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“Hello, I’m Isabella Cortez, I’m visiting Mr. Redford.”
“Good for you, Bull!” She popped him on the shoulder, then greeted Isabella with a smile. “Welcome to the Hill Country. Mr. Redford is a legend in these parts. He’s never met a bull he couldn’t ride.”
Isabella gave him a sideways glance. “I have heard of his reputation and I’m not surprised. He is very talented.”
Bull couldn’t stand it, pride just freed his tongue. “Doris, you don’t know who you’re talking to.”
Isabella realized that he was about to out her, but she didn’t stop him. She was hundreds of miles away from home, in another country, a world away from the bullring.
“Who am I talking to?” Doris looked at Isabella with interest.
“This is La Diosa, the most beautiful, brave, fierce matador in all of Mexico.”
Doris’s eyes bugged. “No! A matador?” She held her hand over her head and snapped her fingers. “Ole!”
“Please, I’m shy,” Isabella discouraged her excitement.
Her attempt to quell the waitress did no good. After she delivered their drinks, she stood on the bar and proclaimed the news. In the next few minutes Isabella was introduced to former World Champion cowboy, Josh Long, and his beautiful bartender wife, Emma, who also happened to be blind. She also met the owner of Hardbodies, Isaac McCoy, a biker cowboy. Isabella hadn’t known biker cowboys existed. Isaac seemed nice and his wife was a hoot. Her name was Avery, and Doris told Isabella that Avery wrote romance novels as Sable Hunter.
Doris told everything.
More and more people came over to speak to her, so many she lost count. She met more McCoys, Sheriff Saucier, a lawyer by the name of Zane, and a tracker by the name of Bowie Travis. What she gathered after all of this was that Bull was well liked and Kerrville was a friendly city.
About midway through the friend fest, it occurred to Bull that he might’ve made a mistake. Several people snapped photos of Isabella with their phones and he remembered her attempt to keep her identity secret. Once things quieted down, he apologized. “I’m sorry, that got a little out of hand.”
Isabella smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I’m far away from home and my lawyer is establishing my claim to Terra Dura as we speak. Hiding my work as La Diosa won’t be as important to me as soon as my uncle no longer can hold his claim to the ranch over my head.”
“So, Terra Dura is yours?” Bull felt a little dizzy.
“Lock, stock, and barrel as you Texans would say. My father and mother joined their lands to form Terra Dura. My uncle had no claim other than his relationship to my father. He did everything in his power to convince himself and everyone else that he did, but when I grew old enough to understand, I began the process to strengthen my claim and annul his. If my parents had a will, it disappeared the night they were murdered.”
Emotions warred in Bull’s head. He wanted her to have what belonged to her, but he had been wishing that she could need him. This woman could probably buy an island with her loose change. What would she need him for? “Terra Dura is in good hands.”
She shrugged. “Terra Dura has some great employees. They make my job easy.”
“What about those who want to hurt you? Did I just put a bullseye on your back?”
Isabella didn’t want him to worry. She covered his hand. “Actually, I’m thinking about retiring La Diosa. I could help the cause in other ways.”
A thousand pounds lifted from Bull’s shoulders. “Thank the Lord.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her. “You’ll never know how happy you’ve made me. I’d do anything in this world to keep you safe.”
She squeezed his hand. “Isn’t it time to go eat? We don’t want to be late for our reservations.”
“You’re right.” He came to help her from her seat and escorted her out through the admiring crowd.
“Everyone is staring at us.” She was used to being in the spotlight, but as La Diosa, not Isabella.
“Why wouldn’t they, you’re a hot Latin beauty and I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch.”
“Dose, Perr Fayver,” Bull answered the hostess when she asked, in Spanish, how many would be dining that evening.
Isabella sent a tiny half-smile to the hostess from behind him. His Spanish accent was atrociously adorable.
“Very good. This way.”
“Mooch-ass, grassy-ass, See no-reeta.”
Isabella followed Bull, who followed their waitress to their table. Being the perfect gentleman, caballero, that he was, Bull pulled her chair out for her, and then joined Isabella across the table. The art and architecture within Fonda San Miguel was exquisitely Spanish, with its tile construct pieces and glowing metal chandeliers. They were momentarily distracted by the atmosphere before their attention relaxed and fell back to the table and on each other.
