"How come you haven't followed in his footsteps?" she teased
"Who says I haven't?" he countered, flashing her a Groucho Marx leer.
Laughing, she returned her gaze to the front. From the corner of her eye she saw Rafe's jaw harden.
"So what kind of grapes are those in this field here?" Seth asked a moment later.
"I'm not sure," Danni admitted, frowning at the neat rows. "It's been a while since I rode the fields with Papa."
"Those are hybrid Chardonnay," Rafe said, his face set in grim lines.
"Yeah? How can you tell?"
"Soil content of that particular field's perfect for Chardonnay. El Jefe hybridized his own variety."
Surprised yet again that Rafe could remember such a small detail, Danni glanced back at Seth again. "Chardonnay has always been one of Mancini's best sellers."
"Having killed a few bottles of same in my day I'm not surprised. It's as good as any low-end Chardonnay I've ever tasted."
"Don't let my father hear you refer to his pride and joy as low-end or you're liable to end up outside this same gate with a bruise the size of his boot on your backside."
Seth acknowledged that with an apologetic smile. "I take it El Jefe is your father?"
She nodded. "Roughly translated, it means the big boss." She glanced in Rafe's direction. "That's right, isn't it?"
"First thing a peon learns growing up here is never to contradict a Mancini on Mancini land." The sardonic edge to his voice had her teeth grinding together. Seth noticed and telegraphed his understanding.
"Some of the men also call him El Patrón," she went on, determined not to let Rafe's bad mood spoil hers. "I suspect they sometimes call him other things as well, especially when he's in a temper."
"You got that right," Rafe said under his breath, but Danni heard. She grieved for the years he had lost. With the exception of the miserable months after he'd disappeared from her life, she had experienced nothing but happiness and comfort on this land.
"Some digs, Doc. Looks exactly like a movie set," Seth declared with awe in his voice as the Mercedes made the sweeping circle leading to the parking area in front of the detached four car garage.
It did at that, Danni thought, trying to see her home through his eyes. Freshly painted only last summer, the century-old house gleamed like newly fallen snow in the sunshine. Bright green shutters graced the north facing windows. A new metal roof the color of slate was the only thing that had changed since her childhood. Even the petunias spilling from the tubs on the front porch seemed the same.
Once a traditional boxy farmhouse with a steeply pitched roof, it had undergone numerous changes over the years. A room here, a wing there, all without more than a nodding concession to symmetry or grace. And yet, the whole was more beautiful than its parts.
Like friendship or a good marriage—or a loving family.
"Oh poop, Uncle Vito's already hanging the piñatas," Lyssa exclaimed as Rafe parked next to her papa's beat-up GMC pickup, then killed the engine.
"Looks like you're just in time to help, sweetie," she said as Lyssa hurriedly freed herself from the seat belt. Seth was already climbing out on his side, his gaze unobtrusively scanning the area. His weapon was displayed prominently at his side as was Rafe's. Today, for the first time both he and Rafe had clipped their badges to their belts.
Eyes sparkling and impatient, Lys threw open the door and started to climb out, only to freeze suddenly. "Is it okay to take off the vest while we're here?" Danni noticed she directed her question to Rafe.
"Yes, niña. You can take off the vest now." Turning his head, he gave her a smile full of so much tenderness Danni's heart seemed to stop dead. "Just make sure you don't misplace it, okay? I had the devil's own time finding one to fit you."
"Okay." Then she was out of the car and running in her own lopsided way toward the side yard where both workers and family were preparing for the fiesta which by tradition started at 2:16 p.m., the exact moment of her dad's birth sixty-eight years ago.
As she watched, the side door opened and Rosaria came down the steps carrying a large yellow bowl covered in foil. As soon as Rafe saw her, his hands clenched white around the steering wheel.
"She's gotten so much older," he grated in a rough voice. "I knew, and yet in my mind she was still the same as the last time I saw her." His pain was nearly palpable. Tears filled Danni's eyes and clogged her throat.
