Wendy’s breath, soft and maddeningly enticing, seemed to whisper along his skin.

Temptation tightened his gut to the point that he had no breath of his own. The breath he drew in was hers.

The spoon—and dessert—were forgotten, as was decorum. Her eyes seemed to hypnotize him, turning him into someone he didn’t recognize. Someone with longings that were being unleashed.

Like a man trapped in a dream, Marcos saw himself sliding his fingers around her face, framing it.

Wanting nothing more in life than to kiss her.

His breath stopped again.

As did hers.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the newest installment of the Fortunes saga. We’re back in Red Rock, Texas, where we get to meet another tall, dark and handsome member of the Mendoza family. Marcos Mendoza, once an exciting bad boy, has settled down to make something of his life and is running Red for his aunt and uncle, Maria and Jose Mendoza. Then Fate throws a monkey wrench into the works in the guise of Wendy Fortune, the youngest child of the Atlanta branch of the Fortune family. At first glance, Wendy comes across as a spoiled little rich girl, accustomed to getting her way and being indulged.

To his dismay, he finds that Wendy, left on her own to experiment in the kitchen, can create absolutely heavenly desserts, and more patrons are appearing at the restaurant’s door. But Wendy’s popularity is not the worst of Marcos’s problems. He finds himself strongly attracted to the woman, and as days go by, Marcos feels that his bachelor days are numbered.

I hope you enjoy this latest installment of the family saga. I thank you for taking the time to read it and, as always, from the bottom of my heart I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

Love,

Marie Ferrarella

About the Author

MARIE FERRARELLA, the USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

Fortune’s
Just Desserts
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To

Kate Ellie Conrad

Welcome to the world,

little one

Chapter One

March

Marcos Mendoza knew better than to allow his anger to show on his face. Especially in front of people who were more than family—they were his employers.

But there was no denying that he was angry. After proving over and over again to his aunt and uncle, María and José Mendoza, that he had the business savvy to run Red, their wildly successful restaurant in Red Rock, Texas, his opinion had been completely discounted. Worse, it had been ignored to the point that neither one of them had even asked him for it.

If they had, he would have gladly told them that hiring Wendy Fortune was as bad an idea as serving their loyal patrons five-day-old salmon.

Never mind that the twenty-one-year-old heiress was as beautiful as a Texas June sunrise, that she had long brown hair, sparkling brown eyes and a figure that could make a grown man babble like a two-year-old when it was set off to its best advantage. Marcos knew a flirt when he saw one, and this barely-out-of-her-teens woman was a flirt with a capital F-L. She was also trouble.

He was well acquainted with her type.

Marcos had to admit—silently—that a woman as attractive as Wendy would have definitely piqued his interest on an after-hours, social level. But as a non-productive member of his crew, well, that was an entirely different matter.

He’d been exposed to her type more than once and was well aware of the ingrained flaws that were as much a part of someone like Wendy Fortune as her high cheekbones and her expressive eyes.

The youngest sibling of the Atlanta branch of the Fortune family wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth—she’d had an entire place setting.

He keenly resented being saddled with this fluff of an employee just because her parents were friends with his aunt and uncle and had asked the pair to indulge them with this one favor. The productive rhythm at Red was being threatened because the senior Fortunes were desperate to teach their college-dropout daughter some kind of work ethic.

Let her be a dead weight somewhere else. Not in my restaurant, he thought grudgingly.

It wasn’t as if the Fortunes didn’t have a great many other businesses scattered around the state and beyond. He’d heard via the grapevine that their darling daughter had already failed miserably at the Fortune Foundation’s office in Red Rock. But why didn’t they send her to one of their other places of business? He’d nurtured and babied Red for the last year as if it were a beloved extension of himself. His ultimate goal was to learn all he could about the business end of running a large restaurant and then, one day, to open up a place of his own.

He’d worked hard for his opportunities, Marcos thought dourly. Someone like Wendy, a young woman born to privilege and surely demanding more of the same, couldn’t possibly measure up to his standards. Every man had his breaking point—and he had this uneasy feeling that she was going to be his.

Struggling to keep his intense displeasure under wraps, Marcos faced his aunt and uncle. It wasn’t often that they both came in to deliver news—they obviously knew this was not going to be received well.

And they were so right, he thought.

He leveled his question at both of them. “What am I supposed to do with her?”

Other than the obvious, he couldn’t help adding silently. Wendy Fortune had “party girl” written all over her. He sincerely doubted that the woman even knew what it meant to do real work, which was probably why the foundation, created in the memory of the late Ryan Fortune, had sent her packing.

“You put her to work, of course, Marcos,” María answered, employing her sharp, no-nonsense voice. She was apparently not happy about this arrangement, either, but indicating as much to Marcos would not help. She’d always believed in making the best of any situation. Complaining about it never helped.

This time, Marcos couldn’t keep the frown from his lips. “No disrespect intended, Tía, but I do the paperwork on a regular basis and file it away. I have no need for a five-foot-two paperweight.”

María raised a sharp eyebrow in response to the sarcastic remark. “Very funny, Marcos. If your tío and I decide to have a comedy night at the restaurant, I will be sure to ask you to perform.” And then she softened, remembering what it was like to be young and feel that you had no say in anything that directly affected you. “I know we are asking a great deal of you. You have done a wonderful job here with the restaurant—”

Striking now was his only hope, Marcos thought. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I am sure you do and you will,” José told his nephew, an understanding tone weaving through his words. “A man as good as you are at your job will find a way to turn a social butterfly into a hardworking ant,” he said with confidence as he placed a compassionate hand on Marcos’s shoulder.

Marcos knew a snow job when he encountered one. “Only saints can perform miracles, Tío. And I am not a saint.”

María laughed. “We are well aware of that, my dear.”

María looked at him knowingly. She knew all about Marcos’s reputation, both on and off the job. He had an excellent work ethic, but he was also a man who made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed the company of beautiful women. Many beautiful women.

“You might recall,” she continued, “that your tío and I once took a chance on an untried, handsome young man who was more than just a little wild. We were told we should be prepared to be disappointed, but we decided to follow our instincts and not listen to the advice from well-meaning friends.” She gently ran her hand along Marcos’s cheek. “And, I’m happy to say, we have not been disappointed.”

