“Yes,” she said quietly. “My whole family.” She forced a smile. “My father went here all his life. My mother was Methodist. They were both stubborn, so I went to services at both places when I was little. I learned the Mass in Spanish, because that’s how la Santa Misa is said here.”

“My father brought me here when I was a boy, too,” he replied. He didn’t add that he’d once brought his own son, Antonio, who was eleven. But now, the boy didn’t want any part of religion. He wasn’t keen on his father, either. Since the death of Ruiz’s wife, three years ago, the relationship between him and his son was difficult, to say the least.

“It wasn’t because you’re, well, because you’re Latin,” she stammered. “The dance, I mean. I... I...”

He looked down at her with an oddly affectionate expression. “I know. It was because you didn’t think such a gorgeous man would want to dance with somebody like you, is what you told one of the nurses,” he said outrageously.

Her face went scarlet. She turned, her only thought to escape, but he was in front of her, towering over her.

“No, don’t run away,” he said softly. “I’m not embarrassed, so why should you be?”

She looked up, her eyes wide and turbulent.

“And there’s nothing wrong with you,” he added in a deep, tender tone.

She bit her lip. “The room was full of pretty women...”

“They all look alike to me,” he said, suddenly serious. “Young men look at what’s on the outside. I look deeper.”

She could smell the cologne he wore. It was as attractive as he was. She kept her eyes down, nervous and uncertain.

“You work at a children’s hospital,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Yes. The night shift, on the pediatric ward.”

“That’s why I haven’t seen you before,” he mused. “I spend most of my time at the hospital in the emergency room, either there or at the general hospital next door.” His face hardened. “We see a lot of children injured by gangs and parents.”

That brought her eyes up, wide and questioning on his handsome face. “Gangs?” she blurted out.

He pursed his sensual lips and pulled back the shepherd’s coat over his broad chest to reveal a silver star.

“Oh,” she stammered. “You’re a Texas Ranger!”

“For six years,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t you notice the gun, when we danced?” he teased, nodding toward the .45 automatic in a holster on his wide, hand-tooled belt.

“Well, no,” she said. She was lost in his black eyes. They shimmered like onyx in the light of the candles.

“Who are you?” he asked gently.

“I’m Suna,” she said. “Suna Wesley. But I’m called Sunny.”

He smiled slowly. “Sunny. It suits you.”