Her Italian Soldier

by Rebecca Winters

  Besides the sports car and the van, there was the third car Basilio had driven when he’d picked her up at the farm. It was an older model blue Amalfi sedan. He gave her the key, telling her it was now hers to use while she was in Italy.

  The police directing traffic indicated they needed to get rid of the roadblock as fast as possible. With the agreement that she’d meet the film crew tomorrow at noon in the town of Amalfi for another photo shoot, she got in the car and followed the policeman riding a motorcycle out into the stream of cars. He helped her get her place in line with the other vehicles headed back toward Ravello.

  Through the rearview mirror she saw him blow her a kiss. Annabelle smiled. Italian men. Always open in their enjoyment of women. They were hilarious. Except for one Lucca Cavezzali. She frowned, needing to arm herself ahead of time for a dour reception from him once she returned.

  She’d seen his bottle of pills. He was almost out of them. They were the strongest painkillers one could take after surgery without going back to the hospital for a morphine cocktail. His fall in the hallway last night had been doubly unfortunate for him. It came from returning home the hard way, but it was his call after all, and his house. The injured man had every right to expect it would be empty.

  Before she arrived at the farmhouse, she made two stops on the outskirts of Ravello. One to a pizzeria for a light meal. The other to a gelateria that was a few doors down from a charming-looking bed-and-breakfast. She checked it out and found out there was a vacancy. With easy access to the main road, she couldn’t find anything better and held the room with a credit card for two weeks occupancy.

  Now that Lucca was back home, she couldn’t stay at the farmhouse and would check in after she’d gone back to pack. While she ate a delicious lemon ice, she returned her parents’ phone call, letting them know she’d left Rome and was now settled in Ravello.

  Considering the time difference between Italy and California, they’d already gone to work some time ago, so she left her message on their answering machine. Being the last of three children, she knew they worried about her and wanted her to be happy. The prerogative of parents.

  A familiar ache passed through Annabelle because the experience of having a baby had been denied her. But then she quickly brightened, refusing to dwell on it, and assured her folks she was having a wonderful time. How could she not after the sights she’d seen today.

  She left out mention of the owner of the farmhouse, who’d come close to giving her a heart attack last night when he’d decided to come home without telling his father. Guilio worshipped his son, but clearly there was some history between them that caused Lucca to hold back.

  Annabelle didn’t pretend to understand the family dynamics known only to the two of them, but she respected them. Nothing could be worse for her than to be caught smack-dab in the middle of father-and-son issues.

  Whatever Lucca decided to do or not do, tomorrow she would tell Guilio that the farmhouse was too isolated after all and she’d found a place with eating establishments next door that suited her. She wanted out of this precarious situation. It was up to Lucca to contact his father. He’d had a day to think about it.

  A minute later she pulled into the drive at the side of the farmhouse and parked the car.

  Twilight was fast fading into darkness. Combined with the soft, fragrant air, it was a magical time of night. But when she opened the door to the kitchen, reality intruded because she was met by a man holding on to the kitchen counter. His facial features were taut with pain. Even his knuckles were white.

  Without thinking she said, “You need to go to an emergency room.”

  “What I need are more pills,” he corrected in a gravelly voice.

  “Why in heaven’s name didn’t you phone your father?”

  “My original plan had been to show up at his house this morning, but the fall put me out of commission. I’d prefer to see him when I’m not writhing in pain.”

  It would be counterproductive to ask him why he hadn’t phoned someone else then. Unless he didn’t have a phone, but she didn’t believe it. The problem between him and his father was more grave than she’d supposed. “I’ve been given a car to use and will fill your prescription if you’ll tell me where to get it.”

  “I have to pick it up in person.”

  “Since you’re in no shape to get behind a wheel, I’ll drive you.” She saw the cane on the table and handed it to him. “After you.”

  She followed him out, locking the door behind her, then she ran ahead of him and opened the back door of the car. When he’d climbed in with difficulty and more or less lay against the seat, she shut his door and got in the driver’s seat.

  “Are you hiding, or is that position more comfortable?”

  “Both. Follow the road to Salerno.” His words sounded like they came through gritted teeth. “There’s a farmacia in the Piazza Municipio seven miles from here that will be open.”

  When she’d found the main road she said, “What would you have done if I hadn’t come when I did?”

  “I was on the verge of calling for a taxi when I heard the car in the drive.” He sat up, obviously not worried about being recognized now that they were on the road. Annabelle heeded his precise instructions to get them to the other town. Traffic was heavy. She knew he was suffering, but he’d chosen to be stubborn by hiding out in his own house unannounced and she refused to feel sorry for him.

  What was it Guilio had said about her being stubborn like his son? It had frustrated him when she’d told him she refused to intrude on him and his wife while she was in Ravello.

  Eventually she slowed to a stop in front of the store. “We’ve arrived.” There were no drive-thru pharmacies here.

  “Don’t move from this spot. With luck I won’t run in to anyone I know.”

  Maybe not, she mused, but he’d certainly be noticed. Lucca’s tall male physique would do wonders for anything he wore including the tan chinos and raspberry-colored polo shirt she hadn’t noticed until now. In uniform, he’d really be something.

