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A Daughter's Homecoming
Ginny Aiken
HOME TO STAYGabriella Carlini loves her family. But when she returns to Lyndon Point, Washington, to help save their restaurant, she’s not sure she’s the right person for the job. She’s spent her adult life avoiding her heritage. What she needs is a new chef to take the heat off her. Talented and experienced, Zachary Davenport seems to be the answer to her prayers. But he’s also a handsome complication. Gabi has always put love on the back burner. Will Zach show her that love and family should always be on the menu?
HOME TO STAY
Gabriella Carlini loves her family. But when she returns to Lyndon Point, Washington, to help save their restaurant, she’s not sure she’s the right person for the job. She’s spent her adult life avoiding her heritage. What she needs is a new chef to take the heat off her. Talented and experienced, Zachary Davenport seems to be the answer to her prayers. But he’s also a handsome complication. Gabi has always put love on the back burner. Will Zach show her that love and family should always be on the menu?
Gabi reached for one of the soft, fluffy towels to wrap her shivering charge.
As she handed off the puppy, their hands touched, and in spite of the slippery water on hers, they stood there, the contact unbroken. Once again, with Zach that close, Gabi felt the rush of…of that foreign something she’d never experienced before she’d met him. The light in his gaze seemed to echo what she felt, and his light touch against her fingers brought her the oddest sense of mutual attraction, of loneliness dispelled, of welcome, of coming ho—
She gasped when she realized where her thoughts were going. She couldn’t go there. She just couldn’t. This wasn’t home, and this man was all wrong for her.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She had to get away. Now. No matter how many dogs she left behind. As she’d thought a number of times before, her sanity depended on it. No matter what she felt whenever she was in Zach’s presence.
GINNY AIKEN
Born in Havana, Cuba, raised in Valencia and Caracas, Venezuela, Ginny Aiken discovered books early and wrote her first novel at age fifteen while she trained with the Ballets de Caracas, later known as the Venezuelan National Ballet. She burned that tome when she turned a “mature” sixteen. Stints as reporter, paralegal, choreographer, language teacher and retail salesperson followed. Her life as wife, mother of four boys and herder of their numerous and assorted friends brought her back to books and writing in search of her sanity. She’s now the author of more than twenty published works and a frequent speaker at Christian women’s and writers’ workshops, but has yet to catch up with that elusive sanity.
A Daughter’s Homecoming
Ginny Aiken
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And [I] will be your Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.
—2 Corinthians 6:18
This one is dedicated to the memory of my late mother, Olga, and to my dad, Juan. Their home is on the Puget Sound, in a small town very much like Lyndon Point. Miss you, Mom. Love you, Dad.
Contents
Chapter One (#ub4a5dd8a-1b0d-5bff-b607-abe34fb5eee2)
Chapter Two (#u8655209e-e06a-5fce-ae2b-9fd7c9e09845)
Chapter Three (#u3f8939bb-9029-5e32-bf98-b46758c09624)
Chapter Four (#u1c0670ec-5ca5-5c96-a63b-29dd0232850e)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Lyndon Point, Washington State
With a heartfelt sigh, Gabriella Carlini stood up from where she’d sat for a moment’s break. The top step of the back stoop to her parents’ restaurant wasn’t the finest place to rest, but it had been the best at that moment. She opened the kitchen door to Tony’s and wrinkled her nose when the unpleasant tang struck her nostrils. She’d expected to find all kinds of disorganization when she got to Tony’s, since her mother was at home caring for Gabi’s ailing father instead of running the restaurant. But the actual state in which she’d found the place went far beyond a mess.
Food had spoiled when the teen part-timers her parents employed had refrigerated new deliveries and merely pushed the older supplies behind the new. Now she had bins of potatoes and onions gone bad, loaves of cheese and logs of pizza meats gone well beyond their sell-by dates and straight to spoiled, and the vegetable crispers were full of limp and unusable produce.
She should have come home when her mother called to tell her about her father’s stroke, as she’d wanted to do. But Mama, as she still called her mother, in the old Italian way, had insisted Papa was receiving the best of care and she had everything under control....
How wrong she’d been!
