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“Thank you for the ice cream. And the conversation,” she said.
He nodded and strode to the motorcycle. Staying any longer was flirting with danger. He knew his limits—and he’d passed them already. Time to get away.
He started the bike and looked over at Mariella. She was watching him, her head tilted slightly as if wondering what had gone wrong. If she only knew all that was wrong.
“Come tomorrow,” he said.
She smiled and nodded.
Mariella watched Cristiano leave. He was the most perplexing man she’d ever met. She’d thought they’d been having a great conversation when he’d abruptly jumped up and left. She tried to remember what she could have said to cause such a reaction. They’d been exchanging memories and she had lamented the fact she and Ariana wouldn’t grow old together.
So who was his friend who had died young? Such an odd thing for them to have in common, yet for a moment it brought her comfort. He was someone who could understand the sadness she felt for the loss of her friend.
The evening was quiet. Mariella played with Dante until the baby fell asleep. She liked this impromptu vacation. She was still working the odd hours to keep her clients happy. But she had more time to spend with the baby. And with several months’ of experience behind her, she was growing more confident in her abilities than that first month as a stunned guardian with a tiny infant and no job.
She could not afford to stay in Lake Clarissa for long, however. She wanted to expand the search for Dante’s father before she had to return to Rome. Stopping in a few shops, speaking with the priest didn’t encompass all of the village. Tomorrow she’d make a concerted effort to visit more places. Then if she had no results, the next day she’d move on to Monta Correnti.
After the baby was asleep, she checked her laptop for any new assignments, then surfed the Net. She put in Cristiano’s name on a whim and was startled when pages loaded. He was a firefighter. He’d been a first responder to the bombing in Rome last May. She read the compelling newspaper articles. The man was a hero. He’d gone down into the bombing scene time and again. He’d saved seven lives, become injured himself and still fought to bring a baby and small child through the smoke-filled metro tunnel to safety that last trip.
Wow. She read every article she could on the bombing. She’d been finishing up finals in New York when the terrorist attack had hit Rome. Once she’d been assured none of her friends had been injured, she’d relegated it and all other news to the back of her mind as she madly studied. Even if she’d seen Cristiano’s name back then, she never would have remembered it.
She had suspected he had some physically demanding job. He was strong, muscular and fit. He moved with casual grace in that tall body. And being around him gave her a definite sense of security. She searched further hoping for a picture, but the only ones she saw were of firefighters and police in uniform, battling for people’s lives.
It was late when she shut down the computer. Checking the doors and windows before retiring, she realized how much it had cooled down in the cottage. She switched on the wall heater and went to get ready for bed. Dante was fast asleep in one of the fleecy sleepers she used for him at night. She covered him with a light blanket and shivered; her fingers were freezing. Fall had truly arrived. At least the baby would be warm through the night, and once she was beneath the blankets she’d be toasty warm herself.
Cristiano sat upright with a bolt. He became instantly awake, breathing hard, the terror still clinging from the nightmare. He took deep gulps of breath, trying to still his racing heart. It was pitch dark—not unlike the tunnel after the bombing. Only the lights from their helmets had given any illumination in the dusty and smoky world.
He threw off the blanket and rose, walking to the window and opening it wide for the fresh air. The cold breeze swept over him, jarring him further. He breathed in the crisp air, relishing the icy clean feel. No smoke. No voices screaming in terror. Nothing here but the peaceful countryside in the middle of the night. The trees blotted out a lot of the stars. The moon rode low on the horizon, its light dancing on the shimmering surface of the lake, a sliver of which was visible from the window.
He gripped the sill and fought the remnants of the nightmare. It was hauntingly familiar. He’d had it often enough since that fateful day. Gradually the echoes of frantic screams faded. The horror receded. The soft normal sounds of night crept in.
Long moments later he turned to get dressed. There would be no more sleep tonight.
Once warmly clothed, he went to the motorcycle and climbed on board. A ride through the higher mountain roads would get him focused. He knew he was trying to outrun the demons. Nothing would ever erase that day from his mind. But he couldn’t stay inside a moment longer. The wind rushed through his hair; the sting of cold air on his cheeks proved he was alive. And the lack of smoke was life-affirming. It was pure nectar after the hell he’d lived through.
Driving on the curving roads required skill and concentration. One careless moment and he could go spinning over the side and fall a hundred feet. The hills were deserted. No homes were back here, no one to see him as he made the tight turns, forcing the motorcycle to greater speed. He still felt that flare of exhilaration of conquering the challenge, his skills coming into play. At least he had this.
It was close to dawn when Cristiano approached the village. He’d made a wide circle and was heading back to home. A hot cup of espresso sounded good right about now.