"It might lessen the shock if I told her you were here before she actually saw you," she said quietly. But even as she said the words, one of the women arranging the food on the long trestle tables drew Rosaria's attention to the Mercedes.
She looked puzzled for a moment before catching sight of Lyssa who had already removed her vest and was carrying it toward the porch. Breaking into a wide grin, Rosaria hurriedly set the bowl on the nearest table before hurrying toward them.
Rafe's shoulders jerked before taking on a stiff line. He hesitated, then opened the door and climbed out, straightening slowly to his full height. As soon as Rosaria saw him her steps faltered and she went deathly pale.
"Rafael? Is it really you, Mi hijo?" she whispered as he went toward her.
"Hello, Mama," he said quietly, those brutally large hands curled into loose fists at his sides. Whatever happened, he would accept it with the same steely steadiness that was part of him now. But when his mother's hands lifted toward his face, he flinched. Instead of a blow, however, Rosaria caressed his face with those work-worn hands.
Rafe's hands trembled as they covered hers. His throat was so tight it ached, and his heart was a trip hammer. Her face had new lines, and the thick black hair that always smelled of herbs was threaded with gray. But her eyes still shone with the soft light he remembered as they searched his face.
"So many years I prayed to the Blessed Mother to see you again before I died," she whispered in the same soft, musical voice that had soothed countless troubles.
"Me, too, Mamacita," he admitted, his voice breaking. His chest heaved, and then she was in his arms, her sobs shaking both of them. Through the blur of his own tears he saw Danni hurry past on her way to the house. As she passed, she tossed him a brilliant smile through the tears spilling down her cheeks.
It was then that he knew he'd never really stopped loving her.
* * *
Sandals slapping the Mexican tile of the entryway, Danni marched down the hall leading to the glassed-in porch at the back where the men of the family went to smoke the smelly cigars Aunt Gina refused to have in the house proper.
Someday she might look back and laugh herself silly at the sight she presented—eyes blazing, hair flying, her belly straining against the ugly blue vest. At the moment all she had was a violent urge to wring her brother's neck.
"Eddie Mancini, where are you?" she demanded as she jerked open the door to the porch.
Caught in the act of lighting a cigar, her brother nearly choked on the smoke as he shot to his feet. "It's about time you got here, little sister," he exclaimed at he opened brawny arms to accept her hug.
Instead, she doubled up her fist and planted it as hard as she could squarely in the center of his prominent Mancini nose. Something crunched as pain jolted up her arm all the way to her shoulder, then ran down again. Blood spurted as Eddie let out an outraged bellow, his eyes glazing over with shock.
"What the hell was that for?" he demanded, putting his hand to his face.
"That's for what you did to Rafe, you miserable excuse for an older brother," she shouted, fairly quivering with so many emotions even she was hard pressed to sort them out. Predominant, however, was a bottomless feeling of loss.
"What are you talking about?" Eddie shouted back.
"I know all about it, Edward. How you and Mark and my two other interfering brothers threatened to turn his family off Mancini land if he didn't leave town and never come back."
Guilt flashed across his face as he jerked his handkerchief from his back pocket. "Who told you that?"
he hedged before pressing the folded hanky to his nose.
"Remember the Secret Service agent I told you about? The one who was prepared to die in order to keep Lys and me safe?"
"Yeah, some guy from the East named Gresham."
"Gresham's his partner. Rafe's partner."
Beneath the burned-in tan, Eddie's face turned the color of putty. "I can explain, cara."
"Explain to us as well, Eduardo," her father ordered coldly from the doorway.
Danni's heart stuttered when she saw that Enrique stood next to Papa, shock imprinted on his seamed face. The same shock that chilled her father's dark eyes.
"It's not what you think," Eddie began, only to wince as his rapidly swelling nose caused his voice to thicken as well.
"Is it true, what Daniela has just said about you and Rafael?" Enrique demanded, his customary diffidence forgotten.
