Marriage, Bravo Style! Page 4

  When she returned to the table and slid into her seat, he reached out and laid his hand on her arm. “Elena…” All at once, his eyes were so serious, the set of his mouth way too grim.

  A panicked tightness squeezed her throat. She gulped. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He patted her arm. “Please. Don’t be afraid. It’s nothing so terrible.” A sad laugh escaped him. He withdrew his hand. “Or at least, it’s nothing you don’t already know about.”

  She remembered her mother’s refusal to have breakfast with her. Not today, m’hija, Luz had said, but nothing about why not. “Mom knows you’re here?”

  He gave a slow nod. “She told me that she spoke with you, about the ways we are working to have peace in our family, at last.” He looked so uncomfortable. She ached for him.

  “Dad, we don’t have to talk about this.”

  “Ah. But I think we do. I want you to understand….” He seemed unsure how to continue.

  She made a sound of encouragement. “What? Tell me.”

  He sipped from his cup, set it down with a tired sigh. “Most of the time I was a good husband to your mother. But not always.”

  “Yes. I know. It was bad, that you hit her.”

  “It was worse than bad. It was not acceptable. She betrayed me. She lied to me. And that hurt me deeply. But striking her was no answer to my pain. She had never—ever—done any violence to me.”

  Softly, she confessed, “Mami said you’ve been seeing a counselor.”

  He nodded again. “To try to…understand myself a little better, to face all the ways I have lied to myself over the years. To look honestly into my own heart, to face the darkness there.”

  An outraged sound escaped her and tears stung her eyes. “Darkness? What are you talking about? Why do you have to make yourself the bad guy in this? You’re not. No way.”

  “Elena,” he said so gently. “No llores. Don’t cry…” He touched her arm again.

  She grabbed for his hand, held it tight between both of hers. “Sorry.” She sniffed, blinked away the moisture. “So sorry…”

  “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. Know that. Believe that.”

  She nodded eagerly, clutched his hand tighter. “Yes. I do. I know it. But I seem to have…oh, I don’t know, a lot of heat on this whole subject, I guess you could say.”

  “It’s not surprising. What happened has hurt you. I hurt you, by turning my back on you when I first learned that you weren’t my blood child.”

  “That’s all in the past. We got through it. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Javier insisted, “It does matter.”

  “Papi. I understood. I really did.”

  He said nothing for a moment. Then he sighed. “You are my daughter,” he said. “In all the ways that really matter.”

  She knew it already. Still, it felt so good to hear him say it out loud. She bit her lip, swallowed back a fresh flood of tears and leaned across the distance between them to press a kiss on his lined cheek.

  He touched the side of her face, a tender caress. “You still blame your mother.”

  She sank back to her own chair, wanting to argue. But no. He was right.

  He said, “You don’t know how I was, how angry and bitter, when she went to work for Davis Bravo. No, she shouldn’t have done what she did in betraying our marriage vows—and with my sworn, lifelong enemy, too. But I do see my part in it now. In some ways, time and growing older can be a man’s best friend. He learns to see more clearly. And I see that I drove her away. I was angry, so angry—at the Bravos, for taking our land, taking everything. For the death of my father, which I blamed on James Bravo, though it was my father who broke into the Bravo ranch house with murder on his mind. It’s not so hard now, to see that James Bravo had to protect himself and his family when he killed my father.

  “And even more than for my father’s death, I was angry for…selfish reasons. For my idea of myself, as a man. I was angry because your mother and I had no babies, while my enemy had so many. I never hit your mother then, all those years ago. But I was cruel to her. I said hard things, things that hurt her. I called her barren. I said she was…no good, as a woman. I didn’t want to face that the problem might lie with me….”

  Elena’s hand shook as she picked up her cup and took a slow sip. She knew he wasn’t finished.