He settled in on the road that curved around the lake. Soon he’d turn for the short climb to the family cottage. Then he smelt it.
Smoke.
His gut clenched. For a moment he thought he imagined it. He drew in a deep breath—it was in the air. Where there was smoke, there was fire. He slowed down and peered around. No one would have a campfire going at this hour; it was getting close to dawn. There, stronger now. To the left, near the lake.
For a moment indecision gripped him. Each breath identified the smoke as it wafted on the morning air. Forest fire? Building fire? He stopped the motorcycle, holding it upright with one foot on the ground. Every muscle tightened. He couldn’t move. He felt paralyzed. Where were the village’s firefighters? Why wasn’t someone responding? Had the alarm even been sounded?
Seconds sped by.
Instinct kicked in. He slowly started moving, lifting his foot from the ground as the bike picked up speed.
He spotted a flicker of light where only darkness should be. He opened the throttle and raced toward the spot. In a moment, he recognized where he was—near the Bertatalis’ row of cottages beside the lake. The flickering light came from the last one—the one Mariella and the baby were in!
He gunned the motor and leaned on the horn. In only a moment, lights went on in the Bertatalis’ main house. He didn’t stop, hoping they’d see the fire and respond. Seconds counted. Smoke inhalation could be fatal long before the actual flames touched anyone. Stopping near the cottage, he threw down the bike and raced to the door. He could see the fire through the living-room window almost consuming the entire area. The roof was already burning with flames escaping into the night. It would be fatal to enter that room.
Running to the back, he tried to figure out which window was the bedroom. Pounding on the glass, he heard no response. He hit his fist against the glass, but nothing happened. Quickly looked for anything to help; there—a large branch of a tree had fallen. Praying the baby was not sleeping beneath the window, he swung it like a bat, shattering the glass.
Smoke poured out. He could see the flames eagerly devouring the living room through the open bedroom door.
“Mariella,” he shouted, levering himself up on the sill, brushing away glass shards, feeling the slight prick of a cut. He coughed in the smoky air.
“Huh?”
The sleepy voice responded. He jumped into the room and quickly assessed the situation. The door was open, the flames visible through the roiling smoke. Time was of the essence.
“Get up,” he yelled, slamming shut the bedroom door, hoping it would hold the flames until he could get them out of the room. Where was Dante? He searched for the baby by touch in the smoke-filled room. There, near the wall, a cry sounded. He snatched up Dante and looked for Mariella. She was not responding. Had she already been overcome by smoke?
Stepping quickly as the crackling sounded louder, he found her still in bed and dragged her up.
“The cottage is on fire,” he said as calmly as he could, trying to get through to her. He heard the sirens. Finally. Fear closed his throat as he looked overhead. An explosion paralyzed him. Was the tunnel caving in? Were there more bombs? Why wasn’t his breathing mask working? He coughed in the smoke and moved toward the opening, pulling her with him. Echoes of men and women’s screams sounded. The baby began screaming. Where was the little boy? Where was Stephano? Who could have done such a thing? How long did they have until everyone was safe?
“Cristiano?” Mariella’s voice broke through. She coughed as she stumbled beside him. “What happened?”
“Don’t know. Get out.” They had reached the window and he scooped her up until she had her feet out the window, then pushed her gently until she jumped free. One leg over the sill, Dante in his arms, he didn’t hesitate. A bright show of sparks and fire exploded as part of the front roof collapsed. Jumping free, he grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the cottage, the baby wailing in his arms. Past and present merged. Cristiano didn’t stop running until he recognized the lake. Mariella kept up with him, coughing in the cold air.
The village volunteer firefighters were on their way. The sirens pierced the dawn air. Cristiano fought to keep his mind focused on the present, to be by the lake, to ignore the clamoring of his mind to relive the terror of a day in May.
In only moments the fire engine stopped, men scrambling to positions. Leaning against a tree, Cristiano stared at the fire, his throat tight. Tonight had not ended in tragedy.
“All my things,” Mariella said, watching as the bedroom seemed to blossom with fire. “My laptop, my clothes. Dante’s clothes. How could this happen?” She had tears running down her face. A moment later she was coughing again, shivering in the dawn light.
He pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulder, the baby screaming in his arms. “They are only things. You and the baby are safe, that’s what’s important.” He offered up a quick prayer that he’d been able to save them. He’d faced his worst fear and come through.
Stephano and so many others hadn’t been as lucky.
He watched the fire devour the cottage. In only moments it was completely engulfed in flames. He could feel the heat from where they stood.
