Mercy doctoring the Bravo Ridge livestock was a safe and sane way to start putting the feud behind them.

Safe. Sane.

What Luke wanted when he looked at her was not safe. And not sane. Not in the least.

He wanted to touch her. To stroke a hand down her shiny black hair, to press his palm against her soft cheek. To taste that ripe, red mouth of hers. And more…

A whole lot more.

What was the matter with him to even consider messing with Javier Cabrera’s daughter?

He wasn’t considering it, he told himself firmly.

Uh-uh. No way.

He took a step closer to her.

Available in June 2010
from Mills & Boon® Special Moments™

The Tycoon’s Perfect Match by Christine Wenger & Their Second-Chance Child by Karen Sandler

A Marriage-Minded Man by Karen Templeton & From Friend to Father by Tracy Wolff

An Imperfect Match by Kimberly Van Meter & Next Comes Love by Helen Brenna

A Bravo’s Honour by Christine Rimmer

Lone Star Daddy by Stella Bagwell

Claiming the Rancher’s Heart by Cindy Kirk

To Save a Family by Anna DeStefano

Christine Rimmer came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job – she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.

A Bravo’s Honour

BY

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Betty Lowe,

dear friend and devoted reader.

In loving memory…

Chapter One

“Luke! Wake up, man! We got trouble!”

Luke Bravo shot to a sitting position from a sound sleep. He raked his fingers back through his hair and squinted at the bedside clock—2:10 a.m.

And someone was pounding on his sitting-room door. “Luke! Wake up!” Luke thought he recognized the voice: Paco, one of the stable hands. He sounded seriously freaked.

Stark naked, Luke jumped from the bed. Grabbing his hat off the back of a chair as he flew by, he raced through the sitting area. Lollie, the spotted hound he’d raised from a pup, had beaten him to the door. She paced in front of it, whining and sniffing the crack between the door and the floor.

“Back, girl. Sit,” he commanded. With a final worried whine, the dog moved out of the way. Luke yanked the door wide. “Paco. What the hell?”

About then, the housekeeper, Zita, came flying around the corner from the servants’ rooms, muttering in Spanish, clutching the sides of a flimsy red robe. She let out a shocked little squeak when she got a load of Luke standing there in the altogether.

He put his hat over his privates. “It’s all right, Zita.” He aimed a narrow-eyed glare at Paco. “Is there a fire?”

Paco slapped a hand over his mouth to quell a snort of laughter at the housekeeper’s embarrassment, and mutely shook his head.

“No fire?” Luke asked again, just to be sure. When the stable hand’s head went back and forth a second time, Luke told Zita gently, “I’m on this. Don’t worry. Go on back to bed.”

Face noticeably flaming, even in the dim light provided by the hallway wall sconces, Zita whirled and ran back the way she had come. A choking laugh escaped the stable hand.

Luke leveled a scowl on him. “If not a fire, then what?”

Paco’s grin vanished. His smooth dark face grew somber. “It’s Candyman. He cut his ear on something. There’s blood everywhere. He’s gone loco. We can’t settle him down.”

Though stallions were rarely even-tempered, Candyman, Bravo Ridge’s prize stud, was a true gentleman. A black-footed gray from foundation Quarter Horse lines, he produced top-quality horses for show, ranch work and everyday riding. As a rule, you could count on him to be easygoing and calm.

If he was out of control, he must be hurt bad.

“On my way.” He shoved the door shut, put on his hat and grabbed for his clothes. Once he had his Wranglers and boots on, he told Lollie again to stay, as he slipped out the door. He took off, racing down the back stairs and out one of the service entrances into the hot August night. Halfway across the back gardens, he caught up with Paco.

By the time they reached the dirt driveway that circled the main house and grounds, Luke could hear Candyman’s screams. He ran faster, Paco close on his heels, across the driveway and around the stables to the prize stallion’s paddock.

As they approached the paddock fence, Luke saw that someone had got a rope on him—but hadn’t been able to hold it. The rope trailed loose along the stallion’s neck. Candyman bucked and snorted. Gray mane flying, he shook his proud head, stomping the ground, sending clods of dirt and grass everywhere. Blood, black by the light of the nearly-full moon, ran down his powerful neck. His eyes shone wide and wild—one filmed with blood from that raggedy, sliced-up ear.

Half-blind and scared to death. Even once he got the animal settled a little, the doctoring required would be beyond Luke’s rudimentary veterinary skills. On the other side of the far fence, the stallion’s mares whickered and restlessly paced, frightened to see the big gray so far out of control.

“Call Doc Brewer.” Luke barked the order over his shoulder at the stable hand. “Tell him to get the hell out here. Now.” He climbed the six-foot metal fence surrounding the paddock. As he jumped to the ground within, he gave a low whistle.

The stallion stood still, then, and scented the air.

“Whoa, boy. Easy now…”

The horse made a questioning sound.

“That’s right, it’s me. Easy there. Easy…”

Candyman snorted and shook his silver mane. But he didn’t rear again. He waited, withers twitching, snorting again softly, as Luke cautiously approached.

“Yeah, boy. Good boy…” He held out his hand, palm flat. Candyman gave it a sniff and then allowed him to grasp the dangling, bloody rope.

Luke patted the powerful neck and laid his cheek against it, feeling the tacky wetness of clotting blood. “Come on, now. Let’s get you in your stall…”

The horse went where Luke led him, though reluctantly, switching his tail and making low, unhappy noises. Twice, he jerked the lead to show Luke he wasn’t the least bit happy about the situation. Each time the horse resisted, Luke would stop and speak softly to him. He would stroke the stallion’s fine forehead and blow in his nostrils.

In time, Candyman allowed Luke to take him into his stall. Once there, it was a matter of keeping him settled until the doc arrived—which had better be soon.

Paco appeared on the far side of the stall door. “The doc’s in the hospital.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“Wish I was. Hip replacement, they said. They’re sending his new associate.”

Luke would have blistered the air with bad words if he wasn’t being careful not to stir up the stallion. “Whoever he is, he better know what he’s doing. And he damn well better get here fast.” Paco made a low sound of agreement. “Get me a bucket of warm water and a clean rag, will you?” Luke turned his attention back to the horse.

Since he’d raised and trained the eight-year-old himself, Candyman always responded well to Luke’s voice and his touch. When one of the other stable hands brought the bucket, the horse even allowed him a little prodding at the injury. But the area was too sensitive to touch without anesthetic. Candyman jerked his head sharply, snorting in warning when Luke tried to mop up the worst of it. He decided the cleaning could wait until Phineas Brewer’s “associate” arrived with a tranquilizer.

At least it wasn’t as bad as Luke had feared at first. With skillful stitching, it might even heal up good as new. Luke willed the time to pass quickly. He talked softly to Candyman as the minutes dragged by. The horse quivered and chuffed at him. “Easy,” he soothed, “Easy, boy…”

Where was that damn vet? The smell of blood and hay and horse filled his nostrils. Sweat beaded under his hat and ran down his bare chest. “Turn on the fan,” he commanded to anyone who might be listening. “It’s an oven in here…”

Someone flipped a switch and the stall fan spun.

