Mendoza's Secret Fortune

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 father. 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.

Cisco spoke up unexpectedly. “You could settle an argument for us,” he said.

Instinct had Matteo shoot his brother a silencing look, but it was already too late.

“What kind of an argument?” Rachel wanted to know, filling Cisco’s glass.

“If you had to go out with one of us, which would you choose?” Cisco asked her innocently.

The question seemed to catch her completely off guard, but Rachel managed to recover gracefully without missing a beat.

“That all depends,” she responded, going on to Matteo’s glass.

“On what?” Cisco asked her before Matteo had a chance to.

Her eyes met Matteo’s for one brief and surprisingly intense moment before she looked back at his brother. “On who would ask me first.”

“All right,” Cisco said quickly, making sure that he got the jump on his brother. “Rachel, would you go out with me tonight?”

It all happened so fast that Matteo felt as if he had just been torpedoed—and sunk—by an enemy sub.

“My shift doesn’t end until eight,” Rachel replied, still not giving him a definite answer.

It was her way of stalling. It wasn’t that she wasn’t flattered, because she was—the man who had asked her out just now was every bit as good-looking as his brother—and it wasn’t that she was trying to play hard to get, because she wasn’t. The reason she was stalling was because she was hoping that the one who had really caught her attention, the cute younger brother, who had come to her defense earlier at the other table, would put in his two cents and ask her out, as well. Then she knew who she’d pick.

But from what she could see, the one she had heard referred to as “Matteo” seemed to fold up his tent and just withdraw, allowing his brother to have total access to the entire playing field.

In this case, that meant her, Rachel thought.

“Perfect,” Cisco was saying, referring to when her shift ended. “I’ll be waiting out front.”

Ever since she’d left her home in Austin five years ago, Rachel had been somewhat leery when it came to dating. She’d already gone through her ugly-duckling period and her swan period, during which time she had preened and posed, absorbing each and every flattering word that was sent her way, and viewing it as gospel.

But in time she had learned that those compliments were just empty, meaningless words, easily spoken and even more easily forgotten. She had more important things on her agenda than dating these days. She was busy not just finding herself, but also finding her place in the scheme of things.

Her place in the world.

She was working here as a hostess, but she had recently won an internship at the new Horseback Hollow office of the Fortune Foundation, which had opened its doors several weeks ago. As of yet, the office was still not fully up and running, but she intended to be there right from the start, learning everything she could from the ground up.

Her plan was to make something of herself.

To that end, she was going to continue with both positions, amassing as much money as she could. Her father had offered to support her when she’d left home, as he well could, but she had refused his money. She wanted to make it on her own so that no one else could take the credit—or the blame—for what she had become. It would be all on her, one way or another.

She might not appear so to the patrons seated here at the Cantina, but she was fiercely dedicated, not to mention full of pride.

Ordinarily, this sort of a work agenda would leave a person with no room for anything else, but she knew that having some sort of a social life was important. She supposed this “date” tonight qualified as just that.

She would have preferred being asked out by the younger hunk, but the one who did ask her out wasn’t exactly shabby, either. Who knew? Maybe she would wind up having a better time with him than Mr. Cheeseburger, she mused.

So Rachel nodded and gave the man who had just asked her out a smile.

“All right, if we’re going to go out, I’m going to need to know your name,” she told him.

Cisco inclined his head in a polite, surprisingly formal bow as he said, “Francisco Mendoza at your service.” Raising his eyes to hers, he added, “Everybody calls me Cisco.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to join the crowd,” she told him. With that, she looked at the other two occupants of the table. “Since I’m taking names, you are—” she asked Matteo.

“A day late and a dollar short,” Cisco supplied before Matteo could answer her.

If looks could kill, the one that Matteo slanted at him would have completely vaporized Cisco in under ten seconds. The scowl abated somewhat as he turned to look at the hostess and told her, “Matteo Mendoza.”

“And I am Orlando Mendoza,” Orlando told her. In typical old-fashioned, courtly manner, Orlando rose slightly in his chair and bent forward so that he could take her hand in his. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as per the custom of his ancestors.

Rather than appear amused, Rachel looked touched and just slightly in awe.

