Still, there was someone I depended on all those years ago.

  Someone I rarely let myself think about.

  “Dad!” I yell, barreling into my father’s home office.

  To my surprise, my father’s not sitting behind his giant desk. Instead, I find a young man with sandy-brown hair and blue eyes a lot like my own. He’s wearing jeans, and on his right ring finger is a ring with a turquoise stone and in his left ear a single silver earring in the shape of a star.

  “I can’t find my mom,” I say. “Where’s my dad?”

  The man rises from Dad’s chair. “He’s out on the north quadrant today, I think. Checking on some livestock. My name’s Ted. I’m your father’s new assistant.”

  He comes around and holds out his hand to me and then drops his gaze to my knee, which is throbbing.

  “Hey, little fellow, what have you done there?”

  I’m nearly twelve years old. I don’t really appreciate being called little fellow. But whatever.

  “I just need some Bactine and a bandage,” I say. “I couldn’t find any in the linen closet.”

  “Let me help you out with that.” He reaches into my father’s bottom drawer and pulls out a first-aid kit. “How’d that happen anyway?”

  I frown. “I was trying to hang out with Falcon and his friends. They rode off on their bikes, and I tried to catch up. But I ran over a rock and flipped headfirst over my handlebars.”

  Ted chuckles. “Then you’re lucky you only skinned a knee, partner.”

  Partner.

  I like the sound of that. Dad calls Falcon partner all the time, but he never calls me partner. I’m always Hawk or Blue, for my eyes.

  “Were they too fast for you?” Ted asks.

  “No, I can ride as fast as they can. But they left without me, and I was trying to catch up.”

  “I see.” He cracks a grin. “The big brother blues.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ted nods to the family portrait on the wall.

  Mom and Dad are sitting front and center, and Falcon, the oldest, stands behind them right in the center—the place of honor.

  Robin and Raven on either side of him, and Eagle stands next to Mom, while I stand next to Dad.

  “Middle brother. I get it.”

  “You’re a middle brother too?”

  “Yep, right between Hank and George. Hank was always going off doing stuff without me, and George was the baby, always wanting me to play something stupid with him.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He leads me out the door and down the hall to the powder room. “Let’s fix that knee.”

  I don’t need anyone helping me fix my knee. It’s certainly not the first scraped knee I’ve had, and it won’t be the last. I’m not a baby, after all. I know how to wash my wound, apply some Bactine, and then a bandage.

  But for some reason, I let Ted help me.

  It feels good to be taken care of.

  “So your big brother leaves you out?” Ted says.

  I sigh. “Yeah. All the time. He’s three years older than I am, and Eagle three years younger. Then there’s the girls, who are two years older than I am, but Raven is so girly. Robin can be fun now and then, but she’d rather be hanging out with Falcon and his friends, too. Flirting and everything.”

  “So that makes her what? Around fourteen?”

  “Yeah, fourteen in a couple months. Her and Raven both.”

  Ted wets a washcloth in the sink and carefully applies it to my scraped knee. The washcloth is warm, and his touch is gentle. Gentler than I would’ve been.

  “Doesn’t look too bad,” he says. “It’ll scab over and heal up in no time. Just in time for you to scrape the other one.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  He takes the Bactine out, puts some on a cotton ball, and rubs it gently on the open wound before putting on a bandage. “There you go. The Bactine has an anesthetic in it that will numb the pain pretty soon.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “Tell you what. I don’t have a lot more to do today. How about you and I hang out together for the rest of the day?”

  “Doing what?” Last thing I want to do is hang out in my father’s office and watch him work on the computer.

  “Do you like games?” Ted asks.

  “Sure. Who doesn’t?”

  “Video games, I bet,” he says.

  “Oh yeah, love them. We have a Nintendo, but Falcon is usually hogging it playing Mario Kart. But even when I do get my turn, Mom doesn’t let us have a lot of screen time.”

  “Your mom’s a smart woman. Those things numb your brain.” He clasps his hands together. “I’ll teach you to play a real game. How about Monopoly?”