She shivered again and he looked at her. The fire gave plenty of illumination. Shrugging out of his jacket, he wrapped it around her and handed her the crying baby. Her feet were still bare and must be freezing in the cold. Without a word, he picked them both up and headed toward the Bertatalis’ main house. His ankle felt stiff, but it held. With grim satisfaction for the healing his body had done, he stepped carefully on the uneven ground, swinging wide around the burning cottage.
She coughed and tried to comfort the crying baby.
Signora Bertatali stood on the porch of her home, tears running down her cheek. When she saw Cristiano carrying Mariella and the baby, she hurried over.
“Thank God they are safe. Cristiano, thank you. Let me take the baby,” she said, reaching out for Dante. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I saw the fire from the road and came to get them.”
Mariella flung one arm around his neck. “I was asleep. Cristiano woke me up. How could the fire start?” She coughed again so hard, he almost dropped her.
“Try to take a deep slow breath. You’re suffering from smoke inhalation.”
“I don’t know how this could happen. Oh, my dear, when I realized it was our cottage I feared the worst. Paolo has gone to help the firefighters. We’ll know more after they tell us. Come, inside where it’s warm. Did you leave the stove on or something?” Signora Bertatali asked, leading the way to her home. The warmth after the cold dawn felt wonderful. The baby stopped crying when in the light, blinking around, still looking as if he’d begin again in an instant.
“No. I turned it off after dinner,” Mariella said.
“Oh, your poor feet. They’re cut. Let me get some cloths and towels and take care of that,” Signora Bertatali exclaimed, hurrying into the back bathroom, still jiggling the baby, trying to comfort him.
“I had to break a window to get into the bedroom. The living room was engulfed with flames when I arrived,” Cristiano said, lowering Mariella down on a chair and kneeling in front of her to examine her feet as she began coughing again. She drew his jacket closer. A deep cut with a glass shard still in her left foot was bleeding; there were minor cuts on her right foot that had already stopped.
“This looks as if it needs stitches,” he said, taking one of the towels Signora Bertatali brought and, after pulling the glass out, wrapped her foot.
The next while was chaotic. More volunteers arrived. Then the ambulance from Monta Correnti. Mariella and Dante were loaded up and taken to hospital while Cristiano stayed behind.
“I’ll come to the hospital soon,” he said as they drove away.
Now that the situation was under control, he watched from a distance until the fire was out. The adrenalin was wearing off. He could hear Stephano calling him. Feel the darkness closing in even as the sun broke on the horizon.
Retrieving his motorcycle, he roared off once more—trying to outrace the past.
Chapter Three (#ulink_d40f73e2-38c3-51b0-8c35-6e1c807ae106)
MARIELLA braced herself against another bump as the ambulance sped toward the hospital. Dante cried until she picked him up to cuddle, trying to hold him around the oxygen nodules they both wore. He grew quiet at that and snuggled against Mariella. “Oh, sweet thing, we almost died.” Tears pricked her eyes. She caught a sob. How could the cottage catch fire? And why had there been no alarms to alert them of the danger before it was too late? The first she’d known of the emergency was when she heard Cristiano calling her name. Smoke had filled their room and she’d almost passed out trying to get out of bed and to safety. Breathing had been almost impossible.
The next thing she remembered was stumbling into the yard with Cristiano while Dante cried. Thank God he was safe. They both were.
Her head pounded and her eyes watered again. Coughing, she felt she could not draw a full breath. A weight seemed pressed against her chest.
“We’ll have you to hospital in just a short while. They’ll bathe your eyes and continue the oxygen until morning,” the EMT said, handing her a tissue to wipe the tears.
The baby had settled down, looked as if he was going back to sleep. She kissed his cheek, so grateful. Mariella wished she could drop off as he did and forget everything—if only for a few hours. Who would think such things happened while on holiday?
Once they reached the hospital, nurses swarmed around the ambulance. One gently took the baby, promising to take good care of him as she whisked him away to be seen by a doctor. Another helped Mariella into a wheelchair and pushed her quickly into the ER. It was quiet except for the two of them. In a short while a doctor had cleaned the cuts and stitched up the one on her left foot.
“Where’s my baby?” she asked.
“He’s in Pediatrics, on oxygen. A pediatrician has checked him out. Except for smoke inhalation, he seems fine. You can see him soon.”
Mariella nodded. She already missed him. She needed to see again that he was all right. But patience was called for. For the first time she had a moment to think. Cristiano had saved them. She had no idea how he’d happened to be there, but she thanked God he had been. He was a hero. Without his intervention, she and Dante could have died.
