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 in here. Matteo, however, was going to require some major—and just possibly underhanded—convincing in order to get him to stick around. When they had come to eat at this restaurant, Orlando had thought his dilemma of winning his youngest son over was all but insurmountable.
Now, however, he finally had some hope. Many a man had done some unpredictable things in order to impress a young woman, and from what he could see, Matteo seemed to be pretty taken with that attractive hostess.
Orlando kept the conversation flowing, talking up the merits of Horseback Hollow, the closeness of its local citizens and how living here made a man focus on what was really important in life: his family and his health.
In recent months, the patriarch had regained the latter and was in the process of reinstituting the former. With just a little luck and a healthy dose of his persuasion, Orlando felt he would succeed here, as well.
When the hostess returned shortly with their orders, Orlando carefully observed his younger son’s reaction to her. That made him feel this indeed was the right path for him to concentrate on. His youngest son all but lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree when the woman approached.
Orlando noted that his older son seemed to come to life a little more, as well.
This had all the earmarks of an intense rivalry, Orlando observed. He had always tried to discourage that sort of thing, thinking that brothers should support one another, not attempt to best each other at every turn—especially when Cisco usually triumphed over Matteo. The last thing he wanted was for the latter to suffer another loss at the hands of his brother, but at this point, he couldn’t think of another way to get Matteo to consider remaining in Horseback Hollow for a little while longer—and ideally, permanently—than bringing his son together with this hostess.
His secret hope was that if Matteo—and Cisco—did remain here for a number of weeks, both would be won over by the town’s charm, and they would come to see that the merits of living in a small town trumped living in a large, indifferent metropolis where people lived next door to one another and remained strangers.
“Senorita, please, another round of cervezas for all of us,” Orlando said once their server had emptied the tray she had carried to their table.
“Coming right up. And I’ll bring back another bowl of tortilla chips, as well,” Rachel promised, picking up the empty woven basket and placing it on her tray. “Anything else?” she asked, her eyes sweeping over the three men.
“Maybe later,” Cisco replied.
Rachel smiled as she inclined her head. “Later, then,” she agreed cheerfully. “Anything else for you gentlemen?” she wanted to know, glancing at the other two men at the table.
Matteo stared down at what was to be his lunch. He honestly couldn’t remember asking for the salad. In any event, that was not going to satisfy his appetite. “Yes. I’d like a cheeseburger, please,” he said.
“Is something wrong with your salad?” she asked.
“No, I just thought that the cheeseburger would be more filling,” Matteo explained, feeling as if he was tripping over his own tongue. He had never had Cisco’s glib ability to spout clever rhetoric at the drop of a hat.
“Then you’d like me to take the salad back?” she asked.
“Not if it gets you into trouble.” Now, why had he said something so stupid? Matteo upbraided himself. He should have just said yes and left it at that.
But to his relief, she smiled. “That’s very considerate of you, but no, it won’t.” Picking up the salad, she placed it on her tray. “One cheeseburger, another round of cervezas and a bowl of chips coming up,” she told him.
Captivated, Matteo watched her hips sway ever so slightly as she walked away from their table.
He could have sworn his body temperature went up a full five degrees.
Maybe
