Mendoza's Secret Fortune

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Thanks,” he murmured, avoiding her eyes.

  “Least I can do,” she responded. “I really did have a very nice time.” She thought perhaps that needed to be reinforced in light of the way their evening had abruptly ended.

  For a moment, Matteo stopped moving and packing and looked at her. Was she just being polite while secretly regretting that he wasn’t his brother?

  Damn it, was he ever going to be rid of this constant feeling of competition, of being measured and rated against his brother—and found lacking? He had his own career, his own way of doing things, his own identity. Why, then, was there always this feeling that he was forever struggling to get out from beneath his brother’s long shadow?

  “Yeah, me, too,” he told her.

  His brief acknowledgment coaxed a small smile from her.

  It went a long way in warming him up.

  * * *

  Matteo brought her to her apartment door. He wasn’t the type just to deposit a woman on her doorstep while he kept his car engine running, ready to make a quick getaway.

  He was, however, planning on turning on his heel and leaving as soon as she was safely inside with her door locked.

  At least, that had been his initial plan, formed while driving Rachel back.

  But as he walked beside her to her door, he felt an overwhelming desire to linger with her, to say something, anything, that didn’t brand them as two strangers who happened to have shared an evening meal together, accompanied by an assortment of insects.

  He watched as she put her key into the lock and turned it. Talk now, or forever hold your peace, he told himself sternly.

  Almost to his surprise, he heard himself saying, “Would you mind if I called you sometime? I mean, while I’m still here in Horseback Hollow?”

  “You mean you wouldn’t fly in from Miami just to see me?” she deadpanned. The next second, she saw the look on his face and realized that he thought she was serious. “I’m kidding,” she assured him quickly. “I’m kidding. And no, I wouldn’t mind.” If ever a man needed a fire lit under him, it was Matteo. “I’d rather like that.”

  She had surprised him. Matteo was aware of the fact that he hadn’t exactly put his best foot forward in the last part of their date. That she was still willing to see him again despite that had him smiling broadly at her. “You would?”

  “Uh-huh. Of course, you might have to ply me with more of your fried chicken,” she told him.

  He looked at her a little uncertainly, as if trying to ascertain whether or not she was pulling his leg.

  The man had a lot of good qualities, she thought, but he definitely needed to work on his sense of humor. Someone had forgotten to issue him one.

  “Everyone’s got a price,” she told him, smiling. “Fried chicken is mine. Your fried chicken,” she emphasized with what was now a wide grin.

  Her smile managed to coax a similar one from him. “That can be arranged.”

  “Good,” she said. Had there not been a glimmer in her eyes, he would have been tempted to think that she was serious. Nonetheless, the fact that she had mentioned the main course he’d made for her pleased him.

  He knew that he should be leaving. But then, he argued with himself, if for some reason this was the last time they were to be together, it made no sense for him to beat a hasty retreat, especially since she wasn’t the one who was trying to get him to leave.

  Searching for something to say, he fell back on work. That was always a reliable topic, and right now, it was probably also a necessary one.

  “You, um, might want to tell your boss to clear some more space in one of the smaller rooms in your building. Dad told me that there’re going to be several more deliveries made to your branch of the Fortune Foundation this month. We’re going to be flying between Red Rock and Horseback Hollow at least three more times.”

  She couldn’t begin to imagine what they would be flying out on three more trips—even as she was doing a little happy dance in her head. Three more trips meant seeing Matteo at least three more times—at the very least.

  She knew it took a lot of supplies to start up a large office and run it efficiently. There were still offices that were essentially empty within the two-story building. She imagined that Matteo and his father might even be flying in the furniture for those offices, among other things.

  “I guess that means we’ll be getting more than just printer paper and ink cartridges delivered,” Rachel said.

  Matteo laughed. He’d seen the pages upon pages of inventory regarding the cargo being shipped to the Horseback Hollow branch office.

  “Way more,” he agreed.

  “Are you going to be the one delivering those deliveries? Does your dad agree to having you pilot the cargo plane instead of him?” she asked.

  Having opened the door to her apartment, she now leaned against the door frame, reluctant to cross the threshold and thereby officially call an end to their date.

  “Delivering those deliveries,” he echoed, then grinned. “Say that three times, fast.”

  Rachel felt her heart flutter. She could so easily get lost in that appealing grin of his.

  “My tongue doesn’t tangle, if that’s what you’re indirectly asking about.” Then, to prove it, she repeated the sentence three times, enunciating each word quickly and clearly. “Anything else you’d like to hear me recite?” she asked.

  He could have sworn there was mischief in her eyes. This was a woman who everyone thought was relatively quiet, but who, in reality, was a live wire who seemed capable of doing anything on a whim, then resuming looking angelic.

  He wasn’t sure which one attracted him more, the angel or the devil.

  Most likely, he thought, it was a mixture of both. But he didn’t want to waste whatever precious moments there were left before she retreated into her apartment and he drove back to his father’s house. He had his suspicions that dreams of Miami weren’t going to be nearly as strong and alluring tonight as they had been of late.