Softly, in order not to spook the injured horse all over again, he spoke to Zeke, who ran the stables and now hovered close on the far side of the stall door with Paco and three other men. “Your men find what caused this mess?” Candyman’s stall and paddock were carefully constructed to be both secure and smooth-sided. A stallion, even a calm-natured one, was more curious and sensitive to his surroundings than other horses. Special care was taken to protect against sharp nails or any projection on which the prize animal might injure himself.

“We found a board knocked down in the run-in shed.” The run-in shed, located on the far side of the stallion’s paddock, was an open shelter the horse could use to get out of the sun or sudden bad weather. “A big nail was exposed, the head broken off and bloody from where he hooked his ear on it.”

“Is it fixed now?”

“You bet.”

Luke heard the crunch of tires on gravel in the driveway outside. “That the vet?”

“I’ll get him.” Zeke hustled off and returned an endless couple of minutes later. “It’s the vet, all right.”

Candyman stirred and snorted nervously. Luke patted the horse’s neck and spoke in a slow, careful tone. “Get him in here.”

“It ain’t a he.”

Luke glanced toward the stall door. Through the pipe bars, he saw the new vet.

Clearly not a he.

She met his surprised glance, a fine-looking woman, full-breasted in a white t-shirt. Her smooth olive skin was scrubbed clean of makeup and her long black hair, parted in the middle, was tied back in a low ponytail.

It was her eyes that held him, though. They were catslanted and black as midnight. He remembered those eyes. “Mercedes?”

She nodded, a graceful dip of her dark head. “Hi, Luke. How you been?”

He shook his head. Time did fly. “Little Mercy Cabrera…”

One of the hands muttered something appreciative. Another one laughed. Someone whispered darkly, “Cabrera…” Everyone knew that a Bravo never trusted a Cabrera—and vice versa.

Luke commanded, “Enough,” and the men were silent. He spoke to Mercedes. “I remember hearing you went off to college.”

“I did. Eight years ago.”

Damn. Had it really been that long? “You, and then Elena.”

“That’s right.” Her sister, Elena, a Cabrera by blood, was three or four years younger. “We’re doing all right, both of us. Moving up. I graduated from A&M. You’ll be relieved to know I passed my national veterinary board exams with flying colors.” She carried a black bag. And she looked…plenty capable. It was something in the tilt of her strong chin, in the intelligence shining in those striking eyes. Damn. Little Mercy Cabrera. Adopted into the Cabrera family when she was twelve or thirteen. It seemed to him she’d been sixteen just last week. Sixteen, meaning jailbait…

She sure looked full grown now.

“Time goes by,” he softly observed.

“Yes, it does. I’m partnered up with Phineas since last month. He wants to retire in the next few years. I’m going to do my best to fill his shoes.” She stepped close to the bars and spoke in a quiet, even tone. “Need some help with that horse?”

Candyman’s nostrils flared as he scented her. But he didn’t flatten his good ear or swish his tail, a fair indication that he would tolerate her tending him.

“Cut his ear up pretty bad.” So what if she was a Cabrera, and good-looking enough to have him thinking things he shouldn’t? Candyman needed doctoring and she was the only vet present. “You think you can stitch him up for me?”

“Can you keep him settled while I have a look?”

“Come in here. Do it nice and slow.”

So strange, Mercy thought, to be there in that stall with Luke Bravo and that beautiful, bloodied stallion in the middle of the night. Since she first came to San Antonio with her poor, doomed mother fourteen years before, she’d had a crush on the tall, golden Bravo boy. She’d seen him riding a fine horse in a parade once. And at the San Antonio winter stock show and rodeo, the big one, that used to be held at the Freeman Coliseum.

For most of her teenage years, the rugged young Anglo had filled her girlish fantasies.

Not that it could ever be more than a foolish girl’s daydreams. She was as much a Cabrera now as if she’d been born one. And no self-respecting female in her family would go out with a man who had the last name of Bravo.

The Bravos had stolen much from her people. The land she now stood on, this ranch the Bravos had renamed Bravo Ridge, had belonged to the Cabreras for hundreds of years—until Luke’s grandfather stole it from Emilio Cabrera back in the fifties. One Cabrera man had lost his life slaving for the Bravos. And another, fighting them.

“What’s his name?” she asked Luke.

“Candyman.”

“Good with the ladies?”

“A gentleman, always.”

The horse allowed her touch. He whickered softly into her palm. She performed a quick examination just to make sure there was nothing more to treat than the bloody, half-hanging ear.

“Well?” Luke asked, as she finished the exam.

She wished he’d worn a shirt as she tried not to stare at his sweat-shiny, blood-streaked, perfectly formed male chest. “I’m going to have to medicate him before I can clean and stitch him. Can you lead him out of the stall for me?”

He nodded. So Mercy unlatched the door and backed into the main part of the stable. Luke started to bring the stallion out, too. But the horse grew fractious, jerking the rope Luke had on him, blowing hard through his nostrils.

Luke was gentle. And so patient. He petted the stallion and whispered in his good ear. When he guided the horse forward again, the animal went quietly.

Mercy had the needle ready. As Luke petted and soothed the big gray on one side, she thumped the other side of the horse’s neck sharply with three fingers to desensitize it. She was good with a needle, got it in quick and smooth. Swiftly attaching the syringe, she gave the injection and eased the needle out. Candyman didn’t seem to feel a thing.

Luke stayed close, petting the horse and talking softly to him, as the drug took effect. After a few minutes of waiting, he sent a glance around the stable at the watching men. “We gonna need these boys, you think?”

By then, she had judged that a local anesthetic should do the trick, since Candyman seemed settled and kind of peaceful, with the trank in his system and Luke stroking him and whispering to him.

“I think the two of us can handle this now,” she said. “As long as help’s in shouting distance if there’s trouble.”

“Go on back to your bunks, boys…”

The men left them.

Mercy had the second injection ready. The horse snorted softly when she gave him the shot just behind his ragged ear. But he was already relaxed from the tranquilizer and she was done so fast, he never got around to kicking up a fuss.

As they waited for the area to grow numb, the horse was calm and the stable was quiet. All the stalls were empty, which didn’t surprise her. In the hot summer weather, the horses would be happier and more comfortable outside during the night.

“It’s so quiet,” she said, feeling strangely self-conscious.

Luke made a soft sound of agreement.

“You live in the main house?”

“I do.”

“The rest of your family, too?”

“Uh-uh. Most of them have houses in San Antonio. Or elsewhere.” Luke had six brothers and two sisters. “But they all come back to the ranch for holidays and to get away from the rat race now and then.”

She shook her head.

“What?” he asked in a whisper, a smile playing at the corner of his finely-shaped mouth. “Some reason I shouldn’t live there?”

“All those fat white pillars. Like a palace in Greece. Or maybe a Southern plantation house.”

Luke chuckled low. “You would have had to know my Grandpa James. He modeled it after the Governor’s mansion.”

Once the Cabrera hacienda, La Joya, the jewel, had stood where the huge white house with those proud white pillars stood now. Mercy had seen pictures of La Joya and thought it so fine, so suited to the land it was built on, with thick stucco walls and a tile roof to keep things cool in the hot Texas summers. James Bravo had torn the hacienda down to build the white mansion surrounded by green lawns and rose gardens.

“Must cost a small fortune to water all that grass,” she said, keeping it offhand, not allowing any bitterness to show. She was, above all, loyal to her adopted family. But now was not the time to raise the specter of the longtime blood feud.

