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She poured herself a cup of coffee, made two slices of toast from her mother’s homemade sourdough bread, then went onto the porch. It was already hot outside, better suited for iced tea than coffee, but she drank it anyway. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would help her think more clearly so she could decide what to do about Rafe O’Donnell.
Unfortunately, the only ideas that came to mind had more to do with discovering what his mouth would feel like against her own than they did with getting him out of town.
Too restless to sit still, she grabbed the keys to her mother’s car, which had been left for her, and headed for town. She parked in the middle of the block on Main Street and considered her options. She could go to Stella’s and probably find a half dozen people she knew who’d be glad to chat with her over another cup of coffee. Or she could go to the Italian restaurant down the block, where Tony would probably let her work off her frustrations over his stove.
No contest, she thought, with a stirring of anticipation.
Tony Falcone had been her mentor. He’d hired her as a waitress while she was still in high school, but it hadn’t been long before he’d discovered that her real talent was in the kitchen. He’d taught her to make lasagna and spaghetti sauce with meatballs. He’d let her experiment with new recipes when cooking the traditional dishes had grown boring. And then he had helped her to persuade her parents that she would be better off going to culinary schools around the world than to any traditional college. It had been a tough sell, especially to her father, who’d been convinced that a degree in accounting would be a lot more practical. Given her current circumstances, Gina had to admit her father might have had a point.
A wave of nostalgia washed over her as she approached the back door at Tony’s and knocked, then opened it without waiting for a response from inside.
“Anybody in here have a good recipe for meatballs?” she called out.
“Cara mia,” Tony said, a smile spreading across his round face when he saw her. “Where have you been? I heard you were coming home, but then nothing. I am insulted that I was not at least the second stop on your list after your parents.”
“I know, I know,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Will you forgive me?”
He studied her. “That depends.”
“On?”
“How long you intend to stay. It has been too long, Gina. My customers are grumbling about the same old food, week after week. Not a day goes by that someone doesn’t ask when you will be back to liven up the menu.”
“What do you tell them?”
“That you are now a famous chef in New York, and that if they want to eat your food, they will have to travel there.”
Gina eyed with longing the huge old stove with its simmering pots. “I could fix something for tonight,” she offered. “Maybe a spicy penne arrabiata or a Greek-style pizza with black olives and feta cheese.”
“But you are on vacation,” Tony protested. “I cannot ask you to cook.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. Besides, I have some thinking to do, and I always think more clearly as I cook.”
He studied her intently. “Problems, cara mia? Do you want to talk about them? I may not be able to solve them, but I can listen. Sometimes that is all we need, yes? An objective listener while we sort through things?”
Gina debated telling Tony everything. She knew he would keep it to himself. She also knew he would sympathize with her predicament because he, more than anyone, knew how important her restaurant was to her.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she asked.
He regarded her with feigned indignation. “How many nights did I listen to you go on and on about this boyfriend or that?”
She grinned ruefully. “More than I care to think about, but this is different.”
“How?”
“Because it really matters.”
“When you were sixteen, those boys mattered, too.”
She thought back to the string of broken hearts she’d suffered. “Okay, you’re right. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”
“I will fix us both an espresso and we will talk.” He gestured toward the front. “Go in there and sit.”
“But you have things to do,” she protested. “We can talk here.”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Now, go. I will be there in a minute.”
Gina walked into the dining room with its familiar red-checked tablecloths, the dripping candles stuck in old Chianti bottles, the wide-planked oak floor and the big picture window overlooking Main Street. An inexpertly done mural of Naples had been painted on one wall by Tony’s homesick wife, Francesca.
By comparison, Café Tuscany had five-star ambience, but Gina felt perfectly at home here with the rich scents drifting from the kitchen and the sunlight spilling in the window. An astonishing sense of peace crept over her. Right here, right now, she could believe everything would be all right.
Tony joined her at a table in front. She smiled as she accepted the cup of dark espresso and took her first sip. “Still the best,” she told him. “I grind and blend my own beans, but it’s not the same.”
“When I die, I will leave you the secret in my will,” he teased. “Now talk to me. What is this big trouble in your life?”
Gina sighed and gazed into Tony’s dark-brown eyes. There was so much fatherly concern there. She realized suddenly just how much she had missed this man, missed sitting here and talking about her hopes and dreams until she was certain he must be bored silly, but he had never complained. Some of the time Francesca had been with them, clucking over Gina’s disappointments and offering encouragement.
“Did I ever thank you for everything you did for me?” she asked.
“You did, but there was no need. For Francesca and me, you are the daughter we never had.”
“How is Francesca? I should have asked.”
“Still the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, a gleam in his eyes. “She will be here soon. It will make her very happy to see you again. You can tell her everything you saw in Italy. She still dreams of seeing it again one day.”
“Then take her, Tony,” she said with a sudden sense of urgency. “Don’t let time slip away.”
He regarded her worriedly. “You aren’t sick, are you?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“It’s just that you sounded so sad, as if there were things you wanted that you might never have.”
She shook her head. “No, just things that mean the world to me that I could lose.” She told him the whole story then, leaving out none of the sordid details about Bobby’s betrayal of her and their investors.
True to his word, Tony listened and said nothing until she wound down. “Now, to top it off, the attorney who’s filed charges against Bobby is right here in Winding River. He thinks I’m as guilty as Bobby or, at the very least, that I know something that will help his case,” she concluded.
“But you don’t?”
She shook her head. “I was as shocked as anyone. I’m embarrassed to say that the first clue I had of how bad things are came when I read that deposition. That’s when I looked at the books.”
“Then tell him that, tell this man what you have told me. Hold nothing back. He will believe you.” He patted her hand. “If he does not, send him to me. I will tell him that Gina Petrillo does not lie.”
