’ve cancelled everything until the repairs are made and things rebuilt. The pool made it through, but we’ve had to have it drained because of the ash and debris.”

Sophia felt a growing sense of despair. She stared around her, wondering how things could have gone so perfectly pear-shaped. Her gaze caught on the odd looking tree, standing like a solitary sentinel in the middle of the plain. It looked exactly as she felt. Alone. And lonely. She was beginning to understand that they were two completely separate things.

“Perhaps if you told me your name, we could sort it out,” he said, a little impatiently.

“The reservation was under Antoine Doucette.”

The man’s face changed as understanding dawned. “The honeymoon.” Then he looked confused again, looked at her cases, and back again. “And the other half of the happy couple?”

Sophia lifted her chin. She could do this. She could. She could get past the embarrassment and the hurt and explain dispassionately. She had faced worse in the last months. She’d faced Antoine, her family and friends, even the chokehold of the press closing in around her. She could handle one annoying Argentinian … whatever he was. Farmer? Gaucho? Who was he to judge her?

“I came alone. I’m afraid the marriage did not take place.”

“I see. I am sorry, señorita.”

His words said apology but his tone certainly did not. It was strictly polite and almost … cold. “Don’t be,” she replied, putting her hand on her hip. “I’m not.” It was only a half lie. She wasn’t sorry she had called off the wedding. Under the circumstances it had been the right thing to do.

But it had been far from easy. She’d bear the scars from it for a long, long time.

A huff of surprise erupted from his mouth, followed by mutterings in Spanish that she couldn’t understand. That made her angry. It made her feel inadequate and even more of an outsider, and she was tired of that feeling.

“Why were we not notified of the cancellation, then?” She pressed on, annoyed.

“I don’t know.” His brow furrowed. “Maria handles all the reservations and business. I can’t imagine her making a mistake.”

“Someone did. I’m here, aren’t I?”

And so she was. She had to convince him to let her stay. Antoine had thrown in her face how he’d not bought travel insurance and her breaking their engagement would cost him thousands of dollars. She’d told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about—after all, he was the one who’d been caught redhanded. She’d also spent money on a wedding that had never happened. The dress. The deposits for the printer, the reception, flowers, cake—all the trappings of a society wedding. His protests about the honeymoon money had fallen on deaf ears. It was only money. It would take a long time to replace it, but it would take longer to erase the pain of his betrayal. It was the betrayal that had hit her deep in her soul. She had been blind, had not recognized the signs. She had been left wondering if she could ever trust her own judgment again.

And now she was in Argentina with no place to stay.

She could go back to Buenos Aires. She could try to change her ticket and go home with her tail between her legs. Or she could book herself in somewhere and stay for the duration. It would mean taking most of her savings to pay for the hotel and food, but she’d have her dignity.

Wouldn’t Antoine have a laugh about that? And she could already hear her mother chiding, I told you it was a mistake to take that trip alone.

That hurt. At a time when she’d most wanted her mother’s support, it hadn’t been there. Margaret Hollingsworth had thought she was crazy to call off the wedding and a life of security. Sometimes Sophia wondered why she kept trying to gain her mother’s approval. Once, as a child, sad and missing her dad, she’d hidden in a cellar, not wanting her mother to see her tears. But she’d ended up locked in by accident, unable to get back out again. It had been hours before she’d been found, crying and terrified. Even now, she could still feel the dark, damp chill and hear her mother’s furious words when what she’d wanted was a hug and reassurance. It was a hurt that had scarred her heart that day, and she’d never forgotten it.

But she couldn’t spend her whole life seeking approval from someone else. She knew that now. It was time for her to stand up for herself. To make her own happiness. She straightened her shoulders. She’d make the best of it and move forward.

“I insist on staying the week,” she said clearly. “I did not receive notification that our booking was cancelled, and I have flown all the way from Ottawa. I have no intention of going back.” She leveled a gaze at him, hoping that she appeared to mean business when inside she was trembling. He had to let her stay. The savings she had put aside were what she had been planning to use as a security deposit for a new, cheaper apartment, necessary now that she no longer had her well-paid job with Antoine. But there was pride at stake here and she relaxed her shoulders, determined to see it through.

The man’s jaw hardened and his dark eyes glittered at her sharp command. “I am sorry, but we simply are not prepared for guests. I can arrange for you to go back to San Antonio de Areco. There is a hotel there. Or perhaps back to Buenos Aires.”

Which sounded lovely, she supposed. Her gaze caught the strange tree again. It gave her a strong yet peaceful feeling. This place wouldn’t be so bad. She would have time to relax and recharge. Besides, there was something in his dismissive tone that put her on edge. He was telling her what to do, and at some point she had to take charge of her own life. She’d been a people pleaser for years, always trying to do the right thing, not to create waves. This time it was up to her.