Unable to meet the honest eyes of a man who'd given him only kindness and affection for the whole of his life, Eddie took the handkerchief from his mangled nose and pretended to study the blood that had turned the cotton scarlet.
"Our good friend Enrique had asked you a question, Eduardo. We are both waiting for your answer." There was something in her father's voice that Danni had never heard before. It took her a moment to put a name to it.
It was shame.
* * *
After drying his mother's tears, and his own, Rafe had shucked off the vest while at the same time explaining how he'd come to be back on Mancini property. She was both shocked by the news that Danni and Lyssa were in danger and grateful that he was watching out for her.
Part of God's plan, she had said with a certainty that never failed to make him uneasy. If his life had been part of a divine plan, it was a good bet he was at the bottom of the favorites' list.
Then, after making sure Seth was keeping an eye on things, he'd led her to a wooden bench in a secluded part of the garden near a flowering plum he'd helped Enrique plant when he'd been six. Barely taller than he'd been then, it now towered over them.
Now, twenty minutes later his mother was running out of breath and family news. They spoke in Spanish as they always did when they were alone. His was a little rusty, but it came back quickly. Even so Rafe was hard pressed to keep up with twenty years of changes. It was as though he'd been swept into some kind of parallel universe where the names were the only thing that had remained the same.
"Paloma is a nurse now, married five years to a fine man who is soon to be a doctor. They have two beautiful niñas, Rosalie and Ramon and a beautiful house in Sacramento where he is going to medical school. She wanted to be here today, but one of the babies has an ear infection."
Paloma had been a chubby two-year-old hellion when he'd left. Now she had babies of her own? God, it wasn't possible, was it?
Carlos had three sons, all of whom he would meet today when they returned from Ashland where they'd gone to put a down payment on a home of their own.
Afonso and Miguel were also married, both to Anglos. More devoted to their careers than adding to her flock of grandchildren, but good women both of them, Mama had hastened to assure him, despite the resignation flavoring her words.
"And you, Rafi, you've grown into such a beautiful man. My heart stopped when I saw you standing there, so tall and strong, with the face of the golden Aztec prince of the legend. I'm so proud of you, my precious son."
The praise unsettled him. "Tell me about Connie, Mama. Did she ever become a teacher like she dreamed?"
"Pero, si. Graduated at the top of her class at Southern Oregon. She teaches English literature at the high school in town."
It didn't seem real to him. Connie had been a leggy nine-year-old with scabby knees and a mischievous sense of humor. "How many babies has she given you to spoil?" he teased, smiling more easily now.
"Stubborn girl, she is still unmarried." Her sigh was heavy. A mother's burden, it conveyed as clearly as a shout. "Ah, but she has started seeing a teacher from the junior college. She has promised to bring him today so that we can meet him. She will be so happy to see you."
"Will she, Mama?"
"Of course. What happened was so many years ago. The anger fades."
But not the pain, her expression added, tearing off a chunk of his control.
"Tell me about you, Mamacita," he asked, taking her hand in his. "Are you happy?"
"Every day God grants us is precious, Rafi, so I am content." Her gaze narrowed, searching his face as though looking for something only she could see. "But you are not, I think," she said finally with sorrow in her voice. Thoughtfully, she shifted her gaze toward the house. "Perhaps God has given you and Danni another chance."
"She's not in the market for another husband, Mama." He found himself reaching into his breast pocket for a cigarette before he remembered he'd stopped.
"She was sad for a long time." Her gaze came back to his. "I don't know why you left, hijo. But you have always been kind and loving, so whatever your reason, I know it was not dishonorable the way Eddie claimed."
Incapable of words, he simply took her hands in his and kissed them the way Enrique sometimes had when his own emotions overwhelmed him.
"Talk to him, Rafi. He's suffered, too. Sometimes at night he gets up and walks to the spot along the bank where he taught you to fish. I know he's thinking of you then."
He drew a breath. "There's nothing I can say, Mama."
She touched his face. "Por favor, Rafi. Para tu madre."
