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Sitting in the helicopter, Belle looked through the window across the wide plains of Texas. Far below, she saw wild horses running across the prairie, feral and free, a hundred miles away from any human civilization.
She envied them right now.
“Those are mine.” Santiago’s voice came through her headset. Sitting on the white leather seat beside her, he nodded toward the horses with satisfaction. “We’re on the north edge of my property.”
So even the wild horses weren’t free, she thought glumly. It was the first time they’d spoken in the noisy helicopter since they’d left the world-class medical clinic in Houston.
“You want to own everything, don’t you?”
“I do own everything.” Santiago’s dark eyes gleamed at her. “My ranch is nearly half a million acres.”
“Half a—” She sucked in her breath, then said slowly, “Wait. Did you buy the Alford Ranch?”
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Of course I’ve heard of it,” she snapped. “It’s famous. There was a scandal a few years ago when it was sold to some foreigner—you?”
He shrugged. “All of this land was once owned by Spaniards, so some people might say that the Alfords were the foreigners. I was merely reacquiring it.”
She looked at him skeptically. “Spaniards owned this?”
“Most of South Texas was once claimed by the Spanish Empire, in the time of the conquistadors.”
“How do you know that?”
He gave a grim smile. “My father’s family is very proud of their history. When I was a boy, and still cared, I read about my ancestors. The family line goes back six hundred years.”
“The Velazquez family can be traced six hundred years?” she blurted out. She barely knew the full names of her own great-grandparents.
“Velazquez is my mother’s name. My father is a Zoya. The eighth Duque de Sangovia.”
His voice was so flat she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Your father is a duke? An actual duke?”
He shrugged. “So?”
“What’s he like?” she breathed. She’d never met royalty before, or aristocracy. The closest she’d come was knowing a kid called Earl back in middle school.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said shortly. “We’ve never met. Look.” Changing the subject, Santiago pointed out the window. “There’s the house.”
Belle looked, and gasped.
The horizon was wide and flat, stretching in every direction, but after miles of dry, sparse sagebrush, the landscape had turned green. Between tree-covered rivers, she saw outbuildings and barns and pens. And at the most beautiful spot, she was astonished to see a blue lake, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Next to it, atop a small hill surrounded by trees, was a sprawling single-story ranch house that made the place in the old TV show Dallas look like a fishing shack.
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