  He went on, “And then she took that job working for Davis. I left her then. And Davis was kind to her. And he had his own problems at the time, he and Aleta. They…took comfort in each other, your mother and Davis. And both of them regretted what they did as soon as they had done it. Your mother left that job with him and she and I reunited. I was the happiest man alive the day she told me that she was going to have a baby—have you. And we were happy. So happy. Together.”

  Elena longed to argue that it wasn’t right. It was all based on a lie. But what good would that do? Her mother’s lie had been found out in time. In the end, they had all paid the price for it.

  She turned away as she muttered bleakly, “Mom says you and Davis have made peace with each other.”

  “We have, yes,” her father said. “We will never be friends. But I think we understand each other now. There can be true peace between us now. After all, we share two daughters….”

  She took his meaning. Mercy was Davis’s daughter-in-law. And she, Elena, was his…

  Not his daughter. No. She refused to even let herself think it. “Next, you’ll be telling me you want me to get to know him better.” Her voice was tinged with bitterness and she felt only slightly bad about that.

  Her dad just smiled. “No. I will give you no advice when it comes to Davis Bravo.”

  “Whew. Thank you.”

  “But I will say that if you decide you want to meet with him, to talk with him, to find your way to some kind of closeness with him, I will be pleased for you.”

  She gazed at him, disbelieving. “You’re not serious.”

  “Ah, but I am. I told you, I see things much more clearly now. Don’t deny your blood father for my sake. There is no law that says you can’t have two fathers. The fact is you do have two fathers.” She opened her mouth to deny it, but he stopped her words with a look. “I’m not telling you what to do, m’hija. I’m only saying, if you hold back from knowing Davis, let it be by your own choice. Don’t lay the blame on me.” He picked up his coffee and took a thoughtful sip.

  She was thinking about her mom again. “You know, it’s true what you said a few minutes ago. I love Mom. But I do blame her the most, I think, for everything that happened. She cheated and she lied. She lied every day for over twenty years.”

  “M’hija.” With care, her father set down his cup. “Your mother knew me. She knew me so well. If she had told me the truth all those years ago, that she had been with Davis, that the baby—that you were Davis’s blood and not mine…my anger was so deep then. You can’t know how deep. I would have hurt her. And I would have gone after Davis. I might have killed him then, or someone close to him.”

  “No!” She didn’t believe that.

  He met her gaze steadily. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. Consider what did happen three years ago. I hit your mother when I learned the truth. And I got my pistol and I went after Davis.”

  They were silent, the two of them, for what seemed like a long time. Somewhere outside, she heard a woman, calling, “Jenny! Jenny, where are you?” And a child answered, “Here, Mommy! Coming…”

  Her father said, “So instead of the truth when you were born, we had happiness. As a family. We grew prosperous. And when the truth finally found us, well, at least I was older, a little bit wiser. A little more able to learn, slowly, from the hard lessons life has thrown at me—at all of us. Can you see that?”

  “Yes. All right. I…I see what you mean.”

  Her father almost smiled. “You’re wondering why I’ve said all this, wondering why I thought you needed to hear it.”

  It had meant a lot—so very much—to h
ear him say out loud that she was his true daughter, to know that their bond was as strong as it had ever been. But as for the rest of it, well, “Maybe it was something you needed to tell me.”

  He chuckled then. “Es verdad. I did need to tell you.” He was shaking his head. “I am so glad that I’m no longer young. It wasn’t easy to be young. So much passion. So much frustration. And confusion. It’s an exhausting time of life.”

  She reached for him again, caught his hand. “Are you okay, Papi? I mean, really okay? You look so tired.”

  He stood, pulled her close and wrapped her in a loving hug. “I am tired, yes. And yet, more myself. More…content than I have ever been.”

  She moved back enough to meet his eyes, but remained in the circle of his strong arms. “Content.” She resisted the urge to make a sour face. “It’s what Mom said.”

  “And we are content, your mother and I, both of us. Just as we are now. More than you know.”

  What could she say to that? No, she didn’t get it. Didn’t get how anyone could be satisfied with mere contentment.