  “We have it, but it takes too long. We never finish the game.”

  He smirks. “I can take care of that. Or we could play Scrabble.”

  “I don’t think we have that one.”

  “I never travel without Scrabble,” Ted says. “I’ll go get it out of my truck. You stay here in your dad’s office, and I’ll be right back.”

  10

  DANIELA

  Belinda and I arrive at the huge Bellamy ranch house right behind Vinnie and Raven.

  I park my car and Belinda and I get out, following Vinnie and Raven inside. Hawk hasn’t arrived yet, and a sliver of sadness sweeps through me. His other brother, Eagle, is playing on his phone in the corner.

  I’m sure he’ll be along any second.

  Belinda tugs on my hand. “What am I supposed to do? There aren’t any kids my age here.”

  “Why don’t you hang out in the kitchen with me?” I offer.

  She purses her lips, shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Well…I guess I could.”

  “Or… I can ask Raven to put a movie on one of the TVs in one of the bedrooms for you. We all understand if you need some alone time.”

  She smiles. “Yeah, actually I would like that.”

  “Perfect.” We walk over to Vinnie and Raven. “Raven?”

  She turns to me. “Yeah, what is it Daniela?”

  “I guess I’ll be helping your mom in the kitchen, and Belinda was wondering if she could watch a movie in one of the bedrooms.”

  Raven brushes a strand of hair from Belinda’s face. “Of course you can, Bee. Or you can hang out here with Vinnie and me. I can get you an Orange Crush.”

  Belinda smiles. “If you want me to.”

  Raven grins. “But you’d rather watch a movie, wouldn’t you?”

  Belinda nods shyly.

  “That’s okay,” Vinnie says. “A movie it will be.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Vinnie,” Raven escorts Belinda down one of the hallways and into a bedroom.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Vinnie asks me.

  “You know I love to cook.” I swallow. “I just don’t know if I’ll be up to Raven’s mom’s standards.”

  “Star’s a good woman,” Vinnie says. “I know she can come on kind of strong at times, but she loves her family. And she wants to do this for Raven.”

  “And you,” I remind him.

  He chuckles. “Yeah, but especially for Raven. After getting through her cancer treatment and all. It’s just as much a celebration of that, and also of Austin waking up.”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “So go ahead and join her in the kitchen,” Vinnie says. “Or if you don’t want to, just tell me. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “No, I’d like to be useful, Vinnie.”

  He gestures me toward the kitchen. “Go on in then. There’s no reason to be shy around this family. Savannah and I learned that right away.”

  “Speak of the devil,” I say.

  Falcon and Savannah walk in.

  Savannah grins. “You two talking about us?”

  “All good things, I promise,” Vinnie says.

  “I’m sure.” She pats Vinnie on the shoulder before turning to me. “Do you and Star need any help with dinner?”

  “Since I have no idea what she’s planning to serve, sure,” I say.

  “Come on then.” Savannah grabs my arm, turns to Vinnie. “Do you think Raven would like to join us as well?”

  Vinnie is about to answer, but then his phone dings. He reaches into his pocket, looks at the text, and widen his eyes. “Actually… I need to talk to her about something.” He looks around the house. “Which way did she take Belinda?”

  Eagle gets to his feet. “She probably took her to the guest room. I’ll show you. I have to take a piss anyway.”

  Eagle escorts Vinnie away, and I turn to Savannah. “What was that about?”

  She shrugs. “There’s a lot I’m still learning about my brother, and…a lot I don’t want to learn.” She shakes her head. “But I guess it’s just you and me tonight, sis.” She winks at me, digs her elbow into my ribs gently.

  I fake a laugh—if only Savannah knew how much this marriage business troubles me, she wouldn’t be making a joke of it—and we walk into the kitchen.

  The kitchen is enormous—ridiculous, really. Much larger than the kitchen I grew up with, which was huge. The ceilings stretch high above me, beams of dark wood crossing overhead like something out of a hunting lodge. Warm light from iron chandeliers lights up the polished stone countertops that seem to go on forever.

