The Law of Attraction (21 page)

W
hen I learned San Antonio would provide the setting for
The Law of Attraction,
I was extremely pleased. Where else can you find a magical place that merges Old Mexico, the Wild West and Germany, as well as African-American and Native American culture? An exciting locale that is immersed in history, mystery and romance? A popular location for impressive museums and notable movies such as
The Getaway, The Newton Boys
and
Miss Congeniality?
It's also the eighth largest city in the United States, but don't let the size fool you, or the fact that the metropolitan area is also home to high-tech corporations and sprawling suburbs. It still retains its quaint charm in so many ways, and at times feels almost intimate.

Because I'm a native Texan, and San Antonio is one of my all-time-favorite vacationing spots, I felt that I could convey the atmosphere accurately in
The Law of Attraction
without having to do
extensive research, even though any excuse to visit would be a pleasure, not an inconvenience. As good luck would have it, shortly after I acquired the preliminary outline of the story, I attended a weekend writing conference in San Antonio where two of my friends—one New York State resident, who had never visited the city, and one fellow Texan and author—were also present. After the conference ended, we decided to relocate to a downtown hotel and spend Sunday afternoon exploring the sights. Since I was the designated tour guide (even though I had trouble finding our new hotel), I decided to begin with one of the most notable attractions—the Alamo.

Standing on the grounds of the Plaza that spring day prompted memories of my first Alamo encounter, when I was but a mere child armed with some basic knowledge garnered from my Texas history lessons, including the fact that my birthday (the
day,
not the
year
) coincides with the day the mission fell to the Mexican army. Already feeling an immediate connection to the site, I remember being awed by all the people speaking in hushed tones and the palpable respect for the surroundings. You truly could have heard the proverbial pin drop—or camera, as it was in my case. This embarrassing faux pas earned me a few hard looks from visitors, and for several years I was reluctant to return for fear I might be recognized as the notorious ten-year-old camera-dropper.

However, I put aside my irrational concerns and led my two friends into the inner sanctum, only to find that tourists no longer spoke in whispers. I don't know if that's a sign of the times, but I do find that very sad, perhaps because I now understand why that reverence existed in the first place—the Alamo is not only a mission; it's the final resting place of those who paid the ultimate price in Texas's fight for independence, Jim Bowie, Davy Crockett and William Travis, to name just a few. Despite the tourists' absence of awe, and my initial shaky introduction years before, the Alamo's historical significance was not lost on me then, or now, and never will be.

After my friends and I studied the exhibits, we ventured outside to witness the dismantling of huge tents, booms and platforms that had been erected the previous night for a star-studded party celebrating the premiere of the recent remake of
The Alamo
(the movie was actually shot outside of Austin on what is purportedly the largest outdoor film set in history). I am proud to say that although tempted, I did not scour the grounds in search of a paper cup heralding “Property of Dennis Quaid” or a Billy Bob Thornton commemorative pen to claim as souvenirs.

After walking past the gazebo where Sandra Bullock took her infamous dive into the crowd in
Miss Congeniality,
we traveled a couple of blocks
to a stone stairway that led to the Paseo del Rio—better known as the River Walk—which is located twenty feet below street level along the banks of the San Antonio River. Now the term
river
generally lends itself to the image of a wide expanse of water. In reality, this river has been channeled into a canal webwork that weaves throughout several downtown blocks. You can actually stand on one side, throw a stone and hit the other side with little effort (I strongly advise against this as you could injure someone, not to mention suffer immediate arrest, neither of which is conducive to a good experience). Both sides of the canal are connected by periodic arched stone bridges, and the
only
boats you will see are flat-bed, open-air river taxis and police patrol watercraft. If you envision taking a trip to San Antonio and climbing aboard a yacht to enjoy the scenery, think again. Private vessels are not permitted, nor is there room to allow them passage.

Back to the afternoon venture. After we descended the stairs, I escorted my companions down the flagstone walkway past the myriad shops, restaurants and clubs to one of my preferred eating establishments—Dick's Last Resort—where the waiters receive their gratuities based on the skill with which they hurl insults. If you are easily offended, this might not be the place for you. But if you don't mind a loud announcement when you inquire about the
location of the rest room, great food and an irreverent yet fun atmosphere, I highly recommend it.

