Sweet Stallion

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  “So was I,” Patrick said, curiosity seeping from his eyes.

  Naomi felt her knees begin to shake as she eyed the short, bald man with reservation. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you,” she said, taking a step toward Patrick.

  The man smiled. “I’m with the car service. Someone is headed to the airport?”

  Noah slapped his hand against his forehead. “My bad. He’s my date!”

  The three men laughed heartily as Naomi tossed her brother a chilly look.

  “It was good to see you again, Patrick,” Noah said. “You two have a great time!” The two men shook hands.

  “Safe travels,” Patrick responded. “And enjoy your trip.”

  “Thank you. I will,” he answered. “Going home to see my wife!” He moved to his sister’s side and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call to check on you tomorrow,” he said. “And please have yourself some fun!”

  Naomi nodded. “Love you, too! And kiss Cat for me.”

  The bald man gave Naomi a slight wave as he turned to follow Noah out the door, grabbing the luggage that rested in wait. When the door slammed behind them Patrick and Naomi stood face-to-face, suddenly self-conscious about being alone together.

  “Hi,” he said softly, his dark eyes brightening with his smile. “You look stunning!”

  “Thank you,” Naomi said. “You look pretty good yourself!”

  And he did. Patrick had changed into a white linen suit, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck and black leather loafers. A fresh shave complemented his warm, freckled complexion and the meticulously trimmed goatee that adorned his face. The casual attire was classic and befitting to his personality.

  He grinned. “Thank you.” He tossed a look over his shoulder. “Your brother is quite the comedian.”

  “My brother is a master of bad jokes.”

  “I like him. And since I know I have to pass his approval, I hope he and I get to know each other well.”

  She laughed. “Wait until you meet the rest of the family!”

  “That is my plan,” he said, the slightest hint of arrogance in his tone. “And this is Noah’s home?”

  Naomi nodded. “It’s actually become the family home since our mother died, but yeah, it’s Noah’s. He and his wife spend most of their time in New York, though. She owns Fly High Dot Com, an airline leasing company, so they’re both back and forth. He is head of the company’s security, or something like that.”

  “Wow! That’s impressive. So, how many more of you are there?”

  She shook her head. “There are five of us. Noah’s the oldest, then me. The twins are a year younger than I am and we have a baby sister.” She pointed to a family portrait that rested on an end table. The five siblings stood in formal regalia, joy shining in their faces. The picture had been taken a few months ago, when her brother Nicholas had gotten engaged to his wife, Dr. Tarah Boudreaux. The event had been a ceremony to honor Tarah’s accomplishments in neurosurgery. It was one of the first family photos they’d taken after Naomi’s brother had been injured in a football game and confined to a wheelchair.

  Patrick lifted the framed image from its resting spot. “Hey, that’s Nicholas Stallion, the quarterback for Los Angeles. That last game of his was amazing! We hated to see it end his career. So, he’s your brother, too?”

  She smiled. “Yeah, and that’s his twin, Nathaniel. He’s a doctor. My sister, Natalie, is a fashion model and designer. She and her husband live abroad.”

  “You’re a beautiful family.”

  “Thank you. Do you have siblings?”

  “Unfortunately, I am an only child.”

  “So, you grew up spoiled and rotten.”

  Patrick laughed. “Hardly. I was raised in a home with six cousins and a lot of extended family. Hard to be spoiled and rotten under those conditions.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Born and raised in Miami.”

  “That’s where your family is from?”

  Patrick shook his head. “My mother. My father and his family immigrated from Cuba and settled in Miami.”

  “You have Latin roots!”

  “I do. I also have African American roots from my mother’s side, with deep ties to the swamplands of Louisiana. I’m just a mixed bag of goodies!”

  Naomi laughed. “Clearly! O’Brien is Irish, isn’t it?”

  He laughed with her. “It is.”

  “You know you’ll have to explain that, right?”

  “What about dinner?”

  “We’re still going, but I want to know how a goody bag of Cajun and Cuban from Miami got an Irish name. You have to enlighten me!”

  “So, the short version...” He chuckled softly. “Pedro Lopez married an exquisite woman named Mariposa Fernandez and they had a daughter they named Alejandra. Alejandra fell in love with a reporter named Jack O’Brien, who’d come to Cuba to cover the rise of the Castro regime. Jack fell in love with Alejandra and married her. He also fell in love with Cuba and embraced everything about the culture. Life was good and they eventually had a son that they named Alvaro Lopez O’Brien. When tensions in the country became too much to bear under the strict reign, Jack moved his wife and her entire family to Miami. Alvaro grew up to be this strapping, handsome young man. He was a musician and played drums for a Cuban band. One day he met the most beautiful woman, Zora Hayes. She was an amazing jazz and blues singer with the voice of an angel. He fell head over heels in love with her, but she would have nothing to do with him. He chased her for years, and then one day, in awe at his persistence, she gave him a kiss.”