He kept things neutral, too, with a half-shrug of one powerful bare shoulder. “We use well water. What can I tell you? My father loves that damn house and those rolling green lawns maybe more than my grandfather did.”

She touched the horse, sliding a hand down his neck first, and then carefully reaching up again to press the flapping, bloody flesh of his torn ear. Candyman didn’t flinch. “He’s ready. I need to wash my hands.”

“Over there.”

She went to the long, deep concrete sink at the far wall and lathered up with the strong disinfecting soap in the tray there, then dried her hands with a paper towel from a wall dispenser. Luke watched her, she knew it. She could feel those eyes of his, searing a hole in her back, tracking her every move. She tossed the towel into the wastebasket by the sink and turned again to face the man and the stallion.

For the stallion’s sake, she approached them slowly. And maybe, if she were honest, it wasn’t only that fine gray horse that had her moving with care. Something in Luke’s burning blue gaze made her pulse turn slow and lazy, made her heart beat a deep, hungry tattoo beneath her breasts.

He had blood on his cheek. In a sudden, shocking image, she saw herself licking it off.

“Tell him nice things,” she instructed, “and keep a soothing hand on him. I’ll need to clean him up first.”

Luke was impressed with Mercy’s doctoring skills.

Fifteen minutes after she washed her hands, Candyman was clean and stitched up and bedded down in his stall, with the fan going to keep the heat of the night at bay.

And Mercy Cabrera was putting her instruments away in that black bag of hers, getting ready to leave.

Luke didn’t want her to go.

Which was insane. And also stupid. Where could it go with the two of them? Nowhere. If he made a move on her, he would only be asking for trouble.

There hadn’t been a flare-up in hostility between their families in years. Not since his father hired her adoptive mother, Luz, to work for him in a well-meaning attempt to put the old feud to rest.

Davis Bravo’s plan had backfired. Luz’s working for a Bravo had infuriated her husband, Javier, who had demanded his wife quit immediately. She hadn’t. Things had gone downhill from there.

Since then, the families had sense enough to avoid each other. It had been going well. Tensions were low enough that a little minor interaction would probably work out fine.

Mercy taking over for Phineas…that could be good. She could treat Luke’s horses. But she wouldn’t technically be working for anyone named Bravo. There would be nothing in such a transaction to get Javier Cabrera’s back up again, nothing to poke at that hotheaded pride of his. Mercy doctoring the Bravo Ridge livestock was a safe and sane way to start putting the feud behind them.

Safe. Sane.

What Luke wanted when he looked at her was not safe. And not sane. Not in the least.

He wanted to touch her. To stroke a hand down her shiny black hair, to press his palm against her soft cheek. To taste that ripe, red mouth of hers. And more…

A whole lot more.

There were a bunch of pretty women in South Texas who didn’t have Cabrera for a last name. If he wanted companionship he should go looking for one of them. What was the matter with him to even consider messing with Javier Cabrera’s daughter?

He wasn’t considering it, he told himself firmly. Uhuh. No way.

Mercy hooked the clasp on her black bag and stood. “The stitches are the kind that dissolve, so I won’t need to remove them. But I’ll come by next week to check on him.”

“Thanks.” The word came out rough and low. All he had to do was nothing. Just stay right where he was until she was gone.

He took a step closer to her.

Her dark eyes widened. Another step, close enough that he could smell her. She smelled good. Fresh. Like a meadow of wildflowers in early morning. With a hint of something sweetly spicy, something exotic and tempting.

“I, um…” She licked those lips of hers, quickly drawing her pink tongue back inside. He wanted to sink his teeth into the smooth brown flesh of her throat, to suck that tongue of hers deep into his mouth. To rip off that snug T-shirt, shove down those faded jeans. “Call the office,” she said. “If there’s a problem.”

“I’ll do that.” He held her gaze and his voice went lower, rougher. “I remember you. When you first came to stay with the Cabreras. I remember those eyes of yours. Black. True black.”

Those eyes tracked—his mouth to his eyes. And back again. “She had cancer, my mother.”

“I heard that. It was hard for you, huh?”

“She died a year after we came to stay with Luz and Javier. They made her final months as good as they could have been. They loved her. And me. And I’m their daughter now, their true daughter. In my heart. And by law.”

He stepped closer. Close enough he could have reached out and grabbed her. But he didn’t.

She held her ground. “I owe them everything.”

Another step. He was crowding her. There was no excuse for such behavior. But he did it any way, stepping sideways, boxing her in. Too late, she moved to put distance between them. Since he blocked the exit, she backed up. Three steps and she could go no farther. The section of wall between Candyman’s stall and the next one over stopped her. She watched him, her eyes locked on his, as he closed the distance between them.

“Luke.”

“What?”

She gazed up at him, eyes deep and dark enough for drowning, and she whispered, “We shouldn’t…”

Before he took her mouth, he whispered back, “I know.”

Chapter Two

She sighed when his lips touched hers. It was the sweetest, sexiest sound. A sound of surrender. A sound that told him everything he needed to know.

The black bag fell to the straw at their feet.

He wrapped his fingers around the bars of two stalls—Candyman’s and the empty stall next to it. He did that to keep from grabbing her, to keep from pulling her down to the straw-strewn dirt floor with him, to control himself.

At least a little.

He held those bars hard and tight as he kissed her, nuzzling those soft, sweet lips of hers, urging her to open and then sliding his tongue inside the instant her lips parted.

She tasted so good. He drank in her long, hungry sigh, then lifted his head from hers just long enough to slant the kiss the other way. That time, she let him inside without his even having to press his tongue against her lips. She parted for him and he swept those silky, wet inner surfaces.

Her low moan of need and desire had him pressing his hips to her, rubbing his aching hardness against her flat belly.

Too soon, with a low cry, she turned her head away. “No,” she whispered. “No…” Her breath came hot and heavy.

So did his.

Her hair tangled against the stall bars, and her dark lashes were down, silky fans against her smooth cheeks, those eyes closed to him. And she kept her head turned hard away. Luke’s mind got the message, though his body didn’t like it. With slow care, he peeled his hands from around the bars and stepped back from her.

Only then did she turn her head to him and open her eyes. Her lips were redder even than before, plundered by his kiss. And her eyes had storm clouds in them. With stunning grace, she dipped to her knees and grasped the handle of her vet’s bag. She rose again with the same elegance. Luke stepped to the side, clearing her way out of the stable.

“That never happened,” she said flatly. And then she turned and left him there.

Luke watched her go, aching to follow, to grab her and kiss her again.

But he knew she was right. It was asking for trouble to even consider getting something going with a Cabrera. And he wasn’t considering it. He would be steering clear of the tempting Mercy from now on.

“He did not.” Elena’s big brown eyes were shining.

“Oh, yeah. He did.”

“Did you…like it?”

“Chica, don’t ask me that.” It was Thursday night, less than twenty-four hours after Mercy had stitched up Luke Bravo’s gray stallion. Elena was spending the night at Mercy’s little South Side house. They sat on Mercy’s bed, sharing secrets the way they always did, with Mercy’s dog, Orlando, snoozing on his rug in the corner. Mercy was sitting cross-legged behind her sister, brushing Elena’s long, brown hair. So beautiful, her sister’s hair. Softly curling, crackling with life, silky to the touch and shot with strands of red and gold. “I would love to have your hair, Elena…”

Elena reached back and stilled Mercy’s hand. “Who cares about my hair? I want to know if Luke Bravo’s a good kisser.”

