Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

was leaving. The fact that she hadn’t showed she actually possessed the better part of self-control when it was necessary. For one thing, she hadn’t wanted to give Robert the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d both outraged and hurt her. That was her little secret.
    Gwen set the boots back on the shelf, her gaze grazing the gold wedding band. During their first year of marriage, she’d wondered so many times why Robert had taken the trouble to give it to her. His were hollow vows, eked out in the dim light of a small church on a moss-covered lane. Gwen’s heart had brimmed with joy that day, not having any inkling of what was coming. Less than six months down the road, he was ringing up old girlfriends and partying until dawn with the movie crew. It had taken Gwen a while to confess to her sister what was really going on, and Marian had been furious. Tom wasn’t perfect by any stretch, but at least he had his weakness to offer up as an excuse. Robert, on the other hand, was just plain mean, evil in a way no man had a right to be with his brand-new wife.
    Gwen steadied her chin, thinking it was good to know that not all men were wicked. Some, in fact, were thoughtful and kind, and actually took time to listen. Gwen’s heart fluttered, recalling Dan’s gentle touch in the art museum. It wasn’t just the heat of his skin that had sent her pulse racing. There’d been a telling warmth in his eyes as well. And when he said he had faith in her, Gwen had absolutely believed it. Gwen was glad she’d have some downtime this evening. She needed the breather to sort through her thoughts. Despite what they both officially claimed, seeing Dan was feeling more and more like dating. While chile rellenos in the plaza spelled casual, dinner with a view seemed cocktail level at least.
    Gwen picked the boots up anew, considering how much fun it would be to wear them. Then again, money was tight, and she couldn’t afford to spend on luxuries when she’d come to raise funds for her and her sister’s real-time needs. “Maybe one day,” she told the boots, as if they could hear her.
    Gwen left the boutique, wondering if that day would ever come. How amazing it would be not to spend every waking hour concerned about money. In that moment, Gwen realized she’d never really aspired to being rich. All she wanted to do was feel comfortable, as if she at minimum knew where her next meal was coming from. If she was able to paint and sell her art on top of that, she’d find herself in some sort of incredible nirvana she’d been afraid to imagine up until now.
    Gwen’s imagination started to run away with her as she envisioned a handsome, blue-eyed rancher riding up on his horse. Dan could take her to paradise, all right. There and back again several times over, Gwen was sure. She blushed brilliantly at the thought of Dan pulling her close, as she was growing desperate for him to do. Gwen moistened her suddenly dry lips as the setting sun bore down on her. Could she trust him enough to give up everything? To become involved on a level so personal? A distant wind blew, rippling her flirty sundress in the breeze. Gwen hustled back to the inn, sheer fabric hugging her thighs. Her breasts and belly warmed at the thought of seeing him, and Gwen understood this was no longer a Caribbean swell she was fighting. It was a tidal wave.

Chapter Five

    Dan made small talk with the two bronzed women from Austin. The sisters were here on holiday with a few other girlfriends and staying at one of the large establishments offering full spa services. They’d been quick to let Dan know their oil-industry husbands had provided them with shopping money and that they were interested in picking up art.
    “Holbrook and Holstein’s expecting a new acquisition later this week, in fact,” he told them. “Promising new artist with a very keen eye. Gwendolyn Marsh. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”
    Dan’s gaze flitted to the front window, surprised to think he’d just seen her walk by. He was letting his imagination get the better of him, believing any blonde bopping down the street might be Gwen.
    The taller one clapped her hands together with glee. Silver bangles dangled from slim wrists. “Wonderful! What sort of work does she do?”
    “Seascapes and bits of ocean wildlife. She gives them a very interesting and unique treatment in oils.”
    “I adore anything oil,” she said, rolling her eyes at her sister, who was busy retouching her