Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

Chapter One

    Gwendolyn Marsh leaned across the large oak table that served as a desk. “I’m going to be honest with you, Mr. Holbrook. I didn’t fly all the way out here to get swindled.”
    Dan stared in disbelief at the incredibly contentious woman. Swindled was an awfully big accusation coming from such a small frame. She couldn’t stand more than five foot five in heels, and she’d nearly tumbled off them striding into the place.
    “Like I told you, Mrs. Marsh, I’m not in the position to make that decision. If two thousand a canvas is what Ms. Holstein quoted you in the email, then I’m afraid I’ll need to stick by that.”
    Soft gold curls fell at uneven angles, framing a lovely face as deep brown eyes homed in on him. If she weren’t so hard-edged, he might consider her beautiful. Dan stopped himself, realizing appraisals of the clientele weren’t in his job description.
    “It’s Ms., if you must know.”
    Some lucky fellow was off the hook.
    “My apologies. I saw the wedding band and…”
    “It’s a relic, okay? I haven’t gotten used to going without it.”
    “I’m sorry, I had no idea. I understand it takes a while.”
    She leveled him a look, as if he were the culprit. Hey, maybe in her eyes, all men were. Dan had met the type before and could easily read the signs: steer clear, not for you buddy, a sexy woman’s not everything… Sexy? Did he just think sexy? Gwendolyn Marsh wasn’t movie-star thin like most females here. Her formfitting sundress hugged every curve in just the right way. Wrong way, as far as he was concerned. This was just another sign he’d been alone too long. It wasn’t like Dan didn’t have his reasons. In fact, when he was being honest, Dan realized he was likely worse news for her than she was for him. All women after a while had hopes, dreams…and Dan Holbrook was just the man to dash them.
    Dark eyes sparked with fierce determination. “I think I’d like to speak to Ms. Holstein myself.”
    “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
    She arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Why not?”
    This was just what Dan needed, a hot-tempered, hot-bodied woman waltzing into his Santa Fe gallery on a hot July afternoon. Okay, it wasn’t technically his gallery…
    Dan cursed himself for his soft spot in agreeing to run the place while Nancy was away. He didn’t even like being indoors.
    “Ms. Holstein is in the south of France, will be until next month.”
    She pulled her naturally plump lips into a thin pink line. “I see.” She faltered slightly, nearly losing her composure. There was sheen to her eyes that made them look moist. Dan hoped she wasn’t about to break down crying. Nancy had assured him this would be easy, just a few clients flying in from out of state. Surprise negotiations and weepy women weren’t in the mix. Negotiations Dan could handle. Weepy women were another story.
    A bell tinkled above the door, and a couple of well-dressed patrons entered, a man in an expensive suit and a woman wearing a tailored dress and high-end cowgirl boots.
    “Be right with you folks,” Dan told them, surmising these were the buyers from Los Angeles.
    Gwen stood, apparently taking this as a dismissal. “Well, I guess that’s it, then.” She tucked her clutch under one arm and thrust forward the opposite hand. “Thanks for your time.”
    Dan sent a furtive glance at the Californians perusing shelves of New Mexican pottery and pretending not to listen. “Ms. Marsh, I’m afraid we got off on the wrong…” She tapped a strappy sandal, sporting bright painted nails and multiple toe rings. Heat rose at Dan’s nape as his gaze eased up shapely legs. “…foot.”
    She withdrew her hand and cocked her head sideways, waiting.
    “What I mean is, please sit back down, and let’s discuss this like reasonable people. I’m sure we can work something out.” Dan cringed at the sound of his own voice. Groveling? Here was a word not even in his vocabulary, yet he was being just about as placating as humanly possible. Dan wasn’t doing it for himself, he remembered. He was doing this for Nancy. Other than the day-to-day oversight of things, which really was no problem, she’d given him only two jobs to do. Surely a man as capable at cutting deals as he was wouldn’t have trouble selling a few items to some Los Angeles industry execs and buying canvases from an easy-going North Carolina native. Dan had a notion Nancy had never met Gwendolyn Marsh