The Texan's Royal M.D.. Merline Lovelace

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ out his hand. “How’re you doing, Mike?”

      “I’m good,” he replied, obviously as surprised as Dev to find a familiar face at this family gathering. “You’re related to Zia?”

      “She and my wife, Sarah, are cousins.”

      “Five or six times removed,” Zia added with a smile.

      “The degree doesn’t matter,” Sarah protested. “Not among the St. Sebastians.” She aimed a quizzical glance at her husband. “How do you two know each other?”

      “Mike here is president and CEO of Global Shipping Incorporated, the third largest cargo container fleet in the US,” Dev explained. “We contract for, what? Eight or nine million a year in long-haul shipping with GSI?”

      “Closer to ten,” Brennan responded.

      Zia listened to the exchange in some surprise. In the space of just a few moments her sun-bronzed beach hottie had morphed to cool cowboy dude and now to corporate exec. She was still trying to adjust to the swift transitions when Dev threw in another zinger.

      “And now that I think about it, doesn’t your corporation own this resort? Along with another dozen or so commercial and industrial facilities in the greater Houston area?”

      “We do.”

      “I’m guessing that’s why we got such a good deal on the lease for this condo.”

      “We try to take care of our valued customers,” Brennan acknowledged with a grin.

      “Which we certainly appreciate.”

      Devon’s positive endorsement might have carried some weight with outsiders. The two other males on the terrace preferred to form their own opinions, however. Skilled diplomat that he was, Gina’s husband, Jack, hid his private assessment behind a cordial nod and handshake. Dominic was less reserved.

      “Zia told us your young nephew almost drowned this morning,” her brother said, his dark eyes cool. “Pretty careless of your family to let him go down to the beach alone, wasn’t it?”

      Brennan didn’t try to dodge the bullet. A ripple of remembered terror seemed to cross his face as he nodded. “Yes, it was.”

      Aiming a behave-yourself glance at her brother, Zia introduced her guest to Gina, Maria and Natalie, who kept a firm hand on the collar of the lean, quivering hound eager to sniff out the new arrival. The twins regarded him from the safety of their mother’s knee, but Brennan won giggles from both girls by hunkering down to their level and asking solemnly if that was a tree sprouting from Charlotte’s head.

      A giggling Amalia answered for her sister. “No, thilly. Those are antlers.”

      “Oh! I get it. She’s one of Santa’s reindeer.”

      “Yes,” Charlotte confirmed as she held up two fingers, “and Santa’s coming to Texas in this many days!”

      “Wow, just two days, huh?”

      “Yes, ’n it’s our birthday, too!” She uncurled another finger. “We’re going to be this many years.”

      “Sounds like you’ve got some busy days ahead. You guys better be good so you’ll get lots of presents.”

      “We will!”

      With that ringing promise producing wry smiles all around, Zia led Mike to the snowy-haired woman ensconced in a fan-backed rattan chair. He swept off his hat as Zia made the introduction.

      “This is my great-aunt, Charlotte St. Sebastian, Grand Duchess of Karlenburgh.”

      Charlotte held out a blue-veined hand. Mike took it in a gentle grip and held it for a moment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Duchess. And now I know why Zia’s last name seemed so familiar. Wasn’t there something in the papers a couple of years ago about your family recovering a long-lost painting by Caravaggio?”

      “Canaletto,” the duchess corrected.

      Her eyelids lowered and her expression turned intensely private, as it always did when talk drifted to the Venetian landscape her husband had given her when she’d become pregnant with their first and only child.

      “Would you care for an aperitif?” she asked, emerging from her brief reverie. “We can offer you whatever you wish. Or,” she added blandly, “a taste of one of the finest brandies ever to come out of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”

      “Say no and make a polite escape,” Gina warned. “Pálinka is not for the faint of heart.”

      “I’ve been accused of a lot of things,” Brennan responded with a crooked grin. “Being faint of heart isn’t one of them.”

      Sarah and Gina exchanged quick, amused glances. Downing a swig of the fruity, throat-searing brandy produced only in Hungary had become something of a rite of passage for men introduced into the St. Sebastian clan. Dev and Jack had passed the test but claimed they still bore the scorch marks on their vocal chords.

      “Don’t say you weren’t warned,” Zia murmured after she’d splashed some of the amber liquid into a cut-crystal snifter.

      Mike accepted the snifter with a smile. His dad and grandfather had both been hardworking, hard-living longshoremen who’d worked the Houston docks all their lives. Mike and his two brothers had skipped school more times than they could count to hang around the waterfront with them. They’d also worked holidays and summers as casuals, lashing cargo containers or spending long, backbreaking hours shoveling cargo into the holds of cavernous bulk carriers. All three Brennan sons had been offered a coveted slot in the International Longshore and Warehouse Union after they’d graduated from college. Colin and Sean had joined, but Mike had opted for a hitch in the navy instead, then used his savings and a hefty bank loan to buy his first ship—a rusty old tub that made milk runs to Central America. Twelve years and a fleet of oceangoing oil tankers and container vessels later, he could still swear and drink with the best of them.

      So he tossed back a swallow of the brandy with absolute certainty that it couldn’t pack half the kick of the corrosive rotgut he’d downed in and out of the navy. He knew he was wrong the instant it hit the back of his throat. He managed not to choke, but his eyes leaked like an old bucket and he had to suck air big-time though his nostrils.

      “Wow!” Blinking and breathing fire, he gave the brandy a look of profound respect. “What did you say this is?” he asked the duchess between quick gasps.

       “Pálinka.”

      “And it comes from Austria?”

      “From Hungary, actually.”

      “Anyone ever tried to convert it to fuel? One gallon of this stuff could propel a turbocharged two-stroke diesel engine.”

      The smile that came into the duchess’s faded blue eyes told Mike he’d survived his initial trial by fire. He wasn’t ashamed to grab a ready-made excuse to dodge another test.

      “I’ve made reservations at a restaurant just a couple of blocks from here,” he told her. “Would you like to join us for dinner?” He turned to СКАЧАТЬ