by Kim Baldwin
Jack opened her mouth but nothing came out.
“I was young and had needs when Celeste came along,” he continued quietly, “but I’ve only ever loved one woman. Joanne. I’ve loved her since we were children, pretty much like you did Cassady.” Pierce started to collect the photos. “Things were different, then. We couldn’t have relationships or marry, let alone father children. We were married to the organization, and any other relationship would have compromised our dedication and loyalty, or so they told us. This company, our work, came first, and anything or anyone who stood in the way or became a priority was destroyed or taken away. They would have taken you away, Jaclyn, if they knew you were mine.”
“You could have told me.”
“I wanted to when you were older and I could trust you to keep the secret, but…I didn’t have the nerve. I started to so many times but never followed through. I kept telling myself you were better off without a father rather than someone who could never live up to the expectations of one. If you had known the truth, you would have expected me to treat you differently and I would have, and that would have gotten us both killed.”
“Why the hell tell me now, now that I don’t need a damn father?”
“I have a bad heart, Jaclyn, and…I think my time is running out. I can’t take this secret with me.”
“So this confession is all about you clearing your conscience so you can rest in peace.”
“I’m telling you because you deserve the truth.”
“I deserved the truth a long time ago, not now because it’s convenient for you.”
“I know.” Pierce sighed. “I’m sorry, Jaclyn, I…”
Jack nodded vehemently. “If you were my father, you never would have treated me like dirt. You pushed and pushed me to be someone you wanted. My father would’ve given me a normal life, not raised me like a soldier and turned his back on me when I almost died in Israel. No father does that.”
“I wanted to tell you to come back,” he said. “Hell, I wanted to come get you, but…”
“But what?” Jack shouted, ignoring the increasing pain in her head.
“The decision wasn’t mine. The three of us had to agree to it, and back then, Joanne and Arthur didn’t know you were my daughter. They outvoted my decision to pull you completely from any further missions.”
“I barely made it out alive. What did it matter whose daughter I was?”
“Not that it’ll make any difference, but I found and killed Amzi myself. Buried him alive for what he did to you.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t make one shit of a difference, because all you wanted me to do was go on with the job while I could barely stand long enough to talk to you on the pay phone.”
“You…” Pierce paused and busied himself with piling pictures. “You were too damn good. One of the best ops this place has ever seen. They argued they couldn’t afford to pull you off duty, and they…we…clearly didn’t understand how badly you were hurt.”
“One of the best?” Jack plucked the pictures from his hands and threw them against the wall. “You’re a fucking liar. If I’m one of the best, that means you picked me because I showed promise like the rest of the kids you bring here. If I was your daughter, I’d have ended up here because of pity, not skills.”
“I couldn’t raise you here as my child, and I couldn’t leave this place, either. Of course I feared I’d never be able to bring you up to the other children’s standards, but I didn’t take into consideration how much the same we are. You were born for this work like I was. Call it genetic or whatever modern science calls it nowadays, but you only had to try half as hard as the rest.”
“Why do I remember trying twice as hard to keep up?” Jack refused to believe a word Pierce said.
“Because I demanded twice as much from you. Your abilities were…are…exceptional. It didn’t take long for me to realize even I didn’t have half the talent you did.”
Jack covered her ears. “No.”
“I’ve done everything in my power to get close to you ever since I found out you were alive. I lost my mind when TQ took you. I couldn’t lose you just when I had found you. I know you don’t want to hear this but…” Pierce wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry for everything. Please, give us a chance before it’s too late.”
“You’re not my father,” Jack shouted again.
“Please try to understand that I am,” Pierce said calmly.
“Never. I could never hate you this much if you were my father.”
Pierce rummaged in the steel box for something and got up. He walked over to Jack and she flinched at the closeness. “And I could never love you this much if you weren’t my daughter,” he said. He dropped something into the pocket of her robe and left the room.
Still stunned and furious, Jack put her hand in the pocket and pulled out what Pierce had put there. She let the tears fall when she recognized it. A delicate angel, three inches long, handcrafted from braided gold wire.
They had appeared to her all her life in dreams—comforting golden angels, suspended above her head. The puzzle had been solved when Celeste showed her the mobile from her crib, kept as a memento all these years. But it had been missing one piece. One angel.
Her mother had told her that her father had taken it with him.
Chapter Forty
Tuscany, Italy
Three weeks later, April 7
A month had passed since Harper’s return to her beloved home and country, yet the comfort she expected to find wasn’t there. She spent her days in the vineyards until late in the evening and would return home exhausted.
Monica would stop by on occasion to keep her company and distract her, but Harper would beg off early after staring silently into the flames of the outdoor fireplace. Her good friend and sex partner caught on very quickly that something was wrong. The first time she’d showed up to welcome her back, Harper had been pleased to see her but kept her distance. Monica had simply and silently understood. She’d asked if there was something she could do, and when Harper didn’t answer, she’d said she hoped this woman was worthy of her.