Mercy freed her hand from Elena’s grip and continued brushing. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me. I mean it.”

Mercy couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Papi would kill me.”

“Tell me.” Elena scooted out from under Mercy’s touch and turned to face her.

“I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Elena sucked in a breath of pure sisterly outrage. “What? Of course you should have mentioned it. You should tell me everything. Same as I tell you.”

“I told him no. When I left, I said that it never happened.”

Elena lowered her head and glanced up from under her lashes with a slow grin. “But it did. And you liked it.”

Mercy set the brush on the nightstand. “Yeah. I liked it. I liked it a lot. Way too much. And that’s why it can’t ever happen again.”

Elena scowled. “That’s stupid. You like him. I can see it in your eyes. In the way your face goes all soft when you talk about him.”

“He’s a Bravo. His grandfather stole our land, tore down our home and killed our grandfather. Then he murdered our uncle. And his father caused our father to leave our mother.”

“James Bravo didn’t steal our land. His horse beat grandfather’s horse in a race. James Bravo bet money. And grandfather bet La Joya because he wanted that money and the rancho was all he had by then. And then grandfather died on a Bravo oil rig, working to support his family, since he’d foolishly gambled his home away.”

Mercy had her mouth hanging open by then. “What’s the matter with you? Now you’re defending the Bravos?”

“It’s a stupid feud. We both know it. James Bravo killed Uncle Emilio in self-defense.”

“That’s what the Bravos said. And the Anglo sheriff went along with his lies…”

“And Papi shouldn’t have been such a jerk when Mami took that job with the Bravo company.”

“How can you know that, Elena? You weren’t even born then.”

“I know Papi left Mami until Davis Bravo fired her and made him feel justified again for hating anyone with the last name of Bravo. I love Dad. But he shouldn’t have done that. All she did was get a job. This is America. A woman has rights, too.”

Mercy put her hands against her cheeks, assumed a stunned expression, and teased, “I am shocked, Elena. Shocked.”

“Joke about it all you want. You know I’m right. It’s time to put an end to this feud. Time peace was made. And if you like Luke Bravo, I don’t see why you can’t go out with him.”

Mercy made a low sound of disbelief. “Seriously. It’s a bad idea and it would only make trouble—and I have to say, since you got back from California, you’ve turned into a real hothead.” Elena had recently graduated from UC Berkeley with a major in American history and an education minor. She would take her first teaching job in the fall.

“I do see things differently now,” she said. “I see that Mami’s gotten rich selling houses and condos. And Papi’s doing just fine with Cabrera Construction.” Elena was right. Luz and Javier had started with nothing and built their very own American dream. Even with the housing downturn and the various crises in the mortgage industry, the Cabreras had the reputations and client base to stay afloat in tough times. “They need to put their old prejudices behind them. It’s not like they’re all downtrodden and suffering anymore. The old animosities just hold them back.”

“Maybe so. But they still wouldn’t like it if I went out with Luke. I don’t want to hurt them. I couldn’t stand to do that.”

“If they’re hurt, that’s their choice. They could choose otherwise. And they don’t get to be the deciders on your life. They just don’t. Es su vida. Your life, not theirs. You have to stand up, Mercy mine. Stand up—and I will stand with you.”

Mercy reached out and guided a thick coil of brown hair back over her sister’s slim shoulder. “My sister, the firebrand,” she said fondly.

“And proud of it,” Elena replied, a certain determined gleam in her eyes. Mercy knew that gleam. It meant trouble. She would trust her sister with her very life. But she should never have been so stupid as to tell Elena about kissing Luke—and liking it. “I have an idea,” Elena announced. “And don’t look at me like that. It’s a killer idea. Saturday night. You and me. We’re going to Armadillo Rose. And we are going to dance and do us a few shooters and have a fine time.”

Armadillo Rose was a great local bar in Southtown, a few miles north of where Mercy lived. They had live music on the weekends and the bartenders were all female and expected to be outgoing, willing to jump up and dance on the bar. It was owned and run by Corrine Lonnigan—which was why Elena had that gleam in her eye. Luke’s brother, Matt, was the father of Corrine’s only child. From what Mercy had heard, Matt and Corrine got along great, though they had never married. And Matt’s brothers and sisters were always welcome at Corrine’s bar.

“Oh, no,” said Mercy.

“Oh, yes,” said Elena. “Don’t give me any arguments. We are going.”

“If you have plans to hook me up with Luke, you’re destined for disappointment.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“Come on. What’s the chance he shows up there the same night we do? Very small.”

“See? Nothing to worry about, then. We’ll have a good time and you won’t have to make a choice between what you want to do and what Mami and Papi expect of you.”

Luke kept thinking of Mercy.

Of the taste of her soft lips, the smell of her skin. It was damn distracting when he had a horse ranch to run and an estate to manage. More than once in the days right after that night in the barn, he would find himself staring into space when he should have been going over the oil leases or concentrating on the early training of a valuable foal. He checked on Candyman often, watching that stitched-up ear real close. Once or twice, he half-wished that ear would get infected so he would have to call Mercy back before her scheduled visit the following week. A man was in big trouble when he wished his prize stallion ill.

He knew he needed to get her off his mind, needed to get out and get himself some feminine companionship. Someone pretty and sweet and not a Cabrera.

His brother Caleb dropped by Saturday evening. Caleb was a salesman by nature and profession, the top producer at the family company, BravoCorp. He could sell a homeless man a bedroom set. Their dad was always offering him a management position. Caleb didn’t want to manage anything. He thrived on sales. He had a moody Balkan housekeeper named Irina and a new girlfriend every night.

The brothers had dinner together in the main dining room at the long mahogany table that could seat the whole family during holiday celebrations.

“It’s lonely in here with the just the two of us.” Caleb glanced around at the heavy, carved furniture, the three crystal chandeliers dangling from the twelve-foot ceiling and the striped silk wallpaper. “We should have eaten in the kitchen or out in the sunroom.”

Luke shrugged and sipped his wine and ordered the image of a just-kissed Mercy to get the hell out of his head. “It’s fine.”

His brother looked at him sideways. “You seem distracted. Something on your mind?”

“Not a thing.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Caleb set down his fork. “It’s too damn quiet. Let’s go out.”

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. He might meet someone. Get his thoughts off Phineas Brewer’s new associate. “Like where?”

Caleb pushed back his chair and tossed his napkin down beside his half-finished plate. “Who knows? We get in the car and we drive. We see someplace interesting, we stop. We keep our options open. It’s more fun that way.”

Since Bravo Ridge was on the southwestern edge of the Hill Country, they went north first, and found a dance hall in Bandera. They had a couple of beers and danced the two-step with a pair of secretaries down from Austin for the weekend. Luke wasn’t exactly enjoying himself. The girl he danced with was a pretty little blonde wearing too much perfume. The point was to get his mind off Mercy, but instead, he found himself making comparisons. The blonde did not come out ahead.

Around nine-thirty, Caleb tapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s move on.”

