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Fortune’s Heirs: Reunion
Marie Ferrarella
Crystal Green
Stella Bagwell

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Her Good Fortune

By

Marie Ferrarella

Marie Ferrarella is a RITA® Award-winning author who has written over one hundred and thirty books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

To Patience Smith, my Guardian Angel, with sincerest thanks

Prologue

“All right, what’s wrong?”

Maria Mendoza looked up from the items she was straightening on the counter. On it was displayed a multitude of skeins, her latest shipment of angora yarn. The veritable rainbow of colors appeared as cheerful as she was sad. Maria had hoped that keeping busy in the shop would dispel the darkness that insisted on dwelling inside of her. After all, this was her shop and it had become successful beyond her wildest expectations.

But none of that did anything to lift her mother’s mood.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” With effort, she put on the best face she could for the dark-haired woman who had entered the shop.

Rosita Perez, her cousin and dearest friend in the whole world, frowned. “You and I have known one another for more years than I will willingly admit to anyone except for Reuben,” she said, referring to her husband. “I know when there’s something wrong with you. You look as if you’ve lost your best friend.” Rosita, older by four years but shorter by several inches, picked up a skein, as if debating whether she needed or wanted more wool, then replaced it. “And as far as I know I’m still breathing.”

Maria shook her head. “No, not my best friend, my daughters.” Then, because Sierra still lived within Red Rock’s city limits, she clarified, “Christina and Gloria,” although there was no need. Rosita was as aware of the girls’ location as she was.

Rosita placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Maria, this isn’t exactly anything new. The girls have been gone five years—”

“Exactly.” Maria sighed, struggling against the overwhelming sadness. “Five years. With no end in sight. This is not why I became a mother, Rosita, to hope for an occasional word from my daughters.” She splayed her hand over her chest. “There’s a hole in my heart.”

“You’ve still got Sierra and Jorge close by,” Rosita pointed out. She tactfully omitted mentioning Roberto, who’d moved to Denver, the same city that Gloria had chosen to disappear to.

“And a hole in my heart,” Maria repeated. Even if she’d had a dozen children, she’d still feel the lack of the two who had left. Roberto returned frequently, Gloria and Christina did not.

Rosita shrugged, spreading her hands wide. “So, plug it.”

Maria blew out a breath. Her cousin made the situation sound so simple. “How?”

Rosita wandered from display to display within Stocking Stitch, which was what Maria had chosen to call her store. “Get the girls to come home.”

Maria’s impatience continued to grow. She stepped in front of her cousin before Rosita could move to yet another display. “Again, how?”

Rosita shook her head. “I have never known you to be slow with ideas, ’Ria. You could throw a party.”

Of course, how could she not have thought of that? Jose would cook, as he always insisted on doing, and she could be the hostess. Nothing made her happier than to have everyone home, under one roof. Maria smiled. “A big party.”

“A big family party,” Rosita agreed.

The smile faded from Maria’s lips. She was deluding herself. “But the girls will pass when I ask them to fly out. This thing between them…” She had never gotten all the details, but it wasn’t a stretch for her to guess at what was going on. Christina, her oldest, and Gloria, her wild one, had had a falling out. Most likely over a man. “There’re bad feelings.”

Rosita remained unfazed. The two had spent many hours talking about their children. “So? Come up with something to block out these bad feelings.”

A smile took hold of Maria’s lips, melting away the years. By everyone’s standards, she was still a very handsome woman. “I could tell them that their father’s had a heart attack. They’ll come rushing back for that.”

“They’ll come rushing to the hospital,” Rosita pointed out. “That’s where they’ll expect to see him if he’s had a heart attack.”

Maria nodded. Rosita had a point. “Chest pains, then,” Maria amended. “We’ll hold a family reunion and I’ll tell the girls that if they miss this one, I don’t know if their father will be here for the next one.” She looked at her cousin, a sunny smile on her lips. “What do you think?” she asked as she picked up a pad and pen from the counter.

“I think that I’m happy we’re friends and not competitors.”

But Maria didn’t hear her. She was busy making notes to herself for the party she and her husband were about to throw.

Chapter One

Like an outsider staring through a one-way mirror, Gloria Mendoza Johansen looked slowly around at the people milling about and talking in her parents’ spacious living room. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Just like the old days, she thought.

There were people in every room of the house, confined inside rather than spilling out onto the patio and the grounds beyond because of the cold weather. February in Red Rock, Texas, left its mark. At times raw, it could leech into your very bones.

But inside the house, everything was warm, cozy. The way she had once thought the world was. But she’d learned differently.

As she floated from place to place, observing, hesitating to join in, she twirled the stem of her glass. A wineglass to hide the fact that she was drinking seltzer instead of something alcoholic.

Because she was one.

A recovering alcoholic, to be exact. Except that alcoholics never really recovered, she thought wryly. They were doomed to an eternal dance, always careful to avoid the very thing that they would always, on some level, crave. A drink. But she had been sober two years now and she was determined to remain that way.

Nodding and smiling, she didn’t pause to talk to people who looked inclined to engage her in conversation. She was still picking her time, taking it all in. It felt strange coming home. In part, it was as if she’d stepped into a time warp and five years had just melted away, never having passed.

But they had passed.

They’d left their mark on her in so many ways. Too many for her to think about now. Besides, there really was no point.

Go forward, don’t look back.

It was something she told herself almost daily, a mantra she all but silently chanted within the boundaries of her mind. And now, finally, she was beginning to adhere to it.

“They’re your family. They won’t bite, Gloria. Mingle.”

Her mother. She’d caught the scent of her mother’s perfume a beat before the older woman had said anything.

Gloria glanced over her shoulder at the diminutive woman. At sixty-two, Maria Mendoza still had the same figure that had first caught Jose Mendoza’s eye, no mean feat after five children. She was wearing her shoulder-length black hair up tonight. The silver streaks added to the impression of royalty, which was in keeping with the way she and the others had viewed her when they’d been children. It was her mother who had summoned her like the queen mother to return home.

Gloria smiled to herself now. Her mother had no idea that she’d been toying with that very notion herself, not for any so-called family reunion or to come rushing back to an ailing father who in her opinion looked remarkably healthy for a man supposedly battling chest pains, but to relocate. Permanently. To set up her business and her life where it had all once began.

Home.

She’d fled Red Rock five years ago when she’d felt her life spinning out of control, when the effects of alcohol and drugs had all but undone her. She’d thought that if she got away from everything, from her mother’s strong hand and everything that had contributed to her feeling of instability, the temptation to drink herself into oblivion and to drug her senses would disappear.

As if.

Because everywhere she went, she always had to take herself with her. It had taken a great deal of soul-searching and one near-fatal catastrophe—her nearly falling off a balcony while intoxicated—for her to finally face the fact that the problem was not external but internal. If she wanted her life to change, then she and not her surroundings needed to change.

So she’d shed the poor excuse for a husband she’d acquired in her initial vain attempt to turn her life around and then scrubbed away every bad habit she’d accumulated since she was a teenager. To that end, she’d checked herself into rehab, probably the hardest thing she’d ever done, and prepared to begin from scratch. And to learn to like herself again.

She knew the process was going to be slow. And it had been. Like molasses rolling downhill in January. But every tiny headway she made was also fulfilling. And as she grew stronger, more stable, more certain, she realized that she wanted to return to a place where people—most people, at any rate—liked her.

She’d wanted to return home.

And home was her parents. It was also her sisters, but that hurdle she hadn’t managed to take yet. When she’d left, she’d left her relationships with them, especially her older sister, Christina, in shambles.

She still had to do something about that.

One step at a time, Gloria cautioned herself.

She’d gotten everywhere else so far and she’d get there, too. Just maybe not tonight. She’d already seen her sisters, both of them, but from a distance. And that was what she intended on keeping tonight: her distance.

