“Why?”
“Because I get the feeling that he’s as proud of it as you are of yours.”
There was a slight pause and Trevor capitulated. “What did you say the name of it was again?”
That was more like it. This was the reason why he’d called Trevor in the first place. He’d assumed that, just like lawyers and doctors, restaurant owners had their own little network, keeping tabs on one another and being more in the know about a particular restaurant than the average person on the street.
“Shawn’s Li’l Bit of Heaven,” Travis told him. “Have you heard of it?”
“Rings a bell,” Trevor admitted. The silence told Travis his brother was trying to remember something. “They specialize in Irish food—and in Tex-Mex. To each his own, but it’s a strange combination if you ask me.”
“Not if you know the owner,” Travis told him. “The man’s from Texas and he had ties to Ireland somewhere along the line in his ancestry. His last name’s O’Reilly.”
“Ah. And another mystery has been laid to rest,” Trevor cracked. “I can ask around if you want,” he offered. “Just what is it you want to know?”
“If the restaurant is doing well. If there were any health code violations in the last year, things like that. The usual. I need to assess its present value,” he explained.
“Is the owner selling it?” Trevor asked, mildly interested. He’d been toying with the idea of opening a second restaurant and leaving Emilio to run the one presently open.
“No, he wants to put it into a living trust for his daughters.”
There was a low whistle on the other end of the line. “Nice,” Trevor commented. “But instead of taking the roundabout route, why don’t you just ask to look at his books?”
“I will, but I thought I’d get a heads up first so that I’d know what to expect,” Travis confided. “O’Reilly invited me to drop by for a meal tonight. It’s strictly social.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can find out,” Trevor said. “I can have Venus ask around. If anyone has ‘dirt’ on anything, those high-society people she used to hang out with would probably be the first to know.”
The mention of Trevor’s wife momentarily took the conversation in another direction. “So she still wants us to call her Venus, huh?”
The idea amused him. “Venus” was the name his brother had given her the night he’d rescued the woman who eventually became his wife from a watery grave. When Trevor had finally managed to pull her to shore, she had absolutely no recollection of who she was or how she happened to land in the middle of the water.
It was only after Trevor had built a relationship with the woman and fallen hopelessly in love with her that Venus’s memory returned. Rather than someone who had fallen on hard times and was down on her luck, she turned out to be the heiress of a vast fortune. She had accidentally fallen overboard while attempting to escape from a yacht and a pending wedding ceremony that would have bound her to a man she ultimately decided she didn’t love.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Trevor told him with feeling, “she is Venus.”
Travis laughed softly to himself. “Works for me,” he said.
“No offense, brother,” Trevor responded genially, “but that really doesn’t have top priority in the equation.”
He saw the light on his phone turn on. Bea’s way of letting him know his next appointment was here. It was time to go. “Just see what you can find out for me, okay?”
“When do you need to know?”
Travis glanced at the desk calendar to see who his next appointment was. On days like today, people tended to run together. And if not for Shana, he recalled with no small amount of gratitude, he’d really be in a bad way because he’d still have his migraine. “As soon as you can would be nice.”
He heard his brother laugh. “That’s what I love about you, Trav. You’re never in a hurry.”
Trevor should talk, he thought. But he chose neutral ground for his response. “Hey, compared to Kelsey, I’m standing still.”
“Compared to Kelsey, a hurricane is standing still,” Trevor said with a laugh. “I’ll get back to you,” he promised.
“You do that,” Travis said, ending the conversation. Hanging up, he slipped Shawn’s business card back into his wallet. It was already getting worn around the edges.
For no reason, an image of Shana flashed across his mind’s eye.
It had to be lack of sleep that made him act like this, he decided. Like some adolescent with a terminal case of overactive hormones. Hell, he thought, even when he’d been a teenager, he hadn’t behaved so intensely.
Although there was that time when he and Trent had switched places, going out with each other’s girlfriends just to see if the girls could tell them apart. Problem was, he’d found himself falling for Trent’s girl. There’d been a lot of guilt involved before he finally confessed his feelings to Trent. When he did, to his relief, Trent told him that he really wasn’t that into the girl.
Trent’s heart really belonged to Laurel Valentine, the girl who, years later, became his wife.
The romance between Travis and Trent’s former girl hadn’t fared nearly that well. It lasted all of three months. Like a flash fire, it was way too hot not to burn out.
But even that hadn’t felt like this, Travis thought.
Of course, back then, he was getting enough sleep, he recalled with a touch of humor.
Glancing at his calendar again, he saw that, mercifully, he only had two more appointments for the day. And, for once, there were no court appearances scheduled in the late afternoon, like yesterday.
He was going home right after the last appointment, he told himself. What he needed before he went to the restaurant was a well-deserved nap. Lucky for him, he could fall asleep pretty quickly.
That was what he needed. Just some sleep and then, although beautiful, Shana O’Reilly would no longer look like an earthbound angel to him.
He leaned forward and pressed the intercom on his desk. “Please send Mrs. Baxter in, Bea.”
He thought he heard her murmur “It’s about time,” but he couldn’t be sure and there was no way he would ask her to repeat herself.
Kate hadn’t raised any stupid children, he thought with a smile as he rose to greet his next client.
Chapter 4
Twilight lightly embraced the parking lot as Travis got out of his vehicle and crossed to the front door of Shawn’s Li’l Bit of Heaven.
He wasn’t sure just what to expect.
A great many restaurants elected to go with a motif, a decor that identified them and defined the way they saw themselves. Walking through Shawn’s heavy oak double doors was like stepping into a sprawled-out country kitchen.
Unlike the cuisine it favored, the restaurant’s decor was neither Irish nor Mexican. Instead, it seemed dedicated to the concept of the perennial family gathering place of old: the kitchen where discussions were held, homework was done and food was prepared and enjoyed.
Rather than the slightly darkened