by Cait London
With the ease of a man who soothed easily, Jeff reached out a big hand and smoothed her hair. “She’s always going to be with you. Aunt Mary Lou always left a little bit of herself with those she loved. I got the feeling she wanted to leave me with you, Beth. She said you’re one perfect prize. I always did like to take first place at the fair.”
He bent to kiss her cheek and then her lips briefly, as if he were tasting her, and above them, the little goddess tinkled happily in the chimes. Celeste was still there, Maggie decided, watching and perhaps laughing a little.
“You just did,” Beth whispered unevenly.
Jeff nodded to Maggie, who had been unable to move, spellbound by how easily the younger couple had accepted each other. Jeff was looking at Beth as if she were top grade prime. “You’ll excuse us, won’t you, ma’am? We’ve got some acquainting to do.”
“Um, yes. Beth, I might not call tonight after all. We might be busy until late.”
But Beth had her hands behind her back, gazing up into Jeff’s eyes. She looked fresh and sweet and excited and happy.
“That worked out nicely, Celeste,” Maggie said as she drove toward the winery and returned Jerry’s wave and thumbs-up.
At the Alessandro Vineyards and Winery, Nick tugged her into his arms. He felt good and solid and strong. “Are you okay?” he asked against her hair.
“I’ll miss her,” she answered. But deep inside, she felt more than grief. She sensed the danger that had troubled her friend. “Do you really think it was an accident?”
Nick stroked her hair, his heartbeat safe and constant and strong beneath her cheek. “Celeste wandered at odd times. She did as she wanted. If the wind caught her scarf, tangled it, and she reached to free it, bumping her head, her weight enough to snap her neck—yes, I think so. Don’t you?”
“She was worried about my past and danger to me. I’ve gone over it all. It’s not likely that anyone came after me. They were all very happy when I left.”
“Let it go, honey. Let her go.”
“That’s going to be very hard to do. I loved her—and Beth is like my sister. You should have seen her and Jeff. They didn’t even miss me when I left. Nothing better happen to her.”
Nick patted her bottom and kissed her lightly. His soft expression said he understood. Then his dark brown eyes filled with laughter. “Kids grow up. They leave the nest.”
“Oh, you.” Maggie stood on tiptoe and kissed him hard. “Let’s go. I want to make a big impression on my boss.”
“You already have,” Nick returned, tugging her to him for a long, deep, hungry kiss.
“Getting away will be good for both of them, even if for only one day,” Rosa said as she sniffed the bubbling tomato sauce in the restaurant’s kitchen. Scout had come to stand at the doorway between the private family room and the restaurant’s kitchen. Rosa enjoyed talking to the dog, who tilted her head and listened intently. “Anthony and I love having you here. You’re so good with Tony’s babies…. First the wine festival, then Nick has to pick up some supplies, and they’ll be home late tonight. Beth left a message on Nick’s machine. She’s off to meet that nice boy’s family and see where Celeste is resting in Iowa. Beth took the cats, too. Celeste’s death was a terrible thing, so sudden, and Beth needed to put her at rest. We’re all going to miss Celeste.”
It was just after the coffee and pie bunch, and the lunch crowd hadn’t arrived yet. During tourist season, the working regulars taking their noon break used the Alessandro private family room, and Rosa liked tending the people she considered family. As long as they cleaned after themselves, they could help themselves to the smorgasbord in the back room for minimal cost.
Rosa thought of someone who she wished would eat more—Lorna. The girl was stick-thin, and should learn how to cook. Rosa smiled; she knew the identity of Lorna’s longtime rumored boyfriend, but it wasn’t for her to tell. Vinnie might not like it. In these things, it was best for nature to take its course, and Lorna was starting to look at babies curiously—
Scout returned to the family room and Rosa tossed a handful of fresh herbs into the sauce. She looked at the customer just entering the door. He’d been in before, sometimes taking a shadowy corner booth usually meant for lovers, or for those waiting for their preordered takeout. He tipped an exact amount, he spoke little, and his manner was brisk, except for the times when he settled back to watch—like a snake, Rosa thought, waiting to strike.
