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Rafe regarded her with suspicion. “Not in the kitchen, I hope.”
“No, I imagine he’ll let us sit in the dining room just this once.”
He nodded. “Twenty minutes, then. I’ll be waiting in my car.”
“You could come inside or sit on the porch,” she offered.
“No, thanks. I think it’s probably best if I give your father a wide berth.”
“Really? Sounds as if there’s a story there.”
“I’ll tell you during dinner.”
Gina ran inside, gave her parents a quick report on Karen, then made the call to New York. Deidre was surprisingly reassuring.
“We’ve been packed as usual. The guys in the kitchen are managing. Ronnie’s been amazing. You’d think he’d been running the kitchen all along,” she said with evident pride. “You and Bobby trained them well. The food’s as great as ever. If you need to stay out there, we’ll be okay. You do whatever you need to do.”
Gina thought of the stack of unpaid bills she’d left behind. “Deidre, there could be problems with some of our suppliers,” she said reluctantly.
“I know,” the other woman said. “I saw the bills. Don’t worry. You left me with a stack of signed checks. I’ve written a few to pay some of the suppliers who were starting to get testy, and I’ve spoken to the other vendors. We’ll be okay, at least for a little while.”
Deidre hesitated, then added, “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I can tell there’s a problem. If there’s anything I can do, all you have to do is ask. You gave me this job when I really needed one—I owe you. I don’t have any cash to lend you, but I’ve gotten real good at juggling creditors. I’ll keep the hounds at bay for as long as I can.”
“Have I ever told you how terrific you are?” Gina asked.
“At least once a day. Now let me get back to work. I’ve got a line of customers waiting to be seated.”
“Then by all means go. Thanks, Deidre. You’re a godsend.”
Feeling vastly relieved by the news from New York, she took a quick shower, pulled on a pair of jeans and her boots and added a sleeveless gingham shirt.
“Where are you going?” her father called as she passed the living room.
“Out to dinner.”
“All alone?” her mother asked.
“No, Rafe’s waiting.”
Her father’s expression darkened. “I thought I made myself clear to that man.”
Gina regarded him with alarm. “Daddy, what did you say to Rafe?”
“Just that he needs to remember that this is a small town and I will not allow him to ruin your reputation.”
“How terribly gallant of you, but the warning is unnecessary. Rafe and I are just...” She couldn’t seem to think of a suitable word.
Friends certainly didn’t describe it. And they were more than acquaintances. Given the sizzle in the air each time they met, prospective lovers seemed apt, but she could hardly admit that to her father. Or even to herself, under the circumstances. She was pretty sure it was unwise, at the very least, to contemplate getting into bed with a man who was about to grill her. Surely she had learned that lesson after a few months with the suspicious Carlo.
Eventually she just sighed. “You don’t need to worry, that’s all.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” her father grumbled. “Be home by midnight.”
“George,” her mother protested. “Gina’s a grown woman.”
“Maybe so, but there’s not a lot to do after midnight in Winding River except get in trouble, if you catch my drift. Why do you think we have all those shotgun weddings right after graduation every year?”
Gina planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’m a long way out of high school, but I promise that Rafe and I won’t go down to the river and engage in any hanky-panky after dinner.”
But, of course, now that the idea had been planted in her head, that was exactly what she most wanted to do. From the moment she had watched her best friend’s husband being buried, she had desperately wanted to do something—anything—that would remind her that she was still very much alive.
* * *
Rafe promised himself he was going to be on his best behavior over dinner. No probing questions. No sneak attacks on Gina’s credibility. And most important of all, no crossing the line—which meant no kisses, no lingering caresses, no steamy looks.
Obviously, he’d lied to himself. So far he’d managed to keep the questions, at least about Rinaldi, to a minimum, but he couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. There were a million and one excuses for touching Gina. After all, he had to help her out of the car, didn’t he? And it was only polite to slip his arm around her waist when they crossed the street, right? And that stray curl that skimmed her cheek needed to be tucked behind her ear, didn’t it? Could he help it if his fingers brushed hers when he handed her the menu or lingered when her hand trembled ever so slightly? She’d had a rough few days. He was only offering comfort.
And pigs flew, he thought in self-disgust.
“Rafe, is there some problem?” Gina asked, studying him worriedly.
“Nope,” he said flatly, then turned his gaze to the selections on the menu. He’d expected little more than pizza and spaghetti and was surprised to find far more intriguing offerings.
“Your friend Tony has quite a menu,” he noted.
“He’s added a few things since I worked here.” She grinned. “I send him a new recipe for Christmas every year.”
“Only once a year?”
“The locals can’t accept too much change all at once. You’ll notice that plain old spaghetti and meatballs is still on the menu. There would be a revolt if he took it off, but once in a while he can talk his customers into trying something new.”
“What do you recommend?”
“The penne arrabiata,” she said without hesitation. “The tomato sauce has a little kick to it. I gave that one to him when I was in here the other day.”
Rafe chuckled. “Yes, I can see why something spicy would appeal to you.” He put the menu aside. “What about wine? Shall we order a bottle?”
“Only if you can settle for the house Chianti. I haven’t been able to talk Tony into starting a decent wine cellar.”