The same height as her mother, except that she was wearing heels that made her almost two inches taller, Gloria inclined her head toward the older woman. “Papa looks terrific for a man who’s had a heart attack,” she commented, not bothering to keep the smile from her lips.

“Chest pains,” Maria corrected, as if the reason she’d given both her older girls had not been a creative fabrication. “I said he’d had chest pains.”

Gloria could feel her brown eyes fill with humor as she looked at her mother—and saw right through her. “More like indigestion maybe?”

Maria shrugged her shoulders, dismissing the topic. It was obvious that her mother was not about to insist on the lie. It had done its work. It had brought her home. “He wanted you here as much as I did.” Maria fixed her with a look that spoke to her heart. “As I do.”

There was no point in keeping her decision to herself any longer. Gloria slipped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “Then I have something to tell you.”

But her mother cut her off, as if she was afraid she would hear something that would spoil the moment and the party for her. “Whatever it is, I am sure it is fascinating, but you can tell me all about it after you get my shawl.”

Gloria looked at her uncertainly. If anything, the press of bodies made the air warm, not cool. “Your shawl?”

“Yes, I left it in the den.” Already turning in that direction, she placed her hands on her daughter’s back and gave her a little initial push to start her on her way. “Get it for me, please.”

Gloria paused, then shrugged in compliance. Going to get her mother’s shawl gave her an excuse to withdraw for a moment. Just because she’d made up her mind to uproot her life for the second time in five years and come back home didn’t mean that the idea didn’t make her just the slightest bit uneasy. She supposed it was because she kept thinking about that old line she remembered from her high school English class. Some author, Wolfe? Maybe Hardy? Whoever it was had said you couldn’t go home again.

She prayed it was just a handy title for a book and not a prophecy.

The immediate reason she’d left Red Rock was that she’d blacked out after a drinking binge only to wake up to find herself beside a man she’d had no recollection of meeting. But in part she’d fled to San Antonio because relations had also deteriorated between her and her sisters. They’d been so close once, but that had been as children and children had a tendency to overlook things adults couldn’t.

Such as cutting words and deceptions that should never have taken place. She and Christina had worked for the same financial firm, Macrizon, naive in their enthusiasm. And were easy prey for a woman named Rebecca Waters who took perverse pleasure in pitting one of them against the other.

Maria, looking impatient, ran her hands along her arms. “Please, Glory, I’m getting cold.”

She looked at her mother suspiciously. Was she getting sick? But Maria’s face appeared as rosy as ever. Again, Gloria shrugged. “Fine, Mama. One shawl, coming up.”

She made her way to the den, wondering if her father knew how oddly his wife was behaving tonight.

The second she walked into the den, she knew she had been set up.

Maria Mendoza, you’re still a crafty little woman, she thought.

Her younger sister, Sierra, was standing inside the bookcase-lined room, looking around as if she was searching for something. She’d watched as Christina, her older sister, had preceded her into the room by less than a minute.

Gloria shook her head. She should have seen this coming a mile away.

Despite her unease, she couldn’t help commenting, “All we need now is a little Belgium detective with a waxed mustache and a cup of hot chocolate saying, ‘I know that you are wondering why I asked you all to be here tonight.’”

At the sound of Gloria’s voice, Christina whirled around to look at her, her mouth open in surprise. Sierra’s head jerked up. She looked as if she could be knocked over with a feather plucked from a duck’s back.

Awkwardness warred with that old, fond feeling she’d once had when she was in the company of her sisters. “Mom sent me,” Gloria finally explained.

Lights dawned on her sisters’ faces. “Papa sent me,” Christina told them.

“Rosita,” was Sierra’s contribution for the reason behind the exodus that had brought the three of them to this room.

Suddenly, Gloria felt herself being pushed into the room. Catching her balance, she whirled around, only to have the door shut in her face. Her sisters were immediately on either side of her as she tried the doorknob. It wouldn’t give.

Big surprise.

“It’s locked.” Maria’s voice came through the door. “And it’s going to stay that way until the three of you resolve your differences and come out of there acting like sisters instead of angry strangers.”

“You’re really going to be needing that shawl, Mama.” There was nothing Gloria hated more than being manipulated. She knew her sisters felt the same way about being played. “Considering that hell’s going to be freezing over when that happens.”

She tried the door again, but it still didn’t give. Her mother was obviously in for the duration. Angry, Gloria turned to look at the two other women. Now what? She jerked her head in the direction of the door. “She sounds serious.”

Christina snorted, her arms akimbo. “Mama can get pretty stubborn when she wants something.”

And that, Gloria thought, was a prime example of the pot calling the kettle black. Gloria eyed her older sister. “You’re not exactly a shrinking violet yourself in that department.”

It was impossible to read Christina’s expression. “And you are?”

Sierra placed herself between the two older women she still loved dearly. Peacemaking came naturally to her, it always had. Becoming a social worker had only intensified that tendency.

Shorter than both her sisters, Sierra nonetheless refused to give ground as she looked from one to the other. “Tina, Glory, let’s not pick up where you two left off five years ago.”

Edgy, nervous, Gloria felt like the odd girl out. When she’d left, it had been Christina and Sierra against her.

She raised her chin now, defensive, wary. Wondering if the other two were willing to begin again the way she was or wanted to draw the lines in the sand again. “And why not?”

Sierra looked exasperated. She also looked older, Gloria thought. More in control. “Because it’s obvious that Mama and Papa want us to pick up where we left off ten, fifteen years ago, not five.”

Gloria searched Sierra’s face. Her younger sister wasn’t just paying lip service to something. It was obvious she was speaking what was in her heart, as well.

A smile slowly emerged on her lips. She continued to test the waters. “We were pretty close then, weren’t we? Be nice to just step on a magic carpet and go back in time.”

Sierra had a better solution. “Or just forget what went down.”

Gloria looked at Christina. The acrimony, because that was what it had become, had been mainly between her and her older sister. It had spilled out onto Sierra only when she’d thought that Sierra had joined forces with Christina against her.

Maybe things wouldn’t have seemed so intense, so distorted and so overly dramatic if she hadn’t been trapped inside a bottle at the time, Gloria thought. A lot of the fault, if she were being honest, had lain with her.

She offered Sierra a rueful smile, covertly watching Christina’s expression. “That’s a whole lot of forgetting.”

Christina took a deep breath, her natural composure slipping into place. Of the three of them, she was the most unflappable, at least outwardly. The one who seemed to be able to take everything in stride. Not too many people guessed at the chaos going on inside. Or at the pain.

She seemed to reach a conclusion. “I can if you can,” Christina finally said, looking at her.

Which put the ball squarely in her court, Gloria thought.

She didn’t want to be thought of as the lesser sister, the one who clung to old arguments and hurt feelings. The one who refused to allow bygones to be bygones.

More than anything, she wanted to bury the recent past and return to the years when they had viewed life with a rosier hue—without the benefit of any artificial crutches or additives.

To Gloria’s surprise, Christina put out her hand. “Fresh start?”

Tension drained out of her and for the first time since she’d entered the room, Gloria really smiled as she took the hand that was offered. “Fresh start.”

Sierra placed her own hand on top of her sisters’ clasped ones. She beamed as she looked from one to the other.

“Fresh start,” she echoed.

And suddenly, just like that, it felt like old times. Gloria embraced the feeling just as she embraced the sisters she had been without for much too long. A huge sense of relief hovered like a cleansing cloud within the room.

The sisters all sank down onto the thickly padded brown leather sofa that dominated the room, shy, but eager to catch up and make up for lost time.

On the coffee table sat a bottle of wine and three glasses. Gloria ignored the alcohol and instead took a sip from the glass of seltzer she had brought with her. She thought about what had just been pledged. A fresh start. Something she intended to make a reality. “You know, for this to be a true fresh start, we have to give it all our attention.”

“I’m for that.” Christina poured Sierra a glass of wine, then one for herself. She hesitated over the third glass, then raised her eyes to Gloria.