“But I want to stay here,” she insisted firmly.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, calling her bluff. “I could see it on your face from the first moment. It is fine. Estancia life is not for everyone.” He cast a disdainful look at her handbag and shoes. “Obviously.”

Sophia gritted her teeth. He didn’t think she could handle it? Obviously he hadn’t ever been mobbed by the press at Parliament Hill or been surprised by a photographer shoving a camera in her face outside a downtown club and taunting her about political scandal.

“I insist,” she replied. She looked around her at the plain surroundings. “Unless you can provide proof of the refund. In which case I am happy to pay the going rate if I am wrong.”

Consternation showed on the man’s face. She couldn’t bring herself to back down an inch even though the prospect of spending her savings made her blanch. She was doing all she could just to keep it together. She wanted him to let her stay. Not just to prove something to Antoine, who probably couldn’t care less. No, to prove something to herself. And most of all at this moment she wanted to be shown to her room, so she could close the door and decompress. Her legs suddenly felt weary—was it jet lag? And she had the oddest urge to cry. She was so tired. Tired of everything. Something had to give sooner or later and she really hoped that when it did, it would be in private. The past months seemed to catch up to her all at once, and she refused to cry in public.

The man stared at her for a moment, making her squirm inside. “I will try to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, you’d better come in.”

It wasn’t exactly gracious, but Sophia felt weak with relief. Surely there was someone inside who could help her with her bags while this … man went back to work. If they were running an estancia, someone must be here to cook and clean and make sure the amenities were looked after. It didn’t have to be fancy. A simple glass of wine and a hot meal would be most welcome.

Sophia held out her hand. “I’m Sophia Hollingsworth.”

“Tomas Mendoza.”

He took her hand in his and something twisted inside her, something delicious and unexpected. His hand was indeed firm, with slight callouses along the pads of his fingers. It was also warm and strong, and it enveloped her smaller, perfectly manicured one completely. It was a working man’s hand, she realized. Honest. Capable.

“Miss Hollingsworth, I do not know if you realize what you’re asking. Since we are shut down for another few weeks, the regular hosts of the estancia are away.”

She waited, not exactly sure what he meant.

He pulled his hand away from hers. “Maria and Carlos Rodriguez normally run the place,” he explained. “While I finish overseeing the repairs, they’ve gone to CÓrdoba to visit their son, Miguel. I will have to check the paperwork in the office for your reservation. At the same time, I need to make it clear that while they are away the full amenities are not available.”

Dear Lord. So she was stuck here with a handyman? And who was to blame? Herself. Why hadn’t she followed up before coming all this way? Another mistake to add to the list.

“And your job?”

He nodded at her. “I do what needs doing. I work with Carlos with the stock. Fix things. Do the trail rides.”

Trail rides? Would he expect her to do that?

“One of our selling points is an authentic estancia experience. Our guests are encouraged to work alongside us.”

She swallowed. If she backed out now she’d be giving in. Moreover, he’d know it. From deep inside came a need to rise to the challenge. But, for right now, the afternoon sun beat down on Sophia’s head and she grew more tired by the moment. “Could you just show me to a room for now? I’m feeling quite hot. The air conditioning was broken in the taxi, and I’m really just trying to make sense of what’s happened today.”

“Certainly.”

Tomas picked up two of her large cases, leaving the third, smaller carry-on, for Sophia. She put the strap over her shoulder and followed him along the gravel to the patio. He opened the front door and stepped inside, tugging her luggage in behind him.

For better or for worse, this was where she would be for the next week.

It could only get better from here, right? It would be what she made of it. She reminded herself of that fact as she followed Tomas down a hall and around a corner to her bedroom. His earlier polite smile had been replaced by a cool, emotionless expression. “You should be comfortable here,” he said stiffly, opening the door to a room and then stepping back to let her pass. She stepped inside and instantly felt the stress of the last few months drain away.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” It was simple and certainly no luxury suite. But it was brilliantly clean, meticulously cared for and suited her perfectly. The walls were pristine white, looking as though they’d been newly painted, and she immediately went to the open window that looked out over the grassy plain, stretching endlessly to the south. The air was clean, free of pollution and smog, and it refreshed her. More than that, the place was private, and privacy was something she craved quite desperately.

The bed was gorgeous, an intricately patterned iron bedstead adorned with linens the soothing colour of a summer sky. A basket of towels and toiletries sat on a low dresser, the plush cotton the same blue as the bedspread. Right now all she wanted was to sink into the bed’s softness and let the stress of the day drain away.

She turned back to Tomas, suddenly aware that they were standing in what was now her bedroom. The silence stretched out awkwardly. There was nothing inappropriate about being in here with him. He was filling the role of concierge and apparently so much more. So why did she suddenly feel so self-conscious?

“What a lovely room.”

