Marriage, Bravo Style!

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?”