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  But when she shoved her sunglasses back into her tousled golden hair and squinted toward the back of the store, the recognition splashed over him like an icy shower. There she was, his first love, the woman who still haunted his dreams. Ali.

  He’d known it was going to happen. A day hadn’t passed in God knows how long when he hadn’t mentally rehearsed the conversation he needed to have with her. But all hopes of hunting her down for a civilized, private explanation were dashed as she appeared in front of him in the Valero.

  Alejandro’s breath caught as Ali reached for a bottle of wine on the top shelf, exposing a sliver of bare flesh as her shirt rode up in the stretch. He was aware of the cashier, a high school boy no older than he’d been when he last saw her, ogling her from his side of the counter. For a second he fought back the urge to grab the kid by the throat. She’s mine, you little punk.

  But that was ridiculous, of course. She hadn’t been his for a decade and never would be again. Alejandro had always known she’d marry one day—girls like her didn’t stay on the market long—but it had still crushed him to read the engagement announcement. His cousin Cristina had e-mailed him the smiling publicity photo of Ali with her golden-boy politician fiancé and single-handedly dashed any ridiculous secret fantasy he’d ever indulged about a reunion. That night he’d worked diligently to drink the image right out of his mind. It had taken him two days to recover from that particular bender, his mouth like straw and his head hammering relentlessly, only to have the image come back in spades. He’d stayed in bed, curtains drawn, as a maddening montage of the happy blond couple in both public and very private poses danced through his brain.

  And now here she was. Ali Owens, in the flesh.

  She headed for the line at the counter but stopped in her tracks when she saw him staring at her. He watched her eyes widen and her fingers clutch the neck of the bottle so hard they turned white. For one second he saw in her eyes what he’d seen the night he first kissed her, a brightening, an awareness. Half a plea and half a promise.

  Then just as quickly it was gone. She pursed her lips as her eyes traveled slowly over his face, taking in the shadowed jaw and scarred forehead, then moving lower to his club vest and his heavily tattooed arms. Her gaze stopped at the huge silver buckle on his belt and then flickered back to his own steady stare. Then she marched to the counter and stepped in front of him, plunking her bottle of wine ahead of his six-pack.

  “Excuse me sir,” she drawled coyly up at him. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She leaned close as if confiding a great secret and he saw the flecks of gold in her gray eyes, the ones he’d always tried and failed to count. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t want this purchase to take a decade.”

  To anyone else, she might have looked like a girl with too much sass and an urge to get her drink on using her feminine wiles to cut in line. But Alejandro noticed that her smile wobbled a bit and didn’t quite reach her eyes, which now bored into his with abject fury.

  Ali, lo siento… But the words died in his throat as she turned her back to him and thrust her credit card at the cashier. She had the bottle tucked into the crook of her arm and all but bolted out the door before he’d even opened his mouth. Lucky for him, she’d been too much of a lady to say out loud what her eyes conveyed: You son of a bitch.

  He fumbled for his wallet in stunned silence, his apology crawling back to its coward’s cave in his belly. Forget that as the VP of a 1% motorcycle club, he routinely faced down criminals at gunpoint and had business dealings with thugs so hardened they’d shoot their own mother for fifty bucks. Right now he was reduced to jelly by the fiery stare of a Texas rose. Her anger unsettled him, left him speechless and afraid to make the next move, and Alejandro Rojas was not a man who often found himself unsettled or speechless or afraid.

  He sighed and lifted his beer from the counter, craning his neck to see where she’d gone. He strode out, determined to track her down. He’d try to make things right between them once and for all, so that when his assignment in Arroyo Flats was complete he could be done with this hellhole once and for all. Outside the store, though, there was no trace of her. She’d disappeared from sight.

  Alejandro popped the case into his saddlebag and swung his leg over the bike. He still had a month in this godforsaken town, and it wouldn’t be the last chance he had to make amends. He just wished he hadn’t bumped into her like that, completely by accident, as if he’d never intended on going to see her. As if he hadn’t agonized over what he would say since the moment he received his assignment to go to Arroyo Flats.

  It was ridiculous how unsettled he felt. He’d been balls-deep in a drug-and alien-smuggling trade that meant a lifetime in prison if he was ever caught, and he barely broke a sweat when federal agents paid his shop surprise visits. The club hadn’t been in Arroyo Flats ten minutes before the local boys in blue had shown up with their version of a welcome wagon, and he and his brothers had rolled their eyes the entire time at the cops’ threats. He wasn’t easily fazed.

  But the thought of facing Ali for a long-overdue apology twisted him in knots. No big deal. You just need to go say a few words to a girl you used to know, that’s all. But Ali wasn’t just some girl he used to know, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself. The look in her eyes had echoed the cramping in his gut that told him exactly what a big deal it was. Now it was time to face what he’d avoided all this time and explain why he broke his promise ten summers ago.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Trembling in the front seat of her pickup, Ali steadied herself against the steering wheel, taking slow, deep breaths. She’d gotten the hell out of the Valero as fast as she could but immediately realized that driving while on the verge of a panic attack was a bad idea. She swung the truck around the corner and threw it into park, gasping for air.

