Mendoza's Secret Fortune Read online

  And neither was his father. Not if he had anything to say about it.

  Which was why he needed to get to the airfield right now. He wanted to check out the plane himself despite the fact that the Redmond Flight School and Charter Service kept a very reliable mechanic on its payroll.

  * * *

  “I was just about to leave without you,” Orlando told him as Matteo raced onto the field, having parked his vehicle as close as was allowed. “I thought perhaps your date with that cute girl went well, so you weren’t going to be my shadow anymore now that you found something better to do with your time.”

  “Nothing’s better than working with you, Dad,” Matteo told him, forcing a cheerful smile onto his face. “Was your plane checked out?”

  “Yes, hijo,” Orlando said patiently, rolling his eyes heavenward as if he resented being treated like a man who had been born without common sense, “my plane has been checked out. Why aren’t you with that girl? The one from the Foundation—Rachel?” he wanted to know. “Didn’t the two of you go out last night?”

  Did everyone know his business? Matteo wondered. “How did you know about that?” he asked, doing his best not to show that having his personal life viewed as something on public record was extremely irritating to him.

  “I’m a father,” Orlando told him matter-of-factly. Matteo knew that he was not above doing a little snooping or information swapping to keep an eye on his sons. “Fathers know these things.” And then he asked, concerned, “Didn’t it go well?”

  Since they were flying an empty plane, there was no reason for any further delay once they were on board. “Yes, Dad, it went well.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” his father wanted to know as he got on the plane. “Why aren’t you having breakfast or whatever with her?”

  Matteo followed his father onto the plane, entering the cockpit right after he did. “Because she’s working at the Foundation this morning, and I’m working here with you. And, according to the timetable you showed me, we’re falling behind,” he pointed out. “So let’s get going.”

  Orlando, strapping himself into his seat, paused for a moment to look sharply at his youngest son. “Has anyone ever told you that you nag?”

  Matteo grinned cheerfully. “Not lately, Dad.”

  Orlando snorted. Putting on the glasses that he was too vain to wear in public, he looked over his manifest. “Well, you do.”

  “Must run in the family,” Matteo said, staring at his father pointedly.

  Orlando ignored him.

  “Hey, Dad?”

  Orlando glanced in his direction. “Now what?”

  “How do you know if a woman’s right for you? If she’s ‘the one’?”

  “She tells you,” Orlando said as he went over his controls.

  “No, really. I’m serious.”

  “So was I.” But because he saw that his son was actually waiting for him to say something, Orlando told him the only thing he could. “Something in your soul connects with hers, perhaps just for a second, and that feeling is so wonderful you just know you were meant to be together.”

  “Was it like that for you and Mom?” Matteo wanted to know.

  After a moment, Orlando replied quietly, “Yes.”

  Matteo knew better than to take the discussion any further.

  * * *

  She was too old for this, Rachel thought a little more than two weeks later as she sat in her cubicle at the Foundation.

  Too old to be behaving like a schoolgirl.

  Yet no matter where she was, whether working her part-time job at the Cantina or her full-time job here at the Foundation, every time she heard an outer door open or glimpsed someone coming in out of the corner of her eye, before she could make out who it was, her heart was already skipping a beat in hopeful anticipation.

  She would have thought, after having gone out with Matteo several times now, to the movies in Vicker’s Corners, for another picnic and to the fancy restaurant where Cisco had initially brought her—which seemed so much more special with Matteo—that she would have gotten a little calmer about the whole thing. Instead, the exact opposite seemed to be true. Each time they went out, she grew more excited about seeing him. It didn’t matter what they were doing; it just mattered that she was doing it with him.

  Rachel thought back to the last date they’d had and she smiled, reliving it.

  “That was really good,” she recalled commenting as they left the restaurant in Vicker’s Corners. “Not as good as the fried chicken you made, of course,” she’d amended, a smile playing on her lips, “but still good.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Matteo had laughed and taken her hand in his. “Feel like going for a little walk before we drive back to Horseback Hollow?”

  She’d inclined her head, pretending to think it over, then said, “I’m game.” And she was. Game for anything that allowed her to have a little more time with the man she was developing deep feelings for.

  “That’s one of the things I like about you,” he’d told her. “You’re game, but you don’t play games. Other women think that keeping secrets and being hard to read makes them more desirable to a guy. But with you, I know that what I see is what I get. No games, no mysteries, just total honesty.” He’d squeezed her hand affectionately. “That’s a rare trait.”

  She’d frozen then, although she’d tried not to. But the very thing that he’d professed to like best about her wasn’t true. She wasn’t being up-front and honest with him. In that case, she was being the exact opposite.

  She’d felt like a liar—and yet, she couldn’t tell him about her father, about her. Not yet. Not until she felt confident enough about their relationship, about him, to trust him with her story. This wasn’t some tiny, inconsequential thing. To her this was a major secret.

  She’d stopped walking. “You know, it’s getting late. Maybe I should be getting back.”