  I almost feel like I should be wearing sunglasses. The appliances are top-of-the-line with touchscreens and buttons I’m almost afraid to press. The island in the center is massive and appears to be carved from a single slab of veined marble. It’s surrounded by leather-backed stools with rivets along the sides, like something pulled from an old saloon.

  I take a deep breath in. The kitchen smells faintly of cinnamon and cedar.

  For a second, I let myself imagine what it might feel like to belong in a kitchen like this.

  “There you are!” Star approaches Savannah and me and gives us each a hug. “Are you going to help too, Savannah?”

  “I’d love to if there’s room for me.”

  Star laughs and gestures around her vast kitchen. “I think we can find a corner for you.” She turns to me. “So, Daniela, what are some of your specialties?”

  “I make a pretty decent empanada,” I say.

  She snaps her fingers. “That sounds perfect. My entire family loves Mexican food. Although I’m sure you’re talking about Colombian empanadas.”

  I blink. “I am.”

  “Why don’t we combine Mexican and Colombian cuisines tonight?” Star says. “I think that will be delicious, and everyone will love it.”

  “I probably won’t be a lot of help on that front,” Savannah says.

  “Don’t be silly,” Star says. “We’re happy to put you to work. This will be a crash course on Mexican and Colombian cuisine.”

  “I’ve had your Mexican before, Star,” Savannah says. “And it’s top-notch. Better than I’ve had in any Mexican restaurant.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Star says, “because we do have some excellent Mexican restaurants here in Texas. But I’m partial to my family recipes as well.”

  “I have an idea,” I suggest.

  “Well, speak up then,” Star says, smiling.

  “How about bandeja paisa?”

  “What’s that?” Savannah asks.

  “It’s a traditional Colombian platter featuring pork, red beans, white rice, ground beef, fried egg, plantains, and an arepa.”

  Star crosses her arms. “I don’t have any ground beef, which I know is ridiculous for a Mexican woman. But…” She snaps her fingers. “I do have some carne asada marinating in the fridge. We can use that plate to replace the ground beef. And we can replace the red beans with Mexican frijoles. I can whip those up in a heartbeat. They’re slow-cooked beans with bacon, chorizo, and tomatoes.”

  “I have to admit that sounds delicious,” I tell her.

  “We can serve it with avocado slices and homemade flour tortillas instead of the arepa. And I’ll whip up some esquites—Mexican street corn—which can replace the rice. We’ll keep the plantains, pork, and fried egg from the original recipe, since I have plenty of those ingredients on hand.” She grins. “We could call it bandeja norteña, since it has lots of elements of Mexico, which is north of Colombia.”

  “There is one thing I know how to make that fits with the cuisine,” Savannah says.

  “What’s that, dear?” Star asks.

  “Tres leches cake. I make a mean one.”

  An idea pops into my head—one that I think will pull the Mexican-Colombian thing together. I swallow. Should I say it?

  “I have an idea,” I finally admit.

  “What’s that?” Savannah asks.

  “We can infuse the milk with Colombian coffee. Another way to incorporate both cuisines.”

  “You are a chef in the making,” Star says. “All right, ladies. Let’s get started.”

  Within five minutes, the kitchen smells like heaven.

  I’m elbow-deep in spices, browning carne asada in a cast iron skillet that looks like it’s older than I am.

  “This smells sinful,” Star calls out, a wine glass in one hand and a dishtowel slung over her shoulder. “You sure this isn’t illegal in at least three states?”

  I laugh. “Don’t report me, but I’m cheating on tradition.”

  Star leans over the pot, takes a deep sniff, and fans herself. “Mmm. It’s going to be perfect.”

  Savannah walks in from the pantry with an armful of ripe avocados. “I think I’m already a fan of this Mexican-Colombian fusion. It smells delish.”

  Savannah slices the avocados and arranges them on a white platter. Star adds fried eggs to a warm plate.