  Knowing he was about to get the relief he craved, she noticed he managed to move quickly with that cane. While she waited for him, her cell phone rang. When she saw Cavezzali on the ID, guilt swamped her. If she didn’t answer, he might get worried.

  She clicked on. “Hello? Guilio? How are you?”

  “Molto bene, Annabelle. Basilio told me Giovanni is ecstatic about the pictures he took today.”

  Thank goodness. “That’s wonderful.”

  “I will come to Amalfi tomorrow. I have some new ideas for the shoot.”

  “I’ll look forward to seeing you.”

  “Are you comfortable at the farmhouse? Do you need anything?”

  Now was the time to tell him. “The farmhouse is a dream, but I’ve discovered modeling makes me tired and I don’t want to do any cooking. So I’ve made arrangements to stay at the Casa Claudia for the rest of my time here. There are the most fabulous food places all around it.”

  “That’s a good little family establishment. I was afraid the farmhouse might be too isolated.”

  “You were right after all. I’m sorry you went to that trouble for me. Please don’t send any maids. I’ve cleaned everything including the fridge and will give you back the key later.”

  “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  Only because of Lucca’s entry into her life. She’d loved being by herself at the farm, where she could do exactly as she pleased, but a certain unexpected event had changed the situation.

  “In truth, I love all the little places to eat. Italian cuisine is the best! I could eat my head off here, but I know I’ve got to be careful or I won’t be able to fit in to the clothes Marcella has chosen for me.”

  In the midst of Guilio’s laughter, Lucca got back in the car. She decided to put the phone on speaker. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was talking behind his back with his father. Maybe hearing his father’s voice would influence Lucca to con
tact him.

  “I’m not worried, Annabelle. Don’t forget the party I’m giving a week from Saturday. You’ll be meeting our top Italian dealers. I’ve decided to give everyone a preview to whet their appetites before the big launch.” The excitement in his voice was palpable. She was ready to disconnect them if he started to say anything that would give away the surprise.

  “I know how much this means to you.” So far the man in the backseat had no idea this was all in tribute to him. “I’ll give you my very best.”

  “You always do. Did I tell you Mel Jardine will be coming next week? He’s missing you terribly.”

  “I miss him, too,” she said, warmed by his words, “but I have to admit I love it here.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Does that mean you’re reconsidering my offer?” he asked hopefully.

  “No. It just means I’m a typical woman who’s having more fun than I deserve.”

  “After what you’ve been through, no one deserves it more than you. Now get to bed and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you for everything, Guilio. Ciao.”

  Once Annabelle had clicked off, she turned in the seat and was taken back by Lucca’s inscrutable stare. The light from the store illuminated his irises, which were flecked with green among the grey. What a beautiful surprise they were. This was the first time she’d seen their color.

  The silence deepened, making her uneasy. “Are you waiting for your prescription to be filled?”

  “No. I’ve taken my medicine and am ready to go home whenever you are.”

  The knowledge that he would be feeling relief shortly seemed to have revived him enough to be civil to her. He might hate it that she existed as an unwanted encumbrance, but he’d needed someone to help him. Would it be out of the question to hope he might thank her at some point? She started the car and headed back to Ravello without saying anything.

  “My father sounded more excited than I’ve heard him in years.”

  You have no idea, Lucca. “After meeting him, I had the impression he’s always like that.”

  “You’ve heard of the immovable object and the irresistible force. My father’s the embodiment of both of them,” he said in a tone of exasperation.

  Her thoughts flew to Guilio, who came across as a dynamo and was infinitely likable. But she hadn’t been his child who’d lived with him from birth. That child might have a different perspective altogether.

  About to ask him if he needed anything else as long as they were out, she decided against it because it was quiet back there. Annabelle would normally be turned off by such moody behavior, but she knew too much about him already and cared about him in spite of herself. The man had served his country and was used to making instantaneous decisions to take out the enemy and still stay alive.

  That kind of sacrifice put him in a special category of human being, particularly since he’d suffered a recent leg injury that had brought him home on unexpected leave. She imagined it wasn’t in his nature to show his need of anyone. Proud to a fault, perhaps? Especially around his father? It had to be a man thing.

  Being a survivor, he would shun anyone hovering over him. Annabelle could understand that and wished she hadn’t been in his house last night. The wounded warrior had the right to come home and deal with his demons out of sight.

  It was a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Guilio couldn’t have known that. He’d only been trying to accommodate her.

  A shudder wracked her body when she thought of the cruel things she’d said to Lucca. Once she’d realized who he was and had overcome her fear, anger hadn’t been far behind. She knew most—if not all—of her comments last night had more to do with lashing out at Ryan. He often came home in the middle of the night after being on rounds at the hospital. Or so she’d thought.

  Instead he’d been with the woman who was now his wife. They had a baby, the one that should have been Annabelle’s. The one Ryan had said they couldn’t have until he’d become a fully fledged doctor and had set up a practice.

  No…those salvos she’d enjoyed hurling last night had been aimed at the wrong target. If Lucca ever gave her a chance to explain, she would apologize.