  He’d looked at her, undoubtedly surprised by the sudden change in her demeanor. What he’d said next confirmed it for her.

  “Did I say something wrong, Rachel?”

  “No, no,” she’d adamantly denied. “I just forgot that I promised Christopher I’d look into something for him before tomorrow morning. Sorry. I did have a lovely time,” she had emphasized.

  For a second, he’d looked uncertain—and then he’d grinned. “Come on, Cinderella,” he teased. “I’ll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”

  “It’s the coach that turned into a pumpkin.” She laughed, relieved that he wasn’t making a big deal out of her sudden reversal.

  “Whatever,” he’d said good-naturedly.

  And that was that. Or so she fervently hoped—although she had caught him looking at her a couple of times as if he knew she was holding something back.

  But then again, that could have just been her guilty conscience and her imagination.

  It still didn’t change anything about the way she felt about him. If anything, since he didn’t grill her, it just made her more attracted to him.

  And anticipate his appearance each time anyone came into the office or the Cantina. And most of the time, she was disappointed. It was only someone else coming in.

  But then again, there was that handful of times when she wasn’t disappointed.

  That handful of times she and her skipping heartbeat were right.

  Those were the times Matteo and his father came walking in, a clipboard in Matteo’s hand with a receipt for her to sign in acknowledgment of that day’s incoming shipment.

  Those were the times that all was right with the world—and her heart.

  Thanks to Matteo and his father, the Foundation’s offices were taking shape, becoming close to fully operational.

  And, also thanks to Matteo, so was their relationship.

&nbs
p; Oh, it wasn’t progressing by leaps and bounds by any means. Theirs was more of a work in progress, moving along by inches, not feet. But every inch gained was a strong inch, an inch that wouldn’t give way or break under its own weight.

  Anything worthwhile took time to build. Wasn’t that something her father had once said to her back when she thought that the sun rose and set around the man?

  Just because everything she had known about her father had turned out to be a lie didn’t mean that everything he’d said had been a lie, as well.

  There had been some truthful things that had come out of his mouth. She had to try to remember that, Rachel told herself.

  As she sat at her desk this bright, sunny March day, her mind wandering rather than focusing on the work she had pulled up on her computer monitor, Rachel couldn’t help wondering what her father would have thought of Matteo Mendoza.

  The very next moment, as if coming to, she abruptly shut that thought away.

  It didn’t matter to her what her father thought about anything, she upbraided herself. Especially not about the man who had so easily found his way into her heart.

  Her father had had a place in her heart, and he’d just thrown that away because of all of his lies.

  Because of who—and what—he had finally admitted to being. As far as she knew, she was the only one who knew about his secret, but that didn’t make her feel privileged.

  It made her feel ill.

  What would Matteo say if he knew her father was a philanderer, a liar?

  Rachel looked up at the clock on the wall. It was getting close to two o’clock.

  She could feel her spirits beginning to sink lower. If Matteo and his father had been coming in today, they would have already been here by now, she thought. She’d made a mental note each time the two men came in with a shipment of supplies. The times varied, but they’d never arrived this late.

  Apparently, today wasn’t a day that they would be dropping off anything at the Foundation, she concluded.

  Rachel did her best not to show her disappointment.

  “You haven’t been to lunch yet,” Christopher said as he stopped by her cubicle on his way to his own office.

  She was surprised that her boss had noticed. She thought of him as being too busy to notice minor details like that.

  “I’m not very hungry,” she confessed, then added, “Too much coffee, I guess,” in case he was going to comment on the possible reason behind her loss of appetite. The last thing she wanted was to have anyone here speculating about Matteo and her.

  “Well, take a break at least. I don’t want people thinking I’m working my interns to death,” Christopher said. He was smiling, but she could tell that he was serious.

  Just then, they heard a commotion in the hall. Though she tried to disguise her reaction, she felt her face light up instantly. She was more than familiar with that particular noise by now. The Foundation’s dolly had one squeaky wheel.

  Apparently it wasn’t as late as she had thought. Matteo and his father had arrived with their latest shipment of goods for the Foundation.

  She sat up at attention, ready to be of assistance. It didn’t go unnoticed.

  “Appetite suddenly reappear?” Christopher asked her, amusement highlighting his handsome features.

  “I think that maybe I could eat something after all,” Rachel answered evasively.

  Although she had a feeling that there really was no point in pretending indifference to Matteo’s arrival. It seemed as if everyone on staff here was aware of her feelings for Matteo Mendoza.

  Everyone, that was, but Matteo himself. He seemed to be rather oblivious to it. But some men, she knew, took a while to come around, and that was fine with her. She was in no particular hurry.

  The next minute, Matteo came into the office, pushing the dolly before him, a very low recurring squeak accompanying his route. The dolly was loaded down with all manner of supplies, including a good month’s worth of coffee, the kind that needed to be brewed.