A tall, lean man with thinning sandy hair, he moved with a slight limp. While the restaurant’s lighting usually softened features, his edgy, narrow face was marked by knifelike cheekbones and shallow cheeks and a broken nose. His eyes seemed to burn within their lashless sockets. In an outdoors community, catering to the beach, sailing, and fishing crowd, his complexion was pale, not weathered and tan. He held what looked like a looped belt in his hand.
Rosa shrugged lightly; perhaps he had been ill, and tourists often brought their own problems with them. Sometimes she withheld the warmth she gave to young families and others; sometimes she sensed the darkness coursing within customers, and they were better left alone. All Rosa could do was to give him good food and a comfortable dining experience.
The man scanned the restaurant, not with the casual air of a customer wanting a place to eat, but with a hawkish, tight look of a predator. Rosa wiped her hands on her apron. If he were one of the mob, preparing to demand a cut of the profit, he was not going to be happy. The Alessandros had two generations’ experience of dealing with crime lords.
This time was different. He was coming directly toward the kitchen.
“Marco…Dante…” Rosa said too quietly, and immediately, the big men dropped their smiles and conversation, rising to their feet. Scout, whom Marco had been petting, stayed in the family dining room as she had been taught.
With Marco and Dante looming behind her, Rosa pasted a professional smile on her face and picked up a menu. He had a mission, this man, she thought, gripping the menu tightly. With her husband taking a much needed nap upstairs, she did not want him disturbed. “Hello. We have a lovely bell pepper and tomato salad for our lunch special, also marinated zucchini. Chicken with prosciutto and cheese and our soup for the day, Italian bean, is delicious. May I offer you a seat?”
He glanced warily at Marco and Dante standing behind her and shoved a paper at her. The leash in his other hand unfurled at his side. “I want my dog. Here’s her papers. She was stolen from me.”
At the sound of his voice, Scout tore through the doorway, and with a vicious snarl, leaped on the man. The usually friendly dog’s teeth lodged in the man’s jeans and the next few seconds were filled with noise and motion, tables and chairs toppling, condiments spilling to the floor, as the man tried to escape. “Get her off me!”
“Dante,” Rosa said quietly and her son moved forward, catching Scout’s collar and dragging her back.
“Give the dog to me, now!” the man screamed. “She’s mine!”
“Not today,” Marco said, gracefully, quickly easing past Rosa. The butcher’s massive hand gripped the back of the man’s head. Marco’s other hand latched onto his jeans, hefting him slightly off the floor. “Out.”
Rosa hurried to open the door for Marco, who pitched the man out into the street.
“You’ll pay for this,” the man threatened as he stumbled and found balance, smoothing his mussed hair with a clawlike hand.
“You want more?” Marco asked quietly.
“No, Marco. Don’t come back, sir,” Rosa ordered firmly and tossed the leash at him.
“That’s my dog! I own her!” He shook the papers at her.
She sniffed and placed her arms over her generous chest. Papers meant nothing to Rosa, only the love bond between Maggie and Scout. “You’re not getting the dog. No more talking.”
While Marco stood outside the restaurant door, watching the man hurry away, Rosa stepped inside the cool interior, where Dante was straightening the tables. She bent to pet Scout, who was
tense and poised to move in the doorway, as if she expected the man to come back. “He’s not gettting you. I saw the cruelty in his face, the crazy look.”
She looked at Dante. “When it is time, I will tell Maggie and she will settle the matter as she wishes. If the dog needs protection or if Maggie does, we will do so. She has just lost her best friend. She does not need more trouble now. Your father isn’t feeling well, and I don’t want him worried, either. See where the man is staying.”
But when Dante stood in front of the restaurant’s window, scanning the street, Rosa knew that the man had already disappeared. She prayed he would not come back, because his eyes were those of someone possessed by the devil. Rosa shrugged; she wasn’t afraid to admit to herself that her grandmother’s teachings lingered in her. Anthony would go crazy if he knew—but the next time Rosa saw that man, she was putting the evil eye on him.
Brent slid into Celeste’s unlocked house. Furious that a butcher with a stained apron had actually touched him, that the Alessandros should only disdain, not fear his threats, Brent badly needed to make someone pay.