During our lunch, the three of us chose a table on the patio to watch the river taxis go by, which led to a discussion about
Attraction's
fictional character, Les Massey—also known as “The Naked Guy” and “The San Antonio Streaker.” In the book, you will notice some of the results of our conversation, i.e. Les's performance on the dinner cruise, and some you will not. Fortunately. After we spent several hours plotting Les's strange course, my New York friend left us to join her husband while my other friend and I strolled along the river before settling in for dinner.

A word of warning should you decide to visit: Picking a place to dine in San Antonio can be an exercise in indecisiveness in light of the many quality choices—from Tex-Mex to seafood and everything in between. After some debate, we selected an Italian bistro where we again took a table outside to watch several couples strolling hand in hand, both young and not so young, while listening to varied strains of music—including jazz ensembles, hard rock bands and mariachis—filtering through the doors of an assortment of nearby establishments. The River Walk after dark takes on an electric life of its own; it is a truly unforgettable experience and not to be missed.

Unfortunately our trip ended with dinner,
proving that four or five hours on a Sunday afternoon is just not enough time to take it all in. Four or five days would be satisfactory in order to hit the high points, and there are more than a few. A visit to La Villita, a one-time Mexican settlement that now houses several shops, should be a planned stop, and so should El Mercado, the largest Mexican marketplace outside of Mexico and home to the popular twenty-four-hour restaurant and bakery, Mi Tierra, another of my personal favorites.

As if the downtown area doesn't have enough to do to keep one as busy as a bull in a herd of a hundred heifers during mating season (that's Texan for
real
busy), the outskirts hold just as many must-see attractions. Several other missions are situated in the San Antonio Missions National Historical Park. The King William District (named in honor of King Wilhelm I, King of Prussia in the 1870s) has lovely manicured streets lined with historic homes, and if one has a fondness for foliage and/or wildlife, San Antonio has a beautiful arboretum and a wonderful zoo. If you're up for some theme-park excitement, you can plan a trip to Sea World or Six Flags Fiesta Texas. And if you're brave enough to venture into the realm of the paranormal, you could discover that San Antonio is a
spirited
city in a very literal sense.

Now I've personally never seen anything more frightening than a few rowdy revelers who looked
as though they might actually topple into the river headfirst, and some seriously scary traffic on the freeways leading into downtown during rush hour. Yet many “ghost” sightings throughout the city, from parks to the police station, have been reported and repeated. For example, the Alamo's grounds contain a thirty-foot-tall national monument to the entity that presumably rose from the rooftop with a ball of flame in each hand, successfully thwarting the mission's destruction (that would certainly deter me). Legend also has it that the founder of the famous South Texas King Ranch, Captain Richard King, frequents the suite bearing his name, which is located at the elegant historic Menger Hotel—where he passed away in 1885. Teddy Roosevelt allegedly still hangs out in the Menger's tavern where he once recruited cowboys to join his Rough Riders' detachment before the Spanish-American war. And that's just two of the supposedly
thirty-two
apparitions that grace the hotel's halls. Gives a whole new meaning to guests who've overstayed their welcome, huh? If you are sincerely interested in investigating the “otherworldly,” I suggest looking into one of the “ghost” tours. Or you could travel to the Alamo Street Restaurant and Theater for a visit with the genteel “Miss Margaret,” aka former actress Margaret Gething, who sometimes keeps company with her seamstress, Henrietta, and pal Eddie. I understand that she can often be seen in
the balcony during rehearsals and performances, wearing a flowing dress and sporting a “hauntingly” kind smile. In fact, I hear Miss Margaret is very friendly and “spirited.”

An overview of San Antonio would not be complete without mentioning festivals, and the city has many. But the best-known is Fiesta San Antonio, an annual ten-day April affair featuring many activities, including athletic events, art displays and colorful parades. Although Fiesta has always served as a memorial event dedicated to those who battled at the Alamo and San Jacinto, it has grown into a celebration of the city's cultural diversity. If you do want to attend, some advice—book early.

So there you have it. Whether you wish to attempt to convene with spirits or to shop, or if you prefer to engage in a little romance or only relax, you'll find no better place to do just that. If you want to walk till you drop, or dance the night away, pack comfortable shoes. If you're prepared to have a good time, I doubt you'll be disappointed.