“We would like you to give Wendy the same chance,” José told him.

How could he turn them down after that? They had played him.

But before he could say anything, the teeth-jarring sound of a tray meeting a tile floor on the far side of the empty dining area had all three pairs of eyes looking in that direction.

The young woman in the short black pencil skirt and four-inch heels flashed an apologetic smile in response. With the grace of a ballerina, she bent down to pick up the tray.

“Sorry,” Wendy called.

“She’s sorry?” Marcos said under his breath, shaking his head. His dark eyes darted from his aunt to his uncle. “She’s not even working here yet and she’s already knocking things over. Think of the damage she could do if your hire her.”

“We already have hired her,” José corrected him. His tone, although sympathetic, left no room for argument. “She begins work this afternoon.”

The tiny kernel of hope Marcos had been nurturing—that he could talk his aunt and uncle out of hiring the flighty heiress—died an ignoble death. Forcing himself to swallow the bitter pill, Marcos inclined his head, resigned.

María couldn’t say that she was encouraged by the look in her nephew’s eyes. “I thought Wendy could begin as a waitress.”

“A waitress,” Marcos echoed. Why don’t I just throw all the glasses and plates on the floor and break them now? “Of course,” he acquiesced in an amiable tone that fooled neither of the two older people. “It’s your restaurant.”

“It will work out, Marcos,” María promised the young man she had become so fond of. “It will just take a little patience, that is all.”

There was patience, and then there was patience, he thought. But he did care a great deal for his aunt and uncle and they had been good to him. So he did his best to keep from giving voice to his extreme displeasure. Who knew? Maybe he was wrong about this Wendy Fortune.

And, on that same note, maybe pigs would fly. By tonight.

Resigned to making the best of a bad situation, he looked across the room at his newly acquired albatross. His expression was restrained and though he tried, he couldn’t keep his displeasure from reaching his dark eyes.

Wendy Fortune stood reading the current menu posted behind the hostess desk. She shifted from foot to foot, waiting for this conference that rudely—in her opinion—excluded her to finally be over.

What was taking them so long? This was already supposed to have been settled.

She wasn’t accustomed to being kept out of things—at least, not deliberately and knowingly left out.

The fact that Channing Hurston had lied to her had left her incredibly shell-shocked. She was still trying, in her own way, to recover.

And to regain her ability to trust people. He’d robbed her of that, as well.

Prior to that miserable day, she had gone about her life, blissful in her ignorance that anything was wrong. She had just assumed that Channing, the blond, handsome, Ivy League young man whom she had known forever and had been her escort since before her debutant ball, would someday be her husband and the father of her children. It was just the way things were supposed to be.

Until the day he’d told her that he was marrying Cynthia Hayes.

What a surprise that had turned out to be, she thought bitterly. Cynthia Hayes. The unimaginative dolt couldn’t even pick a woman with initials that were different from his own.

She could just see it all now. Channing and Cynthia would have bland, bland children and a bland, bland existence, hobnobbing with equally bland people and calling it life.

Or some dull facsimile thereof.

It wasn’t that Channing had broken her heart with his sudden, unexpected about-face. She’d never been wildly in love with him. What she had been in love with, quite honestly, was the idea of living happily ever after with a Prince Charming type. And Channing Hurston, somewhat empty-headed though he was, had filled that bill. But she wasn’t devastated by this unforeseen turn of events.

What she was, she willingly admitted, if only to herself, was humiliated.

It was humiliating to be so publicly dumped. In the circles she traveled in, nothing was ever private, everything happened before some sort of an audience, no matter how small at the time. And word always spread—especially when it was embarrassing.

After suffering such a humiliation, she couldn’t seem to keep her mind on her studies—so she’d quit college. There seemed to be no point in getting a degree she never intended to use. Her parents, instead of being sympathetic and understanding, announced that they intended to ship her off, sending her from one set of relatives to another because they wanted her to “apply” herself.

They wanted her to “focus.”

Just what did they think she was, a digital camera?

The whole idea was absurd. She didn’t need focus—she was a Fortune. Which meant she had one. Well, okay, not exactly her own private fortune, but the family had money, which, in turn, meant that she had money.

And, since she did, why did she need to focus herself and work?

Wendy sighed, frustrated.

Still, she supposed she was better off here, in Red Rock, Texas, than back in Atlanta, where everyone would be talking about Channing and Cynthia’s upcoming wedding. And how Channing had dumped that poor little rich girl, Wendy Fortune.

There would be no escaping that kind of talk if she was back home right now.

Still, her parents could have let her go on that world cruise, or sent her off to spend a season in Europe. Paris, perhaps.

Yes, Paris, she decided, warming up to the idea. Paris, where she could buy the latest fashions and arrive back home just in time to attend the wedding. Dressed to the nines to let Channing—and the rest of their society crowd—see that he had settled for second best.

But instead of Paris, she was here, in Red Rock, for God’s sake. Who names their town after a colored stone?

Wendy set her mouth hard. Her parents were decent people who meant well, she supposed, but they just didn’t have a clue when it came to the needs of someone with her tastes and sensibilities.

How was she supposed to educate them when she was stuck in this town by their decree?

Wendy abruptly terminated her silent complaints when she saw the tall, dark and gorgeous man the Mendozas were talking to look in her direction and beckon for her to join them.

She wasn’t exactly sure why, but for just a second, her breath caught in her throat. The next moment, she came into her own again. The little skip in her pulse was forgotten.

About time they called her over, she thought.

Wendy debated pretending that she hadn’t seen the younger Mendoza’s gesture in order to keep him waiting. She didn’t want the man thinking he could just snap his fingers and she would come running, no matter how incredibly sexy he looked.

With an inward sigh, Wendy slowly made her way over to the three people. As she drew closer, she nodded politely at the older couple.

“You want to see me?” Wendy asked the older pair brightly.

María decided to impress Marcos’s position upon Wendy’s young soul. “Marcos has decided to start you out as a waitress, dear.”

The idea terrified her. She hadn’t a clue how to wait tables. Were they pulling her leg?

“A waitress,” Wendy repeated, looking from one face to the next and then back again.

They had to be kidding, right? She wasn’t cut out for that kind of job. And it looked like Marcos Mendoza thought the same thing.

