impenetrable aura of his vast wealth notwithstanding, at six-foot-four, his full head of dark hair barely tinged with silver, John Michael Fortune’s physical presence alone made most folks think long and hard about disagreeing with him.
Which made his mother’s soft, “What’s the harm in staying another day or two?” all the more stunning. And finally brought his father’s confused gaze to hers.
“Because I promised the Harrises we’d be there,” he said, his annoyance clear. “Which you know. And it’s not as if we’re never coming back.” His eyes shifted to Wendy, who was soon to give him his first grandchild. “Baby’s due in March, you said?”
“I did.”
“Then we’ll be here.”
But as John Michael escorted their mother to the car, Scott caught Wendy swiping a tear from her cheek. What a weird bunch they were, he mused as Marcos bounded back up the porch steps to slip an arm around his wife’s thickened waist, plant a quick kiss on her lips. For as long as Scott could remember, their father had rammed home to all six of them that you were either a success or a failure—there was no middle ground … and his mother, that nothing was more important than family. Dual mantras that defined everything they did. Everything they were.
And seemed to so often be in conflict with each other.
Suddenly restless, Scott returned to the lobby, an elegant blend of terra-cotta tiles and hand-plastered walls, wrought-iron fixtures and down-cushioned leather furniture, to see what was holding up the others. In a suit and tie, his older brother Mike paced the patterned carpet in front of the registration desk, his dark brows drawn as he barked orders at whoever was on the other end of his phone, while his younger brother Blake and their sister Emily were just entering the lobby from the restaurant, deep in conversation over something on Blake’s iPad screen. Only their cousin, Victoria—close to Wendy in both age and temperament—seemed to be “in the moment,” scooting toward Scott in her high-heeled suede boots, her long, dark brown curls bouncing over her shoulders.
First through the door, Victoria threw her arms around Wendy, giving her a fierce hug, then, to Marcos, a stern, “And you’d better take good care of her or there will be hell to pay,” before dashing across the flagstone porch and into the waiting, rented Escalade … but not before flashing a grin at Marcos’s youngest brother, Miguel, as he hefted her bag into the back.
“Guys! Let’s go!” Scott called to the others. “Mom and Dad are already in the car!”
Emily, her long blond hair uncharacteristically loose, picked up the pace. “Sorry!” she said breathlessly. “But Blake just came up with this killer campaign for Universal Mobile.” Her green eyes sparkling with excitement, she glanced back at Mike, who, still on his phone, was making “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming” gestures in Scott’s direction, then added, “As soon as Mike closes the deal and it becomes Fortune Mobile.”
No sooner were they outside, though, than a Jeep with Redmond Flight School painted on the door pulled up behind Javier’s somewhat battered Explorer and a tall, cowboy-booted guy in a flight jacket and a ball cap climbed out. On seeing Tanner Redmond, Scott smiled and extended his hand, his eyes level with the other man’s. Apparently a long-time friend of the Red Rock Fortunes, as well as the Mendozas, Tanner had been at the wedding … and danced, as Scott now recalled, with his sister Jordana. Who, Scott also now realized, was nowhere to be seen.
“Glad I caught you,” Tanner said, his own smile glinting in his olive-green eyes as he clasped Scott’s hand. “Had to go out of town right after the wedding, but wanted to say goodbye before you all left. Although …” His mouth pulled tight, the former Air Force pilot peered up at the sky, shaking his head.
Scott blew out a breath, glancing inside for his missing sister before tucking his fists in his leather jacket’s front pockets. “Don’t say it.”
Tanner grinned again, gouging deep creases in tanned cheeks. “Who’s the pilot?”
“Guy named Jack Sullivan.”
“Know him well. You’re in excellent hands. Man does not do stupid. Besides, this is bound to clear. Eventually.”
“Thanks,” Scott said drily, earning him a low chuckle and a clap on the shoulder before Tanner walked away to talk to Blake and Emily, then lean into the Escalade to pay his respects to their mother. Still one sister short, Scott asked the mob at large, “Where’s Jordana—anybody know?”
“Not going,” came from the doorway where his middle sister stood in plain jeans and a cowl-necked tunic, her dark blond hair pulled into her customary don’t-give-a-damn ponytail. Although a brilliant asset to FortuneSouth’s research and development team, Jordana clearly had not inherited his other sisters’ fashion sense. Or their confidence in non-business-related situations.
Standing by the car with Tanner, their father glanced over, then lifted his own bag into the back. “Nonsense,” he said, her “rebellion” clearly not worth even considering. “Of course you’re going.”
Jordana’s arms tightened across her ribs, as something Scott couldn’t remember ever seeing before flashed in her deep brown eyes. Still, her voice shook slightly when she spoke.
“I t-told you, there is no way I’m flying in this weather. Especially in some dinky little puddle jumper.”
“A Learjet is hardly dinky—”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, her face reddening, “but I am not getting on that plane.” Even though Jordana probably racked up more air miles than the rest of them for her work, flying had always scared the crap out of her. A quirk she’d kept hidden from their father, Scott wagered. Until now. “I’ll get a commercial flight later. Promise.”
Smiling, Tanner said something to John Michael that Scott couldn’t hear, earning him a quick glower and an even quicker nod.
“We’ll expect you back tomorrow, then,” their father said, then ducked into the car. Scott gave Wendy a final hug, shook Marcos’s hand, then climbed into the Escalade’s front seat beside Javier. As they finally got under way, he waved to Jordana, standing under the portico, hugging herself and frowning. Tanner said something to her and pointed to the still-open door. Probably suggesting they go back inside, Scott guessed, where it was warm. And dry.
“How come you’re not driving your own car?” he now asked Wendy’s brother-in-law.
“Like I’d miss an opportunity to get behind the wheel of this beauty?” the black-haired man said with a grin, stroking the luxury car’s leather-clad steering wheel with work-roughened fingers. “No way.”
Scott sighed, letting his head drop back against the headrest. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever get out of there,” he said in a low voice, even though, between the constant swishing of the windshield wipers and both his father and brother being deep in conversation on their phones, he doubted he’d be heard.
“I feel your pain,” Javier said, tossing a bright smile in Scott’s direction before once more focusing on the rain-drenched road. “With three brothers, I know what it’s like trying to get that many people moving in the same direction at the same time … man,” he said, angling his head slightly to look up at the clouds. “At least it isn’t snow, right?”
“At least.”
Behind