“Chianti it is, then.”
As soon as the waitress had taken their order with a promise to let Tony know that it was for Gina and her friend, Rafe studied Gina. “You look better. How did the phone call go?”
“The restaurant is very busy. Deidre’s holding the creditors at bay. I can stay on here a while longer.”
“But not indefinitely,” Rafe said. “Not if you expect to pull Café Tuscany out of this mess. You’re going to have to go back and face it.”
Her cheerful expression faltered. “I know, but just for tonight can we not talk about it?”
Rafe hesitated. “Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to—or even should—discuss any of this with, but I’m a halfway-decent listener.”
“I’m sure you are, but how do I know that you won’t take every word I say and twist it? Let’s face it, you’re not out here because you want to get to know me. You’re here because you think I’m guilty of a crime.”
“Not guilty, just involved,” Rafe corrected.
“What’s the difference?”
“I know you’re involved with Rinaldi, and I know that he’s done some shady financial deals.”
“That’s guilt by association,” Gina pointed out. “Because Bobby’s guilty, then I must be, too. That’s what you’re saying.”
Rafe shook his head. “No, I’m trying to keep an open mind where you’re concerned.”
She regarded him doubtfully.
“Okay, maybe when I first scheduled the deposition, I made some assumptions,” he conceded.
“And now?”
“I’m beginning to think my secretary might have been right, though if you ever tell her that, I’ll be forced to deny it.”
“Your secretary?”
“Lydia Allen. She’s a big fan of yours and your restaurant. From the beginning she told me I was crazy for suspecting you of anything.”
Gina’s eyes brightened. “I know Lydia. I should have realized who she was when I first spoke to her about changing the deposition. She’s a regular at the restaurant. And she works for you? How fascinating. You must have some redeeming qualities, then, if you can keep a woman like that on your payroll.”
Rafe winced. “She might not agree. In fact, she says she stays with me precisely because I need someone to keep me honest.”
“You’re scared of her, aren’t you?” she said, clearly enjoying the discovery. “What is she? Five-two, a hundred and five pounds? And you’re scared of her. I love it.”
“I am not scared of her,” he insisted.
“Oh?”
He grinned. “Actually, I’m terrified. She can make my life a living hell. In fact, she takes great pride in it.”
Gina chuckled. “I’ll have to call Deidre and let her know that Lydia’s next meal is on the house.”
“Which won’t do much to help your financial situation,” Rafe pointed out. “Nor will it do a thing to get you into my good graces.”
Her gaze narrowed. “What would it take for me to get in your good graces?”
“Some honest answers.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Rafe.”
“But you haven’t told me the whole truth, either.”
“I will when the time comes.”
His spirits, which had been astonishingly light during their bantering exchange, sank. “And that will be?”
“When we do the deposition,” she said flatly, and turned her gaze to Tony, who was crossing the restaurant, a beaming smile on his face for Gina, a cooler acknowledgment for Rafe.
Rafe couldn’t help the trace of envy that filled him as he listened to the warm exchange between these two old friends. He wasn’t used to feeling shut out, all but ignored, especially by a woman. Nor was he used to the distrust that Tony made no attempt to hide.
After the man had gone to check on their meal, Gina regarded him apologetically. “Sorry about that. Tony’s very protective of me, and he knows about everything that happened with Bobby and that you’re here to keep an eye on me. He’s worried about what’s going on with the two of us.”
“You mean romantically?”
She had the audacity to laugh at that. “Hardly! No, he’s convinced you have ulterior motives, that you’re trying to wear me down so I’ll incriminate myself. He mentioned it after meeting you the other day.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That you were a lawyer. That seemed to be explanation enough.”
The stereotype rankled. “Your friend Emma is a lawyer. He doesn’t distrust her, does he?”
“No, but Emma grew up here. That gives her an advantage.”
A few minutes later Tony returned with steaming plates filled with aromatic pasta. He served them, cast yet another suspicious look at Rafe, then returned to the kitchen.
“It’s no fun, is it?” Gina asked.
“What?”
“Being regarded with distrust.”
“No,” Rafe agreed.
She smiled happily at that. “Good. Then you know how I feel every time I catch you watching me.”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” he agreed, then leaned across the table, his gaze locked with hers. “But just so you know, sometimes when I’m watching you, it’s because I find you both fascinating and stunning, and I can’t take my eyes off you.”
She stared at him, openmouthed, as he sat back and lifted his glass in a silent toast, then grinned. “Gives you something to think about, doesn’t it?”
“Rafe, I don’t think we ought to go there, do you?” she said, clearly flustered.
“Probably not,” he agreed readily.
Unfortunately, he was pretty sure it was too late to derail that particular train.
8 (#ulink_dbcdf58b-cd95-5fa3-a0ff-c040e35325c6)
The ringing phone woke Rafe out of a sound sleep, rousing him from a dream in which he and Gina were entangled on a feather mattress, engaging in some very slow, incredibly provocative acts. Even before he picked up the receiver, he hated whoever was on the other end of the line.
“Rafe, why haven’t I heard from you?” his mother demanded in a petulant tone.