Gloria smiled, then shook her head. Unlike their mother, her sisters were aware of her demons. At least, some of them.

“Don’t worry about me.” She indicated the glass of seltzer. “I’m fine with this.”

“You’ve already made your fresh start,” Christina observed, setting the bottle back on the tray.

“One day at a time.” They raised their glasses and toasted a new beginning. Gloria caught her lower lip between her teeth as she regarded the other two thoughtfully. “You know what the single most disastrous obstacle in our path to recovery is?”

Sierra gamely placed her glass on the tray. “I’ll bite, what?”

Gloria thought of her ill-fated marriage and the men who had come before. Christina had fared little better. As for Sierra, she had never found anyone to make her happy, either.

“Men,” she told the others.

Christina laughed. “They are a problem, bless their black hearts.”

“No,” Gloria contradicted, “we’re the problem.” The other two women looked at her. “We can’t seem to choose the right ones.”

Sierra and Christina readily agreed with the assessment.

“That’s because the rotten ones are always so damn attractive,” Sierra observed.

Christina nodded. “Sure can’t tell a book by its cover.”

And the handsome ones knew they could get by on their looks and not take any responsibility for their actions. Well, she was swearing them off, the lot of them. And for the time being, so should her sisters. “So we’re going to close the bookstore.” But that sounded too final, so she added, “Temporarily.”

Christina frowned. Leaning over, she pretended to look into the glass that Gloria was holding. “Sure that isn’t vodka?” Rather than answer, Gloria held the glass out to her. Christina took it and sniffed. Bubbles were still dancing on top of the liquid. She wrinkled her nose as she pushed the glass back toward Gloria. “Seltzer,” she confirmed.

Satisfied that she had her sisters’ attention and compliance, Gloria continued. “We’re not going to have anything to do with them.”

Sierra shook her head. That seemed like rather an impossible resolution. “Pretty hard, considering they’re almost half the population.”

“On a private, social level,” Gloria clarified. Her eyes shifted from Christina to Sierra to see if they were still with her. “Meaning, no dates.”

“No dates,” Sierra echoed. A beat later, she smiled, as if the words and their import were sinking in. “No dates,” she repeated.

Christina held up her hand, taking a solemn oath. “No dates.”

She couldn’t tell if they were humoring her or if she’d really gotten through. “No, I’m serious,” Gloria insisted. Warming up to her subject, she moved to the edge of the sofa, like a bird about to dive-bomb. “We shouldn’t go out with any of them—no matter how tempted we are—” She stopped, deep in thought. “For a year,” she concluded, then repeated, “A year. That should be long enough to at least begin to get the rest of our lives in order.”

There was no one in her life, significant or otherwise. Sierra shrugged. There was nothing to lose. “Okay.”

Christina laughed. It was obvious by her expression that the idea amused her. And maybe it had merit. “Fine by me.”

They still weren’t taking this seriously. She could tell.

Adamant, Gloria shook her head. “You say that now, but the first minute some cute, rotten guy crosses your path—”

“I’ll ignore him,” Christina concluded.

She had to up the ante, Gloria thought. Otherwise her sisters weren’t going to give this the attention it needed. She firmly believed that men were the distracting force. Worse, they were the destructive force. If she and her sisters were going to accomplish anything with their lives, they had to remain focused.

“Right,” Gloria said firmly. “And do you know why you’ll ignore him?”

“Because I’ve finally gotten some sense in my head?” Christina guessed.

“No, because if you don’t ignore him, you’re going to have to do something drastic in reparation, something you don’t want to do.”

“What wouldn’t you want to do?” Sierra asked.

Thoughts flew through her brain in rapid-fire succession. “Put on a French maid’s costume and clean up your apartments.”

Christina’s mouth fell open. “So if you fail, you’d be willing to fly in from Denver to—”

“Not from Denver,” Gloria corrected. “From here.”

Christina’s look of surprise only intensified. “You’ve moved here?”

Gloria grinned. Since her mother had cut her off when she’d tried to share her news, her sisters were going to be the first to know. “In the process.”

Christina’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Me, too.” When the other two looked at her in stunned shock, she shrugged. “I got homesick for Papa’s cooking.” It was a handy enough excuse. Their father owned and operated Red, a restaurant whose patronage came from miles around just to sample the food.

“Okay, so it’s agreed.” Eager to get this on track and settled before the conversation could veer off again, Gloria held up her hand as if to take a solemn oath. “I promise to become a servant to each of you for the length of—” Again she paused before continuing. “One day each if I go back on our bargain.” She looked at Sierra. “Your turn.”

“Um…okay, I’ll cook each of you a fantastic meal.”

“You mean, you’ll order take-out.” Christina laughed.

“No, really, a great meal. From scratch,” Sierra promised. “And you all know how I hate to cook.”

“Sounds fair,” Gloria commented. “Tina?”

Christina sighed, obviously trying to think. “Okay, I’ve got it. I’ll wash cars for a whole day at the car wash. You can put up signs if you want. And I’ll donate the money to charity. Satisfied?” she asked Gloria.

“Satisfied,” Gloria announced, grinning. Then she looked from one sister to the other. “We all agreed?”

Christina shrugged her shoulders good-naturedly. “Sure, why not? Agreed.” She took a sip of her wine to seal the bargain.

Sierra echoed the word, “Agreed,” then took a sip herself. She grinned at Gloria. “Moving here, huh?”

The second the announcement had come out of her mouth, she’d known it had felt right. “Just as soon as I can find an apartment.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Sierra told her. The other two looked at her. “I know this really nice place. A friend of mine is relocating to the east coast. She’s looking for someone to sublet the place. Interested?”

“You bet,” Gloria enthused. And then she looked at her sisters again, a warm feeling spreading through her limbs. This was what she’d missed. What she needed.

Christina put it into words for her. “Wow, the Mendoza girls, back together again. Who would have thunk it?”

Gloria laughed, then turned and glanced toward the door. Crossing to it, she knocked loudly. “Hey, Mama, you can open the door now. We’re friends again.”

Christina came up to join her with Sierra bringing up the rear. “Think she can hear us?”

“She’s a mother, of course she can hear us.” As if to give credence to her words, the door flew open and Maria walked in, beaming at her daughters. “Especially when she’s only two inches away,” Gloria concluded.

They laughed and hugged, a human knot of arms and warmth, just like when they were small.

And at that moment, Gloria had never felt happier. She was home.

Chapter Two

Jack Fortune walked out of the third-floor office and headed back toward the elevator. He punched the up button, which was already lit, impatience tap-dancing through him like the feet of a troop of dancers doing an Irish jig. He was not a happy man and his displeasure had nothing to do with his fighting off the lingering effects of jet lag that had attached themselves to him less than two hours ago when he’d made the flight in from New York’s JFK.

It was what lay waiting for him in the immediate future that bothered Jack.

He seldom resented doing practically anything his father asked of him. He had more than a healthy respect for Patrick Fortune, both as a businessman and as a human being. If children were allowed to preselect their father, he knew that he sure as hell couldn’t have asked for better than the one he had. He would have done anything in the world for his father without hesitation.

But this wasn’t for his father—not really. No. He had been pulled away from his enormously busy schedule at the New York office of Fortune-Rockwell Bank to help out some friend of his father’s daughter set up shop in San Antonio. The whole thing had sounded rather slapdash when Patrick had called him about it the day before yesterday, asking him to fly out to lend his business acumen to this so-called enterprise.

Jack punched the button again, frowning. This was undoubtedly some bubbleheaded female who thought just because she had a whim, she could make a go of a business. Probably didn’t even know the first thing that was involved in such an undertaking.

Jewelry-making, for God’s sake. What was his father thinking? The woman had probably gotten some kit from a craft store for Christmas and thought she was going to take the market by storm because she could string together ten beads or whatever.

He’d dearly wanted to say as much when his father had called to drop this little bomb in his lap, but he’d held his tongue out of respect and out of love.