Well, she’d be damned if she let herself prove him right.

Unable to hold it in any longer, Marcos threw up his hands in complete exasperation. He leaned in closer to his aunt, whispering into her ear, “I told you this wasn’t going to work.”

But rather than finally agree, as he’d fully expected, María Mendoza patted his arm reassuringly with a look brimming with complete trust.

“And I told you, you just have to give it enough time, Marcos.”

Marcos frowned and shook his head. “I doubt there’s that much time in the universe,” he informed his aunt.

“Think of it as a challenge, then,” María coaxed softly. And firmly.

The look in the older woman’s eyes told him that his aunt wasn’t about to change her mind. He was stuck with this. Stuck with Little Miss The-World-Owes-Me-a-Living and there was no getting out of it, short of quitting. And he wasn’t about to cut off his nose to spite his face.

Marcos studied Wendy for a long moment. The young woman probably had no idea what it was like to be hungry, or to want something so badly you put aside every penny you earned in order to save up for it. Looking at her, he figured it was safe to say that she probably hadn’t known anything but instant gratification all her life.

The word gratification shimmered in his mind’s eye, suggesting other things, things that had nothing to do with Red. Gratification of a completely different variety.

Marcos shook off the thought and silently ordered himself to get back on track.

When he was at Red, nothing existed beyond its doors. And there was nothing more important than keeping the place running well and its patrons happy.

And if he had to bend Miss Rich-and-Doesn’t-Give-a-Damn into a pretzel to keep accomplishing that, then Marcos sincerely hoped for her sake that she was flexible because he intended to do just that.

“Come with me,” Marcos said crisply. “I’ll show you where your locker is and then we’ll see about getting you a uniform.”

Although, glancing at her up close and personal, he doubted whether a uniform that would fit the particular requirements of her figure was anywhere on the premises. He was going to have to put in a special order.

It was starting already.

Wendy fell into place beside him. “So I’m definitely going to be a waitress?”

“Yes,” he answered tersely, “You’re still going to be a waitress.”

But, with any luck, you won’t be one for long, he added silently, for once tapping into his rather limited supply of optimism.

Chapter Two

April

“Hell of a mess, isn’t it?” Andrew Fortune commented to his older brother, Jeremy, who was throwing a travel bag with a few essentials into the back of the car they were taking on their rather abbreviated road trip. It was a trip born of necessity, not pleasure.

Drew, Jeremy knew, was referring to the situation their entire family found themselves in. He laughed shortly, getting into the passenger seat.

“Hey, just because our last name’s Fortune doesn’t necessarily mean that the kind of fortune we’re going to run into is always going to be good.”

“I’d settle for half-good,” his newlywed brother said. “As a matter of fact, thinking back on things, I don’t know about you, but I’d settle for just some peace and quiet for a change.”

Drew was anxious to get started—and even more anxious to get back. He was also afraid that this trip might not turn out the way they hoped that it would.

“If that happened, you’d probably go stir crazy in a week,” Jeremy predicted with a short laugh. And then he grew serious. Their father was seventy-five. When last seen, he’d been in great shape. Maybe he still was. In any event, it wasn’t going to take two of them to bring him back. If that was their father the sheriff in Haggerty had found. “Listen, I can make this trip alone. You can stay behind and keep your blushing new bride company. You’ve only been married for a couple of months. These are the good times, or so they tell me. For all we know, this trip might just be a wild-goose chase. No need to drag you away.”

Drew wasn’t about to be swayed. “Deanna understands,” he assured Jeremy, referring to his wife. “She wants to see the old man back where he belongs as much as I do. As much as we all do,” he amended.

“You’ve got a good woman there,” Jeremy commended, then murmured under his breath, “And with any luck, so will I. Soon.”

Drew knew that Jeremy was referring to Kirsten Allen, the woman who had managed to wedge herself into his physician brother’s heart. They had recently gotten engaged. “Maybe you should be the one to stay here,” he suggested.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Jeremy told him. If this man they were going to check out turned out to be their missing father, they would most likely need a doctor, and that would be him.

“You ready?” Drew asked, his hand poised to turn the key in the ignition.

“Let’s go,” Jeremy gestured toward the open road.

The sheriff had responded to the missing person bulletin they had posted and said that he might have found their father in town. They’d almost given up hope when they’d found their father’s sedan, abandoned and smashed, so this was definitely a turn for the better.

“Think that homeless man really is Dad?” Jeremy did his best not to sound as nervous as he felt.

Drew hated getting his hopes up, but at the same time, he needed to be optimistic. “Sure looked like it might be from that photo the sheriff emailed. A lot less dapper and pretty disheveled, but that definitely looked like Dad’s face to me. Anyway, Lily’s sure it’s him,” he added, referring to the woman his father was supposed to have married the day he disappeared, leaving a churchful of confused and concerned people in his wake.

Formerly married to Ryan Fortune, their father’s cousin, the still exceedingly attractive Lily Cassidy Fortune had turned to William in her grief when her husband died of a brain tumor six years ago. Their friendship slowly blossomed into something more. But now the wedding was on hold—indefinitely.

Drew glanced at his older brother, looking for some insight. The sheriff had said that the homeless man was distraught, saying over and over again that he needed to find his baby. “What do you think all that talk about looking for his baby might mean?”

Jeremy hadn’t a clue, although, he reasoned, it might have something to do with his amnesia. Maybe the last thing William Fortune had seen before he lost his memory was the baby they had since discovered. A baby whose origins was shrouded in as much mystery as their father’s sudden disappearance.

“The only baby we’ve seen recently is the one that was found by the groundskeeper at the church around the same time Dad disappeared,” Jeremy commented. Currently, he and his fiancée, Kirsten, had temporary custody until the baby’s parents could be located. There was talk that one of the Fortune men might have fathered the child, but he couldn’t see how that actually connected to his father. Right now, there were far more questions floating around than answers.

Shaking his head, Jeremy laughed shortly. “Wouldn’t it be something if the baby turned out to be Dad’s?”

Drew frowned. “Don’t be an idiot, Jer. Dad’s a one-woman man and he picked Lily. There’s no way he would have fathered another woman’s baby.”

Jeremy inclined his head, conceding the point. But there was still a glaring question left. “So why did he disappear?”

