His Forever Valentine. Marie Ferrarella
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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 she 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.
“So, what is it that I can do for you, Valentine Jones?” he asked warmly.
“She’s a location scout, Dad,” Rafe interjected. The moment he said it, he realized that his father probably had no idea what that was. He was quick to explain. “That’s someone who—”
Miguel waved away the rest of his son’s words. “I know what she does, Raphael.”
“You do?” This time, it was Val who spoke, surprised that a man from his generation, with no ties to Hollywood, would know what she did for a living.
Miguel inclined his head. “Of course. I know what a scout is and I know what location is. And you said you were with a movie company. That means you are looking for some place suitable to make this movie of yours.”
He smiled tolerantly at the two young people. When he was their age, he was certain he was smarter than his father was, too. It was only when he grew older that he realized that perhaps he was not so very smart and his father was not so very dumb.
Miguel’s smile deepened fondly. Youth always felt it was smarter than any generation that had come before them.
“It really is not that hard to conclude,” he told her. “Continue, please. What is it that you want to say to me?”
Maybe this wasn’t going to be so hard after all, Val thought. She was fairly certain that she had won over Raphael, and his father certainly seemed to be reasonable and willing to hear her out.
“Well, Mr. Rodriguez, I think that your ranch would be just perfect for the movie that my boss is getting ready to direct—”
The rest of her sentence was unexpectedly interrupted and then aborted by the loud voice that called out, “Dad, you should see those quarter horses that Eli just got. They— Hello,” Mike automatically said, suspending his narrative as he took a look at the stranger sitting in his father’s living room. His dark eyes shifted to his father. “Sorry, I didn’t know we had company.”
Entering behind him, the youngest of the Rodriguez brothers, Ray, came to a sudden halt when Mike stopped moving, all but plowing into his oldest brother. Sidestepping at the last moment, Ray looked to see what had nearly caused the human