  Apparently Christopher knew how to treat his people, Rachel thought absently. The bulk of her attention was otherwise focused.

  The moment she made eye contact with Matteo, she automatically began to smile broadly.

  Matteo’s expression, however, was far more in keeping with being grim.

  The next minute she saw why.

  His father, being the pilot of record, had of course made the round-trip from here to Red Rock and back with him. But there was also someone else who had come in with them.

  Cisco.

  Chapter Nine

  Circumventing both his father and his younger brother, Cisco headed straight for Rachel the second he walked into the room.

  “Hello.” Greeting her warmly, he took her hands between his and held them for what seemed to Matteo to be an overly long period. “I see you’re looking just as lovely as ever.” He spared Matteo the most fleeting of glances before turning his attention back to Rachel. “I guess my brother’s efforts to show you a good time have been at least moderately successful.”

  As gracefully as possible, she extracted her hands from Cisco’s. To say that his appearance here surprised her would have been a huge understatement. It also made her somewhat uncomfortable. She had thought that the notion of the two brothers engaged in a competition was a thing of the past. Now she wasn’t really all that sure that it was.

  “Cisco, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  The smile Cisco flashed at her widened. “I came to lend my father and little brother a hand—and, of course, to see you again,” he told her with what sounded like sincerity.

  He moved to take her hands in his again, but she outmaneuvered him, picking up a clipboard from her desk and holding on to it with both hands.

  “It hasn’t been that long since we saw each other,” she pointed out. Her smile felt tense around the edges. She slanted a quick glance in Matteo’s direction to see how he was dealing with all this, but his expression was unreadable—and stoic.

  “Well, it certainly feels that way to me,” Cisco confided. Once again, he glanced over his shoulder toward his brother. “But I didn’t want to intrude or steal my brother’s thunder, such as it is.”

  She could feel a blush coming on. It was a direct result of her embarrassment and the flustered feeling that was growing more intense by the second. She had no idea why Cisco was paying this amount of attention to her—they had had a nice date that one time, but it couldn’t have been considered spectacular by any means. And the important thing was that Cisco hadn’t followed up on it—other than that first time when Matteo had grabbed her cell phone from her and said that he was her date that night.

  On the other hand, she and Matteo had had several dates now, and in her opinion, the two of them seemed to be getting closer.

  Until today.

  If she were to go only by the expression on Matteo’s face, she would have said that they did not have any sort of a relationship at all. He looked distant and removed.

  Feeling somewhat frustrated, Rachel turned toward Orlando, hoping to uncover a bit of sanity there. The senior Mendoza had behaved as if he liked her, and she gravitated toward that now.

  “What are you delivering today, Mr. Mendoza?” she asked, moving closer to the older man and completely ignoring the other two men for the moment.

  “The tables and chairs for the main break room,” he told her. “As well as some small appliances. Besides this mini refrigerator, there are a couple of microwaves in the truck.” He nodded at Cisco. “Cisco volunteered to help get them off the truck and bring them up in the elevator, putting them where they belonged.”

  “We’re bringing in a couple of vending machines, too,” Cisco told her. “Can’t have my father and my little brother straining their backs with all this heavy l
ifting.”

  Pivoting the dolly so that they could bring it and what was on it to the proper place, Matteo snapped between clenched teeth, “Stop calling me that.”

  Cisco positioned himself on the dolly’s other side. Industrial-size bungee cords were in place to keep the mini refrigerator from moving around in transit, but it seemed that they still needed someone or something to stabilize the appliance’s weight. That was Cisco’s part in all this.

  “Calling you what?” Cisco asked his brother in an innocent voice.

  Matteo blew out a breath. Cisco knew exactly what he was referring to. Why was he pretending not to? “Your little brother.”

  Cisco’s innocent expression never wavered. “Well, you are, aren’t you?”

  Not knowing how else to deal with this tense situation—and afraid it might get worse any second—Rachel decided to make light of it, desperately hoping to change the mood for the better.

  She turned toward their father and asked, “Were they always like this?”

  “No,” Orlando replied in all seriousness. “They were much worse.” Rachel didn’t know if she quite believed that was possible. “I think,” Orlando went on, “they’re on their good behavior because of you.”

  As if to reinforce his father’s statement, Cisco offered her a wide, wide smile. It was obviously forced, yet somehow still rather appealing.

  Only Matteo remained silent, applying himself instead to bringing the mini refrigerator they had on the dolly to the appropriate place.

  Unaware of the location of the official break room that they were charged with setting up, Matteo looked at Rachel and, nodding at the dolly, asked, “Where do you want this?”

  “You mean she has to direct you around the office?” Cisco marveled, chuckling to himself. He looked at Rachel. “I’ve got to say, Rachel, not every woman would be so patient.”

  Matteo had had just about all he could take. Ordinarily, what Cisco said when he got on this leader-of-the-pack kick went in one ear and out the other. But this time it was different. This time there was more at stake than just his ego.