Mendoza's Secret Fortune Page 2

  Heaven in an apron.

  He could almost feel the electrical charge this beautiful young woman seemed to radiate with every step she took.

  Matteo had to remind himself to continue breathing. Air kept getting stuck in his lungs. And if his mouth were any dryer, dust would have come spilling out the second he tried to talk.

  He wasn’t the only one who was mesmerized by this vision. Out of the corner of his eye, Matteo saw that Cisco suddenly sat up, snapping to attention, his laid-back attitude becoming not quite so laid-back the second the hostess came into his line of vision.

  As if on cue, the hostess stopped at their table, smiled and introduced herself to the trio.

  “Hello, my name is Rachel, and I’ll be your server this afternoon. One of our regulars called in sick, and I’m covering for her.” She glanced from Orlando to his two sons. Recognizing the one on the older man’s right as the man who had come to her defense just a few minutes earlier, her smile grew wider in acknowledgment—chivalry should always be applauded. “Have you gentlemen decided yet?”

  Matteo knew what he would have liked to order. Her. He kept that response to himself.

  After his father and Cisco had placed their orders with the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty, Matteo knew that he had ordered something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what less than three seconds after the words had left his mouth.

  He had been fixated on the way her lips moved as she spoke and the way his entire system reacted to the melodic sound of her voice.

  “Are you all right, Matteo?” his father asked once Rachel had retreated to the kitchen.

  Cisco smirked. Annoyance flared in Matteo’s veins. Now what?

  “Yeah, sure. I’m fine, Dad.” He turned to look at his father, puzzled. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Well, I have known you for your whole life, and in all those years, I do not remember a single time when I saw you eating a salad as your main course. I believe you referred to salads as—”

  “Cow food,” Cisco interjected, unable to remain silent any longer. His laugh was full-bodied and hearty. And, right now, very annoying to Matteo. “I think my little brother was mesmerized by the lovely Rachel and didn’t know what he was ordering, Dad.”

  “I wasn’t mesmerized,” Matteo protested with indignation, giving his brother a dirty look.

  Matteo loved his older brother, but he hated being teased by Cisco. Cisco could be relentless, picking at him for days on end about a single thing if the spirit so moved him.

  Now he grinned that wicked grin of his. “Hey, brother, I thought that she was a really hot little number, too.”

  Orlando could see that this had the makings of another family fight. Matteo sounded as if he was taking offense for the young woman—who surely hadn’t a clue that she was the subject of this discussion, the older man surmised. As for Cisco, Orlando knew that the older boy loved to get Matteo riled up.

  “We are all agreed that she is a very attractive young lady, Cisco. There is no reason for a dispute—or for you to give your brother a hard time,” Orlando chided his older son.

  Matteo frowned. He knew his father meant well, but he didn’t need him coming to his aid this way. He wasn’t ten years old and unable to hold his own against Cisco. Even at ten, he hadn’t welcomed the interference.

  “It’s okay, Dad,” Matteo said evenly, shifting his eyes to his brother. “Cisco didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “Actually, I did,” Cisco contradicted him. “Are you declaring dibs on Rachel? ’Cause if you are, it looks like maybe you’ve found that reason to hang around Horseback Hollow for a while—until she rebuffs you in favor of someone else, of course.” Matteo’s brother chuckled to himself as he continued eating the triangular chips from the bowl in the center of the table.

  “You mean you?” The question came spontaneously to Matteo’s lips, without any real thought necessary on his part.

  Cisco’s grin spread wider, annoying Matteo almost beyond words. “Just possibly.”

  “Matteo, Cisco,” Orlando chided them sharply. “You’re not children anymore, bent on competing until one of you collapses in exhaustion,” he said. “It is time for you to behave like men.”

  “Men compete, Dad,” Cisco reminded his father in all sincerity. “You know that.”

  For a moment, Orlando was catapulted back in time. He remembered his late wife, vividly remembered what he had gone through in order to win her hand in marriage. Remembered, too, what it had ultimately personally cost him.

  “Sometimes men compete,” Orlando admitted, then added, “but not my sons.” He made the four words sound like an edict. “They do not compete against one another.”

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” Cisco assured him with a well-intentioned smile on his face. “It’s not really a contest, is it, Matteo?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was, in Cisco’s opinion, a statement of fact. He raised his eyes to his brother’s, waiting for a response. Or more accurately, waiting for his agreement.

  Matteo knew just what his brother was inferring. That Matteo didn’t stand a chance at winning over the striking young hostess, because Cisco had always been the lucky one when it came to all of their bets. More important, the one who always got the girl because he was so outgoing, charming and downright irresistible.

  But Cisco was also the one whose relationships did not last, not even as long as the life cycle of a rose.

  Terminating those relationships was always of his brother’s own choosing, but that didn’t change the fact that when all was said and done, Cisco wound up standing alone.

  “She’s a person, not property,” Matteo pointed out tersely.

  Cisco remained undaunted. “I completely agree,” he replied in an even tone. He leaned forward just a touch. “So, tell the truth, brother. Does the lovely Rachel make you rethink leaving this tiny town?”

