not happy about it.
Frustrated, Flint tossed aside the magazine he’d been thumbing through since he’d signed in at the lab’s front desk. He hadn’t seen a single word on any of the magazine’s pages.
The door on the far end of the lab’s outer office opened and out came a young woman wearing a white lab coat over her dark skirt and white button-down blouse. Glancing around the room, she spotted him.
“We’re ready for you now, Mr. Fortune,” the technician announced.
Flint unfolded his five-foot-eleven frame from the sofa and stood up.
He silently followed the young woman into one of the smaller rooms that lined the back wall, fervently hoping to be vindicated.
“You what?”
Marcos stared incredulously at his brother, Rafe Mendoza, who had just popped into his office unannounced.
Older by two years, Rafe, a dynamic corporate lawyer, already had a successful law practice in Ann Arbor and was now working in San Antonio. His new practice was so successful that earlier this year he’d decided to open a second office right here in Red Rock. He’d only been back in his hometown a couple of months, but had just purchased the old Crockett building downtown, putting the wheels in motion for a new branch.
“I said that I’d like to hold the wedding reception here at Red. Is that possible?”
“A wedding reception,” Marcos echoed. “Your wedding reception.”
Marcos found that his brain was stuck in first gear, not letting any of his thoughts move forward. In the last ten years, ever since his brother had broken up with his high-school sweetheart, he’d lived a life that every bachelor—and a lot of married men as well, probably—viewed with unabashed envy.
“You’re getting married.”
Rafe slid forward in his chair, peering more closely at Marcos. “You been dipping into the cooking sherry a little too much, little brother?” he wanted to know, amused. “Catch up, Marcos,” he urged. “Yes, in order to have a wedding reception, you have to get married first. And I’m getting married.”
Marcos was having a great deal of trouble wrapping his head around the concept. “To Melina Lawrence?”
Rafe and Melina had been the ideal couple in high school, the couple everyone else aspired to be: the jock and the cheerleader, the king and queen of the homecoming dance. There wasn’t a single person who hadn’t expected them to get married once they graduated college.
But life had a way of intervening, of creating circumstances that divided Melina’s loyalties between pursuing her own dreams, which were tied to Rafe’s, and being there for the family that, as it turned out, desperately needed her.
Melina chose the latter, which in turn led to some hard feelings between them. She and Rafe broke up. That was all that Rafe ever said on the subject, and his brothers knew better than to ask for any more details than Rafe was willing to volunteer.
“So.” Rafe grew more serious. “Can you accommodate me?”
Was he kidding? Marcos would move heaven and earth if he had to. “Hey, you’re my big brother, leave it to me.”
“I haven’t told you the date yet,” Rafe pointed out.
Marcos shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll have your reception. I know Aunt María and Uncle José would have my head if I didn’t close Red down for this private party. You know how Aunt María is about seeing us all married off.”
Yes, he knew. It was his aunt’s life goal. Rafe laughed. “Now that I’m officially out of the picture, that’ll give her more time to work on you.”
So far, Marcos had managed to escape his aunt’s attention. The woman probably knew a hopeless case when she saw one, he speculated. Besides, work was his primary focus. He didn’t have time to wine and dine a woman on an ongoing basis to win her heart. When he came right down to it, no woman’s heart was as important to him as his career.
“She can work all she wants,” Marcos told his brother, then fell back on the standard excuse rather than talk about his dedication to forging a career, even though the old Rafe would have understood. But the old Rafe didn’t have stars in his eyes the way this one did. “I’m having too good a time being free.”
“I used to say the same thing,” Rafe acknowledged. He looked more closely at his younger brother. “I didn’t mean it, either.”
Rafe’s so-called confession made Marcos feel uneasy. “That’s what makes us different, brother. I do.” Marcos pulled over the old-fashioned desk calendar he kept, a gift from his aunt. “Okay, so do you have a date yet?”
“I’ll have to get back to you about that.”
“Fine.” He pushed the calendar back again. “You know where to find me.”
About to leave, Rafe opened the office door and then paused in the doorway. “I thought I saw Wendy Fortune outside in the courtyard, waiting on tables,” he said, mentioning the more exclusive part of the restaurant. He’d heard around town that her parents were trying to instill a work ethic in her. He also knew that Marcos didn’t like playing babysitter. “How’s that working out for you?”
Marcos’s expression instantly soured. “It’s not. Damn woman is like a burr under my saddle.”
Rafe’s grin all but split his face. “Uh-oh.”
Marcos looked at his brother sharply. Filial camaraderie was temporarily placed on hold. “What ‘uh-oh’?” he asked sharply.
“Nothing,” Rafe answered innocently, a ruse that Marcos wasn’t buying. “Just, that’s the way it usually starts.” And then he stated the obvious. “She’s a really beautiful girl.”
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