“Mendoza,” Rachel repeated, then asked, “Brothers?” as her eyes swept over all three men.

“You are only partially right.” Orlando laughed, fully aware that the young woman had asked the question tongue-in-cheek. “And partially a flatterer.” He glanced at Cisco and told his son, “This one can hold her own against you.”

Cisco’s eyes were filled with humor as well as a healthy measure of appreciation as they met hers. “I’m sure she can.”

Realizing that she had already spent way too much time at one table, Rachel flashed another quick smile at the trio and began to withdraw, saying, “I’d love to talk some more, but I’ve got another order up,” before she turned on her heel and left.

“And that, little brother,” Cisco said as soon as he felt that the hostess was out of earshot, “is how it’s done.”

Matteo looked at his older sibling, more than a little annoyed at the latter’s presumption. “I don’t need pointers. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be from you.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Cisco observed with a pitying shake of his head. “You might not be aware of it, little brother, but you definitely are in need of something.” He dug into the chicken enchiladas before him. “I just beat you to the punch with Rachel—and the worst part of it is, you let me.”

“Beat me to the punch,” Matteo repeated incredulously. “Is that what all this is to you? A game? Just a game?”

Cisco refused to get embroiled in an argument, especially one that didn’t look as if it could have a clear winner—at least not verbally. He took another bite before saying anything in reply.

“What it is, is invigorating,” Cisco told him. “And I intend to have a really good time with the fair Rachel.”

Matteo’s scowl grew deeper. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d better treat her like a lady,” he warned Cisco.

“Or what?” Cisco asked, curious as to just where this conversation was going. “You’ll beat me up?” Orlando felt that he had sat by in silence long enough. The last thing he wanted was to see this escalate beyond a few hot words traded. Even that was too much.

“Stop it, you two. You are brothers. Remember that,” Orlando ordered. “And Cisco, you had better behave like a gentleman with this girl. I will not stand for anything less,” he warned his older son.

Cisco didn’t want to provoke his father, but the whole thing had made him curious. His father must have sown a few wild oats in his day. There was still a hint of a wicked twinkle left in his eye.

“Don’t you remember being young once, Dad?” Cisco asked him.

Orlando made no effort to deny it. “Yes, I do, which is exactly why I am saying this to you now.” And then he turned his attention to Matteo. “And you, you have no business telling your brother what to do after you neglected to act according to your own feelings.”

Matteo just looked at him, mystified.

“She was waiting for you to say something,” he told Matteo. “And you let her slip through your fingers.”

Matteo had no idea she was anywhere near his fingers to begin with. He had just been working up his courage to engage her in a conversation when Cisco all but pounced on the hostess.

“If you ask me, the better man won,” Cisco commented to his father with just a hint of a smirk directed at Matteo.

To be honest—and he was, in the depths of his own heart—he had only asked the hostess out because he saw that Matteo was exhibiting interest in her. Beating him to the punch was, he thought, a good way to light a fire under his brother and get him moving so that the next time, Matteo would be the one who was first to ask her out.

“No one asked you,” Matteo snapped.

Orlando looked from one son to the other and wearily shook his head. “You know, perhaps I was too hasty to try to convince you boys to move out here to live. The peace and quiet I had for all those months made me forget how you two were always going at one another when you were growing up. Apparently you haven’t outgrown that trait.”

Cisco laughed. “I see right through you, Dad. You can talk and complain all you want, but admit it. You missed having us around, competition and all—not that it was ever much of a competition once I decided to throw my hat into the ring.” He gave Matteo a smug, superior look that he knew would bother the younger man.

“You’re delusional,” Matteo told him.

“And you have no memory of things at all. Otherwise, you’d know I was right. If I set my sights on something or someone, the game is already over because, for all intents and purposes, I have won it. All that remains is to collect my winnings,” Cisco concluded. He secretly watched Matteo from beneath hooded eyes to see if his words had succeeded in pushing his brother into action. In his opinion, there were times when his little brother was too laid-back. Goading him this way was for his own good. And if not, well, it was Matteo’s loss, right?

“Enough,” Orlando warned. “I invited you two here to have a nice family meal—so eat!” He looked from one son to the other. After a beat, both complied with his command.

Orlando found the silence gratifying and refreshing. At least now he could hear himself think.

