Santa Fe Fortune & How to Marry a Matador

animal rights fundraiser in Madrid… What?
    Eve clicked on the related story and began reading. It seemed that Fernando’s grandfather had not only been one of Spain’s most prized matadors, he’d also introduced a new form of “ a mano ” bullfighting in which the bull was killed cleanly with one stroke. Picadors were still present in the ring but only for show. None were allowed to injure or torment the bull. This was a game of pure skill, man versus beast, each with his own pointed weapon. One matador’s blade against two deadly horns. His insistence on fighting this way had made him more than a famous matador; he’d become something of a folk hero, known for his respect for the bulls as well as his utter bravery. He’d died in the ring before the age of fifty, just as his son—Fernando’s father—had, leaving behind an enormous estate.
    Eve returned to the images, studying the one of Fernando as a boy who appeared to be about eight. She scanned the date of the picture, mentally calculating that Fernando must now be in his early thirties. Jessica was twenty-eight, and beautiful and talented. She hadn’t had the best luck with men to date, but that didn’t mean she’d have to run off and marry some guy in Spain! If Eve had the leave-time and the money, she’d get on a plane herself and talk some sense into Jess. Eve drew a deep breath, hoping that wouldn’t be necessary. Eve twisted her hair back up and penned it in place. Surely, Jess would come around on her own and quickly extract herself from that marriage by mistake . If she didn’t, Eve might just have to go begging to her boss and break out the credit card. What else on earth were best friends for?

    “Jessica! Wait up!” Fernando called, galloping after her.
    It had been years since she’d been on a horse, and she delighted in the freedom of the ride.
    Fernando gave a loud call, and his bay Andalusian stallion picked up speed, drawing alongside Jess’s gray mare.
    “You are moving awfully fast for a woman in your condition.” He shot her a charming grin. “Not that I’d expect anything less from a spitfire like you.”
    Jess slowed her horse to a trot as Fernando kept pace. “The pregnancy thing was really over the top,” she said, giving him a glance. “Even for a flamboyant inventor like you.”
    He tilted his chin in her direction, easily reining in his horse. “I know, and I apologize for surprising you. It’s just—when the idea occurred, it fit so perfectly with everything else.”
    “What everything else?”
    He gestured to a grove of olive trees up ahead in the distance. “We’ll find some afternoon shade over there. Let’s stop for a while and rest the horses.”
    Jess was irritated he kept putting her off. She was ready for the truth and deserved it now.
    Fernando dismounted, then held out his hand. She accepted his help in getting off her horse, nearly sliding into his arms. He was ruggedly handsome out here on these windswept plains, the sun dancing above them in a nearly cloudless azure sky.
    “Would you mind holding this?” he asked, depositing the satchel in her arms. He withdrew a light picnic blanket from its interior and spread it beneath the craggy branches of an ancient tree.
    “Won’t you sit?” he said, retrieving the bag to lay it on the ground, where he kneeled beside it.
    Jess sat uncertainly at a safe distance, taking in the lovely landscape, the ranch, and the riding ring barely visible beyond the rolling vineyards. “How much property do you own?” she asked.
    “Enough to get by,” he said, uncorking the wine. “Although it’s not really mine.” He handed her a plastic cup filled to the brim with the lush, aromatic wine.
    “It smells divine,” she said, taking a sip and appreciating its full-bodied warmth and peppery finish. “Hmm. Is this one of yours?”
    “A Bodega Garcia 2005. Do you like it?”
    Jess more than liked it. It was fabulous, as was this place. Yet, she reminded herself, Fernando hadn’t taken her into the country for some casual wine tasting. There were more serious matters at play. “It’s delicious,” she said, cupping her glass in both hands. “Now, your story?”
    Fernando sighed, worry lines creasing his brow. “You’re terribly angry with me, aren’t you?”
    “It takes two to tango, Fernando. I’m not saying all of this is your fault. I played a part in what happened yesterday too.”
    He turned toward her with a penetrating look. “That’s