Mendoza's Secret Fortune

Setting down Matteo’s meal in front of him and placing the bowl of chips in the center of the table, Rachel proceeded to refill the men’s empty beer glasses, beginning with Orlando’s.

“Will there be anything else?” she asked with a gregarious smile as she made the rounds between the three men.

Cisco spoke up unexpectedly. “You could settle an argument for us,” he said.

Instinct had Matteo shoot his brother a silencing look, but it was already too late.

“What kind of an argument?” Rachel wanted to know, filling Cisco’s glass.

“If you had to go out with one of us, which would you choose?” Cisco asked her innocently.

The question seemed to catch her completely off guard, but Rachel managed to recover gracefully without missing a beat.

“That all depends,” she responded, going on to Matteo’s glass.

“On what?” Cisco asked her before Matteo had a chance to.

Her eyes met Matteo’s for one brief and surprisingly intense moment before she looked back at his brother. “On who would ask me first.”

“All right,” Cisco said quickly, making sure that he got the jump on his brother. “Rachel, would you go out with me tonight?”

It all happened so fast that Matteo felt as if he had just been torpedoed—and sunk—by an enemy sub.

“My shift doesn’t end until eight,” Rachel replied, still not giving him a definite answer.

It was her way of stalling. It wasn’t that she wasn’t flattered, because she was—the man who had asked her out just now was every bit as good-looking as his brother—and it wasn’t that she was trying to play hard to get, because she wasn’t. The reason she was stalling was because she was hoping that the one who had really caught her attention, the cute younger brother, who had come to her defense earlier at the other table, would put in his two cents and ask her out, as well. Then she knew who she’d pick.

But from what she could see, the one she had heard referred to as “Matteo” seemed to fold up his tent and just withdraw, allowing his brother to have total access to the entire playing field.

In this case, that meant her, Rachel thought.

“Perfect,” Cisco was saying, referring to when her shift ended. “I’ll be waiting out front.”

Ever since she’d left her home in Austin five years ago, Rachel had been somewhat leery when it came to dating. She’d already gone through her ugly-duckling period and her swan period, during which time she had preened and posed, absorbing each and every flattering word that was sent her way, and viewing it as gospel.

But in time she had learned that those compliments were just empty, meaningless words, easily spoken and even more easily forgotten. She had more important things on her agenda than dating these days. She was busy not just finding herself, but also finding her place in the scheme of things.

Her place in the world.

She was working here as a hostess, but she had recently won an internship at the new Horseback Hollow office of the Fortune Foundation, which had opened its doors several weeks ago. As of yet, the office was still not fully up and running, but she intended to be there right from the start, learning everything she could from the ground up.

Her plan was to make something of herself.

To that end, she was going to continue with both positions, amassing as much money as she could. Her father had offered to support her when she’d left home, as he well could, but she had refused his money. She wanted to make it on her own so that no one else could take the credit—or the blame—for what she had become. It would be all on her, one way or another.

She might not appear so to the patrons seated here at the Cantina, but she was fiercely dedicated, not to mention full of pride.

Ordinarily, this sort of a work agenda would leave a person with no room for anything else, but she knew that having some sort of a social life was important. She supposed this “date” tonight qualified as just that.

She would have preferred being asked out by the younger hunk, but the one who did ask her out wasn’t exactly shabby, either. Who knew? Maybe she would wind up having a better time with him than Mr. Cheeseburger, she mused.

So Rachel nodded and gave the man who had just asked her out a smile.

“All right, if we’re going to go out, I’m going to need to know your name,” she told him.

Cisco inclined his head in a polite, surprisingly formal bow as he said, “Francisco Mendoza at your service.” Raising his eyes to hers, he added, “Everybody calls me Cisco.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to join the crowd,” she told him. With that, she looked at the other two occupants of the table. “Since I’m taking names, you are—” she asked Matteo.

“A day late and a dollar short,” Cisco supplied before Matteo could answer her.

If looks could kill, the one that Matteo slanted at him would have completely vaporized Cisco in under ten seconds. The scowl abated somewhat as he turned to look at the hostess and told her, “Matteo Mendoza.”

“And I am Orlando Mendoza,” Orlando told her. In typical old-fashioned, courtly manner, Orlando rose slightly in his chair and bent forward so that he could take her hand in his. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as per the custom of his ancestors.

Rather than appear amused, Rachel looked touched and just slightly in awe.

“Mendoza,” Rachel repeated, then asked, “Brothers?” as her eyes swept over all three men.

“You are only partially right.” Orlando laughed, fully aware that the young woman had asked the question tongue-in-cheek. “And partially a flatterer.” He glanced at Cisco and told his son, “This one can hold her own against you.”

Cisco’s eyes were filled with humor as well as a healthy measure of appreciation as they met hers. “I’m sure she can.”

Realizing that she had already spent way too much time at one table, Rachel flashed another quick smile at the trio and began to withdraw, saying, “I’d love to talk some more, but I’ve got another order up,” before she turned on her heel and left.

“And that, little brother,” Cisco said as soon as he felt that the hostess was out of earshot, “is how it’s done.”

Matteo looked at his older sibling, more than a little annoyed at the latter’s presumption. “I don’t need pointers. And even if I did, it wouldn’t be from you.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Cisco observed with a pitying shake of his head. “You might not be aware of it, little brother, but you definitely are in need of something.” He dug into the chicken enchiladas before him. “I just beat you to the punch with Rachel—and the worst part of it is, you let me.”

“Beat me to the punch,” Matteo repeated incredulously. “Is that what all this is to you? A game? Just a game?”

Cisco refused to get embroiled in an argument, especially one that didn’t look as if it could have a clear winner—at least not verbally. He took another bite before saying anything in reply.

“What it is, is invigorating,” Cisco told him. “And I intend to have a really good time with the fair Rachel.”

Matteo’s scowl grew deeper. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d better treat her like a lady,” he warned Cisco.

“Or what?” Cisco asked, curious as to just where this conversation was going. “You’ll beat me up?” Orlando felt that he had sat by in silence long enough. The last thing he wanted was to see this escalate beyond a few hot words traded. Even that was too much.

“Stop it, you two. You are brothers. Remember that,” Orlando ordered. “And Cisco, you had better behave like a gentleman with this girl. I will not stand for anything less,” he warned his older son.

Cisco didn’t want to provoke his father, but the whole thing had made him curious. His father must have sown a few wild oats in his day. There was still a hint of a wicked twinkle left in his eye.

“Don’t you remember being young once, Dad?” Cisco asked him.

Orlando made no effort to deny it. “Yes, I do, which is exactly why I am saying this to you now.” And then he turned his attention to Matteo. “And you, you have no business telling your brother what to do after you neglected to act according to your own feelings.”