Now, though, there was nothing to do but get back to work—as she’d been doing since nigh unto the crack of dawn. As she stepped inside, a flash of movement to her right in the alley out back caught her eye. When she turned to see what might have darted past the Dumpster, nothing struck her as out of the ordinary in the grubby concrete landscape. The thought of a rat turned her already iffy stomach. She scooted inside and slammed the steel door shut, then went straight to the massive metal refrigerator to throw out more of the old food.
With her hand outstretched to the refrigerator door’s latch handle, she sent a prayer heavenward. “Lord, please don’t let rats have taken up residence in the alley. I still have a number of trips’ worth of trash to haul out before I can seek sanctuary in the kitchen. I’ll clean out foul refrigerators any day, gladly wash sticky shelves, scrub grungy floors, but—ugh!” She shuddered at the thought of an encounter of the rodent kind.
“Hey, Miss Carlini.”
She jumped inches off the ground. “Dylan!” Her heart pounded like a bass drum. “You shouldn’t sneak up on anyone like that, you know?”
“Sorry, ma’am.” The lanky nineteen-year-old with a painful-looking stud through his eyebrow and a map of crooked roadways carved through his quarter-inch-long buzz-cut hair came close. Then he waved toward the kitchen. “I’m so sorry about what happened earlier. I never knew how soon all that food would go bad, plus when the delivery truck brought new cheese and sausage and stuff...well, I guess Kirstie and I didn’t think about using the old stuff up first. If there’s anything I can do...”
Feeling about a thousand years old every time he called her Miss Carlini—or worse, ma’am—Gabi let the fridge door close. Dylan had already apologized five times that morning. “Tell you what. First, call me Gabi. Then you have to remember that sauce spoils in five days, even in a fridge. And then you can make it up to me by emptying the last bin under the counter. We’ll figure out the next step in our plan of attack after that.”
Dylan darted his gaze toward the dining room, the bin and her. Gabi wondered if he might be weighing the merits of bailing on his part-time job. But then he squared his shoulders and gave a tight nod. “I’ll go get a trash bag.”
Thank You, Lord! Although she wished she didn’t need to recruit the teen for the unpleasant task, she had little chance of getting the job done quickly without his help. They had to clean it all up before health department authorities showed up for a random check of the premises, which they were known to do. That could spell disaster. For Tony’s...and for her family.
As she opened the refrigerator, she heard a sound behind her, near the kitchen door. She paused, listened.
Nothing.
“Strange.” She must have imagined it.
After taking—and holding—a deep breath, Gabi opened the crisper drawer.
The faint noise rang out again.
Then yet again.
Ears alert to any further sound, she glanced toward the dining room. Three teenage part-timers were setting up for lunch, so she was on her own in the kitchen. Obviously something had made that noise...but what? Shoulders squared, she closed the refrigerator, then headed toward the back, pausing when she reached the door, praying for protection from rats. The rapid-fire metallic tap-tap-tap, scratch-scratch-scratch started up again.
Braced for whatever she might find, she very slowly pressed the door handle, then yanked.
“Oh, my...”
The sight on the other side stunned her. She never could have envisioned the little dog, part Jack Russell terrier, part unidentified shaggy, with long floppy ears, luminous brown eyes and, as a finishing touch, a thin C-shaped tail, which it immediately tucked between its legs. It shivered.
Even on this hot June morning.
* * *
As Gabi stared down at the filthy, bedraggled mutt, unsure of what to do next, the poor animal shook harder.
She took a step forward.
It dropped, then rolled onto its back, four paws in the air, still quaking without pause. That’s when she realized how undernourished he was. Every rib tented saggy skin that showed blotches here and there, where patches of fur had either fallen or been yanked out. She didn’t want to think along the latter lines, to imagine what kind of altercation might have caused the bare spots.
“Easy, boy,” she crooned. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Let me come closer, now, to see what’s up with those sores. I only want to help.”
She dropped to her knees, aware that even her five-foot-two height would intimidate the little guy. Scooting closer, inch by inch, she continued cooing softly to keep him calm. After a couple of minutes, once she’d reached him, she noted how even more of the angry red blotches mapped his belly and scrawny chest. A blood-encrusted scrape on his right rear thigh looked like it might be the result of another animal’s bite.
After a silent prayer, she extended a hand, not touching the dog, waiting to see if he would accept her. He froze. The shivers stopped. His brown eyes stared at her with laser focus. As she lowered her fingers to just a whisper away, he reached out and licked her palm.