Luke tipped his hat to the blonde and followed his brother out. They got back into Caleb’s brand-new black pearl Audi R8 and rolled the windows down as they raced along a couple of twisty ranch roads, finally meeting up with I-10, and heading south toward San Antonio. By the time they got to Southtown, Luke had figured out where his brother was taking him.

Caleb swung into the packed parking lot.

“There.” Luke pointed at a pickup that was just pulling out. Caleb eased into the free space and killed the powerful engine. They could hear the music from the rambling tin-sided building. A big neon armadillo with a red rose tucked behind its ear graced the place of honor over the wide main doors.

Caleb winked at him. “I’m in a mood to kiss Corrine and watch a pretty woman dancin’ on the bar.”

Elena laughed as she slid back into the chair across from Mercy. Her cheeks were flushed and her brown eyes shone. She’d danced just about every dance since they claimed their table an hour before.

Mercy had danced, too, though not as often as her baby sister. And she’d had a Corona and a shot of Cuervo Gold. She had a slight buzz on and she should have been happy. She was out with Elena and the music was good. And there was very little chance Luke Bravo would come strolling through the big double doors.

“You look sad.” Elena flipped a shining coil of hair back over her shoulder and put on an exaggerated frown.

“I’m not,” Mercy lied. “I’m having a great time.” She raised her Corona and took a sip.

Elena’s expression brightened. “Well, cheer up, mi hermana. All your dreams just came true.” Mercy followed the direction of Elena’s gaze.

Luke.

He’d just come in with one of his brothers. Incredible. She’d been so sure she was safe, that he would never show up while she and Elena were there.

She turned back to her sister. Fast. “I don’t believe this is happening.”

“Believe it.” Elena beamed. “And smile. They’re coming this way.”

Caleb nudged Luke in the ribs and leaned close to be heard above the music. “Over there. That’s the Cabrera sisters, I’m sure of it.”

Luke turned his head slowly. Mercy had her back to him. But he could see Elena. And he would have known Mercy, anyway. Anytime. Anywhere. Already, he’d memorized the shape of her shoulders, the exact color and texture of her crow-black hair, which was loose and softly curling down her back.

He should turn around and leave. Now. Just march the hell out of there.

Caleb had other ideas. “We ought to be friendly, don’t you think? I mean, what’s the point of all that old animosity? Let’s go say hi to them.”

“What the hell for?” Luke growled. But Caleb already had hold of his arm and was dragging him across the scuffed wood plank floor. Luke dug in his heels. “What we ought to do is leave them alone.”

Caleb hesitated. “I just want to say hello.”

“Forget it. Let’s get a drink, say hi to Corrine.”

“You can relax.” Elena’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “They went over to the bar, after all.”

Relax? Impossible. Mercy’s heart beat so hard, she felt faintly sick. She wanted to leave. And she also wanted to get up and go to him, to pull his mouth down on hers and stick her tongue down his throat. It was embarrassing to feel like this. Like she had no control of herself, like she was an animal driven by the most basic urges. Mercy loved animals. She’d dedicated her working life to them. But she didn’t want to behave like one.

“Care to dance?” A nice-looking guy in cargoes and a crew-neck shirt stood by the table, smiling down at her.

“Sure.” Mercy put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. As he led her toward the wide cleared space, she glanced back to see that another guy was leading Elena onto the floor.

It was a line dance. Mercy knew the steps well enough to keep up. More than once, she and Elena passed each other as the lines separated and reformed. Elena would brush her shoulder or nudge her with an elbow and then toss her head in the direction of the long bar, where Luke sat facing out, nursing a beer.

Watching.

Mercy was careful never to let her eyes meet his. She focused on the steps of the dance and smiled at her partner and told herself to forget Luke Bravo, to enjoy the music and have a good time.

As the song ended and her partner thanked her for the dance, she couldn’t resist a glance toward the bar. Luke wasn’t there. A girl in a purple camisole and a black miniskirt sat on his stool sipping a frozen pink drink.

Mercy felt ridiculously bereft. Had he left, then? Or was he asking some other girl to dance?

She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. Another guy caught her hand. “Hey. Dance?”

She forced a smile and the band started up again. A two-step. Her partner held her lightly. They exchanged names. He said he was in the air force, stationed at Lackland. She told him, half-shouting to be heard over the music, that she was a large animal vet. He said he had a German shepherd named Duke. He had a feeling Duke would be getting sick real soon…

She laughed and explained that she mostly cared for livestock.

“Well, then, I guess I need to buy me a cow.”

When that dance ended, he asked for another. He seemed nice enough, but she had a hunch he would be asking her out next. Maybe that would have been good—to go out with a nice guy, maybe get something going.

But it didn’t seem right somehow. She wasn’t really interested. She’d only be using him in an attempt to forget about Luke.

So she shook her head and went back to the table where Elena waited with a couple of fresh beers. She slid into her seat.

Elena glanced past her shoulder. “Don’t look now, but he’s on his way over here.”

Mercy frowned. “The guy I was just dancing with?”

“No. Luke.”

Mercy’s heart leapt, but she spoke calmly. “You said that before. Didn’t happen.” She picked up her beer and took a long, cool sip.

“It’s happening this time.”

Mercy glanced over. And there he was. Impossibly tall and too handsome for words, standing right by her table.

Elena beamed a big smile at him. “Luke Bravo. How you doing?”

Mercy faced forward, staring blindly in front of her as he and her baby sister exchanged inane pleasantries. She picked up her beer again and took another sip. A long one.

That was when Luke said, “Mercy, how ’bout a dance?”

Yes, she had expected that. Still, she almost choked on her beer. With great care, she set the bottle down and swallowed. Elena grinned at her, triumph and challenge lighting her eyes.

Mercy’s pulse raced and her face felt flushed. But really, she was making way too much of this. What could it hurt? It was only a dance.

She turned and laid her hand in Luke’s.

Wouldn’t you know it would be a rare slow one? Luke took her in his arms, careful of her as if she were fine china, delicate and breakable. Strangely, at that moment, she felt as if she might break, brittle and confused—and still, even though he held her lightly and not too close, terribly aroused by his nearness.

Her lips tingled. They longed to feel his kiss. And her cheeks felt so hot, burning, as if with fever.

He said, “I swear, I didn’t plan this.”

She realized she’d been avoiding looking at him and made herself meet those sky-blue eyes, accepting the shock of heat that went through her as their gazes connected. “It’s okay. Really.”

“Only a dance, right?” His words echoed her thoughts. Was he trying to convince himself, too, that a dance was all this was?

She made a small, nervous noise of agreement and glanced away. Elena danced by, in Caleb’s arms. Mercy gaped in shock and Elena beamed her a big, wide smile.

Was it just her imagination, or was the world as she’d known it spinning fast out of control?

Only a dance, she reminded herself silently. She closed her eyes and let the music take her, let herself enjoy this forbidden moment, with Luke’s arms holding her in that special, cherishing way, with the warmth of him and the scent of his aftershave tempting her, with his cheek against her hair.

It was over too soon. He stepped back and his mouth quirked in a beautiful, rueful smile that pierced her straight to the heart.

“I know,” he said softly. “This dance never happened.”

“You’ve got a thing for Mercedes Cabrera,” Caleb said with a low chuckle as he drove them back to Bravo Ridge.