  “I need to start the dessert,” Savannah says, “so it’ll be ready on time.”

  “Yes, you leave the rest of dinner to Daniela and me,” Star says. “We’ve got it under control.”

  “Okay,” I say, wiping my hands and stepping back to admire the chaos. “Time to plate this.”

  Star raises her glass in a toast. “To beautiful women in beautiful kitchens…committing beautiful crimes against tradition.” Then she grabs a mixing bowl. “Time to teach you what corn wants to be when it grows up.”

  She’s already roasted the corn—smoky, golden kernels with just the right char. Now she’s scraping them off the cob.

  “Watch and learn,” she says, tossing the corn into the bowl. “First rule of esquites—don’t you dare skimp on the mayo.”

  She starts mixing in the mayonnaise, sour cream, and crumbled cotija. A sprinkle of chili powder. A dash of tajín. Then chopped cilantro.

  I can’t stop smiling. I could learn a lot from Star.

  She squeezes in fresh lime juice, and then she dips a spoon in and holds it out to me. “Taste this and tell me you’re not ready to marry a bowl of corn.”

  I take the bite. Tangy, creamy, smoky, with just the right kick of heat.

  “Wow,” I say.

  Star laughs, scooping the salad into a shallow dish and dusting the top with more cotija and lime zest.

  “Ladies,” she says, “this is street food dressed for a party.”

  She’s not wrong. The whole thing looks like summer and smells like temptation.

  Star claps her hands. “All right, Savannah. Do you need help with dessert?”

  “The cakes are cooling,” Savannah says. “I’m going to make the milk now.” She pours sweetened condensed milk into a saucepan. “I love your coffee idea, Daniela. That’s so creative!”

  She adds evaporated milk and heavy cream to the pot, stirring slowly. Then she reaches for dark Colombian coffee that I brewed. The scent hits instantly—rich and roasted, sharp enough to cut through the sweetness of the milk.

  Savannah leans over the pot and inhales. “Mmm. That’s tres leches with a caffeine addiction.”

  Once the coffee-milk mix is warm and blended, Savannah pokes holes all over the cake and pours it over the top, letting the sponge drink it in.

  I wipe my hands on my apron.

  “All right,” Star says. “Let’s serve this up and call those hungry men and women in for dinner.”

  11

  HAWK

  Seems strange sitting down at our large dining room without Dad here.

  His spot at the head of the table is empty.

  I stand by it, my hand on the back of the chair, waiting to see where everyone else ends up before I take my place.

  But before I can, my mother whisks past me. “That’s your father’s chair, Hawk.”

  I resist rolling my eyes. Of course it’s my father’s chair. I wasn’t expecting to sit here.

  I can’t help but wonder, though, if Falcon or Eagle would get the same attitude from her if one of them tried to sit here.

  I’m just standing here as I wait for everyone else to take their seats.

  We have Vinnie here plus Daniela and Belinda, and I want them to find spots where they want to sit. If one of them ends up in my normal spot, so be it. I’ll take a different one.

  I want to tell my mother all of this, but I don’t. I stay silent to keep the peace. To do otherwise would ruin what is supposed to be a celebration for Raven and Vinnie.

  I simply nod and say, “I know. I’m just waiting for everyone to get settled.”

  Falcon finds his normal spot, and Savannah sits next to him. Eagle finds his usual place as well.

  Daniela and Belinda take seats as directed by my mother.

  Once everyone is seated, the only open seat—other than my father’s—is next to Eagle.

  Great.

  With no staff here tonight, we pass the dishes like a regular family. It’s nice actually. It helps that all the men in our family—even Eagle, who used to be a skinny little slip of a thing—have strong, toned arms to maneuver the heavy platters around the table.

  “Daniela and I got a little creative in the kitchen tonight,” Mom says. “She suggested a variation of a Colombian favorite, bandeja paisa, incorporating some elements of Mexican cuisine. So we created bandeja norteña.” She takes her seat. “Buen provecho!”

  I take the first bite and have to close my eyes.

 

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