And the girl, Beth, was his victim of choice—for now.
Maggie had always been very protective, and now that her sister was gone, she had taken a new chick under her wing.
At noon, Beth would be working in Celeste’s shop, and he’d be waiting for her when she returned home.
Beth had been Ed’s “girl,” and the bartender was furious with Celeste and Maggie. It was obvious that he feared the Alessandro brothers, but Brent had caught and locked onto the rage in Ed’s eyes, playing into it. Brawny and brainless, Ed could be a very useful pawn.
But he loved Beth, and that could be a problem. Her death had to look like an accident so as not to enrage the bartender.
The hiss Brent heard was his own. Shadowy and scented, the house reminded him of the woman he had killed—intricate and crazy. He shuddered at the clutter dancing around the house—no order, no order, everything in a mess, a frightening jumble of tiny knickknacks on every ledge. The groupings didn’t match—carved elephants mixed with red stone gnomes, throw pillows contrasting embroidered “Sex is for Seniors Who Know What to Do with It” and delicate English countrysides and starkly modern plaids. The room colors, blues and greens, spotted with yellows and lavenders, jabbed at Brent.
French country and modern red appliances clashed in the tiny kitchen, a huge fairy perched on top of the refrigerator with emblazoned “Bite Me.” Throw rugs with lavender blooms and fringed rugs of rose designs spread haphazardly over a linoleum pattern of daisies. The makings of candles, molds and slabs of wax, ran across one counter, a shoe box filled with shavings. A row of six china cups spread across a tiny wall shelf, the saucers behind them. Brent automatically reached to adjust the third cup, turning its handle in the direction of the other five.
Every framed picture in the house—cheap prints, family photographs, and rules to live by—seemed to be tilted, and Brent began to sweat, the house closing in on him.
He wiped his hands on his handkerchief and folded it, placing it into his pocket. He wouldn’t touch anything, just search the girl’s room, getting a fix on her.
Then feverishly, unable to deny his compulsion, Brent whipped out his handkerchief and, using it, began straightening the pictures.
The youthful clothing in one room identified it as the girl’s. It was very neat and uncluttered, a picture of Maggie and Beth on the dresser, arms around each other. He sneered at the room’s cheap contents, the slightly flashy clothing, in contrast to the psychic’s flowing caftans. The books beside her bed were about improving self-esteem and saying no. A three-legged feng shui frog stood on top of women’s magazines, staring at him from its plastic perch of Chinese coins. A mandella of leather and feathers hung in front of the window.
Maggie had been fond of good luck charms, and more than likely she’d given it to the girl—the old witch seemed more of the crystal ball–tarot card type. Maggie’s technique hadn’t changed, trying to uplift her chicks’ pride, to better them beyond their true slut nature.
Brent stepped into the tiny hallway and danced back from the huge rubber spider hanging from the ceiling. He eased around it and peered into another bedroom.
The jumble of color and clutter terrified him. A huge garden fairy holding layers of long flowing scarves peered back at him, unblinking eyes holding his own, chilling him.
Celeste had seemed to accept her fate, that blow to her head, the snap of her neck. There was no way the psychic could know that he would die if he didn’t leave Blanchefleur. And no way was he leaving without Maggie, taking her to a place to break her…
Eager to be out of the smothering clutter, Brent hurried down the hallway. On his way to the back of the building, he stepped into a tiny plant-filled sunroom. The plastic pan he’d accidently nudged spilled something onto his shoes.
His shoes were sprinkled with kitty litter. Gagging, he fumbled toward the door, opened it with shaking hands, and fled into the day’s heat.
Brent stopped, caught by a sense that he was being watched, just as he had felt when disposing of the psychic. He scanned the overgrown jumble of bushes and flowers and roses and found nothing. She’d made him jumpy, talking about his death if he stayed, that was all, he decided, dismissing the idea that anyone watched.
He fought to restrain the tight, explosive pressure building in him. But eventually, everyone who came between him and Maggie would pay…
Nick glanced at Maggie, gauging her mood. Not one of the people visiting their booth would believe that behind the warm smile, the smooth, slightly husky voice, her heart had been shattered just a week ago.