Luke stared out the windshield at the dark ribbon of highway in front of them. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw the way you looked at her—the way she looked at you…” He made a sizzling sound through his teeth. “Hot enough to melt steel.”

“Mind your own business, little brother.”

“You going out with her?”

“Hell, no.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t pretend to be naive. We both know you’re anything but.”

Caleb drove in silence for a while. Luke almost dared to hope the topic was dropped. It wasn’t.

“The feud is ancient history,” Caleb said. “What’s it to us? We’re a whole new generation. We ought to try and get beyond the old garbage. You know, heal the breach. It’s been years since—”

“Tell all that to Javier Cabrera.”

“If I wanted to go out with Mercy, I wouldn’t let anything stop me.” Caleb fiddled with the radio, turning it up, listening for a moment, turning it down again. Finally, he said way too casually, “Elena grew up to be gorgeous, didn’t she?”

Luke did look at him then. “You’re not serious.”

“She’s cute and fun. And smart. And I like her.”

“Don’t do it, Caleb. I mean it. Why take the chance of stirring up trouble? It’s not worth it.”

Caleb sent him a puzzled glance. And then he shrugged. “All right. If it bothers you that much, I won’t ask Elena out.”

“Good. Don’t. Leave it alone.”

Wednesday at four, Mercy showed up at the ranch. She drove straight to the stables, as Luke had figured she would.

He was there when she arrived. He’d been hanging around the horses all day, telling himself it was a good idea to be there, that it didn’t hurt to spend some time with the men now and then, to see how they were handling the mundane daily work.

It was crap, his reasoning. Just an excuse. He knew his men and he had chance enough day-to-day to make sure they were all on top of their work. The real reason he was at the stables all day had shining black hair and eyes to match. He hadn’t known when her rounds would bring her there.

And he wanted to see her.

Since Saturday, he’d tried to stay with his plan to forget about her. It wasn’t working out very well.

He’d started thinking how some things only got more powerful the more you denied them. And that maybe Caleb was right. In the end, the feud had nothing to do with their generation.

Luke saw her drive up. He told Paco to bring Candyman into his stall for her. “And ask her to stop in at the house when she’s done.”

At Paco’s nod, he went out a side door, Lollie at his heels. He moved swiftly across the back lawns to the same service entrance he’d used that night a week before. In the house, he sent the dog to her bed in the corner of the kitchen and took the wide central hall to the front foyer, where he lowered himself to one of the carved benches, skimmed off his hat and set it down on the bench cushion beside him.

He waited, feeling like he was about to burst out of his skin, for sixteen minutes. And then, at last, the doorbell rang. He rose and answered.

She had her hair tied back again, like that night last week. Even in the shade of the deep front veranda, it had a shine to it. She carried a purse instead of that black bag. He allowed himself a slow, hungry look, starting at her booted feet and moving up over her long, slim denim-clad legs. She wore a short-sleeved green shirt that buttoned down the front. And her mouth was set in a mutinous line.

“Hey,” he said, stepping back to usher her in just as Zita appeared to answer the door. She saw he had it handled and turned back the way she’d come. He said to Mercy, “Come on in.”

She didn’t budge. “Your horse is doing fine, healing up fast. And I know you have an account at the clinic so we don’t have to discuss the charge. You’ll get a bill, same as always.”

He thought about kissing her again. And more. Not only sex, either. He thought about reaching out, taking her hand, leading her across the threshold and over to the bench where his hat still waited, right there in the foyer. He thought about sitting her down and asking her to talk to him, to tell him everything about her. What she loved. What she hated. Her favorite color. Whether or not she liked broccoli. Why she’d decided to become a vet.

“It’s not about the bill,” he said quietly. “You know that.”

“Luke.” Her voice had gentled. “I really need to go.”

“Do you like broccoli?”

She blinked. Twice. “Excuse me?”

It came to him then. What to do. How to approach this. “One date. That’s all. We’ll go somewhere nobody knows us. We’ll…talk.”

“Talk.” Her soft mouth curved. It wasn’t a smile. “Right.”

“How do you know this isn’t something important?”

She frowned. “Important?”

“That’s right. We’ve both been thinking how we’ll regret getting anything started, how between your family and mine there’s never been anything but trouble. But what if we’ve got it wrong?”

“Wrong…”

“Yeah. What if the regret will come from not even trying, from not even giving each other a chance? What about that?”

Her mouth had softened. And so had those night-dark eyes. “I…I’ve wondered that. I have. Especially since Saturday night.”

“One date. We’ll see how it goes, find out if it’s all wrong, or if maybe this is something we shouldn’t pass up, no matter the risk, no matter the possible consequences.”

She tipped her head to the side, kind of studying him. “You think we’re going to learn all that in one date?”

He answered honestly. “Maybe not. But it’s a step.”

A long moment passed. Finally, she took a card and a pen from her purse. She wrote on the back of the card and then held it out to him. “Park around the corner. I’m a big coward. I don’t want to hurt my mother or my father. For now at least, I just don’t want them to know about this.”

He took it. And he read what she’d written. “I’ll be there,” he said.

Chapter Three

It was well after dark when Luke got to Mercy’s South Side neighborhood that Friday night. He’d taken one of the pickups from the ranch. It was a dull green and dirty, the wheels, side panels and front grill spattered with mud, the kind of vehicle no one would look at twice.

Mercy didn’t want anyone to know about the two of them. And he was willing to go along with that—at least for now. He parked two blocks from the address she’d given him, and walked the rest of the way, past small houses with dry patches of lawn in front and chain-link fences. Even after nine at night, the August heat was punishing. He heard the steady drone of window air conditioners. Here and there people sat on their front porches, laughing and talking. The occasional car rumbled by, giant speakers blaring out rap music or Tejano.

He kept his gaze front and his feet moving, feeling slightly ridiculous, thirty-one years old and sneaking around like a misbehaving teenager. But then he smiled to himself. Like a teenager in more ways than one. He glanced down at the bouquet of red roses he had picked from the garden himself. All tied up in knots, hormones on overdrive, on his way to see a certain special—and forbidden—girl.

When he turned onto her street, he slowed his steps and checked addresses. In the glow of a porch light he made out a number—203. Her house was number 212. It would be across the street.

He found it easily in the light of the streetlamp, a neat little cottage, blue with white trim. Geraniums grew along the fence and a rose trellis masked the concrete front porch. No garage. That pickup she drove waited in the narrow driveway between her house and the next one over.

Luke stood beneath the spreading shadow of an oak on the cracked sidewalk across the street, clutching his handful of roses, and staring at that little blue house, telling himself he could still change his mind. He was a simple man, really. He liked steak and baked potatoes. He said what he meant. His word was his bond. He believed in his parents’ longtime successful marriage and his family in general and loyalty and love, though you would be unlikely to catch him running his mouth off about that stuff.

He wondered what he was doing there, why he had insisted that she give the two of them a chance. He considered turning and going back the way he’d come.

But his desire—both to have her and to know her—was simply too powerful. He was a practical man in the grip of something he couldn’t control, something he doubted he would ever understand.

It was no good trying to convince himself to walk away. Desire held him there, stronger than all his compelling arguments to the contrary.

Luke emerged from under the shadowing branches of the tree and crossed the street. He went through the gate and up the three steps to her door.