Although I can talk about the city with great enthusiasm, in order to appreciate this vacation Mecca, you have to be there to experience its appeal. Quite simply stated, there is no denying San Antonio's allure.

ONCE A REBEL

by
Sheri WhiteFeather

Enjoy this excerpt of Sheri WhiteFeather's
ONCE A REBEL,
the ninth book in THE FORTUNES OF TEXAS: REUNION series.

CHAPTER 1

S
usan Fortune approached the barn, the weathered wood calling to her like an old friend, stirring scattered memories, making them swirl in her mind.

In the past seventeen years she hadn't been home much. She'd returned now and then, but always in a rush, a day or two at Thanksgiving, Christmas or Easter.

But being back in Red Rock, Texas, back on the Double Crown Ranch, felt different this time. Because this wasn't a harried holiday weekend, a fast-paced trip she'd crammed into her busy schedule. This was the real thing. A homecoming that turned her heart inside out.

Her cousin Ryan, the Fortune family patriarch, was dying.

Susan moved closer to the barn, the slightly chilled, early-February air stinging her skin. She'd spent the most important time of her life, her senior year in high school, on the Double Crown. Ryan had taken her in after her alcohol-enraged father had
kicked her out. He'd offered her a place to stay, a place to feel loved, a home away from home, from the turbulence that had nearly destroyed her.

And now here she was, wishing she could save Ryan, but knowing she couldn't.

Reflective, she looked around, watching the ranch hands do their jobs. And then a tall, tanned man in rugged denims, with a straw cowboy hat dipped low on his forehead, exited the barn. He strode toward a white dually, and suddenly she couldn't breathe, every ounce of oxygen in her lungs refusing to cooperate.

Was that Ethan Eldridge?

Yes, she told herself. It had to be. He'd grown bigger, broader, more masculine, but she recognized him just the same. Even the way he wore his clothes bred familiarity. A hand-tooled belt that he'd probably made himself was threaded through his jeans, and the hem of each pant leg frayed around a pair of weather-beaten boots. When he adjusted his hat in a memorable manner, her girlhood dreams went up in a cloud of pheromone-scented smoke.

She hadn't seen him since they were teenagers, since she'd pined for him like the emotionally torn, desperate-for-affection female she'd been.

Should she call his name? Get his attention before he climbed into his truck and drove away?

Or would that make her look foolish? Susan
Fortune, the reformed bad girl, flaunting herself in front of Ethan Eldridge all over again.

Unsure of what to do, she simply stood where she was, the wind whipping her hair across her cheek. But before she could come to a decision, Ethan reacted to her presence. Like a solitary animal, a cougar sensing an intruder, he slowed his pace and turned around.

Leaving Susan exposed to his gaze.

Chiding herself, she smoothed her hair, batting it away from her face. She wasn't reverting to promiscuity. If anything, she was able to diagnose her teenage self, the rebellious girl who'd paraded other boys in front of Ethan. Susan understood the wild child that had festered inside her. She'd graduated from Stanford and earned a Ph.D. in psychology.

She decided to greet him with a friendly yet noncommittal hello, so she started off in his direction, cutting across the dirt path that separated them. But as she analyzed his catlike posture, she realized that he hadn't identified her.

He had no idea who she was.

Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyebrows furrowed. A frown of curiosity, she thought. A country boy wondering why a citified blonde, dressed in designer jeans and a form-fitting blazer, was determined to talk to him.

Finally when they were face-to-face, with sights,
sounds and smells of the ranch spinning around them, recognition dawned in his eyes.

Those stunning blue eyes.

“Susan?” He beat her to the punch, saying her name first.

“Ethan.” She extended her hand, preparing to touch him. “It's good to see you.”

“You, too.” He accepted her hand, enveloping it with callused fingers.

They gazed at each other, silence sizzling between them. She could feel the soundless energy zapping the air, conjuring invisible fireflies.

So much for her Ph.D.

Suddenly she was a smitten seventeen-year-old, reliving the day they'd met. He had been a ranch hand's hardworking, properly reared son, and she had been as untamed as the Texas terrain, a lost girl aching for attention. So much so, she'd parked her butt on a fence rail, as close to him as possible. Then she'd unbuttoned the top of her blouse, complaining about the heat, trying to get him to look at her.