“Hello there,” she murmured. He licked again. And again.
Then he flipped up onto his four paws and went for her face, apparently intent on returning her show of kindness with a multitude of kisses. She backed up just out of his tongue’s reach, not knowing the state of his health. She did, however, rub him under the side of his chin. He melted again at her touch.
From this close vantage point, he looked worse than before. He was half-starved, filthy, his coat matted beyond rescue by a good groomer, and all the skin she now saw between clumps of scruffy hair appeared red and irritated. She had to do something for the little guy.
“But I can’t take you home with me,” she said, more for her benefit than his. She sat at his side, taking a momentary break in the rubbing caresses. “Mama has enough on her hands with Papa’s recovery, and I’m going back to Cleveland as soon as possible. My landlord made a huge deal on the lease about pets—none allowed.”
The dog nudged her hand with his moist black button nose. From deep in his throat came a string of growly conversational sounds, at the end of which he cocked his head to one side and stared.
When she didn’t respond as he seemed to want, he let out a whiny whimper. His killer stare never let up.
“What am I going to do with you?”
He again nudged her hand, then began to lick fingers she figured stank of the garbage she’d dumped. “You’re beyond hungry, aren’t you? And...you know what? I can do much better than smelly fumes on my hands.”
She settled him back on the floor and headed for the refrigerator. She rummaged inside, grabbed one of the five-pound chubs of hamburger she’d kept front and center after she’d disposed of the spoiled stuff, and verified the expiration date on the plastic wrapping.
“Perfect.” She glanced at her new buddy. “You’re going to love a chunk of this. Trust me.”
In a few minutes, the scent of browning wholesome meat filled the kitchen. A clean, stainless-steel mixing bowl would do well as the pup’s new dish. He piped up, letting out a handful of excited yips as he bounced in the air like a dirty, four-legged bouncy ball.
Gabi marveled at his spirited display. How could a creature as forsaken as this one muster so much energy? He was little more than stretched skin and sharp bone. As she smiled, the word indomitable came to mind.
When the meat had cooked through, she served up the dog’s savory meal, stirred it to cool enough to make it safe for consumption and then set it down on the back stoop. After all, health ordinances did forbid animals in commercial kitchens.
She had to decide what to do with the half-starved stray. The half-starved stray who at that moment was eating hamburger as fast as he could, letting out appreciative grunts as he wolfed it all down.
She sat next to him to think through her dilemma.
“Hey, Miss...er...Gabi— Whoa!” Dylan caught the door he’d flung open to keep it from slamming into Gabi. And the dog.
The dog surprised her when he quit licking the now-empty bowl and scurried into her lap. He then growled a low, deep warning at the teen.
Dylan respected the threat with hands-to-shoulders in the universal sign of surrender. “All right. I got it. It’s okay.” Without looking away from the tiny canine, he spoke to Gabi. “Where’d he come from?”
“He scratched at the door. He’s starving—literally.”
The teen’s look came full of doubt. “I don’t think feeding him’s such a great idea. He might get the wrong impression.” Dylan gave her a questioning look. “Or maybe...not so wrong?”
She shrugged.
He went on. “My mom’s always said once you feed a stray, you’re pretty much stuck with it for life.”
“That better not be the case this time.” She sighed. “I can’t keep him.”
“So what are you going to do with him?”
Her question precisely. “Not sure yet. I’m thinking.”
“The animal shelter’s got a new director.” Dylan fingered the steel ball on the stud through his eyebrow. “He’s supposed to have fixed it up, fired the slackers, hired new people, scrubbed even the ceiling and turned it into a no-kill place.”
“And you know all this because...?”
He quirked his lips. “It was a real big deal in town a couple of months ago. The new director came up from Sacramento with all kinds of new ideas. Some people didn’t like it, others loved it. But everybody had something to say about it.”
“If you’re sure it’s a no-kill shelter, then it’s probably the best place for this little guy.”
“Unless you keep—”
“I know.” She sighed again. She wished she could. Something about the ragtag critter drew her right in. Maybe it was his ready friendliness and overwhelming trust. Or maybe his eyes. “I can’t. I really can’t. I’m going back to my life in Cleveland as soon as things are settled here for my parents, and I can’t keep pets in my rental.”
“That’s too bad.” He gestured at the stray. “He really likes you.”