“Hell if I know.” Out of town now, he stepped down on the accelerator, picking up speed. “When he gets his memory back, we’ll ask him.”

“If he gets him memory back,” Jeremy cautiously qualified.

Trust Jeremy to ground him in reality. “Yeah, there’s that, too,” Drew conceded. “For Lily’s sake, I hope this guy does turn out to be Dad and that his memory loss is just temporary.”

Amnesia was a tricky condition, and if William was in fact suffering from it, there was no knowing how long it would last—or if it would ever clear up.

“Amen to that.”

Drew gave him a long glance, surprised. “You turning religious on me, Jeremy?”

Jeremy’s shoulders rose and fell in a dismissive shrug. “Everyone needs a little help every now and then,” he allowed. “In our family’s case, I think we could stand to use an extra dose of it.”

This is more like it. Wendy wove her way around the tables, heading toward the ones that comprised her station. Working at Red had turned out to be a far better fit for her than she’d initially expected.

Her parents had first sent her to work at the Fortune Foundation, located right here in Red Rock. It had taken her only a couple of weeks to discover that she was psychologically allergic to claustrophobic-size offices. She felt too confined, too hemmed in. She just didn’t belong in a nine-to-five job inside a building whose windows didn’t open.

Granted, out here in the spacious dining area there weren’t any windows to speak of, either, but the windows in the front of the restaurant kept the space bright and airy as did the ones in Marcos’s office.

That room was actually smaller than her office at the Foundation, but somehow, it still felt a lot more airy.

That probably had something to do with the man in it.

If the word gorgeous in the dictionary had a photo next to it, she had no doubts that it would be Marcos’s.

Especially if he was smiling.

She’d seen Marcos smiling—not at her, of course. For some reason, she only seemed to elicit frowns from the man whenever he turned his attention to her. But when he was mingling with Red’s patrons, he always had a wide, sexier-than-sin smile on his lips.

Despite the hectic pace during business hours, she’d managed to observe him with the customers—in particular the female patrons—and Marcos was nothing if not charismatic. He even smiled at the kitchen help and some of the other staff.

Smiled, she thought, at everyone but her.

Boss or not, she was determined to find out what it was about her that seemed to coax those dour looks from him.

Wendy wasn’t used to a man deliberately scowling at her instead of going out of his way to curry her favor and approval. All of her life she’d been the recipient of admiring looks, wide grins, broad winks and a great deal of fawning.

A lot more fawning than she actually cared for. But that was predominantly because she was her father’s daughter and the fawning person usually thought that he could flatter her into getting an audience with the famous Fortune.

As if, she thought with a toss of her head that managed to loosen her bound-up hair a little.

Wendy paused and sighed. That was the part she didn’t care for. She liked having her hair loose, flowing. But those were the rules. Customers, Marcos had told her when he’d handed her a barrette, didn’t like finding hair in their meals.

When she’d asked, “Even if it’s mine?” it had been meant as a joke, but Marcos had snapped no at her, and the look in his eyes told her that he thought she was genuinely a few cards short of an actual deck.

Obviously when God had given the man an extra dose of sexiness, He had subtracted any and all fragments of humor. From their interactions, she’d come away with the feeling that Marcos Mendoza was born without a funny bone.

Too bad, because, aside from that, the man was practically perfect in every way. But he fell short of the mark to ever have a serious chance at entering her daydreams.

A man without a sense of humor was like a day without sunshine. Not really too pleasant.

Reaching her station, Wendy smiled warmly at the people the hostess had just seated. After working here for a little more than a month, she was beginning to recognize familiar faces and learn their names.

This particular table seated six and each chair was filled by a virile, rugged-looking wrangler who appeared as if he’d ridden up to the restaurant’s doors on a horse rather the extra-wide truck that was now parked in the front lot.

Her brown eyes traveled from one member of the group to another, silently greeting them even before she said, “Hi, boys, what’ll it be?”

The tallest of the men held his unopened menu before him, his eyes slowly drifting over the length of her torso. “Dunno about my friends, but I’m suddenly in the mood for a little Georgia peach,” he told her.

Word must have gotten around that she was from Atlanta. Either that, she thought, or her accent gave her away. In any case, this certainly wasn’t the first time she’d been hit on, although it was the first time she’d been hit on at Red.

Unfazed, Wendy’s eyes sparkled as she laughed. “Sorry, but that’s not on the menu.”

“Wasn’t thinking of having it here,” the wrangler answered. His grin grew wider. “What are you doing later, after you get off?”

“Not being with you,” Wendy answered, her smile just as wide, her tone just as friendly as it had been before. But there was no mistaking the fact that she had no intention of getting together with the insistent patron.

“Looks like the little lady’s got your number, Dave,” one of his friends hooted, tickled. “She’s a feisty one, this one.” There was admiration in the other man’s voice.

Dave, apparently, wasn’t quite ready to give up just yet.

“You sure?” he asked, catching Wendy by the wrist to draw her attention away from the others at the table and back to him. “You really don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

“Guess that’ll just have to be my loss,” Wendy replied, fisting her hand as she began to yank her wrist free.

“C’mon, Dave, settle down,” another one of his tablemates urged.

Before anyone else could chime in, Wendy suddenly found herself being physically moved aside and manually separated from the overzealous cowboy. To her surprise, Marcos had placed himself between them, facing the amorous customer. His rigid posture told her he was none too happy about this situation, even before she heard his voice.

“Is there some kind of problem here?” Marcos asked the man, keeping his voice even and the edge of his anger visible but under wraps.

“No, no problem,” the cowboy assured him, raising his hands up in the universal symbol indicating complete surrender.

“Good,” Marcos replied with a quick nod. Turning to see who was in the immediate vicinity, he called out to the closest waitress. “Eva.”

Recording an order, the woman looked up and raised a single quizzical eyebrow when she saw who had called her name.

Marcos indicated the people at the table. “When you’re done over there, take this table’s orders, please.”

Okay, hold it, Wendy thought, growing annoyed. If he thought he could just shoo her away like an inconsequential fly just because a customer had gotten a little grabby, Mr. Marcos Mendoza was in for a big surprise. She wasn’t about to be dismissed that easily—especially not since she had the impression that the restaurant manager would back her up.