He did, but only for a second. Just long enough to stop working and offer her a bottle of water. His water. A plastic container he'd yet to open, to drink from.

An elusive boy. A gallant gesture.

In her young, needy soul, Susan had fallen like a ton of shattered bricks, wanting Ethan even more. But she'd never gotten him. Nothing. Not even a kiss.

“I'm sorry about what's happening to Ryan,” he said, bringing her back to the present. “You know how much I care about him.”

She nodded. Ethan had practically grown up on the Double Crown. He knew Ryan well. “He's such a good man. Everyone loves him.”

“I'm sure he's glad to have you home.”

Home.
The word never failed to strike her heart. She'd lived with her parents in Katy, Texas, a suburb of Houston, until Ryan took her in. Sixteen years in Katy and one year in Red Rock. Yet Red Rock would always seem like home, even though she'd moved away from Texas altogether.

Ethan shifted his stance, drawing her attention to his tall, muscular form. He'd been lean and wiry as a teenager, a boy who'd spent all of his free time with the animals on the ranch.

“Ryan told me you became a large-animal vet,” she said.

“And he told me you became a child psychologist.” A smile ghosted across his lips. “I guess we both grew up, didn't we?”

“Yes, we did.” As a girl she used to dream about that uneven smile. Slow and sexy, she thought. One corner of his mouth tilting in a lazy sort of way.

Caught up in the moment, she stole a glance at his left hand. The last she'd heard, he was single, but that was a few years ago. She hadn't made a habit of grilling Ryan about him.

When she noticed the absence of a ring, she sighed. Ethan was thirty-five, the same age as she was, and she'd never married, either. But her work was her priority, the heartbeat of her existence.

Did Ethan feel that way, too? Or was she jumping to conclusions? Just because he didn't wear a ring didn't mean he wasn't involved in a committed relationship. Or that he wasn't looking for a partner, someone to share the ups and downs in his life.

“Did you just get here today?” he asked.

“Yes.” She told herself to quit psychoanalyzing him, to leave her textbook curiosity at the curb. “I arrived this morning.” She flipped her wrist and checked her watch. “A few hours ago. Ryan is taking a nap, so I decided to go for a walk.”

“How's Lily holding up?”

“She's doing the best she can. When I left the house, she was fussing in the kitchen, giving herself something to do.” Lily was Ryan's third wife, a woman he'd loved since his youth but hadn't married until many years later.

The wind rustled Ethan's shirt. “How long are you going to stay?”

“I'm not sure. But I'm hoping to help everyone get through this.” She noticed the expressive lines around his mouth, the aging process that had altered his features, cutting masculine grooves into his skin.

He reminded her of a model in a cowboy ad. The stereotypical Texan, with his hard-angled cheek
bones, slightly crooked nose and lightly peppered jaw. But she knew he was real.

Tangible. Touchable. Flesh and blood.

Even after all these years she still wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.

When she lifted her gaze to his, he dipped his hat even lower, shielding his eyes.

Just like old times, she thought. She'd never been able to break through Ethan's defenses. Even though he'd been attracted to her, he'd kept his distance, making her long for him even more.

Not that she would let herself long for him now. Kissing him, or even fantasizing about it, would be a mistake.

“You must be working today,” she said, trying to resume a casual conversation.

“Yes, I am. But I live here, too.”

She started. “On the Double Crown?”

“It's only temporary. I'm in between homes right now, so I'm renting the hunting cabin from Ryan.” He gestured to the barn. “Of course I'm boarding my horses here, too.”

From what she recalled, Ethan had been living on the rough-and-tumble property his father owned. Although she wondered why he was moving, she decided not to ask, not to delve too deeply into his affairs, even if she wanted to, even if everything about him still intrigued her. “I've never been inside the hunting cabin.”

“Really?” He shifted his feet, scattering dirt beneath his heels. “There isn't much to see, but you can come by later if you want to.”

Surprised by the invitation, Susan didn't know what to say. He'd never asked her to visit him before. He'd never encouraged her advances. Of course, this time she wasn't falling all over him. At least not outwardly. Inside, her heart was skipping girlish beats.

“Thanks,” she finally managed.

“Sure.”

