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 more.
Orlando looked at his youngest son and chuckled knowingly. “Well, I’m guessing there’s at least one thing the Cantina has to offer that will have you coming back here again.”
“Don’t count on it.” Cisco cavalierly waved away his father’s words to his brother. “Matteo doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it. I, on the other hand, can spot a good thing a mile away.” Cisco leaned back in his chair, tilting it on its rear legs in order to get a better view of Rachel as she rounded a corner and disappeared into the kitchen.
“She’s not a ‘thing.’ She’s a woman,” Matteo snapped at his brother. He didn’t care for the way that Cisco had reduced the woman to the level of a mere object rather than giving her the proper due as a person.
“She certainly is that,” Cisco agreed with a wide, appreciative and yet very devilish grin.
“No,” Orlando announced firmly, instantly commanding his sons’ attention.
“No, what?” Cisco asked as he looked at his father. They hadn’t said anything that required a yes-or-no decision.
Orlando frowned, turning his affable face into a stern, somber mask. “No, you two are not going to butt heads and who knows what else while competing for the same woman.”
Among Cisco’s many talents was the ability to look completely innocent even when he was completely guilty. He assumed that look now as he turned his gaze on his father.
“What makes you think that Matteo and I are going to compete for the same woman, Dad?”
An exasperated look flashed across the patriarch’s face. He was not about to be hoodwinked—or buried beneath his silver-tongued son’s rhetoric.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Orlando asked.
“Last time I checked,” Cisco replied. His tone was respectful. The gleam in his eye, however, gave him away.
Orlando shook his head firmly. “And there you have your answer,” he told Cisco. “I never said very much when you boys were growing up and insisted on turning everything into an emotional tug-of-war. I even thought—God forgive me—that it might help you two to build your character—”
“Matteo’s a character all right,” Cisco joked. “However, as far as I’m concerned—” He got no further.
Orlando looked as if his patience was wearing thin and might even be in danger of giving way entirely. “But above all, I want you two to remember that you are brothers. No prize is worth sacrificing that relationship. Not even a woman you might think you love.”
But he, Orlando added silently, was the exception that proved the rule. However, that wasn’t something he was about to share with his sons. It went against the point he was trying to make.
“Don’t worry, Dad. There isn’t going to be any competition,” Cisco assured his father as he slanted a quick glance at his brother.
Orlando nodded his silver head. “That’s good to hear.”
“By the way she looked at me, I’ve already won,” Cisco concluded with that smile that always managed to get right under Matteo’s skin.
And his brother knew it, Matteo thought, unable to do anything about it without getting on his father’s bad side.
But he had to say something, however innocuous. So he did. “In your dreams,” Matteo retorted.
“I agree with you there, Mattie. That little lady certainly is the stuff that dreams are made of,” Cisco told his brother. “Besides, what difference does it make to you? Aren’t you the one dying to leave this place in the dust and take off for good ol’ Miami?”
Although when push came to shove—and under duress—Matteo would admit that he did love his brother, there were times when he would have liked nothing better than to strangle his irritating sibling with his bare hands.
Cisco had a way of getting to him like nobody else could. So much so that if Cisco said “black,” it