  Was that because she was still young, as he said, still young and full of passion and confusion? Whatever. If he was happy with being “content,” well, who was she to argue with that?

  Still, she couldn’t help teasing him, “So maybe you and Mom should get back together. She could retire, too. You could travel a little, get out and see the world, be ‘content’ together.”

  He answered pretty much as her mother had. “I don’t think so, m’hija.”

  She left it at that. In the end, it was her parents’ business, whether they lived apart or not. She might be young, but she knew that much.

  He left a few minutes later. At the door, he hugged her one more time and told her how much he loved her.

  And when he was gone, she felt really good—lighter, somehow. As if the things her father had said had lifted a weight off her shoulders, a weight she hadn’t even realized she was carrying. It occurred to her that this could end up being the best Easter ever, even if her mom and dad were apart.

  At least there was peace between her parents now—what the psychologists always called “closure.” They each had their own personal “contentment.” Maybe that was as good as it got for them.

  But not for her. She had her whole life ahead of her. Closure and contentment were the last things she wanted now.

  She wanted excitement. Passion. Love, eventually.

  And then everything that came with love: Commitment. Children. A family of her own.

  But right now, what she wanted more than anything was to see Rogan Murdoch again.

  And in a few hours, she would.

  Rogan was beyond pissed at himself.

  And he had been since about ten minutes after Elena drove away the night before, once he could no longer smell the tempting scent of her perfume. Once he’d returned to his senses.

  What was the matter with him, to go leading her on like that? Walking her to the door. Flirting with her outright. Kissing her. He had more sense than that.

  A man didn’t make moves on a woman like Elena without knowing exactly what kind of signal he was giving her.

  It had been wrong, what he’d done. That one amazing, unforgettable kiss would have been more than enough to get her thinking they were going somewhere with each other—at the very least, on a first date.

  He thought about that. About how maybe he should ask her out. And then he could explain his situation. He could tell her frankly that if she wanted anything more than his company or maybe a hot night of good sex—or two—he wasn’t her guy.

  But considering his behavior last night, going out with her seemed like just begging for trouble. If he couldn’t keep his hands off her when they were at Caleb’s, with her adoring and protective big brother nearby, how was he going to exercise restraint if it were just the two of them?

  No.

  A date was not the answer.

  Avoidance was. She was going to think he was a jerk, and he deserved that. Really, if you got right down to it, he was a jerk for sending her signals when he had no intention of following through on them.

  Rogan went to the Bravo ranch determined to stay as far away from Elena Cabrera as he possibly could.

  That plan lasted about an hour.

  Until he saw her again. She walked in the front door of the big Bravo ranch house and he was a goner.

  Was it possible she could be even more gorgeous that day than the night before? She wore a close-fitting white-dotted dark blue dress and a short-sleeved white jacket. She had her hair swept up, soft little curls escaping to kiss the back of her slim golden neck. He wished he was one of those little curls so he could brush against that neck.

  It was hopeless. Really. No way could he resist her.

  He hung back as she hugged her sister and exchanged greetings with Caleb, and then he moved in.

  She turned and smiled at him, dimple flashing. Pure temptation. “Rogan.” She laughed and the sound was as fine as the scent of her. “It’s been so long.”

  “Hours,” he said. It came out in a growl.

  Ridiculous. Insane. Totally unacceptable.

  He only wanted to be near her. Was that so damn wrong?

  He knew it was.

  Still, wrong or not, he stayed near her.

  First, they wandered into the kitchen together and chatted with Mercy and Aleta and a couple of the other Bravo wives.

  And an hour later, there was an egg hunt out on the back grounds for the kids. Only a few of them were the right age for it, but they seemed to have a ball. Their parents followed them around and everyone else got comfortable on patio furniture arranged around the pool and on the edges of the lawn.