  “I just wanted to tell you one more time that I had a very nice time tonight,” he said.

  She surprised him—and herself—by saying, “Show me.”

  Matteo looked at her, confused. “What?”

  “Show me,” Rachel repeated.

  “How?” he asked, not exactly sure he understood what she was getting at.

  Her mouth curved, underscoring the amusement that was already evident in her eyes.

  “Oh, I think you can figure it out, Mendoza,” she told him. Then she sighed loudly, took hold of the two sides of his button-down shirt and abruptly pulled him to her.

  Matteo was more than a little surprised at this display of proactive behavior on her part. She really was a firecracker, he thought.

  The next moment, there was no room for looks of surprise or any other expressions, for that matter. It was hard to make out a woman’s features if her face was flush against another face the way Rachel’s was against his.

  She lost no time in putting a piece of her soul into the kiss. If the first kiss between them during the picnic was sweet, this kiss was nothing if not flaming hot. So much so that Matteo was almost certain he was going to go up in smoke any second now.

  The thing of it was, he didn’t care. As long as it happened while he was kissing Rachel, nothing else mattered.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’d better leave now, while I still can,” Matteo told her a full two minutes later, separating himself from her.

  He knew he had to pull back, and it had to be now. He had a very strong feeling that, despite any noble sentiments to the contrary, if he waited even a single moment longer, he would be completely lost. A man could resist only so much temptation before he gave in, and in all honesty, he wasn’t altogether sure that things were happening for the r
ight reasons.

  Did this woman make his blood surge because he was so attracted to her, or was it because somewhere, deep down, he felt his brother was interested in Rachel, and he was trying to best Cisco at his own game?

  If it was the latter, then going any further tonight would be a complete disservice to her, not to mention wrong.

  And she deserved better than that. Better than to be the object of a tug-of-war between two brothers.

  Rachel looked somewhat dazed and sounded a bit breathless when she said, “You’re being a gentleman.”

  Matteo wasn’t sure if she was making an assessment or asking him a question. In either case, the answer was the same. He was taking no credit for something that was not a done deal.

  “I’m trying.”

  Rachel smiled up into his eyes, both disappointed and absolutely thrilled and touched.

  “I appreciate that,” she whispered.

  And even though she truly wanted to make love with him, she had to admire his restrained behavior. Not every man was like that, holding back until they had spent more time together.

  “Then, like I said, I’d better leave now.” Matteo took a step back, away from her door. His eyes never left her face. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised.

  She had no doubt that she would see him again. But in what capacity? “Professionally or privately?” Rachel asked.

  Matteo merely smiled enigmatically at her and said, “Yes.”

  Turning from Rachel, he began to walk away. As he left, he heard her cell phone begin to ring. In his gut, he knew who it was.

  Cisco.

  Stiffening, he slowed his pace, wanting to see if he was right. He had no idea how he knew who was calling her. He just did.

  Confirmation came as he listened to her end of the conversation. He could feel his gut twisting. Maybe he should have let things progress naturally.

  Every word she uttered pierced his skin like tiny blades.

  “Oh, it’s you. No, just surprised, that’s all. Yes, I just got in. Very nice, thank you.”

  Matteo resisted the temptation of pulling the cell out of her hand and telling his brother where he could go. Gritting his teeth, he kept walking.

  By the time he got to his car, Matteo had sufficiently worked himself up. Looking down at his sides, Matteo realized that both his hands were clenched.

  Had Cisco been standing in front of him right now, he wouldn’t have been standing upright for long.

  * * *

  The following morning found him sitting across from Cisco, having breakfast at a cafe in Vicker’s Corners. The arrangements to meet had been made a week ago, to discuss their father’s situation without having their father present. But at the moment, the subject of their father was the furthest thing from either of their minds.

  Cisco was consuming his breakfast as if he didn’t have a care in the world. No such laid-back attitude resided on Matteo’s side of the table. Matteo had come because he had given his word, but he was not happy about having to be in such proximity to his brother, who was, for the most part, acting even more cocky than usual, in his estimation.

  Cisco seemed to be scrutinizing him. Why? What was going on in his brother’s head? Matteo couldn’t help wondering.

  “I hear your date went well last night,” Cisco told him, nodding his head in approval. “A moonlight picnic. You’re improving, little brother. There’s hope for you yet.”

  Matteo didn’t like Cisco’s blatantly high-handed attitude, nor did he like the fact that his brother was prying into his personal life as if he had every right to. He saw it as nothing less than an invasion of privacy.

  “What business is any of this of yours?” Matteo wanted to know. He angrily swished his fork through the eggs on his plate. If they hadn’t been scrambled already, they would have been now.

  Scrambled, but not touched.

  That was not the case with Cisco’s order. His breakfast was disappearing quickly. “Why, you wound me, Mattie.” He pressed his hand dramatically against his chest, in the general vicinity of his heart. “Everything about you is my business. If I don’t look after you, who will?” he asked loftily.