If only it were that simple, Gina thought. She glanced outside and spotted Rafe standing on the sidewalk, leaning against the bumper of a very fancy car, staring right back at her.
“Speak of the devil,” she muttered, resigned to the fact that the man was going to be true to his word and haunt her everywhere she went, even here in this place that had always been her sanctuary.
Tony followed her gaze. “That is Rafe O’Donnell?”
“In the flesh.”
“He looks like a reasonable man.”
“He’s not,” Gina said. “If he were, he would go away and leave me alone. I told him when I would return to New York. He doesn’t believe me. He’s determined to stick to me like glue until I go back.”
Tony stood up. “Then we should invite him in to join us, show him that you have nothing to hide, nothing to fear from him.”
“I don’t know,” Gina protested, but Tony was already opening the door and beckoning Rafe inside.
“Better you should sit here than loiter on the sidewalk outside,” Tony told him, ushering him to the table. “I will bring you an espresso, then I must get back to work in the kitchen so things will be ready for lunch.”
Rafe sat down opposite Gina, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked totally at ease, not one bit like a man on a mission to make her life a living hell. And, to her very deep regret, he was still the sexiest male she’d stumbled across in a very long time. She had really, really hoped she’d been wrong about that.
Rafe glanced around, surveying the restaurant with fascination.
“Is this where you got your start?” he asked.
“I worked at Stella’s for a while as a waitress, then came here. Tony taught me to cook.”
Rafe gestured toward the mural. “Who’s the artist?”
Gina turned to look at the familiar painting, tried to imagine how it must look through Rafe’s no-doubt jaded eyes.
“Francesca, Tony’s wife, painted it from an old photograph,” she explained a bit defensively. “She was born in Naples. She says that painting keeps her from being homesick, so I suggest you not make fun of it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s probably too hokey for a sophisticated man like you,” she said.
“Are you sure you’re not projecting? I like it.”
She studied him to see if he was mocking her, but his expression was serious. “You really like it?” she asked skeptically.
“I said I did, didn’t I? I’m not an art snob, Gina.” He regarded her pointedly. “Are you?”
She flushed at the accusation. “I always loved it because of what it meant to Francesca, but it’s not exactly great art.”
“It doesn’t need to be. There’s a simplicity to it that I find appealing. It gives the restaurant a personal touch, a certain charm.” He met her gaze evenly. “Now I imagine your restaurant has Venetian-glass chandeliers, oil paintings you picked up in Florence, dark wood, fresh flowers and green linen tablecloths.”
He was closer to the truth than Gina cared to admit. Bobby had believed that to charge the outrageous prices he intended to charge, the atmosphere had to be elegant.
“Have you been to Café Tuscany?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Then you shouldn’t be making judgments.”
“Which must mean I got it exactly right,” he said, grinning.
“You did not.”
“Which part was wrong?”
“The tablecloths are dark red,” she murmured.
His grin spread. “What was that? I don’t think I heard you.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” she said, this time very clearly. “I have to go.”
“I haven’t even had my espresso yet,” he chided her.
“Then, by all means, stay and enjoy it. I’m sure Tony will be glad to keep you company.”
Casting one last wistful look toward the kitchen, Rafe rose to his feet. “Unfortunately, it’s not his company I’m after. Where you go, I go, so lead on, Gina.”
She scowled at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re going to tail me like you would some common criminal?”
“Oh, I doubt there’s anything common about you,” he said, but he didn’t deny his intentions. “You could save me some trouble and just invite me along.”
“The very last thing I want to do is save you from putting yourself out. If you want to follow me, then I suggest you get into that fancy car of yours and rev the engine, because I don’t slow down to wait for anybody.”
He regarded her with a resigned expression. “Suit yourself. Do your worst, Gina. I promise I’ll keep up. And just in case you have any ideas about exceeding the speed limit to lose me, remember I have my cell phone with me and I’ll use it to call the sheriff.”
“The sheriff is a friend of mine,” she countered.
“Which won’t matter when I suggest to him that you skipped out on a court-ordered deposition.”
“I did not skip out,” she said, her voice rising. “I postponed it. You know that.”
“Do I?” he asked innocently. “I imagine by the time we get it all sorted out, you’ll be late for whatever it is you’re so anxious to get to.”
Gina held on to her temper by a very slender thread. “I am not anxious to get anywhere except away from you,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Oh, never mind. My car’s down the block. You might as well come with me. I’m going to a rodeo. It might be interesting to see how you take to all that hot air and dust.”
“If you want to see me sweat, I can think of far more interesting ways to go about it,” Rafe taunted.
Gina felt her skin burn. Wasn’t it bad enough that the man was out to torment her over the mess Bobby had created? Now he apparently intended to drive her crazy with sexual innuendoes that stirred her imagination in ways destined to leave her hot and bothered and thoroughly frustrated.
“Don’t even go there,” she warned him tightly. “You’re probably breaking at least a dozen different rules of ethics just by hinting at such a thing.”
“At least that many,” he agreed, as if it were of no importance. His gaze locked with hers. “But something tells me it might be worth it.”
Judging from the way her heart was thundering in her chest, Gina was very much afraid he could be right about that.
3 (#ulink_071e60ff-96d0-5e58-a58d-d4abd7178c68)
It had only been twenty-four hours since his arrival, and already Rafe was having a really hard time remembering why he had come to Winding River. For a man known for his razor-sharp mind and powers of concentration, it was a disconcerting experience. He’d certainly never had any trouble in the past when it came to focusing on the best interests of his clients.
Now, however, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the woman sitting beside him in the stands at the rodeo arena. That was truly saying something, given the level of activity going on in the center of the ring and the cheers sounding all around him. His mind was drifting in all sorts of wicked directions, just as it had the night before.