  She’d been warned. Cristina had told her last week that Alejandro and the Padre Knights were headed to Arroyo Flats. She’d also made it clear that her cousin and his crew were into some serious criminal activity that Ali would be better off not even knowing about.

  At least her best friend had done her the courtesy of giving her that heads-up. Cristina broke all the rules of Latino family loyalty when it came to Ali. It was Cristina who’d apologized for Alejandro when he never called, who stayed with Ali while she cried herself sick after he’d gone on the road. It was Cristina’s words that had soothed her all those nights she came home from some boring date with a “good catch” and yearned for the only man who had ever made her feel alive. There’s someone better for you out there. Forget him, mamita.

  And Ali had tried, God knows she’d tried.

  “He’s my cousin and I love him, but don’t do it, Ali,” Cristina had warned her the other night on the phone when she’d casually mentioned getting in touch with Alejandro. “You don’t need Alejandro’s explanation or his apology. He can’t be anything to you now but a memory. You have Bobby now, and he loves you. Forget Alejandro.”

  Ali’s engagement to Bobby had brought an end to the years of bickering with her parents. Her mother and father were over the moon that she’d finally settled down with a guy from a good Texas family after her string of less-than-impressive suitors. With Bobby by her side, she was finally a daughter they could stop worrying about, a daughter to make them both proud. In her rational brain, Ali knew Cristina was right.

  Her rational brain, though, wasn’t responsible for the pounding in her chest or the tightness in her throat. She hadn’t been prepared to bump into Alejandro today. She hadn’t expected her body to react to his proximity when she edged past him in line. She hadn’t been prepared for the look in his eyes, the predatory hunger of a man who wanted to devour her whole. And she sure as hell hadn’t expected a freight train of anxiety to run her off the road and leave her gasping for breath behind a gas station on a Monday afternoon.

  Does his broken promise from ten years ago mean that much to you? Does it really matter if you never find out why he dropped out of touc
h? Alejandro was a beautiful summer fling after senior year, that’s all. Get a grip, girl.

  Ali quivered with hysterical laughter, her eyes damp. She had a flawless diamond on her left hand and was heading home to slip into a dress that cost a small fortune, all so she could be suitably impressive when she and Bobby dined with his father and some major campaign supporters. Her wedding was in less than three months. Yet here she was, parked behind a gas station trying to calm her nerves because she’d run into her summer love from ten years ago and made a fool of herself. It was beyond ridiculous.

  The Harley rumbled out of the parking lot. In the sunlight the reflection of Alejandro’s chrome seemed to wink at her mirror. Pull it together, Ali, she commanded herself, wiping her eyes and taking a steadying breath. She dropped her sunglasses back down onto her nose and drove in the opposite direction back to her ranch.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bobby reached for Ali’s hand under the table and she pretended not to notice, taking a sip of her wine instead as she smiled at something the man beside Bobby's father said. She had no idea what turn the conversation had taken, but she’d learned over the past year that her role was to look pretty and not say too much, so she kept the wine flowing and the smile plastered on her face. Across the table her future mother-in-law did the same, quietly sipping her gin and tonic, her pale eyes fixed on her husband as if whatever he was droning on and on about was the most fascinating thing in the world.

  “Excuse me,” Ali murmured quietly, discreetly placing her napkin on her chair and slipping away from the table. Bobby spared her a glance and she gave him a reassuring smile. It wasn’t like she was integral to the conversation. They probably wouldn’t even realize she was gone.

  In the ladies’ lounge she held a cool towel to her neck and stared at herself in the mirror. This is what it will be like for the rest of your life, she told her miserable-looking reflection. Boring dinners and expensive clothes and a husband who gets more and more like his father every day. Her stomach clenched and she took a few deep breaths though her nose. Can you really do this?

  It hadn’t always been this way. A popular state senator from a political family, Carmac Dawson had groomed his oldest son Kip from an early age. Kip’s political career was their father’s greatest priority, and Bobby had gone on to law school in relative obscurity from the public eye.

  When Bobby introduced himself the night they met, Ali was already quite familiar with his brother’s meteoric rise in local politics. Kip Dawson was something of a state hero—a young, dashing Republican candidate with solid family values and a strong southern pedigree. The Dawson name was to Texas what the Kennedy name was to Massachusetts, and Ali almost turned Bobby down because of it. She made it clear immediately that she hated the thought of public life, and he’d grinned as he told her there was no chance of that ever happening for him. She’d shocked herself by agreeing to a date. And then a second date.

  Bobby had surprised her by being far more down-to-earth and civic-minded than she had envisioned when they met. It was effortless to be attracted to his easy confidence, and when he told her on their fourth date that he planned to marry her, she laughed and was pleased that he took it not as an offense but as a challenge. Without much discussion, they eased into happy coupledom.

