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The waiter came with their food. After that, they spoke mostly of the various projects Javier’s company had in the works and of how both men viewed the transition should they reach an agreement.
Elena didn’t say much through the meal. She sipped the iced tea she’d ordered and laughed a couple of times, once at a wry joke Javier made, once at some remark of Rogan’s. Her laughter was low and rich. It sent a thrill through him, a kind of vibration that brought with it a feeling of promise.
Of anticipation.
As a rule, Rogan was a strictly disciplined man. He’d had to be, after his parents were gone. He made decisions and he stuck by them.
He’d made a decision about Elena the first moment he saw her: hands off. But when she laughed in that way of hers and when that dimple tucked itself in so temptingly beside her full mouth, well, he didn’t feel all that disciplined. He felt he stood on the brink of something heady and fine.
And all he wanted was a little shove, just enough to give himself permission to jump.
“Well?” Mercy said without even a hello. “You didn’t call me back.”
It was after five and Elena was at home, in her office at her condo, grading papers. She tucked the phone against her shoulder and set down her red marker. “You said you had Mommy and Me.”
“That was then. We got home two hours ago. But anyway. What did you think of Rogan Murdoch?”
“I liked him. There’s something…solid about him. And I think Dad likes him a lot.”
“But is Dad actually going to sell to him?”
“Nothing was said either way while I was with them—but yeah, that’s the feeling I get.”
“Wow.” Mercy made a low, disbelieving sound. “Really?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Dad. Retired. It’s hard to imagine.” Mercy’s voice held a note of sadness. “And I can’t quite get my mind around the idea of Cabrera Construction belonging to someone else. I mean, sometimes it seems as though our past, together, as a family…it’s just slowly fading away.”
Elena knew exactly what her sister was talking about. “I hear you. It’s depressing. But still. I can see it happening, see Dad selling, now I’ve met Rogan.”
“So what’s he look like?”
“Big. Irish.” Elena stared into the middle distance, conjuring up the sight of him. “He has these beautiful green eyes. Irish eyes, you know? Like that old song…”
Mercy chuckled. “You really liked him.”
She might play coy with someone else. But never with Mercy. “Yeah. I really did.”
“Did he ask you out?”
I wish. “Oh, come on. I just met him.”
“Well. Did he like you, too?”
If you can’t tell the truth to your own sister, who can you tell it to? Plus, Mercy wouldn’t say a word to anyone else. When it came to romance, the two of them had a longstanding vow to keep each other’s confidences. “I think he did like me. Yeah.”
“Come to dinner at the ranch Sunday,” Mercy said—out of nowhere, it seemed to Elena. By “the ranch,” Mercy meant the Bravo family ranch, Bravo Ridge, which was a little ways out of town going north, on the southern edge of the Hill Country. Once Bravo Ridge had belonged to the Cabreras. But back in the 1950s, James Bravo had won it off Emilio Cabrera in a horse race, setting off decades of feuding between the families.
The feud was over now.
More or less.
And Mercy, Luke and little Lucas lived at Bravo Ridge together. Luke ran the place. And just about every Sunday they had a big family dinner there. Davis Bravo—who was the oldest son of James—and his wife, Aleta, had had nine children. The siblings and their families tried to show up for Sunday dinner at the ranch at least every couple of months or so.
“Now, there’s my idea of a great time,” Elena said wryly. “Easter Sunday dinner with the sperm donor and family.”
“You’ve got to quit calling him that,” Mercy chided.
Elena laughed. “I always call him that. And you always tell me I have to stop.”
“You need to make peace with him.”
“Mercy, I don’t care if you are my big sister. Don’t lecture me, okay?”
“He is your father.”
“Papi is my father. And can we not have this argument again, please?”
“You’ve forgiven Mom,” Mercy prodded reproachfully. Lately, she was getting like a dog with a favorite bone on this subject. She just wouldn’t let go. “And think about it…”
“I’d rather not.”
Mercy kept after her anyway. “Mami did worse than Davis. Davis confessed to Aleta that he’d had an affair. And he never even knew you were his daughter for all those years. Why can’t you forgive him?”
“Mom is…my mother.”
“And Davis is—”
“Uh-uh. Don’t say it again. Just let it be. I mean it. Please?”
Mercy drew in an audible breath and blew it out hard. “All right. I’m done. At least for now—but say you’ll come to Sunday dinner.”
With waning patience, Elena reminded her, “I thought you just said you were done.”
“I am. I’m not asking you to come for Davis’s sake. I’m asking because Caleb and Irina are coming. And Mr. Irish Eyes is staying with them….”
Rogan was staying with Caleb and Irina.
And he would be at the ranch on Sunday.
Elena’s heart rate accelerated and she felt slightly breathless.
Stunned, she put a hand against her chest. How lovely, to simply think of a certain man and get that rising feeling inside.
At last.
She asked, sounding as breathless as she felt, “He’s coming to dinner Sunday? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mercy chuckled. “You didn’t give me a chance. You started right in about Davis. So. You’ll come?”
Elena considered the pros and cons. Getting to see Rogan again versus having to be around the sperm donor. It took her about half a second to make her choice. “Fine. I’m there.”
