Marriage, Bravo Style!

“Sadly, yes. I’m just fine.”

“Oh, chica…”

“Tonio’s found someone else.”

“That bastard.”

“Her name is Tappy.”

“Tappy?”

“It’s what I said—and I can hear you laughing.”

“Tappy?”

“Stop it, Mercedes.” But Mercy didn’t stop. And then Elena was laughing, too.

Finally, Mercy pulled herself together enough to remark philosophically, “Well, at least your heart isn’t broken over this.”

“Yeah. It’s really depressing.”

“Elena.” Her sister’s voice was gentle, soothing. “There’s someone out there for you. I know there is.”

“Keep talking. I’m twenty-five. I’ve never been in love—not that I’m feeling sorry for myself or anything.”

“What’s this never? What about Roberto Pena?”

“That was high school. It’s been a decade, in case you didn’t notice.”

“It will happen. You’ll see.”

Enough of the pity party. Elena sat forward again and reached for the ignition key. “Gotta go. Got to check out this Rogan character, make sure Papi knows what he’s doing.”

“Hit me back. Let me know what you think of him.”

Cabrera Construction took up half a block in a street of auto repair shops and contractor supply outlets. Years and years ago, the place had been a used car lot, so it had plenty of parking surrounding the flat-roofed central structure, which was the former showroom. It had big windows in front and a giant reception area, with a warren of hallways and office space in back. Behind the main building, there was more parking and also four large sheds where Elena’s dad stored equipment and building supplies that weren’t currently needed on a job.

Elena pulled in next to her dad’s giant shiny red extended cab. There were three other vehicles parked in the same row. One was her dad’s secretary’s car. One belonged to another Cabrera Construction employee.

There was also a Mercedes she’d never seen before. It was low and lean and fast-looking. A beautiful silver bullet of a car.

As she entered the building that her dad had owned for almost twenty years now, she thought how sad it was that he might actually sell out. She had memories here. Family memories. From back when her mom and dad were still together and so much in love it was kind of embarrassing.

If she closed her eyes and listened real hard, she could almost hear her own happy laughter as she and Mercy played tag or hide-and-seek.

“Tag, you’re it!” Mercy would crow in big-sister triumph.

“No fair!” Elena would whine.

“Is so!”

“Papi, Mercy cheated….”

“Don’t be such a baby.” Mercy would stick out her tongue. “Did not.”

“Did so!”

Elena opened her eyes. The memory of young voices receded. Yes, it was sad to think of someone else running the place, someone else’s children playing tag in the reception area.

But then again, neither of Javier Cabrera’s daughters had shown any interest in following in his footsteps. Elena was a teacher, Mercy a vet. And there was no son. Her dad was close to sixty and he often complained that he was tired, ready to relax a little, maybe travel some, see the world.

If this thing with Caleb’s friend panned out, her dad might get his chance for freedom. Too bad he no longer had her mom to share his retirement with.

He really ought to get out more, Elena thought. He ought to try and meet someone. But he never did. He and her mom were over and done with. But they were true Catholics. They might be apart with no hope for a reconciliation, but there would be no one else for either of them.

Really, it was kind of heartbreaking.

But she shouldn’t think like that. Maybe they would surprise her, and each of them would end up happy with someone else.

It could happen. Lately, even though she dreaded the thought of dealing with a stepmother or stepfather, she found herself wishing for one. Hadn’t her parents suffered enough? Elena thought so. They both ought to just move on….

“Elena.” Marcella, who had been her dad’s secretary for as long as Elena could remember, smiled a greeting from behind the front desk.

“Hi. Is my dad in back?”

The secretary nodded and then tipped her big head of red hair toward the hallway that led to Javier’s private office and the drafting room. She pitched her voice low. “He’s with the buyer.” The buyer. So was the sale already made, then? “Is it all right if I go back, you think?”

Marcella shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

Elena hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anything important. What if they’re in the middle of delicate negotiations?” And then she heard voices—her dad’s and another man’s.

Marcella smiled again. “No problem. They’re coming out, anyway.”

“Elena,” her dad said a moment later as he and another taller, younger man emerged from the hallway to the back rooms. Her dad gave her a warm, tired-looking smile.

They’d come a long way from those first awful days when he’d learned that she wasn’t his natural daughter. There had been a time when he could hardly bear to look at her. He’d hated himself for that. But she’d never held it against him. She’d understood his pain. After all, she had lived through that same pain herself.

And slowly, they’d become what they really were again. Father and daughter, blood tie or not.

She went to him and he wrapped his strong arms around her. He smelled of everything safe and good in the world, like Old Spice aftershave and geraniums in the sun. “Papi,” she whispered. “I just thought I’d stop by.”

“I’m glad.” He released her. She gazed up at him, thinking he looked so old, all of a sudden. The crow’s feet at the corners of his black eyes were etched so deep they seemed to make his whole face droop. Her dear Papi. Old. When had that happened? “Elena, this is Rogan Murdoch.”

She turned to the other man, her gaze tracking up his broad, deep chest to a very Irish-looking face with green eyes and straight brows, full lips, a square jaw and a strong nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. He wasn’t handsome, exactly. But he was certainly compelling. And very…male.

He smiled at her and took her hand. “Elena,” he said, as if he knew her already. As if he’d only been waiting for her to show up. Her throat felt dry. She gulped. Words completely eluded her. “Caleb’s mentioned you often.” His large, warm hand engulfed hers. She couldn’t breathe—or more precisely, she wasn’t breathing. She had to consciously suck in a breath and push it back out again. “We’re just going to lunch,” he said. “Why don’t you join us?”

She eased her hand free of his. It seemed safer, somehow, not to be touching him. At the same time, she had the presence of mind to glance down, to check out his other hand.