“And you have your uncle,” Morgan said.
Tamara smiled. “Yeah. He’s actually my great-uncle. Took me in when I was sixteen and mad at the world. His solution was to give me space and flying lessons. There was a small, private airstrip outside San Marcos and a grizzled old pilot who was a friend of Uncle Goodwin’s.”
“You going to tell that old pilot that you crashed today?” Henry asked.
Tamara narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t crash. I executed a near flawless dead-stick landing. With nerves of steel, I might add.”
Ginny came out of the kitchen bearing their lunch. The aroma of the food reminded Morgan how hungry he was.
Henry had teased the chip off her shoulder. Personally, he couldn’t blame her for having one. He’d taken his family—both immediate and extended—for granted most of his life. He wouldn’t doubt that the reason he’d been able to do the things he had was thanks to the confidence he’d gained from his family.
“So what is this cottage you’ve arranged for me to stay at?” Tamara asked.
“Just a little place tucked in at the edge of town,” Henry said. “It’s been in the family for years. It’s not much, but it has a roof and a fireplace. You’ll be comfy there.”
“You’ll let me know how much rent I’ll owe for the week?”
“Sorry. Can’t accept any money from you. That’s not how Kendalls do things,” Morgan said.
“Well, I can’t freeload off you, or your family. That’s not how Tamara does things.”
Interesting that she’d just refer to herself that way, and not by her family name. That told him even more succinctly that she considered herself a lone entity.
“All right. You can fly a plane. Can you wield a hammer?”
Morgan could see his question surprised her. She stopped her fork just before it reached her mouth and raised one eyebrow. Then she opened her mouth, slowly drew the food in, and left Morgan feeling hotter than ever.
“I have done, in the past. Why?”
“We’ll deal,” Morgan said. And as his own words echoed in his head, he knew they’d likely deal on just about every damn thing.
He glanced up and caught his brother’s expression. They were a pair of sorry pups because he could tell, looking at Henry, they were both looking forward to it.
Chapter 4
Everything had been going so well until that fucking pilot got greedy.
Preston Rogers ran an agitated hand through his hair as the limousine he was riding in took him along the streets of the old town. He wasn’t familiar with El Paso and didn’t have many contacts in west Texas. That was likely the reason he’d been ordered here, to meet with Mr. Ramos in person.
Preston had been doing business with the man for nearly three years and had met him only once before. The other times when negotiations had been necessary, he’d met the man’s lieutenant—a ferret-faced little son-of-a-bitch named Ernie.
Ernie, for God’s sake.
Preston sat back and tried to calm his nerves. He knew giving him a good scare was likely the entire point of this little exercise. At least he hoped that’s all it was, an exercise. The message certainly didn’t escape him. Miguel Ramos was powerful enough, and certainly ruthless enough, to have him taken for a ride, beyond the city, out into the desert, and left—somewhere the scavengers could pick his carcass clean and his skeleton would be bleached white by the hot west Texas sun.
Yeah, he got the message, loud and clear. He only hoped the news he had to impart would placate the man.
The car slowed and then turned right and came to a stop. Preston could see out the windshield at least. He would have been totally unnerved if the car had come with a sliding panel between the front and back seats. In front of the car, gates opened, and then the car continued on, about a quarter of a mile, pulling into a circular driveway in front of a very large adobe house.
The car door beside him opened, and a man stood, silent and waiting. Preston exited the vehicle and spread his arms out slightly so this man, likely one of Mr. Ramos’ bodyguards, could verify that he’d come unarmed.
The six-inch sticker concealed in his boot meant he wasn’t completely helpless, but he’d just as soon keep that weapon a secret for the time being.
The guard finished patting him down, grunted, and stepped back. He gestured for him to enter the house. Inside, the long corridor had two more bodyguards, these ones armed with very big guns. One of them stepped forward, and Preston realized he was expected to follow him. It took all of his acting ability to continue to appear insouciant. Why hadn’t he listened to his mother and headed to Hollywood? He could act. Fuck, he likely could have had three times the money without any of the stress he had to endure now.
The guard led him to a cozy room, complete with wing back chairs and a welcoming fire burning in the hearth.
“Ah, Señor Rogers. Please, come in, sit down. Rico, please pour a glass of wine for our guest.”
“Señor Ramos, thank you for the honor of this meeting.”
Miguel Ramos appeared to be a man in his prime. Handsome, well dressed, well groomed, he was a man who could command attention even without the armed enforcers. Preston figured the guy had to be in his early sixties, but could pass for a couple of decades younger.
He thanked the servant for the glass of wine and took a very small sip. Beer was more his drink, but he was smart enough to understand the ceremony of the situation.
“Now, I am hoping that you have some good news for me?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” He could draw things out, or get to the point. He’d just as soon get back to his home turf as quickly as possible. “When my