  She loved Bobby despite every attempt not to, and when she brought him home her parents instantly forgave all her past transgressions. Dating boys from the wrong side of the tracks, dropping away from high society, moving to the ranch Gran left her instead of selling the valuable land to one of her father’s wealthy developer friends—they were all swept under the rug in favor of her accomplishment. Even her work with the underprivileged children in their community—which they deemed liberal nonsense and a waste of her time—no longer came under fire at family dinners. Bobby’s presence in her life changed all that.

  The next year was the accident, and everything changed again. Kip had only been two years older than Bobby. His death had devastated his younger brother, who went from being the shadow son to the center of his parent’s universe in one terrible day. When they emerged from their shock and grief six months later, the elder Dawsons had a new agenda: to slide Bobby into Kip’s political path and continue building the dynasty.

  So what could Ali say to the man she loved when he looked at her with troubled eyes and told her he was going to run for office? When he wrapped his arms around her and whispered My father finally cares, this is so important to him, I have to do this—could she really remind him that she couldn’t live that life?

  The Bobby she’d fallen in love with had aspirations of a small law firm of his own. They’d envisioned a low-key life, eating dinner together every night and raising a couple of children. After the accident, small law firm aspirations became city council reality, and their quiet life became astonishingly public. Ali had been photographed more times in the past six months than she had ever been, especially after the engagement announcement, which had been carefully timed to coincide with a campaign press release.

  It all made her want to scream.

  “Ma'am?” The washroom attendant offered her another cool towel and Ali smiled gratefully. The older Latina had the tired eyes of a woman accustomed to serving others for a living, the same quiet pride she remembered in Alejandro’s mother, who cleaned houses to supplement her husband’s small business income. Ali should have felt fortunate that she would never have to worry about money and that her own children would go to college without aging herself prematurely through years of physical labor in the process. But somehow it felt wrong to celebrate a life she didn’t agree with and hadn’t chosen.

  I can’t do this. She sank onto the couch and choked back a sob. The towel shook in her trembling hands and she willed herself not to break down. There was no way she could go through with it, but the wedding was in less than three months. She couldn’t back out, not now. Just the thought of it squeezed the air from her lungs.

  I’ll just tell Bobby I want to postpone it till next year. I’ll say I need the time to get the program up and running so I can—

  But the excuses sounded ridiculous, even in her own head. She couldn’t postpone the wedding; it would have to be canceled. She would have to be honest with him.

  “Alaine?” She looked up as her future mother-in-law rounded the corner, her golden hair impeccably coiffed, her cream-colored dress as fresh-looking as the moment she’d put it on. Ali wished she had the kind of relationship with Cecile that allowed for honest conversation. Would it be different if she could confess her fears to the mother of the man she loved, a woman who knew too well the sacrifices of the life she was about to live?

  “Are you feeling unwell?” Cecile bent over Ali, looking into her eyes.

  “A bit run down is all.” A half-truth seemed the best approach, but Ali realized her mistake when the older woman straightened and frowned.

  “It’s been nearly twenty minutes,” Cecile chastised. “Bobby’s quite worried, and we can’t have him distracted from our guests. You can rest later this evening.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ali rose and the tired bathroom attendant materialized from wherever she’d discreetly tucked herself to take the held-out towel. Without sparing a glance in the woman’s direction, Cecile dropped a ten dollar bill in the glass bowl on the counter. Ali followed her out. When she looked back to smile at the attendant, she saw pity in the woman’s eyes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ali and Bobby had been at breakfast for forty minutes and Bobby had taken three phone calls. In between calls he’d tried to tell her about some weapons prevention initiative that Cormac had organized for him with the State’s Attorney’s office. He’d told her far less about the initiative itself than about the publicity that Carmac had arranged. He was in the middle of telling her about an appearance they were going to make at an elementary school when she suddenly realized she couldn’t do it, not for one second more.

  “I can’t do this.” She tried to set her fork d
own carefully, but her hands trembled so violently she dropped it, and it clattered into her plate loudly enough to get his attention.

  Bobby blinked at her, blank confusion all over his face. “Can’t do what, Sugar?”

  “This. The wedding. This life. I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “Where’s this coming from?”

  She shook her head.

  He covered her hand with his. “Do you need to talk to someone?”

  She shook her head again. “Not someone. I need to talk to you.”

  “Well, okay…” He still looked baffled. “Let’s talk, then.”

  “This isn’t what I wanted. Politics. You know that, right?”

  Reluctantly he replied, “Yes, I know. But you’ve been great about it.”

  “This isn’t the life I planned. I know it’s not the life you planned, either, but you seem to be okay with heading in that direction. And I’m just not. I want to keep my ranch. I want to still teach, and I never want to attend another political function again as long as I live.” There, I said it. I can’t believe I said it.