He raised his fist to knock. But before he made a sound, the door swung open and her hand came out. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, shoving the door shut again the second he crossed the threshold.

Since she was so close, he slipped an arm around her and brought her closer. He looked down into her upturned face, drinking in the sight and scent and feel of her. She had her hair down, blue-black and shining, and she wore a loose-fitting blouse that had slid off one shoulder.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispered the words, reverently.

Her strong chin quivered. “I’ve been…so anxious. Longing for you to be here, wishing you wouldn’t come, praying that you would. Going back and forth like a seesaw.”

“I know the feeling.” He pulled her nearer, wrapping both arms around her, heedless of the roses, which he held against her slim back. She didn’t resist him, not this time, only curved against him, warm and soft, all woman. A perfect fit.

She reached up, touched his face, her eyes full of wonder. “Oh, Luke. My heart is beating so hard…”

“Mine too. So hard…”

He kissed her. He had to. Hungrily, he speared his tongue inside, yanking her up hard and firm against him, pressing his hips against her, letting her know exactly how she affected him. His blood pounded in his ears, so loud the sound filled up the world.

When he lifted his head, she sagged against him, as though the kiss had made her legs too weak to hold her up.

He tried to control himself, tried to think of something other than how much he longed to take off all her clothes and lay her down on the couch across the room and make love to her all night long. “I wanted…I thought we would talk, you know? Learn about each other…”

She laughed low, and the sound seemed to vibrate along his every nerve. “How’s that working out for you?”

“It’s not.” With a low groan, he took her mouth again. He was like a starving man—starved for her. For the feel of her, the taste. For all of her…

That time, she was the one who broke the kiss. She put her hands on his shoulders and dug her fingers in, shaking him a little, making a hissing sound between her white teeth. And while she shook him, she looked up at him, lips soft and red, eyes so very serious.

He met her gaze, frowning, not sure what her expression meant, what she might be thinking.

Her hand slid down his arm and she caught his free hand. “Come on. To my kitchen. We’ll put my table between us. It will be easier to act like civilized people that way.”

Obedient as a well-behaved child, he followed her through the arch at the far side of the living room. Her kitchen was small, with a brightly tiled counter, a two-seater table, and a pair of bentwood chairs painted yellow. She pushed him down into one of the chairs.

It seemed about time to offer the roses. “I picked these for you. The color made me think of you. Red. Like your lips when I kiss you.”

She put the pads of her fingers against her mouth, lightly. He wanted to be those fingers, touching that mouth. He had to will himself not to surge up out of that chair, grab her in his arms and kiss her again.

And again…

She took the flowers from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.” She brought them close and breathed in the scent of them. “Mmm. Not like the ones you get at the store with all the fine, dewy rose smell bred right out of them.” She turned for the cupboard and brought down a yellow ceramic pitcher painted with daisies. As she filled it with water at the sink, a scraggly three-legged dog limped in from the other room.

The dog stumped right over to him and wagged its raggedy tail. “Hey.” He let the mutt sniff his hand and then scratched him behind the ears. The dog dropped to his haunches and stared up at him adoringly.

Mercy turned from the sink. She unwrapped the roses from the newspaper cone he’d carried them in and arranged them in the pitcher. Then she brought the arrangement to the table and set it in the center.

“His name’s Orlando.” She gave the dog a fond glance. “Someone dropped him off at the clinic a year ago. He’d been in a car accident. They amputated his crushed leg, patched him up and, since no one would take him, they let him live there. Until I came along and couldn’t resist those sweet, hungry eyes. I adopted him. Or maybe he adopted me…”

“I’ve got a dog. Lollie. She’s a sweetheart.” Feeling suddenly awkward and inexplicably tongue-tied, he petted the dog some more as she went to the fridge and got out two beers. She opened them and returned to the table, where she took the empty chair.

Holding his gaze, she slid one of the bottles across to his side. “I told Elena that you kissed me. That I…couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“When did you tell her that?”

“Before we saw you and Caleb at Armadillo Rose.” She ran her finger down the side of the sweating bottle, wiping a path in the condensation as she went. “It was her idea, going to Corrine’s bar Saturday night. I said how that was silly, that you and I had agreed it was not going to happen between us, and there was almost no chance you would show up there, anyway. So then she asked me what I was afraid of. And I went, just to prove I wasn’t scared—and also because, deep in my secret heart, I was hoping you might be there.” Her dark lashes swept down. When she looked at him again, she added, softly, “And you were.”

He loved her eyes, that slight, sexy slant they had, their velvety blackness. “I wouldn’t have been there that night, except for Caleb. He decided we needed to get out. He drove. I just settled back and went where he wanted to go.”

She slid her beer across the table until it clinked against his, then she pulled it back. “Would you call that fate?”

He watched her smooth throat as she drank. “I’m glad that you were there.”

She set the bottle down again. “Elena thinks the bad things between our families are in the past, that we all need to move beyond what happened so long ago, that it’s got nothing to do with us, with our generation.”

He’d guessed as much from the way Elena behaved the other night, greeting him with a smile, dancing with Caleb. “But you feel differently.”

As she considered what he’d said, the dog, Orlando, rose wearily to his three feet and limped away into the living room.

Finally, she spoke. “The other night in the stable, I did feel differently. All I could think then was that going out with you would only be a betrayal of everyone I love. But after listening to my sister lecture me about how the animosity between our families is all in the past…” She touched the pitcher with his roses in it, then brushed her finger across the velvety petals of one of the blooms. “Maybe I’ve been making a big thing out of nothing. Maybe it really is all over and done. My dad used to speak of your family with anger. With disgust. He really hated your grandfather. And your dad, too. But in the past few years, he hardly mentions you Bravos. He and my mom are happy, doing well.”

Luke thought of his own father. He wondered how Davis Bravo would react to him and Mercy getting together. The old feud aside, Davis had big ambitions. He wanted his sons to marry rich Texas debs, to bring connections and fat fortunes into the family. So far, it hadn’t worked out that way. Ash had married a storekeeper from California. And Gabe’s new wife was a poor Hill Country widow. How would Davis take it if his third son married a Cabrera?

Marriage…

Whoa. He was getting way ahead of himself. He had spent maybe an hour in Mercy’s company, total. They hardly knew each other. He needed to remember that.

She said, “You’re so quiet, all of a sudden. Is something wrong?”

He sipped from his beer—and sidestepped her question. “Saturday night on the way home, Caleb said he was going to ask Elena out.”

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding me.”

“No. I talked him out of it. Now I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have. Not on account of the family feud, anyway.”

“But for some other reason?”

He shrugged. “Caleb is such a damn player. He’s almost as bad as Gabe was before he met his new wife, Mary. He might break poor little Elena’s heart.”

Mercy made a scoffing sound. “You don’t know my sister very well.”

He had to admit, “No, I don’t.” He studied her amazing face. “I have a lot of questions.”

“Like what?”

“Why did you become a vet?”

She pulled the pitcher of roses close, breathed in their scent, then pushed them back to the center of the table again. “The usual reasons, I guess. I love animals. And I’m good with them. They like me, they feel safe with me.”

Lucky animals. Luke didn’t feel safe around Mercy. Not safe at all. “Are you dating anyone?”

She looked at him so solemnly. “Now? No.”

