nodded his dark head. “The sheriff’s wife.”
Mike closed his eyes for a second, searching for strength. “I know who Olivia is, Dad. I’m just surprised that she would condone something like this.” As far as he knew, Olivia was a private person. Perhaps not as private as he was, but relatively close. Why would she just give him someone’s name like that? What did she know about this woman? And who could vouch for this so-called journal organizer?
“She didn’t just condone it,” Miguel informed him proudly. “She encouraged it. And,” he said with emphasis, saving the best for last, “she thinks my idea of passing this book on to my grandchildren when it is finished is a very good idea.”
A sense of defeat pressed against his chest. Mike could see that his father had made up his mind about this. He knew that once that happened, there was no swaying the old man. Miguel Rodriguez was an easy-going, loving man most of the time. He could also be as stubborn as hell once he set his mind on something, Mike thought with an inward sigh.
Granted, the ranch was supposed to belong to all of them equally, but it was an unspoken rule that Miguel got the final say in all matters should there be a division of opinion. After all, this had been Miguel Rodriguez’s ranch before he had decided to divide the land among all of them. It had been his way of thanking his children for pitching in to save the ranch from its creditors and the bank that sought to foreclose on it. Had they not all found some sort of work and handed every penny they earned over to him, the ranch would currently belong to another family, not theirs.
Throwing in the towel, Mike decided he needed to get the particulars nailed down so that at least he knew how long he had to put up with this so-called intellectual’s invasion.
He pinned his father with a look. “Exactly how long is Miss Organizer going to be here?”
Miguel had always tried to be truthful with his children, never answering something for the sake of closing the subject if he actually didn’t know. “That depends.”
“On what?” Mike’s voice rose with a touch of indignation. “On whether or not she likes getting a free ride?”
Mike knew for a fact that his father’s hospitality was boundless, that whoever stayed here on the ranch wouldn’t be allowed to contribute a dime toward their keep and while his family was far from financially hurting these days, he didn’t like the idea of his father being taken advantage of by some little two-bit opportunist, either.
Miguel gave no indication that his son’s tone annoyed him. “On how long it will take her to organize those journals and diaries in such a way that she can use them to create a memoir that does your great-great—that does G-4 justice,” Miguel amended.
Mike didn’t bother stifling his sigh of displeasure this time. “In other words, she’s going to become a permanent member of the household.”
“Only if you or Ramon marry her,” his father countered innocently. “The way Rafe married Valentine.”
Or if you marry her, Mike thought, keeping the response, which he meant more than half-seriously, to himself. It had been a long time since his mother had died and there were times Mike worried that his father was ripe for the picking by some enterprising little gold digger.
“Well, I certainly won’t,” Mike said out loud, “and Ray is still half pining after that starlet who was here while they were filming that movie in Forever. Although he does fall in and out of love like some people change socks,” Mike acknowledged, “so maybe you’d better warn this literary cleaning lady that she might just want to stay where she is instead of coming to the Casa de Rodriguez,” Mike concluded.
His father surprised him by shaking his head sadly and asking, “When did it happen, mi hijo?”
Mike looked at his father, confused. “When did what happen?”
“When did you become this old man?” Miguel asked. “These are the years when you are supposed to be young and foolish, my son. Enjoy life. Make mistakes and pick yourself up and try again. That is how you grow,” the older man insisted. “Through experiences.”
Sure there might have been times—few though they were, Mike silently maintained—when he thought that something might be missing from his life. But that had been part of the sacrifice he’d felt he had to make for the good of the family. “Sorry, Dad. Someone around here has to be the serious one.”
The way Miguel saw it, it was a matter of definition. “There is serious and then there is inflexible.” Miguel patted his son’s face. “Do not miss out on being young, Miguel. You only get one chance at it.”
He was who he was and for the most part, he’d made his peace with that. He was too old to change now, Mike thought. “You seem to be doing just fine for both of us, Dad.”
Miguel shook his head. It was obvious by his expression that he was trying to understand just where he had gone wrong, where he had failed his first-born. All his other children were outgoing and had a zest for life, even Eli, while Miguel Jr. seemed to work hard at avoiding it, foregoing any personal dealings outside the family—sometimes even inside the family. That was no way to live, the older man thought sadly.
But it wasn’t a problem that could be solved quickly, or even soon. And he had something more pressing that needed tending to.
“We can discuss this at some other time,” Miguel told his son. “Right now I need you to go and pick the young lady up at the airport.”
The closest airport to Forever was over fifty miles away. A trip of that nature would take a huge chunk out of his day.
“When?” Mike asked, preparing to beg off whatever date his father gave him.
“Leaving in the next twenty minutes would be nice.” Miguel watched his son’s jaw drop in amazement. “I know how you like to give yourself enough time in case something comes up like a traffic jam outside of Laredo.”
“Today?” Mike asked in disbelief. “You want me to pick her up today?”
Miguel nodded. “Her plane lands in a little less than two hours.”
“And you’re just telling me this now?” Mike asked in disbelief.
“I thought it was better that way. It gives you less time to be angry about it. You know how you get,” he pointed out sadly to his son.
“Dad, I can’t just drop everything and—”
“You have nothing to drop,” Miguel told him calmly. “I have already checked.”
Mike didn’t like being thought of as predictable. “What if I had plans you didn’t know about?” he challenged.
“When have you ever had plans no one knew about?” his father countered.
“I could,” Mike maintained stubbornly.
“Do you?” Miguel asked, his eyes meeting his son’s.
With reluctance and no small measure of annoyance, Mike replied, “No, I don’t.”
“Good, then I would hurry if I were you.”
“How am I supposed to find this literary