Jack shifted his six-foot-two-inch frame. Where the hell was the elevator, anyway?

Damn, his father should know better, he thought. Hadn’t he told him more than once that he was a vital member of the Fortune-Rockwell team? If he was so vital, then he should remain in the New York office, not have to come gallivanting out to San Antonio to hold some novice’s well-manicured hand.

Once upon a time, his father would have known that. But lately, Jack thought, concern nibbling away at him, his father was showing signs of slowing down. Whenever they spoke, Patrick Fortune would talk about “smelling the roses” and all that stuff people who’ve had a near-death experience say. Except that, at seventy, his father seemed as strong as ever. And when he’d asked him if there was something wrong, if he was perhaps not feeling well, his father had heartily said no, laughing at the very notion. Patrick Fortune had said that for the first time in his life, there was nothing wrong. That he’d finally had the good fortune—no pun intended—of seeing life the right way.

It seemed to Jack a case of too much denial. The more he thought about it now, the more convinced he became that there was something wrong with his father. The dynamo who had helped build up and was now in charge of Fortune-Rockwell Bank didn’t stop to smell roses he could have delivered to him, nor did he take key personnel and ship them off to San Antonio because some chicklet’s mother asked him to.

From what he’d gathered, not only had his father agreed to help get this Gloria Mendoza Something-or-Other’s business up and running, but he’d taken on her sister, Christina, as well. He’d put her to work in the San Antonio branch as a business analyst for his best friend, Derek Rockwell, the Rockwell behind the second half of the bank’s name.

Something was definitely up.

Maybe his father was going through his second childhood. After all, the man was living in his seventh decade and, despite power, prestige and a loving family, maybe Patrick Fortune thought that he had missed out on something the first time around.

It was time Jack had a long talk with his father. Later. Right now, he’d promised to meet with his father and this Gloria person.

He punched the up button a third time. If his father’s office wasn’t on the thirtieth floor, he would have given up and walked up. Served him right for stopping off to see if one of his old acquaintances was still with the company. Business before pleasure. He could have always caught up with his friend after he’d put in an appearance at his dad’s office.

Maybe if he could get his father to see just how ridiculous it was to ask him to get involved in this, the senior Fortune would let him go back to New York where he belonged instead of making him cool his heels in San Antonio. God knew he had better things to do than act as a guardian angel for an empty-headed female.

After all, his father had already brought Derek out here. Why have both his right-hand and left-hand man in the same place?

The elevator doors opened in front of him. Finally!

Immersed in his own thoughts, searching for a way out of his dilemma, Jack stepped into the car.

There were several other people in the car, including one woman who blocked the keypad. To press his floor button, he would have to move her out of the way.

He had no time for games and was in no mood for them. “Thirty,” he snapped when the woman made no effort to step back.

Gloria was busy struggling with a bout of claustrophobia, a battle she was forced to engage in every time she stepped onto an elevator. The fact that there were several people in the car only made things worse. Dazed, she looked at the man who’d gotten on. Until he’d opened his mouth, she’d thought he was quite an attention-getter. She sincerely doubted that she’d ever seen a man as good-looking as this one off a movie screen.

But the second he opened his mouth, attitude came pouring out. Attitude she was in no mood for. Besides the claustrophobia, she was nervous. It wasn’t every day of the year that Patrick Fortune offered to back you and help you get on your feet financially.

Not that she needed it as much as her mother seemed to think. She’d packed up her business in Denver and left with everything in good standing. She was more than comfortably in the black, with a number of back orders left to fill. Even at this early date, it looked as if the year was shaping up nicely for her.

She had every confidence in the world that she was going to succeed here, as well. But it never hurt to be given an added boost—and by Patrick Fortune, no less. He’d seemed like such a nice man when she’d talked to him at the party. He’d even admired the necklace she’d been wearing, an original piece she’d made for herself.

But that had been pleasure and this was business. So there were butterflies roaming around in her stomach.

She slanted a look at the rude man. He hadn’t even said please.

“I’m not the elevator operator,” she informed him crisply.

She saw his dark eyes narrow and he looked like Zeus about to hurl thunderbolts from Mount Olympus. “If you don’t want the job, then don’t stand in front of the keypad.”

She was not about to be bullied. She’d paid her dues in that department and no man was ever going to order her around again. Arms spread out on either side of her, she took a step back, leaving the way clear for him to press the keypad himself.

“You know, nice people get a lot further in this world than people with bad attitudes.”

“You tell ’im, honey,” someone in the back of the elevator encouraged.

“And people who mind their own business get further,” the rude man retorted.

Annoyed, Jack glanced to see which floor they’d just passed, then pressed the very next number. The last thing he needed was to ride up to his destination sharing the experience with a harpy.

This was shaping up to be a bad morning all around, Jack silently conceded. They’d lost his luggage at the airport, the limousine that was to have met him never showed up and the taxi he’d wound up taking had gotten stuck in traffic. Even if he had been in the best of moods, his patience would have been severely challenged.

His natural inclination to be polite was strained and had completely fallen by the wayside the second the woman hovering over the elevator keypad had given him a flippant answer to his request.

The elevator stopped on his floor and opened its doors. Jack was out like a shot.

Gloria heard herself breathe a sigh of relief.

Now there was a serial killer in the making, she thought, glad he’d gotten off. At the very least, it was one less body to deal with.

The doors closed again. She pressed damp hands together, afraid of leaving a mark on the wintergreen suit she was wearing. She felt a hitch in her throat and told herself she was just nervous.

Nothing to be nervous about. Patrick Fortune’s a nice man.

After all, she and Patrick Fortune had gotten along famously at the party. Within a few minutes of speaking with him, Gloria felt as if she’d known him all of her life.

He’d been attentive and interested in everything she’d had to say about her business, giving her the same kind of courtesy he would a captain of industry. Her mother had told her later that he was seventy, but he certainly hadn’t acted it or looked it. Athletic, five-ten, with mostly red hair, he’d been charming and infinitely reassuring. After talking to him, she’d known that bringing her business to San Antonio was going to be a lot easier than she’d thought. He’d even proposed backing a loan for whatever she’d needed.

Their encounter had been reassuring. There was no reason in the world to be nervous. And yet, she was.

It had been a good thing, coming home, she decided, shifting to the side as she allowed three people to get off, grateful for their departure.

Now that she had returned, she didn’t know why she’d hesitated for so long. Instead of everything falling apart, the way she’d once thought, things were finally coming together. Maybe it had taken her leaving home to make her appreciate everything she actually did have, she mused as the climb to the thirtieth floor continued.

Whatever it was, she was glad she’d heeded her mother’s call to come home when she had instead of deliberating a few more days. Otherwise she wouldn’t have gotten to meet Patrick Fortune.

But then again, she mused, a smile curving her mouth, knowing her mother, she probably would have run into the man sooner or later. Maria Mendoza didn’t leave much to chance if she could help it.

She’d do well to take a page out of her mother’s book, Gloria decided.

The elevator finally came to a stop on the thirtieth floor. Gloria was alone in the car. She stepped through the steel doors, taking a deep breath as she did so, relieved to be out of the box.

And then she took in her surroundings.

She felt a little like a mortal reaching Mount Olympus, seeking an audience with Zeus.

As she walked to the receptionist’s desk, she again thought about the man she’d met the other night. She’d found Patrick Fortune extremely easy to talk to. Like a kindly uncle. She would have expected him to be driven, anal, like that man who’d just scowled at her in the elevator.

Her thoughts going there, she pitied anyone having to deal with that one. The next moment, she put him out of her mind.

The walls that led to the receptionist’s desk were lined with paintings—bright, colorful landscapes and seascapes that were extremely uplifting. Just looking at them made her feel empowered.

She wondered if Patrick Fortune had selected them himself. Probably. He didn’t strike her as a man who delegated very much.

