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“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.
“It’s beautiful,” she said in awe. “The land is so green!”
“Five different rivers cross the property.”
Past one of the pens she saw a private hangar, with a helipad and airplane runway stretching out to the horizon beyond. “All this is yours?”
“All mine.”
His black eyes gleamed down at her, and she heard the echo of his arrogant words earlier. If the baby is mine, then so are you. She shivered.
The baby was his. He now had undeniable proof. When they’d gone to the cutting-edge medical clinic in Houston, she’d gotten the impression Santiago must be a very important financial donor, the way the entire staff had waited on him hand and foot. They’d taken the noninvasive blood test, drawing blood from each of them, then the highly trained lab technicians had promised to rush the results.
“But while you wait—” the female OB/GYN had smiled between them “—would you like to have an ultrasound, and find out if you’re having a boy or girl?”
Belle had started to refuse. She’d already decided she wanted to be surprised at the birth. But looking at Santiago’s face—his dark eyes so bright, almost boyishly eager as he looked at her—she couldn’t refuse. If Santiago truly wanted to be what she herself had never had...a loving father...then she was going to do everything she could to encourage the bond between father and child.
“All right,” she’d said quietly, and got up on the hospital bed. A few minutes later, as the doctor ran the wand over the sticky goo on her belly, they were staring at the image on the ultrasound screen. A whoosh-whoosh sound filled the room.
“What’s that?” Santiago asked in alarm, sitting beside her on the bed.
Belle blinked at him in surprise. She suddenly realized that unlike her, he was hearing that sound for the very first time. Smiling, she told him, “It’s the baby’s heartbeat.”
“Heartbeat?” he breathed. The expression on his darkly handsome face, normally hard and cynical, changed so much he looked like a different man.