“There’s no need to call in anyone else,” she told him cheerfully, her smile never wavering. “This is my station, I can take their order.”

Marcos felt his temper flaring. He was not nearly as laid-back as he had to pretend to be when he was at Red. But exploding in front of a roomful of diners wasn’t something he wanted to do. Aside from it being bad for business, it was guaranteed to get back to his aunt and uncle within five minutes. He didn’t want them regretting having hired him.

The way he grossly regretted that they had hired this Fortune woman, favor or no favor.

“Then do it,” he instructed tersely. Before leaving, Marcos paused for a moment to issue her a silent warning that he didn’t want any more trouble from her or because of her.

The moment Marcos was out of earshot, the man who had started the dust-up gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble with your boss.”

Readying the electronic board she’d been given to note down the various orders, Wendy glanced over her shoulder at Marcos’s broad, disappearing back.

“You didn’t.” She turned back to face the men at the table. “He’s had it in for me ever since I started working here.”

“Anything we can do?” another one of the patrons at the table asked seriously.

“Yes,” she answered cheerfully. “You can order. Now, what’ll it be, gentlemen?”

This time, they gave her their orders without any further incident.

Wendy Fortune was trouble.

Marcos had known in his gut she would be. Knew it the very first time he laid eyes on her. The patrons, his uncle had pointed out after observing her on the floor the second day she was on duty, liked her.

But that, Marcos thought, was part of the problem. Some of the male patrons seemed to like her too much.

He supposed, if he were an impartial observer, he couldn’t exactly blame them. She had a supple figure that caught a man’s attention, even hidden beneath the wide, colorful skirt and white, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse that the female waitstaff wore. Couple that with her soft laugh and that Southern accent of hers and the men were drawn in like hapless fish in an overstocked lake.

When word of mouth about the new “knockout of a waitress” spread, business at Red started booming even more than usual.

He wouldn’t have minded what was happening if—

If?

What if?

Was it because he was annoyed that business had picked up, not dropped off the way he’d feared when he’d predicted that the Fortune girl would be bad for Red?

Or was there something else that was annoying him about her presence in his restaurant?

Was it just that rich people in general annoyed him because he thought that they always acted as if they were better than everyone else?

In Wendy’s defense—as if he had to defend her—he hadn’t noticed her behaving that way once she’d begun working here. There was no bored-to-tears heiress drama about her. She’d listened diligently while Eva showed her the ropes, instructing her where to find the flatware and dishes, how to serve people, how to pour beer into their glasses and a whole host of things he was sure Wendy hadn’t concerned herself with prior to coming here.

According to Eva, she had been a good student, absorbing everything she was told the first time around. There was no need for repetition.

Maybe it was just that he didn’t like his opinion being disregarded—and then proven wrong. Because, so far, the Fortune woman was working out rather well.

After he’d allowed himself some time to calm down, he silently admitted that the incident at the table earlier hadn’t been her fault. After all, he couldn’t blame her for taking a man’s breath away merely by standing there.

Marcos stood off to the side, watching as her table of six finally left. There were just too many maybes for him to waste his time contemplating. After all, he had a restaurant to run—all of it, not just one particular employee.

“Did he hurt you?” Marcos wanted to know when she came back to the register with the table’s signed credit statement.

The question—and his supposed concern—took her by surprise. Wendy braced herself for a lecture. Whenever Marcos spoke to her, there was always a lecture in the offing.

“He gripped my wrist a little harder than I’m accustomed to, but no, he didn’t hurt me. And I think he felt bad about it.” She reached into her apron pocket and displayed a rather thick wad of bills. Unlike the payment for the meal, the men at table eight had left the tip in cash. “He got his friends to leave me a real substantial tip.”

Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have said anything. Money didn’t matter to her. She’d always had more than enough. But tips meant that the patrons liked you and she wanted to prove to her handsome, thickheaded boss that the people who frequented Red didn’t find her lacking, the way he did.

Marcos frowned as he watched her tuck the money she’d flaunted back into her pocket. It was just as he’d always heard. The rich were greedy. And the richer they were, the greedier they were.

“What do you plan to do with your ‘tips’?” he asked sarcastically.

Given his frame of mind, he wasn’t prepared for her answer.

“I thought I’d give them to Eva.” Her words drew a scowl from him—why, she had no idea—so she added, “She’s pregnant, you know.” Wendy realized that she’d miscalculated when she saw the look of complete surprise that came over his face. “I guess you didn’t.” She pressed her lips together. Why was it she never said anything right around this man? He made her fumble around like some self-conscious schoolgirl. Wendy sighed. “Did I just get her in trouble?”

“No,” he answered curtly, “you didn’t.”

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way straight to Eva.

Chapter Three

“Eva, can I have a word with you?” Marcos requested as he passed by the attractive, raven-haired waitress. Without breaking stride or slowing down, he added, “In my office.”

The smile on the young woman’s lips faded away. Her sunny face paled slightly. Taking off her apron, she hurried to follow Marcos into his office.

When she crossed the threshold, Marcos closed the door. The sounds coming from the kitchen were muted. Without saying a word, he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk.

Sitting down in the worn chair behind the scarred desk, Marcos leaned closer to the waitress before finally asking her, “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

He heard Eva catch her breath, watched as she grew even paler. Was she afraid of him? Why? If anyone had asked him, he would have said that they had a good working relationship.

Eva pressed her lips together and met his gaze nervously. “You know.”

He could see that this wasn’t going to be easy. She was afraid of him, or at least afraid of something. That bothered him.

“That would be obvious from my question. Why didn’t you tell me?” he repeated.

Eva looked down at her hands, lacing her long, slender fingers tightly, as if that was all that was holding her together. “Because I was afraid,” she finally said.

It was one thing to suspect that she was afraid of him, it was another to actually hear her say it. It stung more than he’d thought it would.

“Afraid?” he echoed incredulously.

Her head bobbed up and down. “That you’d fire me,” she explained. “I mean, who wants to see a pregnant waitress waddling over with their order, right?” But even as she asked, she was watching him hopefully.

Eva had been the first person he’d hired when a vacancy had become available, about two months after he’d started at Red. He couldn’t deny that he had a soft spot for her in his heart.