Reaching the long, ivory-colored desk, Gloria smiled and nodded at the receptionist. “I’m Gloria Mendoza Johansen. I have an appointment to see Mr. Fortune.”

The woman behind the desk flashed her a studied smile that disappeared a moment after making its appearance. Her small, stubby fingers flew over her keyboard with the flair of a piano virtuoso playing a well-beloved concerto.

“Yes,” the woman whose nameplate proclaimed her to be Doris Wells verified in a thick Texas accent, “it looks like you do.”

Before she could reach for her telephone to notify her boss about this newest arrival, the door behind her opened. Patrick Fortune, wearing an iron-gray suit and light salmon shirt with a gray tie stepped out. He smiled warmly at her as he stepped forward.

“Gloria, right on time.” He glanced at his watch. “A few minutes early, as a matter of fact. I like that in a person. Always get there one jump ahead.” He took both of her hands in his. “You look lovely.”

And then, as if aware that he was suddenly a source of interest, he glanced toward the receptionist. The woman had raised her brow at the friendly display.

“Stop frowning like that, Doris. I’m not putting the moves on Ms. Johansen, I’m just making a very obvious observation. Besides, I’m old enough to be her gr—” He cleared his throat and amended, “Father.” A twinkle came into his eye as he tucked Gloria’s arm through his and led her toward his office. “Come in, come in.”

His office took her breath away. She was vaguely aware that he’d left the door open, as if to leave a connection with reality.

Patrick Fortune inclined his head, conceding, “It’s a little large.”

A little large? Obviously the man had a gift for understatement. Her observation came out in an awed whisper. “I’ve seen smaller golf courses.”

Her words were rewarded with a deep, booming laugh.

“Your mother warned me that you always say what you think.”

She flushed, wondering if she’d offended him somehow, or shown him the small, frightened girl who lived behind the larger-than-life dream and words.

“My mother always told me to think of what I say before I say it.”

That had been the source of more than one lecture she’d been forced to endure. Always her own person even when she didn’t know who or what that person might be, Gloria had always felt driven to do her own thing, not to try to conform to anyone else’s image of her. Now, she realized that her image of herself was what her mother had had in mind all along.

Another sign that her homecoming was a good thing. She took heart in that.

“Your mother is a lovely woman. I’ve known her and your father for almost as long as I’ve known Rosita and Rueben Perez.” Her parents’ best friends, Gloria thought, not to mention that Rosita and her mother were cousins, as well. Rosita had worked for the Fortunes, taking care of their children, since what felt like the beginning of time. She supposed, in part, she had the other woman to thank for this opportunity, as well.

Maybe, Gloria mused, she was finally due for some honest-to-goodness good luck.

Rather than resist the way she would have even five years ago, insisting that her mother was meddling, she now gladly left herself open to “be meddled with.” Heaven knew that no one could do a worse job than she had with her life up to two years ago.

Maybe, if she’d left herself open to suggestions earlier instead of resisting them, her life would have laid itself out differently. Better.

This wasn’t the time for reflections, much less regrets, she admonished herself. The past was just that, something to remain in the background. She was here to take advantage of the present and to hopefully, finally, build a very solid future.

This was the new, improved Gloria whose roots were firmly entrenched in the Gloria who had once been, before the drugs and alcohol had interfered with the direction her life was taking.

She offered the older man her best smile, the one her mother claimed lit up her whole face. “She speaks very highly of you, Mr. Fortune. Both my parents do.”

He gestured her toward the chair that was in front of his desk and waited until she sat before he took his own seat. “And they speak highly of you.”

She knew how much heartache she’d caused both her parents. Their loyalty took her breath away. And made her ashamed all over again for what she had done to them. “They do?”

Patrick had five children himself, just like the Mendozas, and he could well guess what she was thinking. Maria hadn’t gone into detail, but he knew there was a black period in Gloria’s past.

She was about Violet’s age, he judged. “Just because our children temporarily ‘mess up,’ doesn’t mean that we suddenly are blind to their good points. Sometimes, that’s all we parents have to hold on to while we ride out the turbulence.”

She smiled ruefully and shook her head, rising to her feet. “I can’t imagine any of your children giving you a problem.”

He laughed, the sound echoing within the large room. “Then I fear that you have far less imagination than I have been given to believe you possess.” He winked at her.

Which was exactly when his son walked in.

Jack stopped just half a step past the threshold, stunned. His father had just winked at what appeared, at least from the back, to be an attractive woman.

She was wearing a trim-fitting jacket and short skirt, the latter of which hugged hips the way, he judged, most men of her acquaintance probably would have wanted to. Her head came up to his father’s shoulder. Since the man was about five-ten, that placed her in the neighborhood of petite. She had deep-black hair that was pinned up. Even so, she didn’t appear to be here on business, not if that wink he’d just witnessed was any indication of what was transpiring.

He’d obviously interrupted something, but his father had told him to be here at this time, so here he was.

Jack couldn’t help wondering if this was the reason for his father’s change in attitude over the past few months. Was he advocating smelling roses because there was now a mistress to receive those roses?

For a second Jack debated stepping out again. But his father looked in his direction.

“So, you’ve finally gotten here.” The greeting was accompanied by a wide smile.

His father didn’t look like a man who’d just been caught in a transgression. But then, Patrick Fortune was the most self-assured man he had ever met. To his recollection, his father had never made any apologies for himself or his actions.

Aware that he was actually a few minutes late, something he abhorred, Jack found himself on the defensive. “I, um, had to catch another elevator car. There was this obnoxious woman—”

The rest of his statement faded into the light blue walls. The woman his father had just winked at turned around and looked at him.

A feeling of déjà vu shot through him with the velocity of an iron-tipped arrow.

He hadn’t recognized the woman’s clothes, or even the color of her hair, but then she turned to look at him and, well, that wasn’t the kind of face a man easily forgot.

Not even if he tried.

Gloria stared at the man framed in the doorway, recognizing him instantly. It was the man who’d been so rude he’d managed to bring out the worst in her at an incredibly fast speed. Mr. Fortune obviously knew him. More than that, he seemed to have been waiting for him.

Why? What did this mean?

Suddenly there was a distinct sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her fingertips felt moist again, the way they always did when she felt the walls closing in around her.

Was it a premonition?

Holding her breath, Gloria turned away from the younger man in the doorway and looked at Patrick Fortune, a silent, formless prayer echoing in her brain.

Patrick’s eyes shifted from his son to the woman in front of him and back again. He had gotten to his present station in life through hard work coupled with very keen instinct. Instinct that was at times sharper than others’, but even at its worst was never dull.

Right now his instincts told him that there was something going on here between Maria’s daughter and his son that he wasn’t quite aware of. Something he might be able to capitalize on.

He adopted an innocent expression as he looked from one to the other again. “You two know each other?”

“No.” Gloria shot the word out like a bullet.

Jack, Patrick noted, hadn’t taken his eyes off Gloria since he walked in. “We rode up together in the elevator.” The words were ground out.

A slightly puzzled note entered into his expression. “If you rode up together, then why—”

Anticipation had Gloria interrupting. “He got off early,” she supplied.

Jack set his jaw hard. Not adding, as he wanted to, that he’d gotten off because he hadn’t felt like riding up all those floors with an obvious shrew.

This couldn’t be the woman his father wanted him to work with, Jack thought. His luck didn’t run that bad.

Chapter Three

His father was looking at him, obviously still waiting for some kind of good, believable explanation as to why he’d gotten off on another floor rather than arrive here with this annoying woman.

Jack was sharp when it came to matters in the boardroom. But personal things, such as his reaction to this woman, were another matter. The only excuse he could come up with was, “I forgot something.”

Patrick nodded, wise enough to let the matter drop. Jack doubted that his father really believed him, but was clearly willing to let it go. For now.

“Nothing important, I trust,” Patrick said, eyeing his firstborn.

“Excuse me?”