  Patrick held up his index finger. “One kiss. Days later Zora Hayes became Zora O’Brien, and they had one son—Patrick Alvarez y Fernandez O’Brien. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Wow!” Naomi exclaimed. “What a beautiful story.”

  “Definitely one for the romance books.”

  “And I can just imagine the food you grew up on!” Naomi said.

  He laughed. “I miss the food! I seriously miss the food. Do you like Cuban food?”

  “I used to love it but I don’t eat it anymore. I’m a vegetarian and I’ve actually begun transitioning to a raw food diet.”

  His eyes widened. “What’s a raw food diet?”

  “It consists of fresh, whole, unrefined, living, plant-based foods. So, I eat a lot of fruits, vegetables, some nuts and seeds and lots of leafy greens. Everything is consumed in its natural state, without cooking or steaming. I’m still transitioning, though. Not quite all the way there yet. But I hope to be fully raw and organic by the end of the year.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “It’s a very good thing.” She giggled softly. “I’m a holistic life coach, and organic health care is very important to me. I teach people to live a healthy, happy, productive life, to thrive in their physical health and enjoy their emotional well-being in all their endeavors. The body is very important and what you put into it significantly impacts how well it functions. I can’t teach what I don’t actively practice myself.”

  “So, that steak house I was planning to take you to might be a problem?”

  Naomi laughed. “I have yet to find a restaurant that didn’t have some sort of salad I could eat. We can go wherever you’d like.”

  “But I want you to enjoy yourself. I want to make sure I can get a second date.”

  There was a moment’s pause as they stared at each other in delight. Genuine joy billowed back and forth between them. His easygoing nature had eased her anxiety. She had grown comfortable with him and she liked how that felt.

  “Let’s make sure you don’t crash and burn on the first date, Mr. O’Brien.”

  He reached for her hand, entwining her fingers between his own as they moved to the door. “No wor
ries there, Ms. Stallion. None at all!”

  Chapter 5

  Patrick was a hand-holder and a hugger. Public displays of affection were second nature to him and he thought nothing of pressing a heated palm to the small of her back or trailing his fingers against her arm. And he held her hand. He held it as they walked to and from his car. He held it in the entrance of the restaurant he’d chosen, never letting go until he’d pulled the chair out for her to take a seat. Even during their dinner, he didn’t think twice about reaching for her hand across the table to caress the length of her fingers. It wasn’t the kind of affection Naomi was accustomed to, but she instinctively knew she could easily get used to it.

  “So how did you come up with the name Norris for your farm?” Patrick asked as he lifted a forkful of kale salad to his mouth.

  “Norris was my mother’s name. Norris Jean Stallion.”

  “Now, that’s interesting.”

  “Apparently, it was an old family name, but we didn’t discover that until after she passed. That’s when we found out we actually had relatives,” she said, a hint of attitude rising in her tone.

  Patrick swiped at his mouth with the cloth napkin that rested in his lap. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing to say, really. Norris Jean wasn’t your average mother. Don’t get me wrong, she loved us immensely, but she really wasn’t the maternal type.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, as he suddenly thought about his own mother. They talked daily and she was everything to him. Everything about Zora O’Brien was maternal to the nth degree. Listening to Naomi talk about her own mom made him a little sad, knowing all that she had missed out on.

  “So, none of you ever called her Mom? Or Mother? Ever?”

  Naomi shook her head. She shifted back in her seat. “No. She was always Norris Jean. She never corrected us and we didn’t grow up knowing any better. It’s just what it was.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Norris Jean sacrificed everything for us. She worked two, sometimes three jobs to take care of us, and she was always encouraging us to do and be better. Being a mother was just a harder task than she’d been able to bear. Our father’s rejection broke her heart, and it was a hurt so devastating that she couldn’t bounce back from it. She loved us, but I realized once we started to leave home, living our own lives, that loving us from afar was much easier for her.”

  Patrick shook his head, empathy filling his gaze. “And you didn’t know your father?”

  “Oh, we knew him. He just refused to have anything to do with us.”

  “Excuse my French, but what kind of bastard doesn’t take care of his kids?”

  There was a moment of hesitation as Naomi pondered his question. She reached for her wineglass and took a sip before she answered, “The kind of bastard you work for. That’s what kind.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Naomi locked gazes with him. “Nolan Perry is my biological father,” she said softly. “My mother was his mistress.”

  Shock and surprise drained the color from Patrick’s face. He looked as if he’d been slapped broadside. His mind was racing and she could see the wheels turning as he struggled to find words to respond. He reached for his own drink and gulped a sip, then his gaze drifted back to hers.

  “Nolan. Nolan Perry?”

  Naomi nodded. “Yes. And he has never acknowledged me or any of my siblings. Ever.”

  “Does he know?”

  “He knows.”

  Patrick’s head was still moving from side to side. “Is that why you seemed upset at the auction, when he was standing there with you and your brother?”

  “That was the very first time we have ever been in the same room together since I was maybe...three or four years old. It was not a happy family reunion.”

  “Damn! Garrison never ever said anything.”