He’d held her as she mourned Celeste, and understood that Maggie was also mourning her sister, her hand often holding the locket. Her open affection and concern for Beth showed how deeply she must have loved her own sister. There were times when she saw young boys and she’d stare, but being busy with the wine shop and chatting with people had seemed to ease her.
Relaxed, friendly customers visited the different vineyards’ booths, each ready to sample. Michigan tourism promoters added to the colorful mix in the shopping mall. The five-dollar entrance fee provided customers with a wineglass, and those who were swallowing were cautioned to spit and rinse after tasting. Crackers and cheese were provided, and the day moved quickly, customers buying individual bottles as well as cases of fine Alessandro wines.
Was it possible that he loved Maggie already, that he wanted to share children with her?
His instinct was to hold her close and love her.
Time, Nick cautioned himself. Give her time to mourn her friend and close away the past. If he had to, he could manage to live without the secrets she kept.
When the customer she had been speaking to moved on, Maggie turned to Nick, her smile still warming her lips and eyes.
Between them, time hesitated and slowed, and her smile gave way to a softer, intimate one that squeezed his chest tightly.
The impact sucked his breath from him and swirled in tiny warm sparks around him.
Automatically, he reached to pour wine into a waiting customer’s glass. He filled it very full, to the top, just as full as his heart. “I love you,” he heard himself say quietly, deeply, still holding Maggie’s gaze.
I love you…It was the wrong time, and the wrong way. Nick hadn’t meant to speak of his heart, but now his words hung in the noise, the wine-scented air.
Her smile stilled and froze, sliding away into a slight frown. Maggie turned from him abruptly and poured wine into a waiting glass. Her hand shook slightly, but that was the only indication that she’d heard him speak.
A movement to one side just across the room grabbed his attention, and hovering behind a father with a toddler propped on his shoulders, Nick found Ed. At another winemaker’s booth, the bartender hefted his case of wine, his hard eyes locked just a fraction too long with Nick’s. In that heartbeat, Nick sensed that Ed was controlling the temper tha
t bristled across the heads of the crowd to him.
Ed’s eyes narrowed; his silent threat flew across the room before he turned away. Nick decided to have a friendly chat with Ed. If he had something planned for Maggie, it wasn’t happening…
Nick settled in to complete the day, taking shipping orders and talking with customers. Maggie’s glances at him were tentative and concerned; he met them with a blandness he did not feel. He wasn’t apologizing. Period. She’d have to deal with what she felt—he already knew his heart.
The drive back to Blanchefleur was quiet and tense.
It had been a mistake to let Maggie drive, her hand moving sensuously, competently on the stick shift. Every move of those strong sleek legs as she used the foot pedals sent a hard rap of desire through him, because he knew exactly how supple and fit Maggie’s body was—and how soft and warm and tight and…
Nick was torn between his anger that she’d ignored his statement, dropped it flat on the wine-splattered floor, and sexual desire. When her index finger circled the floor stick’s smooth black knob, sex won. “Pull over. I’m driving.”
Maggie started and looked at him as she negotiated a curve. “I’m not tired. You are. You spent time with Beth and me after Celeste. Eugene told me you got behind and you had to work most of the night preparing for today. I don’t mind—”
If her hand touched that floor shift one more time…“Pull over.”
When Nick was in the driver’s seat, Maggie settled into the passenger side. She propped her wine-stained white tennis shoes on the dashboard. With her legs folded, Maggie settled in to relax after a hard day. Those long legs—right up to the curve of her bottom beneath her frayed cutoff shorts—gleamed in the light of the dashboard, and Nick shifted a little too quickly, the truck jerking forward.
He wouldn’t mention his love for her again—not to have it trampled like a used napkin.
“You’re sulking. Sales were good, weren’t they?”
“They were good. It’s just mostly paperwork now, and we’ll ship later. Thanks for helping today. It’s just been a long day.” He passed by the winery and slowed before approaching Maggie’s camper. She’d spent the week at Celeste’s with Beth, but as badly as he wanted her, Nick wouldn’t ask. If she wanted to stay in that tight little metal fort of hers, that was just fine. If she didn’t want to acknowledge that they had more than most people right now, then that was fine, too.