He couldn’t help asking, “But you were, recently?” When she nodded, he pressed her further. “Did you love him?”

“Love…” A frown formed between her sleek black brows. “I thought so. For a while. We were together in veterinary school. Until about six months ago.”

“What went wrong?” Luke’s voice was gruffer than he had meant for it to be.

“I don’t know. How does that happen? It all seems right and then slowly you start to see it’s not going to work out, that it’s not a forever kind of thing, after all.”

“Did you bring him home, to your parents?”

“I did, once. They liked him.”

“Where is he now?”

“He went back to Kansas, where he was born and raised. His dad’s a vet, too, so he’ll be taking over the family practice.”

“You’re still in touch with him?”

She laughed that low, husky laugh of hers. “Luke Bravo, are you jealous?”

Damn straight. “No.”

She tipped her head to the side and her hair spilled over her shoulder, like a black waterfall. “No, I’m not in touch with him. It seemed better that way. Just to let it go.”

A certain tightness in his chest eased away. “Where did you live before you came to stay with the Cabreras?”

Another laugh escaped her. “Hold on a minute.”

He scowled. “What?”

“What about you? Any special girlfriends?”

“No. No one special.”

She smiled then, a slow smile. “Well. Okay, then.”

He asked again, “Where were you born?”

“California. Salinas. My dad was a farm worker. He died when I was five, stabbed to death in a bar fight. My mother tried her best to support us, working as a maid in a motel. She did okay for a few years. Then she got sick. My mom—Luz, I mean—was like a sister to her. They grew up in Corpus Christi together. Javier sent the money and we came to stay here.” She made a low, wondering sound. “Luz and Javier. Where would I be without them? They are my mother and father, every bit as much as my birth parents were. They love me and they raised me as a true daughter. They gave me a chance to go to college, to make a good life, to own my own house and pay my own way.” Tears shone in her eyes.

He hadn’t meant to make her cry. “Mercy.” He rose to his feet. “Don’t cry…”

She dashed the tears away. “Sometimes it’s good to cry, when there’s deep emotion.”

“Good to cry…”

“Yes.” She gazed up at him, the tears still there, glittering like diamonds in her eyes.

He reached down a hand. She laid hers in it. He pulled her upward and wrapped his arms around her. He stroked her silky hair, kissed the smooth skin at her temple. She rested her head on his shoulder with a soft sigh. For several long, sweet seconds, they stood there by the table, holding each other close.

But then she raised her head and captured his gaze. “I would like…not to say anything to anyone else. Not for a while. I’ll tell Elena to keep silent. And we could just see how it works out with us.”

His heart leapt. He wasn’t sure about taking this thing with them public, either. But he wanted to keep on seeing her. He wanted it bad—so bad he ached with it. And now she’d admitted she wanted it, too.

“All right,” he said. “For a while.”

“We’ll…be together when we can. Just the two of us.” She stared up at him, her expression grave.

“Yes.”

Was it the coward’s way? Probably. But then again, time for just the two of them, what could that hurt? This was all so new. And they had no way to know where it would go from here. Right now, with her in his arms and the scent of her tempting him, it seemed impossible that what he felt would ever die. It seemed she belonged with him, forever. But it could end, just fade away, as it had with her and that guy from Kansas. It could turn out that there’d been no need, after all, to take the chance of stirring up trouble.

She took his shoulders, pushed him away a little. “Here I am in your arms again. Somehow, lately, I always end up here.”

He gathered her closer. “I don’t want to let you go.”

She rose up on tiptoe and offered those rose-red lips to him. “Kiss me again, Luke. Kiss me a hundred times.”

He took her mouth in a long kiss that stole his breath and sent the blood pulsing hot through his veins.

When he lifted his head, she whispered, “I have a confession.”

“Tell me.”

“When I was a girl, I saw you once, in a parade, riding a white horse.”

“I remember that parade. It was after Thanksgiving. The holiday parade…” It must have been before her mother died. He had spotted her, a skinny kid with huge black eyes, picked her out of the crowd because she seemed to be staring so hard at him. Later, he had asked around about her, found out she was staying with the Cabreras.

She said, “After that, I dreamed forbidden dreams of you. I dreamed of this. I dreamed that you would be my lover.” She laughed. “Well, I was only twelve. Maybe lover is the wrong word. My sweetheart, I guess. My boyfriend…”

Her loose cotton shirt had fallen down her shoulder again. He touched the glowing, silky skin that the shirt revealed, hardly daring to believe what her words seemed to mean. “What are you saying? What are you telling me?”

“I’m saying I…I want you, Luke. Maybe I have since that first time I saw you. I’m saying…ah, this is crazy, huh? I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s only that when you touch me, when you kiss me…it’s like my little-girl dreams all come alive for me. At last.”

It seemed only fair, only right, to make a confession of his own. “I remember you, too. Your black eyes that seemed to see right through me. Even when you were a skinny little kid, I noticed you. And then, about the time you turned sixteen…” He let the words trail off.

She slid her hands to his shoulders and gave them a shake. “What? Tell me. What?”

“I saw you once, with your girlfriends, at the rodeo.” His voice sounded rough to his ears. It was partly arousal. And partly a deeper emotion, one he wasn’t prepared to give a name. “You were laughing at something, your head thrown back, black hair shining in the lights. And then you saw me watching you. Your laughter stopped. Your face changed…”

She gave a slow nod. “I remember that night. I felt so strange when you looked at me. Scared. And yet also very powerful, very much a woman.”

“Mercy. You were sixteen.”

“But I didn’t feel sixteen. Not when you looked at me the way that you did.”

He ran a finger down the smooth flesh of her neck. “I knew I had to keep clear of you. I knew you were dangerous. And not only because I was twenty-one and you were underage. Not only because your last name is Cabrera.”

Her dark eyes sparked with challenge. “But here you are, Luke. In my house. With your arms around me…”

“Yeah, here I am. What the hell’s going on with us? Why is it I never want to leave?”

“I have no answers,” she whispered. “Only more questions.”

He bent his head, pressed his lips to the fragrant skin of her shoulder. She shuddered under that caress and he pulled her closer. He took her mouth again. She melted into him, as if her body knew his, had always known, as if there was some magical, absolute affinity between them, as man and woman, as if the attraction—the need—was bred in the bone.

When at last he lifted his head, he waited for her to open her eyes, for her long, sooty lashes to rise. She stared up at him, dazed, red lips wet from their kisses.

He knew he could have her, right then and there. He ached to have her, to peel off that loose cotton shirt and those tight jeans. To take away everything, all the barriers between them. To see her naked. To touch her all over.

To take her here, in the kitchen, on the table. Or up against the ancient yellow refrigerator. To lead her into her bedroom, lay her tenderly down on the pillows and bury himself deep in her softness. To kiss her all over, to bring her to climax once and then again. And again. Until she begged him to stop—and then pulled him close and demanded he do that some more.

More. Yes. For their first time, he wanted more than just tonight.

“Come away with me,” he whispered. “Give us some time, together.”

She ran a finger along the crew neck of the shirt he wore. He felt her touch like a brand. And she asked, “Isn’t that what this is now, tonight? Time, together?”

“I want more. All night. And the morning after. I don’t want to be interrupted by daylight. I don’t want to have to sneak off before dawn.”

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