Which was why her response took him by such surprise. Did he come across as some kind of ogre to her and the others?

He thought he’d done his best to be fair and evenhanded with all of them—except for perhaps the Fortune girl, but that was a different matter entirely. As for his real staff at Red, he’d tried to make himself available to all of them so that if there was some kind of problem, they’d tell him.

Apparently he wasn’t as approachable as he’d thought.

Still, in light of how things were these days, with everyone watching their back and afraid of losing their jobs—usually for reasons beyond their control—he could see where Eva might be afraid.

But if she’d just come to him with this news, he would have set her straight.

As he intended to now.

“There’s only one reason to let someone go—and only one reason to fire them. The first happens when the business is losing money, which, happily, is definitely not the case here at Red. The second is if the employee is more interested in getting away with things than in getting the job done. We both know that doesn’t describe you. You’ve always been an exceptionally hard worker, Eva.”

Mentally, Marcos made a notation to look into getting her a raise. With another mouth to feed, she was going to need one.

In response to his words, Eva’s breathing grew a little more even and relaxed. Calmer, she looked up at him, still a little confused. “If you don’t want to fire me, then why are you angry that I didn’t tell you that I was pregnant?”

“Because if I’d known, I would have seen to it that you were assigned to the smaller tables. Pregnant women shouldn’t have to struggle with overloaded trays,” he told her.

She’d always been proud of the fact that she pulled her own weight. Now was no exception.

“I don’t want any special treatment, Mr. Mendoza,” Eva protested.

“It’s not special, it’s just common sense. If you wind up overdoing it, carrying trays that are too heavy for you, you might wind up hurting the baby—or worse. You could wind up in the hospital—and Red would be out one damn good waitress. So it’s settled,” he said with finality. “You take over waiting on the smaller tables, starting now.” Marcos looked at her pointedly. “Anything else I should know?”

Eva allowed a little sigh of relief to escape her lips. “No, sir.”

“You need any extra time?” he asked her. “Maybe some time off to go see your doctor?” When Eva flushed and hesitated before answering him, Marcos arrived at his own conclusion: she wasn’t going to a doctor. “You need to see a doctor on a regular basis, Eva. It’s important for your baby—and you.”

Opening the double drawer on the right side of his desk, Marcos thumbed through several folders until he found what he was looking for: insurance information. He pulled out a thick booklet and handed it to her.

“You have health coverage. Pregnancy is a covered expense. Go see your doctor. And if you don’t have a doctor and find that you have trouble picking one out—”

“I have a name,” Eva assured him. “My sister gave me the name of the one she uses. Dr. Sonia Ortiz.”

He hoped she was a good doctor. “All right. Call Dr. Ortiz and see if she can squeeze you in this afternoon or tomorrow morning. I don’t want you having any problems because you haven’t been taking care of yourself, Eva.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mendoza,” Eva cried, tears of relief shimmering in her eyes.

Marcos flushed at her words. He didn’t want her gratitude, that just embarrassed him. What he did want was for the woman to take care of herself—and the child she was carrying.

“I’m glad we talked,” he told her, turning his chair so that he was facing his computer. “Why don’t we both get back to work.” Marcos smiled, then touched the keyboard and activated the monitor on his computer. Abandoning its sleep mode, the screen instantly grew bright.

Focused on his timesheets, Marcos barely heard Eva leave his office. There was a slight pause before he heard the door being closed again, making him think that perhaps Eva had wanted to ask him something else.

“That was very nice of you.”

The soft, melodic Southern drawl made him look up sharply from his screen. There was only one way to construe the woman’s words, since not enough time had passed for Eva to have filled his personal albatross in on the conversation they had just had.

“You were eavesdropping,” he accused.

“Yes,” Wendy said simply. “I was.”

Marcos stared at her, momentarily speechless. The Fortune girl made absolutely no attempt to deny her transgression. If anything, he thought he heard a hint of pride in her voice.

She was brazen, he’d give her that. In another setting, that might have even intrigued him a little. He liked a woman who didn’t act like a shrinking violet. Usually. But not in this case.

“I had to,” she told him before he could demand to know what the hell she thought she was doing, listening in on his private conversation with an employee. “I was afraid you were going to rake her over the coals about being pregnant. There was fire in your eyes when you walked away and called her into your office,” Wendy explained. “I figured you were either mad at her—or at me. If it was her, I wanted to be there for her when you finished reading her the riot act.”

His eyes narrowed as he pinned her in place. “And if it was you?”

He expected her to cower, or at least pretend to. Instead, Wendy smiled in response. That same bright, disarming smile he’d seen her aim at the customers, both male and female, when she walked up to their tables.

The same smile that somehow seemed to brighten up a room.

It was official, he thought. He was losing his mind. Because of her.

“If it was me, I thought I’d spare you having to come and fetch me. I figured that would make you even angrier.”

To his further surprise, Wendy slid into the seat that Eva had just vacated and then, without so much as blinking or building up to it, she asked, “You don’t like me much, do you?”

She definitely wasn’t the kind of employee he was used to. Or the kind of woman he was used to, for that matter, either.

“Whether I do or not doesn’t matter—”

Again she didn’t give him a chance to finish—why didn’t that surprise him? “It does to me,” she told him. “I’m not used to people not liking me,” she said with genuine sincerity. “Now what have I done to rub you the wrong way?”

Her choice of words was unfortunate because it unexpectedly conjured up a scenario in his head that had absolutely nothing to do with their work relationship, but it did have a great deal to do with him as a man and her as a woman.

A very sensually attractive woman.

The next second Marcos upbraided himself for allowing his mind to veer off the path so drastically. It wasn’t like him. Not when he was at work.

Something else to hold against the woman, he thought grudgingly.

Ordinarily, he had a great deal more control over his thoughts and his reactions, both inside Red and outside, when he socialized. He was a man who liked to party in his off hours, but not so much that he ever carelessly ignored the consequences that any of his actions might generate.

But there was just something about the Fortune girl—beyond being saddled with her—that pushed all of his buttons at the worst possible moments.

Since she’d asked a legitimate question—and he wasn’t the type to shy away because he’d lost his nerve—Marcos gave her an answer.