While silence stretched between them, the wind kicked up, the scent of hay and horses triggering her senses. In the distance cattle grazed, like colored dots on the horizon.

“I'd better go,” he said. “I have an appointment on another ranch.”

She told herself to relax, to not make a big deal out of his offer. “It was nice talking to you, Ethan.”

“You, too,” he told her.

He climbed behind the wheel of his white dually, and she watched him start the engine. Within no time, he was gone.

The boy with the slow, sexy smile.

She returned to the house and headed for the kitchen, where she found Lily, bustling around the stove.

Struck by the woman's beauty, Susan stood in the doorway, admiring the woman Ryan had married. Even at fifty-nine, Lily had the power to turn heads.

Long-limbed and voluptuous, she wore a mint-colored sweater and a loose skirt, attire that was as unpretentious as her style. Her midnight hair was fastened into a simple twist, leaving the angles of her face unframed.

“That smells good,” Susan said, indicating the pot of broth simmering on the stove.

Lily looked up, her large, exotic-shaped eyes radiating warmth. “It's corn soup. An old Apache recipe.”

Which made sense, considering Lily was part Apache and part Spanish.

Susan moved farther into the kitchen and watched as Lily mixed several pounds of boiled, shredded beef with a homemade batch of acorn meal. She suspected that Lily had taken her time, peeling the acorns and grinding them, a task that was meant to keep her mind off Ryan's illness, especially on this gloomy morning.

A second later Lily took a shaky breath, then glanced out the window as though someone were stalking her. And why not? Susan knew that a man named Jason Jamison, a cold-blooded killer, had been threatening the family. Of course Ryan had hired a security team to protect them. He wouldn't leave something like that to chance.

“Are you okay?” she asked Lily.

“I'm fine. Just jittery, that's all. There's so much to deal with right now.” She turned away from the
window. “Will you check on Ryan? And if he's awake, will you tell him that I'll bring him some soup later?”

“Sure. But if you need someone to talk to, I'm here.”

“I know.” Lily gave her a brave smile. “I'm glad you're staying with us. I like having you around.”

Her heart bumped her chest, filling her with a sense of longing, of family, of home and hearth. Lily hadn't been Ryan's wife when Susan had lived on the Double Crown, but she'd gotten to know her later. Mostly from trips Ryan and Lily had taken to San Francisco, where they'd traveled to visit her.

“Thank you,” Susan told her. “That means a lot to me.”

Lily nodded, and they simply gazed at each other, caught in a soundless moment.

After the older woman resumed her task, adding the beef and acorn meal to the broth, Susan left the kitchen, her emotions tugging at her sleeve.

She walked through the great room, her boots echoing on tiled floors, as restless as the Fortune Empire ghosts.

Over the years, the house, a traditional adobe structure, had undergone quite a few renovations. At one point it had been divided into two separate wings, where Ryan and his older brother, Cameron, lived with their families. But Susan knew that Cameron
had died over ten years ago, leaving Ryan to pick up the pieces of his brother's lazy yet tremulous life.

She headed to Ryan and Lily's room, a master suite with a private bathroom, hot tub and sauna. The door leading to the sitting area was open, a sign that her cousin was awake. She knocked anyway, a light tap to announce her presence.

“Come in,” he called out.

She entered the room and saw him sitting on a small sofa near the fireplace. To Susan, Ryan had always seemed larger than life, an invincible force with his solid frame and darkly handsome features. But an inoperable brain tumor had challenged his strength, creating symptoms he could no longer hide.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Better now that you're here.”

He patted the cushion next to him, and she moved forward. He didn't look particularly refreshed from his nap, but she was grateful that he was coherent. Earlier, he'd been too dizzy to converse with her.

She sat down and took his hand, holding it gently in hers. “I love you.”

A smile wobbled his mouth. “I love you, too, little girl.”

“I'm not little anymore.”

He gave her hand a light squeeze. “You're still my baby.”

She wanted to ask him about Jason Jamison, to discuss the details, but she didn't want to alert him
that his beloved wife was fretting in the kitchen, looking over her shoulder every chance she got. Sooner or later Susan would learn everything there was to know about Jason. Both of her brothers had warned her about this man, suggesting that she talk to Ryan about him. Which she intended to do, just not now.