A Bravo Homecoming by Christine Rimmer

out for a beer. Not the same at all.
    They spoke of his family. Of his brothers and sisters, their wives and husbands and also their kids. About how much his dad had changed in the past couple of years.
    “He used to be a real hardass, my father,” Travis said.
    She took a slow, thoughtful sip of her wine. “I remember. You always used to roll your eyes a lot when you talked about him. You said your grandfather, James, was a tough guy, real mean. That he drove all his other sons away. Only your dad refused to go. He stuck it out.”
    Travis nodded. “And inherited everything when Grandpa died. Because no one chases Davis Bravo away or denies him what’s his by birthright.” He leaned closer. “Your eyes…”
    She blinked and then gave a nervous chuckle. “Uh, yeah. I have two.”
    “No, I’m serious, Sam. Your eyes are amazing.” At his praise, she felt a warm glow all through her. And he wasn’t finished. “The way they tip up at the corners—and the color. Just a gorgeous blue. So bright. Are you wearing contacts, is that it?”
    “Nope. But I did get some help from the excellent cosmetician at the hotel.” She sat back in her chair. “You know, I could really get used to all this flattery.”
    “Uh-uh.” He frowned. “It’s not flattery, it’s…” He glanced away. He seemed almost embarrassed. “I’m having a little trouble getting used to the new you.” And then he looked at her again and grinned. “But I’m dealing. I’m working with it. And the view from my side of the table is spectacular.”
    She sat forward, too. “Thank you. I mean that—and now back to your dad. You were saying he’s changed….”
    “Yeah. He’s…more patient than he used to be. Not so overbearing. Not so sure he’s got all the answers before anyone even asks the question. More willing to admit that he’s not always right. He’s mellowed, I guess you could say. And that makes him a lot easier to get along with.”
    “I think I’m going to like him.”
    “I think you will, too.”
    “And your mother?”
    He shrugged. “Other than the relentless matchmaking, she’s a great person. Always there for her kids. All nine of us. She was born a Randall, which is a big name in San Antonio, and she’s involved in all the upscale social stuff. Charity work, the country club. But even with all that, she’s pretty down-to-earth. Not a snob, not in any way.”
    “Good. Because I have been thinking, Travis.”
    Twin lines formed between his dark brows. “You sound way too serious.” His fine mouth flattened out. “You’re backing out of the whole thing, right?”
    “No.”
    His expression relaxed. “Whew.”
    She set down her fork. “But I don’t want to pretend I’m someone I’m not.”
    His dark eyes grew darker. “Did I ask you to be someone else?”
    “No. No, you didn’t. But I…” She put her hands to her cheeks—and was surprised all over again at how soft and smooth her skin felt. Not really like her cheeks and hands at all. “I just mean that beyond the basic lie we agreed on, beyond my pretending to be your fiancée, and also beyond the new clothes and the new look and everything Jonathan taught me about how to…behave in social situations—beyond all that, I still want to be the same Sam Jaworski I was before I walked into the Four Seasons Hotel last Monday morning.”
    “That works for me. It’s not a problem.”
    “Let me finish.” She put her hands in her lap, laced her fingers together. Because Jonathan had taught her not to rest her elbows on the table until she was done with the meal. “I want my own history,” she said. “I want my crazy dad who loves me and raised me after my mom left us, my dad who’s retired now, riding around the USA in his Winnebago Adventurer with his new girlfriend, Keisha, who just happens to be four years younger than I am. I want to be the girl who came from a run-down ranch in South Dakota, the one who’s just spent five weeks straight on the