Monica, however, did start to worry and fuss over her when Harper refused to eat or have her traditional glass of wine at night. She’d show up with containers of ready-cooked meals and place them in front of Harper. To be polite, Harper would play with her food for a while, then beg off to bed.
Ever since her return, all she wanted to do was spend every moment working in the fields. It was the only time she could stop thinking about Ryden for longer than an hour. She had been tempted to call her every day that passed, but her voice would only make Harper hurt more, and it wouldn’t be fair to Ryden.
“Signorina Harper,” one of her hands called out from halfway across the vineyard.
Harper looked up and found him signaling her to walk over. She removed her gloves, brushed the soil from her pants, and went over to meet him.
“Someone here to see you,” he said in Italian when Harper neared.
“My appointment isn’t for another hour.” A new wine buyer was coming for a tour of her property and equipment. “Just show them the way,” Harper said indifferently. Normally, she couldn’t wait to escort potential buyers and friends through her vineyard, but she just wasn’t in the mood for conversation and business. “I’ll be over there.” She gestured to the new vines she had been working on before returning to them.
She’d intended to change her clothes for the clients, but right now she couldn’t care less. Her cargos were comfy and it was too hot to wear anything other than a tank top. She was stooped over, absorbed with the vine, when she felt someone staring at her. When she straightened and turned to look, she gazed straight into Ryden’s beautiful green eyes.
Ryden stood looking at her bemusedly, hands folded at her belt. She was wearing jeans and a red button-down shirt, and she looked amazing.
Resting her hands on her hips, Harper looked slowly from Ryden’s eyes to the very deep cleavage revealed by he
r shirt.
“I didn’t want to miss you anymore,” Ryden said. “So I looked up your vineyard and came to find you.”
Harper smiled. “You look great.”
“Don’t let the foundation fool you. I have circles blacker than tar under my eyes.”
Harper walked the few steps to her, not daring to take her eyes off Ryden, afraid that if she blinked Ryden would disappear like a dream. She gently placed a stray lock of hair behind Ryden’s ear. “Beautiful is what you are.”
“It’s how I feel when you look at me.”
“Breathless is how you leave me.” Harper caressed her ear.
“I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Like what?”
“I can’t explain it, but when I’m with you, everything is perfect. I come alive.”
Harper craved those lips. She leaned forward as Ryden closed her eyes, but a shout from her foreman interrupted them.
“Signorina Harper, your next appointment is here.”
Both of them looked in his direction. Harper felt like she was in a trance.
“I’d better leave.” Ryden was breathing heavily.
“Please, stay. I’m going to give a potential customer a tour of the vineyard, and I’d like you to join us.”
“I’d like that, too.”
“After they leave,” Harper said, “I’d like to take you to my home and cook for us.”
“I didn’t know you cook.”
“Then it’s about time we got to know each other.”
*
Once she’d toured the cozy Tuscany farmhouse, Ryden went to sit in the garden with a cold glass of iced tea while Harper jumped under the shower.
She couldn’t get enough of the magnificent panoramic view: the lush, eye-popping green of the vineyard, carved into terraces that cascaded down the side of the mountain to the rich, multi-hued blues of the sea below. The terra-cotta rooftops of a village etched into the cliffs along the distant water’s edge caught the sunlight, while above, a massive flock of seagulls rode the air currents in a spectacular and seemingly choreographed display of aerial acrobatics. Here and there, small plumes of smoke rose from the greenery, where hired hands burned off dead trimmings from the vines. If the planet had one perfect spot where beauty met serenity, this was it.
She heard noise from inside the farmhouse, so she slipped into the kitchen through a side screen door that adjoined the garden. Harper stood hunched over a chopping board, her back turned. She made no sign she’d heard Ryden come in, so Ryden used the opportunity to study her from the doorway.
Not only did Harper look comfortable cooking, she appeared well versed in the fundamentals of Italian cuisine. She’d told Ryden that Italians believed the magic lay in the simplicity and freshness of the ingredients, so tonight’s angel-hair pasta would be accompanied by a sauce made from sun-ripened tomatoes, scallions, basil, olive oil, and regional cheeses.
Captivated, she watched the easy, sensual way Harper moved, fluid grace in every motion, with no wasted step or gesture as she chopped ingredients and tossed them into a wide saucepan. Ryden couldn’t take her eyes off Harper’s ass, perfectly defined by the light linen trousers she’d changed into, and realized for the first time why men spent so much of their life checking out women and thinking about sex.
“Enjoying the view or the smells?” Harper asked, her back still turned.
“Both,” Ryden replied with confidence, actually glad she’d been caught appreciating Harper.
“I’m glad.” Harper looked at her with those penetrating blue eyes.
“Can I do something?” Ryden asked, relieved she could form a sentence in the face of such enticing temptation.
“You’re going to have to be more specific before I answer that.” Harper stared at her mouth.
How could this woman turn her on with just one look or sentence? “Can I help you in the kitchen?” Ryden asked.
“Are you being deliberately vague?”
Her cheeks burned with the insinuation. “I’d like to help you prepare dinner.”
