by Kate Pearce
She chatted away, telling him about her life, asking him how things were going on the ranch, and complaining about his half-sister, Josie, a familiar and comfortable litany that he was well used to hearing. After divorcing his father, she’d returned home to Brazil, married again briefly, and then declared she was done with men and retired to her ranch on the outskirts of Sao Paulo.
She sounded so happy that he almost hated to bring up the reason he’d called, but it had to be done.
“Father called me.”
She couldn’t quite disguise her gasp or her weak attempt to pretend she hadn’t been expecting the question all along. His mother never liked discussing the negativities of life.
“Oh! Did he? Why was that?”
Rio didn’t call her out on it. He knew why she preferred not to think about her first and worst ex. “He said to ask you.”
“Graham asked me to come to San Francisco.”
Rio went still. “But you haven’t seen each other for twenty years.”
“I know, but he said he wants everyone in his family together in one place because he has several announcements to make about the future.”
“Does his fourth wife know about this?”
“She’s probably included, Rio.”
“But why now?” Rio asked. “What on earth does he have to say that has anything to do with either of us?”
He remembered the day she’d been escorted out of their house, her tears, and her fiercely whispered promise that she would come back for him, that she loved him, and that he had to be a big, brave boy until she returned. He’d never forget her face, the scent of her perfume and the way he’d been dragged kicking and screaming from the comfort of her arms and locked in his bedroom.
How could she forgive that?
“Knowing Graham, he’s probably going to disinherit the lot of us, and give all his money to his favorite charity or his dog, and he just wants to see our faces when he does it.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Rio agreed. “The thing is—do we really need to see that up-close and personal? We lived it for years.”
“I’d like to go.”
Even though his mother couldn’t see him, Rio frowned. “Why?”
“Because I would. It feels like the right thing to do.” She hesitated. “But I won’t go without you.”
“Which is why the bastard told me to call you,” Rio muttered. “I’m so screwed.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that if you really want to go, of course I’ll come with you.”
“Thank you, meu filho.”
“I want you to remember something when you see him,” Rio said sternly. “We don’t need him. If he does disinherit us both, I’ll buy your ranch from him and make sure you never have to want for anything, okay?”
“You are such a sweetheart, Rio. The only good thing to come out of my marriage to that arrogant pig.”
“Thanks.” Rio managed a smile. “Let me know when you’re due to arrive in San Francisco, and I’ll come and meet you.”
“Yes, dear.”
After ending the call, Rio lay back down on his pillow and contemplated the ceiling. When his parents had met, his mother had been eighteen, and a contestant in a beauty pageant his father had been judging. She hadn’t won the crown, but she’d ensnared a rich man who’d married her and impregnated her within days of their meeting. The marriage had gone downhill from there, culminating in screaming rages, threats, and a separation that had left a terrified Rio in his father’s hands while his mother went back to Brazil.
He shook off the unpleasant memories. His mom was still his biggest fan, and sometimes more like his big sister than his mother. Her zest for life had survived the worst his father had thrown at her, and she deserved every penny Graham had eventually been forced by the courts to pay her.
So, it seemed he would be going to San Francisco. . . .
He had no intention of calling his father or his admin back. They’d work out he was coming from his mom.
With a groan, he threw the covers back, shivering in the cold, and put on his boxers. The family bathroom was down the hall. He had a quick wash, and promised himself a shower later after he’d mucked out the stalls, and fed the chickens.
A rooster crowed as he drew a warm fleece over his head and tiptoed down the stairs in his socks to the mudroom, where a row of cowboy boots and outer garments filled the space.
“Do you want some coffee before you head out, Rio?”
Rio clutched at his heart as the unexpected voice floated out from the kitchen, scaring the crap out of him.
He reversed direction and went into the kitchen, where Ruth was sitting at the table. She was a tiny woman, but her personality was so big that he often forgot that. In his time at the ranch, she’d made him feel like part of the family and reminded him very much of his own avo.
“You’re up early.” She pushed a mug of coffee over to him.
“Thanks. Yes, I am.”
“Everything okay?”
“Just family stuff.” He blew out an impatient breath. “I might have to take a trip to San Francisco in the next week or so to see my father. My mother’s flying in from Brazil.”
“HW said you don’t get along with your father.”
“That’s an understatement. I haven’t seen or spoken to him for five years. Now he’s demanding me and my mother seek an audience with him.”
Ruth sipped her coffee. “Maybe he’s making some new choices with his life.”
“I doubt it.”
“People can change, you know. Look at my son, Billy. He almost lost himself in a bottle, but he found his way home again.”
“Probably because there were people like you praying and hoping for his return.” Rio smiled at her. “My father isn’t like that. He’s probably rearranging his business interests to avoid taxes again and wants my mother to sign a new legal agreement or something.”
“It’s good that you care for your mother and will be by her side.”
“She put up with my father for far too long simply for my benefit. She deserves my one-hundred-percent attention and gratitude.”
“You’re a good boy, Rio.” She patted his hand. “You can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his mother.”