  “She makes me rethink having you for a brother,” Matteo informed him in as level a voice as he could manage. He was fighting the urge to cut Cisco down to size, but he had a feeling Cisco was looking forward to just that—so he refrained from playing into his brother’s hands.

  “Boys, bastante,” Orlando declared, calling an end to the discussion before it got completely out of hand. “No fighting,” he emphasized. “I asked you both here for a nice, peaceful lunch. I thought this restaurant might remind you a little of the ones you liked to go to back ho—back in Miami.”

  At the last moment, Orlando corrected himself. Referring to Miami as “home” was counterproductive to what he was currently attempting to promote—a sense that this place, Horseback Hollow, with its peaceful surroundings and room for growth, held a great deal of potential. Potential he felt that someone like Matteo—more so than Cisco—could tap into.

  His youngest son was a pilot, like he was, but while he had been a risk-taker in his youth, Matteo admittedly was turning out to be far steadier at this point in his life than Orlando had been when he was twenty-eight.

  Losing Luz just reinforced for Orlando that life was fleeting. However many years—or months—he had left, he wanted to spend them with his children. But at the same time, he knew that strong-arming them was not the way to proceed successfully.

  Cisco—for the time being—was a done deal. He was staying in Horseback Hollow—he had even rented a small ranch house just outside of town. And of course, Gabi had already settled in here. Matteo, however, was going to require some major—and just possibly underhanded—convincing in order to get him to stick around. When they had come to eat at this restaurant, Orlando had thought his dilemma of winning his youngest son over was all but insurmountable.

  Now, however, he finally had some hope. Many a man had done some unpredictable things in order to impress a young woman, and from what he could see, Matteo seemed to be pretty taken with that attrac
tive hostess.

  Orlando kept the conversation flowing, talking up the merits of Horseback Hollow, the closeness of its local citizens and how living here made a man focus on what was really important in life: his family and his health.

  In recent months, the patriarch had regained the latter and was in the process of reinstituting the former. With just a little luck and a healthy dose of his persuasion, Orlando felt he would succeed here, as well.

  When the hostess returned shortly with their orders, Orlando carefully observed his younger son’s reaction to her. That made him feel this indeed was the right path for him to concentrate on. His youngest son all but lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree when the woman approached.

  Orlando noted that his older son seemed to come to life a little more, as well.

  This had all the earmarks of an intense rivalry, Orlando observed. He had always tried to discourage that sort of thing, thinking that brothers should support one another, not attempt to best each other at every turn—especially when Cisco usually triumphed over Matteo. The last thing he wanted was for the latter to suffer another loss at the hands of his brother, but at this point, he couldn’t think of another way to get Matteo to consider remaining in Horseback Hollow for a little while longer—and ideally, permanently—than bringing his son together with this hostess.

  His secret hope was that if Matteo—and Cisco—did remain here for a number of weeks, both would be won over by the town’s charm, and they would come to see that the merits of living in a small town trumped living in a large, indifferent metropolis where people lived next door to one another and remained strangers.

  “Senorita, please, another round of cervezas for all of us,” Orlando said once their server had emptied the tray she had carried to their table.

  “Coming right up. And I’ll bring back another bowl of tortilla chips, as well,” Rachel promised, picking up the empty woven basket and placing it on her tray. “Anything else?” she asked, her eyes sweeping over the three men.

  “Maybe later,” Cisco replied.

  Rachel smiled as she inclined her head. “Later, then,” she agreed cheerfully. “Anything else for you gentlemen?” she wanted to know, glancing at the other two men at the table.

  Matteo stared down at what was to be his lunch. He honestly couldn’t remember asking for the salad. In any event, that was not going to satisfy his appetite. “Yes. I’d like a cheeseburger, please,” he said.

  “Is something wrong with your salad?” she asked.

  “No, I just thought that the cheeseburger would be more filling,” Matteo explained, feeling as if he was tripping over his own tongue. He had never had Cisco’s glib ability to spout clever rhetoric at the drop of a hat.

  “Then you’d like me to take the salad back?” she asked.

  “Not if it gets you into trouble.” Now, why had he said something so stupid? Matteo upbraided himself. He should have just said yes and left it at that.

  But to his relief, she smiled. “That’s very considerate of you, but no, it won’t.” Picking up the salad, she placed it on her tray. “One cheeseburger, another round of cervezas and a bowl of chips coming up,” she told him.

  Captivated, Matteo watched her hips sway ever so slightly as she walked away from their table.

  He could have sworn his body temperature went up a full five degrees.

  Maybe more.

  Chapter Two

  Orlando looked at his youngest son and chuckled knowingly. “Well, I’m guessing there’s at least one thing the Cantina has to offer that will have you coming back here again.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Cisco cavalierly waved away his father’s words to his brother. “Matteo doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it. I, on the other hand, can spot a good thing a mile away.” Cisco leaned back in his chair, tilting it on its rear legs in order to get a better view of Rachel as she rounded a corner and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “She’s not a ‘thing.’ She’s a woman,” Matteo snapped at his brother. He didn’t care for the way that Cisco had reduced the woman to the level of a mere object rather than giving her the proper due as a person.