“I am pleased you like it.” The hard gleam in his eyes softened just a bit, as if her approval validated her in some way. As soon as she glimpsed it, the gleam disappeared.

What would it take to win him over? It was going to be a very long week if this was the extent of their conversation.

“It’s so peaceful. Listen.” She went to the window again, trying to escape his keen gaze. She pushed aside the curtain with a hand, looking out, leaning her head back so that the warm breeze caressed her throat. “Do you hear that?”

He came closer behind her, so close she could feel his presence by her shoulder even though he had to be several inches away. “Hear what?”

She laughed then, a carefree, feel-good laugh that she felt clear to her toes. The sound was unfamiliar to her ears, but very, very welcome. Suddenly the situation didn’t seem so catastrophic. She had no one to please but herself this week. “That’s just it. Nothing. I hear nothing, and it’s wonderful.” She closed her eyes and let the sunshine and wind bathe her face.

When she turned back around, the severe look on his face had disappeared. He understood, she realized. That took away the self-conscious part of being alone with him but left in its wake the flicker of attraction she’d felt when holding his hand. A flicker she wasn’t sure what to do with.

She needed to escape his gaze and the nearness of him, so she moved to the dresser to touch the towels and trail her fingers over the wood. It was slightly scarred and Sophia loved how the markings added character to the piece. This was no sterile hotel room without a wrinkle or scratch. It wasn’t about perfection. It had a level of familiarity and comfort that simply said home. The kind of home she’d secretly always wished for and had never had.

“That’s the idea,” he replied. “The city has its charms. But sometimes a person needs to get away to where things are …” he broke off the sentence, and Sophia wondered what he had been going to say. The impression she got was that big problems became small ones here. She found herself curious about him. Who was Tomas Mendoza? Why did this simple life hold such allure to him?

“Less complicated?”

Tomas stared out of the window as the moment drew on. “Yes, less complicated,” he confirmed, but Sophia didn’t feel reassured. Had his life been complicated once? For all his good looks, there was a wall around him, as though no matter what, he would keep people at arms’ length. He was impossible to read.

“Just leave the bags,” Sophia suggested. “I think I would like to freshen up and have a nap.”

Sophia shouldered her tote bag and was just reaching for one of her suitcases when the tote slipped off her shoulder, catching on her elbow and knocking her off balance. Her heel caught as her right toe snubbed the edge of her biggest case and she lurched forward.

Straight into Tomas’s arms.

He caught her effortlessly, his strong arms cinched around her as he righted her on her feet. Without thinking, she looked up. It was a mistake. Her cheeks flamed as she realized his hand was pressed firmly against her lower back. It was tempting, having her body pressed close to his, but the real trouble was the way their gazes clashed. She had not been held in such an intimate embrace for a long time, and never with the nerve-tingling effect she was suffering now. A muscle in Tomas’s jaw tightened and Sophia’s breathing was so shallow her chest cramped. For a breath of a moment she wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Really, truly kissed.

And behind that thought came the intimate realization that for the next several days, it was just the two of them here.

The thought tempted but also made her draw back. There was making a statement of independence by taking this trip alone, and then there was just being foolish. This was not why she had come. A holiday fling was not what she was looking for. She pushed away and out of his arms and straightened her blouse.

“In addition to poor fact checking, I think we can safely add klutz to my list of faults today,” she joked, but the quip fell flat as she saw the wrinkle between his brows form once more.

“I hope not,” he answered, pushing her suitcase into place at the end of the bed and straightening into that damnable rigid posture once more. “This is a working ranch, Miss Hollingsworth.” He’d reverted to her formal English name again, backing away. “The Vista del Cielo was established to give guests an authentic gaucho experience. Our guests live like the locals for the duration of their stay. In the absence of our other facilities, I do hope you take advantage of all the estancia has to offer.” Once again he looked at her shoes, then up at her tidy skirt and linen blouse, which was now wrinkled beyond recognition. “I hope you’ve brought other more … appropriate clothing.”

Sophia felt like an idiot. She’d been so sure and so blindly determined to soak up every entitled minute that she’d thrown her best things in her luggage and jetted off. Now this gaucho was issuing a challenge. She hated the indulgent way he looked at her clothes. She’d show him. She’d do everything on his damned list of activities!

She sniffed. It wasn’t as if she made a habit of falling down all the time, or worse, falling into men. She wasn’t incapable. But he had hit on yet another obstacle—her suitcases were packed with totally inappropriate clothing. Bathing suits for lounging around a pool, a selection of skirts and dresses, all with matching shoes for Michelin-starred dinners with a view. This wasn’t Tomas’s fault. It was hers, for not being more thorough. If she’d known what sort of establishment this was, she would have packed the proper things. Sometimes she felt as if she could do nothing right. She trusted in all the wrong things instead of relying on herself.