“I don’t like people who have had everything handed to them and expect that to continue for the rest of their lives.” He looked her straight in the eye. And was mildly impressed when she didn’t look away. She was either very gutsy, or too dumb to know what he was talking about. And he was beginning to suspect, from what he’d witnessed, that she wasn’t dumb. “I also don’t like people who don’t know what it means to work.”

Wendy nodded, waiting for him to be done. So that she could begin. “Anything else?”

“Oh, there’s a lot more,” he assured her, even though he hadn’t phrased it properly in his mind yet. “But that’ll do for now.”

Wendy nodded, seeming to accept his response. But rather than get up and leave in a huff the way he’d expected, she slid forward in her chair, fixed him with an unabashed, penetrating stare and asked, “Has anyone complained about me? Has anyone told you I was doing a bad job, or not carrying my weight?”

Because he couldn’t in all honesty say yes to any part of her question, he tried to approach it in a different way. “Half the kitchen staff is tripping over their feet, rushing to help you.”

So now he was going to blame her for that? He had to know that was completely unfair.

“I can’t help it if you hired a bunch of polite people. I never asked one of them to do anything for me. I don’t palm off my work or expect anyone to carry my load,” she told him pointedly.

But there had been more to his dissatisfaction with her, so while she was at it Wendy decided to address that, as well.

“And as for what you said about having everything handed to me, yes, I was born a Fortune and, yes, my parents are rich. And yes, I don’t really know exactly what it is I want to do with my life right now,” she threw in, even though he hadn’t said anything about that. She assumed that one of her parents had probably complained about her lack of direction to the Mendozas, who in turn might have told Marcos.

“But I know that whatever I do decide I want out of life, I’m going to have to get it on my own, because otherwise it doesn’t really count. And I also realize that the only person I know I can count on is me,” she said with feeling.

Channing had taught her that one and she had learned her lesson the hard way. She’d put all her faith in him, expecting Channing to provide her happily-ever-after for her. When he’d pulled the rug out from under her and told her that he no longer loved her, that he was in love with someone else, she definitely hadn’t been prepared to land on her butt in full view of her so-called friends. None of whom offered her any real sympathy.

While the whole humiliating experience hadn’t turned her into a bitter person, it certainly had taught her not to be so trustingly naive.

It also taught her to keep her eyes open so that she didn’t run the risk of being mowed down like that ever again. One supremely humiliating experience in a lifetime was more than enough.

She straightened in the chair, giving every indication that she was ready to leave. “Now, if you don’t have anything else that you feel you have to chew me out about, I’d like to make a suggestion.”

Oh she did, did she? Did she think that working here for a couple of months qualified her to become his assistant? Or better yet, to take his place?

“Which is?” Marcos challenged.

“Since you’re putting Eva on the smaller tables, I’d like to volunteer to take over her station.”

Eva’s former station contained the party-size tables. Tables that accommodated office luncheons to celebrate a promotion or someone’s final day at the company. Stations like that were intended for more experienced waitresses who worked smoothly and efficiently. Waitresses who didn’t drop trays.

Granted that up until now Wendy hadn’t dropped a tray—if he didn’t count the one she accidentally knocked over just before she’d begun working here—but as far as he was concerned that was just a freakishly fortunate streak of luck. And there was just so much luck to go around.

“We’ll see,” he answered.

Wendy frowned. She was still sitting in the chair, her hands on the armrests as if she had abruptly changed her mind and was ready to propel herself up to her feet. She’d thought she’d made some headway with Marcos. Apparently not.

“That means no, doesn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. Marcos’s tone had already given away his intention.

“No,” he contradicted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her again, “that means we’ll see.” This just wasn’t going to work out, was it? He bit his tongue to keep from saying as much. Instead, he told her, “You know, we might get along better if you didn’t keep trying to get under my skin.”

Wendy looked at him for a long moment, as if debating saying something. Instead, she rose to her feet. “I’m not trying.”

For someone who wasn’t trying, he thought, she was having remarkable success.

“Still accomplishing the same thing,” he told her. The way to deal with this woman, he decided, at least for now, was to ignore her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some work to do.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she told him breezily. “Maybe we can talk later to clear the air some more,” Wendy said as she crossed the threshold.

Just what he needed. A threat.

“Maybe,” he murmured, having no intentions of doing any such thing unless he was forced to. “Don’t forget to close the—”

The door met the jamb abruptly just as he said the word door.

Abandoning the computer temporarily, Marcos leaned back in his chair and rocked for a moment.

Or two.

He didn’t know what to make of her, he thought, annoyed.

Oh, he knew what he wanted to make of her. He wanted to continue regarding Wendy Fortune as a spoiled, self-centered little brat because the negative view helped him block out an utterly annoying growing attraction he was becoming increasingly aware of. An attraction to the woman that was completely undesired on his part. But he had to admit, however grudgingly, that spoiled, self-centered, selfish little brats didn’t give away their tips to their less fortunate coworkers without asking for something in return.

They also didn’t eavesdrop because they wanted to make sure a coworker wasn’t “raked over the coals” because they’d had a slip of the tongue. Moreover, they didn’t wait around to offer comfort to said coworker.

Wendy Fortune was a damn enigma, a confounding puzzle. Ordinarily, he’d just put her out of his mind, dismiss her as not worth the time nor the effort to try to solve that puzzle.

But the fact was that she was his puzzle, assigned to him by an uncle and aunt who were much too softhearted for their own good—and his. And he wanted to tell them so, but it wasn’t his place.

Putting up with the heiress was apparently part of his new job description.

Marcos frowned to himself.

He was spending way too much time and energy thinking about this woman and trying to figure her out. There was nothing to figure out. She was the devil, plain and simple, sent to torment him. She was here just to throw him off, lull him into complacency.

Even the devil was capable of a good deed every century or so, Marcos reasoned. That didn’t mean he wasn’t the devil. And just because Wendy Fortune gave away her tips, something she undoubtedly viewed as small change, to someone who needed every penny didn’t change the fact that she still had enough faults to fill up the Grand Canyon. The sooner he was rid of her, the better.

Chapter Four

The black leather sofa creaked and sighed as Flint Fortune shifted his long frame.

So here he was, back in Red Rock again. That made twice in the space of less than four months, Flint thought. Back in January he’d come to attend his uncle William’s wedding—otherwise known as the wedding that wasn’t, he thought wryly. Just before the ceremony, his uncle vanished. A search of the premises turned up nothing—except his car was gone.