  “She certainly is that,” Cisco agreed with a wide, appreciative and yet very devilish grin.

  “No,” Orlando announced firmly, instantly commanding his sons’ attention.

  “No, what?” Cisco asked as he looked at his father. They hadn’t said anything that required a yes-or-no decision.

  Orlando frowned, turning his affable face into a stern, somber mask. “No, you two are not going to butt heads and who knows what else while competing for the same woman.”

  Among Cisco’s many talents was the ability to look completely innocent even when he was completely guilty. He assumed that look now as he turned his gaze on his father.

  “What makes you think that Matteo and I are going to compete for the same woman, Dad?”

  An exasperated look flashed across the patriarch’s face. He was not about to be hoodwinked—or buried beneath his silver-tongued son’s rhetoric.

  “Is the Pope Catholic?” Orlando asked.

  “Last time I checked,” Cisco replied. His tone was respectful. The gleam in his eye, however, gave him away.

  Orlando shook his head firmly. “And there you have your answer,” he told Cisco. “I never said very much when you boys were growing up and insisted on turning everything into an emotional tug-of-war. I even thought—God forgive me—that it might help you two to build your character—”

  “Matteo’s a character all right,” Cisco joked. “However, as far as I’m concerned—” He got no further.

  Orlando looked as if his patience was wearing thin and might even be in danger of giving way entirely. “But above all, I want you two to remember that you are brothers. No prize is worth sacrificing that relationship. Not even a woman you might think you love.”

  But he, Orlando added silently, was the exception that proved the rule. However, that wasn’t something he was about to share with his sons. It went against the point he was trying to make.

  “Don’t worry, Dad. There isn’t going to be any competition,” Cisco assured his father as he slanted a quick glance at his brother.

  Orlando nodded his silver head. “That’s good to hear.”

  “By the way she looked at me, I’ve already won,” Cisco concluded with that smile that always managed to get right under Matteo’s skin.

  And his brother knew it, Matteo thought, unable to do anything about it without getting on his father’s bad side.

  But he had to say something, however innocuous. So he did. “In your dreams,” Matteo retorted.

  “I agree with you there, Mattie. That little lady certainly is the stuff that dreams are made of,” Cisco told his brother. “Besides, what difference does it make to you? Aren’t you the one dying to leave this place in the dust and take off for good ol’ Miami?”

  Although when push came to shove—and under duress—Matteo would admit that he did love his brother, there were times when he would have liked nothing better than to strangle his irritating sibling with his bare hands.

  Cisco had a way of getting to him like nobody else could. So much so that if Cisco said “black,” it instantly made him want to shout “white!”

  Because of that feeling, it came as not much of a surprise to him when Matteo heard himself say, “Maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I’ve decided to stick around Horseback Hollow for a little while longer.”

  Delighted and confident that given enough time here, he would be able to convince Matteo of the merits of living in this wonderful small town, Orlando leaned over and clapped his youngest son on the back. “That is wonderful news, my boy. Wonderful.”

  Matteo almost felt guilty about his father’s reaction. He wasn’t staying here because of his fathe
r. He was going to be hanging around a few extra days or so to see if he could win over the hostess before she succumbed to his sweet-talking brother.

  “Yes, well, someone has to protect Horseback Hollow’s unsuspecting women from the likes of him,” Matteo told his father, nodding at his brother.

  “And you’ve elected yourself that protector?” Cisco hooted, amusement highlighting his face at his brother’s declaration. “That’s one mighty tall order, little brother.”

  “Don’t call me that, Cisco. I’m not your little brother,” Matteo told him.

  Cisco’s amusement only grew. “Well, you’re certainly not my big brother, now, are you, Mattie? I am the older one.”

  Matteo scowled. “Two years isn’t all that much,” he reminded his brother. And not even a full two years at that, Matteo thought.

  “Oh, but it can amount to a lifetime under the right set of circumstances,” Cisco countered with a very mysterious grin that really annoyed Matteo.

  Orlando sighed. He had had just about enough. Listening to this back-and-forth banter and bickering required something stronger to drink than just beer, but it was still too early in the day to contemplate downing any hard liquor.

  “Might I remind you two boys that you no longer are boys. You are men,” Orlando told his sons. “It is time to take on that responsibility and act accordingly—or do I have to drag you both into a back alley and use my belt on you?”

  The truth of it was that their father had never used his belt on either of them in a back alley, or any other area for that matter. But a reply to that declaration was temporarily tabled because Rachel had returned, bringing with her three freshly opened individual bottles of dark beer as well as Matteo’s cheeseburger and the new bowl of chips.

  Setting down Matteo’s meal in front of him and placing the bowl of chips in the center of the table, Rachel proceeded to refill the men’s empty beer glasses, beginning with Orlando’s.

  “Will there be anything else?” she asked with a gregarious smile as she made the rounds between the three men.