“That ‘thing’ you forgot, it was nothing important, I trust,” Patrick repeated. Just the slightest hint of humor curved his mouth as he continued to look at Jack.

“No, nothing important,” Jack murmured. Just my sanity.

Patrick’s eyes never left his son’s face. Jack was so much a chip off the old block that at times it was positively scary. He saw himself in Jack’s eyes, in Jack’s actions. Which was why, when Maria Mendoza had approached him for help regarding her daughters, the first thing he’d thought of was to get Jack involved in Gloria’s business transfer. He knew that, given Jack’s business acumen, it was a little like offering a building contractor a set of rubber blocks. But he wasn’t necessarily looking to challenge Jack. Not professionally, at any rate. The challenge he offered was to the inner man, the one whose development had been arrested all these years. Ever since Jack’s college days.

It was high time that Jack stop playing the one note he was so exceptionally skilled at playing and fill out the other corners of his life.

Patrick was aware, although Jack never spoke about it, that his son had had his heart set on marrying Ann Garrison, a girl he’d known in college. When she was killed while driving under the influence one night, nearly taking Jack with her, his oldest had withdrawn from the world. But then slowly, with the support of his family, Jack had crawled back out and thrown himself into the family business.

In the beginning he’d been very grateful that Jack had found a way to help himself heal. But after a while, it had become apparent that this was the only path his son would take.

Nothing mattered but the banking business and that was wrong. He’d learned that the hard way himself. It was a lesson he meant to pass on to Jack even if Jack resisted. He didn’t want his son looking back at the end of his years and seeing nothing but cold accomplishments to have marked his passage through this earth.

A man needed a family. His own family. And children. Gloria might not be the one Jack ultimately wound up with, but considering the fact that his son wasn’t out looking at all, Gloria seemed more than capable of getting him interested in pursuits other than business.

Patrick had a knack for reading people and Gloria didn’t look the type to be intimidated. At the very least, he doubted if his slightly larger-than-life son would plow the woman under. She could probably go ten rounds with Jack and still hold her own.

And if he read between the lines of what Maria had told him about her daughter, Gloria could use the stimulation, as well.

Right now, though, silence was hanging extremely heavily in the room. Patrick felt as if he was the impromptu referee at an unofficial bout.

Mentally he rubbed his hands together. Let the games begin, he thought.

“Well, then, let’s get on with it. I suppose formal introductions are in order. Jack, I’d like you to meet your, um, new ‘project.’” Patrick flashed a smile at the young woman. “Gloria Mendoza Johansen. Gloria, this is my oldest son, Jack.” He didn’t bother hiding the pride in his voice. Life was too short to scrimp on praise when it was due. “Next to me, I’d say that Jack is the most savvy businessman I know. He’ll be handling your affairs.” His smile widened. “So to speak.”

She’d never seen eyes that twinkled before. But there was definitely a twinkle in Patrick Fortune’s eyes. Why?

And his words caused alarms to go off in her head. “You mean that you’re not going to be overseeing the shop?” She’d thought that was why he’d asked her here. But he was palming her off on his son, Mr. Charm-and-Personality.

It was the last thing she wanted. Recovering from the jolt, her first instinct was to say, “Thanks, but no thanks.” After all, she’d originally started the business in Denver all by herself and it had been doing very nicely, thank you very much. Over the two years that it had been in existence, the store had gained a small but loyal and solid following. And she had contractual work in Hollywood, as well. An actress on a popular sitcom had fallen in love with one of her necklace designs and suddenly she was getting calls from the west coast, asking her to create the jewelry for the whole show.

All of this had come about on the strength of her skill and by word of mouth. There was even a man in New York City who’d flown out to buy his wife a Christmas present. His wife had seen her work while vacationing in Denver and had fallen in love with it. And he knew some people who knew some people…Whatever it took to build up a clientele, she mused.

There was absolutely no reason why she couldn’t do that right here in San Antonio. After all, this was only a stone’s throw from where she’d originally started out, Red Rock. She already knew people here.

But there was no denying that the Fortunes were a power to be reckoned with and when one of them offered to show up in your corner, you didn’t suddenly throw up a brick wall to keep them out. Especially not the head of the clan.

But this is the son, not the father. A scowling son at that, she reminded herself.

There were times when Gloria was certain that fate had it in for her. One moment it looked as if things were only going to get better, the next, the rug beneath her feet was being frantically tugged on. As of yet, it hadn’t been pulled out, but it did provide just enough turbulence to throw her off balance.

She didn’t like being off balance. She’d spent enough of her life that way already.

Patrick’s expression was disarming. It left no room for argument.

“I’m afraid I’m going to be too busy to offer you the personal attention that you deserve.” He let his words sink in properly, then looked at Jack.

Oh, and I won’t be? Jack thought. His father had never minimized his contribution to the business or his importance in the company before. Just what was going on here?

“Would you excuse us for a second?” Jack said, addressing Gloria.

“Sure,” Gloria replied, and left the room.

Moving over toward the full-length bar that had been the last piece of decor installed in his more-than-spacious, state-of-the-art office, Patrick Fortune waited for Jack to begin.

Jack turned his back to the door to further ensure their privacy. “Dad, have I done something to displease you?”

“On the contrary, I couldn’t have asked for a better right hand—or a better son,” Patrick answered.

Okay, so he hadn’t unconsciously incurred his father’s annoyance, Jack thought. His mind did a U-turn. Did Derek have something to do with this? Derek Rockwell had been his best friend for years now. Jack had been the one to initially bring Derek to his father’s attention, feeling sorry for Derek because he had never experienced the kind of warm family interactions that existed within his own home. Derek’s scholastic path had shadowed Jack’s and when the time came, his father had taken him into the company with open arms. More than that, his father had all but adopted Derek, treating him more like a son than Derek’s own father ever had.

Had Derek managed to somehow usurp him?

No, that was a low, petty thought. Derek would never turn on him, never do things behind his back. The man was selfless. Besides, his father had asked Derek to come to the San Antonio office weeks before he’d sent for him, Jack thought.

Jack stopped speculating. “Then why am I playing nursemaid to this woman?”

Patrick shook his head, his expression a portrait of patience. “Not nursemaid, I assure you. And it’s only temporary. Look, this is a favor for a friend,” he repeated, “and I would appreciate it if you would give this venture your very best effort.”

Jack blew out a breath. “I can do what’s required in my sleep,” he protested.

The indulgent smile returned to his father’s lips. “I’d prefer you awake.”

There just had to be more to this than met the eye. “Dad—”

Patrick placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder, the simple action calling a halt to any and all further protest. “How many times have I asked you to do me a favor?”

For a moment the wind left Jack’s sails. His father never presumed to manipulate him. The man had trusted his judgment and, except for a few initial guidelines, had given him free rein when it came to running the New York office.

Jack measured out his words. “This would be the first.”

“Right, it would be. So you know that this is important to me.” And Jack could tell that it was.

Jack glanced at the woman standing just outside the door. Why was this so important to his father? And then an answer occurred to him. One he didn’t particularly like. He looked at his father for a long moment. “Dad, is there more going on here than you’re telling me?”

Patrick’s reddish eyebrows huddled together over the bridge of his nose. “More?”

Suddenly his giant reservoir of words was mostly empty. “You know, is she…are the two of you—”

Because he thought so highly of his father—and always had—Jack couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Did Gloria represent his father’s lost youth?

Patrick was staring at him with a look of incredulity. When he spoke, his voice was hardly louder than a whisper. “Are you actually asking me if I’m having an affair with her?”

He’d seen his father become angry once or twice, although never with him or anyone in the family. He wasn’t sure what he was about to witness now. Jack held his ground. Because if his father was having an affair, he was damn well going to talk him out of it. And get rid of the girl as quickly as was humanly possible without involving something with a firing pin.

His eyes never left his father’s. “Yes.”