At first, everyone thought that the man had just gotten cold feet—everyone, that is, except for his intended bride. Lily Cassidy Fortune, his uncle Ryan’s widow, never once wavered or gave in to the rumors that the widower who was supposed to pledge his heart and his honor to her that morning had surrendered to last-minute jitters and left her at the altar.

When Uncle William’s smashed up vehicle was discovered, she held on just as fast to the belief that he was out there somewhere, alive and in need of help. Eventually, she got everyone else to see her way, too.

Flint felt a touch of envy. Women like that were rare. He ought to know. The woman he’d briefly married belonged to the majority of the female population. Once the I dos were over, it had become clear to him that Myra had married him to change him and make him over into the man she’d thought he should be, rather than loving the man he was.

Now, thankfully, she was in his past, as was the notion that marriage was something he aspired to. He was perfectly happy just the way he was. Single and determined to remain that way.

Which made his return to Red Rock kind of ironic. He’d come back to take a paternity test. The little guy who was currently in Jeremy and Kirsten’s care was said to possibly be a Fortune. Which meant that one of them could be the baby’s father. Right now, nobody knew who that was and they were involved in a process of elimination.

Although he had no desire for ties, it wasn’t right just to let that baby be sent off to an orphanage. If the little guy was a result of one of his own amorous encounters, then he was prepared to step up.

Prepared—but not happy about it.

Frustrated, Flint tossed aside the magazine he’d been thumbing through since he’d signed in at the lab’s front desk. He hadn’t seen a single word on any of the magazine’s pages.

The door on the far end of the lab’s outer office opened and out came a young woman wearing a white lab coat over her dark skirt and white button-down blouse. Glancing around the room, she spotted him.

“We’re ready for you now, Mr. Fortune,” the technician announced.

Flint unfolded his five-foot-eleven frame from the sofa and stood up.

He silently followed the young woman into one of the smaller rooms that lined the back wall, fervently hoping to be vindicated.

“You what?”

Marcos stared incredulously at his brother, Rafe Mendoza, who had just popped into his office unannounced.

Older by two years, Rafe, a dynamic corporate lawyer, already had a successful law practice in Ann Arbor and was now working in San Antonio. His new practice was so successful that earlier this year he’d decided to open a second office right here in Red Rock. He’d only been back in his hometown a couple of months, but had just purchased the old Crockett building downtown, putting the wheels in motion for a new branch.

“I said that I’d like to hold the wedding reception here at Red. Is that possible?”

“A wedding reception,” Marcos echoed. “Your wedding reception.”

Marcos found that his brain was stuck in first gear, not letting any of his thoughts move forward. In the last ten years, ever since his brother had broken up with his high-school sweetheart, he’d lived a life that every bachelor—and a lot of married men as well, probably—viewed with unabashed envy.

“You’re getting married.”

Rafe slid forward in his chair, peering more closely at Marcos. “You been dipping into the cooking sherry a little too much, little brother?” he wanted to know, amused. “Catch up, Marcos,” he urged. “Yes, in order to have a wedding reception, you have to get married first. And I’m getting married.”

Marcos was having a great deal of trouble wrapping his head around the concept. “To Melina Lawrence?”

Rafe and Melina had been the ideal couple in high school, the couple everyone else aspired to be: the jock and the cheerleader, the king and queen of the homecoming dance. There wasn’t a single person who hadn’t expected them to get married once they graduated college.

But life had a way of intervening, of creating circumstances that divided Melina’s loyalties between pursuing her own dreams, which were tied to Rafe’s, and being there for the family that, as it turned out, desperately needed her.

Melina chose the latter, which in turn led to some hard feelings between them. She and Rafe broke up. That was all that Rafe ever said on the subject, and his brothers knew better than to ask for any more details than Rafe was willing to volunteer.

“So.” Rafe grew more serious. “Can you accommodate me?”

Was he kidding? Marcos would move heaven and earth if he had to. “Hey, you’re my big brother, leave it to me.”

“I haven’t told you the date yet,” Rafe pointed out.

Marcos shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll have your reception. I know Aunt María and Uncle José would have my head if I didn’t close Red down for this private party. You know how Aunt María is about seeing us all married off.”

Yes, he knew. It was his aunt’s life goal. Rafe laughed. “Now that I’m officially out of the picture, that’ll give her more time to work on you.”

So far, Marcos had managed to escape his aunt’s attention. The woman probably knew a hopeless case when she saw one, he speculated. Besides, work was his primary focus. He didn’t have time to wine and dine a woman on an ongoing basis to win her heart. When he came right down to it, no woman’s heart was as important to him as his career.

“She can work all she wants,” Marcos told his brother, then fell back on the standard excuse rather than talk about his dedication to forging a career, even though the old Rafe would have understood. But the old Rafe didn’t have stars in his eyes the way this one did. “I’m having too good a time being free.”

“I used to say the same thing,” Rafe acknowledged. He looked more closely at his younger brother. “I didn’t mean it, either.”

Rafe’s so-called confession made Marcos feel uneasy. “That’s what makes us different, brother. I do.” Marcos pulled over the old-fashioned desk calendar he kept, a gift from his aunt. “Okay, so do you have a date yet?”

“I’ll have to get back to you about that.”

“Fine.” He pushed the calendar back again. “You know where to find me.”

About to leave, Rafe opened the office door and then paused in the doorway. “I thought I saw Wendy Fortune outside in the courtyard, waiting on tables,” he said, mentioning the more exclusive part of the restaurant. He’d heard around town that her parents were trying to instill a work ethic in her. He also knew that Marcos didn’t like playing babysitter. “How’s that working out for you?”

Marcos’s expression instantly soured. “It’s not. Damn woman is like a burr under my saddle.”

Rafe’s grin all but split his face. “Uh-oh.”

Marcos looked at his brother sharply. Filial camaraderie was temporarily placed on hold. “What ‘uh-oh’?” he asked sharply.

“Nothing,” Rafe answered innocently, a ruse that Marcos wasn’t buying. “Just, that’s the way it usually starts.” And then he stated the obvious. “She’s a really beautiful girl.”

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