After she’d been seen by the doctor, she was conveyed to a semi-private room by way of the pediatric ward. Once satisfied Dante was safely asleep, she allowed herself to be taken to her own room where she insisted she could bathe herself. After a quick shower, she gladly lay down, with oxygen, and tried to sleep—but the horrors of the night haunted her. What if Cristiano hadn’t arrived? She and the baby could have been burned to death. What had caused the fire? What had brought Cristiano there at exactly the right time? It was much, much later before she fell into a fitful sleep.
Mariella stood by the window of the hospital room in the late morning gazing at the beauty before her. The gardens of the hospital gave way to the view of rolling hills that gave this area so much of its beauty. She knew the lake lay beyond her view. From her vantage point she saw only the edge of a bustling town and the distant serene countryside. The village was hidden behind a fold in the hills and no trace of smoke marred the crystal-blue sky.
Everyone went along with their daily lives. She had lost clothes and her laptop. And her photo of Ariana. Dante had only the sleeper he wore when they were rescued. Her livelihood depended on connections with her clients. She had to get another computer soon. She had backup files at home, so wouldn’t totally start from the beginning. But this would certainly put a crimp in things.
The few hours’ sleep she’d managed made her feel refreshed. She needed her wits about her to get back on track. Maybe she should consider returning to Rome immediately. But she wasn’t sure when she’d have another break in her workload to look for Dante’s father. If she didn’t do some checking now, people would forget. Maybe they already had. But she owed it to the baby to find out anything she was able to.
Even with oxygen she still used she felt as though her lungs were on fire and it was difficult to breathe. Still, things were improving—she could go several minutes without the racking coughs.
She was declared healthy enough to be discharged, with a follow-up visit scheduled for a few days later.
She hurried to the pediatric ward, limping slightly because of the stitches in her left foot. She slowed in surprise to see Cristiano staring at the babies in the nursery.
“Cristiano?”
He turned and smiled when he saw her, giving her a critical look. “How are you today?”
She coughed, then smiled as she came up to him. “Much better. Doctor said I can go home and come back in a few days for another checkup.” She looked into the nursery. “Is Dante in there?”
“No, these are newborns. Look how small they are.”
She noticed the four babies and smiled. “Dante was tiny like that when he was born. Now look how big he’s grown.”
He turned and studied her again. “You really okay or are you pushing things?”
“I really will be fine. Let’s find Dante.”
Mariella was wearing clothes lent to her by a nurse on the night shift. Her feet didn’t bother her much. The cut on the left gave her a bit of a limp, but the doctor had assured her it would heal quickly with no lasting damage. The scruffy slippers she wore needed to be replaced, too. Her mind spun with all she needed to do.
Cristiano led the way into the pediatric ward and in seconds they were in the room with the baby.
“The pediatrician made his round a short time ago,” the nurse said. “Your baby’s ready to go.” She smiled at both of them. “He’s a darling child. So attentive. But I know he misses his parents.”
In a moment Mariella stood by the crib. Dante looked up at Mariella and gave her a wide grin. Lifting his arms, he came up easily when she reached out to pick him up. She held him closely, relishing the warmth of him in her arms. Her heart swelled with love. For a moment she almost broke into tears thinking about how close she had come to losing him. He was her precious son. The last link to her dearest friend. She gave silent thanks for his safety.
She turned to Cristiano. “You did a wondrous thing saving us. How could I ever thank you?” Mariella took a deep breath, taking in the sweet scent of baby powder and baby shampoo.
“Just get well fast. I’m glad I was there.”
“And knew what to do. I don’t even want to think about what could have happened.”
“Don’t. Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’m not a big fan of hospitals.”
As soon as they stepped outside he steered her to the black sports car parked nearby. Eying it dubiously, she asked, “Do you have a car seat for Dante?”
“The hospital is lending us one until you buy another. Then we’ll bring it back. First thing, you need some clothes. Not that the outfit you’re wearing doesn’t have a certain cachet,” he said, opening the door and pushing the passenger seat forward to access the baby’s seat.
She laughed, then broke into coughing again. “Thanks. Nothing boosts a woman’s ego more than compliments—” She stopped abruptly, before saying from a man she cares about. She had only just met the man. Taking the opportunity to end the statement while she put Dante into the carrier, she vowed to watch what she said in future.
Dante was oblivious to any tension. He babbled away in baby language and patted Mariella’s face. Tangling his fingers in Mariella’s long hair as she leaned over fastening the straps, he pulled.
“Ouch. You have to stop doing that,” Mariella said with a laugh, grabbing his little hand and kissing the fingers. “That hurts!”
“He seems in fine form,” Cristiano said.
Mariella smiled. “Seems as if no harm done. He’s not even coughing.”
Once she got Dante situated, she turned to Cristiano, so glad he’d come for her. “I have a million things to do. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