For a second Patrick stood stock-still. Then he scrubbed his hand over his face, his expression still stunned. “My God, I don’t know whether to be flattered or angry.” He laughed and Jack knew that the danger had passed. “My boy, your mother, God bless her, is more than enough woman for me.”

“Well, if you’re not having an affair with her and you’re not annoyed with me, why are you asking me to do this?”

The answer was simple. “Because she needs help.” And because you do, too, Patrick added silently. “She’s had a rough time of it.”

“Rough time?”

“You know, personally.” Patrick’s words came out at a faster clip, as if he was running short on time. “It’s too complicated to talk about now, but I thought that you of all people might be sympathetic.” He then issued the only instructions he was about to give on the matter. “Help her get on her feet. Not be taken advantage of, that sort of thing.” And then, apparently because he didn’t want Jack to think that he was dealing with someone lacking in business sense, he added, “Don’t get me wrong—Gloria’s savvy. But two heads are always better than one.”

“Unless they belong to the same person,” Jack muttered under his breath, hating this corner he was being painted into.

About to walk back to Gloria, Patrick stopped and turned around to look at Jack. “What?”

Jack waved away his words. He might as well make the best of this. The sooner he got down to it, the sooner he’d be finished. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Knew you would,” Patrick said, moving toward the door.

Reaching Gloria, Patrick beamed and led her back into the office. Then he glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid I’m running a little behind.”

“Meeting?” Jack asked, instantly alert.

“In a matter of speaking.” Patrick’s expression softened slightly. “Telephone conferencing.”

Apparently hoping for a last-minute reprieve or, at the very least, a stay of execution while he was included in this conference, Jack was quick to ask, “Is it anyone that I know?”

“Intimately.” The word hung in the air between them for a second before Patrick added, “I promised to call your mother.” His eyes shifted to Gloria. “I have to run, Gloria, but I’m leaving you in very capable hands.”

From the look in Jack Fortune’s eyes as he turned toward her, Gloria had more than a passing suspicion that he wanted to use those very capable hands to wring her neck.

Unconsciously she squared her shoulders, standing almost at attention by the time he reached her. The closer he got, the more tension telegraphed itself through her body.

And the closer he got, the handsomer he looked.

There was no doubt about it, she thought, attempting to remain impartial in her judgment, Jack Fortune was one of those men that the term “drop-dead gorgeous” had been invented to describe.

The kind of man she might have once fallen for before introductions were even completed.

Lucky for her she’d done a great deal of growing and changing since those days. Lucky, too, that he’d managed to put her off so completely with the very first words that had come out of his mouth. If anything, it had been a matter of annoyance at first glance.

And if there was one thing she was utterly sure of, it was that Mr. Jack Fortune posed no threat to her state of mind or the pact she had made with her sisters. If for some reason her hormones decided to go berserk and she was tempted to renege on that pact, it wasn’t about to be with a man who used his tongue as a carving knife at Thanksgiving.

For one thing, she’d seen warmer eyes on a mackerel lying on display at the fish market than the ones that were turned on her now.

She was acutely aware that they were being left alone in this cavern of an office suite. Patrick Fortune waved to her as he took out his cell phone and slipped away into a private alcove where he could rendezvous with his wife of more than forty years.

Must be nice, she thought, to love someone that much, to want to remain married to them for so many years. Like her parents. Too bad it was never going to happen to her.

But she had her business to keep her busy, she reminded herself. And so it was time to get back to that business.

She looked at Jack. “You’re not happy about this, are you?”

“Whether I’m happy has nothing to do with this,” he told her coldly, eyeing the purse she had tucked under her arm. It was one of those flimsy clutch things big enough for a change purse, a driver’s license and a set of keys. She obviously hadn’t brought any papers with her that he could look over. It figured.

“Since you don’t seem to have anything with you, why don’t we make an appointment for another time?”

She looked at him blankly. Maybe he should be speaking in monosyllabic words.

“Sometime when you have something with you for me to look over.”

“‘Something’?”

He took a breath, then spelled it out for her. Slowly. “Blueprints for the space you’ll need. Inventory of the items you’ll need on hand. Everything from shipping boxes to Bunsen burners. Cash-flow projections,” he added for good measure, wondering if she was following him at all.

“I don’t use a Bunsen burner,” she informed him tersely.

Jack looked down at her, then found himself caught in the fire in her eyes. He was about to say something else when he suddenly became aware that her very trim figure was just inches away from him and that something quite apart from a business meeting was going on here. It was as if all the pores in his body had suddenly opened up and were inhaling her very feminine, very unsettling perfume.

The woman was female with a capital “F.”

The very last thing he wanted in his life.

With effort, he steered himself back to his indignation. “Do you even have any idea what it takes to set up a business?”

She bit her lower lip. “I—”

He made himself look at her eyes instead of her mouth. Like a man sitting in the middle of a boat that had suddenly broken apart, he felt compelled to clutch at something for survival. In this case, he needed to drive her away. “Did anyone tell you that most businesses fail in their first year?”

She hated his high-handed tone and it took effort for her not to turn on her heel and just walk out.

She could feel her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to rein in the temper she had inherited from her mother. This pompous ass was actually talking down to her, treating her as if she was some kind of a kindergarten dropout. Just because his last name was Fortune didn’t give him the right to act as if she was some kind of mental incompetent.

Because she owed it to Patrick not to kill his son, she forced a smile to her lips. “Then I guess we have nothing to worry about.”

“Meaning?” Jack demanded, the word scratching his throat as it climbed out. Jack felt like a man who was losing his mind. Part of him wanted to walk out and slam the door on this woman. And another part of him wanted to find out what full lips with a slash of pink lipstick tasted like.

“Meaning this isn’t my first year.”

Flipping open her purse, she took out a folded magazine article. Very precisely she unfolded it, then handed it to him.

“I’ve been in business for two years now. My store was located in Denver.” She took the article—clipped from a local Denver Sunday supplement; a story featuring her unique designs—out of his hand, noting that he hadn’t even glanced at it. He kept his eyes on her. “I’m not a virgin, Mr. Fortune.”

Chapter Four

It took Jack longer than he would have liked to pull himself together. “Bragging, Ms. Johansen?”

Gloria raised her chin, a bantam rooster unafraid of the fox.

“It’s Mrs. Johansen—or it was.” She was seriously thinking of changing her name back to simply Mendoza but for now she kept that to herself. “But since we’re going to be working together, I think you should call me Gloria, Jack.” She looked him in the eye as she deliberately emphasized his name. “And what I’m saying—” God, it was hard to talk to this man without clenching her teeth and pushing the words out “—is that I had a good business going in Denver.”

“Then why move?”

If there was one thing that got the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up straight, it was having to explain herself. She’d resisted the truth when the questions had come from her parents and she liked them a whole lot better than she did this intrusive man.

But she needed this boost. The Fortune backing meant a great deal in these parts and she was not about to turn her back on that just because Patrick Fortune had had the distinct misfortune of siring one very mean-spirited son of a gun.

Telling herself that pride went before the fall, Gloria forced her lips into a wide, beatific smile. “Because this is home and I decided it was time to come home.” And then, because she hated being on the hot seat, she turned the tables and asked him a question.

“Where’s home for you?”

He’d been unprepared for her prying. And there was no way he was about to discuss anything private with a complete stranger. “That doesn’t matter.”

To which she responded by widening her smile. He could feel it slipping in under his skin. Warming him. But whether that was due to annoyance or just a man-woman thing, he couldn’t tell.

“Home always matters,” she told him in a voice that was far too sultry for the message it delivered.

Jack fought the effects the only way he knew how: with a sarcastic remark he knew would put her off. “That sounds like something you’d find embroidered on a kitchen towel.”

Undaunted, her smile never waned. “The kitchen’s usually the heart of a home, especially in my house when I was growing up.”

She kept throwing him curves. Did the woman suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder? “Just what does any of this have to do with business?”