  Matteo narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need looking after,” he snapped.

  “That is a matter of opinion,” Cisco replied, amused. Pausing, holding his fork aloft, he asked, “Have you asked her out again?”

  Matteo’s eyes narrowed. “Asked who out again?”

  Cisco shook his head. He made it obvious that this kind of a response was definitely beneath his brother. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Mattie. We both know you’re not dumb. You might lack energy and drive, and God knows you’re slow to pick up on signals—”

  Matteo was trying to ignore his brother, but Cisco was making it next to impossible. “What signals?” he demanded.

  Cisco used his fork as if it was an extension of his hand, waving it at his brother as he spoke. “See, that’s my point exactly. You don’t even know there are any signals. Since I’m your older brother and I believe in leading by example, if you don’t take advantage of what’s right there in front of you, then I’m going to have to step in and do it for you—for your own good, of course.”

  Now, what was that supposed to mean?

  A waitress approached their table at that moment, a coffeepot in her hand. She topped off Cisco’s coffee with more than half a cup.

  There was hardly room for a drop more in Matteo’s cup. It was obvious that he hadn’t touched any of his breakfast.

  “Is everything all right with your meal, sir?” the young woman asked.

  “My meal is fine,” he told her. His eyes never left his brother.

  The waitress, looking somewhat confused, withdrew.

  The moment she did, Matteo asked his brother incredulously, “You’re putting me on notice?”

  “I suppose that’s one way of saying it,” Cisco allowed. “Bottom line is that we can’t have Rachel thinking all the Mendoza men are slow to act just because you are.”

  He could see that Cisco was enjoying this exchange. He, on the other hand, definitely was not.

  “Stay away from her,” Matteo warned his brother, his voice low, foreboding.

  Everything about Cisco’s body language told Matteo that his older brother was not about to follow instructions.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Cisco said. “This is a free country, little brother, and the last time I looked, there weren’t any ‘taken’ signs on Rachel.”

  If they hadn’t been sitting in a public place, Matteo would have been sorely tempted to wipe the smirk off his brother’s all-too-handsome face. “Then use your imagination,” he growled.

  “Oh, I am,” Cisco assured him with a hearty laugh. “I am.”

  At this point, goaded this way, it took every last drop of restraint that Matteo possessed to keep him from jumping up from the table and making his brother eat his words.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have succeeded—Cisco wasn’t exactly a ninety-pound weakling; he was a man who believed in exercising to keep physically fit—but Matteo would have gotten a great deal of satisfaction out of trying and landing at least a couple of well-placed punches.

  But he refrained from any sort of physical action because he knew that if word got back to his father—and it would—that he and Cisco were publicly brawling, it would really upset the old man. Not because it happened in public, but that it happened at all.

  His father was very big on family unity. Trying to beat each other up didn’t exactly strike a blow for family unity. It just struck a blow.

  But if he couldn’t vent his anger via his method of choice, at least he didn’t have to remain here, listening to Cisco talk as if he was the leading authority on women and relationships.

  Standing up, Matteo threw a couple
of bills on the table.

  “Where are you going?” Cisco asked innocently. He indicated Matteo’s plate. “You haven’t finished your breakfast yet.”

  “Oh, I’m finished with it, all right,” Matteo retorted. “Besides, I suddenly lost my appetite.”

  Cisco nodded as if he had been expecting to hear that. “Unresolved love issues can do that to a man.”

  Didn’t Cisco ever stop pontificating? Or, at the very least, get sick of the sound of his own voice?

  “I don’t have time to listen to you babble. I’ve got work to do,” Matteo said, turning on his heel and walking away.

  Cisco leaned back in his chair, tilting it slightly so he could get a better view of his brother as he left the restaurant.

  “If that means making deliveries to a certain charitable foundation, say hi to her for me,” Cisco called after him.

  Matteo bit his tongue. Answering his brother would only lead to yet another round of exchanges that went nowhere. Cisco was not one to surrender his right to get in the last word—each time. Matteo had no doubt that his brother would probably go on talking from the grave if it seemed as if someone got in the last word after him.

  Besides, the truth of it was, he really did have to hustle. His father was making another round-trip run today to the Fortune Foundation’s headquarters in Red Rock and back again.

  He knew for a fact that his father would take off without him if he wasn’t there on time. While Orlando Mendoza made it known that he enjoyed all his children’s company, he also made it known that it irked him no end to have anyone think he needed a keeper or someone watching over him, ready to step in at the first sign of any sort of weakness.

  Matteo supposed, as the comparison snuck up on him, that his father felt the same way about his being around for the flights as he himself felt hearing Cisco tell him that he was willing to lead by example.

  “But it’s different,” he said out loud, as if he was making the argument to his father instead of just talking to himself as he drove to the airfield. “If something goes wrong or I don’t act fast enough, I’m not going to crash and burn.”