Harper smiled. “You’re fun to tease. Here…” She placed a knife on the counter. “Why don’t you work on the salad?”
Ryden stood next to her, slicing tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, and red onion, while Harper cooked.
“Almost ready.” Harper dipped her finger in the sauce and was about to taste it when Ryden stopped her hand.
“Let me,” Ryden said.
Harper let Ryden guide her finger to Ryden’s mouth.
She slowly licked off the sauce, playing her tongue provocatively around Harper’s finger, never taking her eyes off Harper’s. “Delicious,” she whispered.
Harper swallowed.
“You’re fun to tease.” Touché, Ryden thought, with a satisfied smile.
“I love to be teased,” Harper replied, “in the kitchen and every other room.”
Ryden had to put some space between them before she embarrassed herself. She took a step back. “I’ll set the table.”
They ate at the rough-hewn table by the outdoor fireplace, sitting side by side on a bench that faced the spectacular view. As they talked about Italy and drank Harper’s divine red wine, Ryden found herself torn between staring at the view—spectacular in the setting sun—and Harper’s equally compelling profile, her bronzed skin shining in the amber light, eyes sparkling in pride at her vineyard, and her inviting, lush lips.
After they finished their food and cleared the table, they poured a second glass and returned to sit in comfortable canvas chairs by the fireplace.
“You never told me why that special-edition wine I drank was so important,” Ryden said.
“Pepo—the founder of the vineyard—gave it to me before he died. It was a fifty-five-year-old wine, the first to be produced.”
Ryden gasped. “Oh my G…I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Clearly.” Harper smiled.
“No wonder you got so upset. I thought it was because it was expensive.”
“It was priceless because it was given to me by the only father I ever knew. He was my family.”
Ryden sat there shaking her head. How could she have been so stupid and insensitive?
“Hey, what’s done is done.” Harper touched her hand. “It was about time someone drank it.”
“Maybe, but not me. I can hardly tell the difference between wine and Sprite.”
Harper laughed. “That’s not true.”
“But you know what I mean.” Ryden couldn’t even look at her.
“If it makes you feel any better, I kept the bottle.”
“Should it? Because it doesn’t.”
Harper sat back in the chair. “I guess it was always about the bottle, since I never intended to drink the wine. The bottle is what I looked at whenever I missed home and the grapes. So, now it’s empty.” Harper shrugged. “Only means it’s lighter to carry around.”
“You’re too kind. I’ll have to accept your reasoning since I can’t replace it.”
“I mean it,” Harper said.
“Why did you choose Angelo as a name for your wine?”
“Pepo was obsessed with his dog,” Harper replied, her voice tinged with a bittersweet sadness at the memory. “This house and vineyard have never been without an Angelo, even after he died and I took over.”
Ryden looked around.
“He died a month and a half ago,” Harper explained quietly. “I buried him up there.”
Ryden ached to ease the pain in Harper’s voice. “You must miss him.”
“Like crazy.”
“Will you get another?”
“Of course. I can’t imagine life without a dog.”
“But not yet.”
“I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”
“A particular litter?”
Harper shook her head. “I don’t believe in buying expensive certified breeds when the shelter here is full of strays that desperately need a home.”
“I to
tally agree, especially after having worked for a shelter for the past month. You won’t believe how many people dump their dog because it’s no longer a fuzzy, cute puppy the kids want to play with.”
“It’s ridiculously sad. I don’t see how anyone can decide to get rid of a living creature because it’s no longer convenient. You wouldn’t do that to your child.”
“So the right moment depends on, what?” Ryden asked.
“I just know. The same way I know which dog to pick. It’s a personal moment for me and something I do alone, so that I know the animal is mine and I’m his, no one else in between. It’s silly, I know, but—”
“But you want to know you’ve been chosen. You, exclusively, and without a doubt or hesitation.”
Harper smiled. “Yeah.”
“I’ve been tempted to take at least ten dogs home in the past month.”
“Nothing yet?”
“I keep putting it off. But who knows? Maybe when I get back.”
Harper’s smile disappeared. “When do you go back?”
“The day after tomorrow. I wanted to take a week off, but…I’m new, so I had to beg for the three days. I told them I had a family emergency back home. I never said I was going to Italy.”
“Good thinking.” Harper got up to tend to the fire.
“One of the few perks of being able to reinvent yourself is that you get to be someone with a loving, fully functional family who needs you to rush home.”
“I guess,” Harper said flippantly.
“Don’t you miss it? Having a family?”
“Not really.” Harper sat back down. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway. What I miss is someone I can call family. I’ve never wasted my time with what ifs because I can’t miss a mom or dad when I’ve never had to lose them. But what I can miss is a sense of belonging, a mutual feeling of being needed and wanted.” Harper took a sip of wine. “Now, that I miss.”
“She hurt you a lot.”
“I’m no expert, but there’s no bigger hurt than that of betrayal,” Harper said. “To find out you loved what was never there, loved someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t give herself…because who she wanted, what she needed, wasn’t what you had to offer.”