  Rogan and Elena found chairs side by side and watched the kids racing all around in the grass, under the oak trees and even along the pretty trails of the formal garden, doting parents following after them. Lucas—Mercy and Luke’s toddler—was especially cute. He was in too much of a hurry for his fat little legs and he kept falling over into the grass. But falling didn’t stop him. He would struggle upright again, grab his basket and lurch off in a different direction, laughing the whole time.

  Besides Lucas, there was seven-year-old Kira, Matt and Corrine Bravo’s older girl, and three-year-old Ginny, Mary Bravo’s daughter from her first marriage.

  As Rogan watched, Lucas took another header onto the grass. His big cousin Kira, who happened to be a few feet away, darted over to help him up.

  “Lucas,” she scolded. “You have to be more careful.”

  “Kira, no!” he commanded, batting her hands away. “I do it, me.”

  “Oh, fine. You just go ahead.” Kira made a disgusted sound and whirled away, the full skirt of her pink Easter dress belling out around her.

  “Kira is the greatest kid.” Elena leaned close to him, bringing a sweet hint of jasmine that made his head swim. “But also really bossy. Sometimes she reminds me of Mercy.”

  He turned his head to meet those brandy-colored eyes. “Mercy was a bossy big sister?”

  “Oh, yeah. She and her mom didn’t come to stay with us until she was eleven—did Caleb tell you my parents adopted her after her mom died?”

  “He did mention that, as a matter of fact.”

  A frown creased her smooth brow. “Really? What else did he mention?”

  “He explained all the…complicated family relationships—in a very general way.”

  She rolled those amazing eyes. “Well. If you know that Caleb’s my half brother, it’s not that hard to put it together, anyway, I guess.”

  Settling back into her chair, she stared out across the lawn again, toward where Davis and Aleta sat together, holding hands, beaming like the proud grandparents they were. “They’ve been married for about thirty-five years.” Her voice was flat. “I’m twenty-five. One of them cheated. It wasn’t Aleta.”

  He leaned closer to her again and she turned to meet his gaze. Her eyes were stormy now, her mouth set. “Y
ou’re angry,” he said. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

  “I’m not angry. But suit yourself.”

  He wanted to touch her, soothe her. But he kept his hands to himself. “Look. It’s okay. If talking about your relationship with Davis makes you uncomfortable, I get it. And I’m more than ready to move on.”

  She sighed, a tender little sound, and the thick fans of her eyelashes swept down. After a long moment, she looked at him again, the hostility gone now. “Sorry. I don’t mind talking about it. I’m not happy with the whole situation, but everyone tells me I need to get over that.”

  “But you’re not—over it, I mean.”

  “No. I guess I’m not.” She didn’t elaborate.

  He didn’t push. “And you were saying, about Mercy being bossy…?”

  Instantly, her expression brightened. “Oh. Right. She started bossing me around the first day she moved in with us. A natural big sister. I resented her totally. And I also completely adored and idolized her.”

  “Sounds like the perfect big sister to me.”

  “She was. She is.” Her mouth was so soft. He remembered how good it had felt, kissing her. He wanted to do it again. Right there, on the back grounds of the Bravo ranch house, during the family egg hunt.

  Somehow, he managed not to.

  But it was a near thing.

  Little Ginny, in a lavender dress with a big satin bow, had just found another egg. She bent at the waist, the wide hem of her dress lifting out behind her. Grabbing the egg, she straightened and held it high. “I got one, I got one!”

  Rogan chuckled at the sight.

  Elena was watching him. “You like kids?”

  “I’d better. I just finished raising three of them.”

  “Does this remind you of the egg hunts of your childhood?”

  “Yeah. Mostly the later ones, when I was too big for hunting eggs and got to help my parents hide them. I felt so grown-up, I remember, watching my sister and brothers running around the backyard, letting out little squeals of triumph each time one of them found another egg.”

  She chuckled. “I always wanted a big brother.” Her expression changed, grew thoughtful. “And now I have seven of them.” She tipped her chin up, cheerful and defiant at the same time. “So I guess being Davis Bravo’s love child isn’t all bad.”