“Thanks.” He took another gulp of coffee and finally got a nice jolt of caffeine through his system. “I’d better go and start on those stalls.”
“That’s very good of you. I’m sure my lazy grandsons will join you at some point.”
He winked at her as he stood up. “They are good boys as well, you know. Raised by the best—you.”
“The cake Yvonne made for me was my favorite flavors.”
He paused, taken aback by her sudden change of subject. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“She’s very talented, isn’t she?”
“Absolutely.”
“And pretty as a picture.”
“I can’t say I’d noticed.”
“You’ve noticed all right. You can’t keep your eyes off her.” Ruth chuckled. “But then she can’t stop looking at you, either.”
Rio paused. “Really?”
“Ha!” She snapped her fingers. “Gotcha!”
“So I find her attractive.” He attempted a shrug. “I can’t deny it.”
“Then what are you going to do about it?”
Rio thought about the kiss they’d shared.... “Nothing. We’re both too busy to be in a relationship right now.”
“Right, because love can always wait on more important things, can’t it?”
He grinned at her. “Your sarcasm is showing.”
“It was supposed to.” She looked up at him, her chin resting on her hand. “Sometimes you have to take a chance and grab what’s right in front of you.”
“I don’t think Yvonne would go for any grabbing, do you?”
“How do you know if you don’t try?” He opened his mouth to reply, and she carried on speaking. “Don’t mind me.
I keep forgetting you’re not one of my grandsons needing a good kick up the rear.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He put his mug in the sink to rinse it. “My parents met and married in a week. It was a total disaster. That’s probably why I’m naturally gun-shy.”
“Makes sense, I suppose.” She sighed. “I don’t know how any of you make up your minds to fall in love and marry these days, what with the Internet, and dating apps, and all that fake stuff. Back in the day, you met a nice boy at school or college or were introduced to him by your friends, and that was it.”
“Dating is definitely a dangerous game these days,” Rio agreed. “Especially if you’re successful or rich.”
“So HW tells me.” Ruth filled up her coffee cup, and stood up. “I’d better get on. Don’t forget to come back and eat after you’re done.”
“How could I forget your amazing breakfasts?” Rio turned his mug upside down to drain it and dried his hands. “Don’t tell your grandsons I’ve already started the chores or they’ll leave me to it.”
Ruth put on her apron. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t say a thing.”
* * *
Yvonne wiped her hands on her apron and checked her to-do list. For once, she was on schedule, and it was only just past nine in the morning, which, after her four o’clock start, counted as lunchtime.
Her cell buzzed, and she glanced at a text message from Priscilla.
Are you available at II? Want to pop by with my producer.
Yvonne bit her lip and contemplated her plans for the rest of the day. Thanks to Avery, she had two new staff members helping Tom so she could leave them to cope if she stayed in the café and was available for any emergencies....
That sounds great. See you at II.
A smiley face popped up in reply. She put her phone back on her desk and washed her hands. Antonio wouldn’t be coming in until eleven to start working on the lunch rush, so she’d have to make her own sandwich.
A knock on the back door of the kitchen had her looking up. She wasn’t expecting any deliveries, but sometimes things turned up unexpectedly. Unlocking the door, she discovered Rio smiling down at her. Today he wore his usual black cowboy hat and a thick denim jacket as protection against the early morning Sierra winds.
“Good morning, Yvonne.”
She regarded him severely. “Are you sure you don’t want a job? You’re here every day.”
He grinned. “Can’t help myself. I came to pay for the cake.”
“Come in.”
He stepped through the door, and wiped his feet carefully on the mat, his gaze scanning the kitchen through the open door. “Wow, this is twice the size of the café.”
“I know. When I can afford it, I plan on leasing the shop next door and having two separate counters and double the seating space.”
“Makes sense.” He stayed on the mat. “Do you want me to take my boots off?”
“Don’t worry. I was just about to take a lunch break so we can walk through to the front. Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Yeah. Ruth fed me about an hour ago. I’m good to go for about a week.” He followed her out into the shop. “I got up at five, so it almost feels like it’s time for me to have lunch.”
“I get up at four to start baking the bread.” Yvonne made him some coffee while she added a chocolate croissant to her plate.
“Every day?”
“Except Sunday.” She placed the carafe between them, and motioned for him to sit down. The café was relatively quiet now the commuters had gone, and the tourists hadn’t yet arrived. “Luckily, I’m an early bird, so it’s not too bad.”
He poured them both coffee and added cream to his. “Unless you’re super human, I guess you go to bed quite early.”
“Yes, I’m a real party pooper. Ask my friends.”
“Have you ever thought about getting someone else in to bake for you?”
“Why would I do that?” She sipped her coffee. “I love my job.”
“Like the best sex of your life, right?” he teased.
She fluttered her eyelashes and gave a breathy sigh. “Yup, all that pounding, and kneading, and stretching, and . . . growth going on.”
He choked on his coffee, and she smiled serenely at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I was just picturing the scene.”
“It’s beautiful. Poetry in motion. Just like you on the back of a bull.”