This time he noticed that her smile did frost over just a little. “I’d thought you might want to know a little about the person whose business you’re dipping your fingers into.”

Jack frowned. She made it sound as if he was deliberately invading her. As if he even had any interest in such a small venture. She could just take herself to one of their branch offices and arrange for a loan if that was what this was all going to boil down to.

“There’s no ‘dipping,’” he informed her tersely, “there’ll just be straightening.”

Temper. Remember to keep your temper, Gloria cautioned herself. There wasn’t anything to be gained by giving this man a piece of her mind. If she did, she knew her mother would get wind of it and probably think she’d gone back to her old ways. She wasn’t about to add to the woman’s concerns. No, she was going to be a lady about this if it killed her.

“There won’t be much of that, either.” Her voice was soft, melodious. “My business isn’t in chaos, Jack, it just needs a loving hand to oversee it being unwrapped in San Antonio.”

Her words produced startling images in his brain. Suddenly he saw himself sitting by a warm fireplace in some secluded little hideaway, removing the layers of her clothing one by one.

Was that just an acquired tan or was that the true hue of her skin?

Stunned, Jack pulled back.

What the hell was going on here? He didn’t care if her tan was painted on, it made no difference to him. What was he doing, thinking like that?

He jumped on the words she’d used. “This isn’t a love affair, it’s a business—”

“It’s both,” she corrected before he could continue.

She obviously couldn’t have lost him more if she’d thrown him headlong into the center of a cattle stampede and then ridden off, leaving him to be trampled.

“That’s actually the name, you know.”

“The name of what?”

“My jewelry store.” What did he think she was talking about? Obviously the man wasn’t as sharp as his father thought he was. “It’s called ‘Love Affair.’” She enunciated slowly for his benefit. His face looked like a road map to confusion. “Because that’s what all my designs center around.”

“A love affair,” he repeated incredulously.

“With the skin.” Even as she emphasized the concept, she could see that he wasn’t following her. Not a dreamer, this one. What a surprise. She tried again, repeating her philosophy for him and speaking very slowly.

“The jewelry I design is supposed to be a love affair with the skin it touches, with the woman who owns the piece.”

She could see that she wasn’t getting through to him. Definitely not a sensitive man. She blew out a breath, unconsciously propping a fisted hand on her waist. “Work with me here.”

He laughed dryly. The sound left her cold. “I don’t seem to have a choice.”

She cocked her head, doing an instant analysis. From where she was standing, it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. His father was making him do this. “You don’t strike me as someone who resigns himself to not having choices.”

Was she trying to flatter him? Or pretending to be intuitive? He couldn’t tell and it annoyed him not to be able to read her.

He decided to put her off for the time being, until he regrouped. “Look, as I said earlier, this would be much more productive if we rescheduled. Frankly, I just got off the plane and I’m not at my best.”

“You have a gift for understatement I see.” She couldn’t help it. The words had broken free of their own accord. He’d handed her just too perfect a straight line. She flushed. “I mean—”

“Yes.” He cut her off, trying not to notice that the soft-pink hue of lipstick gave her an alluring look. “I know exactly what you mean.” Since she was his only assignment while he was here in San Antonio, his schedule was pretty much open. Still, he did want to catch up with Derek while he was here and to see a few people who’d been out in the New York office until recently. “How does the day after tomorrow sound? Say around nine?”

She was happy to learn that he liked getting an early start. So did she. At least they had one thing in common. “That sounds fine to me.” Since he hadn’t mentioned location, she asked, “Where would you like to meet?”

At her new shop would be the perfect place, but it occurred to him that he didn’t know if she had even selected a location yet or if she was still scouting them out. “Have you given any thought to where the shop is going to be?”

There he went again, treating her as if she had a brain the size of a pea. “As a matter of fact, I have. And it’s perfect.”

He’d be the judge of that, Jack thought. “All right, I’ll come by and pick you up at your place and then we can take a look at this so-called perfect place.”

She was in purgatory, Gloria thought, and doing penance for all the past sins of her life. But that was all right, she could get through this, she told herself. That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, she recalled. And at this rate, she was going to be one hell of a strong woman.

“Fine.” Taking a small pad out of her purse, she wrote down the necessary information for him. She tore off the page and handed it to Jack, tucking the pad back into her purse. “Here’s the address.”

“Fine,” Jack murmured as he pocketed the slip of paper.

“Fine,” she echoed. But it was definitely not fine in her book and wouldn’t be fine until she had this man and the stick he had swallowed removed from her life. “Until then,” she said prophetically, then walked out of the office.

Gloria lengthened her stride considerably once she was out of the office. Hurrying past Doris at the receptionist’s desk she had the presence of mind to offer the woman a quick, perfunctory smile. Gloria didn’t slow down until she reached the elevator. She couldn’t wait to get away.

Entering the elevator, she felt the air immediately hitch in her throat.

What a jerk, she thought angrily. What a damn pompous jerk.

Trying to rein in the anger that was spiking through her, she punched the button for Christina’s floor. She did not want to deal with Jack Fortune. She stared at the numbers as she descended.

Gloria caught her lower lip between her teeth, thinking. Maybe she’d ask her mother to speak to Patrick. There was no question that she’d rather deal with the senior Fortune than his stuck-up sarcastic snob of a son. The two men were as different as night and day.

And then she frowned.

She wasn’t nine and involved in some scrap in the schoolyard. She was thirty years old, for God’s sake, and had been around the proverbial block a few times. More than a few. Even at nine, she hadn’t gone running to her mother for help. She’d always settled her own fights.

Nothing should have changed. She could handle the holier-than-thou Mr. Jack Fortune and she could do it with aplomb.

She calmed down as the idea of putting him in his place began to take hold. The man would never know what hit him, she promised herself. She’d gotten through rehab, a rotten marriage and dealt with an entire boatload of guilt and remorse along the way. Compared to that, dealing with Jack Fortune should be an absolute snap.

To underscore the thought, she snapped her fingers just as the elevator door opened. Right on time.

She grinned as she stepped out.

Christina held her questions in check until they were seated at the restaurant she’d selected; a fashionable one located on the tenth floor of the Fortune-Rockwell Bank building. Far from an employee cafeteria, it had earned a reputation for both its food and its affordable prices. Ever the practical one, her older sister had judged that although they both seemed to be on their way to bigger things, they could do with watching their money for a while.

She leaned forward across the small table for two and asked in a hushed whisper, “So? How did it go?”

Gloria took her lead from her older sister and leaned in toward her. “Awful.”

Disappointment registered across Christina’s face. “What? Why? Mr. Fortune seemed so nice at the party.”

Gloria shook her head. “He is, but it’s not Patrick Fortune I’ll be working with,” she said. “I’m talking about Jack Fortune.”

“His son?” Confusion marred her perfect looks. “What’s his son got to do with it?”

“Apparently everything.” Gloria sighed as she broke a bread stick, more interested in the physical exercise than in eating it right now. “Mr. Fortune handed me over to him and I get the feeling that ‘Sonny boy’ is not too happy about the turn of events.”

“I didn’t know that Mr. Fortune had any mentally challenged children,” Christina responded, clearly disturbed that someone didn’t like Gloria.

Gloria laughed. Before their falling out, Christina had always been able to buoy her spirits with just a few choice words. God, she’d missed her, she thought now, lamenting the years that had been lost. “He doesn’t. But he’s certainly got at least one offspring who’s definitely manners-challenged. Jack Fortune thinks he walks on water.” She broke another bread stick into several pieces until it was almost reduced to crumbs. She kept envisioning the younger Fortune’s neck with each snap. “And I’m not sure if I can hold my tongue until everything’s ready to go.”

As Gloria picked up a third bread stick, Christina tactfully took it out of her hands and bit off a piece.

“Well, you’d better. Mama said that Mr. Fortune was going to lend you any seed money you might need to get started. At three-percent interest,” she emphasized. “You can’t get a deal better than that.”