* * *
He found Seth in the main warehouse, watching the musicians setting up. Ordinarily he would have had an entire army posted around the area, but he knew that Linc wouldn't let Folsom anywhere near this place. Still, he didn't want his partner to get too relaxed.
It was advice he had given himself after his mother had shooed him off in search of Enrique. In the main house with El Jefe, one of the workers had told him with a curious look.
"Have to say when you Oregonians set out to party, you do it right," Seth said when Rafe joined him.
Rafe hadn't been an Oregonian for years, but he let that slide. "There's something I have to do, so if you don't see me around for a while, don't sweat it."
"Want me to stay close to the Doc?"
"No, let her have a few hours of freedom." One of the guitarists began tuning. The familiar sound had his gut tightening. He'd loved fiestas. The first time he'd held Danni in his arms was during a fiesta when she'd insisted on teaching him to dance.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly 1330. He'd arranged to check in with Linc on the hour, using the walkie-talkie locked in the trunk of the Mercedes. "Hang loose, okay? I'll see you later."
Seth nodded. "I'll be here."
Wishing he was anyplace but here, Rafe left the warehouse and started toward the house. The open area between the warehouse and the house was filling up. Makeshift tables had been set up under trees and two teenage girls were laying out condiments. There would be enough food to feed a small country and an ocean of wine. For the kids there would be soda and ice cream and enough junk food to send them all home with tummy aches.
First, however, there would be games for the kids with prizes ranging from shiny new bicycles to a pack of gum. No one left empty-handed. Then came the food and El Jefe's birthday toasts, one given by Eddie on behalf of the family and one delivered by Enrique as the workers' spokesman.
The dancing would start after that. Other things, too, as Rafe recalled. At least one baby was started on Mancini's birthday every year. Sometimes more. And more than one worker ended up snoring drunk, left to sleep it off wherever he'd passed out.
"Hola, Rafi," one of the older workers called down from the ladder where he'd been hanging streamers. "Damn near fell off this here ladder when I heard you'd come back packing a gun and wearing a badge."
So the word had spread, he thought while searching for a name to go with the face that had gotten older and more seamed than the one he remembered. "How's it going, Señor Martinez?
Still catching the big ones?"
The old man grinned, showing off a gold tooth. "Can't complain," he said with a laugh before returning to his task. Nothing changed, Rafe thought as he skirted the course laid out for the sack race before angling across the driveway toward the house.
He was debating whether to use the front or back door when someone to the rear called his name. Though he'd prepared himself mentally and emotionally to come face-to-face with the man who'd raised him, his body shot into defensive mode.
Working to level his emotions, he turned and waited for Enrique to catch up with him. The face that had reflected a mixture of Spanish and Indian genes seemed leaner now, and the thick coarse hair that had been as black as night was mostly gray now, but the deep-set eyes that had always reflected a fierce inner pride were unchanged.
Instead of his work clothes, he wore dark trousers and a sparkling white shirt that was crisp with starch. Surprise ran through him when he saw that his father was hatless. It struck him that he couldn't remember a time when his father had been without his straw hat when he was outdoors.
"¿Cómo estás, Rafael?" he asked when they stood only a few feet apart for the first time in twenty years.
Because he'd been taught to show respect to his elders, he nodded politely. "Bien, Señor. Y usted?"
"The same." Enrique glanced toward the picnic area, his expression stern. "You have made your mother very happy today. She thinks I haven't heard her crying in the night."
Rafe took a careful breath. It hurt more than the years of silence, this tense distance between them. He missed the easy teasing between them, the flashes of wry humor that sometimes crept up on him later, the special closeness between the oldest son and his father.
"I'm sorry, Padre, I never meant to hurt either of you." Locked away for more than half his lifetime, the words came out rough, but at least he'd kept his promise to his mother.
Enrique acknowledged his apology with a slow nod. Silence settled again. Though no one was impolite enough to stare, Rafe felt the surreptitious glances that came their way as the Mancini extended family prepared for the event of the year.
DADDY WITH A BADGE Page 21