  “I don’t think he knows. I don’t believe Nolan wanted his congregation or his family to ever know about his black mistress and children. He knew it would destroy his image and maybe break up his happy family.”

  Patrick was still trying to take it all in. He couldn’t begin to imagine the hurt that Naomi and her brothers and sister had been made to endure. He suddenly wanted to hit something. Punching Nolan would have made him feel better. He clenched and unclenched his fists to stall the anger he felt rising.

  Naomi pushed at her food with her fork. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

  “No. You have nothing to apologize for. I appreciate you sharing that with me,” he said, as he reached out to clasp her hand.

  She smiled, enjoying the sensation of his palm against the back of her fingers. A wave of heat trickled through every nerve ending, warming her nicely. “How long have you worked for them?” she asked, hoping to sway the sensations sweeping through her.

  He gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “A few years now. Garrison and I went to college together, and after I graduated from law school his father offered me a job. I’ve been with them ever since and it’s been great. Garrison’s my best friend and we’ve had a blast learning from his dad and growing the business together.”

  Naomi wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that, so an awkward pause settled between them. She hadn’t anticipated him revealing that he was best friends with the half brother who’d been loved by their father more than her and her family. She was suddenly questioning if it had been a mistake to tell Patrick about her parentage. She shoveled the last forkful of her dinner into her mouth, praying that her expression didn’t give away the doubts and anxiety that had begun to surface.

  Patrick seemed to read her mind. He shifted forward in his seat, his eyes skating across her face. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share that part of your life with me. I’m sure that wasn’t easy.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

  He smiled. “I hope that you and I will get to share a lot of things with each other that no one else knows.”

  Naomi didn’t respond, her eyes saying everything for her. She liked Patrick. She was eager to know him, to see where their budding friendship might go. And she did trust him, the intensity of that feeling surprising her. Needing to lighten the moment, she waved for the waitress’s attention. When the young woman moved to her side, she asked about dessert. “Do you have a fresh fruit dish or sorbet or maybe an ice cream that’s nondairy?”

  The woman gushed. “We do! We have a mango sorbet that’s wonderful. It’s made here on-site and only has three ingredients—fresh mango, simple syrup and freshly squeezed lime juice. And the chef can easily put together a bowl of complementary fruit for you. Maybe pineapple, kiwi and a little passion fruit?”

  “That’s perfect! I would really like that for dessert, please.”

  “And for you, sir?”

  “I’d like the chocolate fudge cake with extra whipped cream, and maybe a few berries on the side. Thank you.”

  Naomi smiled. “You know that’s not good for you, right? You’re clogging your arteries, elevating your blood sugar levels, doing all kinds of bad stuff to your body.”

  “So, you’re worried about my body?” he said, teasingly.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure your body is just fine,” she said.

  “Sure? Or do you think you might need to check? Because it’s perfectly okay with me if you need to do an exam!”

  Naomi laughed. “Oh, so you have jokes!”

  Patrick laughed in turn. “I do. But let’s be serious for a minute. Tell me more about this organic lifestyle of yours. Can it really help this old body of mine?”

  “How old are you?”

  “I turned forty in January.”

  “Forty! You are old!”

&nbs
p; Patrick laughed again. “How old are you?”

  Naomi grinned. “I’m not forty!”

  * * *

  They talked for hours. He told her about growing up in Little Havana, the Miami neighborhood where he was born, and the winter jaunts to the Louisiana bayou where generations of his mother’s people had lived off the swamplands. He was a mama’s boy, excited to show off family photos and a YouTube video of his parents performing together. There were jokes about family dinners with tamales, gumbo and his father’s beloved corned beef and cabbage. Patrick had grown up with music and laughter and a family who embraced everything about their colorful lives. All of it was a foreign concept to Naomi, when she reflected on the wealth of sadness that had always seemed to fill the four walls of the trailer where she and her siblings had lived. Things were much better now, and she was grateful, but she couldn’t help wondering how different their lives might have been if the Stallion children had been as blessed.

  The restaurant closed around them and then the manager escorted them to the door, locking it behind them. They drove around the campus of the University of Utah and through the downtown area, taking in the late-night sights. Patrick steered them past his high-rise apartment complex. As they looped through the parking lot of Bountiful High School and headed back across town, Naomi pointed out the single-wide trailer where she and her siblings had been raised.

  After another hour, Patrick headed back to the coveted Salt Lake City address she called home. Her brother’s house was in Federal Heights, one of the most affluent neighborhoods. The homes there dated back to the early 1900s and the entire area boasted mountain views to the north. The house itself was a brick structure with a timeless design and modern touches. Patrick had been impressed when her brother had invited him inside, the well-designed floor plan offering effortless entertaining and main floor living options. From the foyer, he had noted the bold French doors that led to the outside. As he and Naomi stood talking earlier that night, he hadn’t missed the marble surfaces, custom cabinetry and stainless steel appliances. The vaulted twenty-foot ceilings had given the space an inviting openness. But the more he discovered about her, the more he realized nothing about the place was Naomi.