  By the time they reached the house, she thought he must have fallen asleep. In fact she was sure of it when she opened the rear door and called to him several times without obtaining a response. The position he was half lying in couldn’t possibly have been comfortable. If it were, she’d let him spend the night there.

  She reached for the cane and propped it against the side of the car. “Lucca?” She nudged his shoulder gently. “Wake up! You’re home now. Let me help you in the house. Come on. You can’t stay here.”

  Something she’d said, maybe just the sound of her voice, must have gotten through to him. Suddenly his body turned rigid and jerked upright. Streams of words poured from his mouth in rapid succession. They hadn’t been said in anger or swearing. Though she understood very little Italian, she thought he must be giving orders or delivering instructions.

  In the semidark, a look of horror spread across his face. The hand closest to her squeezed her upper arm in a death grip. He was unaware of his strength. His cries rang in the night air. She thought he said a name before low sobs of anguish shook his frame and found their way to her soul.

  Whatever he was reliving in his mind had to have been unspeakable. The man battled post-traumatic stress disorder. Annabelle had worked around vets at the hospital and understood even more his natural instinct to hide away from family until he was able to cope.

  Still standing, she leaned farther in and put her other arm around his shoulders. Without conscious thought she rocked him against her, pained for him. “You’re all right, Lucca. It’s just a dream. You’re home and safe,” she murmured over and over in soothing tones, wanting to comfort him.

  The freshly shaven male cheek pressed against hers was damp with tears. Whether his or hers at this juncture, she didn’t know. “It’s all right,” she whispered against his temple. “I’m with you. Wake up,” she cried softly.

  After a long moment his hold on her arm loosened enough for her to embrace him fully. In the next breath she felt his body relax, as if he were with her now, mentally as well as physically. No longer seized by what had to have been some kind of flashback, he drew in a labored breath.

  His hands roamed her waist and back experimentally. She felt their warmth before they moved around to slide up her arms and cup her face. He gazed at her, still disoriented.

  “Hi,” she whispered, struggling to keep a steady voice while her body was still reacting to his touch. “Remember me?”

  After a silence he said, “Signorina Marsh.”

  “Yes. You had a bad dream on the way home from the pharmacy, but it’s over now.”

  Their lips were close enough she could feel his breath on them. “Did I have one last night?” The man was suffering. Her heart went out to him.

  “To be honest, I don’t know. As soon as you fell asleep, I moved to the other bedroom. Tell me what happened to you in the war, Lucca. Talk to me! I take it your jet crashed.”

  Suddenly his hands gripped her upper arms. Even in the semidark, his face darkened. “How much did you hear?”

  “Enough to understand what’s bottled up inside you.”

  “You really want to know?” he muttered fiercely.

  “Yes! I don’t care how terrible.”

  His fingers tightened, but she knew he had no idea of his strength. “Our squadron was under enemy fire.” She heard his labored breathing. “I watched my best friend get blown out of the sky. Why did it have to be him and not me?” His anguish devastated her. “He had a wife and a baby on the way. I couldn’t understand why I was alive and he wasn’t.”

  She rubbed his cheek. “After any kind of disaster, the person who survives always feels guilt. It’s a normal human reaction. In time, it’ll go away. I promise.”

  “I want to believe you.”

 
“Tell me what happened after that.”

  “My jet took a hit.” The cords in his neck stood out. “I ejected before the next round of fire finished it off. When I came to, I realized I’d ended up a junk heap on a pile of rocks. It took three days before a helicopter found me in that war zone and flew me out of there.”

  “It must have felt like three years.” His pain had to have been excruciating.

  “I drifted in and out of consciousness.” But she heard the pain in his voice. “After I was picked up, I was transported to a field hospital for immediate treatment. From there I was flown to Germany.”

  “How long were you in the hospital?”

  “Once I was transported there, four months. My thigh bone was broken across the shaft. They had to insert a metal plate.”

  Annabelle swallowed hard. “That was a bad break, but you didn’t lose your leg, thank heaven.” She sounded breathless even to her own ears. “The screw-and-plate treatment does help you heal faster.”

  She heard his sharp intake of breath. “Provided you don’t try to climb a steep hill and then crash on the tiles in the dead of night.”

  Without conscious thought she rested her forehead against his. “What else can you expect from a crack Italian jet pilot so used to protecting others, he forgot about his own safety.”

  An odd sound came from his throat. He smoothed his thumbs over her moist skin. “I’m not fit to be around, but you seem to have survived listening to me. That was your first mistake.” Once more he was on the defensive. “Now you’re stuck with me for a while longer.”

  He’d just given her the answer to the question plaguing her earlier. He hadn’t contacted his father yet.

  As he removed his palms from her cheeks, she backed away so he could get out of the car. “I believe this is yours.” She gave him the cane.

  After he emerged, she shut the door. With the feel of his hands still on her making her feel all trembly, she hurried ahead and opened the door to the kitchen. Once they were both inside, she locked it before turning on the light. He moved to the sink and took another drink from the tap, then turned to her.