And what he was thinking about was how nice the silence was.

Chapter Three

Rachel closed the door to her apartment behind her and walked into the kitchen. A minute later, she did a U-turn and crossed back to the door. Not to open it again in hopes of catching the man who had just dropped her off because she’d had second thoughts about not asking him in for a drink, but to flip the top lock into place to ensure her safety. The original lock that came with the door was rather flimsy at best.

Five years and security was still an afterthought for her, Rachel thought with a shake of her head.

That was because five years ago, she was living with her seven siblings in a palatial home in Austin. The servants who took care of the house were the ones who made sure doors were locked and everything was always secured. The entire house and grounds were wired with a state-of-the-art security system.

It had been a whole other world then. As one of Gerald Robinson’s daughters, her every need had been anticipated and met. Had she wanted merely to float through life, doing nothing more strenuous than enjoying herself and contributing nothing to the world around her, that option had been there for her to take.

But she had always been the stubborn one who wanted to make her own way, earn her own money, be her own person. And never more than now—for herself as well as to atone for her father’s indiscretions.

Maybe, Rachel mused as she stepped out of her high heels on the way to her tiny bedroom and more comfortable clothes, that earlier way of life had jaded her somewhat, spoiling her for the actual realities of life.

What other reason could there be for her feeling like this after the evening she had just had?

Cisco Mendoza had been as good as his word, waiting for her outside the Cantina when she’d walked out at a few minutes after eight o’clock tonight.

Any other woman would have felt like Cinderella, being whisked off not in a coach that had formerly been a pumpkin but in a shiny, fully loaded black luxury SUV. When she’d asked him where they were going, he’d given her a sexy wink and said in an equally sexy voice that it was a surprise.

She had to admit to herself that that had made her a little nervous. Growing up in Austin as the child of a very rich man, her mother and the family housekeeper had made her and her siblings acutely aware of being on their guard against possible kidnappers. Having money did not come without a certain downside.

She was fairly certain that Cisco Mendoza didn’t know about her real background—although she couldn’t be 100 percent sure—but then again, there were other reasons for women to go missing.

Cisco must have noticed her tension, because several minutes into their road trip, he laughed and told her where they were going. He was taking her to Vicker’s Corners, a town that was roughly twenty miles away and had once been as quaint as Horseback Hollow. But the citizens of Vicker’s Corners had chosen to embrace progress, and the town was now well on its way to becoming far more urban than rural.

“I’m taking you to The Garden,” he’d added. And then, just in case she wasn’t aware what that was—she was, but she pretended she wasn’t because he seemed to delight in surprising her—he went on to tell her, “It’s a trendy little bistro. I thought you might like to have a little change of pace. It’s different from The Hollows Cantina,” he promised.

She knew he meant it was more romantic than the upscale restaurant where she worked. Apparently Cisco Mendoza was pulling out all the stops.

She wished her heart was in it—but it wasn’t, no matter how hard she tried.

She’d told him that she appreciated his thoughtfulness, then felt the need to point one little fact out, careful to keep it generalized so that he didn’t know she was well-informed about the restaurant in question.

“If it’s so trendy, wouldn’t getting a reservation on the spur of the moment be really difficult? They’re probably booked way in advance.” She made it sound as if she was guessing, but the truth was that she knew for a fact The Garden was booked solid.

Cisco’s grin had gotten wider at that point—and, if possible, sexier.

Another wink only intensified that impression, especially when he said, “Leave that part to me. I’ve got a few strings I can pull. That should be able to get us in.”

She was surprised that he was being secretive about that connection of his. She knew better than to pry and try to find out anything beyond what was being volunteered. She was just rather stunned that Cisco wasn’t trying to impress her with his mysterious connection.

But that wasn’t the real problem as she saw it. The bistro had indeed turned out to be trendy as well as really captivating. It had stained-glass windows, copper ceiling tiles and a vintage art-nouveau crystal chandelier in the entryway.

Moreover, the food was perfect, the conversation was interesting and Cisco was charming, funny and a complete gentleman from start to finish. The date didn’t end abruptly or last too long. In the words of Goldilocks, Rachel thought, changing into a pair of jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, it was “just right.”