She’d barely hung up from talking to Mercy when Caleb called.
Her favorite brother asked, “How about dinner tomorrow night, at my house?”
Her heart was getting a workout. Now, it did a happy dance. Rogan was staying with Caleb, so he would most likely be there for dinner tomorrow.
Another chance to see him. She grinned like an idiot. Why shouldn’t she grin? No one was watching. “Love to,” she said.
“You’re so easy,” Caleb teased.
“Well, I do like your wife a lot. And I’m willing to put up with you.”
“I was afraid you maybe had a date with Antonio.”
“Uh, no. Antonio and I have decided to…move on.”
Caleb was a salesman by nature and by trade, the top producer at BravoCorp, the family company. He usually knew just the right thing to say. This situation was no exception. He went directly to the assumption that it must have been Elena who had done the dumping. “Poor guy. I hope you let him down easy.”
“I think he’s going to survive the breakup,” she said wryly.
Gently, her brother asked, “And you?”
“Antonio? Never heard of him.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“So about tomorrow night. Will it just be the three of us?” To her brother, she was giving nothing away. Not at this point, anyway. She would trust Caleb with her life. But this attraction to Rogan, well, it was too new to go broadcasting it to the whole family.
Caleb told her what she’d been longing to hear. “Rogan will be here, too. He’s staying with us. You know, your dad’s potential buyer? He says he met you today.”
“Oh, yes. Rogan,” she replied in a purposely neutral tone. Did he say anything about me? she longed to ask. But she didn’t. “I liked him.”
“He liked you, too. He says you’re charming. And gorgeous.”
Her pulse sped up again and her heart seemed to expand inside her chest, a sensation that somehow contained equal parts pain and pleasure. “Those Irish. Always with the flattery.”
“Well, you are charming and gorgeous.”
“I love absolute loyalty in a brother.”
“I told him he was allowed to ask you out. But he’d better treat you right or he’d be dealing with me.”
She groaned. “Oh, God. Caleb, you didn’t.”
He laughed. “Okay, I didn’t. I only thought it.”
She let out a relieved breath. “All right,” she muttered grudgingly. “You get to live. What time tomorrow night?”
“Seven?”
“See you then.” She hung up in a very cool and collected manner.
And then she let out a whoop of excitement, jumped to her feet and set off at a wild run around the condo, from her office, to her bedroom, back down the hall, around the living room, dining room and kitchen area. She stopped at the counter by the sink, got down a glass, went to the water cooler and poured herself a drink, which she drained in one gulp, plunking the glass down hard when it was empty.
“Yes!” she shouted, loud and proud, not even caring that she was acting more like a preteen at a Jonas Brothers concert than a grown woman with a real job and a home of her own.
Rogan Murdoch thought she was charming and gorgeous.
And she would be seeing him tomorrow night—and Sunday, as well.
But first, there was lunch with her mother Saturday afternoon.
A year ago, Luz Cabrera had sold the beautiful Spanish-style house that Javier had built for the family. She’d moved into a smaller place near the office where she worked as a Realtor.
“What do I need with all this space?” she’d asked when she’d put the family home on the market. “It echoes of the life we knew, all of us, our family, together. That life is over. It’s time I moved on.”
They had lunch at the new house, out on the patio in the shade of a Mexican live oak. The house backed onto a golf course, so the view was of rolling greens and winding golf paths.
After the meal, they sat for a while, drinking iced tea, enjoying the welcome breeze.
Luz gathered her long dark hair off her neck and twisted it into a knot at the back of her head with a sigh. Elena studied her profile. Luz was fifty-two but looked younger. The last few years of heartache had aged her, though. The line of her jaw wasn’t as firm as it had been. Her hair was still dark and vibrant as ever. But then, she had a great hairdresser who was genius with color.
Luz said, “I talked to your father last night. He wanted to tell me that he plans to sell the business to Caleb’s friend.”
Elena reached across the table and touched her mother’s slim hand. “Does that upset you?”
Luz’s dark brows drew together as she considered the question. Then she shook her head. “It’s like the house, I think. Time to let it go.” She eased her hand from under Elena’s and clasped Elena’s fingers. A quick, warm squeeze. “I think there is peace between us, at last.”
“You and Dad?”
“Uh-huh. Did you know he went to counseling?”
That was a surprise. “No. He told you that?”
Luz nodded. “He said he had been wondering who he really was in all the trouble.”
Elena didn’t get that. “What do you mean, who he was?”
“A wronged husband—or a dangerous and violent man.”
Elena jumped to her dad’s defense. “Papi’s not dangerous. And he’s kind, a good man. You know he is.”
“M’hija.” Her mother’s voice was so gentle. “He hit me the day he found out. Only once, but hard enough to draw blood.”
“I remember.” At the time, she’d been so furious with her mother, she hadn’t really stopped to consider that her father had actually struck her mom. She hadn’t let herself admit how wrong that was. “He shouldn’t have done that,” she muttered, feeling a little ashamed of herself. And then she bit her lip and said no more. Anything else she said right then would probably be out of line.
