His Forever Valentine Read online

  Val didn’t consider herself a timid woman by any means, but she wasn’t a foolish one, either, and in her book, that meant not taking any undue chances or going off to meetings on her own with complete strangers. Even good-looking ones.

  Especially good-looking ones, she amended.

  “That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Rafe asked her. Then, before she could answer, he added, “I feel as if I owe you, seeing as how you weren’t expecting to go for an impromptu run when you came out here. For a Hollywood girl, you can certainly run.”

  The comment made her wonder what sort of stereotypical image he had of Hollywood women. “I didn’t want to wind up on his trophy wall,” she told him, nodding in the direction that the bull had taken.

  “I wouldn’t have let that happen.” He wasn’t bragging; he just wanted her to be reassured that while she was here, she was safe.

  Her eyes swept over him as if she was looking for something. “What were you planning on doing, whipping out your bullfighting cape and distract him away from me?” she asked.

  There was laughter in her eyes, Rafe noticed. She probably thought he was trying to make himself appear important after the fact—not that he could really fault her for that.

  “No, but I would have run in another direction, after distracting Jasper and getting him to follow me.”

  The humor slowly faded from her eyes, replaced by a look of fascination. “You’re actually serious,” she realized.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Rafe asked. “We don’t get too many people passing through Forever, and getting one of them trampled by a bull wouldn’t exactly look very friendly on the tourist website,” he answered tongue-in-cheek.

  The humor returned to her bright blue eyes. “I guess it wouldn’t at that.” She glanced back at the bull, who had apparently lost interest in both of them and was now ambling back to wherever he had initially come from. “Is he just trying to lure us into a trap by giving us a false sense of security?”

  Rafe laughed. “You’re giving Jasper way too much credit. He doesn’t have any unusual powers of deduction. He just lost interest in us, you know, out of sight, out of mind.”

  She nodded knowingly at the information. “In other words, he’s a typical male.”

  “Ouch.” Rafe pretended to wince as if the words carried with them a physical blow. “What sort of men have you been encountering?”

  Val deliberately blocked out any thoughts of Scott. That was way too sensitive a subject for her to discuss with a stranger. As for the other men she’d encountered, well, they were far more concerned with having a good time and moving on. For the most part, they were as shallow as puddles.

  “The kind that like to sweet-talk women into things, then be on their merry way,” she answered. The way she raised her chin and tossed her hair over her shoulder made Rafe feel that they were not just talking in vague generalities.

  He also had the feeling that there would be no specifics forthcoming at this juncture—they didn’t know each other nearly well enough for her to be capable of sharing something of importance with him.

  Of course, if she stuck around, there was always that possibility that they would grow to know each other better. The idea had more than a little appeal for him.

  “For the sake of argument,” he began.

  A never-flagging sense of curiosity had always been a shortcoming of hers—or at least she viewed it as a shortcoming. That still didn’t keep her from wanting to know things. Everything.

  “Yes?”

  Rafe tried to sound nonchalant as he asked his question, but he had a feeling that he wasn’t quite successful. “If my father and the rest of us agree to having your boss film this movie on our ranch, would you be here for the duration of the filming?”

  “If my boss doesn’t need me to find any other locations for the film, then yes, I get to stick around.” She posed a question of her own. “Why?”

  Rafe shrugged just a wee bit too casually. “No reason,” he answered. “Just wanted to get all my facts straight before I bring you up to the house—in case my father wants to know something after you leave.”

  She watched him carefully as she asked, “Then you were serious about letting me 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 Jones,” she told Rafe’s father with a smile.

  Miguel’s eyes shone with appreciation as they slid over her.

  Val caught herself thinking, Like father, like son while Miguel told her, “Con mucho gusto. That means—”

  “I know a little Spanish,” she responded. “I know what that means.”

  “Excellent.” Miguel nodded his approval. Slowly releasing her hand, he stepped back. “May I get you something to drink? Perhaps something to eat?”

  She liked his generosity. The man was extending his hospitality to her and he had no idea what she was doing there yet.

  “No, thank you, Mr. Rodriguez,” Val began.

  Rafe knew how carried away his father could get, exuding Latin charm from every pore. He came to Val’s rescue.