“I bet it is. Maybe, if you’re willing, I can drop by and watch one day.”
“Sure.” She deliberately licked her lips. “I love an audience.”
For a long moment, he just stared at her mouth before tearing his gaze away back to his coffee.
“Are you making any special cakes today?”
Oh, she loved it when he backed down first.
“No, I’ve got Priscilla Chang coming in at eleven with her producer for a chat.” She fiddled with her silverware. “I have no idea what to expect at this point.”
“Just give them your food to taste and let that do the talking for you.”
“I will, but should I have a lawyer with me or something? It’s not like they’ve offered me a contract or anything yet, but I don’t want to end up agreeing to things and then regretting it.”
He sat up straight. “I could help you.”
Yvonne blinked at him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but how exactly can you do that?”
“I spent three years working for my father’s company. A couple of those years involved liaising with chefs, restaurants, and food critics concerned with his various business enterprises.”
“As in?”
“I know how a contract between a brand-name personality and a business venture should be structured. I understand what a company wants from you, and what you should allow them to have.” He leaned forward, his large capable hands wrapped around his coffee mug. “Like, say a celebrity chef wanted to launch a range of frozen meals, or own a vineyard, or something.”
“You’d facilitate that?” She shook her head. “Wow.”
He sat back looking amused. “Wow, what?”
“You’re a world-champion bull rider.”
“Correct.”
“And you work for your father on the side?”
His smile disappeared. “No, they are two completely separate parts of my life. When I graduated from college, I went straight into my father’s business. After three years, we had a blazing row, and I went back to Brazil to live on my mother’s ranch. That’s when I resumed my interest in bull riding.”
“How old were you when you graduated?”
He shrugged. “I was a year ahead at school, so I guess I was twenty-one.”
“So you were twenty-five when you took up bull riding? Talk about a late starter.”
“Not quite.” He grinned. “Whenever I was allowed to go home to my mother in Brazil, I always rode and competed locally. At twenty-five, I just decided to take it seriously.”
Yvonne shook her head. “That’s pretty amazing.”
He shrugged. “Good genes, I guess.”
“And an incredible work ethic.”
His smile reappeared, luring out his dimple. “Perhaps, but this isn’t about me. I’m just offering to sit in on this meeting if you need me.”
She considered him for a long moment. He made no attempt to avoid her gaze, and just stared calmly and steadily back at her. Could she trust him? She hardly knew him, but everything she’d seen and heard about him seemed genuine. The Morgans liked him, especially Ruth, who was an excellent judge of character, so could she trust her gut and accept his offer?
“You’re making me nervous here,” Rio said. “I promise I wouldn’t tell you what to do.”
Yvonne rolled her eyes. “As if I’d listen to you anyway.”
“I’d just stay quiet, and take notes of the salient points you might wish to consider later.”
“Like a secretary?”
; “Sure.”
“Can I call you that in the meeting?”
He smiled. “If you like.”
“Okay, then.” She held out her hand. “Welcome on board, Mister . . . what is your last name?”
He shook her hand. “Martinez.”
“Then come back just before eleven, and bring a notepad.”
* * *
After running a few errands in town for Ruth and January and mailing out a letter to his mother, Rio reported back at the café, an old-fashioned yellow legal pad in his hand and a pen behind his ear. Yvonne made him leave his hat in the kitchen, which made him feel vaguely naked.
They settled into a table at the rear of the café, and Yvonne arranged a plate of pastries alongside a cafetiere of coffee on the pristine white cloth. She paused, her teeth caught in her lip, and looked over at Rio.
“Should I make a pot of tea as well?”
“Why don’t you wait and see what they prefer?” Rio advised. It was the first time he’d ever seen her look nervous.
“There’s Priscilla by the door,” Yvonne murmured. “I’ll bring her over.”
Priscilla wore a bright red pantsuit, which suited her dark coloring, and was accompanied by an older man with a bald head, black-framed glasses, and a single diamond earring. He couldn’t have shouted, “I’m creative!” any louder than if he’d shouted it for real.
Rio stood and waited as Yvonne introduced him.
“Priscilla, this is my assistant, Rio Martinez.”
Priscilla took his hand in a firm grasp. “Didn’t we meet the other day? You work on one of the local ranches, don’t you?”
“I’m a man of many talents.” Rio turned to the guy. “Hi, pleased to meet you.”
“Right back at ya! I’m Greg.”
Soon, they were all seated, only to discover that Greg was of course a tea drinker of some fancy decaffeinated stuff that probably stunk of flowers. Rio got up to find the tea, leaving Priscilla waxing lyrical about the food. Luckily, Lizzie knew exactly how to make the right kind and sent him back with it and instructions to let it brew for five more minutes.
As he approached the table, he took a moment to appreciate Yvonne in her sleek French maid work uniform of a black dress and lacy white apron. It was the sort of look that fueled many a feverish dream, and currently owned the top spot on his own personal fantasies. Her black hair was drawn up into a bun on the top of her head with just a few wisps framing her high cheekbones.