Mendoza's Secret Fortune. Marie Ferrarella

been on his mind evaporated from his brain. Matteo forgot all about missing Miami or being stuck in what he’d thought of as a one-horse town.

      Forgot about everything except what was right there in front of him and coming closer.

      Heaven in an apron.

      He could almost feel the electrical charge this beautiful young woman seemed to radiate with every step she took.

      Matteo had to remind himself to continue breathing. Air kept getting stuck in his lungs. And if his mouth were any dryer, dust would have come spilling out the second he tried to talk.

      He wasn’t the only one who was mesmerized by this vision. Out of the corner of his eye, Matteo saw that Cisco suddenly sat up, snapping to attention, his laid-back attitude becoming not quite so laid-back the second the hostess came into his line of vision.

      As if on cue, the hostess stopped at their table, smiled and introduced herself to the trio.

      “Hello, my name is Rachel, and I’ll be your server this afternoon. One of our regulars called in sick, and I’m covering for her.” She glanced from Orlando to his two sons. Recognizing the one on the older man’s right as the man who had come to her defense just a few minutes earlier, her smile grew wider in acknowledgment—chivalry should always be applauded. “Have you gentlemen decided yet?”

      Matteo knew what he would have liked to order. Her. He kept that response to himself.

      After his father and Cisco had placed their orders with the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty, Matteo knew that he had ordered something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what less than three seconds after the words had left his mouth.

      He had been fixated on the way her lips moved as she spoke and the way his entire system reacted to the melodic sound of her voice.

      “Are you all right, Matteo?” his father asked once Rachel had retreated to the kitchen.

      Cisco smirked. Annoyance flared in Matteo’s veins. Now what?

      “Yeah, sure. I’m fine, Dad.” He turned to look at his father, puzzled. “Why would you ask that?”

      “Well, I have known you for your whole life, and in all those years, I do not remember a single time when I saw you eating a salad as your main course. I believe you referred to salads as—”

      “Cow food,” Cisco interjected, unable to remain silent any longer. His laugh was full-bodied and hearty. And, right now, very annoying to Matteo. “I think my little brother was mesmerized by the lovely Rachel and didn’t know what he was ordering, Dad.”

      “I wasn’t mesmerized,” Matteo protested with indignation, giving his brother a dirty look.

      Matteo loved his older brother, but he hated being teased by Cisco. Cisco could be relentless, picking at him for days on end about a single thing if the spirit so moved him.

      Now he grinned that wicked grin of his. “Hey, brother, I thought that she was a really hot little number, too.”

      Orlando could see that this had the makings of another family fight. Matteo sounded as if he was taking offense for the young woman—who surely hadn’t a clue that she was the subject of this discussion, the older man surmised. As for Cisco, Orlando knew that the older boy loved to get Matteo riled up.

      “We are all agreed that she is a very attractive young lady, Cisco. There is no reason for a dispute—or for you to give your brother a hard time,” Orlando chided his older son.

      Matteo frowned. He knew his father meant well, but he didn’t need him coming to his aid this way. He wasn’t ten years old and unable to hold his own against Cisco. Even at ten, he hadn’t welcomed the interference.

      “It’s okay, Dad,” Matteo said evenly, shifting his eyes to his brother. “Cisco didn’t mean anything by that.”

      “Actually, I did,” Cisco contradicted him. “Are you declaring dibs on Rachel? ’Cause if you are, it looks like maybe you’ve found that reason to hang around Horseback Hollow for a while—until she rebuffs you in favor of someone else, of course.” Matteo’s brother chuckled to himself as he continued eating the triangular chips from the bowl in the center of the table.

      “You mean you?” The question came spontaneously to Matteo’s lips, without any real thought necessary on his part.

      Cisco’s grin spread wider, annoying Matteo almost beyond words. “Just possibly.”

      “Matteo, Cisco,” Orlando chided them sharply. “You’re not children anymore, bent on competing until one of you collapses in exhaustion,” he said. “It is time for you to behave like men.”

      “Men compete, Dad,” Cisco reminded his father in all sincerity. “You know that.”

      For a moment, Orlando was catapulted back in time. He remembered his late wife, vividly remembered what he had gone through in order to win her hand in marriage. Remembered, too, what it had ultimately personally cost him.

      “Sometimes men compete,” Orlando admitted, then added, “but not my sons.” He made the four words sound like an edict. “They do not compete against one another.”

      “Don’t worry, Dad,” Cisco assured him with a well-intentioned smile on his face. “It’s not really a contest, is it, Matteo?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was, in Cisco’s opinion, a statement of fact. He raised his eyes to his brother’s, waiting for a response. Or more accurately, waiting for his agreement.

      Matteo knew just what his brother was inferring. That Matteo didn’t stand a chance at winning over the striking young hostess, because Cisco had always been the lucky one when it came to all of their bets. More important, the one who always got the girl because he was so outgoing, charming and downright irresistible.

      But Cisco was also the one whose relationships did not last, not even as long as the life cycle of a rose.

      Terminating those relationships was always of his brother’s own choosing, but that didn’t change the fact that when all was said and done, Cisco wound up standing alone.

      “She’s a person, not property,” Matteo pointed out tersely.

      Cisco remained undaunted. “I completely agree,” he replied in an even tone. He leaned forward just a touch. “So, tell the truth, brother. Does the lovely Rachel make you rethink leaving this tiny town?”

      “She makes me rethink having you for a brother,” Matteo informed him in as level a voice as he could manage. He was fighting the urge to cut Cisco down to size, but he had a feeling Cisco was looking forward to just that—so he refrained from playing into his brother’s hands.

      “Boys, bastante,” Orlando declared, calling an end to the discussion before it got completely out of hand. “No fighting,” he emphasized. “I asked you both here for a nice, peaceful lunch. I thought this restaurant might remind you a little of the ones you liked to go to back ho—back in Miami.”

      At the last moment, Orlando corrected himself. Referring to Miami as “home” was counterproductive to what he was currently attempting to promote—a sense that this place, Horseback Hollow, with its peaceful surroundings and room for growth, held a great deal of potential. Potential he felt that someone like Matteo—more so than Cisco—could tap into.

      His youngest son was a pilot, like he was, but while he had been a risk-taker in his youth, Matteo admittedly was turning out to be far steadier at this point in his life than Orlando had been when he was twenty-eight.

      Losing Luz just reinforced for Orlando that life was fleeting. However many years—or months—he had left, he wanted to spend them with his children. But at the same time, he knew that strong-arming them was not the way to proceed successfully.

      Cisco—for the time being—was a done deal. He was staying in Horseback Hollow—he had even rented a small ranch house just outside of town. And of course, Gabi had already settled