  “Val’s here on business, Dad,” Rafe interrupted before his father could get rolling.

  The interested look in Miguel’s eyes only grew. “Oh?” His eyes shifted back to the young woman, taking quiet measure of her. “And what business would that be? You cannot be with the bank because all the payments are up to date,” he stated just in case this lovely creature with the sharp blue eyes was with the establishment that held the mortgage to his property. That would explain why he didn’t recognize her. She had to be from out of town. Somewhere up north would be his guess.

  “I’m not with the bank,” Val confirmed. “I’m in the business of making movies, sir.”

  Miguel’s smile broadened. He slanted a glance toward his son. “Ah, so you have brought me a movie star, Raphael,” he said to his son.

  Val was quick to correct his mistake—if he’d actually made it. This one, she sensed, was a born flatterer. “I’m not a movie star, Mr. Rodriguez. I work behind the scenes.”

  Smooth, she couldn’t help thinking. And still every bit of a charmer. She had a feeling that in his day, Miguel Rodriguez had been a force to be reckoned with and that no woman could resist him.

  “That is a shame,” Miguel told her with genuine feeling. “You should be in front of the camera, not behind one. Come, sit,” he encouraged, gesturing toward the oversize tan leather sofa in his living room.

  “Thank you.”

  Walking in front of the older man, Val took a seat on the sofa. Rather than sit beside her, the man she had come to see took a seat on the matching armchair that was positioned kitty-corner to the larger piece of furniture. Looking at him, Val thought of him as a ruler, holding court.

  Rafe sat down on the sofa beside her—just close enough to make her aware of his presence even if she wasn’t looking directly at him.

  “Now then, what can I do for you, Miss—I’m sorry,” he apologized, leaning in toward her and creating a very personal space between them. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Valentine Jones,” Val repeated. Taking a business card out of the pocket of her jeans, she handed it to the older man.

  Miguel glanced at the card, then raised his eyes to hers. She could feel him scrutinizing her. But it wasn’t the kind of scrutiny that made her want to squirm. On the contrary, though she wasn’t sure just what he was thinking, he made her feel welcomed and right at home. Because of the nature of her work, Val had the ability to adjust to almost any surroundings, but inside, there was always this wariness.

  She didn’t really feel it this time.

  “You know,” Miguel told her thoughtfully, “you remind me of someone, the way you hold your head and that beautiful hair of yours. You make me think of an actress. A very pretty lady, but I cannot recall who.” He raised his wide shoulders in a helpless shrug, then let them fall. “Getting older has its drawbacks, I am afraid,” he confided with a smile. “When I was younger, I would have known immediately.”

  She knew exactly who he was talking about. It wasn’t the first time she’d been told that s
he reminded a person of someone they had once seen on the screen.

  “People say I look like my mother,” she told Miguel.

  The old man nodded a bit absently. “Many children look like their parents. My daughter, Alma, looks very much like my late wife.”

  Val had seen photographs of her mother at her age, as well as a few of her movies. She was a dead ringer for her.

  “My mother is Gloria Halladay,” Val told him, watching his face to see if the name brought any recognition with it.

  Miguel’s eyes widened with surprise and then infinite pleasure as he put the name to a face. A much-beloved face.

  “Yes, of course. Gloria Halladay.” There was excitement and a touch of reverence when he said the name. Val found herself instantly liking the man. “I remember seeing her in several movies years ago—I took my wife,” he recalled with a fondness enveloping his words. “Washington’s Birthday was my wife’s favorite.” Still eying Val, he cocked his head slightly, as another thought occurred to him. “I always thought it was a shame that your mother did not make more comedies. She was very gifted.”

  Val smiled. “I’ll let her know you said so. She’ll be very pleased,” she told the man. Though she enjoyed her work as a casting director, nothing pleased her mother more than hearing flattering words from a fan. It gave her a sense of continuity as well as bringing back some of the old days.

  Miguel nodded thoughtfully and with approval, as if some sort of a bond had just been forged between him and this movie star’s daughter.

  His eyes swept over the young woman and then his son. The thought occurred to him that Raphael and Gloria Halladay’s daughter made a nice couple. A very attractive couple.

  He began to wonder what he could do to help them see that.